Sisum never remarried, but lavished5 his affection upon his daughter and especially the grandchild Ruth, whom it may be said he loved more than his own life. Thus things stood until the little one was nearly five years old, when she showed alarming signs of sinking into a decline. Her parents decided6 to take her on a long sea voyage in the summer time. The understanding was that they were to be gone for several months, but they never returned. Their steamer was not heard of again.
It was years before the grandfather gave up hope. The long brooding over his grief and the final yielding to despair,—slow but final,—produced a strange effect upon his mind. Only his most intimate friends saw that his brain was affected7; others met and talked with him daily with never a suspicion of the fact. He had come to the gradual but fixed8 belief that although his dear ones had left him for the land of shadows, yet somewhere and at some time in this life his grandchild would come to him. She might not remain long, but she would reveal herself unmistakably before Uncle Elk1 himself passed into the Great Beyond. It was the centering of his thoughts and hopes upon this strange fancy that was actual monomania. Scout9 Master Hall detected it, though none of the Boy Scouts10 dreamed of anything of the kind. As the delusion11 fastened itself upon the old man, he formed a distaste for society, which of itself grew until it made him the hermit12 we found in the Maine woods during this summer. There he spent his hours in reading, and in studying animal and bird life,—trees and woodcraft. He never lost his gentle affection for his fellow men, and at long intervals13 visited his former acquaintances; but, though he left his latchstring outside and gave welcome to whoever called, he preferred to make his abiding14 place far from the haunts of men.
What mind can understand its own mysteries? While the current of life was moving smoothly15 with the old man, Doctor Spellman put up his summer home on the shore of the lake not very distant from the cabin of Uncle Elk. The latter set out to call upon them almost as soon as he learned of their arrival. While too far for the couple to see him, he caught sight of them sitting in front of their structure, the doctor smoking and the wife engaged in crochet16 work. Their child was playing with a doll indoors, and Uncle Elk saw nothing of her, nor did 307he learn of her existence until several days later, when occurred the incident that will be told further on.
It was that sight of the man and woman that gave a curious twist to the delusion of the hermit. He was startled by the woman’s striking resemblance to his own daughter who had been lost at sea years before. He formed a sudden and intense dislike of the man who had presumed to marry a person that resembled his child, and it was painful to look upon the wife who bore such a resemblance. No brain, except one already somewhat askew17, could have been the victim of so queer a process. Such, however, was the fact and of itself it explains a number of incidents that otherwise could not be explained.
It will be noted18 that thus far Uncle Elk had not seen the little child who was the image of her mother, and since the parents quickly learned of his strange antipathy19 and took care to avoid meeting him, it is unlikely that in the ordinary course of events he ever would have come face to face with the little one.
Now nothing is more evident than the absurdity20 of my trying to describe the mental ordeal21 through which this man passed on that last and most memorable22 night of his life. I base what I say upon that which Doctor Spellman told me as the result of his painstaking23 investigation24, during the succeeding months, of the most singular case with which he was ever concerned, and even the brilliant medical man could not be absolutely certain of all his conclusions. However, they sound so reasonable that I now give them.
Throughout the afternoon, Uncle Elk was depressed25 in spirits, as is sometimes true of a person who is on the eve of some event or experience of decisive importance to himself. He was subject to a peculiar26 physical chilliness27 which led him to kindle28 a fire on his broad hearth29, in front of which as the night shadows gathered, he seated himself in his cushioned rocking chair. As time passed he gave himself over to meditation30 of the long ago with its sorrowful memories.
He had sat thus for some time when he was roused by the twitching31 of the latchstring. He turned his head to welcome his 309caller, when he was so startled that at first he could not believe what his eyes told him. A little girl, of the age and appearance of the one who had gone down in the depths of the fathomless32 sea, stood before him.
“Good evening,” called the child in her gentle voice; “how do you do?”
“I am Ruth,” she replied, coming toward him with the trusting confidence of childhood.
This was the name of the loved one who had left him in the long ago. The resemblance was perfect, as it seemed to him. It was she!
“God be praised! You are my own Ruth come back to me after all these years!”
That poor brain, racked by so many torturing fancies, accepted it all as truth.
“I am so tired,” said the wearied little one, “I want to rest myself.”
He tenderly lifted her in his arms and carried her behind the curtains, through which the firelight shone, laid her on the couch with her head resting on the pillow, and drew the coverlet over her form. At the end of the few moments thus occupied he saw that she had sunk into the soft dreamless sleep of health and exhaustion36.
He came back to the sitting room. The outer door stood ajar, as it had been left by the infantile visitor. As he closed it he did an unprecedented37 thing,—he drew in the latchstring. He wanted no intruders during these sacred hours. Then he seated himself as before and gave himself up to musings and to wrestling with the problem which was really beyond his solution.
There must have been moments when he glimpsed the truth. That which he had lifted in his arms was flesh and blood and therefore could not be the Ruth who had stepped into the great unknown many years before. Yet she looked the same, and bore her name. Could it not be that heaven had permitted this almost incomprehensible thing?
He sat in front of the fire, which was allowed to smoulder all through the night. 311It is probable that he rose more than once, drew the curtains aside and looked upon the little one as revealed in the expiring firelight.
“Whatever the explanation, it means that my Ruth and I will soon be together. If it is not she who has come to me, I shall soon go to her.”
Unlocking a small drawer of the table, he drew out a large, unsealed envelope, unfolded the paper inside, glanced at the writing, returned it to the enclosure and laid it on the stand where it could not fail to be seen by any visitor, and then resumed his seat.
“By this time,” said Doctor Spellman, “the brain which had been clouded probably became normal. He knew that my Ruth could not be his Ruth. He must have seen that she was the child of the man whom he intensely disliked because I had presumed to marry a woman who resembled the daughter whom he had lost.”
When daylight returned, Uncle Elk after a time aroused himself. He did not renew the blaze on the hearth, but once more drew the curtain aside. Ruth Spellman still slept. As gently as he had laid her down, he raised and carried her back to his chair where he resumed his seat, with the curly unconscious head resting upon his breast, and after a time, he closed his own eyes, never to open them again.
In the presence of death all was hushed. The Boy Scouts bowed their uncovered heads, and as they stood in the crowded room gazed in awe38 upon the gray head and inanimate form in the chair. Even the overjoyed mother who had clasped her loved child and lifted her from the lifeless arms suppressed her glad croonings, while the bewildered Ruth gazed upon the strange scene with hardly a glimmering39 of what it all meant.
For the moment, Doctor Spellman was the professional expert. In a low voice he addressed the Scout Master and the young friends who looked into his face and listened.
“Uncle Elk passed away several hours ago,—his death from heart failure was so painless that it was like falling asleep, as was the case with our child. This looks as if he had left a message for us.”
As he spoke40, the doctor picked up the large unsealed envelope and held it up so as to show the address,—“To be opened by whosoever finds it after my death.”
Drawing out and unfolding the sheet, the physician read aloud:
“It is my wish to be buried on the plot between my cabin and the brook41. Over my grave a plain marble stone is to erected42 with the inscription43, ‘Elkanah Sisum. Born January 23, 1828; died ——’ Add nothing to the date of my death. Inclosed are enough funds to pay the expense. Whatever remains44, which is all the money I possess, I desire to be presented to the Sailors’ Snug45 Harbor, New York.”
Having finished the reading, the physician added:
“The coroner must be notified and the proper legal steps taken. We should get word to Boothbay Harbor as soon as possible.”
“I will attend to that,” said George Burton, “and start at once.”
The wishes of Uncle Elk were carried out in spirit and letter. The clergyman who came from Boothbay Harbor preached a 314touching sermon, and a score of men who had known the old man for years came out to the cabin to pay their last respects. The evidence of Doctor Spellman was all the coroner required, and there was no hitch46 in the solemn exercises.
Mike Murphy, when he could command his emotions, sang “Lead, kindly47 Light,” with such exquisite48 pathos49 that there was not a dry eye among the listeners. The grave had been dug by the Boy Scouts, who stood with bared heads as the coffin50 was slowly lowered into its final resting place. A few days later all departed for their homes, carrying memories of their outing in the woods of Southern Maine, which will remain with them through life.
点击收听单词发音
1 elk | |
n.麋鹿 | |
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2 possessed | |
adj.疯狂的;拥有的,占有的 | |
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3 prospects | |
n.希望,前途(恒为复数) | |
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4 worthy | |
adj.(of)值得的,配得上的;有价值的 | |
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5 lavished | |
v.过分给予,滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6 decided | |
adj.决定了的,坚决的;明显的,明确的 | |
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7 affected | |
adj.不自然的,假装的 | |
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8 fixed | |
adj.固定的,不变的,准备好的;(计算机)固定的 | |
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9 scout | |
n.童子军,侦察员;v.侦察,搜索 | |
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10 scouts | |
侦察员[机,舰]( scout的名词复数 ); 童子军; 搜索; 童子军成员 | |
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11 delusion | |
n.谬见,欺骗,幻觉,迷惑 | |
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12 hermit | |
n.隐士,修道者;隐居 | |
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13 intervals | |
n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 );间隔时间;[数学]区间;(戏剧、电影或音乐会的)幕间休息 | |
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14 abiding | |
adj.永久的,持久的,不变的 | |
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15 smoothly | |
adv.平滑地,顺利地,流利地,流畅地 | |
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16 crochet | |
n.钩针织物;v.用钩针编制 | |
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17 askew | |
adv.斜地;adj.歪斜的 | |
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18 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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19 antipathy | |
n.憎恶;反感,引起反感的人或事物 | |
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20 absurdity | |
n.荒谬,愚蠢;谬论 | |
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21 ordeal | |
n.苦难经历,(尤指对品格、耐力的)严峻考验 | |
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22 memorable | |
adj.值得回忆的,难忘的,特别的,显著的 | |
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23 painstaking | |
adj.苦干的;艰苦的,费力的,刻苦的 | |
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24 investigation | |
n.调查,调查研究 | |
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25 depressed | |
adj.沮丧的,抑郁的,不景气的,萧条的 | |
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26 peculiar | |
adj.古怪的,异常的;特殊的,特有的 | |
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27 chilliness | |
n.寒冷,寒意,严寒 | |
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28 kindle | |
v.点燃,着火 | |
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29 hearth | |
n.壁炉炉床,壁炉地面 | |
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30 meditation | |
n.熟虑,(尤指宗教的)默想,沉思,(pl.)冥想录 | |
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31 twitching | |
n.颤搐 | |
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32 fathomless | |
a.深不可测的 | |
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33 faltered | |
(嗓音)颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 ); 支吾其词; 蹒跚; 摇晃 | |
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34 astounded | |
v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词);愕然;愕;惊讶 | |
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35 chubby | |
adj.丰满的,圆胖的 | |
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36 exhaustion | |
n.耗尽枯竭,疲惫,筋疲力尽,竭尽,详尽无遗的论述 | |
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37 unprecedented | |
adj.无前例的,新奇的 | |
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38 awe | |
n.敬畏,惊惧;vt.使敬畏,使惊惧 | |
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39 glimmering | |
n.微光,隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光,发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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40 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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41 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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42 ERECTED | |
adj. 直立的,竖立的,笔直的 vt. 使 ... 直立,建立 | |
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43 inscription | |
n.(尤指石块上的)刻印文字,铭文,碑文 | |
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44 remains | |
n.剩余物,残留物;遗体,遗迹 | |
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45 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
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46 hitch | |
v.免费搭(车旅行);系住;急提;n.故障;急拉 | |
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47 kindly | |
adj.和蔼的,温和的,爽快的;adv.温和地,亲切地 | |
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48 exquisite | |
adj.精美的;敏锐的;剧烈的,感觉强烈的 | |
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49 pathos | |
n.哀婉,悲怆 | |
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50 coffin | |
n.棺材,灵柩 | |
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