“WHAT a pity that Johnny couldn’t come to the candy party,” sighed Phronsie the next day,
looking over at the little brown house across the lane, which presented the same serene1
appearance, as if such jovial2 affairs had not been; “but I suppose Mrs. Fargo knew best, and he
really was too tired, as they’d just come.”
“Mrs. Fargo surely does know best,” said Polly, stopping long enough in her trial of a very
difficult passage in the sonata3 to fling this over her shoulder to Phronsie; “for you know, Phronsie,
Johnny is just awful when he’s tired out.”
“Yes; I know,” said Phronsie, with another sigh, “but then he’s Johnny, you know, Polly.”
“And the dearest dear of a Johnny too!” cried Polly warmly, going on with her practising. “O
Phronsie, supposing I shouldn’t play this—good!” She stopped suddenly, and leaned both hands
on the music-rest at the dreadful thought.
Phronsie stopped looking over the children’s books on the table, and, setting them straight, came
over to her side.
“You can’t make a mistake,” she breathed confidently. “Why, Polly, you play it beautifully!”
“But I may,” broke in Polly recklessly. “Oh, I may, Phronsie! And then, oh, dear! I could never
hold my head up in all this world. It would be so very dreadful for Jasper and the children, for me
not to play it as it ought to be.”
Phronsie leaned over Polly’s shoulder, and put two soft arms around her neck. “You will play it
good, Polly,” she declared; “and Mamsie would say,—I know she would,—that you’re not to
think of what you’ll do at the time, till the time comes.”
“You blessed child!” cried Polly, whirling around on the music-stool. “O Phronsie! you’re just
such a comfort as you were that day when Grandpapa brought you and put you in my arms, when I
broke down practising, and I’d almost made up my mind to go home. Now, then, I’ll just stop
worrying, and play ahead.”
And she sat up straight, and flashed all the brilliant passages over again, Phronsie standing5 quite
still to watch Polly’s fingers flying up and down.
But, notwithstanding all Phronsie’s comfort, Polly knew that she would have to give hard and
constant work to make this, the supreme6 effort of her life thus far in a musical way, a success. It
was the first time that anybody outside of the highest professional lines had been asked to play
with the Symphony Orchestra; and when this urgent request had been laid before Polly, she had
said, “Oh, no! I cannot play well enough.”
But Mrs. Jasper King’s reputation as a pianist had gone farther than Polly knew. A request came,
signed by a long list of people whose names were high in an artistic7 sense, fortified8 by the best
citizens of the good old town of Berton,—itself a guaranty of anything in that line, for was it not
the home of the Symphony? When this came, and Polly saw Jasper’s eyes, she gave a little gasp9.
“I will, dear, if you think best,” she said, looking at no one but him.
“It’s just as you say, Polly,” Jasper had answered. But his eyes shone, and he instinctively10
straightened up with pride. And when she had said, “O Jasper! if you think I can, I’ll do it,”—“I
know you can, Polly,” Jasper had declared, and Polly had said “Yes,” and great delight reigned11
everywhere; and Grandpapa had patted her head, and said, “Well done, Polly! To think of all those
hard hours of practice in the old days turning out like this;” and Mamsie had smiled at her in a way
that only Mamsie could smile. And Polly and Jasper had hurried off to Berton the next morning,
Jasper swinging the little publishing bag, on the way to the train, with a jubilant hand; and in the
lapse12 of the hard working hours, when things eased up a bit, he had said to Mr. Marlowe (for it
was Marlowe & King now, in bright gilt13 letters over the big door), “I am going with my wife to
select the music,” for Polly was a prime favorite with Mr. Marlowe, and everything was told to
him.
And Jasper and Polly went to the music- store, and ransacked14 the shelves, and tried various
selections, for Polly was to play what she liked; and after the piece was picked out, then the two
went to luncheon15 at the cunning little restaurant on a side street, nice and quiet, where they could
talk it all over.
But sometimes, when Polly was all alone in the big music-room opening on the side veranda16, she
trembled all over at the terrible responsibility she had taken upon herself. It seemed so very much
worse to fail now that she bore Jasper’s honored name, than if she were only unknown and simple
“Polly Pepper.” And to-day she could not help showing this dismay to Phronsie.
“But Mamsie would say so,” repeated Polly over and over to herself bravely, “just what Phronsie
did.” And then at it she would fly harder than ever. And every evening after the “publishing bag”
had been looked over in Jasper’s and Polly’s little den4, and its contents sorted and attended to for
the morrow, Jasper would always say, “Now, Polly, for the music;” and Polly would fly to the
piano, while he drew up a big easy-chair to her side, to settle into it restfully; and the others would
hurry in at the first note, and then Polly’s concert would begin. And every night she knew she
played it a little bit better, and her cheeks glowed, and her heart took comfort.
Tying on her big garden hat, Phronsie went across the road.Phronsie put away the little sewing-bag as soon as Polly finished practising this morning, and hung
it on its hook over Grandpapa’s newspaper rack,—for she always sat and sewed in the music-room
mornings when Polly practised, generally making sails for the boys, just as Polly had done years
ago, or clothes for Barby’s dolls,—and tying on her big garden hat, she went over across the road,
and down around the corner, to the big house where Mrs. Fargo and Johnny had come to board for
the summer, arriving a week earlier than they intended, as it was warm at home, and Mrs. Fargo
watched jealously over Johnny’s health.
“It does seem so very nice to have you here, dear Mrs. Fargo,” she said, coming upon that lady in
one of her big square rooms. For Mrs. Fargo had taken the whole upper floor of the house, and
was in the depths of the misery17 of unpacking18 the huge trunks with which the rooms and hall
seemed to be full, the maid busy as a bee in the process, while Johnny was under foot every other
minute in a way terrible to behold19. “And now I’m going to help.” She laid aside her big hat on the
bed.
“O Phronsie!” cried Mrs. Fargo, turning a pink, distressed21 face to her, “it’s perfectly22 lovely to see
you; but you’re not going to work, dear. It’s bad enough for me. Joanna, the nails aren’t out of that
box of books. You’ll have to go down, and tell Mr. Brown to come and draw them.”
“I’ll draw them,” cried Johnny, springing out from behind a trunk he was trying with all his might
to move. “I’ve got my own hammer; yes, sir-ee! Now get out of the way; I’m coming.”
“O Johnny! you can’t,” remonstrated24 Mrs. Fargo quickly. “You’re not big enough; it needs a
strong man.”
“I’m ’most a man,” said Johnny, twitching25 away from her. “I’m going to do it.”
“But your hammer is in the box of your playthings,” said Mrs. Fargo, glad to remember this.
“I don’t care; I’ll get Mr. Brown’s, then,” declared Johnny, prancing26 off.
“Oh, dear me! Phronsie, do stop that boy,” begged Mrs. Fargo, tired and distressed.
“Johnny,” called Phronsie softly. She did not offer to go after him. “Come here, dear.”
“Am going for Mr. Brown’s hammer,” said Johnny, edging off.
“I want you, dear.”
“Am going for Mr. Brown’s hammer.” Yet he came back. “What you want?”
“I’m going to take you over with me, if your mamma says so, to our house; and if you’re very
good, Johnny, you shall ride on the donkey. May I take him, Mrs. Fargo?”
“Oh, if you only will!” breathed Mrs. Fargo thankfully.
“I don’t want any old hammer!” screamed Johnny in a transport; “the donkey’s a good deal
gooder,” scrambling27 down the stairs.
“And I’ll send Mr. Brown up to open the box,” said Phronsie, tying on her hat, and going after
him.
But she didn’t get Johnny over to the donkey, after all; for, just as she had seen Mr. Brown on his
way up-stairs to open the box, some one ran up the steps, two at a time, with, “O Phronsie, I’ve a
day off!” most joyfully28.
“Why, I don’t see how, Dick,” said Phronsie, looking at him from under her big hat.
“Never mind. I have it, anyhow; tell you later. Now for some fun! That chap here?” looking
suddenly at Johnny, who now began at the bottom of the steps to howl to Phronsie to hurry for the
donkey.
“Yes; they came a week sooner than they expected,” said Phronsie. “They got here yesterday.”
“Botheration! Well, now, Phronsie, let the boy alone. I’m only here for a day, you know. He’s all
right if turned out in the dirt to play. I want you to go to drive.”
“I promised him he should ride on the donkey,” said Phronsie. “I had to, for his mother and Joanna
have all the unpacking to do. And he must, Dick.”
“Hand him over to me, then,” said Dick. “I’ll give him a donkey-treat, Phronsie.”
“Oh, thank you, Dick; and then I can help Mrs. Fargo,” turning back to the door.
“See, here,” cried Dick; “I’m doing this to help you out of it. Now, you’ve got to go to drive with
me afterward29, Phronsie.” He stopped with his foot on the upper step, and looked at her.
“Grandpapa said I might try the new pair next time I came out. Will you?”
“We can take Johnny,” said Phronsie, pausing a bit. “Yes, Dick, I’ll go.”
“Bother him for a nuisance!” growled30 Dick.
But as this was all that he could get from Phronsie, he hurried off, and overtook Johnny trying to
get on by himself to the donkey’s back, where he peacefully browsed31 in the paddock.
“Hold on there!” roared Dick at him, as only a college boy can roar. But Johnny was in no mind to
hold on to anything but the donkey. This he did so effectually, sticking his toes into the sides of
the animal, that the donkey at last sent out a hind23 foot. Away went Johnny, half across the field, it
seemed to Dick, hurrying up; and then he lay still as a stone.
“Johnny! open your eyes,” cried Dick.“Oh, dear!” cried Dick, in the greatest distress20. “Here, Johnny, open your eyes,” kneeling down
beside him on the grass. “Come, get up, and stop shamming;” for there was a dreadful feeling at
Dick’s heart, that, if he didn’t keep joking about it, Johnny would be found to be hurt.
But Johnny wouldn’t get up, and he wouldn’t open his eyes; so Dick was forced to pick him up,
the donkey, finding that he incommoded no one by running away, now trotting32 up to stare at the
little figure on the grass. “Here, give me some of that water,” cried Dick hoarsely33, to one of the
stable boys, who appeared around the paddock with a pail. “Dash it over his face,” as the boy
came shambling up. “Donkey kicked him—oh, my goodness! he doesn’t stir,” as the contents of
the pail streamed over Johnny’s face.
“I’ll carry him for you,” said the boy, setting down the pail.
“You get out—oh! beg your pardon—I’ll carry him myself.”
Just then Polly looked out of the window, humming the last bars of her sonata.
“Why, Dick!” as she spied him, “how funny that you’re home. Oh, what”—as she caught sight of
a little boy’s figure in his arms.
“It’s Johnny,” said Dick, lifting his pale face to the window, as he hurried along. But Polly didn’t
hear; speeding over the stairs, she ran out to the lawn, and over the walk to the paddock-edge. “O
Dick!” she exclaimed again. Then she held herself in check, as she saw his face. “I believe he’s all
right,” she began cheerfully.
“He’s dead!” declared Dick hoarsely, and staggering on.
“Oh, no, Dick!—oh, no!” protested Polly, hurrying by his side. “Bring him in here,” she said,
pointing to the side veranda.
Dick still staggered on, up the steps, and into the house.
“Oh, if Papa Fisher were only here!” sighed Polly; then she looked at Dick. “But how nice it is
that there’s such a good doctor here. You know, Father Fisher told us to send for him if anything
was the matter with us. There, lay Johnny on the sofa here, and then run, Dicky, do, and get the
doctor. He lives on Porter Road, the third house this way. Take the pony-cart. Dr. Phillips is his
name,” she called after him; then she touched the electric bell at her elbow.
“Tell Mrs. Higby to come here at once,” said Polly to the maid, who popped in her head in
obedience34 to the summons.
“Oh, he’s rolled off,” cried Polly, aghast.
“I must get some hartshorn,” said Polly; “he won’t stir, poor boy. I’ll run up to my room and get
it.” In less time than it takes to tell it, Polly was off and back, to find Mrs. Higby just arrived in the
doorway35, saying, “Did you want me, Ma’am? Jane said as how one of the boys was sick.”
“O Mrs. Higby!” gasped36 Polly, the color beginning to come back to her cheek. “It’s Johnny—on
the lounge. Here, I’ve the hartshorn,” holding up the bottle. “He was kicked by the donkey—
Dick’s gone for the doctor.” All this in one breath, as they were going across the room, the good
woman in advance.
“I don’t see,”—began Mrs. Higby.
“And some one must tell Mrs. Fargo,” mourned Polly, back of the ample figure. “Why—where”—
for the sofa was empty.
“Oh, he’s rolled off! though how he could, I don’t see,” said Polly, aghast, and tumbling down on
her knees to peer under the sofa, Mrs. Higby pulling it out from the wall to facilitate matters. “He
was just as if he were dead. O Mrs. Higby! where do you suppose he is?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” declared Mrs. Higby, thoroughly37 alarmed; “like enough, Mrs. King, it’s
flew to his head, and he’s gone crazy.”
At this direful prospect38, Polly set up a most diligent39 search here, there, and everywhere a small
boy of eight would be supposed to rest under such conditions, assisted as well as she could be by
Mrs. Higby, whose ample figure, impelled40 by her fright, knocked down more articles than she
could well set to rights again, until at last they were compelled to call in others to the search.
And in the midst of it all, they heard a shout out in the direction of the stables; and, running out to
the veranda, they saw Johnny triumphantly41 sticking to the donkey’s back, while he waved a small
switch the stable—boy had just obligingly cut for him.
“Pay him up now for your tumble,” advised the boy.
“See, I did get on all by myself!” shouted Johnny at them. “Runned away when Mrs. King went
up-stairs;” then he turned, and waved his stick at Dick and Dr. Phillips driving at a furious pace
into the side yard.
点击
收听单词发音
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1
serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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2
jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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3
sonata
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| n.奏鸣曲 | |
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4
den
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| n.兽穴；秘密地方；安静的小房间，私室 | |
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5
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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6
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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7
artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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8
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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9
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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10
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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11
reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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12
lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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13
gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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14
ransacked
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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15
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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16
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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17
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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18
unpacking
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| n.取出货物，拆包[箱]v.从（包裹等）中取出（所装的东西），打开行李取出( unpack的现在分词 )；拆包；解除…的负担；吐露（心事等） | |
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19
behold
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| v.看，注视，看到 | |
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20
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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21
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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22
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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hind
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| adj.后面的，后部的 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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25
twitching
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| n.颤搐 | |
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26
prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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27
scrambling
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的现在分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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28
joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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29
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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30
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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31
browsed
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| v.吃草( browse的过去式和过去分词 )；随意翻阅；（在商店里）随便看看；（在计算机上）浏览信息 | |
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32
trotting
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| 小跑，急走( trot的现在分词 )； 匆匆忙忙地走 | |
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33
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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34
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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35
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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36
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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37
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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38
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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40
impelled
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| v.推动、推进或敦促某人做某事( impel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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