Brook had shifted the rails there often before—fifteen years ago—perhaps the selfsame rails, for stringy-bark lasts long; and the action brought the past near to him—nearer than he wished. He did not like to think of that hungry, wretched selection existence; he felt more contempt than pity for the old-fashioned, unhappy boy, who used to let down the rails there, and drive the cattle through.
He had spent those fifteen years in cities, and had come here, prompted more by curiosity than anything else, to have a quiet holiday. His father was dead; his other relations had moved away, leaving a tenant19 on the old selection.
Brook rested his elbow on the top rail of an adjacent panel and watched the cattle pass, and thought until Lizzie—the tenant's niece—shoved the red steer through and stood gravely regarding him (Brook, and not the steer); then he shifted his back to the fence and looked at her. He had not much to look at: a short, plain, thin girl of nineteen, with rather vacant grey eyes, dark ringlets, and freckles20; she had no complexion21 to speak of; she wore an ill-fitting print frock, and a pair of men's 'lastic-sides several sizes too large for her. She was “studying for a school-teacher;” that was the height of the ambition of local youth. Brook was studying her.
He turned away to put up the rails. The lower rail went into its place all right, but the top one had got jammed, and it stuck as though it was spiked22. He worked the rail up and down and to and fro, took it under his arm and tugged23 it; but he might as well have pulled at one of the posts. Then he lifted the loose end as high as he could, and let it fall—jumping back out of the way at the same time; this loosened it, but when he lifted it again it slid so easily and far into its socket24 that the other end came out and fell, barking Brook's knee. He swore a little, then tackled the rail again; he had the same trouble as before with the other end, but succeeded at last. Then he turned away, rubbing his knee.
Lizzie hadn't smiled, not once; she watched him gravely all the while.
“Did you hurt your knee?” she asked, without emotion.
“No. The rail did.”
She reflected solemnly for a while, and then asked him if it felt sore.
“They were always nasty, awkward rails to put up,” she remarked, after some more reflection.
Brook agreed, and then they turned their faces towards the homestead. Half-way down the sidling was a clump26 of saplings, with a big log lying amongst them. Here Brook paused. “We'll sit down for a while and have a rest,” said he. “Sit down, Lizzie.”
She obeyed with the greatest of gravity. Nothing was said for awhile. She sat with her hands folded in her lap, gazing thoughtfully at the ridge27, which was growing dim. It looked better when it was dim, and so did the rest of the scenery. There was no beauty lost when darkness hid the scenery altogether. Brook wondered what the girl was thinking about. The silence between them did not seem awkward, somehow; but it didn't suit him just then, and so presently he broke it.
“Well, I must go to-morrow.”
“Must you?”
“Yes.”
She thought awhile, and then she asked him if he was glad to go.
“Well, I don't know. Are you sorry, Lizzie?”
She thought a good long while, and then she said she was.
He moved closer to the girl, and suddenly slipped his arm round her waist. She did not seem agitated28; she still gazed dreamily at the line of ridges29, but her head inclined slightly towards him.
“Lizzie, did you ever love anyone?”—then anticipating the usual reply—“except, of course, your father and mother, and all that sort of thing.” Then, abruptly30: “I mean did you ever have a sweetheart?”
She reflected, so as to be sure; then she said she hadn't. Long pause, and he, the city man, breathed hard—not the girl. Suddenly he moved nervously31, and said:
“Lizzie—Lizzie! Do you know what love means?”
She pondered over this for some minutes, as a result of which she said she thought that she did.
“Lizzie! Do you think you can love me?”
She didn't seem able to find an answer to that. So he caught her to him in both arms, and kissed her hard and long on the mouth. She was agitated now—he had some complexion now; she struggled to her feet, trembling.
“We must go now,” she said quickly. “They will be waiting for tea.”
He stood up before her, and held her there by both hands.
“There is plenty of time. Lizzie—”
“Mis-ter Br-o-o-k-er! Li-i-z-zee-e-e! Come ter yer tea-e-e!” yelled a boy from the house.
“We must really go now.”
“Oh, they can wait a minute. Lizzie, don't be frightened”—bending his head—“Lizzie, put your arms round my neck and kiss me—now. Do as I tell you, Lizzie—they cannot see us,” and he drew her behind a bush. “Now, Lizzie.”
She obeyed just as a frightened child might.
“We must go now,” she panted, breathless from such an embrace.
“Lizzie, you will come for a walk with me after tea?”
“I don't know—I can't promise. I don't think it would be right. Aunt mightn't like me to.”
“Never mind aunt. I'll fix her. We'll go for a walk over to the school-teacher's place. It will be bright moonlight.”
“I don't like to promise. My father and mother might not—”
“Why, what are you frightened of? What harm is there in it?” Then, softly, “Promise, Lizzie.”
“Promise, Lizzie.”
She was hesitating.
“Promise, Lizzie. I'm going away to-morrow—might never see you again. You will come, Lizzie? It will be our last talk together. Promise, Lizzie.... Oh, then, if you don't like to, I won't press you.... Will you come, or no?”
“Ye-es.”
“One more, and I'll take you home.”
It was nearly dark.
Brook was moved to get up early next morning and give the girl a hand with the cows. There were two rickety bails32 in the yard. He had not forgotten how to milk, but the occupation gave him no pleasure—it brought the past near again.
Now and then he would turn his face, rest his head against the side of the cow, and watch Lizzie at her work; and each time she would, as though in obedience33 to an influence she could not resist, turn her face to him—having noted the pause in his milking. There was a wonder in her expression—as if something had come into her life which she could not realize—curiosity in his.
When the spare pail was full, he would follow her with it to the little bark dairy; and she held out the cloth which served as a strainer whilst he poured the milk in, and, as the last drops went through, their mouths would come together.
He carried the slop-buckets to the pigsty34 for her, and helped to poddy (hand feed) a young calf. He had to grip the calf by the nape of the neck, insert a forefinger35 in its mouth, and force its nose down into an oil-drum full of skim milk. The calf sucked, thinking it had a teat; and so it was taught to drink. But calves have a habit, born of instinct, of butting36 the udders with their noses, by way of reminding their mothers to let down the milk; and so this calf butted37 at times, splashing sour milk over Brook, and barking his wrist against the sharp edge of the drum. Then he would swear a little, and Lizzie would smile sadly and gravely.
Brook did not go away that day, nor the next, but he took the coach on the third day thereafter. He and Lizzie found a quiet corner to say good-bye in. She showed some emotion for the first time, or, perhaps, the second—maybe the third time—in that week of her life. They had been out together in the moonlight every evening. (Brook had been fifteen years in cities.) They had scarcely looked at each other that morning—and scarcely spoken.
He looked back as the coach started and saw her sitting inside the big kitchen window. She waved her hand—hopelessly it seemed. She had rolled up her sleeve, and to Brook the arm seemed strangely white and fair above the line of sunburn round the wrist. He hadn't noticed it before. Her face seemed fairer too, but, perhaps, it was only the effect of light and shade round that window.
He looked back again, as the coach turned the corner of the fence, and was just in time to see her bury her face in her hands with a passionate38 gesture which did not seem natural to her.
Brook reached the city next evening, and, “after hours,” he staggered in through a side entrance to the lighted parlour of a private bar.
They say that Lizzie broke her heart that year, but, then, the world does not believe in such things nowadays.
点击收听单词发音
1 brook | |
n.小河,溪;v.忍受,容让 | |
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2 aggravating | |
adj.恼人的,讨厌的 | |
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3 scattered | |
adj.分散的,稀疏的;散步的;疏疏落落的 | |
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4 calves | |
n.(calf的复数)笨拙的男子,腓;腿肚子( calf的名词复数 );牛犊;腓;小腿肚v.生小牛( calve的第三人称单数 );(冰川)崩解;生(小牛等),产(犊);使(冰川)崩解 | |
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5 sleek | |
adj.光滑的,井然有序的;v.使光滑,梳拢 | |
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6 glossy | |
adj.平滑的;有光泽的 | |
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7 ragged | |
adj.衣衫褴褛的,粗糙的,刺耳的 | |
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8 lanky | |
adj.瘦长的 | |
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9 crooked | |
adj.弯曲的;不诚实的,狡猾的,不正当的 | |
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10 noted | |
adj.著名的,知名的 | |
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11 agility | |
n.敏捷,活泼 | |
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12 hind | |
adj.后面的,后部的 | |
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13 mighty | |
adj.强有力的;巨大的 | |
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14 contented | |
adj.满意的,安心的,知足的 | |
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15 calf | |
n.小牛,犊,幼仔,小牛皮 | |
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16 obstinately | |
ad.固执地,顽固地 | |
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17 inevitable | |
adj.不可避免的,必然发生的 | |
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18 steer | |
vt.驾驶,为…操舵;引导;vi.驾驶 | |
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19 tenant | |
n.承租人;房客;佃户;v.租借,租用 | |
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20 freckles | |
n.雀斑,斑点( freckle的名词复数 ) | |
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21 complexion | |
n.肤色;情况,局面;气质,性格 | |
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22 spiked | |
adj.有穗的;成锥形的;有尖顶的 | |
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23 tugged | |
v.用力拉,使劲拉,猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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24 socket | |
n.窝,穴,孔,插座,插口 | |
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25 briefly | |
adv.简单地,简短地 | |
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26 clump | |
n.树丛,草丛;vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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27 ridge | |
n.山脊;鼻梁;分水岭 | |
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28 agitated | |
adj.被鼓动的,不安的 | |
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29 ridges | |
n.脊( ridge的名词复数 );山脊;脊状突起;大气层的)高压脊 | |
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30 abruptly | |
adv.突然地,出其不意地 | |
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31 nervously | |
adv.神情激动地,不安地 | |
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32 bails | |
(法庭命令缴付的)保释金( bail的名词复数 ); 三柱门上的横木 | |
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33 obedience | |
n.服从,顺从 | |
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34 pigsty | |
n.猪圈,脏房间 | |
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35 forefinger | |
n.食指 | |
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36 butting | |
用头撞人(犯规动作) | |
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37 butted | |
对接的 | |
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38 passionate | |
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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