He thanked her many times, and said that the old dame5 who usually did such offices for him had gone to nurse the little scholar whom he had told her of. The child asked how he was, and hoped he was better.
‘No,’ rejoined the schoolmaster shaking his head sorrowfully, ‘no better. They even say he is worse.’
‘I am very sorry for that, Sir,’ said the child.
The poor schoolmaster appeared to be gratified by her earnest manner, but yet rendered more uneasy by it, for he added hastily that anxious people often magnified an evil and thought it greater than it was; ‘for my part,’ he said, in his quiet, patient way, ‘I hope it’s not so. I don’t think he can be worse.’
The child asked his leave to prepare breakfast, and her grandfather coming down stairs, they all three partook of it together. While the meal was in progress, their host remarked that the old man seemed much fatigued6, and evidently stood in need of rest.
‘If the journey you have before you is a long one,’ he said, ‘and don’t press you for one day, you’re very welcome to pass another night here. I should really be glad if you would, friend.’
He saw that the old man looked at Nell, uncertain whether to accept or decline his offer; and added,
‘I shall be glad to have your young companion with me for one day. If you can do a charity to a lone7 man, and rest yourself at the same time, do so. If you must proceed upon your journey, I wish you well through it, and will walk a little way with you before school begins.’
‘What are we to do, Nell?’ said the old man irresolutely8, ‘say what we’re to do, dear.’
It required no great persuasion9 to induce the child to answer that they had better accept the invitation and remain. She was happy to show her gratitude10 to the kind schoolmaster by busying herself in the performance of such household duties as his little cottage stood in need of. When these were done, she took some needle-work from her basket, and sat herself down upon a stool beside the lattice, where the honeysuckle and woodbine entwined their tender stems, and stealing into the room filled it with their delicious breath. Her grandfather was basking11 in the sun outside, breathing the perfume of the flowers, and idly watching the clouds as they floated on before the light summer wind.
As the schoolmaster, after arranging the two forms in due order, took his seat behind his desk and made other preparations for school, the child was apprehensive12 that she might be in the way, and offered to withdraw to her little bedroom. But this he would not allow, and as he seemed pleased to have her there, she remained, busying herself with her work.
‘Have you many scholars, sir?’ she asked.
The poor schoolmaster shook his head, and said that they barely filled the two forms.
‘Are the others clever, sir?’ asked the child, glancing at the trophies13 on the wall.
‘Good boys,’ returned the schoolmaster, ‘good boys enough, my dear, but they’ll never do like that.’
A small white-headed boy with a sunburnt face appeared at the door while he was speaking, and stopping there to make a rustic14 bow, came in and took his seat upon one of the forms. The white-headed boy then put an open book, astonishingly dog’s-eared upon his knees, and thrusting his hands into his pockets began counting the marbles with which they were filled; displaying in the expression of his face a remarkable15 capacity of totally abstracting his mind from the spelling on which his eyes were fixed16. Soon afterwards another white-headed little boy came straggling in, and after him a red-headed lad, and after him two more with white heads, and then one with a flaxen poll, and so on until the forms were occupied by a dozen boys or thereabouts, with heads of every colour but grey, and ranging in their ages from four years old to fourteen years or more; for the legs of the youngest were a long way from the floor when he sat upon the form, and the eldest17 was a heavy good-tempered foolish fellow, about half a head taller than the schoolmaster.
At the top of the first form — the post of honour in the school — was the vacant place of the little sick scholar, and at the head of the row of pegs19 on which those who came in hats or caps were wont20 to hang them up, one was left empty. No boy attempted to violate the sanctity of seat or peg18, but many a one looked from the empty spaces to the schoolmaster, and whispered his idle neighbour behind his hand.
Then began the hum of conning21 over lessons and getting them by heart, the whispered jest and stealthy game, and all the noise and drawl of school; and in the midst of the din22 sat the poor schoolmaster, the very image of meekness24 and simplicity25, vainly attempting to fix his mind upon the duties of the day, and to forget his little friend. But the tedium27 of his office reminded him more strongly of the willing scholar, and his thoughts were rambling28 from his pupils — it was plain.
None knew this better than the idlest boys, who, growing bolder with impunity29, waxed louder and more daring; playing odd-or-even under the master’s eye, eating apples openly and without rebuke30, pinching each other in sport or malice31 without the least reserve, and cutting their autographs in the very legs of his desk. The puzzled dunce, who stood beside it to say his lesson out of book, looked no longer at the ceiling for forgotten words, but drew closer to the master’s elbow and boldly cast his eye upon the page; the wag of the little troop squinted32 and made grimaces33 (at the smallest boy of course), holding no book before his face, and his approving audience knew no constraint34 in their delight. If the master did chance to rouse himself and seem alive to what was going on, the noise subsided35 for a moment and no eyes met his but wore a studious and a deeply humble36 look; but the instant he relapsed again, it broke out afresh, and ten times louder than before.
Oh! how some of those idle fellows longed to be outside, and how they looked at the open door and window, as if they half meditated37 rushing violently out, plunging38 into the woods, and being wild boys and savages39 from that time forth40. What rebellious41 thoughts of the cool river, and some shady bathing-place beneath willow42 trees with branches dipping in the water, kept tempting26 and urging that sturdy boy, who, with his shirt-collar unbuttoned and flung back as far as it could go, sat fanning his flushed face with a spelling-book, wishing himself a whale, or a tittlebat, or a fly, or anything but a boy at school on that hot, broiling43 day! Heat! ask that other boy, whose seat being nearest to the door gave him opportunities of gliding44 out into the garden and driving his companions to madness by dipping his face into the bucket of the well and then rolling on the grass — ask him if there were ever such a day as that, when even the bees were diving deep down into the cups of flowers and stopping there, as if they had made up their minds to retire from business and be manufacturers of honey no more. The day was made for laziness, and lying on one’s back in green places, and staring at the sky till its brightness forced one to shut one’s eyes and go to sleep; and was this a time to be poring over musty books in a dark room, slighted by the very sun itself? Monstrous45!
Nell sat by the window occupied with her work, but attentive46 still to all that passed, though sometimes rather timid of the boisterous47 boys. The lessons over, writing time began; and there being but one desk and that the master’s, each boy sat at it in turn and laboured at his crooked48 copy, while the master walked about. This was a quieter time; for he would come and look over the writer’s shoulder, and tell him mildly to observe how such a letter was turned in such a copy on the wall, praise such an up-stroke here and such a down-stroke there, and bid him take it for his model. Then he would stop and tell them what the sick child had said last night, and how he had longed to be among them once again; and such was the poor schoolmaster’s gentle and affectionate manner, that the boys seemed quite remorseful49 that they had worried him so much, and were absolutely quiet; eating no apples, cutting no names, inflicting50 no pinches, and making no grimaces, for full two minutes afterwards.
‘I think, boys,’ said the schoolmaster when the clock struck twelve, ‘that I shall give an extra half-holiday this afternoon.’
At this intelligence, the boys, led on and headed by the tall boy, raised a great shout, in the midst of which the master was seen to speak, but could not be heard. As he held up his hand, however, in token of his wish that they should be silent, they were considerate enough to leave off, as soon as the longest-winded among them were quite out of breath.
‘You must promise me first,’ said the schoolmaster, ‘that you’ll not be noisy, or at least, if you are, that you’ll go away and be so — away out of the village I mean. I’m sure you wouldn’t disturb your old playmate and companion.’
There was a general murmur51 (and perhaps a very sincere one, for they were but boys) in the negative; and the tall boy, perhaps as sincerely as any of them, called those about him to witness that he had only shouted in a whisper.
‘Then pray don’t forget, there’s my dear scholars,’ said the schoolmaster, ‘what I have asked you, and do it as a favour to me. Be as happy as you can, and don’t be unmindful that you are blessed with health. Good-bye all!’
‘Thank’ee, Sir,’ and ‘good-bye, Sir,’ were said a good many times in a variety of voices, and the boys went out very slowly and softly. But there was the sun shining and there were the birds singing, as the sun only shines and the birds only sing on holidays and half-holidays; there were the trees waving to all free boys to climb and nestle among their leafy branches; the hay, entreating53 them to come and scatter54 it to the pure air; the green corn, gently beckoning55 towards wood and stream; the smooth ground, rendered smoother still by blending lights and shadows, inviting56 to runs and leaps, and long walks God knows whither. It was more than boy could bear, and with a joyous57 whoop58 the whole cluster took to their heels and spread themselves about, shouting and laughing as they went.
‘It’s natural, thank Heaven!’ said the poor schoolmaster, looking after them. ‘I’m very glad they didn’t mind me!’
It is difficult, however, to please everybody, as most of us would have discovered, even without the fable59 which bears that moral, and in the course of the afternoon several mothers and aunts of pupils looked in to express their entire disapproval60 of the schoolmaster’s proceeding61. A few confined themselves to hints, such as politely inquiring what red-letter day or saint’s day the almanack said it was; a few (these were the profound village politicians) argued that it was a slight to the throne and an affront62 to church and state, and savoured of revolutionary principles, to grant a half-holiday upon any lighter63 occasion than the birthday of the Monarch64; but the majority expressed their displeasure on private grounds and in plain terms, arguing that to put the pupils on this short allowance of learning was nothing but an act of downright robbery and fraud: and one old lady, finding that she could not inflame65 or irritate the peaceable schoolmaster by talking to him, bounced out of his house and talked at him for half-an-hour outside his own window, to another old lady, saying that of course he would deduct66 this half-holiday from his weekly charge, or of course he would naturally expect to have an opposition67 started against him; there was no want of idle chaps in that neighbourhood (here the old lady raised her voice), and some chaps who were too idle even to be schoolmasters, might soon find that there were other chaps put over their heads, and so she would have them take care, and look pretty sharp about them. But all these taunts68 and vexations failed to elicit69 one word from the meek23 schoolmaster, who sat with the child by his side — a little more dejected perhaps, but quite silent and uncomplaining.
Towards night an old woman came tottering70 up the garden as speedily as she could, and meeting the schoolmaster at the door, said he was to go to Dame West’s directly, and had best run on before her. He and the child were on the point of going out together for a walk, and without relinquishing71 her hand, the schoolmaster hurried away, leaving the messenger to follow as she might.
They stopped at a cottage-door, and the schoolmaster knocked softly at it with his hand. It was opened without loss of time. They entered a room where a little group of women were gathered about one, older than the rest, who was crying very bitterly, and sat wringing72 her hands and rocking herself to and fro.
‘Oh, dame!’ said the schoolmaster, drawing near her chair, ‘is it so bad as this?’
‘He’s going fast,’ cried the old woman; ‘my grandson’s dying. It’s all along of you. You shouldn’t see him now, but for his being so earnest on it. This is what his learning has brought him to. Oh dear, dear, dear, what can I do!’
‘Do not say that I am in any fault,’ urged the gentle school-master. ‘I am not hurt, dame. No, no. You are in great distress73 of mind, and don’t mean what you say. I am sure you don’t.’
‘I do,’ returned the old woman. ‘I mean it all. If he hadn’t been poring over his books out of fear of you, he would have been well and merry now, I know he would.’
The schoolmaster looked round upon the other women as if to entreat52 some one among them to say a kind word for him, but they shook their heads, and murmured to each other that they never thought there was much good in learning, and that this convinced them. Without saying a word in reply, or giving them a look of reproach, he followed the old woman who had summoned him (and who had now rejoined them) into another room, where his infant friend, half-dressed, lay stretched upon a bed.
He was a very young boy; quite a little child. His hair still hung in curls about his face, and his eyes were very bright; but their light was of Heaven, not earth. The schoolmaster took a seat beside him, and stooping over the pillow, whispered his name. The boy sprung up, stroked his face with his hand, and threw his wasted arms round his neck, crying out that he was his dear kind friend.
‘I hope I always was. I meant to be, God knows,’ said the poor schoolmaster.
‘Who is that?’ said the boy, seeing Nell. ‘I am afraid to kiss her, lest I should make her ill. Ask her to shake hands with me.’ The sobbing74 child came closer up, and took the little languid hand in hers. Releasing his again after a time, the sick boy laid him gently down.
‘You remember the garden, Harry,’ whispered the schoolmaster, anxious to rouse him, for a dulness seemed gathering75 upon the child, ‘and how pleasant it used to be in the evening time? You must make haste to visit it again, for I think the very flowers have missed you, and are less gay than they used to be. You will come soon, my dear, very soon now — won’t you?’
The boy smiled faintly — so very, very faintly — and put his hand upon his friend’s grey head. He moved his lips too, but no voice came from them; no, not a sound.
In the silence that ensued, the hum of distant voices borne upon the evening air came floating through the open window. ‘What’s that?’ said the sick child, opening his eyes.
‘The boys at play upon the green.’
He took a handkerchief from his pillow, and tried to wave it above his head. But the feeble arm dropped powerless down.
‘Shall I do it?’ said the schoolmaster.
‘Please wave it at the window,’ was the faint reply. ‘Tie it to the lattice. Some of them may see it there. Perhaps they’ll think of me, and look this way.’
He raised his head, and glanced from the fluttering signal to his idle bat, that lay with slate76 and book and other boyish property upon a table in the room. And then he laid him softly down once more, and asked if the little girl were there, for he could not see her.
She stepped forward, and pressed the passive hand that lay upon the coverlet. The two old friends and companions — for such they were, though they were man and child — held each other in a long embrace, and then the little scholar turned his face towards the wall, and fell asleep.
The poor schoolmaster sat in the same place, holding the small cold hand in his, and chafing77 it. It was but the hand of a dead child. He felt that; and yet he chafed78 it still, and could not lay it down.
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收听单词发音
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1
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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lodger
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| n.寄宿人，房客 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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lone
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| adj.孤寂的，单独的；唯一的 | |
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irresolutely
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| adv.优柔寡断地 | |
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persuasion
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| n.劝说；说服；持有某种信仰的宗派 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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apprehensive
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| adj.担心的，恐惧的，善于领会的 | |
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trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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14
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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15
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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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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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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conning
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| v.诈骗，哄骗( con的现在分词 )；指挥操舵( conn的现在分词 ) | |
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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meek
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| adj.温顺的，逆来顺受的 | |
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meekness
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| n.温顺，柔和 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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tempting
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| a.诱人的, 吸引人的 | |
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tedium
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| n.单调；烦闷 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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malice
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| n.恶意，怨恨，蓄意；[律]预谋 | |
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squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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grimaces
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| n.（表蔑视、厌恶等）面部扭曲，鬼脸( grimace的名词复数 )v.扮鬼相，做鬼脸( grimace的第三人称单数 ) | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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36
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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38
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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40
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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rebellious
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| adj.造反的，反抗的，难控制的 | |
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42
willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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43
broiling
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| adj.酷热的，炽热的，似烧的v.（用火）烤（焙、炙等）( broil的现在分词 )；使卷入争吵；使混乱；被烤（或炙） | |
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44
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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45
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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46
attentive
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| adj.注意的，专心的；关心(别人)的，殷勤的 | |
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47
boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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48
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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49
remorseful
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| adj.悔恨的 | |
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50
inflicting
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| 把…强加给，使承受，遭受( inflict的现在分词 ) | |
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51
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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52
entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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53
entreating
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| 恳求，乞求( entreat的现在分词 ) | |
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54
scatter
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| vt.撒，驱散，散开；散布/播；vi.分散，消散 | |
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55
beckoning
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| adj.引诱人的，令人心动的v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的现在分词 ) | |
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56
inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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57
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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58
whoop
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| n.大叫，呐喊，喘息声；v.叫喊，喘息 | |
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fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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61
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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62
affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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63
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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monarch
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| n.帝王，君主，最高统治者 | |
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65
inflame
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| v.使燃烧；使极度激动；使发炎 | |
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66
deduct
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| vt.扣除，减去 | |
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67
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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68
taunts
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| 嘲弄的言语，嘲笑，奚落( taunt的名词复数 ) | |
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69
elicit
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| v.引出,抽出,引起 | |
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70
tottering
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| adj.蹒跚的，动摇的v.走得或动得不稳( totter的现在分词 )；踉跄；蹒跚；摇摇欲坠 | |
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71
relinquishing
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的现在分词 )； 放弃 | |
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72
wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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73
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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74
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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75
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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76
slate
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| n.板岩，石板，石片，石板色，候选人名单；adj.暗蓝灰色的，含板岩的；vt.用石板覆盖，痛打，提名，预订 | |
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77
chafing
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| n.皮肤发炎v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的现在分词 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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78
chafed
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| v.擦热（尤指皮肤）( chafe的过去式 )；擦痛；发怒；惹怒 | |
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