"I wonder who that can be?" thought Mary Louise. Everyone had to speak loudly to poor Mrs. Conant, who might be entertaining a visitor. She rang the bell and soon her old friend appeared in the doorway6.
"My dear, dear child!" cried the good lady, recognizing the girl instantly and embracing her after a welcoming kiss. "Where on earth have you come from?"
"From Beverly," said Mary Louise with a smile, for in her depressed7 state of mind this warm greeting cheered her wonderfully.
"Come right in," said Mrs. Conant, seizing the suit case. "Have you had breakfast?"
"Yes, indeed; hours ago. And I've seen Mr. Conant at his office. He—he wanted me to talk to you."
She spoke9 loudly, as she had been accustomed to do, but now Mrs. Conant wore on her ear an instrument similar in appearance to a small telephone receiver, and she seemed to hear quite distinctly through its mechanism10. Indeed, she pointed11 to it with an air of pride and said: "I can hear a whisper, my dear!"
As Mary Louise was ushered12 into the cosy13 sitting room she looked for the piano-player and the owner of the merry laugh and cheery voice. Near the center of the room was a wheeled chair in which sat a young girl of about her own age—a rather pretty girl in spite of her thin frame and pallid14 countenance15. She was neatly16 dressed in figured dimity, with a bright ribbon at her throat. A pair of expressive17 brown eyes regarded Mary Louise with questioning earnestness. Over her lap lay a coverlet; her slender white fingers rested upon the broad arms of her chair.
"This," said Mrs. Conant, "is my niece, Irene Macfarlane, who is living with us just now and is the life and joy of our formerly18 dull household. You'll have to love her, Mary Louise, because no one can help doing so."
Mary Louise advanced to the chair and took one of the wan8 hands in her own. A thrill of pity flooded her heart for the unfortunate girl, who instantly noted19 her expression and met it with a charmingly spontaneous smile.
"Don't you dare think of me as a cripple!" she said warningly. "I am not at all helpless and my really-truly friends quickly forget this ugly wheeled chair. We're to be friends, are we not? And you're going to stay, because I see your baggage. Also I know all about you, Mary Louise Burrows20, for Aunt Hannah never tires of singing your praises."
This was said so naturally and with such absence of affectation that
Mary Louise could not fail to respond to the words and smile.
"I'm glad to find you here, Irene," she said, "and I don't know yet whether I'm to stay or not. That will depend on Mrs. Conant's decision."
"Then you're to stay," promptly21 decided22 the hospitable23 lady, who by turning her mechanical ear toward the speaker seemed able to hear her words clearly.
"But you don't know all the complications yet," confessed the girl. "I've run away from school and—and there are other things you must know before you decide. Mr. Conant wasn't at all enthusiastic over my coming here, I assure you, so I must tell you frankly24 the whole story of my adventures."
"Very good," returned Mrs. Conant. "I think I can guess at most of the story, but you shall tell it in your own way. Presently Irene is going out to inspect the roses; she does that every morning; so when she is out of the way we'll have a nice talk together."
"I'm going now," said Irene, with a bright laugh at her dismissal. "Mary Louise won't be happy till everything is properly settled; nor will I, for I'm anxious to get acquainted with my new friend. So here I go and when you've had your talk out just whistle for me, Mary Louise."
She could propel the chair by means of rims25 attached to the wheels and, even as she spoke, began to roll herself out of the room. Mary Louise sprang to assist her, but the girl waved her away with a little laugh.
"I'm an expert traveler," she said, "and everyone lets me go and come as I please. Indeed, I'm very independent, Mary Louise, as you will presently discover."
Away she went, through the hall, out at the front door and along the broad porch, and when she had gone Mary Louise whispered softly into Mrs. Conant's mechanical eardrum:
"What is wrong with her?"
"A good many things," was the reply, "although the brave child makes light of them all. One leg is badly withered26 and the foot of the other is twisted out of shape. She can stand on that foot to dress herself—which she insists on doing unaided—but she cannot walk a step. Irene has suffered a great deal, I think, and she's a frail27 little body; but she has the sweetest temperament28 in the world and seems happy and content from morn till night."
"It's wonderful!" exclaimed Mary Louise. "What caused her affliction?"
"It is the result of an illness she had when a baby. Irene is sixteen and has never known what it is to be well and strong, yet she never resents her fate, but says she is grateful for the blessings29 she enjoys. Her father died long ago and her mother about a year since; so, the child being an orphan30, Peter and I have taken her to live with us."
"That is very kind of you," asserted Mary Louise with conviction.
"No; I fear it is pure selfishness," returned the good woman, "for until she came to us the old home had been dreadfully dull—the result, my dear, of your going away. And now tell me your story, and all about yourself, for I'm anxious to hear what brought you to Dorfield."
Mary Louise drew a chair close to that of Aunt Hannah Conant and confided31 to her all the worries and tribulations33 that had induced her to quit Miss Stearne's school and seek shelter with her old friends the Conants. Also, she related the episode of Detective O'Gorman and how she had first learned through him that her grandfather and her mother were not living in Dorfield.
"I'm dreadfully worried over Gran'pa Jim," said she, "for those terrible agents of the Secret Service seem bent34 on catching35 him. And he doesn't wish to be caught. If they arrested him, do you think they would put him in jail, Aunt Hannah?"
"I fear so," was the reply.
"What do they imagine he has done that is wrong?"
"I do not know," said Mrs. Conant. "Peter never tells me anything about the private affairs of his clients, and I never ask him. But of one thing I am sure, my dear, and that is that Peter Conant would not act as Colonel Weatherby's lawyer, and try to shield him, unless he believed him innocent of any crime. Peter is a little odd, in some ways, but he's honest to the backbone36."
"I know it," declared Mary Louise. "Also I know that Gran'pa Jim is a good man. Cannot the law make a mistake, Aunt Hannah?"
"It surely can, or there would be no use for lawyers. But do not worry over your grandfather, my child, for he seems quite able to take care of himself. It is nine or ten years since he became a fugitive37—also making a fugitive of your poor mother, who would not desert him—and to this day the officers of the law have been unable to apprehend38 him. Be patient, dear girl, and accept the situation as you find it. You shall live with us until your people again send for you. We have excellent schools in Dorfield, where you will not be taunted39 with your grandfather's misfortunes because no one here knows anything about them."
"Doesn't Irene know?" asked Mary Louise.
"She only knows that your people are great travelers and frequently leave you behind them as they flit from place to place. She knows that you lived with us for three years and that we love you."
The girl became thoughtful for a time. "I can't understand," she finally said, "why Gran'pa Jim acts the way he does. Often he has told me, when I deserved censure40, to 'face the music' and have it over with. Once he said that those who sin must suffer the penalty, because it is the law of both God and man, and he who seeks to escape a just penalty is a coward. Gran'pa knows he is innocent, but the government thinks he is guilty; so why doesn't he face the music and prove his innocence41, instead of running away as a coward might do and so allow his good name to suffer reproach?"
"That very question has often puzzled me, as it has you," she confessed. "Once I asked Peter about it and he scowled43 and said it might be just as well to allow Colonel Weatherby to mind his own business. The Colonel seems to have a good deal of money, and perhaps he fears that if he surrendered to the law it would be taken away from him, leaving you and your mother destitute44."
"We wouldn't mind that," said the girl, "if Gran'pa's name could be cleared."
"After all," continued Mrs. Conant reflectively, "I don't believe the Colonel is accused of stealing money, for Peter says his family is one of the oldest and richest in New York. Your grandfather inherited a vast fortune and added largely to it. Peter says he was an important man of affairs before this misfortune—whatever it was—overtook him."
"I can just remember our home in New York," said Mary Louise, also musingly45, "for I was very young at the time. It was a beautiful big place, with a good many servants. I wonder what drove us from it?"
"Do you remember your father?" asked Mrs. Conant.
"Not at all."
"Peter once told me he was a foreigner who fell desperately46 in love with your mother and married her without your grandfather's full approval. I believe Mr. Burrows was a man of much political influence, for he served in the Department of State and had a good many admirers. Peter never knew why your grandfather opposed the marriage, for afterward47 he took Mr. and Mrs. Burrows to live with him and they were all good friends up to the day of your father's death. But this is ancient history and speculation48 on subjects we do not understand is sure to prove unsatisfactory. I wouldn't worry over your grandfather's troubles, my dear. Try to forget them."
"Grandfather's real name isn't Weatherby," said the girl. "It is
Hathaway."
Mrs. Conant gave a start of surprise.
"How did you learn that?" she asked sharply.
The girl took out her watch, pried49 open the back ease with a penknife and allowed Mrs. Conant to read the inscription50. Also she curiously51 watched the woman's face and noted its quick flush and its uneasy expression. Did the lawyer's wife know more than she had admitted?
If so, why was everyone trying to keep her in the dark?
"I cannot see that this helps to solve the mystery," said Mrs. Conant in a brisk tone as she recovered from her surprise. "Let us put the whole thing out of mind, Mary Louise, or it will keep us all stirred up and in a muddle52 of doubt. I shall tell Peter you are to live with us, and your old little room at the back of the hall is all ready for you. Irene has the next room, so you will be quite neighborly. Go and put away your things and then we'll whistle for Irene."
Mary Louise went to the well-remembered room and slowly and thoughtfully unpacked53 her suit case. She was glad to find a home again among congenial people, but she was growing more and more perplexed over the astonishing case of Gran'pa Jim. It worried her to find that an occasional doubt would cross her mind in spite of her intense loyalty54 to her dearly loved grandparent. She would promptly drive out the doubt, but it would insist on intruding55 again.
"Something is wrong somewhere," she sighed. "There must be some snarl56 that even Gran'pa Jim can't untangle; and, if he can't, I'm sure no one else can. I wish I could find him and that he would tell me all about it. I suppose he thinks I'm too young to confide32 in, but I'm almost sixteen now and surely that's old enough to understand things. There were girls at school twenty years old that I'm sure couldn't reason as well as I can."
After a while she went down stairs and joined Irene in the garden, where the chair-girl was trimming rose bushes with a pair of stout57 scissors. She greeted Mary Louise with her bright smile, saying:
"Why, we ARE acquainted," declared Mary Louise. "Until to-day I had never heard of you, yet it seems as if I had known you always."
"Thank you," laughed Irene; "that is a very pretty compliment, I well realize. You have decided to stay, then?"
"Aunt Hannah has decided so, but Mr. Conant may object."
"He won't do that," was the quick reply. "Uncle Peter may be an autocrat59 in his office, but I've noticed that Aunt Hannah is the ruler of this household."
Mr. Conant may have noticed that, also, for he seemed not at all surprised when his wife said she had decided to keep Mary Louise with them. But after the girls had gone to bed that night the lawyer had a long talk with his better half, and thereafter Mary Louise's presence was accepted as a matter of course. But Mr. Conant said to her the next morning:
"I have notified your grandfather, at his six different addresses, of your coming to us, so I ought to receive his instructions within the next few days. Also, to-day I will write Miss Stearne that you are here and why you came away from the school."
"Will you ask her to send my trunk?"
"Not now. We will first await advices from Colonel Weatherby."
These "advices" were received three days later in the form of a brief telegram from a Los Angeles attorney. The message read: "Colonel Weatherby requests you to keep M. L. in Dorfield until further instructions. Money forwarded. Hot. Caution." It was signed "O. L." and when Mr. Conant showed Mary Louise the message she exclaimed:
"Then Mr. O'Gorman was right!"
"In what way?" questioned the lawyer.
"In the note he left for me at the hotel he said I might find my grandfather by writing to Oscar Lawler at Los Angeles, California. This telegram is from Los Angeles and it is signed 'O. L.' which must mean 'Oscar Lawler.'"
"How clever!" said Mr. Conant sarcastically60.
"That proves, of course, that Gran'pa Jim and mother are in California,
But how did the detective know that?" she asked wonderingly.
"He didn't know it," answered Peter Conant. "On the contrary, this message proves to me that they are not there at all."
"But the telegram says—"
"Otherwise," continued the lawyer, "the telegram would not have come from that far-away point on the Pacific coast. There now remain five other places where Colonel Weatherby might be located. The chances are, however, that he is not in any of them."
Mary Louise was puzzled. It was altogether too bewildering for her comprehension.
"Here are two strange words," said she, eyeing the telegram she still held. "What does 'hot' mean, Mr. Conant?"
"It means," he replied, "that the government spies are again seeking Colonel Weatherby. The word 'caution' means that we must all take care not to let any information escape us that might lead to his arrest. Don't talk to strangers, Mary Louise; don't talk to anyone outside our family of your grandfather's affairs, or even of your own affairs. The safety of Colonel Weatherby depends, to a great extent, on our all being silent and discreet61."
点击收听单词发音
1 shrubs | |
灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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2 joyous | |
adj.充满快乐的;令人高兴的 | |
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3 ragtime | |
n.拉格泰姆音乐 | |
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4 tune | |
n.调子;和谐,协调;v.调音,调节,调整 | |
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5 ornament | |
v.装饰,美化;n.装饰,装饰物 | |
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6 doorway | |
n.门口,(喻)入门;门路,途径 | |
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7 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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8 wan | |
(wide area network)广域网 | |
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9 spoke | |
n.(车轮的)辐条;轮辐;破坏某人的计划;阻挠某人的行动 v.讲,谈(speak的过去式);说;演说;从某种观点来说 | |
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10 mechanism | |
n.机械装置;机构,结构 | |
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11 pointed | |
adj.尖的,直截了当的 | |
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12 ushered | |
v.引,领,陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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13 cosy | |
adj.温暖而舒适的,安逸的 | |
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14 pallid | |
adj.苍白的,呆板的 | |
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15 countenance | |
n.脸色,面容;面部表情;vt.支持,赞同 | |
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16 neatly | |
adv.整洁地,干净地,灵巧地,熟练地 | |
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17 expressive | |
adj.表现的,表达…的,富于表情的 | |
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18 formerly | |
adv.从前,以前 | |
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19 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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20 burrows | |
n.地洞( burrow的名词复数 )v.挖掘(洞穴),挖洞( burrow的第三人称单数 );翻寻 | |
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21 promptly | |
adv.及时地,敏捷地 | |
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22 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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23 hospitable | |
adj.好客的;宽容的;有利的,适宜的 | |
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24 frankly | |
adv.坦白地,直率地;坦率地说 | |
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25 rims | |
n.(圆形物体的)边( rim的名词复数 );缘;轮辋;轮圈 | |
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26 withered | |
adj. 枯萎的,干瘪的,(人身体的部分器官)因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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27 frail | |
adj.身体虚弱的;易损坏的 | |
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28 temperament | |
n.气质,性格,性情 | |
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29 blessings | |
n.(上帝的)祝福( blessing的名词复数 );好事;福分;因祸得福 | |
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30 orphan | |
n.孤儿;adj.无父母的 | |
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31 confided | |
v.吐露(秘密,心事等)( confide的过去式和过去分词 );(向某人)吐露(隐私、秘密等) | |
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32 confide | |
v.向某人吐露秘密 | |
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33 tribulations | |
n.苦难( tribulation的名词复数 );艰难;苦难的缘由;痛苦 | |
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34 bent | |
n.爱好,癖好;adj.弯的;决心的,一心的 | |
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35 catching | |
adj.易传染的,有魅力的,迷人的,接住 | |
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36 backbone | |
n.脊骨,脊柱,骨干;刚毅,骨气 | |
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37 fugitive | |
adj.逃亡的,易逝的;n.逃犯,逃亡者 | |
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38 apprehend | |
vt.理解,领悟,逮捕,拘捕,忧虑 | |
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39 taunted | |
嘲讽( taunt的过去式和过去分词 ); 嘲弄; 辱骂; 奚落 | |
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40 censure | |
v./n.责备;非难;责难 | |
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41 innocence | |
n.无罪;天真;无害 | |
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42 perplexed | |
adj.不知所措的 | |
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43 scowled | |
怒视,生气地皱眉( scowl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44 destitute | |
adj.缺乏的;穷困的 | |
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45 musingly | |
adv.沉思地,冥想地 | |
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46 desperately | |
adv.极度渴望地,绝望地,孤注一掷地 | |
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47 afterward | |
adv.后来;以后 | |
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48 speculation | |
n.思索,沉思;猜测;投机 | |
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49 pried | |
v.打听,刺探(他人的私事)( pry的过去式和过去分词 );撬开 | |
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50 inscription | |
n.(尤指石块上的)刻印文字,铭文,碑文 | |
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51 curiously | |
adv.有求知欲地;好问地;奇特地 | |
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52 muddle | |
n.困惑,混浊状态;vt.使混乱,使糊涂,使惊呆;vi.胡乱应付,混乱 | |
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53 unpacked | |
v.从(包裹等)中取出(所装的东西),打开行李取出( unpack的过去式和过去分词 );拆包;解除…的负担;吐露(心事等) | |
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54 loyalty | |
n.忠诚,忠心 | |
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55 intruding | |
v.侵入,侵扰,打扰( intrude的现在分词);把…强加于 | |
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56 snarl | |
v.吼叫,怒骂,纠缠,混乱;n.混乱,缠结,咆哮 | |
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58 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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59 autocrat | |
n.独裁者;专横的人 | |
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60 sarcastically | |
adv.挖苦地,讽刺地 | |
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61 discreet | |
adj.(言行)谨慎的;慎重的;有判断力的 | |
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