The lawyers had made a bad mess of poor Sandy's affairs, the country declared. He had virtually lost his farm, as far as the law went, and all because of some technicality regarding the lack of a fence on all sides, one which the rural mind considered highly absurd. And not only that, but the place had been sold to Jake Martin, who had given Sandy notice to leave early in October.
But the old man was hard to move. Sure of his rights, and convinced of the injustice2 of all legal proceedings3, he clung tenaciously4 to his little property. It was not a place anyone need grieve over losing, an observer might say—a few acres of stumpy, cleared land, an indefinite piece of forest, and an old log cabin. But it was Sandy's home—the only one he had known since he left his father's fisher-hut on the wind-swept shore of Islay. And every stone and tree on the rough little place, and the very birds that sang in the evening from the dark circle of forest were very dear to the old man's heart. From the doorway5 he could see down the leafy lane to the church and beyond it into the grassy6 graveyard7 with its leaning headstones. There was one there, an old moss-grown, wooden slab8, once painted white. It marked two graves, those of Sandy's wife and his daughter, their only child, who had been Eppie's mother.
Yes, it was hard to think of leaving it all, and he was fiercely determined9 to stay.
His friends did their best to help him. Mr. Coulson took the liberty of writing to Mrs. Jarvis, the owner of the property, begging her to notice Sandy's claim. But there came no answer, and Mr. Huntley, the lawyer, laughed at him, saying by the time he had done business with that lady as long as he had he'd know better. Mr. MacAllister offered Sandy work in the mill, with pay commuted10 the long way. Noah Clegg invited both him and Eppie to share his home until such time as he could look about him for a new place. For, though the two Sunday-school superintendents11 were wont12 to sit up all night arguing fiercely on points of doctrine13, in the day of affliction all differences were forgotten. Jake Martin even loudly declared himself powerful sorry, but then business was business, and he supposed there would always be shiftless folk like Sandy in the world who could never get on.
Wully Johnstone came next. He strolled over through the woods one afternoon and casually14 remarked that that old house of his by the spring was just fair totterin' for lack of care, and he wished to peace some obleegin' body would move intil it an' save him all the worry.
But Sandy would accept no man's hospitality, however delicately offered. He was proud, even for a Highlander15, and not Noah Clegg himself, who was his closest friend, might extend to him charity.
Besides, as time went on, it would appear that he stood in little need of it. When the Jarvis property had been put up for sale, Mr. Martin had looked with a longing16 eye upon the Teeter farm, where The Dale stood. But Tom's claim had been safely established, and great was his wrath17 when he heard of his neighbor's machinations. Oro's Orator18 was a fighter in other beside forensic19 fields. He had a true Irish resentment20 against the law, and understood that somehow Jake Martin, in league with the lawyers, had outraged21 justice; therefore, he, Mr. Teeter, would ignore the lawyers and settle Jake, see if he wouldn't. Mr. Martin had voted Tory at the last election anyhow, and was badly in need of being settled.
So there broke out a war in Forest Glen which raged all autumn. When Jake Martin finally appeared at Sandy's door to formally assert his ownership, Mr. Teeter met him. He carried an ancient piece of firearms that had not been loaded since the day, some thirty years before, when the last bruin of Forest Glen had come ambling22 up out of Wully Johnstone's swamp.
Mr. Martin, not knowing how harmful the weapon might be, but being only too well aware that the man behind the gun was always to be feared, retired23 precipitately24, and the whole countryside laughed long and loud over the victory.
He returned to the farm many times, but Tom seemed always to be on hand. Finally Mr. Martin declared, after they had come to blows the second time, that he would have the law. Mr. Teeter joyfully25 invited him to have all he could get of it; but the enemy hesitated. He knew his case was not looked upon with favor by his neighbors, and he dreaded26 to fly in the face of public opinion. For a lawsuit27, as everyone in the countryside knew, was held as a disgrace, no matter how righteous one's case might be. And besides, the lawyers were apt to take so much money that a thrifty28 man like Jake naturally hesitated before approaching them.
So all autumn he went on making ineffectual efforts to remove the obstructions29 from his property, and times were very lively indeed; so lively that Auntie Jinit McKerracher, who led public opinion, declared it was clean scand'lus to have such goin's on in a Christian30 land; and Granny Teeter wrung31 her hands and said "Wirra wurra" many times a day over the Orator's waywardness.
At last, to save his reputation, Mr. Martin compromised. He would graciously allow Sandy to remain on his lawful32 property, he announced, till springtime. But, just as soon as the snow was gone, Tom Teeter had better watch out. For it was a penitentiary33 job he'd been at, and if there was any law in Canada, Mr. Martin was going to have the benefit of it.
So the countryside settled down for the winter, and as Christmas approached the Martin-Teeter conflict ceased to occupy the public mind. Even in the schoolroom it was soon forgotten, and this was a great relief to Elizabeth. For, of course, Eppie's trouble could not but directly affect her. Elizabeth and Rosie had both stood loyally by Eppie, declaring it was a dreadful shame the way Jake Martin and the lawyers acted. But this loyalty34 entailed35 an estrangement36 from poor, hard-working Susie; and Elizabeth's tender heart was torn between her two friends. She realized that Susie was right in taking her father's side. For, of course, one must stand by a father, no matter how bad he was, she argued. Elizabeth's position was a difficult one, and she was vastly relieved when the matter was dropped, and she and Rosie, with Eppie and Susie as their opponents, played puzzle during school hours and tag during recess37, as of yore.
But all outside affairs of whatever moment would soon have been forgotten in any case. Every other interest was speedily swallowed up in the excitement over the Christmas concert Forest Glen was to have at the closing of school.
It was Jean Gordon and Wully Johnstone's Bella who imported this newest fad38, bringing it all the way from Cheemaun High School. They generally kept Forest Glen posted as to what was the latest school fashion; and about the beginning of winter it appeared that concerts in which one took part were necessary to one's intellectual existence. Forest Glen at once decided39 it must have one, and Lottie Price, seeing a chance to distinguish herself as a reciter, once more took at the flood the tide that would sweep her on to glory, and boldly proffered40 a request for public closing exercises.
Miss Hillary graciously consented. Indeed, Miss Hillary was in a gracious mood almost all the time now. For, since sleighing had come, a smart, red cutter, the successor of the top-buggy, came out from Cheemaun with such regularity41 and frequency that the schoolroom was a place of peace and idleness.
As soon as preparations for the concert were set on foot, Elizabeth and Rosie became completely absorbed in them. The former became so busy she had scarcely time to draw pictures. They were both in a dialogue, and Rosie was to sing a solo besides. So how could one find time to worry over vulgar fractions?
The Dale contingent42 were all honored by being each given a special part in the performance. Archie, of course, was too young to participate; but Mary was to sing "Little drops of water, little grains of sand," in company with Wully Johnstone's Betty. John was to give a reading, and Charles Stuart and Teenie Johnstone were in Elizabeth's dialogue.
The Martins alone were not amongst the artists, and Elizabeth's heart ached for Susie. As soon as the dismissal bell rang, and everyone else ran to his or her allotted43 corner to be "trained," the poor Martins sadly made their way to the pegs44 where hung coats and dinner-pails, and hurried away home to work. No wonder they did not succeed at school. Mr. Coulson had always said the no-play rule of Jake Martin was making dullards of his children, just when he was over-anxious that they should be made very sharp and so be great money-makers.
There had been Christmas concerts in Forest Glen before, but never one like this. Other times one had to get up one's own programme, but now the teacher drilled and trained the performers until they became overwhelmed with the thought of their own importance. Besides, several young ladies of the place, Martha Ellen Robertson amongst them, came down to the school every afternoon and helped, and Elizabeth found an especial joy in being "trained" by her Sunday-school teacher and noting her daily change of finery.
Sometimes, as the date of the concert approached, groups would meet in the evenings for practice, and one night the half-dozen who were in Elizabeth's dialogue assembled at The Dale.
Miss Gordon would never have consented to such an irregularity as late hours for her family, but that the occasion served to heal a slight breach45 between them and the Wully Johnstones.
Since the first snowfall, her neighbors had been driving their two High School pupils into Cheemaun, and, of course, had taken Malcolm and Jean with them. The Wully Johnstones had not heretofore shown any leanings towards education, but, since Miss Gordon had set the pace by sending her nephew and niece to the High School, learning became highly fashionable about The Dale. Wully Johnstone declared his boys and girls were as smart as any Gordons living and they would show the truth of the same.
Such sturdy young Canadians as these High School pupils were, thought little of a few miles' walk morning and evening. But the girls were developing into lengthening46 skirts, and Miss Gordon thankfully accepted the ride through the deep snow for Jean. Nevertheless, she was troubled over receiving constant favors from even such good neighbors as the Johnstones, for she had not yet learned that in the Scottish-Canadian countryside a horse and vehicle on the highway is practically common property.
So one evening, when Miss Gordon took tea at Mrs. Johnstone's, she had politely hinted that she and her brother would like to offer some remuneration for the kindness shown the children. Mrs. Johnstone's hospitable47 feelings were very badly hurt indeed, but she said nothing, being a peaceable body. But her sister-in-law, Mrs. Janet McKerracher, known all over the neighborhood as "Auntie Jinit," was the real head of the Johnstone household. And, being a lady of no little spirit, she declared, when Miss Gordon had gone, that the mistress of The Dale was an uppish bit buddie, and it was jist fair scand'lus to treat a neebor yon fashion.
Miss Gordon was very much grieved when she discovered her lack of tact48, and, seeing a chance to make amends49, she relaxed her rigid50 laws for one evening and permitted the gathering51 at The Dale. And a few evenings earlier she sent Malcolm with a graciously worded note, asking Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone and Mrs. McKerracher to accompany the young people.
The invitation was as graciously accepted. The elder folk came and sat around the fire and watched the young folk fill the house with noise and merriment, and the breach was healed. The MacAllisters were there; and Miss Hillary and all those from Forest Glen who were taking part were driven up in the Robertsons' sleigh.
It was like a magic evening out of a fairy tale to Elizabeth. There was a roaring fire in both the parlor52 and dining-room; all doors between the rooms were opened, giving a spacious53 effect, and every lamp and candle in the place was alight. The big, bare house seemed like some great festive54 palace to Elizabeth, and, as she sat on the stairs watching their guests file in, she felt sure she could realize exactly how Lady Evelina felt when she stood in her father's banqueting hall and received a glittering array of lords and dukes and earls. But surely no Lady Evelina of song or story ever experienced the rapture55 felt by Elizabeth when Rosie came dancing up the steps.
To Miss Gordon the evening proved highly satisfactory. The atmosphere of festivity made her feel young again, and the reconciliation56 with the Johnstones, common folk though they undoubtedly57 were, was very grateful to her warm heart, and above all she was vouchsafed58 a surprising revelation. Elizabeth proved to be the vision revealed. There was hope that Elizabeth was not stupid after all.
The dialogue in which she figured was one Martha Ellen Robertson had chosen from the "Complete Temperance Reciter," and was intended to inculcate a lesson of a highly moral character, namely, the folly59 of marrying a drunkard. Martha Ellen had indulgently chosen her pet pupil as heroine. Elizabeth was a haughty60 belle61 who persisted in the face of all opposition62 in marrying Charles Stuart, who staggered through the whole three acts with a big, green catsup bottle in each pocket. Rosie Carrick and Teenie Johnstone did their best to dissuade63 the mistaken one from her strange infatuation, even setting the good example of choosing Willie Carrick and Johnny Johnstone, exemplary young men, as their sweethearts, but all in vain. The haughty belle would listen to no one, and at the end of act three, now a weeping drudge64, she trailed off the stage, with the maudlin65 owner of the catsup bottles staggering ahead. Then Rosie and Teenie, holding the hands of their two virtuous66 youths, recited in unison67 a little verse bearing upon the unwisdom of being a haughty belle and marrying the victim of a catsup bottle.
Though the little scene was well-meant, and held within its simple story a deep truth, the incongruities68 of it, chiefly those contributed by the childish actors, might have made the dialogue extremely laughable had it not been for the acting69 of the leading lady. Elizabeth proved a star from the moment she set foot upon the stage. She was radiantly happy there. All unconsciously she had found a method of complete self-expression that was not forbidden, and the joy and relief of it lifted her to brilliant success. She was playing at something in a legitimate70 fashion at last; pretending, when it was the right and proper thing to pretend, with one's father and aunt and teacher looking on with approval. It was next best thing to being Joan of Arc. From the day of her power, when she haughtily71 turned away the virtuous William and the exemplary John, who severally came seeking her hand, to that of her humiliation72, when she knelt before Charles Stuart and besought73 him with tears to give up catsup bottles, her whole course was one of complete triumph. Teenie Johnstone forgot her lines three times in watching her, and Charles Stuart said he wished she wouldn't go at it quite so hard, she made him feel queer all over. And at the end of one stormy scene, Rosie ran to her and said: "Oh, Lizzie, it was awful! I thought you must be really, truly crying!" And Elizabeth did not confess that she had been really and truly crying, and was now rather ashamed and quite amazed at herself.
Mrs. Wully Johnstone was quite overcome, and Auntie Jinit declared it jist garred her greet to look at the bairn, she did it jist too well. And Miss Hillary turned to Miss Gordon and said, "She will make a great actress some day, perhaps," and Miss Gordon held up her shapely hands in horror and answered: "An actress! I'd rather see her in her grave."
Elizabeth noticed that Mother MacAllister was the only one who did not praise her; she who was always so ready with commendation whenever it could be truthfully expressed. So she slipped up to her and whispered, "Do you like it?" and Mother MacAllister looked rather wistfully at the crimson74 cheeks and shining eyes. She stroked the little girl's hair gently. "It would be a very pretty little piece, hinny," she said softly. "But you must not be letting yourself get too much excited over it, little Lizzie. It'll make you forget your sums."
But otherwise Elizabeth's triumph was complete. She noticed her aunt's approving looks, and overheard her saying to Martha Ellen Robertson that the child really had talent.
But such a condition of affairs could not last long with Elizabeth. An atmosphere of approval was not for her to dwell in long. Her downfall came speedily.
When the practice was over, they all sat around the room and Miss Gordon bade Sarah Emily and the two older girls pass the grape cordial and the Johnny-cake, which were all in readiness. It was at this moment that Miss Hillary turned to Mr. Gordon.
"You must be chairman at the concert," she said engagingly. "It will be so fitting, as you are secretary-treasurer."
Mr. Gordon, who had been sitting at a table with Mr. MacAllister, intent on reducing the Long Way, looked up, ran his fingers through his long hair, and laughed.
"What, what?" he said. "Me for chairman! Never, never. I'd forget what night it was on. Thank you very much for the honor, Miss Hillary, but you can do better than that. Here's Mr. Johnstone, now, he's just the man."
"Hut tut, sic like havers!" was all he said, and motioned with his thumb over his shoulder towards his next-door neighbor.
Mr. MacAllister, just emerged from the depths of the Long Way, looked at her in a dazed fashion.
"For peety's sake," he said, "can ye no dae better than ask all the auld77 buddies78 in the countryside; an' the place jist swarmin' wi' young callants. There's Tom Teeter, now, he'd jump at the chance, only ye'd hae to gag him atween pieces."
"It's too great a risk to run," laughed Miss Hillary. She knit her pretty brows in perplexity. "Perhaps Mr. Clegg will take pity on me."
"There's yon gay chiel that comes oot frae toon," resumed Mr. MacAllister slyly. "Mebby ye'd hae mair influence ower him."
The young schoolmistress blushed and tried not to smile; Sarah Emily ducked her head into her apron79 and giggled80, and a titter went round the room. And then Elizabeth, quite unconscious of any joke, spoke81 up eagerly.
"Oh, Miss Hillary, won't you ask that lovely gentleman that comes to see you to bring Mr. Coulson out and let him be chairman!"
Miss Hillary blushed harder than ever and laughed; so did Annie Gordon and Martha Ellen Robertson. Mr. MacAllister laughed, too, and slapped his knee, and said yon was a fine idea, and all the younger folk exclaimed in delight. And so it was promptly82 settled there and then, and Elizabeth understood when Annie passed her the Johnny-cake again.
But she did not understand why she was sternly ordered to bed by her aunt just the moment the company was gone; and wondered drearily83 why it was that this one day of triumph should end in tears.
The next morning she found matters no better, for the day had scarcely begun before Aunt Margaret singled her out to be talked to solemnly on the sin of being bold and forward, and speaking up when older people were present. Elizabeth partially84 brought the rebuke85 upon herself. Remembering only the joys of the night before, she arose early and in the exuberance86 of her spirits pulled Mary out of bed and tickled87 her until she was seized with a fit of coughing; and Mary's cough was a serious affair. Next she visited the boys' room and started a pillow-fight with John.
The noise brought Miss Gordon from her room. It was a chill winter morning, and the lady's temper was not any too sweet. Elizabeth fled to her room and began dressing88 madly. Her aunt slowly entered, seated herself on the little bench by the window, and, while her niece dressed and combed her hair, she gave her a long and aggrieved89 dissertation90 upon genteel conduct for little girls.
"And now," she concluded, as Elizabeth gave way to tears and showed signs of collapsing91 upon the bed, "I want you to learn two extra verses of your psalm92 before you come down to breakfast. And I do hope and trust it may lead you to be a better girl." She arose with a sigh, which said her hopes were but feeble and, bidding Mary follow her, descended93 the stairs.
When they were gone, Elizabeth got out her Bible, and sat by the frosty window, looking out drearily at the red morning sunshine. She wished with all her might that she had never been born. Likely she would die of grief soon anyway, she reflected, and never act in the dialogue after all. Yes, she would get sick and go to bed and be in a raging fever. And, just like the little girl in her latest Sunday-school book, who had been so badly used, she would cry out in her ravings that Aunt Margaret was killing94 her because she wasn't genteel.
Somewhat solaced95 by these gloomy reflections, she took the hairpin96 Annie had loaned her to pin up a lock of her heavy hair, and began tracing out pictures on the window-pane. There was already a magic tapestry97 there, woven by the frost-fairies; ferns, and sea-weed and tropical flowers of fantastic shapes, and wonderful palm branches all exquisitely98 intertwined. To these Elizabeth added the product of her imagination. Lords and ladies rode through the sea-weed, and Joan of Arc stood surrounded by palms. She had almost forgotten her woes99 in their icy beauty, and had quite forgotten the task her aunt had set, when Annie came flitting into the room. Annie's step was lighter100 than ever and her eyes were radiant. "Come down to breakfast, Lizzie," she whispered. "We're nearly through, and I've saved some toast for you. Aunt said if you said the verses before school-time it would do."
"Annie," said her little sister, gazing up at the glowing countenance103, "you make me think of a girl in a story book. You look like Lady Evelina."
Annie laughed. "Why?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know. But I guess it's because your eyes are so shiny. It says in that story in the Chronicle that Lady Evelina's lover rode past, and she looked out of her something or other, casement104, I think, but I guess it was just a window, and it says her face flushed like a wild rose and her eyes shined like twin stars. Say, what are twin stars, Annie?"
"Oh, Lizzie," whispered her sister, her face flushing deeper than a wild rose, "for pity's sake don't let aunt hear you saying things like that. You know she doesn't like you to read that continued story." With which wise counsel, and an appreciative105 pat of her little sister's arm, Annie led the way to breakfast.
The night before the concert Elizabeth and Mary could scarcely go to sleep. There was another source of insomnia106 beside the prospect107 ahead. They had both cajoled Annie into putting their hair up in curl papers, because all the girls, even to Becky Davis, were going to do something new and wonderful with their hair. So the two victims of fashion slept in half-wakeful discomfort108, until Elizabeth's heavy locks overcame their bounds and gave her relief and rest. But there was great disappointment in the morning, for while Mary's short, flaxen hair stood out round her head in a very halo of frizzly curls, Elizabeth's hung heavy, straight, and limp, and had to be braided in the usual old fashion.
However, she was never prone109 to think much of her personal appearance, and merely gave a sigh as Mary stood before the glass looking quite like a fairy.
"My, but your hair is so nice," said Elizabeth.
"Well," said Mary, as with a smile of satisfaction she surveyed what was visible of her small self in the little mirror on the wall, "I suppose I do look awful grand. But I must try and not think about it," she added piously110; "aunt says so."
Since the night the practice had been held at The Dale, Miss Gordon, strange to say, had displayed a growing disinclination to attend the concert. And when the evening finally came she decided to remain at home. It was only for children, after all, she remarked at the tea-table, and she and Annie would just stay at home together by the fire; adding that she didn't suppose even Malcolm and Jean would care to go to anything so childish. But even the quiet Malcolm protested mildly, and his sister did the same vigorously. Such an expedition as going from home after dark was too rare to be missed. "Why, Aunt Margaret!" she cried, for Miss Jean was an independent young lady, by virtue111 of being the cleverest of the family. "Why, Aunt Margaret, I never dreamed we'd have to stay home, and I'd just love to go—and Annie wants to go, too; don't you, Ann?"
One glance at Annie's despairing face was enough to convince anyone that to miss the concert would be a more bitter disappointment than it would be even to Elizabeth, who was fidgeting about in her chair, with scarlet112 cheeks and shining eyes, scarcely eating anything. Miss Gordon glanced at her eldest113 niece apprehensively114, and hesitated. Then her brother spoke up.
"Well, well," he said indulgently, "you must just all go. Archie and Jamie and I will keep house, and you'll tell us all about it when you get home."
Miss Gordon was too genteel to oppose her brother publicly, and accepted the situation with much chagrin115. She determined, however, that she would keep Miss Annie close to her side all evening. And after all, she argued, probably the young man had forgotten all about her by this time. It was a way young men had, she reflected, with a sigh for a dream of her youth to which she never referred. She sighed again as she looked at Annie's bright face, and wondered if she had done wrong in separating these two. Annie never by the slightest hint let her know her real feelings. And herein lay the great misfortune of Miss Gordon's life. She loved the girl passionately116, and would have made any sacrifice she felt was for her good, but Annie lived by her side day after day, and gave her not the smallest confidence. Her aunt, in her mistaken worldly ambition, had forever shut between them the door of true companionship.
They were all ready, in various stages of excitement, when the MacAllister sleigh came jingling117 up to the door. In the winter, sleighs generally took the sawlog road along the short-cut to Forest Glen, and the Wully Johnstones had promised to come round that way, too, and pick up anybody who was left.
To Elizabeth, this driving abroad after nightfall was like taking a voyage to a new planet. It was so wonderful and mysterious, this new, white, moon-lit world. Away in the vast blue dome118 the stars smiled faintly, outshone by the glory of the big, round moon that rode high above the black tree-tops. The billowing drifts along the road blazed under a veil of diamonds, and the strip of ice on the pond, where Elizabeth and John had swept away the snow for a slide, shone like polished silver. The fields melted away gray and mysterious into the darkness of the woods. Here and there a light twinkled from the farm-houses of the valley. The sleigh-bells jingled119 merrily, and the company joined their own joyous101 notes to them and sang the songs that were to be given at the concert. The woods rang with their gay voices as they passed old Sandy McLachlan's place. Sandy still held possession, and was looking forward hopefully to some providential interference in the springtime.
The old man and Eppie were plunging120 down the snowy lane. The horses were pulled up and they were hauled joyously aboard; and in a few minutes the happy sleighload dashed up to the schoolhouse, which stood there looking twice its usual size and importance, with the light blazing from every window.
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1
chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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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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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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tenaciously
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| 坚持地 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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commuted
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| 通勤( commute的过去式和过去分词 )； 减（刑）； 代偿 | |
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superintendents
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| 警长( superintendent的名词复数 )； （大楼的）管理人； 监管人； （美国）警察局长 | |
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wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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doctrine
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| n.教义；主义；学说 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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highlander
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| n.高地的人，苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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orator
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| n.演说者，演讲者，雄辩家 | |
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forensic
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| adj.法庭的，雄辩的 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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outraged
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| a.震惊的，义愤填膺的 | |
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ambling
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| v.（马）缓行( amble的现在分词 )；从容地走，漫步 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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precipitately
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joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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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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lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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thrifty
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| adj.节俭的；兴旺的；健壮的 | |
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obstructions
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| n.障碍物( obstruction的名词复数 )；阻碍物；阻碍；阻挠 | |
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30
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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31
wrung
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| 绞( wring的过去式和过去分词 )； 握紧（尤指别人的手）； 把（湿衣服）拧干； 绞掉（水） | |
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32
lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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33
penitentiary
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| n.感化院；监狱 | |
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34
loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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35
entailed
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| 使…成为必要( entail的过去式和过去分词 )； 需要； 限定继承； 使必需 | |
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36
estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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37
recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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38
fad
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| n.时尚；一时流行的狂热；一时的爱好 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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40
proffered
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| v.提供，贡献，提出( proffer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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41
regularity
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| n.规律性，规则性；匀称，整齐 | |
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42
contingent
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| adj.视条件而定的；n.一组，代表团，分遣队 | |
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43
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
pegs
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| n.衣夹( peg的名词复数 )；挂钉；系帐篷的桩；弦钮v.用夹子或钉子固定( peg的第三人称单数 )；使固定在某水平 | |
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45
breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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46
lengthening
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| （时间或空间）延长，伸长( lengthen的现在分词 )； 加长 | |
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47
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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48
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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49
amends
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| n. 赔偿 | |
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50
rigid
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| adj.严格的，死板的；刚硬的，僵硬的 | |
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51
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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52
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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53
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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54
festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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55
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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56
reconciliation
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| n.和解，和谐，一致 | |
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57
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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58
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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60
haughty
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| adj.傲慢的，高傲的 | |
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61
belle
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| n.靓女 | |
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62
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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63
dissuade
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| v.劝阻，阻止 | |
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64
drudge
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| n.劳碌的人；v.做苦工，操劳 | |
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65
maudlin
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| adj.感情脆弱的，爱哭的 | |
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virtuous
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| adj.有品德的，善良的，贞洁的，有效力的 | |
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67
unison
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| n.步调一致，行动一致 | |
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68
incongruities
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| n.不协调( incongruity的名词复数 )；不一致；不适合；不协调的东西 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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71
haughtily
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| adv. 傲慢地, 高傲地 | |
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72
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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73
besought
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| v.恳求，乞求（某事物）( beseech的过去式和过去分词 )；(beseech的过去式与过去分词) | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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75
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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76
embarrassment
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| n.尴尬；使人为难的人(事物)；障碍；窘迫 | |
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auld
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| adj.老的，旧的 | |
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78
buddies
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| n.密友( buddy的名词复数 )；同伴；弟兄；（用于称呼男子，常带怒气）家伙v.（如密友、战友、伙伴、弟兄般）交往( buddy的第三人称单数 )；做朋友；亲近（…）；伴护艾滋病人 | |
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79
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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80
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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81
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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82
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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83
drearily
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| 沉寂地，厌倦地，可怕地 | |
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84
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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85
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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86
exuberance
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| n.丰富；繁荣 | |
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87
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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88
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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dissertation
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| n.（博士学位）论文，学术演讲，专题论文 | |
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91
collapsing
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| 压扁[平]，毁坏，断裂 | |
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92
psalm
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| n.赞美诗，圣诗 | |
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93
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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94
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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solaced
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| v.安慰，慰藉( solace的过去分词 ) | |
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96
hairpin
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| n.簪,束发夹，夹发针 | |
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97
tapestry
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| n.挂毯，丰富多采的画面 | |
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98
exquisitely
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| adv.精致地；强烈地；剧烈地；异常地 | |
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99
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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100
lighter
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| n.打火机，点火器；驳船；v.用驳船运送；light的比较级 | |
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101
joyous
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| adj.充满快乐的；令人高兴的 | |
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102
joyously
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| ad.快乐地, 高兴地 | |
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103
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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104
casement
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| n.竖铰链窗；窗扉 | |
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105
appreciative
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| adj.有鉴赏力的，有眼力的；感激的 | |
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106
insomnia
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| n.失眠，失眠症 | |
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107
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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108
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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109
prone
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| adj.(to)易于…的，很可能…的；俯卧的 | |
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110
piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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111
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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112
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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113
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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114
apprehensively
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| adv.担心地 | |
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115
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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116
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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117
jingling
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| 叮当声 | |
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118
dome
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| n.圆屋顶，拱顶 | |
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119
jingled
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| 喝醉的 | |
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120
plunging
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| adj.跳进的，突进的v.颠簸( plunge的现在分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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