Rilla was the "baby" of the Blythe family and was in a chronic5 state of secret indignation because nobody believed she was grown up. She was so nearly fifteen that she called herself that, and she was quite as tall as Di and Nan; also, she was nearly as pretty as Susan believed her to be. She had great, dreamy, hazel eyes, a milky6 skin dappled with little golden freckles7, and delicately arched eyebrows8, giving her a demure9, questioning look which made people, especially lads in their teens, want to answer it. Her hair was ripely, ruddily brown and a little dent10 in her upper lip looked as if some good fairy had pressed it in with her finger at Rilla's christening. Rilla, whose best friends could not deny her share of vanity, thought her face would do very well, but worried over her figure, and wished her mother could be prevailed upon to let her wear longer dresses. She, who had been so plump and roly-poly in the old Rainbow Valley days, was incredibly slim now, in the arms-and-legs period. Jem and Shirley harrowed her soul by calling her "Spider." Yet she somehow escaped awkwardness. There was something in her movements that made you think she never walked but always danced. She had been much petted and was a wee bit spoiled, but still the general opinion was that Rilla Blythe was a very sweet girl, even if she were not so clever as Nan and Di.
Miss Oliver, who was going home that night for vacation, had boarded for a year at Ingleside. The Blythes had taken her to please Rilla who was fathoms11 deep in love with her teacher and was even willing to share her room, since no other was available. Gertrude Oliver was twenty-eight and life had been a struggle for her. She was a striking-looking girl, with rather sad, almond-shaped brown eyes, a clever, rather mocking mouth, and enormous masses of black hair twisted about her head. She was not pretty but there was a certain charm of interest and mystery in her face, and Rilla found her fascinating. Even her occasional moods of gloom and cynicism had allurement12 for Rilla. These moods came only when Miss Oliver was tired. At all other times she was a stimulating13 companion, and the gay set at Ingleside never remembered that she was so much older than themselves. Walter and Rilla were her favourites and she was the confidante of the secret wishes and aspirations14 of both. She knew that Rilla longed to be "out"—to go to parties as Nan and Di did, and to have dainty evening dresses and—yes, there is no mincing15 matters—beaux! In the plural16, at that! As for Walter, Miss Oliver knew that he had written a sequence of sonnets18 "to Rosamond"—i.e., Faith Meredith—and that he aimed at a Professorship of English literature in some big college. She knew his passionate19 love of beauty and his equally passionate hatred20 of ugliness; she knew his strength and his weakness.
Walter was, as ever, the handsomest of the Ingleside boys. Miss Oliver found pleasure in looking at him for his good looks—he was so exactly like what she would have liked her own son to be. Glossy21 black hair, brilliant dark grey eyes, faultless features. And a poet to his fingertips! That sonnet17 sequence was really a remarkable22 thing for a lad of twenty to write. Miss Oliver was no partial critic and she knew that Walter Blythe had a wonderful gift.
Rilla loved Walter with all her heart. He never teased her as Jem and Shirley did. He never called her "Spider." His pet name for her was "Rilla-my-Rilla"—a little pun on her real name, Marilla. She had been named after Aunt Marilla of Green Gables, but Aunt Marilla had died before Rilla was old enough to know her very well, and Rilla detested23 the name as being horribly old-fashioned and prim24. Why couldn't they have called her by her first name, Bertha, which was beautiful and dignified25, instead of that silly "Rilla"? She did not mind Walter's version, but nobody else was allowed to call her that, except Miss Oliver now and then. "Rilla-my-Rilla" in Walter's musical voice sounded very beautiful to her—like the lilt and ripple26 of some silvery brook27. She would have died for Walter if it would have done him any good, so she told Miss Oliver. Rilla was as fond of italics as most girls of fifteen are—and the bitterest drop in her cup was her suspicion that he told Di more of his secrets than he told her.
"He thinks I'm not grown up enough to understand," she had once lamented28 rebelliously29 to Miss Oliver, "but I am! And I would never tell them to a single soul—not even to you, Miss Oliver. I tell you all my own—I just couldn't be happy if I had any secret from you, dearest—but I would never betray his. I tell him everything—I even show him my diary. And it hurts me dreadfully when he doesn't tell me things. He shows me all his poems, though—they are marvellous, Miss Oliver. Oh, I just live in the hope that some day I shall be to Walter what Wordsworth's sister Dorothy was to him. Wordsworth never wrote anything like Walter's poems—nor Tennyson, either."
"I wouldn't say just that. Both of them wrote a great deal of trash," said Miss Oliver dryly. Then, repenting30, as she saw a hurt look in Rilla's eye, she added hastily,
"But I believe Walter will be a great poet, too—some day—and you will have more of his confidence as you grow older."
"When Walter was in the hospital with typhoid last year I was almost crazy," sighed Rilla, a little importantly. "They never told me how ill he really was until it was all over—father wouldn't let them. I'm glad I didn't know—I couldn't have borne it. I cried myself to sleep every night as it was. But sometimes," concluded Rilla bitterly—she liked to speak bitterly now and then in imitation of Miss Oliver—"sometimes I think Walter cares more for Dog Monday than he does for me."
Dog Monday was the Ingleside dog, so called because he had come into the family on a Monday when Walter had been reading Robinson Crusoe. He really belonged to Jem but was much attached to Walter also. He was lying beside Walter now with nose snuggled against his arm, thumping31 his tail rapturously whenever Walter gave him an absent pat. Monday was not a collie or a setter or a hound or a Newfoundland. He was just, as Jem said, "plain dog"—very plain dog, uncharitable people added. Certainly, Monday's looks were not his strong point. Black spots were scattered32 at random33 over his yellow carcass, one of them, apparently34, blotting35 out an eye. His ears were in tatters, for Monday was never successful in affairs of honour. But he possessed36 one talisman37. He knew that not all dogs could be handsome or eloquent38 or victorious39, but that every dog could love. Inside his homely40 hide beat the most affectionate, loyal, faithful heart of any dog since dogs were; and something looked out of his brown eyes that was nearer akin41 to a soul than any theologian would allow. Everybody at Ingleside was fond of him, even Susan, although his one unfortunate propensity42 of sneaking43 into the spare room and going to sleep on the bed tried her affection sorely.
On this particular afternoon Rilla had no quarrel on hand with existing conditions.
"Hasn't June been a delightful44 month?" she asked, looking dreamily afar at the little quiet silvery clouds hanging so peacefully over Rainbow Valley. "We've had such lovely times—and such lovely weather. It has just been perfect every way."
"I don't half like that," said Miss Oliver, with a sigh. "It's ominous—somehow. A perfect thing is a gift of the gods—a sort of compensation for what is coming afterwards. I've seen that so often that I don't care to hear people say they've had a perfect time. June has been delightful, though."
"Of course, it hasn't been very exciting," said Rilla. "The only exciting thing that has happened in the Glen for a year was old Miss Mead45 fainting in Church. Sometimes I wish something dramatic would happen once in a while."
"Don't wish it. Dramatic things always have a bitterness for some one. What a nice summer all you gay creatures will have! And me moping at Lowbridge!"
"You'll be over often, won't you? I think there's going to be lots of fun this summer, though I'll just be on the fringe of things as usual, I suppose. Isn't it horrid46 when people think you're a little girl when you're not?"
"There's plenty of time for you to be grown up, Rilla. Don't wish your youth away. It goes too quickly. You'll begin to taste life soon enough."
"Taste life! I want to eat it," cried Rilla, laughing. "I want everything—everything a girl can have. I'll be fifteen in another month, and then nobody can say I'm a child any longer. I heard someone say once that the years from fifteen to nineteen are the best years in a girl's life. I'm going to make them perfectly47 splendid—just fill them with fun."
"There's no use thinking about what you're going to do—you are tolerably sure not to do it."
"Oh, but you do get a lot of fun out of the thinking," cried Rilla.
"You think of nothing but fun, you monkey," said Miss Oliver indulgently, reflecting that Rilla's chin was really the last word in chins. "Well, what else is fifteen for? But have you any notion of going to college this fall?"
"No—nor any other fall. I don't want to. I never cared for all those ologies and isms Nan and Di are so crazy about. And there's five of us going to college already. Surely that's enough. There's bound to be one dunce in every family. I'm quite willing to be a dunce if I can be a pretty, popular, delightful one. I can't be clever. I have no talent at all, and you can't imagine how comfortable it is. Nobody expects me to do anything so I'm never pestered48 to do it. And I can't be a housewifely, cookly creature, either. I hate sewing and dusting, and when Susan couldn't teach me to make biscuits nobody could. Father says I toil49 not neither do I spin. Therefore, I must be a lily of the field," concluded Rilla, with another laugh.
"You are too young to give up your studies altogether, Rilla."
"Oh, mother will put me through a course of reading next winter. It will polish up her B.A. degree. Luckily I like reading. Don't look at me so sorrowfully and so disapprovingly50, dearest. I can't be sober and serious—everything looks so rosy51 and rainbowy to me. Next month I'll be fifteen—and next year sixteen—and the year after that seventeen. Could anything be more enchanting52?"
"Rap wood," said Gertrude Oliver, half laughingly, half seriously. "Rap wood, Rilla-my-Rilla."
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1
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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3
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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vividly
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| adv.清楚地，鲜明地，生动地 | |
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chronic
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| adj.(疾病)长期未愈的，慢性的；极坏的 | |
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6
milky
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| adj.牛奶的，多奶的；乳白色的 | |
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freckles
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| n.雀斑，斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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demure
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| adj.严肃的；端庄的 | |
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dent
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| n.凹痕，凹坑；初步进展 | |
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fathoms
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| 英寻( fathom的名词复数 ) | |
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allurement
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| n.诱惑物 | |
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stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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14
aspirations
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| 强烈的愿望( aspiration的名词复数 )； 志向； 发送气音； 发 h 音 | |
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15
mincing
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| adj.矫饰的；v.切碎；切碎 | |
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plural
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| n.复数；复数形式；adj.复数的 | |
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17
sonnet
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| n.十四行诗 | |
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sonnets
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| n.十四行诗( sonnet的名词复数 ) | |
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19
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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20
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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21
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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detested
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| v.憎恶，嫌恶，痛恨( detest的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24
prim
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| adj.拘泥形式的，一本正经的；n.循规蹈矩，整洁；adv.循规蹈矩地，整洁地 | |
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25
dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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26
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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27
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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28
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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29
rebelliously
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| adv.造反地，难以控制地 | |
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30
repenting
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的现在分词 ) | |
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31
thumping
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| adj.重大的，巨大的；重击的；尺码大的；极好的adv.极端地；非常地v.重击(thump的现在分词)；狠打；怦怦地跳；全力支持 | |
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32
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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33
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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34
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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35
blotting
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| 吸墨水纸 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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talisman
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| n.避邪物，护身符 | |
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38
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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39
victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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40
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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41
akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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42
propensity
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| n.倾向；习性 | |
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43
sneaking
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| a.秘密的，不公开的 | |
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44
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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45
mead
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| n.蜂蜜酒 | |
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46
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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47
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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48
pestered
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| 使烦恼，纠缠( pester的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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50
disapprovingly
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| adv.不以为然地，不赞成地，非难地 | |
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51
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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52
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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