Poor, pretty Hermia--trying days followed her little hour of triumph. While the whole school buzzed over the gorgeousness of her costume, over the satin and silver-heeled slippers1, over her prettiness and how she had really acted just as well as Ethel Barrymore, she lay very still on her white bed and let one doctor after another "do things" to her poor knee. There were consultations2 and X-ray photographs, and all through it old Doctor Bowerman, who had dosed her through mumps3 and measles4, kept saying, at every opportunity, with a maddening wag of his bald head: "If you only hadn't been such a little fool as to walk on it!" Finally, after what seemed to Isobel a great deal of needless fuss, the verdict was given--in an impressive now-you'll-do-as-I-tell-you manner; she had torn the muscles and ligaments of her knee; some had stretched, little nerves had been injured; she must lie very quietly in bed for a few weeks and then--perhaps----
"I know what he means," Isobel had cried afterwards, in a passion of fear; "he means he can tell then whether I will ever be able to--to dance again or not!" The thought was so terrible that her mother had difficulty soothing6 her.
"If you do what he tells you now you'll be dancing again in less than no time," reassured7 Uncle Johnny. "Dr. Bowerman wants to frighten you so that you will be careful."
The first week or so of the enforced quiet passed very pleasantly; mother had engaged a cheery-faced nurse who proved to be excellent company; every afternoon some of the girls ran in on their way home from school with exciting bits of school gossip and the whispered inquiry--of which Isobel never wearied--how had it felt to faint straight into Dana King's arms? Uncle Johnny brought jolly gifts, flowers, books, puzzles; Gyp tirelessly carried messages to Amy Mathers and Cora Stanton and back again.
But as the days passed these pleasant little excitements failed her, one by one. Mother decided8 that the nurse was not needed--there was no medicine to be given--and a tutor was engaged, instead, to come each morning. Her school friends grew weary of the details of Isobel's accident and the limitations of her pink-and-white room; other things at school claimed their attention--a new riding club was starting, and the Senior parties; they had not a minute, they begged Gyp to tell Isobel, to play--they were "awfully9" sorry and they'd run in when they could. Gyp and Jerry, too, were swimming every afternoon in preparation for the spring inter-school swimming meet. The long hours dragged for the little shut-in; she nursed a not-unpleasant conviction that she was abused and neglected. She consoled her wounded spirit with morbid10 pictures of how, after a long, bedridden life, she would reap, at its end, a desperate remorse11 from her selfish, inconsiderate family; she refused to be cheered by the doctor's assertion that she was making a tremendously "nice" recovery and would be as lively on her feet as she'd ever been--though he never failed to add: "You don't deserve it!"
One afternoon, three weeks after the accident, Isobel looked at her small desk clock for the fourth time in fifteen minutes. A ceaseless patter of rain against the window made the day unusually trying. Her mother had gone, by the doctor's orders, to Atlantic City for a week's rest, leaving her to the capable ministrations of Mrs. Hicks. That lady had carried off her luncheon12 tray with the declaration that "a body couldn't please Miss Isobel anyways and if Miss Isobel wanted anything she could ring," and Isobel had mentally determined13, making a little face after the departing figure, that she'd die before she asked old Hicks for anything! It was only half past two--it would be an hour before even Tibby would come, or Gyp or Jerry. What day was it?
When one spent every day in one small pink-and-white room it was not easy to remember! Thursday--no, Wednesday, because Mrs. Hicks had said the cook was out----
A door below opened and shut. Footsteps sounded from the hall; quick, bounding, they passed her door.
"Gyp!" Isobel called. There was no answer. Someone was moving in the nursery; it was Jerry, then, not Gyp.
"Jerry!" Still there was no answer. Jerry was too busy turning the contents of her bureau drawer to hear. She found the bathing-cap for which she was hunting and started down the hall. A sudden, pitiful, choky sob5 halted her flight.
When she peeped into Isobel's room Isobel was lying with her face buried in her pillow.
"Isobel----" Jerry advanced quickly to the side of the bed. "Is anything wrong? What is the matter?"
"I--I wish I--were dead!"
"Oh--Isobel!"
"So would you if you had to lie here day in and day out a--a helpless cripple and left all alone----"
Jerry looked around the quiet room. There was something very lonely about it--and that patter of the rain----
"Isn't Mrs. Hicks----"
"Oh--Hicks. She's just a crosspatch! You all leave me to servants because I can't move. Nobody loves me the least little bit. I--I wish I were dead."
To Jerry there was something very dreadful in Isobel's words. What if her wish came true, then and there? What if the breath suddenly stopped--and it would be too late to take back the wish----
"Oh, don't say that again, Isobel. Can't I stay with you?"
Isobel turned such a grateful face from her pillow that Jerry's heart was touched. Of course poor Isobel was lonely and she and Gyp had selfishly neglected her. Even though Isobel did not care very much for her, she would doubtless be better company than--no one. She slipped the bathing-cap in her pocket and slowly drew off her coat and hat.
"Do you mind staying?" Isobel asked in a very pleading voice.
Jerry might reasonably have answered: "I do mind. I cannot stay; this is the afternoon of the great inter-school swimming meet and I am late, now, because I came home for my cap," but she was so thrilled by the simple fact of Isobel's wanting her--her, that everything else was forgotten.
"Of course I don't. It's horrid15 and stupid for you to lie here all day long. Shall I read?"
"Oh, no--after that dreadful tutor goes I don't want to see a book!"
"Let's think of something jolly--and different. Would you like to play travel? It's a game my mother and Little-Dad and I made up. It's lots of fun. We pick out a certain place and we say we're going there. We get time-tables for trains and boats and we decide just what we'll pack--all pretend, of course. Then we look up in the travel books all 'bout14 the place and we have the grandest time--most as good as though we really went. Last winter we traveled through Scotland. It made the long evenings when we were shut in at Sunnyside pass like magic. Little-Dad has a perfect passion for time-tables and he never really goes anywhere in his life--except in the game."
"What fun," cried Isobel, sitting up against her pillows. A few weeks before Isobel would have scorned such a "babyish" suggestion from anyone. "Where shall we go?"
"I've always wanted to go to Venice. We got as far as Naples and then 'Liza Sloane's grandson got scarlet16 fever and Little-Dad went down and stayed with him. I'd love to live in a palace and go everywhere in little boats."
"Then we'll go to Venice and we'll travel by way of Milan and Florence. Jerry, down in father's desk there are a whole lot of time-tables and folders17 he collected the spring he planned to go abroad. And you can get one of Stoddart's books in the library--and a Baedeker, too. We ought to have a whole lot of clothes--it's warm in Italy. Bring that catalogue from Altman's that's on mother's sewing table and we'll pick out some new dresses. What fun!"
Jerry went eagerly after all they needed for their "game." She sat on the other side of Isobel's bed and spread the books out around her. First, they had to select from the colored catalogue suitable dresses and warm wraps for shipboard; then they had to fuss over sailing dates and cabin reservations. In the atlas18 Jerry traced from town to town their route of travel, reading slowly from Baedeker just what they must see in each town. She had a way of reading the guidebook, too, that made Isobel see the things. It was delightful19 to linger in Florence; Jerry had just suggested that they postpone20 going on to Venice for a few days, and Isobel had decided to send back to America for that pale blue dotted swiss, because it would blend so wonderfully with the Italian sky and the pastel colors of the old, old Florentine buildings, when they were interrupted by Gyp and Uncle Johnny.
Gyp was a veritable whirlwind of fury, her eyes were blazing, her cheeks glowed red under her dusky skin, every tangled21 black hair on her head bristled22. She confronted Jerry accusingly.
"So here's where you are!" Her words rang shrilly23. "Here--fooling 'round with Isobel and you let the South High beat us by two points! You know you were the only girl we had who could beat Nina Sharpe in the breast stroke. They put in Mary Reed and she was like a rock. And you swam thirty-eight strokes under water the other day. I saw you--I counted. And--and the South High girl only got up to twenty! That's all you cared."
Jerry turned, a little frightened. She had hated missing the swimming meet--contests were such new things in her life that they held a wonderful fascination24 for her--but she had not dreamed that, through her failure to appear, Lincoln might be beaten! She faced Gyp very humbly25.
"Isobel was alone----"
Gyp turned on her sister.
"You're the very selfishest girl that ever lived, Isobel Westley, and you're getting worse and worse. You never think of anyone in this whole world but yourself! You never would have hurt your knee so badly only you wanted to save your precious old dress, and you wouldn't give in and let Peggy Lee take your part! Maybe you are lonely and get tired lying here and everyone's sorry 'bout that, but that's not any reason for your keeping Jerry here when we needed her so badly--and she missed all the fun, too!"
Isobel drew herself back into her pillows. She was no match for her indignant sister. And she was aghast at the enormity of her selfish thoughtlessness.
"I didn't know--honestly, Gyp. I thought the match was on Thursday----"
"It was. This is Thursday," scornfully.
"Oh, it's Wednesday. Isn't it Wednesday? Mrs. Hicks said cook was out and----"
"As if the calendar ran by the cook! Cook's sister's niece's sister was married to-day and she changed her day out. If you'd think of someone else----"
Jerry took command of the situation.
"It's my fault, Gyp. I could have told Isobel but--I didn't. I sort of realized how I'd feel if I had to lie there in bed day after day when everyone else was having such a good time and--well, the swimming match didn't seem half as important as making Isobel happy and--I don't believe it was!" There was triumphant26 conviction in Jerry's voice, born of the grateful little smile Isobel flashed to her.
Gyp turned disgustedly on her heel. From the doorway27 where Uncle Johnny had been taking in the little scene came a chuckle28. As Gyp walked haughtily29 out of the room he came forward and laid his hand on Jerry's shoulder.
"Right-o, Jerry-girl. There's more than one kind of a victory, isn't there? Now run along and make peace with Miss Gypsy and let me get acquainted with my Bonnie--four whole days since I've seen you." There was a suspicious crackling of tissue-paper in his pocket. One hand slowly drew forth30 a small, blue velvet31 box which he laid in Isobel's fingers.
"Oh, Uncle Johnny!" For, within, lay a dainty bracelet32 set with small turquoise33. Quite unexpectedly Isobel's eyes filled with tears.
"What is it, kitten?"
"It's lovely only--only--everybody's too good to me for--I guess--I'm--what Gyp said I was!"
There was everything in Isobel's past experience to warrant her expecting that Uncle Johnny would vehemently34 protest the truth of her outburst and assure her that no one could do enough for her. She wanted him to do so. But, alas35, she read in his face that he, too, thought what Gyp had said was very true.
"Isobel, dear--I think I ought to try and make you see something--for your own good. Have you ever pictured the fight that's going on in the human blood all the time--the tiny warriors36 struggling constantly, one kind to kill and the other to keep alive? The same sort of fight's going on in our natures, too. Every one of us is born with a whole lot of good things; they're our heritage and it's our own fault when we don't keep 'em. I don't mean outward things, dear--like your golden hair and those sky-blue eyes of yours--I mean the inside things, the things that grow and make our lives. But they've got to fight to live. If vanity and selfishness get the upper hand--where do they lead you? Well," he laughed, "I can't make you understand any more clearly what I mean than just to point to poor old Aunt Maria!"
Isobel had turned her face away; he could not see how she was taking his clumsy little lecture.
"She's just a pathetic waste of God's good clay--moulded once as He wants His children, but what has she done? She's lived--no one knows how many years--only to feed her own body and glorify37 her own nest; she's grown in instead of out; she's never given an honest thought to making this world or anyone in it one bit better for her having lived in it. She's stealing from God. And what's done it--vanity, that years ago mastered all the good things in her. Poor old soul--she was once a young, pretty girl, like you----"
Isobel jerked her head petulantly38. The blue velvet box lay neglected on the counterpane.
"I think you're horrid to lecture me, Uncle Johnny. Mother and father----"
Uncle Johnny smiled whimsically at the childish face.
"Mothers and fathers sometimes don't see things as clearly as mere39 uncles--because they're so close. And Bonnie, dear, it's because we all want so much of you! Let me tell you something else--this isn't a lecture, either. It's a little thing that happened when you were a baby and I've never forgotten it. I didn't see you until you were a year old--I was abroad, studying, when you were born. When I went up to your nursery that first time, and looked at you, I thought you were the most wonderful thing God ever made. You lay there in your little white crib and stared at me with your round, blue eyes, and then you smiled and thrust out the tiniest scrap40 of a hand. I didn't dare breathe. And everything around you was so perfect--white enamel41, blue and yellow and pink birds and squirrels and dogs and things painted on your walls, the last word in baby furniture and toilet things. That very day a friend of mine asked me to help drive the orphans42 of the city on their annual outing. I was glad to do something for someone--you see, having a new niece made me feel as though I was walking on air. They loaded up my car with kids of all sizes and then the last moment someone snuggled a bit of humanity into the front seat between two older youngsters--a poor little mite43 with big, round, blue eyes like yours and the lower part of her face all twisted with a great scar where she'd been burned. I couldn't see anything on the whole ride but that little face--and always, back in my mind were your two blue eyes and your dimpled smile. I wanted to get through with the whole trip and hurry back to your nursery to see if you were all right. But I stopped long enough at the orphanage44 to ask about the poor baby. She'd been found in a filthy45 cellar where she'd been abandoned--that's all they knew. How's that for a heritage? Stripped of everything--except the soul of her--to fight through life with, and horribly disfigured in the bargain. I asked what they did for such children and they told me that they'd keep her until she was fourteen--then they'd have taught her some sort of work--probably domestic--and she could make her own way. God help her--fourteen, a little younger than our Gyp! I went back to your mother's. She was out and I rushed up to your nursery. Your very professional nurse thought I was mad. I sent her out. I took you in my arms. I had to hold you to feel that you were safe and sound and had all the arms and legs you needed and your face not half scarred away. And sitting there I sort of talked to God--I begged Him to let you keep the blessings46 you had at that moment and to make you worthy47 of them. You're a beautiful girl, Isobel, and you have every advantage that love and thought and money can give you, but--so was Aunt Maria beautiful at your age, before vanity and selfishness----"
"Uncle Johnny, I've known for a long time--that you didn't love me! That's why I've been so nasty to Jerry. You love her----"
"Bonnie!" Uncle Johnny's arm was around her now. He half shook her. "Foolish girl! I love you now just the way I loved that mite of a baby. I've always been fonder of you than any of the others and I'm mighty48 fond of them. But you were the first--the most wonderful one."
"But you'd like to have me--like Jerry?"
"Yes," he answered, very decidedly. "I'd like to have you--that kind of a girl, who walks straight with her head up--and sees big visions--and grows toward them."
"I hate goody-goody girls," sighed poor Isobel.
"So do I!" laughed Uncle Johnny. "But you couldn't hate a girl who would rather make someone else happy than win in a swimming match?"
"N-no, and I wouldn't blame Jerry if she'd just enjoy seeing me miserable--I've been so nasty to her. And she isn't goody-goody, either! She's just----"
"A very normal, unspoiled, happy girl who's always been so busy thinking of everything else that she's never had a moment to think of herself. Now to show that you forgive my two-a-penny lectures, will you let me eat dinner with you off your tray? And what are you doing with these books? And did you know Dr. Bowerman's going to let you try crutches49 on Sunday?"
Two hours later, when Jerry, a little shyly, tiptoed into Isobel's room to say good-night, Isobel impulsively50 pulled her head down to the level of her own and kissed her. She wanted to tell Jerry what Uncle Johnny had made her feel and see but she could not find the right words, and Jerry wanted to tell her that she wouldn't for the world trade the jolly afternoon they had had together for any swimming match, but she couldn't find the right words, so each just kissed the other, wondering why she was so happy!
"I'm going to walk on crutches Sunday, Jerry."
"Oh, great! It will only be a little while before you're back in school, Isobel."
"Good-night, Jerry."
"Good-night, Isobel!"
收听单词发音 |
1
slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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consultations
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| n.磋商（会议）( consultation的名词复数 )；商讨会；协商会；查找 | |
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mumps
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| n.腮腺炎 | |
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measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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remorse
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| n.痛恨，悔恨，自责 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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bout
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| n.侵袭，发作；一次(阵，回)；拳击等比赛 | |
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horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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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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folders
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| n.文件夹( folder的名词复数 )；纸夹；（某些计算机系统中的）文件夹；页面叠 | |
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atlas
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| n.地图册，图表集 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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bracelet
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| n.手镯，臂镯 | |
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turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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vehemently
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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warriors
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| 武士，勇士，战士( warrior的名词复数 ) | |
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glorify
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| vt.颂扬，赞美，使增光，美化 | |
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petulantly
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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scrap
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| n.碎片；废料；v.废弃，报废 | |
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enamel
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| n.珐琅，搪瓷，瓷釉；(牙齿的)珐琅质 | |
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orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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orphanage
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| n.孤儿院 | |
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filthy
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| adj.卑劣的；恶劣的，肮脏的 | |
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blessings
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| n.（上帝的）祝福( blessing的名词复数 )；好事；福分；因祸得福 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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49
crutches
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| n.拐杖, 支柱 v.支撑 | |
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50
impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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