In the sequestered1 country, about twelve miles south of Twyford, in a pretty nook formed by a wooded hollow close by the old by-road to Warhampton, stands an antique cottage, with a loft2 and two little windows peeping through the very steep thatched roof and a high narrow gable—gable and wall alike streaked3 and crossed with those black oak beams which formed the cage into whose interstices our ancestors built their brick and plaster. The steep roof runs out over a little porch which has a bench in one side of it. Another stone bench stands under the lattice “window, the woodwork of which casement4, as well as the black spars crossed and morticed in the walls, and even the curved brick chimney, look shrunk and warped5 by time, by which, too, the hatch at the door is rounded and furrowed6, and the stone seat and window stones worn into curves and hollows, and such and so venerable is the air of the structure, with its ivy-bound porch, that one might fancy it the very farm house in which Anne Hathaway passed her girlhood.
Here dwelt good Mrs. Marjory Trevellian, some fifty years old and upward, with, I think, the kindest face and pleasantest laugh in that part of the country; a widow of many years; not very happy in her marriage, and quite content with her experience of the wedded7 state; quiet, cheerful, very industrious8; with a little farm of three acres, and a cow; spinning sometimes, knitting at others, and when she could, taking in washing, and in all things approving herself diligent9, cheerful, and honest.
With this kind, cheery, honest dame10 lived a little boy, the son of a Mr. Henry—that was all she knew distinctly about his people. She called him her Fairy, and her Prince, and when curious people questioned her closely, she said that his father was a merchant, “unfortunate in business,” as the phrase is; that he was living perhaps in concealment11, and in distressed12 circumstances, or possibly was dead. All she could say for certain was, that she received a very small allowance for maintaining him, which was paid punctually every three months in advance, and that as to the name of the boy, his Christian13 name was William and his surname Henry, and that she called him her “Prince” or her “Fairy,” and he called her “Granny.”
She idolised this pretty boy, and he loved her with the tenderness which a child bestows14 upon a loving nurse, something more than filial.
The boy remembers no other home but this, and no other friend but “Granny.” He was now a little past eleven. His life had been solitary15, but cheerful. “Was there not the pond only thirty yards away from their door-step, in which he sailed his fleet of ships, made of corks16, which old Peter Durdon gave him? He was a cousin of Marjory Trevellian’s, and lived in the village two miles away. He used to call every Sunday and to bring these corks in his pocket, and a bit of such lead as tea is wrapped in to make the keels of their navy. He was dressed in a blue “swallow-tailed “coat with brass17 buttons; his drab trousers were very short; his stockings faded sky-blue; and his shoes clumsy and clouted18, and highly polished. He wore a chestnut19 wig20 of a long and lank21 cut, and his forehead slanted22 back very much, and his nose came forward, and a perpetual smile expanded his cheeks, which were as red and smooth as a ripe apple. His countenance23 was not wise, though very good-natured—rather silly, I’m afraid—and I think he took more interest in this sort of shipping24 than was quite compatible with strength of mind.
As these ships glided25 with thin paper sails across the pond, while Master Henry watched them in grave absorption, Peter’s raptures26 expressed themselves in continuous peals27 of laughter.
These were great occasions in the solitary life of Fairy.
There were a set of big box-wood nine-pins—skittles, I suppose, with balls—battered and discoloured—I never knew how they got into the cottage, but they looked a hundred years old if a day. Many a game with these on the smooth patch, of sward at the other side of the pond had pleasant old Marjory with her darling.
In its seclusion28 this life was monastic, but not in its liberty. The boy was, on the whole, very happy.
Looking on honest Marjory as mistress of all she surveyed, it never struck him, that in the points in which her dietary differed from his she was practising a compulsory29 economy. The article of meat was not often found in her bill of fare. But conscientiously30 she placed the little fellow’s bit of broiled31 meat before him every day, and told him when he inquired why she had none for herself that she did not like it, and that it did not agree with her, which he accepted as undoubted truths, and wondered and regretted secretly.
On winter evenings their tea was very cosy32. A wheaten cake baked on the griddle, a new-laid egg each, and a cup of tea from the many-coloured delf tea-pot—a good deal burnt on the side next the fire. With the door barred and the window carefully closed, the fire burning cheerfully, and their candle lighting33 the party—who so happy? And was there not the old Robinson Crusoe, with binding34 black with age, and a frontispiece showing the hero with his grave countenance and beard, his tall cap and goat-skin dress, his musket35 over one shoulder and his umbrella over the other, and recounting his marvellous life in the quaint36 old type of Queen Anne? And was there not that other literary treasure, the old folio volume of Captain Cook’s, Commodore Anson’s, and other seafaring worthies’ voyages round or up and down the world, with no end of careful old copperplates, showing Pacific islands, curious volcanoes, flotillas of armed canoes, thick-lipped miscreants37 with rings in their noses and birds’ tails enlivening their foreheads, and long processions of official people, priests, &c., with a small white pocket-handkerchief each by way of dress? But better far than these, which together with her Bible and Prayer–Book, constituted Marjory’s library was that good creature’s inexhaustible collection of fairy tales, received traditionally and recounted viva voce, and prefaced with the rhyme which even at this distance recals me to the nursery fireside with the far-off tones of a kindly38 voice that I shall hear no more.
“Once upon a time there was a king and a queen, As many have been, But few I have seen, Except in pictures I”
And starting with this little trumpeting39 and summons to attention—the “oyes-oyes-oyes “and immutable40 prelude41 of an ever-varying sequel, good Marjory, the herald42 of ever new wonders, would tell her tale of dwarfs43 and castles, of godmother fairies, and malignant44 enchantresses, broken—hearted princes and persecuted45 princesses, and enchanted46 palaces and awful forests, till the hour came for the little fellow to get to his bed and enter the no less wonderful land of dreams.
Another person who contributed to the regular entertainment of the boy was Tom Orange.
Tom Orange called at the cottage sometimes at intervals47 of three months, sometimes, for perhaps half a year, on the first of every month, and was always made welcome by Marjory Trevellian, and feasted with rashers and whatever else her humble48 larder49 afforded, and on going had established a mysterious right to a shilling “tip,” which he always made it a point should be an honourable50 secret among them.
What might be the nature of his business the little boy neither knew nor cared, but Tom Orange was in the boy’s eyes the ideal and epitome51 of all that was enchanting52, brilliant, and exhilarating.
Tom was somewhat long and lean, with a face also long and always smiling, except when it was making a grimace53, an art in which he excelled almost every other blackguard I have heard of His clothes and hat were seedy, and, for so merry a person, he was wonderfully poor.
Tom Orange’s accomplishments54 were infinite, he could dance a hornpipe with all the well-known airs and graces of a sailor; he could protrude55 his mouth till it assumed a shape quite unknown to physiognomists, and with a delicate finger, turning his eyelids56 inside out, make the pupils of those organs quiver strangely, while he uttered a sound like the call of a jackdaw. He could sing a variety of comic songs, with refrains delivered with a volubility which distanced admiration57, and made his very audience breathless, and some of these were relieved with occasional dialogue of matchless character and humour. He could swallow any number of pennies you pleased, and take them all out at different angles of his body; he could put several potatoes under his hat, and withdraw them all without touching58 either the hat or the potatoes. He could keep three balls always in the air together, and he could balance two chairs upon his chin.
In short, as I have said, his accomplishments were innumerable and extraordinary, and the only wonder was how so universal a genius could possibly possess so few shillings and so many seedy articles of dress.
Tom Orange, too, was great at skittles, and gave his pupil wonderful new lights.
He taught him also how to guard, stop, and strike according to the principles of “the noble art of self-defence.” In fact, it would have been difficult to discover a more fascinating companion and instructor59 of youth. Possibly it was as well, however, that his visits were so far between, and as brief as fortune ordained60 them to be. It was no wonder, however, that these visits were looked for by the boy, as the return of the life and excitement of an annual fair might have been by the ingenuous61 youth of some other rural district.
There was but one point on which Marjory was obliged to impose a prohibition62 upon the child. It seemed a trifle, but in reality was a gigantic privation.
“No, darling, you mustn’t talk to any other boys, nor play with them, nor go near them; if you do you’ll be took away by your friends, and I’ll never see you again; and what will poor Granny do then without her darling?”
And Granny’s eyes filled with tears, and the boy cried and hugged her passionately63, and this little agony gave place to wild affection and a glow of unspeakable delight and happiness, and was celebrated64 by a hot cake that evening, and new-laid eggs and a great tea, and stories to no end.
And she found her darling that night crying in his sleep, and was sure he was dreaming of leaving the old cottage, and she wakened him with kisses, herself crying.
So these two persons, notwithstanding some disparity of years, were wonderfully happy in one another’s society, and if they had each their will, would have fixed65 things as they were, and neither grown older nor younger, but just gone on living so for ever.
点击收听单词发音
1 sequestered | |
adj.扣押的;隐退的;幽静的;偏僻的v.使隔绝,使隔离( sequester的过去式和过去分词 );扣押 | |
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2 loft | |
n.阁楼,顶楼 | |
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3 streaked | |
adj.有条斑纹的,不安的v.快速移动( streak的过去式和过去分词 );使布满条纹 | |
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4 casement | |
n.竖铰链窗;窗扉 | |
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5 warped | |
adj.反常的;乖戾的;(变)弯曲的;变形的v.弄弯,变歪( warp的过去式和过去分词 );使(行为等)不合情理,使乖戾, | |
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6 furrowed | |
v.犁田,开沟( furrow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7 wedded | |
adj.正式结婚的;渴望…的,执著于…的v.嫁,娶,(与…)结婚( wed的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8 industrious | |
adj.勤劳的,刻苦的,奋发的 | |
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9 diligent | |
adj.勤勉的,勤奋的 | |
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10 dame | |
n.女士 | |
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11 concealment | |
n.隐藏, 掩盖,隐瞒 | |
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12 distressed | |
痛苦的 | |
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13 Christian | |
adj.基督教徒的;n.基督教徒 | |
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14 bestows | |
赠给,授予( bestow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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15 solitary | |
adj.孤独的,独立的,荒凉的;n.隐士 | |
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16 corks | |
n.脐梅衣;软木( cork的名词复数 );软木塞 | |
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17 brass | |
n.黄铜;黄铜器,铜管乐器 | |
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18 clouted | |
adj.缀补的,凝固的v.(尤指用手)猛击,重打( clout的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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19 chestnut | |
n.栗树,栗子 | |
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20 wig | |
n.假发 | |
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21 lank | |
adj.瘦削的;稀疏的 | |
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22 slanted | |
有偏见的; 倾斜的 | |
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23 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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24 shipping | |
n.船运(发货,运输,乘船) | |
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25 glided | |
v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 );掠过;(鸟或飞机 ) 滑翔 | |
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26 raptures | |
极度欢喜( rapture的名词复数 ) | |
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27 peals | |
n.(声音大而持续或重复的)洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 );隆隆声;洪亮的钟声;钟乐v.(使)(钟等)鸣响,(雷等)发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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28 seclusion | |
n.隐遁,隔离 | |
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29 compulsory | |
n.强制的,必修的;规定的,义务的 | |
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30 conscientiously | |
adv.凭良心地;认真地,负责尽职地;老老实实 | |
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31 broiled | |
a.烤过的 | |
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32 cosy | |
adj.温暖而舒适的,安逸的 | |
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33 lighting | |
n.照明,光线的明暗,舞台灯光 | |
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34 binding | |
有约束力的,有效的,应遵守的 | |
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35 musket | |
n.滑膛枪 | |
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36 quaint | |
adj.古雅的,离奇有趣的,奇怪的 | |
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37 miscreants | |
n.恶棍,歹徒( miscreant的名词复数 ) | |
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38 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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39 trumpeting | |
大声说出或宣告(trumpet的现在分词形式) | |
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40 immutable | |
adj.不可改变的,永恒的 | |
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41 prelude | |
n.序言,前兆,序曲 | |
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42 herald | |
vt.预示...的来临,预告,宣布,欢迎 | |
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43 dwarfs | |
n.侏儒,矮子(dwarf的复数形式)vt.(使)显得矮小(dwarf的第三人称单数形式) | |
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44 malignant | |
adj.恶性的,致命的;恶意的,恶毒的 | |
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45 persecuted | |
(尤指宗教或政治信仰的)迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 ); 烦扰,困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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46 enchanted | |
adj. 被施魔法的,陶醉的,入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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47 intervals | |
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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48 humble | |
adj.谦卑的,恭顺的;地位低下的;v.降低,贬低 | |
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49 larder | |
n.食物贮藏室,食品橱 | |
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50 honourable | |
adj.可敬的;荣誉的,光荣的 | |
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51 epitome | |
n.典型,梗概 | |
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52 enchanting | |
a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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53 grimace | |
v.做鬼脸,面部歪扭 | |
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54 accomplishments | |
n.造诣;完成( accomplishment的名词复数 );技能;成绩;成就 | |
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55 protrude | |
v.使突出,伸出,突出 | |
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56 eyelids | |
n.眼睑( eyelid的名词复数 );眼睛也不眨一下;不露声色;面不改色 | |
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57 admiration | |
n.钦佩,赞美,羡慕 | |
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58 touching | |
adj.动人的,使人感伤的 | |
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59 instructor | |
n.指导者,教员,教练 | |
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60 ordained | |
v.任命(某人)为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 );授予(某人)圣职;(上帝、法律等)命令;判定 | |
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61 ingenuous | |
adj.纯朴的,单纯的;天真的;坦率的 | |
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62 prohibition | |
n.禁止;禁令,禁律 | |
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63 passionately | |
ad.热烈地,激烈地 | |
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64 celebrated | |
adj.有名的,声誉卓著的 | |
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65 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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