"Now, Master Cyril," Amy protested, "will you leave that fire alone? It's not you that can mend my fires."
A boy of nine, great and heavy for his years, with a full face and very short hair, bent1 over the smoking grate. It was about five minutes to eight on a chilly2 morning after Easter. Amy, hastily clad in blue, with a rough brown apron3, was setting the breakfast table. The boy turned his head, still bending.
"Shut up, Ame," he replied, smiling. Life being short, he usually called her Ame when they were alone together. "Or I'll catch you one in the eye with the poker4."
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Amy. "And you know your mother told you to wash your feet this morning, and you haven't done. Fine clothes is all very well, but--"
"Who says I haven't washed my feet?" asked Cyril, guiltily.
Amy's mention of fine clothes referred to the fact that he was that morning wearing his Sunday suit for the first time on a week- day.
"I say you haven't," said Amy.
She was more than three times his age still, but they had been treating each other as intellectual equals for years.
"And how do you know?" asked Cyril, tired of the fire.
"I know," said Amy.
"Well, you just don't, then!" said Cyril. "And what about YOUR feet? I should be sorry to see your feet, Ame."
Amy was excusably annoyed. She tossed her head. "My feet are as clean as yours any day," she said. "And I shall tell your mother."
But he would not leave her feet alone, and there ensued one of those endless monotonous5 altercations6 on a single theme which occur so often between intellectual equals when one is a young son of the house and the other an established servant who adores him. Refined minds would have found the talk disgusting, but the sentiment of disgust seemed to be unknown to either of the wranglers7. At last, when Amy by superior tactics had cornered him, Cyril said suddenly:
"Oh, go to hell!"
Amy banged down the spoon for the bacon gravy8. "Now I shall tell your mother. Mark my words, this time I SHALL tell your mother."
Cyril felt that in truth he had gone rather far. He was perfectly9 sure that Amy would not tell his mother. And yet, supposing that by some freak of her nature she did! The consequences would be unutterable; the consequences would more than extinguish his private glory in the use of such a dashing word. So he laughed, a rather silly, giggling10 laugh, to reassure11 himself.
"You daren't," he said.
"Daren't I?" she said grimly. "You'll see. _I_ don't know where you learn! It fair beats me. But it isn't Amy Bates as is going to be sworn at. As soon as ever your mother comes into this room!"
The door at the foot of the stairs creaked and Constance came into the room. She was wearing a dress of majenta merino, and a gold chain descended12 from her neck over her rich bosom13. She had scarcely aged14 in five years. It would have been surprising if she had altered much, for the years had passed over her head at an incredible rate. To her it appeared only a few months since Cyril's first and last party.
"Are you all ready, my pet? Let me look at you." Constance greeted the boy with her usual bright, soft energy.
Cyril glanced at Amy, who averted15 her head, putting spoons into three saucers.
"Yes, mother," he replied in a new voice.
"Did you do what I told you?"
"Yes, mother," he said simply.
"That's right."
Amy made a faint noise with her lips, and departed.
He was saved once more. He said to himself that never again would he permit his soul to be disturbed by any threat of old Ame's.
Constance's hand descended into her pocket and drew out a hard paper packet, which she clapped on to her son's head.
"Oh, mother!" He pretended that she had hurt him, and then he opened the packet. It contained Congleton butterscotch, reputed a harmless sweetmeat.
"Good!" he cried, "good! Oh! Thanks, mother."
"Now don't begin eating them at once."
"Just one, mother."
"No! And how often have I told you to keep your feet off that fender. See how it's bent. And it's nobody but you."
"Sorry."
"It's no use being sorry if you persist in doing it."
"Oh, mother, I had such a funny dream!"
They chatted until Amy came up the stairs with tea and bacon. The fire had developed from black to clear red.
"Run and tell father that breakfast is ready."
After a little delay a spectacled man of fifty, short and stoutish16, with grey hair and a small beard half grey and half black, entered from the shop. Samuel had certainly very much aged, especially in his gestures, which, however, were still quick. He sat down at once--his wife and son were already seated--and served the bacon with the rapid assurance of one who needs not to inquire about tastes and appetites. Not a word was said, except a brief grace by Samuel. But there was no restraint. Samuel had a mild, benignant air. Constance's eyes were a fountain of cheerfulness. The boy sat between them and ate steadily17.
Mysterious creature, this child, mysteriously growing and growing in the house! To his mother he was a delicious joy at all times save when he disobeyed his father. But now for quite a considerable period there had been no serious collision. The boy seemed to be acquiring virtue18 as well as sense. And really he was charming. So big, truly enormous (every one remarked on it), and yet graceful19, lithe20, with a smile that could ravish. And he was distinguished21 in his bearing. Without depreciating22 Samuel in her faithful heart, Constance saw plainly the singular differences between Samuel and the boy. Save that he was dark, and that his father's 'dangerous look' came into those childish eyes occasionally, Cyril had now scarcely any obvious resemblance to his father. He was a Baines. This naturally deepened Constance's family pride. Yes, he was mysterious to Constance, though probably not more so than any other boy to any other parent. He was equally mysterious to Samuel, but otherwise Mr. Povey had learned to regard him in the light of a parcel which he was always attempting to wrap up in a piece of paper imperceptibly too small. When he successfully covered the parcel at one corner it burst out at another, and this went on for ever, and he could never get the string on. Nevertheless, Mr. Povey had unabated confidence in his skill as a parcel-wrapper. The boy was strangely subtle at times, but then at times he was astoundingly ingenuous23, and then his dodges24 would not deceive the dullest. Mr. Povey knew himself more than a match for his son. He was proud of him because he regarded him as not an ordinary boy; he took it as a matter of course that his boy should not be an ordinary boy. He never, or very rarely, praised Cyril. Cyril thought of his father as a man who, in response to any request, always began by answering with a thoughtful, serious 'No, I'm afraid not.'
"So you haven't lost your appetite!" his mother commented.
Cyril grinned. "Did you expect me to, mother?"
"Let me see," said Samuel, as if vaguely25 recalling an unimportant fact. "It's to-day you begin to go to school, isn't it?"
"I wish father wouldn't be such a chump!" Cyril reflected. And, considering that this commencement of school (real school, not a girls' school, as once) had been the chief topic in the house for days, weeks; considering that it now occupied and filled all hearts, Cyril's reflection was excusable.
"Now, there's one thing you must always remember, my boy," said Mr. Povey. "Promptness. Never be late either in going to school or in coming home. And in order that you may have no excuse"--Mr. Povey pressed on the word 'excuse' as though condemning26 Cyril in advance--"here's something for you!" He said the last words quickly, with a sort of modest shame.
It was a silver watch and chain.
Cyril was staggered. So also was Constance, for Mr. Povey could keep his own counsel. At long intervals27 he would prove, thus, that he was a mighty28 soul, capable of sublime29 deeds. The watch was the unique flowering of Mr. Povey's profound but harsh affection. It lay on the table like a miracle. This day was a great day, a supremely30 exciting day in Cyril's history, and not less so in the history of his parents.
The watch killed its owner's appetite dead.
Routine was ignored that morning. Father did not go back into the shop. At length the moment came when father put on his hat and overcoat to take Cyril, and Cyril's watch and satchel31, to the Endowed School, which had quarters in the Wedgwood Institution close by. A solemn departure, and Cyril could not pretend by his demeanour that it was not! Constance desired to kiss him, but refrained. He would not have liked it. She watched them from the window. Cyril was nearly as tall as his father; that is to say, not nearly as tall, but creeping up his father's shoulder. She felt that the eyes of the town must be on the pair. She was very happy, and nervous.
At dinner-time a triumph seemed probable, and at tea-time, when Cyril came home under a mortar-board hat and with a satchel full of new books and a head full of new ideas, the triumph was actually and definitely achieved. He had been put into the third form, and he announced that he should soon be at the top of it. He was enchanted32 with the life of school; he liked the other boys, and it appeared that the other boys liked him. The fact was that, with a new silver watch and a packet of sweets, he had begun his new career in the most advantageous33 circumstances. Moreover, he possessed34 qualities which ensure success at school. He was big, and easy, with a captivating smile and a marked aptitude35 to learn those things which boys insist on teaching to their new comrades. He had muscle, a brave demeanour, and no conceit36.
During tea the parlour began, to accustom37 itself to a new vocabulary, containing such words as 'fellows,' 'kept in,'m' lines,' 'rot,' 'recess,' 'jolly.' To some of these words the parents, especially Mr. Povey, had an instinct to object, but they could not object, somehow they did not seem to get an opportunity to object; they were carried away on the torrent38, and after all, their excitement and pleasure in the exceeding romantic novelty of existence were just as intense and nearly as ingenuous as their son's.
He demonstrated that unless he was allowed to stay up later than aforetime he would not be able to do his home-work, and hence would not keep that place in the school to which his talents entitled him. Mr. Povey suggested, but only with half a heart, that he should get up earlier in the morning. The proposal fell flat. Everybody knew and admitted that nothing save the scorpions39 of absolute necessity, or a tremendous occasion such as that particular morning's, would drive Cyril from his bed until the smell of bacon rose to him from the kitchen. The parlour table was consecrated40 to his lessons. It became generally known that 'Cyril was doing his lessons.' His father scanned the new text-books while Cyril condescendingly explained to him that all others were superseded41 and worthless. His father contrived42 to maintain an air of preserving his mental equilibrium43, but not his mother; she gave it up, she who till that day had under his father's direction taught him nearly all that he knew, and Cyril passed above her into regions of knowledge where she made no pretence44 of being able to follow him.
When the lessons were done, and Cyril had wiped his fingers on bits of blotting-paper, and his father had expressed qualified45 approval and had gone into the shop, Cyril said to his mother, with that delicious hesitation46 which overtook him sometimes:
"Mother."
"Well, my pet."
"I want you to do something for me."
"Well, what is it?"
"No, you must promise."
"I'll do it if I can."
"But you CAN. It isn't doing. It's NOT doing."
"Come, Cyril, out with it."
"I don't want you to come in and look at me after I'm asleep any more."
"But, you silly boy, what difference can it make to you if you're asleep?"
"I don't want you to. It's like as if I was a baby. You'll have to stop doing it some day, and so you may as well stop now."
It was thus that he meant to turn his back on his youth.
She smiled. She was incomprehensibly happy. She continued to smile.
"Now you'll promise, won't you, mother?"
She rapped him on the head with her thimble, lovingly. He took the gesture for consent.
"You are a baby," she murmured.
"Now I shall trust you," he said, ignoring this. "Say 'honour bright.'"
"Honour bright."
With what a long caress47 her eyes followed him, as he went up to bed on his great sturdy legs! She was thankful that school had not contaminated her adorable innocent. If she could have been Ame for twenty-four hours, she perhaps would not have hesitated to put butter into his mouth lest it should melt.
Mr. Povey and Constance talked late and low that night. They could neither of them sleep; they had little desire to sleep. Constance's face said to her husband: "I've always stuck up for that boy, in spite of your severities, and you see how right I was!" And Mr. Povey's face said: "You see now the brilliant success of my system. You see how my educational theories have justified48 themselves. Never been to a school before, except that wretched little dame's school, and he goes practically straight to the top of the third form--at nine years of age!" They discussed his future. There could be no sign of lunacy in discussing his future up to a certain point, but each felt that to discuss the ultimate career of a child nine years old would not be the act of a sensible parent; only foolish parents would be so fond. Yet each was dying to discuss his ultimate career. Constance yielded first to the temptation, as became her. Mr. Povey scoffed49, and then, to humour Constance, yielded also. The matter was soon fairly on the carpet. Constance was relieved to find that Mr. Povey had no thought whatever of putting Cyril in the shop. No; Mr. Povey did not desire to chop wood with a razor. Their son must and would ascend50. Doctor! Solicitor51! Barrister! Not barrister--barrister was fantastic. When they had argued for about half an hour Mr. Povey intimated suddenly that the conversation was unworthy of their practical commonsense52, and went to sleep.
收听单词发音 |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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poker
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| n.扑克；vt.烙制 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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altercations
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| n.争辩，争吵( altercation的名词复数 ) | |
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wranglers
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| n.争执人( wrangler的名词复数 )；在争吵的人；（尤指放马的）牧人；牛仔 | |
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gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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aged
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| adj.年老的，陈年的 | |
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averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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stoutish
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| 略胖的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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depreciating
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| v.贬值，跌价，减价( depreciate的现在分词 )；贬低，蔑视，轻视 | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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dodges
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| n.闪躲( dodge的名词复数 )；躲避；伎俩；妙计v.闪躲( dodge的第三人称单数 )；回避 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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condemning
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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intervals
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| 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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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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sublime
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| adj.崇高的，伟大的；极度的，不顾后果的 | |
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supremely
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| adv.无上地，崇高地 | |
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satchel
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| n.(皮或帆布的)书包 | |
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enchanted
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| 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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advantageous
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| adj.有利的；有帮助的 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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aptitude
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| n.(学习方面的)才能，资质，天资 | |
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conceit
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| n.自负，自高自大 | |
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accustom
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| vt.使适应，使习惯 | |
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torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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scorpions
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| n.蝎子( scorpion的名词复数 ) | |
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consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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superseded
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| [医]被代替的，废弃的 | |
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contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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equilibrium
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| n.平衡，均衡，相称，均势，平静 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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qualified
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| adj.合格的，有资格的，胜任的，有限制的 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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51
solicitor
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| n.初级律师，事务律师 | |
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52
commonsense
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| adj.有常识的；明白事理的；注重实际的 | |
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