"Jefferson," said Phronsie, with a grave uplifting of her eyebrows1, "I think I will go down into the
kitchen and bake a pie; a very little pie, Jefferson."
"Bless you, Miss," replied the cook, showing his white teeth in glee, "it is the making of the
kitchen when you come it."
"Yes, Jefferson," said Phronsie slowly, "I think I will go down make one. It must be very, very full
of plums, you know," looking up at him anxiously, "for Polly dearly loves plums."
"It shall be that plummy," said Jefferson convincingly, "that you'd think you never saw such a one
for richness. Oh, my! what a pie that shall be!" exclaimed the cook, shutting up one eye to look
through the other in a spasm2 of delight at an imaginary pie; "so it's for Miss Mary, is it?"
"Yes," said Phronsie, "it is. Oh, Jefferson, I'm so glad you like to have me make one," she clasped
her hands in silent rapture3, and sat down on the lowest stair to think it over a bit, Jefferson looking
at her, forgetful that the under cook was fuming4 in the deserted5 domains6 over his delay to return.
At last he said, bowing respectfully, "If you please, Miss, it's about time to begin. Such a pie ain't
done without a deal of care, and we'd best have it a-baking as soon as may be."
"Yes," said Phronsie, getting off from her stair, and surrendering her hand to his big black palm,
"we ought to go right this very minute. But I must get my apron7 on;" she stopped and looked down
at her red dress.
"Oh! you can take one of my aprons8," said the cook, "they're as fine, and big, and white, and I'll
just put you in one of 'em and tie you up as snug9; you'll come out as clean and sweet when we're
through, as you are now, Miss."
"Tie me up?" laughed Phronsie in glee. "Oh! how nice, Jefferson. Do you know I love you very
much, Jefferson, you're so very good to me?"
The big fellow drew a long breath. "No, Miss, I'm big and black, and just fit to stay downstairs,"
he managed to say.
"But I love you better because you are black, Jefferson," insisted Phronsie, "a great deal better.
You are not like everybody else, but you are just yourself," clinging to his hand.
"Well, Miss, I ain't just fit for a lily to touch and that's the truth," looking down at his palm that the
small white hand grasped closely. "It's clean, Miss," he added with pardonable pride, "but it's
awful black."
"I like it better black, Jefferson," said Phronsie again, "really and truly I do, because then it's your
very, very own," in a tone that thrilled him much as if a queen had knighted him on the spot.
This important declaration over, the two set forth10 on their way toward the kitchen, Phronsie
clinging to his hand, and chatting merrily over the particular pie in prospect11, with varied12 remarks
on pies in general, that by and by would be ventured upon if this present one were a success--and
very soon tied up in one of the cook's whitest aprons she was seated with due solemnity at the end
of the baking table, the proper utensils13 and materials in delightful14 confusion before her, and the
lower order of kitchen satellites revolving15 around her, and Jefferson the lesser16 sphere.
"Now all go back to your work," said that functionary17 when he considered the staring and
muttered admiration18 had been indulged in long enough, "and leave us."
"I want you," said his assistant, touching19 his elbow.
"Clear out," said Jefferson angrily, his face turned quite from Phronsie.
But she caught the tone and immediately laid down the bit of dough20 she was moulding.
"Do go," she begged, "and come back quickly," smiling up into his face. "See, I'm going to pat and
pat and pat, oh! ever so much before you come back."
So Jefferson followed the under cook, the scullery boy went back to cleaning the knives, Susan,
the parlor21 maid who was going through the kitchen with her dustpan and broom, hurried off with a
backward glance or two, and Phronsie was left quite alone to hum her way along in her blissful
culinary attempt.
"Bless me!" exclaimed a voice close to her small ear, as she was attempting for the fifth time to
roll out the paste quite as thin as she had seen Jefferson do, "what is this? Bless my soul! it's
Phronsie!"
Phronsie set down the heavy rolling-pin and turned in her chair with a gleeful laugh.
"Dear, dear Grandpapa!" she cried, clasping her floury hands, "oh! I'm so glad you've come to see
me make a pie all by myself. It's for Polly, and it's to be full of plums; Jefferson let me make it."
"Jefferson? And where is he, pray?" cried Mr. King irately22. "Pretty fellow, to bring you down to
these apartments, and then go off and forget you. Jefferson!" he called sharply, "here, where are
you?"
"Oh, Grandpapa!" exclaimed Phronsie in dire23 distress24, "I sent him; Jefferson didn't want to go,
Grandpapa dear, really and truly, he went because I asked him."
"If you please, sir," began Jefferson, hurrying up, "I only stepped off a bit to the cellar. Bassett sent
down a lot of turnips25, they ain't first-rate, and"--
"All right," said Mr. King, cutting him short with a wave of his hand, "if Miss Phronsie sent you
off, it's all right; I don't want to hear any more elaborate explanations."
"Little Miss hasn't been alone but a few minutes," said Jefferson in a worried way.
"And see," said Phronsie, turning back to her efforts, while one hand grasped the old gentleman's
palm, "I've almost got it to look like Jefferson's. Almost, haven't I?" she asked, regarding it
anxiously.
"It will be the most beautiful pie," cried Mr. King, a hearty26 enthusiasm succeeding his irritability27,
"that ever was baked. I wish you'd make me one sometime, Phronsie."
"Do you?" she cried in a tremor28 of delight, "and will you really have it on the table, and cut it with
Aunt Whitney's big silver knife?"
"That I will," declared Mr. King solemnly.
"Then some day I'll come down here again, Jefferson," cried Phronsie in a transport, "and bake one
for my dear Grandpapa. That is, if this one is good. Oh! you do suppose it will be good, don't
you?" appealingly at him.
"It shall," said Jefferson stoutly29, and seizing the rolling-pin with extreme determination. "You
want a bit more butter worked in, here," a dab30 with skillful fingers, and a little manipulation with
the flour, a roll now and then most deftly31, and the paste was laid out before Phronsie. "Now, Miss,
you can put it in the dish."
"But is isn't my pie," said Phronsie, and, big girl as she felt herself to be, she sat back in her chair,
her lower lip quivering.
"Not your pie?" repeated the cook, bringing himself up straight to gaze at her.
"No," said Phronsie, shaking her yellow head gravely, "it isn't my pie now, Jefferson. You put in
the things, and rolled it."
"Leave your fingers off from it, can't you?" cried Mr. King sharply. "Goodness! this pie isn't to
have a professional touch about it. Get some more flour and stuff, whatever it is you make a pie of,
and let her begin again. There, I'll sit down and watch you; then there'll be some chance of having
things straight." So he drew up a chair to the side of the table, first calling off Pete, the scullery
boy, from his knives to come and wipe it off for him, and Mrs. Tucker who was in kitchen dialect
"Tucker," to see that the boy did his work well.
"Lor' bless you, sir," said Tucker, bestowing32 a final polish with her apron, "'twas like satin before,
sir--not a wisp of dust."
"I don't want any observations from you," said the old gentleman, depositing himself in the chair.
"There, you can go back to your work, Mrs. Tucker, and you too, Pete. Now I'll see that this pie is
to your liking33, Phronsie."
But Phronsie still sat back in her chair, thoughtfully surveying Jefferson.
"Grandpapa," she said at last slowly, "I think I'd rather have the first pie, I really would,
Grandpapa, may I?" She brought her yellow head forward by a sudden movement, and looked
deep into his keen eyes.
"Bless my soul! Rather have the first pie?" repeated the old gentleman in astonishment34, "why, I
thought you wanted to make one all yourself."
"I think I'd rather do part of it," said Phronsie with great deliberateness, "then Polly'll like it, and
eat it, and I'll do yours, Grandpapa dear, just as Jefferson fixed35 mine, all alone. Please let me." She
held him fast with her eyes, and waited for his answer.
"So you shall!" cried Mr. King in great satisfaction, "make mine all alone. This one would better
go as it is. Put away the flour and things, Jefferson; Miss Phronsie doesn't want them."
Phronsie gave a relieved little sigh. "And, Jefferson, if you hadn't showed me how, I couldn't ever
in all this world make Grandpapa's. Now give me the little plate, do."
"Here 'tis, Miss," said the cook, all his tremor over the blunder he had made, disappearing, since,
after all, things were quite satisfactory. And the little plate forthcoming, Phronsie tucked away the
paste lovingly in its depths, and began the important work of concocting36 the mixture with which
the pie was to be filled, Mr. King sitting by with the gravity of a statue, even to the deliberate
placing of each plum.
"Where's Phronsie?" called a voice above in one of the upper halls.
"Oh! she's coming, Polly is!" cried Phronsie, deserting a plum thrust in endwise in the middle of
the pie, to throw her little sticky fingers around Jefferson's neck; "oh! do take off my apron; and let
me go. She'll see my pie!"
"Stop!" cried Mr. King, getting up somewhat stiffly to his feet, "I'll take off the apron myself.
There, Phronsie, there you are. Whew! how hot you keep your kitchen, Jefferson," and he wiped
his face.
"Now we'll run," said Phronsie softly, "and not make a bit of noise, Grandpapa dear, and,
Jefferson, please put on my top to the pie, and don't let it burn, and I'll come down very, very soon
again, and bake one all alone by myself for Grandpapa."
The old gentleman kept up very well with the soft patter of her feet till they reached the foot of the
staircase. "There, there, child," he said, "there's not the least need of hurry now."
"But she will come down," said Phronsie, in gentle haste pulling at his hand, "then if she should
see it, Grandpapa!"
"To be sure; that would indeed be dreadful," said Mr. King, getting over the stairs very creditably.
"There, here we are now. Whew! it's terribly warm in this house!"
But there was no danger from Polly; she was at this very instant, not being able to find Phronsie,
hurrying off toward the library in search of Mrs. Whitney.
"We want to do the very loveliest thing!" she cried, rushing in, her cheeks aflame. "Oh! pray
excuse me." She stopped short, blushing scarlet38.
"Don't feel badly, Polly dear," said Mrs. Whitney, over in the dim light, where the divan39 was
drawn40 up in the east window, and she held out her hand and smiled; the other lady whose tete-a-
tete was thus summarily disturbed was elderly and very tall and angular. She put up her eyeglass at
the intrusion and murmured "Ah?"
"This is Polly Pepper," said Mrs. Whitney, as Polly, feeling unusually awkward and shy, stumbled
across the library to get within the kind arms awaiting her.
"One of the children that your kindness received in this house?" said the tall lady, making good
use of the eyeglass. The color mounted steadily41 on Polly's already rosy42 cheek, at the scrutiny43 now
going on with the greatest freedom.
"One of the dear children who make this house a sunny place for us all." said Mrs. Whitney
distinctly.
"Ah? I see. You are extremely good to put it in that way." A low, well- bred laugh followed this
speech. Its sound irritated the young girl's ear unspeakably, and the brown eyes flashed, and
though there was really no occasion to feel what was not addressed to her, Polly was quite sure she
utterly44 disliked the lady before her.
"My dear Mrs. Chatterton," said Mrs. Whitney in the gentlest of accents, "you do not comprehend;
it is not possible for you to understand how very happy we all are here. The house is quite another
place, I assure you, from the abode45 you saw last before you went abroad."
Mrs. Chatterton gave another low, unpleasant laugh, and this time shrugged46 her shoulders.
"Polly dear," said Mrs. Whitney with a smile, "say good-morning to Mrs. Chatterton, and then run
away. I will hear your wonderful plan by and by. I shall be glad to, child," she was guilty of
whispering in the small ear.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Chatterton," said Polly slowly, the brown eyes looking steadily into the
traveled and somewhat seamed countenance47 before her.
"Good-morning," and Polly found herself once more across the floor, and safely out in the hall, the
door closed between them.
"Who is she?" she cried in an indignant spasm to Jasper, who ran up, and she lifted her eyes
brimming over with something quite new to him. He stopped aghast.
"Who?" he cried. "Oh, Polly! what has happened?"
"Mrs. Chatterton. And she looked at me--oh! I can't tell you how she looked; as if I were a bug48, or
a hateful worm beneath her," cried Polly, quite as much aghast at herself. "It makes me feel
horridly49, Jasper--you can't think." Oh! that old"--He stopped, pulling himself up with quite an
effort. "Has she come back--what brought her, pray tell, so soon?"
"I don't know, I am sure," said Polly, laughing at his face. "I was only in the room a moment, I
think, but it seemed an age with that eyeglass, and that hateful little laugh."
"Oh! she always sticks up that thing in her eye," said Jasper coolly, "and she's everlastingly50
ventilating that laugh on everybody. She thinks it high-bred and elegant, but it makes people want
to kill her for it." He looked and spoke51 annoyed. "To think you fell into her clutches!" he added.
"Well, who is she?" cried Polly, smoothing down her ruffled52 feathers, when she saw the effect of
her news on him. "I should dearly love to know."
"Cousin Algernon's wife," said Jasper briefly53.
"And who is he?" cried Polly, again experiencing a shock that this dreadful person was a relative
to whom due respect must be shown.
"Oh! a cousin of father's," said Jasper. "He was nice, but he's dead."
"Oh!" said Polly.
"She's been abroad for a good half-dozen years, and why she doesn't stay there when everybody
supposed she was going to, astonishes me," said Jasper, after a moment. "Well, it will not be for
long, I presume, that we shall have the honor; she'll be easily tired of America, and take herself off
again."
"She doesn't stay in this house, does she, Jasper?" cried Polly in a tone of horror.
"No; that is, unless she chooses to, then we can't turn her off. She's a relative, you know."
"Hasn't she any home?" asked Polly, "or any children?"
"Home? Yes, an estate down in Bedford County?-Dunraven Lodge54; but it's all shut up, and in the
hands of agents who have been trying for the half-dozen years she was abroad, to sell it for her.
She may have come back to settle down there again, there's no telling what she will do. In the
meantime, I fancy she'll make her headquarters here," he said gloomily.
"Oh, Jasper!" exclaimed Polly, seizing his arm, feeling that here was need of comfort indeed,
"how very dreadful! Don't you suppose something will happen to take her away?"
"I don't see what can," said Jasper, prolonging the gloom to feel the comfort it brought. "You see
she has nobody who wants her, to step in and relieve us. She has two nephews, but oh! you ought
to see them fight!"
"Fight?" repeated Polly aghast.
"Yes; you can't dignify55 their skirmishes by any other name," said Jasper, in disgust. "So you see
our chances for keeping her as long as she condescends56 to stay are really very good."
Polly clung to his arm in speechless dismay. Meanwhile conversation fast and brisk was going on
between the two shut up in the library.
"It is greatly to your discredit57, Marian," said Mrs. Chatterton in a high, cold voice, "that you didn't
stop all this nonsense on your father's part, before the thing got to such a pass as to install them in
this house."
"On the contrary," said Mrs. Whitney with a little laugh, "I did everything I could to further the
plan that father wisely made."
"Wisely!" cried Mrs. Chatterton in scorn. "Oh, you silly child! don't you see what it will all tend
to?"
"I see that it has made us all very happy for five years," said Mrs. Whitney, preserving her
composure, "so I presume the future doesn't hold much to dread37 on that score."
"The future is all you have to dread," declared Mrs. Chatterton harshly. "The present may be well
enough; though I should think existence with that low, underbred family here, would be a"?
"You may pause just where you are, Mrs. Chatterton," said Marian, still with the gentlest of
accents, but with a determination that made the other look down at her in astonishment, "not
another word shall you utter in that strain, nor will I listen to it." And with fine temper undisturbed
in her blue eyes, she regarded her relative.
"Dear me, Marian! I begin to notice your age more now. You shouldn't fly into such rages; they
wear on one fearfully; and especially for a stranger too, and against your own people--how can
you?"
Mrs. Chatterton drew out a vinaigrette, then a fan from a silken bag, with clasps that she was
always glad to reflect were heirlooms. "It's trying, I must confess," she declared, alternately
applying the invigorating salts and waving the combination of gauze and sandalwood, "to come
home to such a reception. But," and a heavy sigh, "I must bear it."
"You ought to see father," cried Mrs. Whitney, rising. "I must go at once and tell him of your
arrival."
"Oh! I don't know that I care about seeing Cousin Horatio yet," said Mrs. Chatterton carelessly.
"He will probably fall into one of his rages, and my nerves have been upset quite enough by you. I
think I'll go directly to my apartments." She rose also.
"Father must at once be informed of your arrival," repeated Marian quietly. "I'll send him in to see
you."
"And I shall go to my apartments," declared Mrs. Chatterton determinedly58.
"Hoity-toity!" exclaimed Mr. King's voice, and in he came, with Phronsie, fresh from the kitchen,
clinging to his hand.
点击
收听单词发音
收听单词发音 |
1
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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2
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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3
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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4
fuming
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| 愤怒( fume的现在分词 )； 大怒； 发怒； 冒烟 | |
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5
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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6
domains
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| n.范围( domain的名词复数 )；领域；版图；地产 | |
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7
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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8
aprons
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| 围裙( apron的名词复数 )； 停机坪，台口（舞台幕前的部份） | |
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9
snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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10
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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12
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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13
utensils
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| 器具，用具，器皿( utensil的名词复数 )； 器物 | |
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14
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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15
revolving
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| adj.旋转的，轮转式的；循环的v.（使）旋转( revolve的现在分词 )；细想 | |
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16
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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17
functionary
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| n.官员；公职人员 | |
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18
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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19
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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20
dough
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| n.生面团；钱，现款 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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irately
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dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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turnips
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| 芜青( turnip的名词复数 )； 芜菁块根； 芜菁甘蓝块根； 怀表 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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irritability
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| n.易怒 | |
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28
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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29
stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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30
dab
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| v.轻触，轻拍，轻涂；n.(颜料等的)轻涂 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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32
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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concocting
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| v.将（尤指通常不相配合的）成分混合成某物( concoct的现在分词 )；调制；编造；捏造 | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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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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divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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40
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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41
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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46
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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48
bug
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| n.虫子；故障；窃听器；vt.纠缠；装窃听器 | |
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49
horridly
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| 可怕地，讨厌地 | |
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50
everlastingly
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| 永久地，持久地 | |
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51
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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52
ruffled
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| adj. 有褶饰边的, 起皱的 动词ruffle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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53
briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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54
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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55
dignify
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| vt.使有尊严；使崇高；给增光 | |
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56
condescends
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| 屈尊，俯就( condescend的第三人称单数 )； 故意表示和蔼可亲 | |
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57
discredit
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| vt.使不可置信；n.丧失信义；不信，怀疑 | |
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58
determinedly
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| adv.决意地；坚决地，坚定地 | |
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