"What do you think?" he said in a very solemn, yet excited, tone.
PICTURE OF GOD—that he has it at home in an old, red-covered
history of the world, and has looked at it OFTEN."
To think that Jerry Cowan should have seen such a picture often!
We were as deeply impressed as Felix had meant us to be.
"Did he say what it was like?" asked Peter.
"No—only that it was a picture of God, walking in the garden of
Eden."
"Oh," whispered Felicity—we all spoke2 in low tones on the subject, for, by instinct and training, we thought and uttered the Great Name with reverence3, in spite of our devouring4 curiosity—"oh, WOULD Jerry Cowan bring it to school and let us see it?"
"I asked him that, soon as ever he told me," said Felix. "He said he might, but he couldn't promise, for he'd have to ask his mother if he could bring the book to school. If she'll let him he'll bring it to-morrow."
"Oh, I'll be almost afraid to look at it," said Sara Ray tremulously.
I think we all shared her fear to some extent. Nevertheless, we went to school the next day burning with curiosity. And we were disappointed. Possibly night had brought counsel to Jerry Cowan; or perhaps his mother had put him up to it. At all events, he announced to us that he couldn't bring the red-covered history to school, but if we wanted to buy the picture outright5 he would tear it out of the book and sell it to us for fifty cents.
We talked the matter over in serious conclave6 in the orchard7 that evening. We were all rather short of hard cash, having devoted8 most of our spare means to the school library fund. But the general consensus9 of opinion was that we must have the picture, no matter what pecuniary10 sacrifices were involved. If we could each give about seven cents we would have the amount. Peter could only give four, but Dan gave eleven, which squared matters.
"Fifty cents would be pretty dear for any other picture, but of course this is different," said Dan.
"And there's a picture of Eden thrown in, too, you know," added
Felicity.
"Nobody but a Cowan would do it, and that's a fact," said Dan.
"When we get it we'll keep it in the family Bible," said
Felicity. "That's the only proper place."
"Oh, I wonder what it will be like," breathed Cecily.
We all wondered. Next day in school we agreed to Jerry Cowan's terms, and Jerry promised to bring the picture up to Uncle Alec's the following afternoon.
We were all intensely excited Saturday morning. To our dismay, it began to rain just before dinner.
"What if Jerry doesn't bring the picture to-day because of the rain?" I suggested.
"Never you fear," answered Felicity decidedly. "A Cowan would come through ANYTHING for fifty cents."
After dinner we all, without any verbal decision about it, washed our faces and combed our hair. The girls put on their second best dresses, and we boys donned white collars. We all had the unuttered feeling that we must do such honour to that Picture as we could. Felicity and Dan began a small spat12 over something, but stopped at once when Cecily said severely13,
"How DARE you quarrel when you are going to look at a picture of
God to-day?"
Owing to the rain we could not foregather in the orchard, where we had meant to transact14 the business with Jerry. We did not wish our grown-ups around at our great moment, so we betook ourselves to the loft15 of the granary in the spruce wood, from whose window we could see the main road and hail Jerry. Sara Ray had joined us, very pale and nervous, having had, so it appeared, a difference of opinion with her mother about coming up the hill in the rain.
"I'm afraid I did very wrong to come against ma's will," she said miserably16, "but I COULDN'T wait. I wanted to see the picture as soon as you did."
We waited and watched at the window. The valley was full of mist, and the rain was coming down in slanting17 lines over the tops of the spruces. But as we waited the clouds broke away and the sun came out flashingly; the drops on the spruce boughs19 glittered like diamonds.
"I don't believe Jerry can be coming," said Cecily in despair. "I suppose his mother must have thought it was dreadful, after all, to sell such a picture."
"There he is now!" cried Dan, waving excitedly from the window.
"He's carrying a fish-basket," said Felicity. "You surely don't suppose he would bring THAT picture in a fish-basket!"
Jerry HAD brought it in a fish-basket, as appeared when he mounted the granary stairs shortly afterwards. It was folded up in a newspaper packet on top of the dried herring with which the basket was filled. We paid him his money, but we would not open the packet until he had gone.
"Cecily," said Felicity in a hushed tone. "You are the best of us all. YOU open the parcel."
"Oh, I'm no gooder than the rest of you," breathed Cecily, "but
I'll open it if you like."
With trembling fingers Cecily opened the parcel. We stood around, hardly breathing. She unfolded it and held it up. We saw it.
Suddenly Sara began to cry.
Felix and I spoke not. Disappointment, and something worse, sealed our speech. DID God look like that—like that stern, angrily frowning old man with the tossing hair and beard of the wood-cut Cecily held.
"I suppose He must, since that is His picture," said Dan miserably.
"He looks awful cross," said Peter simply.
"Oh, I wish we'd never, never seen it," cried Cecily.
We all wished that—too late. Our curiosity had led us into some Holy of Holies, not to be profaned21 by human eyes, and this was our punishment.
"I've always had a feeling right along," wept Sara, "that it wasn't RIGHT to buy—or LOOK AT—God's picture."
"Where are you, children?"
The Story Girl had returned! At any other moment we would have rushed to meet her in wild joy. But now we were too crushed and miserable23 to move.
"Whatever is the matter with you all?" demanded the Story Girl, appearing at the top of the stairs. "What is Sara crying about? What have you got there?"
"A picture of God," said Cecily with a sob24 in her voice, "and oh, it is so dreadful and ugly. Look!"
The Story Girl looked. An expression of scorn came over her face.
"Surely you don't believe God looks like that," she said impatiently, while her fine eyes flashed. "He doesn't—He couldn't. He is wonderful and beautiful. I'm surprised at you. THAT is nothing but the picture of a cross old man."
Hope sprang up in our hearts, although we were not wholly convinced.
'God in the Garden of Eden.' It's PRINTED."
"Well, I suppose that's what the man who drew it thought God was like," answered the Story Girl carelessly. "But HE couldn't have known any more than you do. HE had never seen Him."
"It's all very well for you to say so," said Felicity, "but YOU don't know either. I wish I could believe that isn't like God—but I don't know what to believe."
"Well, if you won't believe me, I suppose you'll believe the minister," said the Story Girl. "Go and ask him. He's in the house this very minute. He came up with us in the buggy."
At any other time we would never have dared catechize the minister about anything. But desperate cases call for desperate measures. We drew straws to see who should go and do the asking, and the lot fell to Felix.
"Better wait until Mr. Marwood leaves, and catch him in the lane," advised the Story Girl. "You'll have a lot of grown-ups around you in the house."
Felix took her advice. Mr. Marwood, presently walking benignantly along the lane, was confronted by a fat, small boy with a pale face but resolute26 eyes.
The rest of us remained in the background but within hearing.
"Please, sir, does God really look like this?" asked Felix, holding out the picture. "We hope He doesn't—but we want to know the truth, and that is why I'm bothering you. Please excuse us and tell me."
The minister looked at the picture. A stern expression came into his gentle blue eyes and he got as near to frowning as it was possible for him to get.
"Where did you get that thing?" he asked.
THING! We began to breathe easier.
"We bought it from Jerry Cowan. He found it in a red-covered history of the world. It SAYS it's God's picture," said Felix.
"It is nothing of the sort," said Mr. Marwood indignantly. "There is no such thing as a picture of God, Felix. No human being knows what he looks like—no human being CAN know. We should not even try to think what He looks like. But, Felix, you may be sure that God is infinitely28 more beautiful and loving and tender and kind than anything we can imagine of Him. Never believe anything else, my boy. As for this—this SACRILEGE—take it and burn it."
We did not know what a sacrilege meant, but we knew that Mr. Marwood had declared that the picture was not like God. That was enough for us. We felt as if a terrible weight had been lifted from our minds.
"I could hardly believe the Story Girl, but of course the minister KNOWS," said Dan happily.
"We've lost fifty cents because of it," said Felicity gloomily.
We had lost something of infinitely more value than fifty cents, although we did not realize it just then. The minister's words had removed from our minds the bitter belief that God was like that picture; but on something deeper and more enduring than mind an impression had been made that was never to be removed. The mischief29 was done. From that day to this the thought or the mention of God brings up before us involuntarily the vision of a stern, angry, old man. Such was the price we were to pay for the indulgence of a curiosity which each of us, deep in our hearts, had, like Sara Ray, felt ought not to be gratified.
"Mr. Marwood told me to burn it," said Felix.
"It doesn't seem reverent30 to do that," said Cecily. "Even if it isn't God's picture, it has His name on it."
"Bury it," said the Story Girl.
We did bury it after tea, in the depths of the spruce grove31; and then we went into the orchard. It was so nice to have the Story Girl back again. She had wreathed her hair with Canterbury Bells, and looked like the incarnation of rhyme and story and dream.
"Canterbury Bells is a lovely name for a flower, isn't it?" she said. "It makes you think of cathedrals and chimes, doesn't it? Let's go over to Uncle Stephen's Walk, and sit on the branches of the big tree. It's too wet on the grass, and I know a story—a TRUE story, about an old lady I saw in town at Aunt Louisa's. Such a dear old lady, with lovely silvery curls."
After the rain the air seemed dripping with odours in the warm west wind—the tang of fir balsam, the spice of mint, the wild woodsiness of ferns, the aroma32 of grasses steeping in the sunshine,—and with it all a breath of wild sweetness from far hill pastures.
Scattered33 through the grass in Uncle Stephen's Walk, were blossoming pale, aerial flowers which had no name that we could ever discover. Nobody seemed to know anything about them. They had been there when Great-grandfather King bought the place. I have never seen them elsewhere, or found them described in any floral catalogue. We called them the White Ladies. The Story Girl gave them the name. She said they looked like the souls of good women who had had to suffer much and had been very patient. They were wonderfully dainty, with a strange, faint, aromatic34 perfume which was only to be detected at a little distance and vanished if you bent35 over them. They faded soon after they were plucked; and, although strangers, greatly admiring them, often carried away roots and seeds, they could never be coaxed36 to grow elsewhere.
"My story is about Mrs. Dunbar and the Captain of the FANNY," said the Story Girl, settling herself comfortably on a bough18, with her brown head against a gnarled trunk. "It's sad and beautiful—and true. I do love to tell stories that I know really happened. Mrs. Dunbar lives next door to Aunt Louisa in town. She is so sweet. You wouldn't think to look at her that she had a tragedy in her life, but she has. Aunt Louisa told me the tale. It all happened long, long ago. Interesting things like this all did happen long ago, it seems to me. They never seem to happen now. This was in '49, when people were rushing to the gold fields in California. It was just like a fever, Aunt Louisa says. People took it, right here on the Island; and a number of young men determined37 they would go to California.
"It is easy to go to California now; but it was a very different matter then. There were no railroads across the land, as there are now, and if you wanted to go to California you had to go in a sailing vessel38, all the way around Cape39 Horn. It was a long and dangerous journey; and sometimes it took over six months. When you got there you had no way of sending word home again except by the same plan. It might be over a year before your people at home heard a word about you—and fancy what their feelings would be!
"But these young men didn't think of these things; they were led on by a golden vision. They made all their arrangements, and they chartered the brig Fanny to take them to California.
"The captain of the Fanny is the hero of my story. His name was Alan Dunbar, and he was young and handsome. Heroes always are, you know, but Aunt Louisa says he really was. And he was in love—wildly in love,—with Margaret Grant. Margaret was as beautiful as a dream, with soft blue eyes and clouds of golden hair; and she loved Alan Dunbar just as much as he loved her. But her parents were bitterly opposed to him, and they had forbidden Margaret to see him or speak to him. They hadn't anything against him as a MAN, but they didn't want her to throw herself away on a sailor.
"Well, when Alan Dunbar knew that he must go to California in the Fanny he was in despair. He felt that he could NEVER go so far away for so long and leave his Margaret behind. And Margaret felt that she could never let him go. I know EXACTLY how she felt."
"How can you know?" interrupted Peter suddenly. "You ain't old enough to have a beau. How can you know?"
The Story Girl looked at Peter with a frown. She did not like to be interrupted when telling a story.
"Those are not things one KNOWS about," she said with dignity.
"One FEELS about them."
"Finally, Margaret ran away with Alan, and they were married in Charlottetown. Alan intended to take his wife with him to California in the Fanny. If it was a hard journey for a man it was harder still for a woman, but Margaret would have dared anything for Alan's sake. They had three days—ONLY three days—of happiness, and then the blow fell. The crew and the passengers of the Fanny refused to let Captain Dunbar take his wife with him. They told him he must leave her behind. And all his prayers were of no avail. They say he stood on the deck of the Fanny and pleaded with the men while the tears ran down his face; but they would not yield, and he had to leave Margaret behind. Oh, what a parting it was!"
There was heartbreak in the Story Girl's voice and tears came into our eyes. There, in the green bower41 of Uncle Stephen's Walk, we cried over the pathos42 of a parting whose anguish43 had been stilled for many years.
"When it was all over, Margaret's father and mother forgave her, and she went back home to wait—to WAIT. Oh, it is so dreadful just to WAIT, and do nothing else. Margaret waited for nearly a year. How long it must have seemed to her! And at last there came a letter—but not from Alan. Alan was DEAD. He had died in California and had been buried there. While Margaret had been thinking of him and longing44 for him and praying for him he had been lying in his lonely, faraway grave."
"There is no more," said the Story Girl. "That was the end of it—the end of everything for Margaret. It didn't kill HER, but her heart died."
"I just wish I'd hold of those fellows who wouldn't let the
"Well, it was awful said," said Felicity, wiping her eyes. "But it was long ago and we can't do any good by crying over it now. Let us go and get something to eat. I made some nice little rhubarb tarts48 this morning."
We went. In spite of new disappointments and old heartbreaks we had appetites. And Felicity did make scrumptious rhubarb tarts!
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1
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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2
spoke
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| 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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3
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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4
devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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5
outright
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| adv.坦率地；彻底地；立即；adj.无疑的；彻底的 | |
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conclave
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| n.秘密会议，红衣主教团 | |
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7
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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consensus
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| n.(意见等的)一致，一致同意，共识 | |
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10
pecuniary
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| adj.金钱的；金钱上的 | |
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11
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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13
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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14
transact
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| v.处理；做交易；谈判 | |
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loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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16
miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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18
bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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19
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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20
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
profaned
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| v.不敬( profane的过去式和过去分词 )；亵渎，玷污 | |
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22
blithe
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| adj.快乐的，无忧无虑的 | |
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23
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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24
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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25
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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26
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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27
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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28
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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29
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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30
reverent
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| adj.恭敬的，虔诚的 | |
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31
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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32
aroma
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| n.香气，芬芳，芳香 | |
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33
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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34
aromatic
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| adj.芳香的，有香味的 | |
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35
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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36
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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37
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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38
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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39
cape
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| n.海角，岬；披肩，短披风 | |
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40
subsided
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| v.（土地）下陷（因在地下采矿）( subside的过去式和过去分词 )；减弱；下降至较低或正常水平；一下子坐在椅子等上 | |
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41
bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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42
pathos
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| n.哀婉，悲怆 | |
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43
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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44
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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45
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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46
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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47
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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48
tarts
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| n.果馅饼( tart的名词复数 )；轻佻的女人；妓女；小妞 | |
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