Jane was quite right: Mary Garden did “look like a Mary.”
Jane herself, at fifteen, did not in the least suggest her name. She was small, slender, if one were polite, “thin” if not. She had red hair of the most glorious, burnished8, brilliant red, masses of it, and it was not coarse, like much of the red hair, but fine and uncontrollable. It glowed and rose and flew above and around Jane’s startlingly white face till it might have been the fire around the head of an awakened9 Brünhilde. No one could have said positively10 what colour her eyes were. They possessed11 life rather than tint6. They flashed and dreamed, laughed and gloomed under their arching brows of red gold, through their red-gold lashes, with much of the colour of her hair in them. Her face was long, with a pointed12 chin and a delicate little nose; its thin nostrils13 quick to quiver with her quickened breath. Her upper lip was so short that her small, even teeth always showed; her mouth was sensitive, not to say melancholy14. Her neck was long and slender and swan-white. Her shoulders sloped; she was not more than5 five feet tall; her hands were long and thin, quick and fluttering, like her lips. Altogether Jane was exactly the opposite of her prim15, old-time name.
These two Garden girls had received Garden names from their father and his family. He had been Doctor Elias Garden, doctor of letters and physics, not of medicine; a grave man, devoted17 to study, old of his age, and that age twelve years more than his wife’s, to whom he had left his three little girls, when Mary was four years old, by dying untimely.
The third child this girl-wife had named. The mother was but twenty-four, and she was understood to have been fond of sentiment and the ornamental18; she named her baby Florimel, out of Spenser’s “Fairy Queen.” This proved to be a misfit name even more than Jane’s. Florimel was a dark little witch, black-haired, black-eyed, white of skin, with red cheeks and red lips, a tomboy when she was small, an absolute genius at mischief19 as she grew older, devoid20 of the least love of the sentimental21. She whistled like the blackbird Mary called her, climbed trees, fell out of them, tore dresses, bruised22 flesh, got into scrapes, but also out of them, through her impetuosity. She was a firebrand in temper, yet6 easily moved to pity, exceedingly loyal and loving to those she loved, seeing no virtues23 in those she disliked. Thus she had stormed her way up to her thirteen years, a problem to manage, except that she adored Mary so much that she could not long grieve her, and was so true and affectionate that she was sure to come out right in the end.
Young as they were, the Garden girls were three distinct types, each beautiful. Mary least could claim actual beauty, perhaps, yet she was the loveliest of the three. Jane and Florimel were creatures for an artist to rave16 over; Mary was the type that men and women and angels love. When Florimel was a year old their mother had left them. She was English, an artist of some sort, they knew, and she had elected to respond to the call of her art, and had gone to England, leaving her children to the more than efficient guardianship24 of the Garden relatives, their legally appointed guardian25, Mr. Austin Moulton, their father’s friend, and the devotion of Anne Kennington, the housekeeper26, nurse—everything. It would have been hard to define Anne Kennington’s position in the Garden household, as it would have been hard to do justice to the way she filled it.
7 The girls had never thought much about their mother. The Gardens had been too well-bred to decry27 her to her children, but they had gathered the impression that she “did not amount to much,” a fearful indictment28 from a Garden! Mary had silently felt, in a hurt way, that she could never have left three little girls, no matter to whom, and she had not talked about their mother, even to her sisters. As time went on, without being told so, the Garden girls came to imagine that their mother was dead. This impression of one whom only Mary remembered vaguely29 could not sadden them. They were motherless; but, though they envied girls with loving fathers and mothers, they had a great deal. Each in her way, the three Garden girls were philosophers and did not imagine they were unhappy when they were not, since no life holds every form of good.
They had the solid, fine old house; Win Garden, Winchester, their father’s half-brother, only twenty-four years old, so big-brotherly that it was silly to call him uncle, and they never did; and the Garden. The square house of pressed brick stood in a garden, a great, old-fashioned garden, blooming around it, as the house bloomed amid it, with its rosebud30 girls. Sometimes the8 Garden girls thought the garden was their chief earthly good; certainly it was their chief joy. With it and one another little else was needed for companionship.
Now, in May, the lilacs blossomed and the irises31 were beginning, the herald32 shrubs33 were announcing themselves vanguards of the flower-beds. Many of these were filled with perennials34, growing taller, more luxuriant each year, thanks to the care they got, chief of them all the tall hollyhocks which illumined the garden on all sides. The hollyhocks were so many and so magnificent that they gave their name to the Garden house. It was known as Hollyhock House to all the countryside. Other beds were left for seeds of swift-growing annuals; each Garden girl had two of these beds for her own planting and, when they flowered, one could have accurately35 named their owners. Even meteoric36 Florimel did not neglect her flowers.
Jane was singing in the sunshine as she cut sprays of white lilac. She looked like a sunray clad in flesh, with the sunshine on her magnificent hair, and her slender body pulsating37 with song, as a ray of light quivers in the air.
9 “You look as though you were going to fly away, Janie Goldilocks!” she cried, dropping back on her heels to regard Jane. Mary was always discovering her sister anew.
“Wish I could!” cried Jane. “Fly right up like a spark—my hair is red enough! And be a spark that wouldn’t cool in the air, but keep on and on! Over the Himalayas!” she added as an afterthought; that sounded magnificently distant, big and vague.
“Over the home layers would do for me—the chicken house!” laughed Mary.
“My voice goes up and up; it’s part of me, yet, when it is up, it is no longer a part of me,” said Jane. “I’m here, my feet on the ground, and I can send my voice skyward, and it is mine, me, and not me. It goes very, very high——”
“I noticed it,” said Mary. Indeed Janie’s singing had mounted to the treetops, an arrow of sound, sharp, clear, yet never shrill40.
“You old nuisance!” cried Jane. “Why don’t you ever want to fly? And why do you sing in that purring alto, just like yourself? I want to jump over the moon and sing to C above high C! It’s just because you’ve brown hair!”
“I don’t know,” suggested Mary. “It was the cow who jumped over the moon, and cows10 are supposed to be calm folk. Maybe she was a red cow though; Mother Goose forgot her complexion41.”
“She ought to have been an Ayreshire cow, going up in the air like that.” Janie rippled42 with laughter over this discovery. “Never mind, Molly Bawn; I’d soon fly back again, if I flew away from you, and I don’t believe if I flew to the hanging gardens of Babylon I’d be happy to hang in them, away from the Garden garden, long!”
“Of course you wouldn’t!” agreed Mary promptly43. “We both know there’s no place like home, but I settle down knowing it, and you keep fermenting44 like yeast45! That’s what I don’t understand.”
“Wine sounds nicer than yeast and ferments46 just as much,” Jane reproached her. “Yeast is gray and ugly and smelly; grape juice fermenting is lovely. I can’t help being fizzy! Fuzzy, too, and red-haired! But I’d never fly far from you, Mary blessing47.” And Jane ran over to hug Mary till she toppled her over. They both laughed, and returned to their flowers, one cutting, the other transplanting. Jane resumed her singing, her voice soaring high in “I love the name of Mary,” transposed to an unreasonable48 key.
11 “I ought to have been the soprano Garden, with my name,” said Mary. “I’ve the prima donna name and the secunda donna voice—no, the tertia donna voice—such as it is! The alto isn’t even the second lady of the opera, is she?”
“I don’t know! What in all this world is all this learned Latiny sounding count you’re trying! We’ve always called you our Opera Star, Mary Garden, haven’t we? I know what the prima donna is, but I don’t know what your secunda and tertia—oh, I see! Prima is first—yes, I see! You’re not much like an opera Mary Garden, I suppose, but you can sing! I love your voice—just like a lovely cat that’s had plenty of cream, purring all contented49 on a cushion! Soft and true and sweet; that’s your voice, little Mary Garden—even if you’re not big Mary Garden!”
“Well, Jane!” cried Mary, when Jane paused. “A cat purring, after cream! But it isn’t as though I thought anything about singing. What are we trying to get at? I never even think of singing. I see Win coming out of the house, and I hear Florimel talking like mad. I wonder what it is, now!”
“Goodness knows!” sighed Jane, as if anything might be expected of their youngest—as indeed it might!
12 Winchester Garden, the young half-uncle who seemed like a whole brother to the young girls, came down the central path of the garden to join Mary and Jane. He was good to look at, lean, but not thin, muscular, with a swinging easy walk; he had a smooth-shaven, humorous face, with keen, yet kindly50 eyes which twinkled in a way that matched a certain laughing twist of his lips. He was tall and his colouring was harmonious51, hair, eyes, and skin all of a brownish tint.
“Hallo, little nieces! Hallo, little nices!” he called, correcting himself.
“Hallo, Win, the winner!” Jane shouted back. “Methinks I hear Florimel—lifluous,” said Win.
Mary laughed; Jane did not know what the word meant.
“Nothing particularly mellifluous52 about Florimel’s voice just now,” she said.
Somewhere beyond the fence arose Florimel’s voice. “Come along!” it was saying sharply. “Do you think I can drag you! Big as you are? Even if I knew you wouldn’t bite! Come on!” This more encouragingly. “If you only won’t be shy,” they heard her add in a tone of exasperated53 patience, “I’m sure my sisters will be glad to see you, and some one will help you out,13 probably our guardian, Mr. Austin Moulton. He can do ’most anything of that sort.”
“Well, what on earth do you suppose the kid has in tow, now, that requires such an assorted54 exhortation55?” murmured Win.
Florimel appeared at the wicket gate which admitted to the garden from the street at the rear of the Garden place. But above her, over the hedge, arose another head, some ten inches higher than Florimel’s dark one, the fair head of a boy about eighteen. His face was pale, his expression troubled, his eyes seemed to ask for pardon for his intrusion, but he was there. It was only when he followed Florimel through the gate, at her vehement56 invitation, that one saw that he limped.
Florimel was rosy from earnest and strenuous57 effort; her brilliant face was fairly scintillating58 with excitement, her dark eyes snapping. The reason for what Win had called her “assorted exhortation” was revealed by the presence of the lame59 boy and of a dog which she was gingerly, yet forcibly, conducting by any part available for seizure60, there being no collar by which to lead her. It was a dog of varied61 ancestry62, setter and hound predominating. On a groundwork of white a large liver-coloured spot,14 like a stray buckwheat cake, was displayed on one side, and a large liver-coloured spot, with a smaller one just below it, giving the effect of the print of the sole and heel of a muddy and large shoe, decorated the dog’s other side. The liver and white tail which she cheerfully waved was too broad and thick successfully to carry out its design; so was the body too unevenly63 developed for beauty. But the head was really beautiful, with long liver-coloured ears, soft and fine, carrying out the liver-coloured sides of the face, divided by a broad white parting from crown to tip of nose. The brown eyes looking out from this fine head were the softest, loveliest of dogs’ eyes—and there can be nothing more said in praise of eyes than this.
“It’s homeless!” Florimel announced breathlessly. “It hasn’t any home. It’s been hanging around the hotel and they won’t feed it for fear it will keep on hanging around. Amy Everett and I found them driving it off—with brooms!” Florimel’s voice conveyed that this weapon was of all the most unpardonable. “I grabbed its hair—they said ’twould bite, but it never would! And I pulled its ears—they’re as soft! And it licked my nose before I could jump. So I’m going to keep her—please! We need a15 dog, really. It is a peach; only a puppy, about six months old; they said so at the hotel. People had it and dropped it—didn’t want it. Isn’t it perfectly fiendish the way they do that to cats and dogs? So I want her. Don’t shake your head, Winchester Garden; I—want—this—dog!”
Mary, Jane, and Win had been following this eloquence64 with various degrees of embarrassment65, for while Florimel introduced the dog she made no allusion66 to the boy, whom some people, less animal lovers than Florimel, might have thought should have been first introduced. He stood patiently awaiting his turn while Florimel talked. But, after all, this was less a misfortune than it seemed, for it was absurd enough to make him laugh, and this put him slightly more at ease, besides recalling Florimel to her duty.
“My sakes, I forgot!” she cried, but not in the least contrite67. “I met this—this—— Are you a gentleman or a boy?” she demanded.
This sent all four of her hearers into a burst of laughter, and laughter is a good master of ceremonies, abolishing ceremonial.
“I hope to be a gentleman soon; in the meantime I’d like to be considered a gentlemanly boy,” said the stranger. His voice and manner16 of speaking warranted his hope. “I am eighteen. I guess I’m still a boy. My name is Mark Walpole. I came to this town because I heard that there was a chance here for employment, but the place I was after is filled. I’ve had rather a setback68 starting out in life. My mother has been dead some years. There was a fire. It destroyed our house, and my father was—he died in it. It seems he left nothing behind him; we had been considered rather well-to-do. I’m afraid his step-brother got the best of him. He showed he hated me, and that may have been because he had wronged us. People thought so. He held the land where the house had been, and there wasn’t any money. I had to start out; of course I wanted to. I couldn’t have breathed in that town—this all happened in Massachusetts. So I’m seeking my fortune. This little girl seems to be in the rescue line to-day. She heard me ask for work; she was struggling along with this dog. So she annexed69 me, too! She seemed to think she knew some one who was sighing for a chance to start me. I didn’t want to come here with her, but we couldn’t seem to help it—neither the dog nor I!” The young fellow stopped and smiled at Florimel, with a glance at the others.
17 “Yes, that’s Florimel!” cried Mary, with conviction. “She sweeps all before her.”
“She’s a six-cylinder, seventy-five horsepower,” added Win. “But she’s all right—except when she’s all wrong! This time she’s dead right. We’re glad you came. Come into the house; there’s supper soon, eh, Mary?”
“Indeed there is, a good one!” cried Mary, jumping to her feet. “Of course Florimel was right, and we are glad you came! Please don’t seem to be going to refuse to stay, because you must stay, anyway! We love to have company!”
“We get dreadfully tired of just ourselves,” added Jane, though this was an exaggeration of her own occasional moods. “We’re awfully70 glad you came. This is Hollyhock House, we are the Garden girls—Mary, Florimel, Jane.” She touched her own breast with her thumb bent71 backward.
“Winchester Garden,” added Win, with a bow. “I’m Jane’s uncle, but not worth her introducing. It’s pretty tough to have such disrespectful nieces! I’m their father’s half-brother. I’m afraid they are all trying to be sisters to me, not nieces. I know they are trying, if that’s all! Awful trials! Come up with me to my room18 and let’s wash up for supper. You said your name was Mark; sure it isn’t Maud? Wish it were!”
“Why?” asked the guest, evidently both alarmed and pleased by this cordiality.
“We never catch a Maud. We want to say: ‘Come into the Garden, Maud’—either this nice old garden, or the Garden house—but no one turns up to fit! Come into the house, anyway. Mark is within three letters—two—of being Maud.”
And Win laid his hand on the lame lad’s shoulder, with great kindness underneath72 his nonsense, and bore him away in triumph. As he went the girls heard him saying: “We fit our Tennyson in one way: we’ve a rosebud garden of girls, three of ’em.”
“Take the dog around to Abbie, and ask her to feed her and make a place in the woodhouse for her to sleep. She must stay to-night, anyway,” said Mary. “Then hurry to get yourself ready for supper, Florimel; you’re covered with white hair and dogginess!”
“Good thing to be covered with,” said Florimel. “What’ll we call the dog, Janie?”
“I was thinking; Chum is a nice name for a dog,” said Jane.
19 “It’s a fine name!” cried Mary.
And Florimel saw that her dog was safe. “But I knew you’d love her, you darling things!” she cried, as she tore off, with her large and cheerful outcast rushing after her.
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收听单词发音
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1
lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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flexibility
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| n.柔韧性，弹性，（光的）折射性，灵活性 | |
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wholesome
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| adj.适合；卫生的；有益健康的；显示身心健康的 | |
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5
tints
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| 色彩( tint的名词复数 )； 带白的颜色； （淡色）染发剂； 痕迹 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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burnished
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| adj.抛光的，光亮的v.擦亮（金属等），磨光( burnish的过去式和过去分词 )；被擦亮，磨光 | |
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awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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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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rave
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| vi.胡言乱语；热衷谈论；n.热情赞扬 | |
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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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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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guardianship
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| n. 监护, 保护, 守护 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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decry
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| v.危难，谴责 | |
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indictment
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| n.起诉；诉状 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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rosebud
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| n.蔷薇花蕾，妙龄少女 | |
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irises
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| n.虹( iris的名词复数 )；虹膜；虹彩；鸢尾（花） | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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shrubs
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| 灌木( shrub的名词复数 ) | |
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perennials
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| n.多年生植物( perennial的名词复数 ) | |
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accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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meteoric
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| adj.流星的，转瞬即逝的，突然的 | |
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pulsating
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| adj.搏动的，脉冲的v.有节奏地舒张及收缩( pulsate的现在分词 )；跳动；脉动；受（激情）震动 | |
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aster
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| n.紫菀属植物 | |
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39
seedlings
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| n.刚出芽的幼苗( seedling的名词复数 ) | |
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40
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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41
complexion
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| n.肤色；情况，局面；气质，性格 | |
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42
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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43
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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44
fermenting
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| v.（使）发酵( ferment的现在分词 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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45
yeast
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| n.酵母；酵母片；泡沫；v.发酵；起泡沫 | |
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46
ferments
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| n.酵素( ferment的名词复数 )；激动；骚动；动荡v.（使）发酵( ferment的第三人称单数 )；（使）激动；骚动；骚扰 | |
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47
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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48
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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49
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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50
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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51
harmonious
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| adj.和睦的，调和的，和谐的，协调的 | |
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52
mellifluous
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| adj.（音乐等）柔美流畅的 | |
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53
exasperated
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| adj.恼怒的 | |
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54
assorted
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| adj.各种各样的，各色俱备的 | |
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55
exhortation
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| n.劝告，规劝 | |
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vehement
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| adj.感情强烈的；热烈的；(人)有强烈感情的 | |
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57
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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58
scintillating
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| adj．才气横溢的,闪闪发光的; 闪烁的 | |
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59
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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60
seizure
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| n.没收；占有；抵押 | |
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61
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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ancestry
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| n.祖先，家世 | |
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unevenly
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| adv.不均匀的 | |
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eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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65
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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allusion
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| n.暗示，间接提示 | |
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67
contrite
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| adj.悔悟了的，后悔的，痛悔的 | |
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68
setback
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| n.退步，挫折，挫败 | |
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69
annexed
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| [法] 附加的，附属的 | |
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awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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71
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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72
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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