Oliver listened to Cousin Tom's half-apologetic explanations, yet he scarcely heard them, but still stood leaning against the doorpost, gaping1 with astonishment2. Of course he had always known that there was something unusual about the Beeman, but as to who he really was he had never had an inkling. And this was Cousin Eleanor, the girl he had pictured so definitely that it seemed she could not be other than the prim3, detested4 person he had so dreaded5 meeting. It was the very vividness of his idea of her that had stood in the way of his guessing the truth. But if the Beeman were really Cousin Tom, then he could, of course, put everything right and—more immediate6 cause for rejoicing—Polly could cook!
"Oh, come down to the kitchen and get Cousin Jasper something to eat," he begged. "He is almost starved. It is half past eight and he had lunch at twelve."
He gave Tom Brighton a rapid account of what had happened that day—of the letter, of Cousin Jasper's increasing agitation7, of his final desperate call for help on his own responsibility.
"Poor Oliver, what a day you have had, while the rest of us were enjoying ourselves at the fair!" said Cousin Tom. "Polly and I happened to come home early before the storm, so that your message found us and we came at once."
"And he is starved himself," put in Polly. "He has not had anything to eat any more than Cousin Jasper."
It was wonderful to watch Polly making short shrift of the remains9 of his own awkward preparations, to see her skillful manipulation of the gas burners and her marvelous dexterity11 with the egg beater. And this slim, eager, shy Polly, with her crinkled brown hair and her freckled12 nose, this was really Eleanor Brighton. Oliver sat down limply upon one of the kitchen chairs to contemplate13 the wonder of it anew.
"I did not know who you were, myself, that first day," she said, "though Daddy guessed at once and even suspected that you were planning to go away. Janet told us all about it this afternoon, how Cousin Jasper made such a mistake and thought that he could force you to meet a girl that you were sure you wouldn't like. I would have done just the same myself if my father had tried to make me meet you, only he is too wise for such a thing."
Later, after Cousin Jasper and Oliver had feasted on the supper of Polly's providing, they all gathered about the table in the library and Cousin Tom unlocked the battered14 old strong box that he had brought in from the car.
"As I am the family lawyer," he explained to Oliver—"yes, bees are only a hobby, and my real business is the law—I have in my possession most of the records belonging to this affair. I have gone into the whole matter of Anthony's claims from the very beginning and I am prepared to fight him for every inch that he demands."
He began taking papers from the box, fat rolls of legal documents, letters with their edges worn into tatters and addressed in the crabbed15 writing of a century ago, title deeds discolored and yellow with age, most of them fastened with great red seals, a mass of musty records that looked dry and dull indeed.
While he was spreading them out upon the table, the door opened quietly and Janet slipped in. She assured them that she had dined and had not got wet, that, except for Mrs. Brown's terrible fever of anxiety lest Cousin Jasper should not be properly cared for, all had gone well. Might she listen, please, and was there going to be another story?
"Not of just the same kind that I have been telling you up yonder on the Windy Hill," replied Tom Brighton, "although here you see the source of all those tales and of a hundred others like them. They are all buried here in these dusty papers, the history of your forbears and of the lands in Medford Valley. It goes all the way back, does the record, to the time when our several times great-grandfather bought the first tract16 from the Indian, Nashola. I am always glad to think that the red man had enough intelligence and the white man enough honor to make something like a real bargain, that this valley was purchased for what the wild lands were worth instead of being paid for with a gun, a drink of bad spirits, and a handful of beads17. See, here is Nashola's name; he learned to write after a fashion, although the Indian witnesses signed only with a mark. And here is the signature of that first one of our kin8 to settle in the New World, Matthew Hallowell."
"Hallowell?" echoed Oliver. "Did he belong to those same Hallowells in the story, who quarreled over the Huntress?"
"Yes," was the answer, "he was the beginning of a vigorous line, living in and near Medford Valley until there came at last the Hallowell who moved to the seaport18 town, who built his first ship there and launched into foreign trade. They became great merchants, the Hallowells, in that time between the Revolution and the War of 1812 when Yankee ships and Yankee owners were lords of the high seas. But fortune failed after the death of Reuben Hallowell; his son Alan loved sailing rather than trading and his daughter Cicely married a junior partner in a lesser19 firm, Howard Brighton, who thought it better for his sons and daughter to go to live on the lands in Medford Valley that had belonged to their mother and had been given by her to him. Cicely's children were Ralph and Felix and Barbara Brighton, of all of whom you have heard."
"How have they heard, Tom?" asked Cousin Jasper, and the Beeman smiled.
"I have been filling up their minds with family history, for I knew that they must understand about this whole affair some day and it would take too long to tell them all the facts at once. So we have come now to the latest portion of the story," he went on, turning again to the younger members of his audience, "to a period when three cousins, Jasper Peyton, Anthony Crawford, and Tom Brighton used to spend much time together when they were growing up.
"Jasper and I are first cousins, since my father was Ralph Brighton and his mother was that younger sister, Barbara. I have had no reluctance20 in telling you of that bitter mistake my father made and the quarrel with his brother, for he spoke21 of it often himself and said that, in all his life, he never learned a more valuable lesson. Felix did not marry, since his zeal22 for the orchard23 and the bees and later for farming on a larger and larger scale seemed to occupy his every thought. It was he who reclaimed24 the marshy25, waste ground in the valley, 'for,' he said, 'it is wrong that we on the seaboard leave our home acres and move farther and farther westward26, looking for new land that is easy to till. It is a wasteful27 policy, even for a new country.' That was one of the things he had learned on his long journey across the West and back again."
"But I do not understand about Anthony Crawford," put in Oliver. "I haven't seen yet where he comes in at all."
"He calls us cousin, but it is a distant kinship, since he is grandson of that Martin Hallowell who broke with his partner Reuben over the matter of the Huntress. He used to come often to stay in Medford Valley, for he had been left without parents and Felix Brighton was his guardian28. My Aunt Barbara, Jasper's mother, had lost her husband early, and she went to live with her brother Felix in the yellow stone farmhouse29 that had come to him from some earlier Hallowell who had built it a hundred years ago. How we loved the place and how happy we all were there, for I spent almost as much time under that wide, friendly roof as did Anthony. How patient and good Jasper's mother was to three mischievous30, active boys, and how unceasingly, wisely kind was Felix Brighton! He has done much for us, Jasper and me, and he would, if he could, have made a man of Anthony.
"He was not like the other two of us, we could see that even when we were children. He was quicker and more clever than we, and he was better, or at least wiser, at holding his tongue and keeping his temper when the occasion served. But the key to his whole character was that he could never see any possession in the hands of another without instinctively31 wishing to have it for himself. I have seen him move heaven and earth to get something that he did not really want, merely because it seemed of value when it belonged to some one else. There was no one more clever than he at acquiring what he desired.
"Felix Brighton prospered32 greatly, but he never moved out of the comfortable farmhouse of which we were all so fond. It became very beautiful under his hands, extended and improved and filled with the rarest treasures of his gathering33. He was especially fond of pictures, so that there was a wealth of portraits and landscapes that he had collected or inherited, that glowed like jewels on the mellow34 old walls. He did us unnumbered kindnesses when we were boys, and when, on growing up, we decided35 that we would all three be lawyers, he set us up as partners, Peyton, Crawford & Brighton. We felt very important with our law books, our profound knowledge, our newly painted sign and very little else. Even while we were studying, it was plain that Anthony, in his erratic36, changeable way, was the cleverest of us all.
"And then history repeated itself, as it so often does. The grandson of Martin Hallowell and the two great-grandsons of Reuben fell out with each other over just such a questionable37 enterprise as had wrecked39 a partnership40 a hundred years ago. I can see him now as he came hurrying into our office that day full of the plan for his great scheme—just a quibble of the law and the thing was done. We were all to be made rich and successful by it, he explained. There is no use in describing to you the intricacies of his idea; it was one of those shoal waters in which the honesty of young lawyers can sometimes come to grief. The pursuit of law will winnow41 out the true from the false; it makes an upright man a hundred times more certain and more proud of his honor: it searches out the small, weak places of a meaner man's soul.
"Anthony tried to make this project sound quite simple and straightforward42, but I can remember how narrowly he watched us and how, when he attempted to laugh at our objections, his voice cracked into shrill43 falsetto, under pressure of his excitement. I would have argued with him, explained, tried to dissuade44 him, but Jasper scorned my temporizing45 and would have had none of it. His sense of justice blazed high within him and his words leaped forth46, a very avalanche47 of scorn and wrath48. Anthony heard him through without replying, then turned on his heel and went out. Our partnership was at an end. Later we heard that he had become involved with his scheme even before he spoke to us, that he had made himself liable for a sum of money, and that, to pay it—don't wince49, Jasper, these children must know the truth—to pay it he forged Felix Brighton's name.
"There is something very terrible in the sudden destruction of your confidence in some one you have loved and trusted. Anthony is greatly changed now, although there is still a little of his old charm left. Yet you would not think of him as some one who had been an intimate part of our lives, a comrade whose cleverness we admired and whose honesty we had never doubted. And then he was suddenly blotted50 out of our existence. The wrong he had done was hushed up, he disappeared somewhere in the West, and it seemed that we were never to hear of him again. The years went by, Jasper's mother and then our Uncle Felix went from us. He had given me the lands on the west side of the river, since I was already owner of the cottage, the Windy Hill, and the bees that he had taught me to tend and love. To Jasper he had given the yellow stone house that had been like home for us all and his intimate possessions, the treasures it contained. He had given him also the drained farm lands by the river, a legacy51 that was an occupation in itself. He had seen that Jasper's bent52 was not really for the law, but that his best calling was the care of such an estate as this. More years passed, I became more and more absorbed in my own work down in the seaport town that has become a city, spending my holidays and my vacations in caring for the bees, not seeing Jasper so often, for he was over-busy also. And then Anthony came home.
"Whatever he had been doing in all this time we have no way of knowing. He had altered greatly, so that there seemed nothing left of his old self except his cleverness, some lingering affection for the place where he had been happy as a boy, and that old habit of coveting53 what other people had. He came back with a claim to make, one that went back as far as the day when Reuben and Martin Hallowell quarreled and made a hasty division of what had belonged to them in common. There had always been a slight doubt as to the title of the land upon which the yellow stone farmhouse stood, and to the upper end of the farms by the river. Anthony knew of it from the days when we studied law together and he came back determined54 to make that property his. I will not deny that he had some slight basis for his claim. He would accept no compromise or offer of purchase, so in the end Jasper gave in to him."
Cousin Jasper had not spoken throughout Tom Brighton's recounting of the whole affair. But now he took up the tale himself, going over the ground that, very evidently, he had pondered and argued and weighed within himself a hundred times.
"I had much and he had nothing, he was in real want and had a wife and two children besides. There was, as Tom says, some real basis for his claim since the title had never been made quite clear. And there is, further, no more bitter thing than a family quarrel, a division over the settlement of property, this one asking for what is more than his, that one fighting to hold what is not his own—no, it was unthinkable. So we settled the matter peaceably enough. I built a new house above him on the hill and he settled down in the place that had been home to all of us. He seemed to have repented55 of the wrong he had done and we were ready to forget it. I do not think that I ever doubted the honesty of his purpose, at first. Then it came to my wishing for some of the old possessions for my new house and he vowed56 that every one of them was his."
"I know," said Janet, nodding quickly. "He wouldn't give up the pictures, though he did not care for them himself. They were stored in the dust and dirt under the eaves and he asked me if you had sent me to see where he kept them. He only wanted them because they were yours."
"I suppose he meant to sell them some day," Cousin Jasper answered, "for there were several that were of almost as much value as the house itself. But less than ever was I willing to bicker57 and haggle58 over what I had really loved, and since he would not sell them to me I gave the matter up. Even then, there was a little justice on his side, for the pictures had been purchased with money from the lands that he called his. But it was my great mistake, since he did not understand at all why I yielded to him, and from that time he made certain that he had but to force me and I would relinquish59 everything."
Oliver muttered something angrily and went to stand by the window. He wanted a minute to think it out, to understand clearly before the tale went on. He could see just how Anthony had read Cousin Jasper's character, sensitive, high-strung, with strong affections that not even great wrongs could quite break down. But how mistaken the man had been who thought Jasper Peyton was a weak-willed person to be led anywhere!
"His success in getting made him greedy for more," went on Cousin Jasper, "and he began to push his claims further and further until I verily believe he began to think that everything I had should be his own. When I refused to yield one more inch, then the difficulties began indeed. He let the old house fall into unbelievable disrepair and he took the stand that since I was defrauding60 him, he was too poor to do otherwise. I built the high wall across the garden so that I need not see the home I had loved dropping to pieces before my eyes. At that his anger seemed to pass beyond control. He claims this, and he claims that, but I know that his final aim is the whole of what I have. He sent me a letter to-day, I do not understand why he did not come himself. He says that he is about to take public action, that he will bring into court the story of how Felix Brighton became his guardian and used that position as a blind to live in possession of Anthony's inheritance. Oh, I cannot repeat it all, his threats against our good name and against the memory of those who are gone."
Cousin Jasper's voice dropped wearily into silence. Oliver dug his hands deep into his pockets and stood staring and scowling61 out through the window although all that he saw was the blackness outside and the dim reflection of his own face upon the pane62.
"Our Uncle Felix never had the least notion that Anthony had a claim upon the place," Tom Brighton was saying behind him. "It was a legal technicality that Anthony was clever enough to find and make the most of. I do not at all believe in his right to it, even yet."
"He doesn't believe in it himself," Oliver made his declaration, whirling suddenly about upon them. "I told him that he was only bluffing63 and he could not even deny it. How I hate him," he cried huskily. "It is lucky that there are none of your bees near by, just now!"
Jasper Peyton looked at him in blank inquiry64, but the Beeman smiled, yet shook his head at the same time.
"It is not only bees that are destroyed by hating," he said, "it is every good thing in life that dries up and blows away under the force of dislike and bitterness. Look at Anthony, who vows65 he has no affection for any one, who does not believe in friends or kindliness66. He has hurt others, he has brought no happiness to himself, and, unless I am mistaken, he is going to wreck38 his whole scheme in one tremendous crash that we cannot now foresee. A lawyer, like myself, sees many hard, miserable67, sordid68 things, but a Beeman has leisure to speculate as to whither they tend. And they all tend to the same thing."
They sat for some time about the table, explaining, discussing, and questioning, until finally the muffled69 booming of the clock in the hall proclaimed the hour of ten. Polly's eyes were beginning to look heavy, a fact that did not escape her father's watchful70 observation.
"These girls have had a long day and it is time for them to be in bed," he announced. "We have been over this whole matter and made things clear, and we have only to decide, since we are to fight Anthony in court, just what stand we will make. We will talk that over, Jasper, while Oliver takes your car and drives Polly home."
"I'll go with them," said Janet, jumping up also. She had been listening, bright-eyed and alert, through all of the story and showed no signs of sleepiness. Oliver tore himself away with some regret, for he did not wish to miss a word of the plans the two men were making. But Polly was evidently weary and ready to go home.
"Come along, Cousin Eleanor," he said briskly, and the three went, laughing, out through the door and down the steps.
It was very dark when Oliver brought out the big car and, skirting the fallen tree, made his way carefully down the drive. A bank of clouds to the eastward71 was all that was left of the storm, however, and through this the moon was breaking, with promise to rise clear, and come out into an empty sky. Oliver slowed down the car as they came to the gate and stopped for a moment to consider. The wind had dropped so completely that they could hear every sound of the summer night, even the dull, far-off roar of the flooded river.
"Do you know," he began slowly, "we never remembered to tell them that John Massey has left his place. I don't think any one but ourselves knows that he went away immediately; they will be thinking that he is still there, watching the dike72. And to-night—listen how loud the river sounds!"
"Suppose we go down and look," said Polly. "It will not take us long and the road runs close to the bank."
He turned the car accordingly and they sped down the steep road, the sky growing brighter above them and the darkness fading as the moon came out. When they reached the last incline the whole of the valley lands, spread below them, were so flooded with light that the broad picture looked like an etching—white fields, black trees with blacker splashes of shade, sharp-cut, pointed73 shadows of houses and farm buildings, the silver expanse of the river, and the straight, white ribbon of the road. It was all very still and peaceful, with scarcely a light in any house and no single moving figure upon the highway. Medford Valley, worn out with its day of merrymaking, was wrapped in heavy sleep. Very strangely, the sight of this unsuspecting, slumbering74 community seemed to fill them all with sudden misgiving75.
"I hope there's nothing wrong," muttered Oliver, swinging the car into its highest speed as they dashed down the road.
John Massey's house lay still and dark in the moonlight, its windows staring with the blank eyes that an uninhabited dwelling76 always shows the moment home life has gone out of it. They stopped the car near his gate and climbed out, all three of them, to walk at the foot of the high, grass-covered bank and search for signs of danger. It looked firm and solid enough, with its thick, green sod, its fringe of willows77 along the top, but with the whispering haste of the river sounding plainly against its outer wall. Standing78 on tiptoe, they could catch sight of the swift, sliding water, risen so high that it touched the very top of the bank. The roar of the swollen79 current could be heard all across the valley, but it was not so ominous80, somehow, as the smaller voices of the ripples81 sucking and gurgling so close to their ears.
They walked along, three ghostly figures in the moonlight, until Janet, who happened to be ahead, stopped suddenly.
"I hear something strange; I don't understand what it is," she said.
Oliver stepped forward, bending his head to listen. Yes, he could hear it, too.
The sound was a soft hissing82, as though a tiny snake might be hidden in the grass at their feet. But there was no grass thick enough for such shelter, only a few sparse83 stalks, rising in a drift of sand at the foot of the dike. The noise was made by the moving of the sand particles, as they stirred and seethed84, with drops of water bubbling between them like the trickle85 of a spring. As they watched, the round wet space widened; it had been as big as a cup, now it was like a dinner plate.
"It's a leak in the bank." Oliver regarded it intently, thinking it quite too small to be dangerous. "I ought to be able to put my thumb in it," he added cheerfully, "but either there is something wrong with that Dutch story or there is something wrong with this hole."
"It isn't a joke," said Polly quickly. "They always begin that way. It—oh, run, run!"
For the boiling circle of sand had changed suddenly to a spout86 of muddy water that shot upward, spreading into a wide, brown pool that came washing over the grass to hide the spot where they had stood a moment before. From the higher ground of the road they watched it follow them, rising, pausing a little, then rising again.
"Back up the car or you will have to drive through the water," directed Polly. "Henry Brook87's is the nearest house where we can find help. If that leak is to be blocked, the men will have to be quick."
They were in the car, Oliver had backed it round almost within its own length, and they were flying up the road before Polly had finished speaking. "Once, years ago, this long stretch of dike caved in and the whole current of the river came roaring down through the bottom lands. But there were no houses here then."
They came to a crossroad, turned into it, and stopped short before a gate. Oliver did not take time to open it, but tumbled over the top, raced across the grass, and thundered at the door of a dark, silent house. Oh, why did country people sleep so soundly? He knocked and knocked again and, after what seemed an interminable time, saw a light above and heard a window open.
"What do you want?" The farmer's big voice sounded none too pleased, but it changed quickly when Oliver told his news. "A break in the dike? Where? On Anthony Crawford's land, is it? Well, that's just where it would be. We don't any of us, around here, have much friendship for Crawford. Of course if the leak is very bad it will threaten us all. I'll spread the alarm while you go to get Mr. Peyton."
They were away up the road again; but, fast as they flew, the news seemed to travel faster. The rural telephone and the comfortable country habit of "listening in" on every message can spread tidings broadcast at a moment's notice. The largest farm, at the foot of the valley, had a great bell swung above its central barn, a bell whose excited voice could carry but one of two messages—flood or fire. Before they were halfway88 up the hill its wild clanging was calling all across the valley.
Up Cousin Jasper's avenue they came with a rush, flung themselves out of the car, and ran to the house. The two men were still bending over the papers, Cousin Jasper, with his thin, intent face, listening, Tom Brighton talking steadily89, his eyes alight with that cheerful, eager kindliness that had so drawn90 Oliver to him from the first moment. They both turned in astonishment as the three came bursting in.
"A break in the dike at John Massey's place? And where was John Massey?" Cousin Tom questioned sharply. "Gone? If we had known that he had left, neither Jasper nor I would have been sitting here so quietly all evening, with the river in flood. And you have given the alarm? That is good."
There was a bustle91 of hasty preparations, but they were still standing in the hall when there came the sound of flying wheels on the drive and the uneven92 hoofbeats of an uncertain old horse urged to utmost speed.
"It's Anthony Crawford," said Oliver suddenly.
The man came in, the outcast cousin who had turned his hand against them all. His face was white, his gray eyes were burning with excitement, his voice was harsh and choked when he tried to speak.
"The dike—I see you know already. I went down over the hill to look and saw the moonlight on that pool of water. It was at John Massey's place. I came to get help."
Cousin Tom alone answered.
"Why was John Massey gone?" he said.
Oliver stepped forward to Tom Brighton's side and looked curiously93 at the man who been their enemy. He could see his hands shake as they crushed his battered old hat between them.
"We had quarreled," Anthony Crawford explained, his voice suddenly gone little and husky. "I turned him away three days ago and—and we had some words, so that he wouldn't stay even overnight after that. He watched the dike—and now the water is coming in."
One more question Cousin Tom asked.
"Why did you come to us?" he inquired steadily. "It would have been quicker to go down through the fields to the farms in the valley, to call out Henry Brook and send him with men and shovels94 and sandbags to stop the flood. To get here is a mile by the road and there was no time to lose." He pressed his question mercilessly. "Why did you come to us?"
Anthony Crawford moistened his dry lips, but he did not speak. There was a pause, though all of them knew that every second the waters of Medford River were sweeping95 higher and higher. It was finally Tom Brighton who answered his own question.
"You were afraid to go elsewhere. It was your doing, this flood; you took the land, you neglected the dikes, you sent John Massey away who would have watched against such a disaster as this. You were afraid to face those men, below, and tell them what you had done."
The other nodded.
"I haven't a friend in Medford Valley to help me—except you. Yes, I was afraid to face them; the break is in just the place where it may flood the whole bottom land. I thought they wouldn't move to help me until it was too late. And, on my life, Tom Brighton, if we can stop the flood I do not care what becomes of me."
It was quite true, as they could all see, that the man's desperate terror was not all for himself, that the situation was far too bad for that. He was picturing how the whole torrent96 of Medford River might soon be sweeping across those fields of ripening97 grain, those comfortable barns with their cows and sheep and horses, those pleasant white farmhouses98 where a hundred people lay asleep. He was seeing how, little by little, he had built up the wrong that was to be his ruin, he had driven away his friends, he had seized the land, he had turned off its guardian, and now, in a wild whirlwind, the results of his misdoing were upon him. He did not look at Tom Brighton's set face but at Jasper Peyton, the one he had wronged most.
"A man can't live without friends," he said. "Will you stand by me, Jasper, not for what I deserve, but for what I need?"
"Yes," answered Jasper Peyton. He smiled suddenly, with all the old, tense misery99 quite gone from his face. "We're going to stand by you, Anthony, all of us. We are with you still."
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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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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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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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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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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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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freckled
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| adj.雀斑；斑点；晒斑；（使）生雀斑v.雀斑，斑点( freckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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crabbed
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| adj.脾气坏的；易怒的；（指字迹）难辨认的；（字迹等）难辨认的v.捕蟹( crab的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tract
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| n.传单，小册子，大片(土地或森林) | |
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beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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seaport
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| n.海港，港口，港市 | |
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19
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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20
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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21
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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22
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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23
orchard
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| n.果园，果园里的全部果树，(美俚)棒球场 | |
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24
reclaimed
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| adj.再生的；翻造的；收复的；回收的v.开拓( reclaim的过去式和过去分词 )；要求收回；从废料中回收（有用的材料）；挽救 | |
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25
marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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26
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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27
wasteful
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| adj.（造成）浪费的，挥霍的 | |
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28
guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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29
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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30
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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31
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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32
prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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33
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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34
mellow
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| adj.柔和的；熟透的；v.变柔和；(使)成熟 | |
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35
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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36
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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37
questionable
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| adj.可疑的，有问题的 | |
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38
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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39
wrecked
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| adj.失事的，遇难的 | |
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40
partnership
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| n.合作关系，伙伴关系 | |
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41
winnow
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| v．把（谷物）的杂质吹掉，扬去 | |
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42
straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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43
shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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44
dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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45
temporizing
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| v.敷衍( temporize的现在分词 )；拖延；顺应时势；暂时同意 | |
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46
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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47
avalanche
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| n.雪崩，大量涌来 | |
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48
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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49
wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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50
blotted
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| 涂污( blot的过去式和过去分词 )； （用吸墨纸）吸干 | |
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51
legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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52
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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53
coveting
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| v.贪求，觊觎( covet的现在分词 ) | |
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54
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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55
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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56
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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57
bicker
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| vi.(为小事)吵嘴，争吵 | |
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58
haggle
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| vi.讨价还价，争论不休 | |
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59
relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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60
defrauding
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| v.诈取，骗取( defraud的现在分词 ) | |
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61
scowling
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| 怒视，生气地皱眉( scowl的现在分词 ) | |
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62
pane
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| n.窗格玻璃，长方块 | |
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63
bluffing
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| n. 威吓，唬人 动词bluff的现在分词形式 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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65
vows
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| 誓言( vow的名词复数 )； 郑重宣布，许愿 | |
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66
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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67
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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sordid
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| adj.肮脏的，不干净的，卑鄙的，暗淡的 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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70
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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71
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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72
dike
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| n.堤，沟；v.开沟排水 | |
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73
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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74
slumbering
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的现在分词形式） | |
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75
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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76
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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77
willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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78
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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79
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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80
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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81
ripples
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| 逐渐扩散的感觉( ripple的名词复数 ) | |
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82
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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83
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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84
seethed
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| （液体）沸腾( seethe的过去式和过去分词 )； 激动，大怒； 强压怒火； 生闷气(~with sth|~ at sth) | |
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85
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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86
spout
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| v.喷出，涌出；滔滔不绝地讲；n.喷管；水柱 | |
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87
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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88
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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89
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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90
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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91
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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92
uneven
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| adj.不平坦的，不规则的，不均匀的 | |
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93
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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94
shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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95
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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96
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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97
ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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98
farmhouses
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| n.农舍，农场的主要住房( farmhouse的名词复数 ) | |
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99
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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