A huge puddle8 stretched across Primrose9 Court. When Maida took her place in the swivel-chair, three children had begun already to float shingles10 across its muddy expanse. Two of them were Molly and Tim Doyle, the third a little girl whom Maida did not know. For a time she watched them, fascinated. But, presently, the school children crowding into the shop took all her attention. After the bell rang and the neighborhood had become quiet again, she resumed her watch of the mud-puddle fun.
Now they were loading their shingles with leaves, twigs11, pebbles12, anything that they could find in the gutters13. By lashing14 the water into waves, as they trotted15 in the wake of their frail16 craft, they managed to sail them from one end of the puddle to the other. Maida followed the progress of these merchant vessels17 as breathlessly as their owners. Some capsized utterly18. Others started to founder19 and had to be dragged ashore20. A few brought the cruise to a triumphant21 finish.
But Tim soon put an end to this fun. Unexpectedly, his foot caught somewhere and he sprawled22 headlong in the tide. “Oh, Tim!” Molly said. But she said it without surprise or anger. And Tim lay flat on his [Pg 77]stomach without moving, as if it were a common occurrence with him. Molly waded23 out to him, picked him up and marched him into the house.
The other little girl had disappeared. Suddenly she came out of one of the yards, clasping a Teddy-bear and a whole family of dolls in her fat arms. She sat down at the puddle’s edge and began to undress them. Maida idly watched the busy little fingers—one, two, three, four, five—now there were six shivering babies. What was she going to do with them? Maida wondered.
“Granny,” Maida called, “do come and see this little girl! She’s—” But Maida did not finish that sentence in words. It ended in a scream. For suddenly the little girl threw the Teddy-bear and all the six dolls into the puddle. Maida ran out the door. Half-way across the court she met Dicky Dore swinging through the water. Between them they fished all the dolls out. One was of celluloid and another of rubber—they had floated into the middle of the pond. Two china babies had sunk to the very bottom—their white faces smiled placidly24 up through the water at their rescuers. A little rag-doll lay close to the shore, water-logged. A pretty paper-doll had melted to a pulp25. And the biggest and prettiest of them, a lovely blonde creature with a shapely-jointed body and a bisque head, covered with golden curls, looked hopelessly bedraggled.
“Oh, Betsy Hale!” Dicky said. “You naughty, naughty girl! How could you drown your own children like that?”
“I were divin’ them a baff,” Betsy explained.
Betsy was a little, round butterball of a girl with great brown eyes all tangled26 up in eyelashes and a little pink rosebud27 of a mouth, folded over two rows of mice-teeth. She smiled deliciously up into Maida’s face:
“I aren’t naughty, is I?” she asked.
“Naughty? You bunny-duck! Of course you are,” Maida said, giving her a bear-hug. “I don’t see how anybody can scold her,” she whispered to Dicky.
“Scold her! You can’t,” Dicky said disgustedly. “She’s too cute. And then if you did scold her it wouldn’t do any good. She’s the naughtiest baby in the neighborhood—although,” he added with pride, “I think Delia’s going to be pretty nearly as naughty when she gets big enough. But Betsy Hale—why, the whole street has to keep an eye on her. Come, pick up your dollies, Betsy,” he wheedled28, “they’ll get cold if you leave them out here.”
The thought of danger to her darlings produced immediate29 activity on Betsy’s part. She gathered the dolls under her cape30, hugging them close. “Her must put her dollies to bed,” she said wisely.
“Calls herself her half the time,” Dicky explained. He gathered up the dresses and shooing Betsy ahead of him, followed her into the yard.
“She’s the greatest child I ever saw,” he said, rejoining Maida a little later. “The things she thinks of to do! Why, the other day, Miss Allison—the sister of the blind lady what sits in the window and knits—the one what owns the parrot—well, Miss Allison painted one of her old chairs red and put it out in the yard to dry. Then she washed a whole lot of lace and put that out to dry. Next thing she knew she looked out and there was Betsy washing all the red paint off the chair with the lace. You’d have thought that would have been enough for one day, wouldn’t you? Well, that afternoon she turned the hose on Mr. Flanagan—that’s the policeman on the beat.”
“What did he say?” Maida asked in alarm. She had a vague imaginary picture of Betsy being dragged to the station-house.
“Roared! But then Mr. Flanagan thinks Betsy’s all right. Always calls her ’sophy Sparkles.’ Betsy runs away about twice a week. Mr. Flanagan’s always finding her and lugging31 her home. I guess every policeman in Charlestown knows her by this time. There, look at her now! Did you ever see such a kid?”
Betsy had come out of the yard again. She was carrying a huge feather duster over her head as if it were a parasol.
“Queer how you love a naughty child,” Dick said musingly33. “They’re an awful lot of trouble but you can’t help liking34 them. Has Tim Doyle fallen into the puddle yet?”
“Yes, just a little while ago.”
“He’s always falling in mud puddles35. I guess if Molly fishes him out once after a rain, she does a half a dozen times.”
“Do come and see me, Dicky, won’t you?” Maida asked when they got to the shop door. “You know I shall be lonely when all the children are in school and—then besides—you’re the first friend I’ve made.”
At the word friend, Dicky’s beautiful smile shone bright. “Sure, I’ll come,” he said heartily36. “I’ll come often.”
“Granny,” Maida exclaimed, bursting into the kitchen, “wait until you hear about Betsy Hale.” She told the whole story. “Was I ever a naughty little girl?” she concluded.
“Naughty? Glory be, and what’s ailing37 you? ’Twas the best choild this side of Heaven that you was. Always so sick and yet niver a cross wurrud out of you.”
A shadow fell over Maida’s face. “Oh, dear, dear,” she grieved. “I wish I had been a naughty child—people love naughty children so. Are you quite sure I was always good, Granny?”
“Why, me blessid lamb, ’twas too sick that you was to be naughty. You cud hardly lift one little hand from the bed.”
“But, Granny, dear,” Maida persisted, “can’t you think of one single, naughty thing I did? I’m sure you can if you try hard.”
Maida’s face was touched with a kind of sad wistfulness. Granny looked down at her, considerably38 puzzled. Then a light seemed to break in her mind. It shone through her blue eyes and twinkled in her smile.
“Sure and Oi moind wance when Oi was joost afther giving you some medicine and you was that mad for having to take the stuff that you sat oop in bed and knocked iv’ry bottle off the table. Iv’ry wan39! Sure, we picked oop glass for a wake afther.”
Maida’s wistful look vanished in a peal40 of silvery laughter. “Did I really, Granny?” she asked in delight. “Did I break every bottle? Are you sure? Every one?”
“Iv’ry wan as sure as OI’m a living sinner,” said Granny. “Faith and ’twas the bad little gyurl that you was often—now that I sthop to t’ink av ut.”
Maida bounded back to the shop in high spirits. Granny heard her say “Every bottle!” again and again in a whispering little voice.
“Just think, Granny,” she called after a while. “I’ve made one, two, three, four, five friends—Dicky, Molly, Tim, Betsy and Laura—though I don’t call her quite a friend yet. Pretty good for so soon!”
Maida was to make a sixth friend, although not quite so quickly.
It began that noontime with a strange little scene that acted itself out in front of Maida’s window. The children had begun to gather for school, although it was still very quiet. Suddenly around the corner came a wild hullaballoo—the shouts of small boys, the yelp41 of a dog, the rattle42 and clang of tin dragged on the brick sidewalk. In another instant appeared a dog, a small, yellow cur, collarless and forlorn-looking, with a string of tin cans tied to his tail, a horde43 of small boys yelling after him and pelting44 him with stones.
Maida started up, but before she could get to the door, something flashed like a scarlet45 comet from across the street. It was the little girl whom Maida had seen twice before—the one who always wore the scarlet cape.
Even in the excitement, Maida noticed how handsome she was. She seemed proud. She carried her slender, erect46 little body as if she were a princess and her big eyes cast flashing glances about her. Jet-black were her eyes and hair, milk-white were her teeth but in the olive of her cheeks flamed a red such as could be matched only in the deepest roses. Maida christened her Rose-Red at once.
Rose-Red lifted the little dog into her arms with a single swoop47 of her strong arm. She yanked the cans from its tail with a single indignant jerk. Fondling the trembling creature against her cheek, she talked first to him, then to his abashed48 persecutors.
“You sweet, little, darling puppy, you! Did they tie the wicked cans to his poor little tail!” and then—“if ever I catch one of you boys treating a poor, helpless animal like this again, I’ll shake the breath out of your body—was he the beautifullest dog that ever was? And if that isn’t enough, Arthur Duncan will lick you all, won’t you, Arthur?” She turned pleadingly to Arthur.
Arthur nodded.
“Nobody’s going to hurt helpless creatures while I’m about! He was a sweet little, precious little, pretty little puppy, so he was.”
Rose-Red marched into the court with the puppy, opened a gate and dropped him inside.
“That pup belongs to me, now,” she said marching back.
The school bell ringing at this moment ended the scene.
“Who’s that little girl who wears the scarlet cape?” Maida asked Dorothy and Mabel Clark when they came in together at four.
“Rosie Brine,” they answered in chorus.
“She’s a dreffle naughty girl,” Mabel said in a whisper, and “My mommer won’t let me play with her,” Dorothy added.
“Why not?” Maida asked.
“She’s a tom-boy,” Mabel informed her.
“What’s a tom-boy?” Maida asked Billy that night at dinner.
“A tom-boy?” Billy repeated. “Why, a tom-boy is a girl who acts like a boy.”
“How can a girl be a boy?” Maida queried49 after a few moments of thought. “Why don’t they call her a tom-girl?”
“Why, indeed?” Billy answered, taking up the dictionary.
Certainly Rosie Brine acted like a boy—Maida proved that to herself in the next few days when she watched Rose-Red again and again. But if she were a tom-boy, she was also, Maida decided50, the most beautiful and [Pg 86]the most wonderful little girl in the world. And, indeed, Rosie was so full of energy that it seemed to spurt51 out in the continual sparkle of her face and the continual movement of her body. She never walked. She always crossed the street in a series of flying jumps. She never went through a gate if she could go over the fence, never climbed the fence if she could vault52 it. The scarlet cape was always flashing up trees, over sheds, sometimes to the very roofs of the houses. Her principal diversion seemed to be climbing lamp-posts. Maida watched this proceeding53 with envy. One athletic54 leap and Rose-Red was clasping the iron column half-way up—a few more and she was swinging from the bars under the lantern. But she was accomplished55 in other ways. She could spin tops, play “cat” and “shinney” as well as any of the boys. And as for jumping rope—if two little girls would swing for her, Rosie could actually waltz in the rope.
The strangest thing about Rosie was that she did not always go to school like the other children. The incident of the dog happened on Thursday. Friday morning, when the children filed into the schoolhouse, Rosie did not follow them. Instead, she hid herself in a doorway56 until after the bell rang. A little later she sneaked57 out of her hiding place, joined Arthur Duncan at the corner, and disappeared into the distance. Just before twelve they both came back. For a few moments, they kept well concealed58 on a side street, out of sight of Primrose Court. But, at intervals, Rosie or Arthur would dart59 out to a spot where, without being seen, they could get a glimpse of the church clock. When the children came out of school at twelve, they joined the crowd and sauntered home.
Monday morning Maida saw them repeat these maneuvers60. She was completely mystified by them and yet she had an uncomfortable feeling. They were so stealthy that she could not help guessing that something underhand was going on.
“Do you know Rosie Brine?” Maida asked Dicky Dore one evening when they were reading together.
“Sure!” Dicky’s face lighted up. “Isn’t she a peach?”
“They say she is a tom-boy,” Maida objected. “Is she?”
“Surest thing you know,” Dicky said cheerfully. “She won’t take a dare. You ought to see her playing stumps61. There’s nothing a boy can do that she won’t do. And have you noticed how she can spin a top—the best I ever saw for a girl.”
Then boys liked girls to be tom-boys. This was a great surprise.
“How does it happen that she doesn’t go to school often?”
“Hooking jack?” Maida repeated in a puzzled tone.
“Hooking jack—playing hookey—playing truant63.” Dicky watched Maida’s face but her expression was still puzzled. “Pretending to go to school and not going,” he said at last.
“Oh,” Maida said. “I understand now.”
“She just hates school,” Dicky went on. “They can’t make her go. Old Stoopendale, the truant officer, is always after her. Little she cares for old Stoopy though. She gets fierce beatings for it at home, too. Funny thing about Rosie—she won’t tell a lie. And when her mother asks her about it, she always tells the truth. Sometimes her mother will go to the schoolhouse door with her every morning and afternoon for [Pg 89]a week. But the moment she stops, Rosie begins to hook jack again.”
“Mercy me!” Maida said. In all her short life she had never heard anything like this. She was convinced that Rosie Brine was a very naughty little girl. And yet, underneath64 this conviction, burned an ardent65 admiration66 for her.
“She must be very brave,” she said soberly.
“Brave! Well, I guess you’d think so! Arthur Duncan says she’s braver than a lot of boys he knows. Arthur and she hook jack together sometimes. And, oh cracky, don’t they have the good times! They go down to the Navy Yard and over to the Monument Grounds. Sometimes they go over to Boston Common and the Public Garden. Once they walked all the way to Franklin Park. And in the summer they often walk down to Crescent Beach. They say when I get well, I can go with them.”
Dicky spoke67 in the wistful tone with which he always related the deeds of stronger children. Maida knew exactly how he felt—she had been torn by the same hopes and despairs.
“Oh, wouldn’t it be grand to be able to do just anything?” she said. “I’m just beginning to feel as if I could do some of the things I’ve always wanted to do.”
“I’m going to do them all, sometime,” Dicky prophesied68. “Doc O’Brien says so.”
“I think Rosie the beautifullest little girl,” Maida said. “I wish she’d come into the shop so that I could get acquainted with her.”
“Oh, she’ll come in sometime. You see the W.M.N.T. is meeting now and we’re all pretty busy. She’s the only girl in it.”
“The W.M.N.T.,” Maida repeated. “What does that mean?”
“I can’t tell?” Dicky said regretfully. “It’s the name of our club. Rosie and Arthur and I are the only ones who belong.”
After that talk, Maida watched Rosie Brine closer than ever. If she caught a glimpse of the scarlet cape in the distance, it was hard to go on working. She noticed that Rosie seemed very fond of all helpless things. She was always wheeling out the babies in the neighborhood, always feeding the doves and carrying her kitten about on her shoulder, always winning the hearts of other people’s dogs and then trying to induce them not to follow her.
“It seems strange that she never comes into the shop,” Maida said mournfully to Dicky one day.
“You see she never has any money to spend,” Dicky explained. “That’s the way her mother punishes her. But sometimes she earns it on the sly taking care of babies. She loves babies and babies always love her. Delia’ll go to her from my mother any time and as for Betsy Hale—Rosie’s the only one who can do anything with her.”
But a whole week passed. And then one day, to Maida’s great delight, the tinkle69 of the bell preceded the entrance of Rose-Red.
“Let me look at your tops, please,” Rosie said, marching to the counter with the usual proud swing of her body.
Seen closer, she was even prettier than at a distance. Her smooth olive skin glistened like satin. Her lips showed roses even more brilliant than those that bloomed in her cheeks. A frown between her eyebrows70 gave her face almost a sullen71 look. But to offset72 this, her white teeth turned her smile into a flash of light. Maida lifted all the tops from the window and placed them on the counter.
“Mind if I try them?” Rosie asked.
“Oh, do.”
Rosie wound one of them with an expert hand. Then with a quick dash forward of her whole arm, she threw the top to the floor. It danced there, humming like a whole hiveful of bees.
Rosie smiled. “Easy as pie if you know how. Want to learn?”
“Oh, will you teach me?”
“Sure! Begin now.”
Maida limped from behind the counter. Rosie watched her. Rosie’s face softened74 with the same pity that had shone on the frightened little dog.
“She’s sorry for me,” Maida thought. “How sweet she looks!”
But Rosie said nothing about Maida’s limp. She explained the process of top-spinning from end to end, step by step, making Maida copy everything that she did. At first Maida was too eager—her hands actually trembled. But gradually she gained in confidence. At last she succeeded in making one top spin feebly.
“Now you’ve got the hang of it,” Rosie encouraged her, “You’ll soon learn. All you want to do is to practice. I’ll come to-morrow and see how you’re getting on.”
“Oh, do,” Maida begged, “and come to see me in the evening sometime. Come this evening if your mother’ll let you.”
Rosie laughed scornfully. “I guess nobody’s got anything to say about letting me, if I make up my mind to come. Well, goodbye!”
She whirled out of the shop and soon the scarlet cape was a brilliant spot in the distance.
But about seven that evening the bell rang. When Maida opened the door there stood Rosie.
“Oh, Rosie,” Maida said joyfully75, throwing her arms about her guest, “how glad I am to see you!” She hurried her into the living-room where Billy Potter was talking with Granny. “This is Rosie Brine, Billy,” she said, her voice full of pride in her new friend. “And this is Billy Potter, Rosie.”
Billy shook hands gravely with the little girl. And Rosie looked at him in open wonder. Maida knew exactly what she was thinking. Rosie was trying to make up her mind whether he was a boy or a man. The problem seemed to grow more perplexing as the evening went on. For part of the time Billy played with them, sitting on the floor like a boy, and part of the time he talked with Granny, sitting in a chair like a man.
Maida showed Rosie her books, her Venetian beads76, all her cherished possessions. Rosie liked the canaries better than anything. “Just think of having six!” she said. Then, sitting upstairs in Maida’s bedroom, the two little girls had a long confidential77 talk.
“I’ve been just crazy to know you, Maida,” Rosie confessed. “But there was no way of getting acquainted, for you always stayed in the store. I had to wait until I could tease mother to buy me a top.”
“That’s funny,” Maida said, “for I was just wild to know you. I kept hoping that you’d come in. I hope you’ll come often, Rosie, for I don’t know any other little girl of my own age.”
“You know Laura Lathrop, don’t you?” Rosie asked with a sideways look.
“Yes, but I don’t like her.”
“Nobody likes her,” Rosie said. “She’s too much of a smarty-cat. She loves to get people over there and then show off before them. And then she puts on so many airs. I won’t have anything to do with her.”
From the open window came the shrill78 scream of Miss Allison’s parrot. “What do you think of that?” it called over and over again.
“Isn’t that a clever bird?” Rosie asked admiringly. “His name is Tony. I have lots of fun with him. Did you ever see a parrot that could talk, before?”
“Oh, yes, we have several at Pride’s.”
“Pride’s?”
“Pride’s Crossing. That’s where we go summers.”
“And what do your parrots say?”
“One talked in French. He used to say ‘Taisez-vous’ so much that sometimes we would have to put a cover over the cage to stop him.”
“And did you have other animals besides parrots?” Rosie asked. “I love animals.”
“Oh, yes, we had horses and dogs and cats and rabbits and dancing mice and marmosets and macaws and parokets and—I guess I’ve forgotten some of them. But if you like animals, you ought to go to our place in the Adirondacks—there are deer preserves there and pheasants and peacocks.”
“Who do they belong to?”
“My father.”
Rosie considered this. “Does he keep a bird-place?” she asked in a puzzled tone.
“No.” Maida’s tone was a little puzzled too. She did not know what a bird-place was.
“Well, did he sell them?”
“I don’t think he ever sold any. He gave a great many away, though.”
When Rosie went home, Maida walked as far as her gate with her.
“Oh, yes. I love secrets.”
“Cross your throat then.”
Maida did not know how to cross her throat but Rosie taught her.
“Well, then,” Rosie whispered, “my mother doesn’t know that I went to your house. She sent me to bed for being naughty. And I got up and dressed and climbed out my window on to the shed without [Pg 97]anybody knowing it. She’ll never know the difference.”
“Oh, Rosie,” Maida said in a horrified80 tone, “Please never do it again.” In spite of herself, Maida’s eyes twinkled.
But Rosie only laughed. Maida watched her steal into her yard, watched her climb over the shed, watched her disappear through the window.
But she grieved over the matter as she walked home. Perhaps it was because she was thinking so deeply that she did not notice how quiet they all were in the living-room. But as she crossed the threshold, a pair of arms seized her and swung her into the air.
“Oh, papa, papa,” she whispered, cuddling her face against his, “how glad I am to see you.”
He marched with her over to the light.
“Well, little shop-keeper,” he said after a long pause in which he studied her keenly, “you’re beginning to look like a real live girl.” He dropped her gently to her feet. “Now show me your shop.”
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slates
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| （旧时学生用以写字的）石板( slate的名词复数 )； 板岩； 石板瓦； 石板色 | |
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glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brasses
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| n.黄铜( brass的名词复数 )；铜管乐器；钱；黄铜饰品（尤指马挽具上的黄铜圆片） | |
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glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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Flared
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| adj. 端部张开的, 爆发的, 加宽的, 漏斗式的 动词flare的过去式和过去分词 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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puddle
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| n.(雨)水坑，泥潭 | |
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primrose
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| n.樱草，最佳部分， | |
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shingles
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| n.带状疱疹；（布满海边的）小圆石( shingle的名词复数 )；屋顶板；木瓦（板）；墙面板 | |
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twigs
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| 细枝，嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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lashing
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| n.鞭打；痛斥；大量；许多v.鞭打( lash的现在分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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trotted
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| 小跑，急走( trot的过去分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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sprawled
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| v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的过去式和过去分词)；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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waded
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| （从水、泥等）蹚，走过，跋( wade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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pulp
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| n.果肉，纸浆；v.化成纸浆，除去...果肉，制成纸浆 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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rosebud
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| n.蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女 | |
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wheedled
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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lugging
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| 超载运转能力 | |
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joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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musingly
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| adv.沉思地，冥想地 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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ailing
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| v.生病 | |
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considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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peal
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| n.钟声；v.鸣响 | |
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yelp
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| vi.狗吠 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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horde
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| n.群众，一大群 | |
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pelting
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| 微不足道的，无价值的，盛怒的 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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swoop
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| n.俯冲，攫取；v.抓取，突然袭击 | |
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abashed
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| adj.窘迫的，尴尬的v.使羞愧，使局促，使窘迫( abash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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queried
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| v.质疑，对…表示疑问( query的过去式和过去分词 )；询问 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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spurt
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| v.喷出；突然进发；突然兴隆 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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maneuvers
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| n.策略，谋略，花招( maneuver的名词复数 ) | |
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stumps
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| （被砍下的树的）树桩( stump的名词复数 )； 残肢； （板球三柱门的）柱； 残余部分 | |
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jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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truant
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| n.懒惰鬼，旷课者；adj.偷懒的，旷课的，游荡的；v.偷懒，旷课 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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ardent
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，强烈的，烈性的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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prophesied
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| v.预告，预言( prophesy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tinkle
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| vi.叮当作响；n.叮当声 | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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offset
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| n.分支，补偿；v.抵消，补偿 | |
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fervent
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| adj.热的，热烈的，热情的 | |
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softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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