But where man had been neglectful, nature had lavished7 wealth, performing great feats8 in the way of landscape gardening. On all sides, the vale was held in by encircling hills. The eastern boundary was steep and straight and was known as Arrow Hill. On its summit stood a gaunt old pine stump9, scarred and weather-beaten. Here, an old Indian legend said, the Hurons were wont10 to tie a captive while they showered their arrows into his quivering body. The children of the valley could point out the very holes in the old trunk where certain arrows, missing their victim, had lodged11. Away opposite, forming the western wall, rose the Long Hill, with a moss-fringed road winding12 lingeringly up its face. Down through the cedars13 and balsams that hedged its side tumbled a clear little brook14, singing its way through the marigolds and musk15 that lovingly strove to hold it back. Reaching the valley, it was joined by the waters that oozed17 from a great dark swamp to the south, and swelling18 into a good-sized stream, it wound its way past The Dale, held in by steep banks, all trilliums and pinks and purple violets and golden touch-me-not, and hedged by a double-line of feathery white-stemmed birches.
From east to west of the valley stretched a straight road, hard and white. Old Indian tales hung about it also. It was an early Huron trail, they said, and the one followed by Champlain when he marched over from the Ottawa valley and found Lake Simcoe hanging like a sapphire19 pendant from the jewel-chain of the Great Lakes. It was still called Champlain's Road, and had in it something of the ancient Indian character. For it cut straight across country over hill and stream, all unmindful of Government surveys or civilized20 lines.
Just a few miles beyond Arrow Hill it ran into the little town of Cheemaun, and on market-days its hard, white surface rang with the beat of hoofs21 and the rattle22 of wheels. In the early morning the procession rolled forward, strong and eager for the day's bargaining, and at night it swept back bearing some weary ones, some gleeful over their money-getting, some jealous and dissatisfied because of the wealth and ease they had seen, and some glad to return to the quiet and peace of their farm homes. And there were always the few who lurched along, caring not whether they reached home or fell by the wayside, having sold their manhood over the bar of one of Cheemaun's many hotels.
And thus the tide of rural life ebbed23 and flowed, beating ceaselessly against the town, leaving its impress both for good and ill, bringing back on its waves treasure-trove16 to be swallowed by the deep of the country, and often, too, carrying on its surface some of the urban community's slime and filth24.
On this May evening Champlain's Road stretched across the valley, not white and hard, but softened25 by the rain, and looking like a great broad lilac ribbon, set here and there with sparkling jewels made by the pools of water. The sun had slipped behind the cedars of the Long Hill and the valley was clothed in a wonderful combination of all shades of blue—the cloak Mother Nature so often throws round her shoulders after a shower. The towering elms, the glossy26 beeches27, and the spreading maples28, that grew on either side of the highway, were all bathed in the blue radiance. The old snake fences, smothered30 in raspberry and alder31 bushes, were a deep purple, and the white rapture32 of the cherry-trees and the orchards by the farm-houses had turned a delicate lilac. The valley had taken on heaven's own blue this evening, and smiled back at the gleaming skies with something of their own beauty.
On every side the robins33 shouted their joy from the treetops, the bob-o'-links tinkled34 their fairy bells as they wheeled above the clover-fields; and from the dainty line of white-stemmed birches that guarded the stream came the mingled35 even-song of the frogs and the veeries.
There was but one pedestrian on Champlain's Road this quiet evening. This was a small person who had just emerged from a farm gate at the foot of the Long Hill. Back from the gate stood an old farm-house and at its door a woman was standing36. She was knitting a long gray sock, holding her ball under her arm, knitting swiftly, even while her eyes followed lovingly the little figure skipping along the lavender road. The soft blue light touched her silver hair and her white apron37 and turned the gray homespun dress into a royal robe of purple worthy38 of the owner's wearing. The little figure danced out of sight behind a clump39 of cedars and the woman turned from the doorway40 with a tender smile that ended in a sigh. One evening her own little girl had passed down the lane and along Champlain's Road to the churchyard beyond the hills, and this little one filled somewhat the dreary41 space in the mother's heart.
Meanwhile, the one pedestrian on the lavender road was going swiftly on. She was clothed in a blue checked pinafore and a sunbonnet of the same material, which absorbed the blue light and glowed with vivid color. Beneath the sunbonnet hung a long heavy braid of shiny brown hair, with a reddish streak42 down the middle of it. The pinafore was tucked up round the owner's waist to form a bag, in which were carried a pair of stockings and strong, copper-toed boots, three very wrinkled apples, a bunch of wilted43 marigolds, and a cake of maple29-sugar. The small person clutched this bundle in her arms and held up her short skirts in a highly improper44 manner, while she went splashing through the puddles45 singing a loud and riotous46 song.
This was Elizabeth. And this unseemly manner of peregrination47 displayed just one of Elizabeth's trying peculiarities48. For four years she had been faithfully taught that little girls should never go barefoot outside their own gardens, and that when they were on the public highway they must walk quietly and properly on the grass by the roadside. When she remembered, Elizabeth strove to conform to the laws of home and social usage, for she was very docile50 by nature; but then Elizabeth seldom remembered. When she did, it was only to recall hopelessly her aunt's many times reiterated51 statement that Lizzie had the wild streak of the MacDuffs in her, and what could you expect? The Gordon family had generally been genteel enough to keep this objectionable MacDuff connection hidden, but occasionally it came out in red hair, deep gray eyes, and a wild, erratic52 disposition53. To be sure, little Elizabeth's hair was not red, but a deep nut-brown, shading to rich yellow at the ends, where it curled upwards54. But down the middle of her heavy brown braid ran a thick strand55 of reddish gold, quite enough to account for the vagaries56 of her behavior. And there was no doubt about Elizabeth's eyes—those unfathomable gray eyes that looked steel blue or soft gray or deep black, according to the owner's mood. Yes, Elizabeth had the two fatal badges of the wild MacDuffs, coupled with dear knows what inheritance from her mother's people, the fighting MacDonalds, who had been the scandal of the whole countryside in the early days.
Having heard all this many, many times from her aunt, Elizabeth had finally accepted the sad fact that she had "a wild streak" in her, just as she accepted the variegated57 color of her hair, not without much rebellion against her fate though, and many tears of repentance58, and frequent solemn pledges to walk in unstreaked propriety59 for the rest of her days.
At other times she recklessly concluded that it was impossible to battle against destiny. For one never knew just how one was going to act. For a very chameleon60 was this strange Elizabeth, always the color of her surroundings. Being just ten-and-a-half, she would act with the wisdom of an ancient sage49 when in company with Mrs. MacAllister, and the foolishness of a spring lamb when left to gambol61 with her little brother. To-night her spirit had caught the joyous62 note of the wonderful spring evening, and she was like the valley, gay and sparkling and noisy with delight. Besides, this was the first time she had ever been allowed to go home alone from Mother MacAllister's, and the sense of freedom went to her head.
So, along the lavender road she skipped, holding her skirts very high, splashing mud over her pinafore and even her sunbonnet, and singing loudly:
"She's ower the border an' awa
Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean!"
Mr. MacAllister had sung this song after supper, between the puffs63 of his pipe, as he sat on the wash bench by the door, and Mother MacAllister had told them the story, as she and Elizabeth washed up the dishes, the story of the lady of high degree who had cast aside wealth and noble lovers to hie awa wi' Jock o' Hazeldean.
Charles Stuart, who was Mother MacAllister's really, truly child, had interrupted to inquire what "ower the border an' awa'" meant, and Elizabeth had felt impatient enough to slap him had she dared. Charles Stuart was very stupid about some things, though he could spell and always got the right answer to a sum in school. Elizabeth knew exactly what it meant, though she could not have explained. It was just what she was doing now, as she leaped from pool to pool with her skirts and her pinafore in a string about her waist—fleeing in ecstasy64 away, away, to that far-off undiscovered country of dreams, "Ower the border."
Her joyous abandon was rudely checked. There was a quick splash from a pool not a yard ahead of her, where a stone hit the water sharply. Elizabeth stopped in alarm. She whirled round towards the low fence bordering the highway. Its innocent appearance, all draped in woodbine and fringed with alder and raspberry bushes, did not deceive her in the least. "You're a nasty, mean, mean boy, Charles Stuart MacAllister!" she cried indignantly to the thickest clump of alders65. She dropped her dress and stepped to the grassy66 side of the road, filled with rage. Of course it was Charles Stuart. He was always in the direction whence stones and abuse came. It had ever seemed to Elizabeth the strangest injustice68 that a dear, lovely lady like Mother MacAllister should have been so shabbily treated both in the quantity and quality of the family Providence69 had given her. For while there were eight Gordons, and every one of them fairly nice at times, there was but one single solitary70 MacAllister, and a boy at that; yes, and sometimes the very nastiest boy that went to Forest Glen School!
She walked along with a haughtiness71 her Aunt Margaret might have envied and took not the smallest notice when a little turbulent fox-terrier, with many squeaks72 and squirms, wriggled73 through a hole in the fence and came bounding towards her. And she turned her head and gazed absorbedly across the fields when it was followed by a boy who pitched himself over the fence and crossed to her side.
"Hello, Lizzie!" he cried, his brown eyes dancing in his brown face in the friendliest manner. "Mother says I've got to see you home."
Elizabeth's head went higher. She fixed74 her eyes on the line of white-stemmed birches that guarded the stream. Neither did she deign75 to notice "Trip," who frisked and barked about her.
Charles Stuart came a step nearer and took hold of the long, heavy braid. "Mud-turtle, Lizzie!" he hissed76. "Mud-turtle! Look out there! Your neck's gettin' that long you'll hit the telegraph wires in another minute."
Elizabeth's shoulders came up towards her ears with a quick, convulsive movement. Her dignity vanished. Her long neck, her long hair, her long fingers, and her gray eyes were features over which much teasing had made her acutely sensitive.
She whirled round, made a slap at her tormentor77, which he dodged78, stumbled over Trip, who was always in the way, and fell full length upon the wet grass, scattering79 her treasures far and wide. Trip snatched up a boot and began worrying it; Charles Stuart shouted with laughter; and Elizabeth picked herself up, sank upon a stone, and began to cry.
The boy was all repentance immediately. He gathered up the apples, the stockings, the maple sugar, and even the faded bunch of marigolds, rescued the boot from Trip, and handed them all to their owner, remembering contritely80 how his mother had said he must be kind to little Lizzie on the way home and, above all things, not to make her cry.
Elizabeth received her treasures with averted81 face. "I wish you'd go back home and leave me alone," she wailed82, as she wiped away her tears with the muddy skirt of her pinafore.
"Well, I'd like to," said Charles Stuart honestly; "but mother said I'd got to see you home. Hurrah83, Lizzie! Aw, come on, I won't tease you any more."
So Elizabeth rose, not without much of the dignity of a broken heart in her attitude, and walked forward in a very stately fashion indeed.
Charles Stuart did his best to make amends84. He pointed85 out the oriole's little cradle that swung from the elm bough86 high above their heads. He showed her the ground-hogs' hole beside the hollow stump and the wasps87' nest in the fence corner, until at last friendly relations were once more established.
They walked along side-by-side: he, splashing through the blue rainpools; she, envious88 and proper, stepping over the soft, wet grass. She was slightly disconcerted, too; for a Charles Stuart that walked beside you on the public highway, and did not run and hide nor throw stones, nor even pull your hair, was something to raise even more apprehension89 than when he behaved naturally.
But the young man was really trying to atone90 for his sins, for a reason Elizabeth could never have guessed, and he now sidled up to her holding something in his hand.
"Say, Lizzie?"
"What?"
"Don't you want this?" He handed her, with an embarrassed attempt at nonchalance91, a very sticky little candy tablet. It was pretty and pink and had some red printing on it. Elizabeth took it, quite overwhelmed with surprise and gratitude92. She was just about to put it into her mouth when she thought of Jamie. The little brother loved sweeties so. Of course she had saved her cake of maple sugar for him, all but one tiny bite; but a pink candy was ever so much better. With a hasty "thanks," she slipped it into her pinafore with her other treasures.
Charles Stuart looked disappointed. He picked up some stones, shied one at the telegraph wires, and another at the green glass fixture93 at the top of the pole. This last proceeding94 caused Elizabeth to scream and beseech95 him to stop. For Malcolm had said that a dreadful man would come out from town and put you in jail if you committed this crime. Charles Stuart, having accomplished97 his purpose in fixing Elizabeth's attention upon himself once more, desisted, and cast his last stone with a crash into the raspberry bushes by the roadside.
"Ain't you goin' to read it?" he asked, with his back towards her.
"Read what, the candy?"
"O' course."
Elizabeth paused and rummaged98 in her pinafore. She bundled shoes and stockings aside and fished out the little pink tablet. The legend, inscribed99 in red letters, was, "Be my girl." She read it aloud quite impersonally100. She did not object to it, for fear of hurting Charles Stuart's feelings; but she wished that it had been, "Be my boy," instead. It would have been so appropriate for Jamie. For every day she bribed101 and coaxed102 him to be "Diddy's boy," in preference to Mary's or Jean's or even Annie's.
Charles Stuart waited for some comment, feeling that Elizabeth was certainly very dull. No wonder she could never get a sum right at school, and was always foot of the spelling class. He flung another stone to relieve his feelings; this time in the direction of a pair of chiming bob-o'-links that, far over the clover-meadow, went up and down in an airy dance. He felt he must put forth103 another effort to make his position clear to Elizabeth's dull wits.
"Say, Lizzie, did anybody ever—ever see you home before?"
Elizabeth stared. Surely Charles Stuart must be wandering in his mind, for how could he help knowing that his mother or father or Long Pete Fowler, the hired man, often accompanied indeed by Charles Stuart himself, had always, heretofore, seen her home?
"Of course," she answered wonderingly. "But I'm a big girl now, I'm going on eleven, and I'm too old to have anybody see me home."
This was worse than ever. Charles Stuart looked at her in perplexity. Then he came straight to the point in the wise old way.
"Say, Lizzie, I think you're the nicest girl in all Forest Glen School."
Elizabeth stared again; not so much at the remark, though it was extremely absurd, for Charles Stuart hated all girls, as at his uncomfortable subdued104 manner, which she now began to notice. She felt vaguely105 sorry for him. Charles Stuart never acted like that unless his father had been giving him a scolding. Her sympathy made her responsive.
"Do you?" she cried. "Oh, I'm so glad, Charles Stuart."
This was making fine progress. The young man looked vastly encouraged.
"I'm going away to the High School, in Cheemaun, if I pass next summer," he said, with not so much irrelevance106 as might appear.
Elizabeth was all interest. To "pass" and go to the High School in the neighboring town was the grand ambition of every boy and girl in Forest Glen School.
"Oh, are you, Charles Stuart? Maybe John is, too."
"Yes." He was getting on famously now. "Father says I can. And I'm going to college after."
"And what'll you be?" asked Elizabeth admiringly.
"I'm not sure," said Charles Stuart grandly. "Mother wants me to be a minister, but I think I'd rather be a horse-doctor."
Elizabeth looked dubious107. She did not like to differ from Mother MacAllister, but she could not see how it would be possible to make anything like a minister out of such an uncomfortable, hair-pulling stone-thrower as Charles Stuart.
"You'd best be a horse-doctor, Charles Stuart," she advised wisely. After all, that was a very noble calling, Elizabeth felt. Once a horse-doctor had come out from town to Rosie Carrick's place and Rosie's pussy108 had been sick, and he had given it medicine which cured it. She related the incident for Charles Stuart's encouragement, but he did not seem very favorably impressed. Pulling pussy-cats' tails was more in Charles Stuart's line. He began to show leanings towards the ministry109.
"Mother says it's a grander thing to be a minister than anything else in the world," he asserted. "But you have to know an awful lot, I guess."
"And you have to be most awful good," said Elizabeth emphatically.
"Mother says you have to be most awful good no matter what you are," said Charles Stuart, with greater wisdom.
"My father was nearly a minister once, but he said he wasn't good enough, and he's the very, very goodest man that ever lived."
"It'll be easy to be good when we're grown up," said Charles Stuart.
"Oh, yes, ever so easy," said Elizabeth comfortably.
"And, say—Lizzie."
"What?"
Charles Stuart was looking embarrassed again. "I'm—I'm nearly twelve, you know."
They had reached the big gate between the willows111 by this time. Elizabeth flung her treasure trove upon the grass and, springing upon the gate, swung out on to the road again.
"Well, I know that," she said, wondering what such gratuitous112 information had to do either with being a minister or riding a gate, "and I'm going on eleven."
Charles Stuart mounted on the other side and swung, too. It was rather childish, but he was bound to be agreeable until he got something off his mind.
"Well, you know—when I'm done going to college, and we've grown up we'll have to get married, you and me. Long Pete Fowler said so."
Elizabeth did not look at all impressed. Such a proposition did not appeal to her. It was too vague and intangible. People all got married, of course, some day, but not until you were very, very old and staid, and all the joy of life had departed from it—just as everybody died some day. But, though death was inevitable113, Elizabeth did not borrow trouble from that solemn fact. Besides, she had far other and greater ambitions than were dreamed of in Charles Stuart's philosophy. She was going to be grand and famous some day—just how, Elizabeth had not yet decided114. One day she would be a great artist, the next a missionary115 in darkest Africa. But Joan of Arc's life appealed to her most strongly, and oftenest her dreams pictured herself clad in flashing armor, mounted on a prancing116 charger, and leading an army of brave Canadians to trample117 right over the United States.
So there was nothing very alluring118 in the prospect119 of exchanging all this to settle down with Charles Stuart, even though one would be living with dear Mother MacAllister, with whom one was always happy. She looked at Charles Stuart, about to speak out her disdain120, when the expression of his face suddenly checked her. Even as a child Elizabeth had a marvelous intuition, which told her when another's feelings were in danger of being hurt. It gave her a strange, quite unacknowledged feeling that she was far older and wiser than the children she played with. There was always an inner self sitting in judgment121 on all childishness, even when she was on the highroad to every sort of nonsense by way of the wild streak.
That inner self spoke122 now. It said that Charles Stuart was very young and silly, but he was also very nervous, and she must not hurt him. She must pretend that she thought him very wise. It would not be very wicked, for was she not always pretending? When Jamie said, "Be a bear, Diddy," or "Be a bogey-man," Elizabeth would go down on her knees and growl123 and roar, or pull her hair over her face, make goggle-eyes, and hop2 madly about until the little brother was screaming with ecstatic terror. So when Charles Stuart said, "We'll get married," it required less effort to comply than to be a bogey-man, and she nodded radiantly, and said, "All right."
Charles Stuart looked equally radiant, and they swung back and forth smiling at each other over the top of the gate. Elizabeth began to think it would not be such a bad bargain after all. If Charles Stuart was really going to like her, how much happier life would be! For, of course, he would never plot with John to run away from her any more, and they three would play one perpetual game of ball for ever and ever.
They had swung some moments in happy silence when Charles Stuart, with masculine obtuseness124, made a blunder that shattered the airy fabric125 of their dream. He had been looking down into Elizabeth's deep eyes, and exclaimed in honest surprise:
"Say, Lizzie, your eyes are green, I do declare!"
Elizabeth's face turned crimson126. To accuse her of having black eyes, as many people did by lamplight, was horrid127, horrid mean; to say her eyes were gray was a deadly insult. But to be told they were green! She had only a minute before delicately spared Charles Stuart's feelings, and now he had turned and trampled128 upon her most tender sensibilities.
"They're not! They're not!" she cried indignantly. "They're blue, and I won't play with you ever again, Charles Stuart MacAllister, you nasty, nasty boy!"
She flung down off the gate and swept up her treasures from the wet grass. The sight of her roused all Charles Stuart's desire to tease. She really looked so funny snatching up a shoe or stocking and dropping it again in her wrath129, while Trip grabbed everything she dropped and shook it madly. Charles Stuart jumped from the gate and began imitating her, catching130 up a stone, letting it fall, with a shriek131 and crying loudly at the top of his voice, while Trip, enjoying the noise and commotion132, went round and round after his tail just because he could think of nothing else to do.
This was too much for Elizabeth. Charles Stuart was heaping insult upon insult. She got the last article of her bundle crushed into her pinafore, and as the boy, going through the same motions, raised his head, she gave him a sounding slap in the face, turned, darted133 through the gate, and went raging down the lane, dropping a shoe, a stocking, an apple, or a piece of maple sugar at every bound. She was blinded with tears and choking with grief and anger—anger that Charles Stuart should have cajoled her into thinking he intended to be nice to her, and grief that she could have been so cruel. Oh, what a terrible blow she had struck! Her hand tingled134 from it yet. It must have hurt poor Charles Stuart dreadfully, and after such conduct she could never hope to be a lady. Her aunt would be disgraced, and that wonderful lady, whose name she bore, would never come to see her. She was an outcast whom nobody loved, for not even Mother MacAllister could like her now!
She could not go home, so she flung herself down upon the wet grass in a corner of the lane and wept bitterly. It was always so with Elizabeth. She was up in the clouds one moment and down in the depths the next. Her heart was breaking over the injury she had done. For the first time in her life she experienced a feeling of warm regard towards Charles Stuart, simply because she had hurt him.
She stopped sobbing135, and, raising herself from the ground, peeped out through her tears to see if he were in sight. Perhaps he was stunned136 by the blow and was lying beneath the gate. She could see no sign of him and her heart stood still with dread96. She had been vaguely conscious of joyous shouts and cries from the field behind the house and had heard the rifle-crack of a baseball against the bat, telling that there was a game in progress. She was now made aware that the joyous shouts were growing into a noisy clamor of welcome. Above the din1 she could hear John's roar: "Charles Stuart on our side! I bar Charles Stuart!" And there was her false lover speeding across the field towards her home, Trip at his heels! Elizabeth arose from the ground, dry-eyed and indignant. She wished she had hit him harder. Charles Stuart MacAllister was without doubt the horridest, horridest boy that ever lived and she would never speak to him again—no, not if she lived to be two hundred and went over to his place every Saturday for a thousand years. Just see if she would!
As she passed an alder clump and caught a glimpse of her aunt standing near the garden gate talking with Mr. Coulson, Elizabeth became suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of her shoeless and disheveled condition. She knew that, while untidy hair and a dirty pinafore were extremely reprehensible137, bare feet put one quite beyond the possibility of being genteel. That word "genteel" had become the shibboleth138 of the Gordon family in the last four years. It was poor Elizabeth's chief burden in life. For how could anyone hope to live up to it when she was possessed139 of a wild streak?
Fortunately, her aunt was in deep conversation with Mr. Coulson, and had not spied her. She dropped upon the grass, safely hidden by the alders, and began to drag her damp stockings over her muddy feet. There would arise dire67 consequences from this later, but Elizabeth found the evil of the hour sufficient unto it and never added the troubles of the future. As she sat thus busily engaged, she was startled by the sound of footsteps and drew back further behind her flowery screen. The next moment Mr. Coulson strode rapidly past her and up the lane without glancing to the right or left. Elizabeth stared after him. He had passed so close she might have touched him, and how pale and angry he looked! The schoolmaster was one of the objects upon which Elizabeth showered the wealth of her devotion, and she was vaguely disturbed for him. He looked just as if he had been whipping someone in school. Then her own uncomfortable condition obtruded140 itself once more, and she arose. She straightened her sunbonnet, smoothed down her crumpled141 skirts and slowly and fearfully took her way down the lane. She dreaded142 to meet her aunt, knowing by sad experience that as soon as that lady's eye fell upon her, not only would all the misdemeanors of which she was conscious appear silhouetted143 against Miss Gordon's perfection, but dozens of unsuspected sins would spring to light and stand out black in the glare.
She peeped through the tangle144 of alders and saw that Aunt Margaret was now talking to Annie, with her back to the lane, and the same instant she spied a way of escape. The lane ran straight past the big stone house and down to the line of birches that bordered the stream, forming the road by which Mr. MacAllister reached his old mill, lying away down there in the hollow. Down in the lower part of the lane where the birches grew, William Gordon was wont to walk in the evenings, and here Elizabeth, with infinite relief, spied him just coming into view from beyond a curve. He was walking slowly with bent145 head, his long, thin hands clasped behind him. At his side was a young man, of medium height, thick-set, and powerful-looking. This was Mr. Tom Teeter, who worked the farm upon which The Dale stood, and lived only a few hundred yards from the Gordons. Mr. Teeter was an Irishman, with a fine gift for speech-making. He was much sought after, for tea-meetings and during political campaigns, and had won the proud alliterative name of Oro's Orator146. Tom was now holding forth hotly upon the "onparalleled rascality147 and treachersome villainousness" of the Opposition148 in the Ontario Legislature.
Elizabeth, her eyes alight, ran swiftly past the gate towards her father. She loved each member of her family with all the might of her passionate149 heart; but she held for her father an especially tender regard. Her love for him had in it something of the sacred grief that clung about the memory of her dead mother, something too of mother-love itself, felt in a longing150 to comfort and protect him. The stoop of his thin shoulders, the silvering hair on his bowed head, and the sound of his gentle voice all appealed to Elizabeth's heart in the same way as when Jamie cried from a hurt. Whenever he looked unusually sad and abstracted, his little daughter yearned151 to fling her arms about his neck and pet and caress152 him. But Elizabeth knew better. Such conduct would be courting death by ridicule153 at the hands of the Gay Gordons.
She ran to him now, and, as there was only Tom Teeter to see, ventured to slip her hand into his as she walked by his side. Tom Teeter was the bosom154 friend of every young Gordon, and he pulled her sunbonnet and said:
"Hello, Lizzie! How's the wild streak behavin'?"
Her father looked down at her, apparently155 just conscious of her presence. His eyes brightened.
"Well, well, little 'Lizbeth," he said. "And where have you been?"
"Over to Mother MacAllister's. And look, I've got three apples and some maple sugar, and there's a piece of it for you, father, and I found the marigolds at the crick."
"Well, well, yes, yes." He seemed suddenly to remember something. "What was it your aunt was saying? Oh, yes, that I must go to the gate and meet you. And here you are!"
Elizabeth beamed. "Come and tell her we're home then," she said warily156; and thus fortified157, but still fearful, she walked slowly up the garden path to the front door, where Aunt Margaret was standing.
But to Elizabeth's amazement158 and infinite relief, Aunt Margaret was all smiles and graciousness, even to Tom Teeter. She took no notice of her niece's disheveled appearance, but said cordially:
"Run away in, Elizabeth. Sarah Emily has come back, and she has some news for you. I hope it will help to make you a very good, thankful little girl."
Entranced at this marvelous escape, Elizabeth flew through the old echoing hall and bounded wildly into the kitchen. She welcomed Sarah Emily rapturously, listened with wonder and awe159 to the news that the fairy god-mother was no dream after all, but was really and truly coming to see her, and finally went shrieking160 out to join in the game of ball, on Charles Stuart's side, too, all forgetful that not ten minutes before she had vowed161 against him an undying enmity.
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din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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hop
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| n.单脚跳，跳跃；vi.单脚跳，跳跃；着手做某事；vt.跳跃，跃过 | |
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highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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concession
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| n.让步，妥协；特许(权) | |
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orchards
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| （通常指围起来的）果园( orchard的名词复数 ) | |
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lavished
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| v.过分给予，滥施( lavish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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stump
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| n.残株，烟蒂，讲演台；v.砍断，蹒跚而走 | |
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10
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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11
lodged
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| v.存放( lodge的过去式和过去分词 )；暂住；埋入；（权利、权威等）归属 | |
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12
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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13
cedars
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| 雪松，西洋杉( cedar的名词复数 ) | |
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14
brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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15
musk
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| n.麝香, 能发出麝香的各种各样的植物，香猫 | |
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16
trove
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| n.被发现的东西，收藏的东西 | |
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17
oozed
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| 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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18
swelling
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| n.肿胀 | |
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19
sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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20
civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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21
hoofs
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| n.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的名词复数 )v.（兽的）蹄，马蹄( hoof的第三人称单数 ) | |
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22
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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23
ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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24
filth
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| n.肮脏，污物，污秽；淫猥 | |
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25
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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26
glossy
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| adj.平滑的；有光泽的 | |
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27
beeches
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| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
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28
maples
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| 槭树，枫树( maple的名词复数 )； 槭木 | |
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29
maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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30
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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31
alder
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| n.赤杨树 | |
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32
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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33
robins
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| n.知更鸟，鸫( robin的名词复数 )；（签名者不分先后，以避免受责的）圆形签名抗议书（或请愿书） | |
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34
tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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35
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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36
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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37
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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38
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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39
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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40
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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41
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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42
streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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43
wilted
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| （使）凋谢，枯萎( wilt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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45
puddles
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| n.水坑， （尤指道路上的）雨水坑( puddle的名词复数 ) | |
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46
riotous
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| adj.骚乱的；狂欢的 | |
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47
peregrination
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| n.游历，旅行 | |
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48
peculiarities
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| n. 特质, 特性, 怪癖, 古怪 | |
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49
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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50
docile
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| adj.驯服的，易控制的，容易教的 | |
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51
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
erratic
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| adj.古怪的，反复无常的，不稳定的 | |
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53
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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54
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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55
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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56
vagaries
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| n.奇想( vagary的名词复数 )；异想天开；异常行为；难以预测的情况 | |
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57
variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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58
repentance
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| n.懊悔 | |
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59
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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60
chameleon
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| n.变色龙，蜥蜴；善变之人 | |
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61
gambol
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| v.欢呼，雀跃 | |
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62
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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63
puffs
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| n.吸( puff的名词复数 )；（烟斗或香烟的）一吸；一缕（烟、蒸汽等）；（呼吸或风的）呼v.使喷出( puff的第三人称单数 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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64
ecstasy
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| n.狂喜，心醉神怡，入迷 | |
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65
alders
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| n.桤木( alder的名词复数 ) | |
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66
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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67
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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68
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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69
providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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70
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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71
haughtiness
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| n.傲慢；傲气 | |
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72
squeaks
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| n.短促的尖叫声，吱吱声( squeak的名词复数 )v.短促地尖叫( squeak的第三人称单数 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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73
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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74
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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75
deign
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| v. 屈尊, 惠允 ( 做某事) | |
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76
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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77
tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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78
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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79
scattering
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| n.[物]散射；散乱，分散；在媒介质中的散播adj.散乱的；分散在不同范围的；广泛扩散的；（选票）数量分散的v.散射(scatter的ing形式)；散布；驱散 | |
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80
contritely
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81
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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82
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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83
hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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84
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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85
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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86
bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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87
wasps
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| 黄蜂( wasp的名词复数 )； 胡蜂； 易动怒的人； 刻毒的人 | |
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88
envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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89
apprehension
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| n.理解，领悟；逮捕，拘捕；忧虑 | |
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90
atone
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| v.赎罪，补偿 | |
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91
nonchalance
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| n.冷淡，漠不关心 | |
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92
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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93
fixture
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| n.固定设备；预定日期；比赛时间；定期存款 | |
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94
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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95
beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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96
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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97
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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98
rummaged
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| 翻找，搜寻( rummage的过去式和过去分词 )； 已经海关检查 | |
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99
inscribed
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| v.写，刻( inscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；内接 | |
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100
impersonally
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| ad.非人称地 | |
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101
bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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102
coaxed
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| v.哄，用好话劝说( coax的过去式和过去分词 )；巧言骗取；哄劝，劝诱 | |
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103
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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104
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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105
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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106
irrelevance
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| n.无关紧要；不相关；不相关的事物 | |
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107
dubious
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| adj.怀疑的，无把握的；有问题的，靠不住的 | |
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108
pussy
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| n.(儿语)小猫，猫咪 | |
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109
ministry
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| n.(政府的)部；牧师 | |
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110
belittled
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| 使显得微小，轻视，贬低( belittle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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111
willows
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| n.柳树( willow的名词复数 )；柳木 | |
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112
gratuitous
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| adj.无偿的，免费的；无缘无故的，不必要的 | |
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113
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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114
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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115
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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116
prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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117
trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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118
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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119
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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120
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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121
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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122
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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123
growl
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| v.（狗等）嗥叫，（炮等）轰鸣；n.嗥叫，轰鸣 | |
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124
obtuseness
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| 感觉迟钝 | |
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125
fabric
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| n.织物，织品，布；构造，结构，组织 | |
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126
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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127
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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128
trampled
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| 踩( trample的过去式和过去分词 )； 践踏； 无视； 侵犯 | |
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129
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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130
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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131
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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132
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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133
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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134
tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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135
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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136
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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137
reprehensible
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| adj.该受责备的 | |
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138
shibboleth
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| n.陈规陋习；口令；暗语 | |
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139
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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140
obtruded
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| v.强行向前，强行，强迫( obtrude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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141
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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142
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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143
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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144
tangle
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| n.纠缠；缠结；混乱；v.(使)缠绕；变乱 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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147
rascality
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| 流氓性，流氓集团 | |
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148
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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150
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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151
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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152
caress
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| vt./n.爱抚，抚摸 | |
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153
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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154
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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155
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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156
warily
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| adv.留心地 | |
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157
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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158
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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159
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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160
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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161
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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