"Gae farer up the burn to Habbie's Howe,
Where a' the sweets o' spring an' simmer grow:
Between twa birks, out o'er a little lin,
The water fa's an' mak's a singan din1;
A pool breast-deep, beneath as clear as glass,
Kisses, wi' easy whirls, the bord'ring grass."
The Gentle Shepherd.
That is what Peggy says to Jenny in Allan Ramsay's poem, and if you substitute "Crummylowe" for "Habbie's Howe" in the first line, you will have a lovely picture of the Farm-Steadin'.
You come to it by turning the corner from the inn, first passing the cottage where the lady wishes to rent two rooms for fifteen shillings a week, but will not give much attendance, as she is slightly asthmatic, and the house is always as clean as it is this minute, and the view from the window looking out on Pettybaw Bay canna be surpassed at ony money. Then comes the little house where Will'am Beattie's sister Mary died in May, and there wasna a bonnier woman in Fife. Next is the cottage with the pansy garden, where the lady in the widow's cap takes five o'clock tea in the bay window, and a snug3 little supper at eight. She has for the first scones4 and marmalade, and her tea is in a small black teapot under a red cozy5 with a white muslin cover drawn6 over it. At eight she has more tea, and generally a kippered herring, or a bit of cold mutton left from the noon dinner. We note the changes in her bill of fare as we pass hastily by and feel admitted quite into the family secrets. Beyond this bay window, which is so redolent of simple peace and comfort that we long to go in and sit down, is the cottage with the double white tulips, the cottage with the collie on the front steps, the doctor's house with the yellow laburnum tree, and then the house where the Disagreeable Woman lives. She has a lovely baby, which, to begin with, is somewhat remarkable7, as disagreeable women rarely have babies; or else, having had them, rapidly lose their disagreeableness,--so rapidly that one has not time to notice it. The Disagreeable Woman's house is at the end of the row, and across the road is a wicket gate leading--Where did it lead?--that was the very point. Along the left, as you lean wistfully over the gate, there runs a stone wall topped by a green hedge; and on the right, first furrows8 of pale fawn9, then below, furrows of deeper brown, and mulberry, and red ploughed earth stretching down to waving fields of green, and thence to the sea, gray, misty10, opalescent11, melting into the pearly white clouds, so that one cannot tell where sea ends and sky begins.
There is a path between the green hedge and the ploughed field, and it leads seductively to the farm-steadin'; or we felt that it might thus lead, if we dared unlatch the wicket gate. Seeing no sign "Private Way," "Trespassers Not Allowed," or other printed defiance12 to the stranger, we were considering the opening of the gate, when we observed two female figures coming toward us along the path, and paused until they should come through. It was the Disagreeable Woman (though we knew it not) and an elderly friend. We accosted13 the friend, feeling instinctively14 that she was framed of softer stuff, and asked her if the path were a private one. It was a question that had never met her ear before, and she was too dull or too discreet15 to deal with it on the instant. To our amazement16, she did not even manage to falter17, "I couldna say."
"Is the path private?" I repeated.
"It is certainly the idea to keep it a little private," said the Disagreeable Woman, coming into the conversation without being addressed. "Where do you wish to go?"
"Nowhere in particular. The walk looks so inviting18 we should like to see the end."
"It goes only to the Farm, and you can reach that by the highroad; it is only a half-mile farther. Do you wish to call at the Farm?"
"No, oh no; the path is so very pretty that"--
"Yes, I see; well, I should call it rather private." And with this she departed; leaving us to stand on the outskirts19 of paradise, while she went into her house and stared at us from the window as she played with the lovely undeserved baby. But that was not the end of the matter.
We found ourselves there next day, Francesca and I,--Salemina was too proud,--drawn by an insatiable longing20 to view the beloved and forbidden scene. We did not dare to glance at the Disagreeable Woman's windows, lest our courage should ooze21 away, so we opened the gate and stole through into the rather private path.
It was a most lovely path; even if it had not been in a sense prohibited, it would still have been lovely, simply on its own merits. There were little gaps in the hedge and the wall, through which we peered into a daisy-starred pasture, where a white bossy22 and a herd2 of flaxen-haired cows fed on the sweet green grass. The mellow23 ploughed earth on the right hand stretched down to the shore-line, and a plough-boy walked up and down the long, straight furrows whistling "My Nannie's awa'." Pettybaw is so far removed from the music-halls that their cheap songs and strident echoes never reach its Sylvan24 shades, and the herd-laddies and plough-boys still sweeten their labors25 with the old classic melodies.
We walked on and on, determined26 to come every day; and we settled that if we were accosted by any one, or if our innocent business were demanded, Francesca should ask, "Does Mrs. Macstronachlacher live here, and has she any new-laid eggs?"
Soon the gates of the Farm appeared in sight. There was a cluster of buildings, with doves huddling27 and cooing on the red-tiled roofs,--dairy-houses, workmen's cottages, comely28 rows of haystacks (towering yellow things with peaked tops); a little pond with ducks and geese chattering29 together as they paddled about, and for additional music the trickling30 of two tiny burns making "a singan din" as they wimpled through the bushes. A speckle-breasted thrush perched on a corner of the gray wall and poured his heart out. Overhead there was a chorus of rooks in the tall trees, but there was no sound of human voice save that of the plough-laddie whistling "My Nannie's awa'."
We turned our backs on this darling solitude31, and retraced32 our steps lingeringly. As we neared the wicket gate again we stood upon a bit of jutting33 rock and peered over the wall, sniffing34 the hawthorn35 buds with ecstasy36. The white bossy drew closer, treading softly on its daisy carpet; the wondering cows looked up at us as they peacefully chewed their cuds; a man in corduroy breeches came from a corner of the pasture, and with a sharp, narrow hoe rooted out a thistle or two that had found their way into this sweet feeding-ground. Suddenly we heard the swish of a dress behind us, and turned, conscience-stricken, though we had in nothing sinned.
"Does Mrs. Macstronachlacher live here?" stammered37 Francesca like a parrot.
It was an idiotic38 time and place for the question. We had certainly arranged that she should ask it, but something must be left to the judgment39 in such cases. Francesca was hanging over a stone wall regarding a herd of cows in a pasture, and there was no possible shelter for a Mrs. Macstronachlacher within a quarter of a mile. What made the remark more unfortunate was the fact that, though she had on a different dress and bonnet40, the person interrogated41 was the Disagreeable Woman; but Francesca is particularly slow in discerning resemblances. She would have gone on mechanically asking for new-laid eggs, had I not caught her eye and held it sternly. The foe42 looked at us suspiciously for a moment (Francesca's hats are not easily forgotten), and then vanished up the path, to tell the people at Crummylowe, I suppose, that their grounds were infested43 by marauding strangers whose curiosity was manifestly the outgrowth of a republican government.
As she disappeared in one direction, we walked slowly in the other; and just as we reached the corner of the pasture where two stone walls meet, and where a group of oaks gives grateful shade, we heard children's voices.
"No, no!" cried somebody: "it must be still higher at this end, for the tower,--this is where the king will sit. Help me with this heavy one, Rafe. Dandie, mind your foot. Why don't you be making the flag for the ship?--and do keep the Wrig away from us till we finish building!
1 din | |
n.喧闹声,嘈杂声 | |
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2 herd | |
n.兽群,牧群;vt.使集中,把…赶在一起 | |
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3 snug | |
adj.温暖舒适的,合身的,安全的;v.使整洁干净,舒适地依靠,紧贴;n.(英)酒吧里的私房 | |
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4 scones | |
n.烤饼,烤小圆面包( scone的名词复数 ) | |
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5 cozy | |
adj.亲如手足的,密切的,暖和舒服的 | |
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6 drawn | |
v.拖,拉,拔出;adj.憔悴的,紧张的 | |
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7 remarkable | |
adj.显著的,异常的,非凡的,值得注意的 | |
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8 furrows | |
n.犁沟( furrow的名词复数 );(脸上的)皱纹v.犁田,开沟( furrow的第三人称单数 ) | |
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9 fawn | |
n.未满周岁的小鹿;v.巴结,奉承 | |
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10 misty | |
adj.雾蒙蒙的,有雾的 | |
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11 opalescent | |
adj.乳色的,乳白的 | |
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12 defiance | |
n.挑战,挑衅,蔑视,违抗 | |
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13 accosted | |
v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 );跟…搭讪;(乞丐等)上前向…乞讨;(妓女等)勾搭 | |
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14 instinctively | |
adv.本能地 | |
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15 discreet | |
adj.(言行)谨慎的;慎重的;有判断力的 | |
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16 amazement | |
n.惊奇,惊讶 | |
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17 falter | |
vi.(嗓音)颤抖,结巴地说;犹豫;蹒跚 | |
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18 inviting | |
adj.诱人的,引人注目的 | |
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19 outskirts | |
n.郊外,郊区 | |
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20 longing | |
n.(for)渴望 | |
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21 ooze | |
n.软泥,渗出物;vi.渗出,泄漏;vt.慢慢渗出,流露 | |
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22 bossy | |
adj.爱发号施令的,作威作福的 | |
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23 mellow | |
adj.柔和的;熟透的;v.变柔和;(使)成熟 | |
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24 sylvan | |
adj.森林的 | |
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25 labors | |
v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 );苦干;详细分析;(指引擎)缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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26 determined | |
adj.坚定的;有决心的 | |
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27 huddling | |
n. 杂乱一团, 混乱, 拥挤 v. 推挤, 乱堆, 草率了事 | |
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28 comely | |
adj.漂亮的,合宜的 | |
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29 chattering | |
n. (机器振动发出的)咔嗒声,(鸟等)鸣,啁啾 adj. 喋喋不休的,啾啾声的 动词chatter的现在分词形式 | |
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30 trickling | |
n.油画底色含油太多而成泡沫状突起v.滴( trickle的现在分词 );淌;使)慢慢走;缓慢移动 | |
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31 solitude | |
n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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32 retraced | |
v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 );回忆;回顾;追溯 | |
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33 jutting | |
v.(使)突出( jut的现在分词 );伸出;(从…)突出;高出 | |
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34 sniffing | |
n.探查法v.以鼻吸气,嗅,闻( sniff的现在分词 );抽鼻子(尤指哭泣、患感冒等时出声地用鼻子吸气);抱怨,不以为然地说 | |
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35 hawthorn | |
山楂 | |
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36 ecstasy | |
n.狂喜,心醉神怡,入迷 | |
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37 stammered | |
v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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38 idiotic | |
adj.白痴的 | |
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39 judgment | |
n.审判;判断力,识别力,看法,意见 | |
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40 bonnet | |
n.无边女帽;童帽 | |
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41 interrogated | |
v.询问( interrogate的过去式和过去分词 );审问;(在计算机或其他机器上)查询 | |
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42 foe | |
n.敌人,仇敌 | |
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43 infested | |
adj.为患的,大批滋生的(常与with搭配)v.害虫、野兽大批出没于( infest的过去式和过去分词 );遍布于 | |
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