Martha Ellen Robertson, in a brilliant pink satin waist, and all her jewelry4; and Miss Hillary in a new white dress, were already hurrying up and down the aisle5 marshaling their forces. As the artists appeared they arranged them on the row of improvised6 benches at the front, charging them to sit there quietly until their turn came for stepping behind the magic curtain.
Elizabeth and Rosie found each other immediately, and sat close together on the very front row. Rosie was a perfect vision in a white dress, with a string of beads7 around her neck and her curls tied up by a broad pink ribbon. Elizabeth, in her Sunday pinafore, starched8 a little stiffer than usual, gazed at her in boundless9 admiration10. She had supposed, before leaving home, that Mary would be the most beautiful creature present; but Mary's pale flaxen curls and colorless pinafore were lost in the gorgeous display on all sides. Katie and Lottie Price were the grandest. They fairly bristled11 with ribbons and lace; but indeed all the girls were so gayly dressed that the Gordons looked like little gray sparrows in a flock of birds of Paradise. Mary sighed and looked around miserably12 at the gay throng13; but little did Elizabeth care. She sat on the front bench, with Rosie on one side and Eppie on the other, and rapturously swung her feet and laughed and talked, all oblivious14 of her dun-colored clothes. It was quite impossible not to be wildly happy at such a grand festive15 gathering16. The schoolroom seemed some wonderful place she had never seen before. The middle section of the sheets was drawn17 back, displaying the platform with the teacher's desk and the blackboard, all fairly smothered18 in cedar19 and balsam boughs20 and tissue-paper roses, and smelling as sweet as the swamp behind the school. It was such a bower21 of beauty that Elizabeth could scarcely believe she had stood there only yesterday, striving desperately22 to make a complex fraction turn simple.
The crowd was steadily23 gathering, and the noise steadily increasing. Right at the back a group of boys were bunched together, laughing, talking, and whistling. Elizabeth was ashamed to see that John and Charles Stuart were amongst those whom Miss Hillary was vainly striving to bring up to the performers' seats of honor.
In the midst of the pleasant hum and stir there arose a commotion24 near the door. A group of strangers was entering. At the sight of them, Miss Hillary plunged25 behind the curtains, and Rosie and Elizabeth could see her through a division in the sheets, anxiously arranging her hair before the little mirror. Then the wise old Rosie nodded her head significantly, and standing26 up, peered between the rows of people's heads. "I knew it was him!" she cried triumphantly27. "I knew just by the way Miss Hillary jumped,"—and so it was—the owner of the red cutter! Then Elizabeth, forgetting her aunt's eye, jumped up too, and almost cried out with joy, for the man with him, the tall one with the handsome fur collar and cap, was none other than Mr. Coulson! There were two ladies with him, too—but she did not notice them in her delight. He was recognized at once by his old pupils, and they all set up a storm of clapping. The older people, gathered around the stove, crowded about him, shaking his hand and clapping him on the back. Then the Red Cutter came with him up to the curtains and introduced him to Miss Hillary. And all the other young ladies who were helping28 in the concert shook hands with the old teacher, and Martha Ellen laughed and talked so loud that Elizabeth was delighted and wondered what had pleased her so. Next, Mr. Coulson spied the row of little girls gazing up at him with eager eyes, and he pulled Rosie's curls and Elizabeth's braid, and kissed Mary and pinched Katie and patted all the others on the head. Then he boxed the boys' ears, and told Miss Hillary they were a bad lot, and he didn't see how she put up with them, and altogether behaved so funnily that they fairly shouted with delight. Suddenly he turned abruptly29, and, marching up to the platform, took his place at the desk.
Elizabeth was greatly disappointed. She had expected he would at least shake hands with Annie. She curled round Rosie and peeped through the rows of people to catch a sight of her sister. Annie, strange to say, did not look in the least disappointed. She was laughing and chatting with Jean and Bella Johnstone, and looking just as gay and happy as possible. Elizabeth gave up the problem. It was really no use trying to understand the queer ways of grown-up folks.
Mr. Coulson stood up to make his chairman's speech and to tell them he was very glad to come back to Forest Glen. Elizabeth thought his address was wonderfully clever, her partial eyes failing to notice that he was big and awkward, that he did not know what to do with his hands, and that he was more than usually nervous. There was another pair of eyes, besides Elizabeth's, that, when they dared lift themselves, looked upon his blundering performance with tender pride. But Miss Gordon gazed at him coldly, thanking herself that she had put an end to all nonsense between him and Annie before it was too late. The grandson of a tavern-keeper, though he might rise to have good morals, could never reach the height of genteel manners.
At last the chairman's halting remarks were concluded, and the programme fairly started. First came a chorus by all the girls of the school, and such of the boys as could be coaxed31 or driven to the platform; the masculine portion of the artists having suddenly developed an overwhelming modesty32. But the girls were all eager to perform; and they sang "Flow gently, sweet Afton" with great vigor33, and, as Mr. Coulson said afterwards, "just like the robins34 in springtime."
As they burst into the second verse, Elizabeth, who stood directly behind Mary, and had to view the audience through the halo, was surprised to see a boy down near the stove making vigorous signs to attract her attention. She stared in amazement35, and almost stopped singing. It was Horace! There he was in a brand new velvet36 suit, smiling at her with the greatest glee, and pointing her out to his companions. He sat between two ladies, the very two Elizabeth had seen enter with Mr. Coulson. One was a tall, thin lady in a sealskin coat, probably Horace's mamma, as he called her. The other lady was very stout37 and wonderfully dressed. Elizabeth could scarcely see her face for the enormous plumed38 hat she wore. She seemed to be a very grand lady, indeed, for, every time she moved, jewels glittered on her hat or at her throat.
Elizabeth quite forgot the words of the song watching her, and was absently singing:
"There oft as mild evening weeps over the Tea,
There daily I wander as noon rises high,"
When they had come down from the platform and the stir of preparation for the next number was going on behind the billowing sheets, Elizabeth felt herself pulled vigorously from behind. She whirled about; Horace was beside her, all smiles.
"Hello," he cried cordially. "Say, you sang just jolly, Lizzie."
"Hello!" responded Elizabeth, forgetting in her delight that this was not a genteel salutation. "I'm awful glad to see you, Horace." This was quite true; since he did not appear in the role of beau any more, she was genuinely pleased at the sight of her old playmate. Rosie expressed the same sentiment rapturously. Susie and Katie followed, and even Eppie faltered40 out some words of welcome.
"How did you come to be here?" Elizabeth asked.
"Mr. Coulson told me there was a concert, and I just coaxed mamma to let me come until she was nearly crazy and just had to let me. I can manage her all right. Papa's different, though. He wouldn't let me come with Mr. Coulson alone, and I wanted to!" His handsome face curled up in a pout41. "They always tag round after me as if I was a kid. But Mr. Coulson fixed42 it up. Say, he's a dandy. He came over and coaxed papa to let me come, and he got Aunt Jarvis to come, too. That's Aunt Jarvis next the stove. She likes Mr. Coulson awful well and said she'd come to oblige him, and then mamma said she'd come, too. Madeline intended to come, too, but she was going to a party. She goes to one 'most every night. I wish I could, but I always get sick. Say, Lizzie, I've got a new dog, and I hitch43 him to my sleigh, and oh, say, he's the dandiest fun——"
But Elizabeth was not listening. She was too much overcome by the wonderful news. Mrs. Jarvis, the fairy god-mother, who had always seemed unreal, was really and truly there in the flesh! She could scarcely believe it.
Horace, finding his audience inattentive, moved away, chatting volubly to all his old friends, and the next moment Jean came crushing her way through the crowd to Elizabeth's side, her eyes shining with excitement.
"Lizzie, aunt sent me to tell you to do your very, very best. Mrs. Jarvis is really and truly down there," she whispered excitedly. "And she says to be sure and smooth your hair just before your dialogue, and don't for the world let your boot laces come untied44. And when it's all over, aunt says you're to come down with her and be introduced."
Elizabeth did not hear a word of her sister's admonitions. She realized only that Mrs. Jarvis was there to watch her act in a dialogue! Her heart stood still at the thought, and then went on again madly.
Meanwhile, Mary had spread the news of the town visitors, and all the girls were in a flutter.
"It's too bad," Katie Price whispered to Rosie, "that Lizzie Gordon's got that awful lookin' pinny on. Mrs. Jarvis 'll be ashamed of her. And her hair ain't curled even."
"She can beat anybody in the school at speakin' a dialogue, anyhow," declared Rosie loyally. "And Martha Ellen's goin' to dress her up in long clothes anyway, so it don't matter."
The concert was going steadily on, each performer showing signs of the epidemic45 of excitement that the arrival of the town visitors had produced. Lottie Price stopped short three times in reciting "Curfew must not ring to-night," and had to be helped from behind the sheets by Miss Hillary. No one felt very sorry, for, as Teenie Robertson said, "Lottie Price was just showing off, anyhow, and it served her right." But everyone else seemed to go wrong from the moment the strangers were announced, and to Elizabeth's dismay even poor Rosie did not escape.
The programme partook largely of a temperance sentiment, and Rosie's song was "Father, dear father, come home with me now," a selection which at the practices had almost moved the spectators to tears. Joel Davis, because he was the biggest boy in the school, and hadn't anything to do but sit still, acted the part of Rosie's father. He sat at a table with three or four companions, all arrayed in rags, and drank cold tea from a vinegar jar. Rosie came in, and taking Joel by the sleeve, sang:
"Father, dear father, come home with me now,
The clock in the steeple strikes one,
You said you were coming right home from the shop,
As soon as your day's work was done."
Then from behind the curtain some of the bigger girls, led by Martha Ellen Robertson, sang softly:
"Come home, come home,
Please, father, dear father, come home."
Rosie sang another verse at two o'clock, and still another at three, singing the hands right round to twelve, and still the obdurate46 Joel sat immovable and still drank tea.
It had been considered, even by Miss Hillary, one of the best pieces on the programme, and Elizabeth was almost as excited over it as she was over her dialogue. And to-night Rosie looked so beautiful in her white dress and pink bow that Elizabeth felt sure Mrs. Jarvis would think her the sweetest, dearest girl in the whole wide world.
But what was the dismay of all the singer's friends, and the rage and humiliation47 of the singer's mother, when she emerged from Miss Hillary's hands and stood before the audience! All her glory of sash and beads and frills was swallowed up in Mrs. Robertson's shawl—the old, ragged48 "Paisley" she wore only when she went to milk the cows or feed the chickens! Miss Hillary had even taken the pink ribbon out of the poor little singer's curls; and Rosie confided49 to Elizabeth afterwards, with sobs50, she had actually bidden her take off her boots and stockings and go barefoot! Rosie had been almost overwhelmed by this stripping of her ornaments51, but she found spirit enough remaining to rebel at this last sacrifice. And, as Elizabeth indignantly declared, even a worm would turn at being commanded to take off its boots, when they were a brand new copper52-toed pair with a lovely loud squeak53! But even the copper toes were concealed54 by the trailing ends of Mrs. Robertson's barnyard shawl, and the poor little worm was none the better for her turning.
The song was a melancholy55 failure. Rosie sang in such a dismayed, quavering voice that no one could hear her, and everyone was relieved when she finally broke down and had to leave before the clock in the steeple had a chance to strike more than ten.
Rosie's mother had sat through the pitiful performance, fairly boiling over with indignation, and as soon as the Paisley shawl, heaving with sobs, had disappeared behind the sheets, she followed it and "had it out" violently with Miss Hillary. Wasn't her girl as good as anybody else's girl, was what she wanted to know, that she had to be dressed up like a tinker's youngster before all those people from town? Miss Hillary tried to explain that the play's the thing, and the artist must make sacrifices to her art, but all in vain. Mrs. Carrick took Rosie away weeping, before the concert was over, and Miss Hillary sat down behind the sheets and cried until the Red Cutter had to come up and make her stop.
One disaster was followed by another. Elizabeth suffered even more agony in the next number, for this was a reading by John. Why he should have been chosen for an elocutionary performance no one could divine, except that he flatly refused to do anything else in public, and his teacher was determined56 he should do something. With Elizabeth's help, John had faithfully practiced in the privacy of his room, but had never once got through his selection without breaking down with laughter. It was certainly the funniest story in the world, Elizabeth was sure—so funny they had not submitted it to Aunt Margaret. It was about a monkey named Daniel that had been trained to wait upon his master's table, and Elizabeth would dance about and scream over the most comical passages, and had been of little assistance to her brother in his efforts at self-control.
At first the elocutionist did fairly well, reading straight ahead in his low monotone, and, hoping all would be well, Elizabeth ceased to squirm and twist her braid. But as John approached the funniest part, he forgot even the elegant strangers. Daniel grew more enchanting57 every moment; grew irresistible58 at last, and the droning voice of his exponent59 stopped short—lost in a spasm60 of silent laughter. He recovered, read a little further, and collapsed61 again. Once more he started, his face twisted in agony, his voice husky, but again he fell before the side-splitting antics of Daniel.
The audience had not caught any of the monkey's jokes as yet, but they fully30 appreciated the joke of the performance; and as the elocutionist labored62 on, striving desperately to overcome his laughter and always being overcome by it, the schoolhouse fairly rocked with merriment. Elizabeth, who had begun to fear no one would hear all Daniel's accomplishments63, was greatly relieved, and laughed louder than anyone else. John was enjoying himself, and the audience was enjoying itself, and she was so proud of him and so glad everyone was having such a good time!
But, as the reader finally choked completely and had to retire amidst thunderous applause before Daniel's last escapade was finished, she was brought to a realization64 of the real state of affairs by glancing back at her aunt. Miss Gordon was sitting up very straight, with crimson65 checks, and an air of awful dignity which Elizabeth's dismayed senses told her belonged only to occasions of terrible calamity66. Annie, too, was looking very much distressed67, and Jean and Malcolm wore expressions of anger and disgust. Elizabeth's heart sank. Evidently John had disgraced the family, poor John, and she thought he had made such a hit! This was awful! First Rosie and then John! There came over her a chill of terror, a premonition of disaster. When those two stars had fallen from the firmament68, how could she expect to shine with Mrs. Jarvis sitting there in front of her?
Had she guessed how much her aunt was depending upon her, she would have been even more terrified. Miss Gordon was keenly alive to the fact that this evening might make or mar3 Elizabeth's fortune. Mrs. Jarvis had from time to time recognized her namesake by a birthday gift and had often intimated that she should like to see the little girl. Miss Gordon had dreams of her adopting Elizabeth, and making the whole family rich. And now she was to see the child for the first time, and under favorable auspices69. Elizabeth certainly showed talent in her acting70. The others were like wooden images in comparison to her.
As the curtains were drawn back for the dialogue in which she figured, Miss Gordon drew a great breath. If Mrs. Jarvis didn't feel that she must give that child an education after seeing how she could perform, then all the stories of that lady's generosity71, which she had heard, must be untrue.
But, alas72, for any hopes centered upon Elizabeth! Miss Gordon told herself bitterly, when the dialogue was over, that she might have known better. The vivacious73 actress, who had thrown herself into her part at home, making it seem real, came stumbling out upon the little stage, hampered74 by Annie's long skirts, and mumbled75 over her lines in a tone inaudible beyond the front row of seats. Poor Elizabeth, the honor of performing before Mrs. Jarvis had been too much for her. She did her part as badly as it was possible to do it, growing more scared and white each moment, and finally forgetting it altogether. Miss Gordon hung her proud head, and Mrs. Oliver exclaimed quite audibly, "Dear me, how did that poor child ever come to be chosen to take part?"
Elizabeth had not awakened76 from her stage-struck condition when the concert was over, and her aunt, with set face, came to straighten her pinafore, smooth her hair, and get her ready for presentation to the ladies from town.
Many, many times had Elizabeth pictured this meeting, each time planning with greater elaboration the part she should act. But when at last she stood before the lady in the sealskin coat, realizing only what a miserable77 failure she had been, she could think of not one of the clever speeches she had prepared, but hung her head in a most ungenteel manner and said nothing.
Her aunt's voice sounded like a forlorn hope as she presented her.
"This is your namesake, Mrs. Jarvis," she said.
Mrs. Jarvis was a tall, stately lady, with a sallow, discontented face. Her melancholy, dark eyes had a kindly78 light in them, however, and occasionally her face was lit up with a pleasant smile. She was richly but quietly dressed, and in every way perfectly79 met Miss Gordon's ideal. Her companion was something of a shock, however. Mrs. Oliver was stout and red-faced, and was dressed to play the part of twenty when Manager Time had cast her for approaching fifty. Miss Gordon would have pronounced any other woman, with such an appearance and a less illustrious relative, not only ungenteel but quite common, and the sort of person Lady Gordon would never have recognized on the streets of Edinburgh.
But Mrs. Jarvis was Mrs. Jarvis, and whoever was related to her must surely be above the ordinary in spite of appearances.
Mrs. Jarvis was looking down at Elizabeth with a smile illuminating80 her sad face. "So this is the little baby with the big eyes my dear husband used to talk so much about." She heaved a great sigh. "Ah, Miss Gordon, you cannot understand what a lonely life I have led since my dear husband was taken from me."
Miss Gordon expressed warm sympathy. She was a little surprised at the expression of grief, nevertheless, for she had always understood that, as far as the companionship of her husband went, Mrs. Jarvis had always led a lonely life.
"Mr. Jarvis was always very much interested in Elizabeth," she said diplomatically. "I understand it was he who named her."
"She doesn't seem to have inherited your talent for the stage, Aunt Jarvis," said the stout lady, laughing. "Horace, did you hear me telling you to put on your overcoat? We must go at once."
Miss Gordon looked alarmed. It would be fatal if they left without some further word.
"I am sure Elizabeth would like to express her pleasure at meeting you, Mrs. Jarvis," she said, suggestively. "She has been wanting an opportunity to thank you for your many kind remembrances."
She glanced down at her niece, and Elizabeth realized with agony that this was the signal for her to speak. She thought desperately, but not a gleam of one of those stately speeches she had prepared showed itself. She was on the verge81 of disgracing her aunt again when Mrs. Oliver mercifully interposed.
"Aunt Jarvis," she cried sharply, "we really must be going. The horses are ready. Come, Horace, put on your overcoat this instant, sir."
But Master Horace was not to be ordered about by a mere82 mother. He jerked himself away from her and caught his aunt's hand.
"Aunt Jarvis," he said in a wheedling83 tone, "we're coming out here to visit Lizzie's place some day, ain't we? You promised now, don't you remember?"
Mrs. Jarvis patted his hand.
"Well, I believe I did, boy," she said, "and we'll come some day," she added graciously, "provided the owners of The Dale would like to have us."
Miss Gordon hastened to reply. "The owners of The Dale." That sounded like the reprieve84 of a sentence. "Indeed we should all be very much pleased," she said, striving to hide her excitement. "Just tell me when it would be most convenient for you to come. You see, since leaving my old associations in Edinburgh, I have dropped all social duties. You can understand, of course, that one in my position would be quite without congenial companionship in a rural community. So I shall look forward to your visit with much pleasure."
Mrs. Jarvis appeared visibly impressed. Evidently Miss Gordon was not of common clay. "Now let me see," she said, "perhaps Horace and I might drive out."
"I don't see how you can possibly find time, Aunt Jarvis," cried Mrs. Oliver, who was forcing her unwilling85 son into his overcoat. "We have engagements for three months ahead, I am sure!"
Miss Gordon drew herself up rigidly86. She had heard enough of Horace's artless chatter87 the summer before, to understand his mother's jealousy88. Mrs. Oliver lived in a panic of fear lest the money that should be her children's might stray elsewhere.
There was further enlightenment waiting. Mrs. Jarvis deliberately89 turned her back upon her niece.
"You are so kind," she said to Miss Gordon with elaborate emphasis, "and indeed I shall be exceedingly glad to accept. Horace and I shall come, you may be sure, provided he has not too many engagements; and then," her words became more emphatic90 and distinct, "we shall have more opportunity to discuss what is to be done with little Elizabeth." She turned to where her namesake was standing, her kindly smile illuminating her face.
"What do you want most in the world, little Elizabeth?" she asked alluringly91.
Miss Gordon held her breath. This surpassed even her brightest dreams!
"Elizabeth," she said, her voice trembling. "Do you hear what Mrs. Jarvis is asking you?"
Yes, Elizabeth had heard, and was looking up with shining eyes, her answer ready. But as usual she was busy exercising that special talent she possessed92 for doing the unexpected.
She had been glancing about her for some means of escape from her embarrassing position, when she had espied93 Eppie. The little girl, muffled94 in her grandfather's old tartan plaid, for the cold drive homeward, was slipping past, glancing wistfully at Elizabeth, the center of the grand group from town. Elizabeth instantly forgot her own troubles in a sudden impulse to do Eppie a good turn. This was an opportunity not to be lost. She caught her little friend by the hand and drew her near.
"Oh, Mrs. Jarvis!" she cried, grown quite eloquent95 now that she had found a subject so near her heart, "I'd rather have Eppie stay on the farm than anything else in the wide, wide world!"
"Elizabeth!" cried her aunt in dismay, "what are you saying?"
Mrs. Jarvis looked down with a puzzled expression at the quaint96 little figure wrapped in the old plaid. But she smiled in a very kindly way.
"What is she talking about?" she inquired.
Elizabeth hung her head, speechless again. She had been importuned97 to speak only a moment before, but, now that she had found her tongue, apparently98 she had made a wrong use of it.
Horace came to the rescue. He spoke99 just whenever he pleased, and he knew all about this matter. He had not been Elizabeth's and Rosie's chum for two weeks without hearing much of poor Eppie's wrongs.
"That's Eppie, auntie, Eppie Turner, and that's her grandpa over there," he explained, nodding to where old Sandy stood with a group of men. "Mr. Huntley sold his farm, and he won't leave it."
Mrs. Jarvis glanced at the bent100 figure of the old Highlander101, and then at the shy face of his little granddaughter; those two whose lives could be made or marred102 by a word from her. But this was not the sort of charity that appealed to Mrs. Jarvis. It meant interfering103 in business affairs and endless trouble with lawyers. She remembered that romantic young Mr. Coulson had bothered her about either this or some affair like it not so long ago.
"Horace, my dear," she said wearily, "don't you know by this time that the very mention of lawyers and all their business gives your poor auntie a headache?" She patted Eppie's cheek with her gloved fingers. "A sweet little face," she murmured. "Good-by, Miss Gordon. I shall see you and your charming family very soon, I hope."
She shook hands most cordially, but Miss Gordon was scarcely able to hide her chagrin104. Elizabeth had let the great chance of her life slip through her fingers! The good-bys were said, even Mrs. Oliver, now that her aunt had for the moment escaped temptation, bidding the lady of The Dale a gracious farewell.
And not until Miss Gordon had collected her family and was seated in Wully Johnstone's sleigh, ready for the homeward drive, did she remember that in her anxiety over Elizabeth she had not once within the last dangerous half-hour given a glance towards Annie!
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1
splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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evergreens
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| n.常青树，常绿植物，万年青( evergreen的名词复数 ) | |
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mar
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| vt.破坏，毁坏，弄糟 | |
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jewelry
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| n.（jewllery）（总称）珠宝 | |
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aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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improvised
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| a.即席而作的,即兴的 | |
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7
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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8
starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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boundless
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| adj.无限的；无边无际的；巨大的 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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bristled
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| adj. 直立的，多刺毛的 动词bristle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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throng
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| n.人群，群众；v.拥挤，群集 | |
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oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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festive
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| adj.欢宴的，节日的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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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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cedar
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| n.雪松，香柏(木) | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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bower
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| n.凉亭，树荫下凉快之处；闺房；v.荫蔽 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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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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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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helping
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| n.食物的一份&adj.帮助人的，辅助的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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31
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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32
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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34
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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35
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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36
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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38
plumed
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| 饰有羽毛的 | |
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39
poked
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| v.伸出( poke的过去式和过去分词 )；戳出；拨弄；与（某人）性交 | |
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faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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41
pout
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| v.撅嘴；绷脸；n.撅嘴；生气，不高兴 | |
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42
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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43
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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44
untied
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| 松开，解开( untie的过去式和过去分词 )； 解除，使自由； 解决 | |
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45
epidemic
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| n.流行病；盛行；adj.流行性的，流传极广的 | |
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46
obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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47
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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49
confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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50
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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51
ornaments
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| n.装饰( ornament的名词复数 )；点缀；装饰品；首饰v.装饰，点缀，美化( ornament的第三人称单数 ) | |
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52
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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squeak
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| n.吱吱声，逃脱；v.（发出）吱吱叫，侥幸通过；（俚）告密 | |
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54
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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exponent
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| n.倡导者，拥护者；代表人物；指数，幂 | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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62
labored
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| adj.吃力的，谨慎的v.努力争取(for)( labor的过去式和过去分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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realization
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| n.实现；认识到，深刻了解 | |
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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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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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firmament
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| n.苍穹；最高层 | |
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auspices
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| n.资助，赞助 | |
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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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generosity
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| n.大度，慷慨，慷慨的行为 | |
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72
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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vivacious
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| adj.活泼的，快活的 | |
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hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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76
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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77
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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illuminating
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| a.富于启发性的，有助阐明的 | |
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81
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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82
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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83
wheedling
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的现在分词 ) | |
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84
reprieve
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| n.暂缓执行（死刑）；v.缓期执行；给…带来缓解 | |
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85
unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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86
rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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87
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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88
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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89
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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90
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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91
alluringly
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| 诱人地，妩媚地 | |
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92
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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93
espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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95
eloquent
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| adj.雄辩的，口才流利的；明白显示出的 | |
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96
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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97
importuned
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| v.纠缠，向（某人）不断要求( importune的过去式和过去分词 )；（妓女）拉（客） | |
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98
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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99
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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100
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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101
highlander
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| n.高地的人，苏格兰高地地区的人 | |
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102
marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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103
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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104
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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