We were three brothers, sons of a gray, old man, whose father, and his father before him, had owned and run a flour mill in the ancient city of Winton in Hampshire. This mill stood a little back from the north side of the east and more deserted5 end of the High street, and faced a little bridge—wooden in those days, but stone now—through which raced the first of the mill fall that came thundering out from under the old timber building, as though it had burst at a push some ancient dam and were hurrying off to make up for lost ages of restraint. The house, a broad single red-tiled gable, as seen from the bridge, stood crushed in between other buildings, and in all my memory of it was a crazy affair in appearance and ever in two minds about slipping into the boisterous6 water below and so flushing all that quarter of the town with an overflow7, as it were, of its own ancient dropsy. It was built right across the stream, with the mill wheel buried in its heart; and I can recall a certain childish speculation8 as to the results which would follow a possible relaxing of the house pressure on either side; in which case I hopefully assumed the wheel would slip out of its socket9, and, carrying the frail10 bridge before it, roll cheerfully down stream on its own axle to the huge delight of all adventurous11 spirits.
Our reputation in Winton was not, I am sorry to say, good. There was a whispered legend of uncanniness about the mill itself, which might mean little or nothing, and a notoriety with regard to its inmates12 which did mean a good deal. The truth is, not to mince13 matters, that my father was a terrible drunkard, and that his three sons—not the eldest14 of whom retained more than a shadowy remembrance of a long-departed mother’s influence—were from early years fostered in an atmosphere that reeked15 with that one form of moral depravity. A quite youthful recollection of mine is the sight of my father, thin, bent16, gray bearded, and with a fierce, not uncomely face, jerking himself to sudden stoppages at points in the High street to apostrophize with menacing fury the devils born of his disease.
To the world about us my father was nothing but a worthless inebriate17, who had early abandoned himself to profligate18 courses, content to live upon the little fortune left him by his predecessors19 and to leave his children to run to seed as they listed in the stagnant20 atmosphere of vice21. What the world did not know was the secret side of my father’s character—the wild, fierce imagination of the man; the creative spirit of his healthier moods and the passionate22 reverence23 of beauty which was as habitual24 to him as the craze for strong waters.
He exercised a despotic influence over us, and we subscribed25 admiringly to his rule with the snarling26 submissiveness of young tiger cubs27. I think the fragmentary divinity that nests in odd, neglected corners of each and every frame of life, took some recognition of a higher type from which it had inherited. Mentally, at his best, my father was as much above us as, by some cantrip of fate, he was superior to the sullen28, plodding29 stock of which he was born.
Three days out of the week he was drunk; vision-haunted, almost unapproachable; and this had been so from time that was immemorial to us. The period of compulsory30 education had not yet agitated31 the community at large, and our intellects he permitted to run to grass with our bodies. On our pursuits, pastoral, urban, and always mischievous32 if occasion offered, he put no restraint whatever, yet encouraged a sort of half-savage clannishness33 among us that held the mill for fortress34 and the world for besiegers.
Perhaps it was not until I was rising 18 that any speculation as to the raison d’être of our manner of life began to stir in my brain. My eldest brother, Jason, was then a tall, handsome fellow of 19, with a crisp devil in his corn-colored hair and a silent one in his eyes, that were shot with changing blue. Modred, the youngest, some eighteen months my junior, was a contrast to Jason in every way. He was a heavy, pasty boy, with an aggravating35 droop36 in his lids and a large unspeculative face. He was entirely self-contained, armored against satire37 and unmoved of the spirit of tears. A sounding smack38 on the cheek, delivered in the one-sided heat of argument, brought his face, like a stolid39 phantasm, projected toward the striker’s in a wooden impassivity that was infinitely40 more maddening than abuse. It showed no more resentment41 than a battered42 Aunt Sally’s, but rather assumed a mockery of curiosity as to the bullying43 methods of the strong against the weak. Speaking of him, I have no object but to present a portrait, unprejudiced alike of regard or disfavor. This, I entreat44, may be borne in mind.
One afternoon, in late April weather, Jason and I were loitering and idling about some meadows within rifle shot of the old city outskirts45. We lay upon our faces in the long grass beside a clear, shallow burn, intent upon sport less lawful46 than exciting. The country about Winton is laced with innumerable streams and freshets and therein without exception are trout47 in great quantity, though mostly shy to come at from the little depth and extreme transparency of the water. That the fishing is everywhere “preserved” goes without saying, and it follows in order that poaching is pretty general.
We were poaching, in truth, and extremely enjoying it as usual. Jason held in his hand a willow48 wand, fitted with a line, which was baited with a brandling fat from the manure49 heap. This it was essential to swing gently, ourselves crouching50 hidden as far as possible, into the liveliest streaks51 of the current where it ran cleanly over pebbles52, and to let it swim naturally downstream the length of the rod’s tether. Occasionally, if not so often as one could wish, the plump bait would lure53 some youngling, imperfect in guile54, from security of the stones and a sudden jerking of the tough willow would communicate a galvanic thrill of excitement to our every fiber55. The experience did not stale by a too-frequent repetition, and was scarcely marred56 in our eyes by the ever-present necessity of keeping a vigilant57 lookout58 for baleful intruders on our privacy. Our worst foe59, in this respect, was a great bosom60 of chalk and turf, known as St. Catherine’s hill, which rose directly in front of us some short distance on the further side of the stream, and from which it was easy for any casual enemy to detect our every movement. However, as fortune would have it, the hill was but comparatively little favored of the townsfolk.
“Ware!” said I, suddenly.
Jason drew his line swiftly and horizontally from the water and dropped it and the rod deftly61 under the fringe of the bank.
We turned on our backs, lazily blinking at the sky.
A figure was sauntering along by the side of the little river toward us. It was that of an ill-dressed man of 45 or so, ball-jointed and cadaverous, with a wet, wandering blue eye and light brick-colored hair brushed back into rat-tails. His mouth was one pencil mark twitched62 up at the corners, and his ears, large and shapeless, stood up prominently like a bat’s. He carried his hands behind his back and rolled his head from side to side as he walked. He espied63 us a long way off and stopped presently, looking down upon us.
“Sinews of whipcord,” he said, in a voice thin as his lips, “and hearts of cats! What tomfoolery now?”
My brother raised his head, yawning lazily.
“Tom Fool hisself,” said he.
“I am not,” said the newcomer, “near such a fool as I look. I can tell the likeliest place for tickling64 trouts, now, anywhere.”
We vouchsafed67 him a patronizing laughter.
“Too good,” he said; “too good for lob worms and sand-hoppers. Where’s the best place to find trouts, now—the little speckled trouts?”
“Where?” said I.
There was a short, bitter struggle between them, and the man, leaving the boy sitting panting on the grass, leaped apart with a speckled trophy69 held aloft in his hand.
“Give it back!” cried my brother, rising, white and furious, “or I’ll brain you!” He seized up a great lump of chalk as he spoke70 and balanced it in his hand.
“Softly,” said the other, very coolly slipping the trout into the wide pocket of his coat. Jason watched him with glittering eyes.
“Give it back to him, Dr. Crackenthorpe,” I cried, “or he’ll do you a hurt!”
In one moment the doctor dropped on his knees at the instant that the missile spun71 over him and splashed among the marigolds far in the meadow beyond; in the next Jason was down on his back again, with the tall man’s knuckles72 at his throat and his bony knee planted on his chest.
Tooth and nail I fell upon the victor like a wild cat and tore at him. His strength was marvelous. Holding my brother down with his left hand, he swung his right behind his back, clutched me over, and rolled us both together in a struggling heap.
“Now,” said he, jumping to his feet and daring us, “move a muscle to rise and I’ll hold your mouths under water for the frogs to dive in.”
It was the only sort of argument that appealed to us—the argument of resourceful strength that could strike and baffle at once.
When he had recovered his breath sufficiently74 to laugh, Jason tittered. From the first the fateful charm of my brother was the pleasant music of his voice and the pliant75 adaptability76 of his moods.
“Keep the fish, doctor,” he said; “we give in.” He always answered for both of us.
“Well,” said Dr. Crackenthorpe, “that’s wise.” He stepped back as he spoke to signify that we might get on our feet, which we did.
“I keep the trout,” he said, grandly, “in evidence, and shall cast over in my mind the pros77 and cons78 of my duty to the authorities in the matter.”
At this, despite our discomfiture79, we laughed like young hyenas80. The trout, we knew, was destined81 for the doctor’s own table. He was a notorious skinflint, to whom sixpence saved from the cooking pot was a coin redoubled of its face value.
He made as if to continue his way, but paused again, and shot a question at Jason.
“Dad had any more finds?”
“No,” said Jason, “and if he had you wouldn’t get ’em.”
And here, at this point, his question calls for some explanation.
One day, some twelve months or so earlier than the incident just described, we of the mill being all collected together for dinner and my father just coming out of one of his drunken fits, a coin tinkled83 on the floor and rolled into the empty fireplace, where it lay shining yellow. My father, who had somehow jerked it out of his pocket from the trembling of his hand, walked unsteadily across the room and stood looking down upon it vacantly. There he remained for a minute or two, we watching him, and from time to time shot a stealthy glance round at one or other of us. Twice or thrice he made as if to pick it up, but his heart apparently84 failed him, for he desisted. Suddenly, however, he had it in his hand and stood fingering it, still watchful85 of us.
“Well,” he said at last, “there it is for all the world to see,” and placed it on the mantelpiece. Then he turned round to us expectant.
“That coin,” he said, slowly, “was given me by a man who dug it up in his garden hereabouts when he was forking potatoes. It’s ancient and a curiosity. There it remains86 for ornament87.”
Now whether this was only some caprice of the moment or that he dreaded88 that had he then and there pouched89 it some boyish spirit of curiosity might tempt90 one or other of us to turn out his pockets in search of the treasure when he was in one of his liquorish trances, and so make further discoveries, we could never know. Anyhow, on the mantelpiece the coin lay for some weeks; a contemptible91 little disk to view, with an odd figure of an ill-formed mannikin stamped on one side of it, and no one of us offered to touch it, until one day Dr. Crackenthorpe paid us a visit.
This worthy92 had only recently come to Winton, tempted93 hither, I think, more by lure of antiquities94 than by any set determination to establish a practice in the town. Indeed, in the result, as I have heard, his fees for any given year would never have quarter filled a wineglass unless paid in pence. He had a small private income and two weaknesses—one a craze for coin collecting, the other a feverish95 palate, which brought him acquainted with my father, in this wise—that he encountered the old man one night when the latter was complacently96 swerving97 into the Itchen at a point known as “The Weirs,” where the water is deep, and conducted him graciously home. The next day he called, and, it becoming apparent that fees were not his object, a rough, queer acquaintance was struck up between the two men, which brought the doctor occasionally to our mill at night for a pipe and a glass. He was the only outsider ever admitted to our slightest intimacy98, with the single exception of a baneful99 old woman, known as Peg100 Rottengoose, who came in every day to do the cooking and housework and to steal what scraps101 she could.
Now, on one of these visits, the doctor’s eye was casually102 caught by the glint of the coin on the mantelpiece. He clawed it at once, and as he examined it the man’s long, gaunt face lighted from inward with enthusiasm.
“Where did you get this?” he cried, his hands shaking with excitement.
“A neighbor dug it up in his garden and gave it me. Let it be, can’t you?” said my father, roughly.
“Pooh, man! Such things are not given without reason. What was the reason? Stay—tell me the name of the man.”
I thought my father paled a little and shifted uneasily in his chair.
“And I don’t believe it,” cried the other. “You found it yourself, and where this came from more may be.”
My father sprung to his feet.
Dr. Crackenthorpe placed his pipe and the coin very gently on the table and walked stiffly to the door. He had almost reached it when my father’s voice, quite changed and soft, stopped him.
Dr. Crackenthorpe retraced106 his steps, resumed his chair, and sat staring stonily107 at my father.
“It’s true,” said the latter, dropping his eyes, “every word. It’s true, sir, I tell you.”
The doctor never spoke, and my father stole an anxious glance up at him.
“Well,” he said, with an effort; “anyhow, it’s a small matter to separate cronies. I don’t know the value of these gimcracks, but as you take pleasure in collecting ’em, I’ll—I’ll—come now, I’ll make you a present of it.”
The doctor became human once more, and for a second time clutched the coin radiantly. My father heaved a profound sigh, but he never moved.
“Well,” he said, “now you’ve got it, perhaps you’ll state the particular value of that old piece of metal.”
“It’s a gold Doric!” cried the doctor; “as rare a——” he checked himself suddenly and went on with a ludicrous affectation of indifference—“rare enough just to make it interesting. No intrinsic value—none whatever.”
A little wicked smile twitched up my father’s bearded cheeks. Each man sat forward for some minutes pulling at his pipe; but it was evident the effort of social commonplace was too much for Dr. Crackenthorpe. Presently he rose and said he must be going. He was obviously on thorns until he could secure his treasure in a safe place. For a quarter of an hour after the door had closed behind him, my father sat on gloomily smoking and muttering to himself. Then suddenly he woke to consciousness of our presence and ordered us, savagely108, almost madly, off to bed.
This explains the doctor’s question of Jason and is a necessary digression. Now to the meadows once more and a little experience that befell there after the intruder’s departure.
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1
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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inmate
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| n.被收容者；(房屋等的)居住人；住院人 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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boisterous
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| adj.喧闹的，欢闹的 | |
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overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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socket
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| n.窝，穴，孔，插座，插口 | |
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frail
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| adj.身体虚弱的；易损坏的 | |
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adventurous
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| adj.爱冒险的；惊心动魄的，惊险的，刺激的 | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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mince
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| n.切碎物；v.切碎，矫揉做作地说 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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reeked
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| v.发出浓烈的臭气( reek的过去式和过去分词 )；散发臭气；发出难闻的气味 (of sth)；明显带有（令人不快或生疑的跡象） | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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inebriate
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| v.使醉 | |
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profligate
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| adj.行为不检的；n.放荡的人，浪子，肆意挥霍者 | |
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predecessors
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| n.前任( predecessor的名词复数 )；前辈；（被取代的）原有事物；前身 | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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vice
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| n.坏事；恶习；[pl.]台钳，老虎钳；adj.副的 | |
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passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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23
reverence
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| n.敬畏，尊敬，尊严；Reverence:对某些基督教神职人员的尊称；v.尊敬，敬畏，崇敬 | |
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habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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subscribed
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| v.捐助( subscribe的过去式和过去分词 )；签署，题词；订阅；同意 | |
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snarling
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| v.（指狗）吠，嗥叫， （人）咆哮( snarl的现在分词 )；咆哮着说，厉声地说 | |
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cubs
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| n.幼小的兽，不懂规矩的年轻人( cub的名词复数 ) | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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clannishness
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fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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droop
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| v.低垂，下垂；凋萎，萎靡 | |
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satire
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| n.讽刺，讽刺文学，讽刺作品 | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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stolid
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| adj.无动于衷的，感情麻木的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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entreat
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| v.恳求，恳请 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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lawful
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| adj.法律许可的，守法的，合法的 | |
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trout
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| n.鳟鱼；鲑鱼(属) | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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manure
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| n.粪，肥，肥粒；vt.施肥 | |
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50
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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52
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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guile
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| n.诈术 | |
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fiber
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| n.纤维，纤维质 | |
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marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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vigilant
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| adj.警觉的，警戒的，警惕的 | |
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lookout
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| n.注意，前途，瞭望台 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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deftly
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| adv.灵巧地，熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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64
tickling
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| 反馈，回授，自旋挠痒法 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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chuckle
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| vi.／n.轻声笑，咯咯笑 | |
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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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68
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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69
trophy
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| n.优胜旗，奖品，奖杯，战胜品，纪念品 | |
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70
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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71
spun
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| v.纺，杜撰，急转身 | |
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72
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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73
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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74
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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75
pliant
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| adj.顺从的；可弯曲的 | |
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76
adaptability
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| n.适应性 | |
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77
pros
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| abbr.prosecuting 起诉；prosecutor 起诉人；professionals 自由职业者；proscenium （舞台）前部n.赞成的意见( pro的名词复数 )；赞成的理由；抵偿物；交换物 | |
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78
cons
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| n.欺骗，骗局( con的名词复数 )v.诈骗，哄骗( con的第三人称单数 ) | |
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79
discomfiture
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| n.崩溃；大败；挫败；困惑 | |
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80
hyenas
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| n.鬣狗( hyena的名词复数 ) | |
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81
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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82
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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83
tinkled
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| （使）发出丁当声，（使）发铃铃声( tinkle的过去式和过去分词 )； 叮当响着发出，铃铃响着报出 | |
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84
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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85
watchful
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| adj.注意的，警惕的 | |
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86
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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87
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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88
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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89
pouched
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| adj.袋形的，有袋的 | |
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90
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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91
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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92
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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93
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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94
antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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95
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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96
complacently
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| adv. 满足地, 自满地, 沾沾自喜地 | |
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97
swerving
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| v.（使）改变方向，改变目的( swerve的现在分词 ) | |
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98
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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99
baneful
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| adj.有害的 | |
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100
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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101
scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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102
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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103
hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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104
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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105
offense
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| n.犯规，违法行为；冒犯，得罪 | |
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106
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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107
stonily
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| 石头地，冷酷地 | |
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108
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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