"Do not you lose heart, Dr. dear; they were just defended by foreigners," said Susan superbly. "Wait you till the Germans come against the British; there will be a very different story to tell and that you may tie to."
The doctor shook his head again, but a little less gravely; perhaps they all shared subconsciously1 in Susan's belief that "the thin grey line" was unbreakable, even by the victorious2 rush of Germany's ready millions. At any rate, when the terrible day came—the first of many terrible days—with the news that the British army was driven back they stared at each other in blank dismay.
"I felt that there was to be bad news today," said Susan, "for that cat-creature turned into Mr. Hyde this morning without rhyme or reason for it, and that was no good omen5."
"'A broken, a beaten, but not a demoralized, army,'" muttered the doctor, from a London dispatch. "Can it be England's army of which such a thing is said?"
"It will be a long time now before the war is ended," said Mrs. Blythe despairingly.
Susan's faith, which had for a moment been temporarily submerged, now reappeared triumphantly6.
"Remember, Mrs. Dr. dear, that the British army is not the British navy. Never forget that. And the Russians are on their way, too, though Russians are people I do not know much about and consequently will not tie to."
"The Russians will not be in time to save Paris," said Walter gloomily. "Paris is the heart of France—and the road to it is open. Oh, I wish"—he stopped abruptly7 and went out.
After a paralysed day the Ingleside folk found it was possible to "carry on" even in the face of ever-darkening bad news. Susan worked fiercely in her kitchen, the doctor went out on his round of visits, Nan and Di returned to their Red Cross activities; Mrs. Blythe went to Charlottetown to attend a Red Cross Convention; Rilla after relieving her feelings by a stormy fit of tears in Rainbow Valley and an outburst in her diary, remembered that she had elected to be brave and heroic. And, she thought, it really was heroic to volunteer to drive about the Glen and Four Winds one day, collecting promised Red Cross supplies with Abner Crawford's old grey horse. One of the Ingleside horses was lame8 and the doctor needed the other, so there was nothing for it but the Crawford nag9, a placid10, unhasting, thick-skinned creature with an amiable11 habit of stopping every few yards to kick a fly off one leg with the foot of the other. Rilla felt that this, coupled with the fact that the Germans were only fifty miles from Paris, was hardly to be endured. But she started off gallantly12 on an errand fraught13 with amazing results.
Late in the afternoon she found herself, with a buggy full of parcels, at the entrance to a grassy14, deep-rutted lane leading to the harbour shore, wondering whether it was worth while to call down at the Anderson house. The Andersons were desperately15 poor and it was not likely Mrs. Anderson had anything to give. On the other hand, her husband, who was an Englishman by birth and who had been working in Kingsport when the war broke out, had promptly16 sailed for England to enlist17 there, without, it may be said, coming home or sending much hard cash to represent him. So possibly Mrs. Anderson might feel hurt if she were overlooked. Rilla decided18 to call. There were times afterwards when she wished she hadn't, but in the long run she was very thankful that she did.
The Anderson house was a small and tumbledown affair, crouching19 in a grove20 of battered21 spruces near the shore as if rather ashamed of itself and anxious to hide. Rilla tied her grey nag to the rickety fence and went to the door. It was open; and the sight she saw bereft22 her temporarily of the power of speech or motion.
Through the open door of the small bedroom opposite her, Rilla saw Mrs. Anderson lying on the untidy bed; and Mrs. Anderson was dead. There was no doubt of that; neither was there any doubt that the big, frowzy23, red-headed, red-faced, over-fat woman sitting near the door-way, smoking a pipe quite comfortably, was very much alive. She rocked idly back and forth24 amid her surroundings of squalid disorder25, and paid no attention whatever to the piercing wails26 proceeding27 from a cradle in the middle of the room.
Rilla knew the woman by sight and reputation. Her name was Mrs. Conover; she lived down at the fishing village; she was a great-aunt of Mrs. Anderson; and she drank as well as smoked.
Rilla's first impulse was to turn and flee. But that would never do. Perhaps this woman, repulsive28 as she was, needed help—though she certainly did not look as if she were worrying over the lack of it.
"Come in," said Mrs. Conover, removing her pipe and staring at Rilla with her little, rat-like eyes.
"Is—is Mrs. Anderson really dead?" asked Rilla timidly, as she stepped over the sill.
"Dead as a door nail," responded Mrs. Conover cheerfully. "Kicked the bucket half an hour ago. I've sent Jen Conover to 'phone for the undertaker and get some help up from the shore. You're the doctor's miss, ain't ye? Have a cheer?"
"Wasn't it—very sudden?"
"Well, she's been a-pining ever since that worthless Jim lit out for England—which I say it's a pity as he ever left. It's my belief she was took for death when she heard the news. That young un there was born a fortnight ago and since then she's just gone down and today she up and died, without a soul expecting it."
"Is there anything I can do to—to help?" hesitated Rilla.
"Bless yez, no—unless ye've a knack31 with kids. I haven't. That young un there never lets up squalling, day or night. I've just got that I take no notice of it."
Rilla tiptoed gingerly over to the cradle and more gingerly still pulled down the dirty blanket. She had no intention of touching32 the baby—she had no "knack with kids" either. She saw an ugly midget with a red, distorted little face, rolled up in a piece of dingy33 old flannel34. She had never seen an uglier baby. Yet a feeling of pity for the desolate35, orphaned36 mite38 which had "come out of the everywhere" into such a dubious39 "here", took sudden possession of her.
"What is going to become of the baby?" she asked.
"Lord knows," said Mrs. Conover candidly40. "Min worried awful over that before she died. She kept on a-saying 'Oh, what will become of my pore baby' till it really got on my nerves. I ain't a-going to trouble myself with it, I can tell yez. I brung up a boy that my sister left and he skinned out as soon as he got to be some good and won't give me a mite o' help in my old age, ungrateful whelp as he is. I told Min it'd have to be sent to an orphan37 asylum41 till we'd see if Jim ever came back to look after it. Would yez believe it, she didn't relish42 the idee. But that's the long and short of it."
"But who will look after it until it can be taken to the asylum?" persisted Rilla. Somehow the baby's fate worried her.
"S'pose I'll have to," grunted43 Mrs. Conover. She put away her pipe and took an unblushing swig from a black bottle she produced from a shelf near her. "It's my opinion the kid won't live long. It's sickly. Min never had no gimp and I guess it hain't either. Likely it won't trouble any one long and good riddance, sez I."
Rilla drew the blanket down a little farther.
"Why, the baby isn't dressed!" she exclaimed, in a shocked tone.
"Who was to dress him I'd like to know," demanded Mrs. Conover truculently45. "I hadn't time—took me all the time there was looking after Min. 'Sides, as I told yez, I don't know nithing about kids. Old Mrs. Billy Crawford, she was here when it was born and she washed it and rolled it up in that flannel, and Jen she's tended it a bit since. The critter is warm enough. This weather would melt a brass46 monkey."
Rilla was silent, looking down at the crying baby. She had never encountered any of the tragedies of life before and this one smote47 her to the core of her heart. The thought of the poor mother going down into the valley of the shadow alone, fretting48 about her baby, with no one near but this abominable49 old woman, hurt her terribly. If she had only come a little sooner! Yet what could she have done—what could she do now? She didn't know, but she must do something. She hated babies—but she simply could not go away and leave that poor little creature with Mrs. Conover—who was applying herself again to her black bottle and would probably be helplessly drunk before anybody came.
"I can't stay," thought Rilla. "Mr. Crawford said I must be home by supper-time because he wanted the pony50 this evening himself. Oh, what can I do?"
"I'll take the baby home with me," she said. "Can I?"
"Sure, if yez wants to," said Mrs. Conover amiably52. "I hain't any objection. Take it and welcome."
"I—I can't carry it," said Rilla. "I have to drive the horse and I'd be afraid I'd drop it. Is there a—a basket anywhere that I could put it in?"
"Not as I knows on. There ain't much here of anything, I kin4 tell yez. Min was pore and as shiftless as Jim. Ef ye opens that drawer over there yez'll find a few baby clo'es. Best take them along."
Rilla got the clothes—the cheap, sleazy garments the poor mother had made ready as best she could. But this did not solve the pressing problem of the baby's transportation. Rilla looked helplessly round. Oh, for mother—or Susan! Her eyes fell on an enormous blue soup tureen at the back of the dresser.
"May I have this to—to lay him in?" she asked.
"Well, 'tain't mine but I guess yez kin take it. Don't smash it if yez can help—Jim might make a fuss about it if he comes back alive—which he sure will, seein' he ain't any good. He brung that old tureen out from England with him—said it'd always been in the family. Him and Min never used it—never had enough soup to put in it—but Jim thought the world of it. He was mighty53 perticuler about some things but didn't worry him none that there weren't much in the way o' eatables to put in the dishes."
For the first time in her life Rilla Blythe touched a baby—lifted it—rolled it in a blanket, trembling with nervousness lest she drop it or—or—break it. Then she put it in the soup tureen.
"Is there any fear of it smothering55?" she asked anxiously.
Horrified57 Rilla loosened the blanket round the baby's face a little. The mite had stopped crying and was blinking up at her. It had big dark eyes in its ugly little face.
"Better not let the wind blow on it," admonished58 Mrs. Conover. "Take its breath if it do."
"Will you hand this to me after I get into the buggy, please?"
And so it was that Rilla Blythe, who had driven to the Anderson house a self-confessed hater of babies, drove away from it carrying one in a soup tureen on her lap!
Rilla thought she would never get to Ingleside. In the soup tureen there was an uncanny silence. In one way she was thankful the baby did not cry but she wished it would give an occasional squeak60 to prove that it was alive. Suppose it were smothered61! Rilla dared not unwrap it to see, lest the wind, which was now blowing a hurricane, should "take its breath," whatever dreadful thing that might be. She was a thankful girl when at last she reached harbour at Ingleside.
Rilla carried the soup tureen to the kitchen, and set it on the table under Susan's eyes. Susan looked into the tureen and for once in her life was so completely floored that she had not a word to say.
"What in the world is this?" asked the doctor, coming in.
Rilla poured out her story. "I just had to bring it, father," she concluded. "I couldn't leave it there."
"What are you going to do with it?" asked the doctor coolly.
Rilla hadn't exactly expected this kind of question.
"We—we can keep it here for awhile—can't we—until something can be arranged?" she stammered62 confusedly.
Dr. Blythe walked up and down the kitchen for a moment or two while the baby stared at the white walls of the soup tureen and Susan showed signs of returning animation63.
Presently the doctor confronted Rilla.
"A young baby means a great deal of additional work and trouble in a household, Rilla. Nan and Di are leaving for Redmond next week and neither your mother nor Susan is able to assume so much extra care under present conditions. If you want to keep that baby here you must attend to it yourself."
"Me!" Rilla was dismayed into being ungrammatical. "Why—father—I—I couldn't!"
"Younger girls than you have had to look after babies. My advice and Susan's is at your disposal. If you cannot, then the baby must go back to Meg Conover. Its lease of life will be short if it does for it is evident that it is a delicate child and requires particular care. I doubt if it would survive even if sent to an orphans64' home. But I cannot have your mother and Susan over-taxed."
The doctor walked out of the kitchen, looking very stern and immovable. In his heart he knew quite well that the small inhabitant of the big soup tureen would remain at Ingleside, but he meant to see if Rilla could not be induced to rise to the occasion.
Rilla sat looking blankly at the baby. It was absurd to think she could take care of it. But—that poor little, frail65, dead mother who had worried about it—that dreadful old Meg Conover.
"Susan, what must be done for a baby?" she asked dolefully.
"You must keep it warm and dry and wash it every day, and be sure the water is neither too hot nor too cold, and feed it every two hours. If it has colic, you put hot things on its stomach," said Susan, rather feebly and flatly for her.
The baby began to cry again.
"It must be hungry—it has to be fed anyhow," said Rilla desperately. "Tell me what to get for it, Susan, and I'll get it."
Under Susan's directions a ration67 of milk and water was prepared, and a bottle obtained from the doctor's office. Then Rilla lifted the baby out of the soup tureen and fed it. She brought down the old basket of her own infancy68 from the attic69 and laid the now sleeping baby in it. She put the soup tureen away in the pantry. Then she sat down to think things over.
The result of her thinking things over was that she went to Susan when the baby woke.
"I'm going to see what I can do, Susan. I can't let that poor little thing go back to Mrs. Conover. Tell me how to wash and dress it."
Under Susan's supervision70 Rilla bathed the baby. Susan dared not help, other than by suggestion, for the doctor was in the living-room and might pop in at any moment. Susan had learned by experience that when Dr. Blythe put his foot down and said a thing must be, that thing was. Rilla set her teeth and went ahead. In the name of goodness, how many wrinkles and kinks did a baby have? Why, there wasn't enough of it to take hold of. Oh, suppose she let it slip into the water—it was so wobbly! If it would only stop howling like that! How could such a tiny morsel71 make such an enormous noise. Its shrieks72 could be heard over Ingleside from cellar to attic.
"Am I really hurting it much, Susan, do you suppose?" she asked piteously.
"No, dearie. Most new babies hate like poison to be washed. You are real knacky for a beginner. Keep your hand under its back, whatever you do, and keep cool."
Keep cool! Rilla was oozing73 perspiration74 at every pore. When the baby was dried and dressed and temporarily quieted with another bottle she was as limp as a rag.
"What must I do with it tonight, Susan?"
A baby by day was dreadful enough; a baby by night was unthinkable.
"Set the basket on a chair by your bed and keep it covered. You will have to feed it once or twice in the night, so you would better take the oil heater upstairs. If you cannot manage it call me and I will go, doctor or no doctor."
"But, Susan, if it cries?"
The baby, however, did not cry. It was surprisingly good—perhaps because its poor little stomach was filled with proper food. It slept most of the night but Rilla did not. She was afraid to go to sleep for fear something would happen to the baby. She prepared its three o'clock ration with a grim determination that she would not call Susan. Oh, was she dreaming? Was it really she, Rilla Blythe, who had got into this absurd predicament? She did not care if the Germans were near Paris—she did not care if they were in Paris—if only the baby wouldn't cry or choke or smother54 or have convulsions. Babies did have convulsions, didn't they? Oh, why had she forgotten to ask Susan what she must do if the baby had convulsions? She reflected rather bitterly that father was very considerate of mother's and Susan's health, but what about hers? Did he think she could continue to exist if she never got any sleep? But she was not going to back down now—not she. She would look after this detestable little animal if it killed her. She would get a book on baby hygiene75 and be beholden to nobody. She would never go to father for advice—she wouldn't bother mother—and she would only condescend76 to Susan in dire66 extremity77. They would all see!
Thus it came about that Mrs. Blythe, when she returned home two nights later and asked Susan where Rilla was, was electrified78 by Susan's composed reply.
"She's upstairs, Mrs. Dr. dear, putting her baby to bed."
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1
subconsciously
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| ad.下意识地，潜意识地 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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omen
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| n.征兆，预兆；vt.预示 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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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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nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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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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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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enlist
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| vt.谋取(支持等)，赢得；征募；vi.入伍 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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grove
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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bereft
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frowzy
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forth
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disorder
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wails
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| 痛哭，哭声( wail的名词复数 ) | |
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proceeding
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repulsive
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cluttered
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| v.杂物，零乱的东西零乱vt.( clutter的过去式和过去分词 )；乱糟糟地堆满，把…弄得很乱；（以…） 塞满… | |
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standing
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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orphaned
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| [计][修]孤立 | |
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orphan
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mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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dubious
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candidly
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asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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relish
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| n.滋味，享受，爱好，调味品；vt.加调味料，享受，品味；vi.有滋味 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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truculently
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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smote
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| v.猛打，重击，打击( smite的过去式 ) | |
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fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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impulsive
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| adj.冲动的，刺激的；有推动力的 | |
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amiably
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| adv.和蔼可亲地，亲切地 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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54
smother
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| vt./vi.使窒息；抑制；闷死；n.浓烟；窒息 | |
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55
smothering
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的现在分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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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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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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admonished
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| v.劝告( admonish的过去式和过去分词 )；训诫；（温和地）责备；轻责 | |
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tattered
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| adj.破旧的，衣衫破的 | |
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squeak
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| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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61
smothered
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| （使）窒息， （使）透不过气( smother的过去式和过去分词 )； 覆盖； 忍住； 抑制 | |
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62
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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64
orphans
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| 孤儿( orphan的名词复数 ) | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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66
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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67
ration
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| n.定量(pl.)给养，口粮；vt.定量供应 | |
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68
infancy
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| n.婴儿期；幼年期；初期 | |
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69
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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70
supervision
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| n.监督，管理 | |
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71
morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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72
shrieks
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| n.尖叫声( shriek的名词复数 )v.尖叫( shriek的第三人称单数 ) | |
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73
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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74
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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75
hygiene
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| n.健康法，卫生学 （a.hygienic） | |
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76
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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77
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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78
electrified
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| v.使电气化( electrify的过去式和过去分词 )；使兴奋 | |
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