31 A BUTTERFLY FLIGHT

 She came down the stairs with slow feet, pausing a little on each stair, as if to taste the pleasure that was coming to her. She was going out-of-doors—under the sky!

 

She pushed open the door at the foot and looked into the small hall—she had been here before. They had hurried her through—into the kitchen, and down to the cellar. They had stayed there a long time—hours and hours—and Mrs. Seabury had held her on her lap and told her stories.

 

She stepped down the last step into the hall. The outside door at the end was open and through it she could see the men at work in the garden—and the warm, shimmering¹ air. She looked, with eager lip, and took a step forward—and remembered—and turned toward the kitchen. Mrs. Seabury had said she must have breakfast first—a good, big breakfast—and then.... She opened the door and looked in. The woman was standing² by the stove. She looked up with a swift glance and nodded to her. “That’s right, dearie. Your breakfast is all ready—you come in and eat it.” She drew up a chair to the table and brought a glass of milk and tucked the napkin under her brown chin, watching her with keen, motherly eyes, while she ate.

 

“That’s a good girl!” she said. She took the empty plate and carried it to the sink. “Now you wait till I’ve washed these—and then—!” She nodded toward the open window.

 

The child slipped down and came over to her and stood beside her while she worked, her eyes full of little, wistful hope. “I’ve most forgot about out-of-doors,” she said.

 

“Oh, you remember it all right. It’s just the same it always was,” said the woman practically. “Now I’ll stir up some meal and we’ll go feed the chicks. I’ve got ten of ’em—little ones.” She mixed the yellow meal and stirred it briskly, and took down her sun-bonnet—and looked at the child dubiously³. “You haven’t any hat,” she said.

 

The child’s hand lifted to the rough cropped hair. “I did have a hat—with red cherries on it,” she suggested.

 

The woman turned away brusquely. “That’s gone—with your other things—I’ll have to tie a handkerchief on you.”

 

She brought a big, coloured kerchief—red with blue spots on it—and bound it over the rough hair—and stood back and looked at it, and reached out her hand. “It won’t do,” she said thoughtfully. The small face, outlined in the smooth folds, had looked suddenly and strangely refined. The woman took off the handkerchief and roughened the hair with careful hand.

 

The child waited patiently. “I don’t need a hat, do I?” she said politely.

 

The woman looked at her again and took up the dish of meal. “You’re all right,” she said, “we shan’t stay long.”

 

“I should like to stay a long, long time!” said Betty.

 

The woman smiled. “You’re going out every day, you know.”

 

“Yes.” The child skipped a little in the clumsy shoes, and they passed into the sunshine.

 

The woman looked about her with practical eyes. In the long rows of the garden the men were at work. But up and down the dusty road—across the plain—no one was in sight, and she stepped briskly toward an open shed, rapping the spoon a little against the side of the basin she carried, and clucking gently.

 

The child beside her moved slowly—looking up at the sky, as if half afraid. She seemed to move with alien feet under the sky. Then a handful of yellow, downy balls darted⁴ from the shed, skittering toward them, and she fell to her knees, reaching out her hands to them and crooning softly. “The dear things!” she said swiftly.

 

The woman smiled, and moved toward the shed, tapping on the side of her pan—and the yellow brood wheeled with the sound, on twinkling legs and swift, stubby wings.

 

The child’s eyes devoured⁵ them. “They belong to you, don’t they?” she cried softly. “They’re your own—your very own chickens!” Her laugh crept over them and her eyes glowed. “See the little one, Mrs. Seabury! Just see him run!” She had dropped to her knees again—breathless—beside the board where they pushed and pecked and gobbled the little, wet lumps of the meal, and darted their shiny black bills at the board.

 

The woman handed her the pan. “You can feed them if you want to,” she said.

 

The child took the basin, with shining eyes, and the woman moved away. She examined the slatted box—where the mother hen ran to and fro, with clucking wings—and gave her some fresh water and looked in the row of nests along the side of the shed, and took out a handful of eggs, carrying them in wide-spread, careful fingers.

 

The child, squatting⁶ by the board, was looking about her with happy eyes. She’d almost forgotten the prisoned room up stairs and the long lonesome days. The woman came over to her, smiling. “I’ve found seven,” she said. The child’s eyes rested on them. Then they flitted to the sunshine outside.... A yellow butterfly was fluttering in the light—across the opening of the shed. It lighted on a beam and opened slow wings, and the child’s eyes laughed softly... she moved tiptoe... “I saw a beautiful butterfly once!” she said. But the woman did not hear. She had passed out of the shed—around the corner—and was looking after the chickens outside—her voice clucking to them lightly. The child moved toward the butterfly, absorbed in shining thought. “It was a beautiful butterfly—” she said softly, “in a Greek shop.” The wings of the butterfly rose and circled vaguely⁷ and passed behind her, and she wheeled about, peering up into the dark shed. She saw the yellow wings—up there—poise themselves, and wait a minute—and sail toward the light outside.... But she did not turn to follow its flight—Across the brown boards of the shed—behind a pile of lumber⁸, against the wall up there—a head had lifted itself and was looking at her. She caught her breath—“I saw a butterfly once!” she repeated dully. It was half a sob—The head laid a long, dark finger on its lip and sank from sight.... The child wheeled toward the open light—the woman was coming in, her hands filled with eggs. “I must carry these in,” she said briskly. She looked at the child. “You can stay and play a little while—if you want to. But you must not go away, you know.”

 

“I will not go away,” said the child, breathless.

 

So the woman turned and left her—and the child’s eyes followed her.

 

 

1 shimmering   

v.闪闪发光，发微光( shimmer的现在分词 )

参考例句：

• The sea was shimmering in the sunlight. 阳光下海水波光闪烁。
• The colours are delicate and shimmering. 这些颜色柔和且闪烁微光。 来自辞典例句

2 standing   

n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的

参考例句：

• After the earthquake only a few houses were left standing.地震过后只有几幢房屋还立着。
• They're standing out against any change in the law.他们坚决反对对法律做任何修改。

3 dubiously   

adv.可疑地，怀疑地

参考例句：

• "What does he have to do?" queried Chin dubiously. “他有什么心事？”琴向觉民问道，她的脸上现出疑惑不解的神情。 来自汉英文学 - 家（1-26） - 家（1-26）
• He walked out fast, leaving the head waiter staring dubiously at the flimsy blue paper. 他很快地走出去，撇下侍者头儿半信半疑地瞪着这张薄薄的蓝纸。 来自辞典例句

4 darted   

v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔

参考例句：

• The lizard darted out its tongue at the insect. 蜥蜴伸出舌头去吃小昆虫。 来自《简明英汉词典》
• The old man was displeased and darted an angry look at me. 老人不高兴了，瞪了我一眼。 来自《简明英汉词典》

5 devoured   

吞没( devour的过去式和过去分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光

参考例句：

• She devoured everything she could lay her hands on: books, magazines and newspapers. 无论是书、杂志，还是报纸，只要能弄得到，她都看得津津有味。
• The lions devoured a zebra in a short time. 狮子一会儿就吃掉了一匹斑马。

6 squatting   

v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的现在分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。

参考例句：

• They ended up squatting in the empty houses on Oxford Road. 他们落得在牛津路偷住空房的境地。
• They've been squatting in an apartment for the past two years. 他们过去两年来一直擅自占用一套公寓。 来自《简明英汉词典》

7 vaguely   

adv.含糊地，暖昧地

参考例句：

• He had talked vaguely of going to work abroad.他含糊其词地说了到国外工作的事。
• He looked vaguely before him with unseeing eyes.他迷迷糊糊的望着前面，对一切都视而不见。

8 lumber   

n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动

参考例句：

• The truck was sent to carry lumber.卡车被派出去运木材。
• They slapped together a cabin out of old lumber.他们利用旧木料草草地盖起了一间小屋。