During those years the young pine suffered a secret mortification4 because it had no flowers. It stood stiff and trimly in its plain dark green, every needle like every other one, and no honey-gatherer visited it. When all the meadow ran over with rosy5 and purple bloom, the pine tree trembled and beads6 of clear resin7 oozed8 out upon its bark like tears; and the trouble really seemed worse than it was because everybody made so much of it. Even the hummingbirds9 as they came hurtling through the air would draw back conspicuously10 when they came to the pine, and though they said politely, "I beg your pardon, I took you for a flower," the seedling11 felt it would have been better had they said nothing at all.
"Well, why don't you grow flowers?" said the meadowsweet; "it is easy enough. Just do as I do," and she spread her drift of blossoms like a fragrant12 snow. But the sugar pine found it impossible to be anything but stiff and plainly green, though every year in the stir and tingle13 of new sap he felt a promise of better things.
"I suppose," he said one day, "I must be in some way different from the rest of you."
"Ah, that is the way with you solemn people," said the fireweed, "always imagining yourself better than those about you to excuse your disagreeableness. Any one can see by the way you hold yourself that you have too much of an opinion of yourself."
The little pine tree sighed; he had not said "better," only "different," and he began to realize year by year that this was so.
"You should try to be natural," said the meadowsweet; "do not be so stiff, and then every one will love you though you are so plain."
Then the sugar pine reached out and tried to mingle14 with the flowers, but the sharp needles tore their frills and the stiff branches did not suit with their graceful15 swaying, so he was obliged to give it up. It seemed, in fact, the more he tried to be like the others the worse he grew.
"If only you were not so odd," said all the flowers. None of the young growing things in the meadow understood that it is natural for a pine tree to be stiff.
The sugar pine was not always unhappy. There were days when he caught golden glints of the stream that ran smoothly16 about the meadow, in a bed of leopard-colored stones, and, reflecting all the light that fell into the hollow of the hills, gave the place its name; days when the air was warm and the sky was purely17 blue, and the resinous18 smell of the pines on the meadow border came to the seedling like a sweet savor19 in a dream, for as yet he did not understand what he was to be. He was pleased just to be looking at the summer riot of the flowering things, and loved the cool softness of the snow when he was tucked into comfortable darkness to dream of the spring odor of the pines. Then, when it seemed that the meadow had forgotten him, the little tree would fall to thinking the thoughts proper to his kind, and found the time pass pleasantly.
"I suppose," he thought, "it is not good for me to flower as the other plants. If I began like them I should probably end like them, and I feel that I could not be satisfied with that. After all, one should not try to be so much like others, but to be the very best of one's own sort."
Very early the young tree had noticed that he was the only one of all that company that kept green and growing the winter through. He would have been secretly very proud of it, but the flowers took good care to let him know their opinion of such airs.
"It is simply that you wish to be considered peculiar," said the columbine; "one sees that you like nothing so much as to be in other people's mouths, but let me tell you, you will not get yourself any better liked by such behavior." After that the little tree wished nothing so much as that he might be the commonest summer-flowering weed.
"But I am not," he said; "no, I am not, and I would do very well as I am if they would let me be happy in my own way."
That summer the seedling grew as tall as the meadowsweet, and could look across the open space to the parent pine poised20 on her noble shaft21, her spreading crown gathering22 sunshine from the draughts23 of upper air. She seemed to rock a little as if she dozed24 upon her feet, and the great sweep of limbs with pendulous25 golden cones26 made a gentle sighing. Then the despised little seedling felt a thrill go through him, and felt a shaking in all his slender twigs28. He bowed himself among the lilies, and was both glad and ashamed, for though he could not well believe it, he knew himself akin27 to the great sugar pines. After that he gave up trying to be one of the flowers. Once he even ventured to speak of it to the meadowsweet.
"Well, if it is any satisfaction to you to think so; but do not let any one else hear you say that. You are likely to get yourself misunderstood. I tell you this because I am your friend," said the meadowsweet, but really she had misunderstood him herself.
Then a rumor29 arose in the neighborhood that the sombre, stubborn shrub30 conceited31 himself to be a pine, and the rumor ran with laughter and nodding the length of the meadow until it reached the old alder32 on the edge of Bright Water. The alder had stood with his feet in the stream for longer than the meadowsweet could remember, and saw everything that went on by reflection.
"Do not laugh too soon," said the alder tree, "I have seen stranger things than that happen in this meadow," for he was indeed very old.
"We have known him a good many seasons," said the fireweed, "and he has not done anything worth mentioning yet."
All this was very hard for the young pine to bear, but there was better coming. That summer the forest ranger33 came riding in Bright Water and a learned man rode with him, praising the flowers and counting the numbers and varieties of bloom. How they prinked and flaunted34 in their pride!
"That is all very pretty, as you say," answered the ranger as they came by the place of the pine, "and I suppose they perform a sort of service in keeping the soil covered, but the trees are the real strength of the mountain. Ah, here is a seedling of the right sort! I must give that fellow a chance," and he began pulling up great handfuls of the blossoming things around the tree.
"What is it?" asked his companion.
"A sugar pine," he said; "probably a seedling of that splendid specimen35 yonder," and he went on clearing the ground to let in sun and air.
"But you must admit," said his friend, "that a seedling pine cuts rather a poor figure among all this flare36 of bloom."
"Oh, you wait fifty or sixty years," said the ranger, "and then you will see what sort of a figure it makes. It really takes a pine of this sort a couple of hundred years to reach its prime," and they rode talking up the trail.
Word of what had happened was carried all about the meadow and made a great stir. When it came to the alder tree he wagged his old head. "Ah, well," he said, "I told you so."
"I will not believe it until I see it," said the fireweed.
"They might have known it before," sighed the young pine, "and they ought to be proud to think I grew up in the same meadow with them."
But they were not; they went on flaunting37 their blossoms as if nothing had occurred, and the young tree grew up as he was meant to be, and the pines on the meadow border sent him greeting on the wind. He still kept his trim spire-shaped habit, but he could very well put up with that for the time being. He felt within himself the promise of what he was to be. After fifty or sixty years, as the ranger had said, he began to put out strong cone-bearing boughs38 that shaped themselves by the storms and the wind in sweeping39, graceful lines, and spread out to shelter the horde40 of flowering things below. Squirrels ran up the trunk and whistled cheerily in his windy top.
"He grew here in our neighborhood," said the tall lilies; "we knew him when he was a seedling sprig, and now he is the tallest of the pines."
"Suppose he is," said the fireweed. "What is the good of a pine tree anyway?"
But the sugar pine did not hear. He had grown far above the small folk of the meadow, and went on growing for a hundred years. He gathered the sun in his high branches and rocked upon his shaft. He talked gently in his own fashion with his own kind.
该作者的其它作品
《The Land of Little Rain少雨的土地》
该作者的其它作品
《The Land of Little Rain少雨的土地》
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1 burnished | |
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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2 cone | |
n.圆锥体,圆锥形东西,球果 | |
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3 swelled | |
增强( swell的过去式和过去分词 ); 肿胀; (使)凸出; 充满(激情) | |
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4 mortification | |
n.耻辱,屈辱 | |
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5 rosy | |
adj.美好的,乐观的,玫瑰色的 | |
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6 beads | |
n.(空心)小珠子( bead的名词复数 );水珠;珠子项链 | |
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7 resin | |
n.树脂,松香,树脂制品;vt.涂树脂 | |
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8 oozed | |
v.(浓液等)慢慢地冒出,渗出( ooze的过去式和过去分词 );使(液体)缓缓流出;(浓液)渗出,慢慢流出 | |
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9 hummingbirds | |
n.蜂鸟( hummingbird的名词复数 ) | |
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10 conspicuously | |
ad.明显地,惹人注目地 | |
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11 seedling | |
n.秧苗,树苗 | |
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12 fragrant | |
adj.芬香的,馥郁的,愉快的 | |
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13 tingle | |
vi.感到刺痛,感到激动;n.刺痛,激动 | |
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14 mingle | |
vt.使混合,使相混;vi.混合起来;相交往 | |
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15 graceful | |
adj.优美的,优雅的;得体的 | |
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16 smoothly | |
adv.平滑地,顺利地,流利地,流畅地 | |
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17 purely | |
adv.纯粹地,完全地 | |
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18 resinous | |
adj.树脂的,树脂质的,树脂制的 | |
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19 savor | |
vt.品尝,欣赏;n.味道,风味;情趣,趣味 | |
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20 poised | |
a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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21 shaft | |
n.(工具的)柄,杆状物 | |
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22 gathering | |
n.集会,聚会,聚集 | |
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23 draughts | |
n. <英>国际跳棋 | |
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24 dozed | |
v.打盹儿,打瞌睡( doze的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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25 pendulous | |
adj.下垂的;摆动的 | |
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26 cones | |
n.(人眼)圆锥细胞;圆锥体( cone的名词复数 );球果;圆锥形东西;(盛冰淇淋的)锥形蛋卷筒 | |
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27 akin | |
adj.同族的,类似的 | |
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28 twigs | |
细枝,嫩枝( twig的名词复数 ) | |
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29 rumor | |
n.谣言,谣传,传说 | |
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30 shrub | |
n.灌木,灌木丛 | |
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31 conceited | |
adj.自负的,骄傲自满的 | |
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32 alder | |
n.赤杨树 | |
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33 ranger | |
n.国家公园管理员,护林员;骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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34 flaunted | |
v.炫耀,夸耀( flaunt的过去式和过去分词 );有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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35 specimen | |
n.样本,标本 | |
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36 flare | |
v.闪耀,闪烁;n.潮红;突发 | |
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37 flaunting | |
adj.招摇的,扬扬得意的,夸耀的v.炫耀,夸耀( flaunt的现在分词 );有什么能耐就施展出来 | |
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38 boughs | |
大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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39 sweeping | |
adj.范围广大的,一扫无遗的 | |
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40 horde | |
n.群众,一大群 | |
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