If Sancho's abduction made a stir, one may easilyimagine with what warmth and interest he waswelcomed back when his wrongs and wanderingswere known. For several days he held regular levees,that curious boys and sympathizing girls might seeand pity the changed and curtailed1 dog. Sancho behavedwith dignified2 affability, and sat upon his matin the coach-house pensively3 eying his guests, andpatiently submitting to their caresses4; while Ben andThorny took turns to tell the few tragical6 facts whichwere not shrouded7 in the deepest mystery. If theinteresting sufferer could only have spoken, whatthrilling adventures and hair-breadth escapes he mighthave related. But, alas8! he was dumb; and the secretsof that memorable9 month never were revealed.
The lame10 paw soon healed, the dingy11 color slowlyyielded to many washings, the woolly coat began toknot up into little curls, a new collar, handsomelymarked, made him a respectable dog, and Sanchowas himself again. But it was evident that his sufferingswere not forgotten; his once sweet temper was atrifle soured; and, with a few exceptions, he had losthis faith in mankind. Before, he had been the mostbenevolent and hospitable12 of dogs; now, he eyed allstrangers suspiciously, and the sight of a shabby manmade him growl13 and bristle14 up, as if the mernory ofhis wrongs still burned hotly within him.
Fortunately, his gratitude15 was stronger than hisresentment, and he never seemed to forget that heowed his life to Betty, -- running to meet her whenevershe appeared, instantly obeying her commands,and suffering no one to molest16 her when he walkedwatchfully beside her, with her hand upon his neck,as they had walked out of the almost fatal backyardtogether, faithful friends for ever.
Miss Celia called them little Una and her lion, andread the pretty story to the childien when theywondered what she meant. Ben, with great pains,taught the dog to spell "Betty," and surprised herwith a display of this new accomplishment19, whichgratified her so much that she was never tired ofseeing Sanch paw the five red letters into place, thencome and lay his nose in her hand, as if he added,"That's the name of my dear mistress."Of course Bab was glad to have eveiything pleasantand friendly again; but in a little dark corner of herheart there was a drop of envy, and a despeiate desireto do something which would make every one inher small world like and piaise her as they did Betty.
Trying to be as good and gentle did not satisfy her;she must do something brave or surprising, and nochance for distinguishing herself in that way seemedlikely to appear. Betty was as fond as ever, andthe boys were very kind to her; but she felt thatthey both liked "little Beteinda," as they called her,best, because she found Sanch, and never seemed to knowthat she had done any thing brave in defendinghim against all odds20. Bab did not tell any one howshe felt, but endeavored to be amiable21, while waitingfor her chance to come; and, when it did arrive,made the most of it, though there was nothing heroicto add a charm.
Miss Celia's arm had been doing very well, butwould, of course, be useless for some time longer.
Finding that the afternoon readings amused herselfas much as they did the children, she kept themup, and brought out all her old favorites enjoying adouble pleasure in seeing that her young audiencerelished them as much as she did when a child forto all but Thorny5 they were brand new. Out of oneof these stories came much amusement for all, andsatisfaction for one of the party.
"Celia, did you bring our old bows?" asked herbrother, eagerly, as she put down the book fromwhich she had been reading Miss Edgeworth's capitalstory of "Waste not Want not; or, Two Stringsto your Bow.""Yes, I brought all the playthings we left storedaway in uncle's garret when we went abroad. Thebows are in the long box where you found the mallets,fishing-rods, and bats. The old quivers and afew arrows are there also, I believe. What is theidea now? asked Miss Celia in her turn, as Thornybounced up in a great hurry.
"I'm going to teach Ben to shoot. Grand funthis hot weather; and by-and-by we'll have anarchery meeting, and you can give us a prize. Comeon, Ben. I've got plenty of whip-cord to rig up thebows, and then we'll show the ladies some first-classshooting.""I can't; never had a decent bow in my life. Thelittle gilt22 one I used to wave round when I was aCoopid wasn't worth a cent to go," answered Ben,feeling as if that painted "prodigy23" must have beena very distant connection of the respectable youngperson now walking off arm in arm with the lord ofthe manor24.
"Practice is all you want. I used to be a capitalshot, but I don't believe I could hit any thing but abarn-door now," answered Thorny, encouragingly.
As the boys vanished, with much tramping of bootsand banging of doors, Bab observed, in the young-ladyish tone she was apt to use when she composedher active little mind and body to the feminine taskof needlework, --"We used to make bows of whalebone when wewere little girls, but we are too old to play so now.""I'd like to, but Bab won't, 'cause she 's most'leven years old," said honest Betty, placidly25 rubbingher needle in the "ruster," as she called the familyemery-bag.
"Grown people enjoy archery, as bow and arrowshooting is called, especially in England. I wasreading about it the other day, and saw a picture ofQueen Victoria with her bow; so you needn't beashamed of it, Bab," said Miss Celia, rummagingamong the books and papers in her sofa corner tofind the magazine she wanted, thinking a new playwould be as good for the girls as for the big boys.
"A queen, just think!" and Betty looked much impressedby the fact, as well as uplifted by the knowledgethat her friend did not agree in thinking hersilly because she preferred playing with a halmlesshome-made toy to firing stones or snapping a pop-gun.
"In old times, bows and arrows were used to fightgreat battles with; and we read how the English archersshot so well that the air was dark with arrows, andmany men were killed.""So did the Indians have 'em; and I've got somestone arrow-heads, -- found 'em by the river, in thedirt!" cried Bab, waking up, for battles interested hermore than queens.
"While you finish your stints26 I'll tell you a littlestory about the Indians," said Miss Celia, lyingback on her cushions, while the needles began togo again, for the piospect of a story could not beresisted.
"A century or more ago, in a small settlement onthe banks of the Connecticut, -- which means the LongRiver of Pines, -- there lived a little girl called MattyKilburn. On a hill stood the fort where the people ranfor protection in any danger, for the country was newand wild, and more than once the Indians had comedown the river in their canoes and burned the houses,killed men, and carried away women and children.
Matty lived alone with her father, but felt quite safein the log house, for he was never far away. Oneafternoon, as the farmers were all busy in their fields,the bell rang suddenly, -- a sign that there was dangernear, -- and, dropping their rakes or axes, the menhurried to their houses to save wives and babies, andsuch few treasures as they could. Mr. Kilburn caughtup his gun with one hand and his little girl with theother, and ran as fast as he could toward the fort. Butbefore he could reach it he heard a yell, and saw thered men coming up from the river. Then he knew itwould be in vain to try to get in, so he looked about fora safe place to hide Matty till he could come for her.
He was a brave man, and could fight, so he had nothought of hiding while his neighbors needed help;but the dear little daughter must he cared for first.
"In the corner of the lonely pasture which theydared not cross, stood a big hollow elm, and there thefarmer hastily hid Matty, dropping her down into thedim nook, round the mouth of which youg shoots hadgrown, so that no one would have suspected any holewas there.
"Lie still, child, till I come; say your prayers andwait for father,' said the man, as he parted the leavesfor a last glance at the small, frightened face looking upat him.
"Mr. Kilburn went away, and was taken prisonerin the fight, carried off, and for years no one knewwhether he was alive or dead. People missed Matty,but supposed she was with her father, and neverexpected to see her again. A great while afterward28 thepoor man came back, having escaped and made his waythrough the wilderness29 to his old home. His first questionwas for Matty, but no one had seen her; and whenhe told them where he had left her, they shook theirheads as if they thought he was crazy. But theywent to look, that he might be satisfied; and he was;for they they found some little bones, some fadedbits of cloth, and two rusty30 silver buckles31 marked withMatty's name in what had once been her shoes. AnIndian arrow lay there, too, showing why she hadnever cried for help, but waited patiently so long forfather to come and find her."If Miss Celia expected to see the last bit of hem18 donewhen her story ended, she was disappointed; for not adozen stitches had been taken. Betty was using hercrash towel for a handkerchief, and Bab's lay on theground as she listened with snapping eyes to the littletragedy.
"Is it true?" asked Betty, hoping to find relief inbeing told that it was not.
"Yes; I have seen the tree, and the mound32 wherethe fort was, and the rusty buckles in an old farmhousewhere other Kilburns live, near the spot where itall happened," answered Miss Celia, looking out thepicture of Victoria to console her auditors33.
"We'll play that in the old apple-tree. Betty canscrooch down, and I'll be the father, and put leaves onher, and then I'll be a great Injun and fire at her. Ican make arrows, and it will be fun, won't it?" criedBab, charmed with the new drama in which she couldact the leading parts.
"No, it won't!" I don't like to go in a cobwebbyhole, and have you play kill me, I'll make a nice fortof hay, and be all safe, and you can put Dinah downthere for Matty. I don't love her any more, now herlast eye has tumbled out, and you may shoot her justas much as yon like."Before Bab could agree to this satisfactory arrangement,Thorny appeared, singing, as he aimed at a fatrobin, whose red waistcoat looked rather warm andwinterish that August day, --"So he took up his bow,And he feathered his arrow,And said, 'I will shootThis little cock-sparrow.'"But he didn't," chirped35 the robin34, flying away,with a contemptuous flirt36 of his rusty-black tail.
"That is exactly what you must promise not to do,boys. Fire away at your targets as much as you like,but do not harm any living creature," said Miss Celia,as Ben followed armed and equipped with her own long-unused accoutrements.
"Of course we won't if you say so; but, with a littlepractice, I could bring down a bird as well as thatfellow you read to me about with his woodpeckers andlarks and herons," answered Thorny, who had muchenjoyed the article, while his sister lamented37 over thedestruction of the innocent birds.
"You'd do well to borrow the Squire's old stuffedowl for a target; there would be some chance of yourhitting him, he is so big," said his sister, who alwaysmade fun of the boy when he began to brag38.
Thorny's only reply was to send his arrow straightup so far out of sight that it was a long while comingdown again to stick quivering in the ground near by,whence Sancho brought it in his mouth, evidentlyhighly approving of a game in which he could join.
"Not bad for a beginning. Now, Ben, fire away."But Ben's experience with bows was small, and, inspite of his praiseworthy efforts to imitate his greatexemplar, the arrow only turned a feeble sort of somersaultand descended39 perilously40 near Bab's uplifted nose.
"If you endanger other people's life and liberty inyour pursuit of happiness, I shall have to confiscateyour arms, boys. Take the orchard41 for your archeryground; that is safe, and we can see you as we sithere. I wish I had two hands, so that I could paintyou a fine, gay target;" and Miss Celia lookedregretfully at the injured arm, which as yet was oflittle use.
"I wish you could shoot, too; you used to beat allthe girls, and I was proud of you," answered Thorny,with the air of a fond elder brother; though, at thetime he alluded42 to, he was about twelve, and hardly upto his sister's shoulder.
"Thank you. I shall be happy to give my place toBab and Betty if you will make them some bows andarrows; they could not use those long ones."The young gentlemen did not take the hint asquickly as Miss Celia hoped they would; in fact, bothlooked rather blank at the suggestion, as boys generallydo when it is proposed that girls -- especiallysmall ones -- shall join in any game they are playing.
"P'r'aps it would be too much trouble," beganBetty, in her winning little voice.
"I can make my own," declared Bab, with anindependent toss of the head.
"Not a bit; I'll make you the jolliest small bowthat ever was, Belinda," Thorny hastened to say,softened by the appealing glance of the little maid.
"You can use mine, Bab ; you've got such a strongfist, I guess you could pull it," added Ben, rememberingthat it would not be amiss to have a comrade whoshot worse than he did, for he felt very inferior toThorny in many ways, and, being used to praise, hadmissed it very much since he retired43 to private life.
"I will be umpire, and brighten up the silver arrowI sometimes pin my hair with, for a prize, unless wecan find something better," proposed Miss Celia, gladto see that question settled, and every prospect44 of thenew play being a pleasant amusement for the hotweather.
It was astonishing how soon archery became thefashion in that town, for the boys discussed itenthusiastically all that evening, formed the"William Tell Club" next day, with Bab and Betty ashonorary members, and, before the week was out, nearly everylad was seen, like young Norval, " With bended bowand quiver full of arrows," shooting away, with acharming disregard of the safety of their fellowcitizens. Banished45 by the authorities to secludedspots, the members of the club set up their targetsand practised indefatigably46, especially Ben, who soondiscovered that his early gymnastics had given hin asinewy arm and a true eye; and, taking Sanch intopartnership as picker-up, he got more shots out of anhour than those who had to run to and fro.
Thorny easily recovered much of his former skill,but his strength had not fully17 returned, and he soongrew tired. Bab, on the contrary, threw herself intothe contest heart and soul, and tugged47 alvay at thenew bow Miss Celia gave her, for Ben's was too heavy.
No other girls were admitted, so the outsiders got upa club of their own, and called it "The Victoria," thename being suggested by the magazine article, whichwent the rounds as a general guide and referencebook. Bab and Betty belonged to this club andduly reported the doings of the boys, with whom theyhad a right to shoot if they chose, but soon waivedthe right, plainly seeing that their absence would beregarded in the light of a favor.
The archery fever raged as fiercely as the base-ballepidemic had done before it, and not only did themagazine circulate freely, but Miss Edgeworth's story,which was eagerly read, and so much admired thatthe girls at once mounted green ribbons, and theboys kept yards of whip-cord in their pockets like theprovident Benjamin of the tale.
Every one enjoyed the new play very much, andsomething grew out of it which was a lasting48 pleasureto many, long after the bows and arrows were forgotten.
Seeing how glad the children were to get a newstory, Miss Celia was moved to send a box of books-- old and new -- to the town library, which wasbut scantily49 supplied, as country libraries are apt tobe. This donation produced a good effect; for otherpeople hunted up all the volumes they could sparefor the same purpose, and the dusty shelves in thelittle room behind the post-office filled up amazingly.
Coming in vacation time they were hailed with delight,and ancient books of travel, as well as modern tales,were feasted upon by happy young folks, with plentyof time to enjoy them in peace.
The success of her first attempt at being a publicbenefactor pleased Miss Celia veru much, and suggestedother ways in which she might serve the quiettown, where she seemed to feel that work was waitingfor her to do. She said little to any one but thefriend over the sea, yet various plans were made thenthat blossomed beautifully by-and-by.
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收听单词发音
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1
curtailed
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| v.截断，缩短( curtail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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pensively
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| adv.沉思地，焦虑地 | |
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caresses
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| 爱抚，抚摸( caress的名词复数 ) | |
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thorny
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| adj.多刺的，棘手的 | |
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tragical
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| adj. 悲剧的, 悲剧性的 | |
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shrouded
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| v.隐瞒( shroud的过去式和过去分词 )；保密 | |
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8
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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memorable
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| adj.值得回忆的，难忘的，特别的，显著的 | |
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lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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bristle
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| v.（毛发）直立，气势汹汹，发怒；n.硬毛发 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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molest
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| vt.骚扰，干扰，调戏 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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hem
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| n.贴边，镶边；vt.缝贴边；(in)包围，限制 | |
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accomplishment
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| n.完成，成就，（pl.）造诣，技能 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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amiable
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| adj.和蔼可亲的，友善的，亲切的 | |
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gilt
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| adj.镀金的；n.金边证券 | |
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prodigy
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| n.惊人的事物，奇迹，神童，天才，预兆 | |
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manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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stints
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| n.定额工作( stint的名词复数 )；定量；限额；慷慨地做某事 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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buckles
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| 搭扣，扣环( buckle的名词复数 ) | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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auditors
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| n.审计员，稽核员( auditor的名词复数 )；（大学课程的）旁听生 | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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chirped
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| 鸟叫，虫鸣( chirp的过去式 ) | |
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flirt
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| v.调情，挑逗，调戏；n.调情者，卖俏者 | |
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lamented
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| adj.被哀悼的，令人遗憾的v.（为…）哀悼，痛哭，悲伤( lament的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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brag
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| v./n.吹牛，自夸；adj.第一流的 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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perilously
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| adv.充满危险地，危机四伏地 | |
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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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42
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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43
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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45
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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indefatigably
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| adv.不厌倦地，不屈不挠地 | |
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47
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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49
scantily
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| adv.缺乏地；不充足地；吝啬地；狭窄地 | |
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