SUPPER was over and the work done at last; the dishes washed, the beans put in soak, the hens shut up for the night, the milk strained and carried down cellar. Patty went up to her little room with the one window and the slanting1 walls and Waitstill followed and said good-night. Her father put out the lights, locked the doors, and came up the creaking stairs. There was never any talk between the sisters before going to bed, save on nights when their father was late at the store, usually on Saturdays only, for the good talkers of the village, as well as the gossips and loafers, preferred any other place to swap2 stories than the bleak3 atmosphere provided by old Foxy at his place of business.
Patty could think in the dark; her healthy young body lying not uncomfortably on the bed of corn husks, and the patchwork4 comforter drawn5 up under her chin. She could think, but for the first time she could not tell her thoughts to Waitstill. She had a secret; a dazzling secret, just like Ellen Wilson and some of the other girls who were several years older. Her afternoon's experience loomed6 as large in her innocent mind as if it had been an elopement.
"I hope I'm not engaged to be married to him, EVEN IF HE DID--" The sentence was too tremendous to be finished, even in thought. "I don't think I can be; men must surely say something, and not take it for granted you are in love with them and want to marry them. It is what they say when they ask that I should like much better than being married, when I'm only just past seventeen. I wish Mark was a little different; I don't like his careless ways! He admires me, I can tell one; that by the way he looks, but he admires himself just as much, and expects me to do the same; still, I suppose none of them are perfect, and girls have to forgive lots of little things when they are engaged. Mother must have forgiven a good many things when she took father. Anyway, Mark is going away for a month on business, so I shan't have to make up my mind just yet!" Here sleep descended7 upon the slightly puzzled, but on the whole delightfully8 complacent9, little creature, bringing her most alluring10 and untrustworthy dreams.
The dear innocent had, indeed, no need of haste! Young Mr. Marquis de Lafayette Wilson, Mark for short, was not in the least a gay deceiver or ruthless breaker of hearts, and, so far as known, no scalps of village beauties were hung to his belt. He was a likable, light-weight young chap, as indolent and pleasure-loving as the strict customs of the community would permit; and a kiss, in his mind, most certainly never would lead to the altar, else he had already been many times a bridegroom. Miss Patience Baxter's maiden11 meditations12 and uncertainties13 and perplexities, therefore, were decidedly premature14. She was a natural-born, unconsciously artistic15, highly expert, and finished coquette. She was all this at seventeen, and Mark at twenty-four was by no means a match for her in this field of effort, yet!--but sometimes, in getting her victim into the net, the coquette loses her balance and falls in herself. There wasn't a bit of harm in Marquis de Lafayette, but he was extremely agile16 in keeping out of nets!
Waitstill was restless, too, that night, although she could not have told the reason. She opened her window at the back of the house and leaned out. The evening was mild with a soft wind blowing. She could hear the full brook17 dashing through the edge of the wood-lot, and even the "ker-chug" of an occasional bull-frog. There were great misty18 stars in the sky, but no moon.
There was no light in Aunt Abby Cole's kitchen, but a faint glimmer19 shone through the windows of Uncle Bart's joiner's shop, showing that the old man was either having an hour of peaceful contemplation with no companion but his pipe, or that there might be a little group of privileged visitors, headed by Jed Morrill, busily discussing the affairs of the nation.
Waitstill felt troubled and anxious to-night; bruised20 by the little daily torments21 that lessened22 her courage but never wholly destroyed it. Any one who believed implicitly23 in heredity might have been puzzled, perhaps, to account for her. He might fantastically picture her as making herself out of her ancestors, using a free hand, picking and choosing what she liked best, with due care for the effect of combinations; selecting here and there and modifying, if advisable, a trait of Grandpa or Grandma Foxwell, of Great-Uncle or Great-Aunt Baxter; borrowing qualities lavishly24 from her own gently born and gently bred mother, and carefully avoiding her respected father's Stock, except, perhaps, to take a dash of his pluck and an ounce of his persistence25. Jed Morrill remarked of Deacon Baxter once: "When Old Foxy wants anything he'll wait till hell freezes over afore he'll give up." Waitstill had her father's firm chin, but there the likeness26 ended. The proud curve of her nostrils27, the clear well-opened eye with its deep fringe of lashes28, the earnest mouth, all these came from the mother who was little more than a dim memory.
Waitstill disdained29 any vague, dreary30, colorless theory of life and its meaning. She had joined the church at fifteen, more or less because other girls did and the parson had persuaded her; but out of her hard life she had somehow framed a courageous31 philosophy that kept her erect32 and uncrushed, no matter how great her difficulties. She had no idea of bringing a poor, weak, draggled soul to her Maker33 at the last day, saying "Here is all I have managed to save out of what you gave me!" That would be something, she allowed, immeasurably something; but pitiful compared with what she might do if she could keep a brave, vigorous spirit and march to the last tribunal strengthened by battles, struggles, defeats, victories; by the defense34 of weaker human creatures, above all, warmed and vitalized by the pouring out and gathering35 in of love.
Patty slept sweetly on the other side of the partition, the contemplation of her twopenny triumphs bringing a smile to her childish lips: but even so a good heart was there (still perhaps in the process of making), a quick wit, ready sympathy, natural charm; plenty, indeed, for the stronger sister to cherish, protect, and hold precious, as she did, with all her mind and soul.
There had always been a passionate36 loyalty37 in Waitstill's affection, wherever it had been bestowed38. Uncle Bart delighted in telling an instance of it that occurred when she was a child of five. Maine had just separated amicably39 from her mother, Massachusetts, and become an independent state. It was in the middle of March, but there was no snow on the ground and the village boys had built a bonfire on a plot of land near Uncle Bart's joiner's shop. There was a large gathering in celebration of the historic event and Waitstill crept down the hill with her homemade rag doll in her arms. She stood on the outskirts40 of the crowd, a silent, absorbed little figure clad in a shabby woollen coat, with a blue knit hood41 framing her rosy42 face. Deborah, her beloved, her only doll, was tightly clasped in her arms, for Debby, like her parent, had few pleasures and must not be denied so great a one as this. Suddenly, one of the thoughtless young scamps in the group, wishing to create a new sensation and add to the general excitement, caught the doll from the child's arms, and running forward with a loud war-whoop, flung it into the flames. Waitstill did not lose an instant. She gave a scream Of anguish43, and without giving any warning of her intentions, probably without realizing them herself, she dashed through the little crowd into the bonfire and snatched her cherished offspring from the burning pile. The whole thing was over in the twinkling of an eye, for Uncle Bart was as quick as the child and dragged her out of the imminent44 danger with no worse harm done than a good scorching45.
He led the little creature up the hill to explain matters and protect her from a scolding. She still held the doll against her heaving breast, saying, between her sobs46: "I couldn't let my Debby burn up! I couldn't, Uncle Bart; she's got nobody but me! Is my dress scorched47 so much I can't wear it? You'll tell father how it was, Uncle Bart, won't you?"
Debby bore the marks of her adventure longer than her owner, for she had been longer in the fire, but, stained and defaced as she was, she was never replaced, and remained the only doll of Waitstill's childhood. At this very moment she lay softly and safely in a bureau drawer ready to be lifted out, sometime, Waitstill fancied, and shown tenderly to Patty's children. Of her own possible children she never thought. There was but one man in the world who could ever be the father of them and she was separated from him by every obstacle that could divide two human beings.
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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swap
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| n.交换；vt.交换，用...作交易 | |
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bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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patchwork
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| n.混杂物；拼缝物 | |
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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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loomed
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| v.隐约出现，阴森地逼近( loom的过去式和过去分词 )；隐约出现，阴森地逼近 | |
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descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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delightfully
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| 大喜，欣然 | |
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complacent
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| adj.自满的；自鸣得意的 | |
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alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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meditations
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| 默想( meditation的名词复数 )； 默念； 沉思； 冥想 | |
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uncertainties
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| 无把握( uncertainty的名词复数 )； 不确定； 变化不定； 无把握、不确定的事物 | |
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premature
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| adj.比预期时间早的；不成熟的，仓促的 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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misty
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| adj.雾蒙蒙的，有雾的 | |
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glimmer
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| v.发出闪烁的微光；n.微光，微弱的闪光 | |
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bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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torments
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| （肉体或精神上的）折磨，痛苦( torment的名词复数 )； 造成痛苦的事物[人] | |
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lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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implicitly
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| adv. 含蓄地, 暗中地, 毫不保留地 | |
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lavishly
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| adv.慷慨地，大方地 | |
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persistence
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| n.坚持，持续，存留 | |
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likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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lashes
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| n.鞭挞( lash的名词复数 )；鞭子；突然猛烈的一击；急速挥动v.鞭打( lash的第三人称单数 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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disdained
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| 鄙视( disdain的过去式和过去分词 )； 不屑于做，不愿意做 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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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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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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amicably
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| adv.友善地 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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45
scorching
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| adj. 灼热的 | |
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46
sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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47
scorched
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| 烧焦，烤焦( scorch的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（植物）枯萎，把…晒枯； 高速行驶； 枯焦 | |
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