I stretched my feet toward the fire and buried myself deeper in my great arm-chair. Flash, the setter, curled at my side, poking9 his nose between his fore-paws, fixed10 his earnest eyes on a tiny tongue of flame that was eating its way along a gnarled bit of hickory. Facing us, rocking slowly to and fro on two legs of his frail11 wooden chair, was Theophilus Winter, the lawyer and our companion on many a day’s hunt. This was to[170] Theophilus the acme12 of comfort, for he had a good cigar for an inspiration and the best of audiences, an intelligent dog and a tired man.
“Yes, as I was saying before that last gust13 interrupted us, I am not a superstitious14 man, but as long as no harm can come of it I prefer to plant my garden in the right sign. While I am not in the least superstitious I must confess some timidity on this one point—that is, as to passing the small log house that stands just at the foot of the ridge15 on the road to Kishikoquillas on the night of the twenty-ninth of December, or indeed almost any time after sunset. Not that I am afraid—far from it—but strange tales have been abroad for the last thirty years regarding the doings there after nightfall. They say that the sound of fiddles17 can be heard, the clanging of cow-bells and occasionally the dull report of a gun. This, the young folks declare, is the ghosts belling Joe Varner.
“Perhaps you have seen the house of which I have spoken. It stands in a little clearing, about fifty feet from the roadside. The great stone chimney is now almost completely demolished18. The plaster daubing has fallen from the chinks between the logs, revealing to the passer-by the barren interior. The glass has been removed from the shattered windows to let the light into some more respectable dwelling19. The weeds and briars grow rank over all. The place presented a far different[171] picture thirty years ago. Then all was scrupulously20 clean. Not a stone on the chimney top was out of place, not an iota21 of daubing had fallen away, nor was the smallest spot left unwhitewashed. Everywhere was the evidence of industry and thrift22.
“For twenty years Joe Varner had lived his lonely life there, with no other companion than a mongrel dog. He was a strange man, tall and gaunt in appearance, taciturn and surly in manner, doing his bad deeds in public and his good ones in private, for his pride would not allow him to parade the latter before his neighbors. Yet with it all he was at heart a kindly23 old fellow who had simply been spoiled by his way of living. And why he had chosen this way was a puzzle to all our people. He was not a native of our county, but had simply appeared one day, bought this secluded24 plot, built his house and settled here. Twice, leaving no one behind him, he went away, remained a week and then as quietly returned to resume his lonely life. On each occasion his return was marked by a fit of melancholy25 which attracted the attention but repelled26 the curiosity of his nearest neighbors. That he had visited his old home in a distant county was all they could ever learn.
“Just thirty years ago this coming December, Varner left for the third time. A week passed, and he did not return. Two weeks went by, and[172] he was still absent. Strange rumors27 were abroad as to the cause of this unaccountable delay. When the third week had reached its end he came home, bringing with him a wizened28 little woman, with a hard face and of a most slovenly29 appearance. This person he introduced laconically30, but with a very evident touch of pride, as his wife.
“Just who the woman was or where from no one knew and none dared ask, but the news of her arrival spread quickly. Here was an opportunity not to be lost—to bell old Joe and his mysterious bride. Never before had the valley made such preparations for a serenade. Full fifty men and boys met at my father’s barn on the night following the old man’s home-coming, and armed with old guns, fiddles, sleigh bells and horns we set out for the scene of our operations. It was a good two mile walk to the house on the ridge, and we reached it just as the full moon was climbing over the tree tops and peeping into the clearing. There was no sign of life anywhere save a few dim rays of light that shone through a crevice31 in the shutters32.
“Silently we stationed ourselves about the cabin. At each corner we placed a horse-fiddle, an unmusical instrument made by drawing the edge of a board, coated with resin33, over the corner of a large box. The signal was given, and forthwith arose the greatest din16 that had ever been heard in our county. The banging of the muskets,[173] the bells, the horns, with the melancholy wail34 of the horse-fiddles rising above them all, made an indescribable tumult35. But the result was not as we had expected. We believed that Joe and his wife would come to the door, bow their acknowledgments and invite us in to a feast of cake and cider, as is the custom. Instead the light died suddenly. No sound was heard within.
“We kept to our work bravely. A half hour passed. Cries of ‘Bring out the bride’ arose above the din, giving evidence that lusty lungs were coming to the aid of wearied limbs. ‘Bring her out. Fetch out Mrs. Varner, Joe!’ we called again and again.
“It was of no avail. An hour passed and not a sign of life had come from the interior of the cabin. The noise began to weaken in volume, the owners of the guns grew chary36 of wasting their powder, and at last, much to our chagrin37, we were compelled to retire to the woods for a consultation38.
“A thin stream of smoke pouring from the mouth of the chimney suggested a plan resorted to only on the most desperate occasions—that of smoking out the newly wedded39 pair. It was the work of but a few minutes to obtain a board suitable for the purpose and for one of the young men to climb to the roof with it. He made his way noiselessly to the peak, laid his burden across the top of the chimney, then crouched40 low to[174] await the outcome. The smoke ceased to escape. Another half hour passed and still no sign from the house. Anxious looks appeared on the faces of the serenaders. The man on the roof removed the cover and a dense41 volume of smoke arose, showing that the fire had done well the work we required. From beneath the doorway42, too, a few thin wreaths were circling vaguely43 out.
“A chill of dread44 passed over us. It seemed that something out of the ordinary must have happened within. At first we were inclined to the belief that the fact that the smoke had not driven out the occupants of the house proved that it was empty. But we remembered the light that we had seen burning on our approach. It augured45 evil.
“Four stalwart fellows, holding between them a large log, attacked the door. One blow—it cracked. No sound inside. Another blow and the heavy oak fell back on its hinges. The smoke, released from its prison, poured out in dense clouds, driving the excited bellers from the doorway. One man dashed through it and across the single apartment, which passed as living-room and kitchen, and in another instant the window was up, the shutters open and the wind was whistling through, driving before it the heavy veil that had hidden the interior from our view. The moonlight streamed in.
“There, sitting in a great wooden rocking-chair,[175] his feet resting almost in the fire, his head fallen low upon his breast, his stern, hard features calmly set as if in sleep, sat he whom we had come to bell—dead. On the spotless table by his side stood a candlestick from which the candle had burned away, only a bit of charred46 taper47 remaining to tell us that in all likelihood Joe had died before we reached his home and that the last spark of the unattended light had fluttered out, just as we began the hideous48 turmoil49 outside. Clutched in the old man’s right hand was the explanation of his lonely life as well as of the grewsome ending of the great belling.”
Theophilus Winter ceased his narration50. He drew out his pocketbook and after fumbling51 a moment in its recesses52, took from it a bit of paper. It was yellow with age and soiled, and the writing on it had almost faded out, but I could read: “Deer Joe—you and me was never ment for one another. i knowed that 40 years ago and thats wi i run way with si tompson, you was good to take me back them too other times i left, this last time i thought i was gettin to old an you was so fergivin i had better spend my las days with you. i cant53 stand the quiet country livin an am gone back to harrisburg. they aint no one with me. fergive me. i gess youll be better off without your old wife—sarah.”
点击收听单词发音
1 rattled | |
慌乱的,恼火的 | |
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2 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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3 spurts | |
短暂而突然的活动或努力( spurt的名词复数 ); 突然奋起 | |
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4 momentary | |
adj.片刻的,瞬息的;短暂的 | |
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5 discomfort | |
n.不舒服,不安,难过,困难,不方便 | |
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6 triumphant | |
adj.胜利的,成功的;狂欢的,喜悦的 | |
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7 soot | |
n.煤烟,烟尘;vt.熏以煤烟 | |
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8 envelop | |
vt.包,封,遮盖;包围 | |
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9 poking | |
n. 刺,戳,袋 vt. 拨开,刺,戳 vi. 戳,刺,捅,搜索,伸出,行动散慢 | |
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10 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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11 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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12 acme | |
n.顶点,极点 | |
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13 gust | |
n.阵风,突然一阵(雨、烟等),(感情的)迸发 | |
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14 superstitious | |
adj.迷信的 | |
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15 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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16 din | |
n.喧闹声,嘈杂声 | |
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17 fiddles | |
n.小提琴( fiddle的名词复数 );欺诈;(需要运用手指功夫的)细巧活动;当第二把手v.伪造( fiddle的第三人称单数 );篡改;骗取;修理或稍作改动 | |
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18 demolished | |
v.摧毁( demolish的过去式和过去分词 );推翻;拆毁(尤指大建筑物);吃光 | |
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19 dwelling | |
n.住宅,住所,寓所 | |
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20 scrupulously | |
adv.一丝不苟地;小心翼翼地,多顾虑地 | |
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21 iota | |
n.些微,一点儿 | |
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22 thrift | |
adj.节约,节俭;n.节俭,节约 | |
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23 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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24 secluded | |
adj.与世隔绝的;隐退的;偏僻的v.使隔开,使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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25 melancholy | |
n.忧郁,愁思;adj.令人感伤(沮丧)的,忧郁的 | |
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26 repelled | |
v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 );使厌恶;排斥;推开 | |
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27 rumors | |
n.传闻( rumor的名词复数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷v.传闻( rumor的第三人称单数 );[古]名誉;咕哝;[古]喧嚷 | |
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28 wizened | |
adj.凋谢的;枯槁的 | |
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29 slovenly | |
adj.懒散的,不整齐的,邋遢的 | |
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30 laconically | |
adv.简短地,简洁地 | |
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31 crevice | |
n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝;缺口 | |
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32 shutters | |
百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 ); (照相机的)快门 | |
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33 resin | |
n.树脂,松香,树脂制品;vt.涂树脂 | |
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34 wail | |
vt./vi.大声哀号,恸哭;呼啸,尖啸 | |
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35 tumult | |
n.喧哗;激动,混乱;吵闹 | |
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36 chary | |
adj.谨慎的,细心的 | |
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37 chagrin | |
n.懊恼;气愤;委屈 | |
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38 consultation | |
n.咨询;商量;商议;会议 | |
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39 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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40 crouched | |
v.屈膝,蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41 dense | |
a.密集的,稠密的,浓密的;密度大的 | |
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42 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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43 vaguely | |
adv.含糊地,暖昧地 | |
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44 dread | |
vt.担忧,忧虑;惧怕,不敢;n.担忧,畏惧 | |
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45 augured | |
v.预示,预兆,预言( augur的过去式和过去分词 );成为预兆;占卜 | |
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46 charred | |
v.把…烧成炭( char的过去式);烧焦 | |
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47 taper | |
n.小蜡烛,尖细,渐弱;adj.尖细的;v.逐渐变小 | |
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48 hideous | |
adj.丑陋的,可憎的,可怕的,恐怖的 | |
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49 turmoil | |
n.骚乱,混乱,动乱 | |
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50 narration | |
n.讲述,叙述;故事;记叙体 | |
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51 fumbling | |
n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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52 recesses | |
n.壁凹( recess的名词复数 );(工作或业务活动的)中止或暂停期间;学校的课间休息;某物内部的凹形空间v.把某物放在墙壁的凹处( recess的第三人称单数 );将(墙)做成凹形,在(墙)上做壁龛;休息,休会,休庭 | |
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53 cant | |
n.斜穿,黑话,猛扔 | |
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