At the seminary there were only three children besides Ella. One was two-year-old Nellie, the steward’s daughter, whom she loved with all her heart. The second was John, and the third was his little sister, two years younger than he. For this little sister there was rarely any real place in Ella’s world; she was too young for a companion and too old for a baby; but just as Ned, the steward’s son, fifteen years old, would sometimes allow Ella, “going on nine,” to share his amusements, so Ella would occasionally permit John, “going on seven,” to go to the lake with her to skip stones, or to the hills for wild flowers.
The village children all went to the village school, and Ella seldom saw any of them. The mother had once known the mother of Dora, daughter of the village doctor, and it was arranged that the two children should spend an afternoon together. No one ever found out exactly what happened, but after this day, whenever the two little girls passed, they held their heads very high and swung their short skirts disdainfully, and looked away from each other.
Soon after this visit, it came to pass that Ella[Pg 20] needed to have a tooth out to make way for a newcomer. “I dare you to go to the doctor and have it pulled,” said Ned mischievously2. Ella would have felt humiliated3 not to “take a dare,” and she appealed to the mother for permission. The mother was glad to escape the string-and-pull process, and she hoped that if the children met again, they might become better friends.
“Was Dora there?” she asked on Ella’s return.
“Yes, she was,” replied Ella with emphasis. “Her father told her to go out, but she just stayed in the room every minute. She wanted to hear me cry, but I wouldn’t. When it was out, she said, just as if she was glad, ‘Hm! Hurt you some, didn’t it?’ and I laughed and said, ‘No, not a bit.’” Ella did not add the fact that going down the doctor’s walk, she had swung her skirts with more disdain1 than ever.
The mother looked amused.
“Are you sure that that speech was quite true?” she asked.
“Why, you see, if Dora had not been there, it would have hurt, of course; but she was there, and so it didn’t; and anyhow, I wasn’t thinking about it, so I shouldn’t have known it if it had.” And the mother was wise enough not to press the question any further.
As has been seen, Ella would have been quite alone in most of her plays had it not been for Ponto. Fortunately, a dog is never too old or too young to be a good friend. People sometimes laugh at a little girl’s [Pg 21]queer notions, but a dog never makes fun of them; he always understands. Every morning Ponto came upstairs, thumped4 on Ella’s door, and waited patiently till she was ready to go down with him. He was not allowed in recitation rooms, but everywhere else that she went, he followed. She greatly enjoyed visiting the laboratory when her professor was at work. Ponto would then lie down just outside the door and take a one-eyed nap, wondering sleepily why she stayed there instead of coming out of doors.
If the kind professor was at all disturbed by her presence and her occasional interruptions, he never let her know it, but answered every question with the courteous5 attention that children love, as if their questions were really worth while. The crowning glory of her visits came, however, one day when, after she had asked him something that never would have occurred to any one but a child, he looked at her thoughtfully and said, “I don’t know, but I will try to find out.” This was indeed an honor. The professor had treated her as if she was a grown-up lady, and he had met her little query6 with as much respect as if the principal himself had asked it. When she said, “Good-bye. I have an errand in the village,” and followed the jubilant Ponto down stairs, she held her small head at least one inch higher than usual.
The errand was closely connected with a big copper7 cent which she had held in her hand during her pursuit of scientific information. Indeed, she had kept close[Pg 22] watch of it ever since it came into her possession, for pennies did not come her way every morning. The grocer kept cassia buds, and these to the little customer were a luxury far transcending8 peppermints9 or sticks of white candy striped with red, or even chocolate sticks, which were just coming into fashion.
There were two grocers in the same store. One had white hair and the other had brown. Ella had tested them both and had found out that the white-haired one gave her more cassia buds for a cent than did the brown-haired one; therefore she waited patiently until the white-haired one appeared. Then she went back to the seminary joyfully10. She was sure that the generous dealer11 had given her more than ever before, and she would not eat one until she had shown them to the mother. But alas12 for the best-laid plans of little girls as well as mice and men, for when she reached the seminary, there was not a bud to be seen. Through a wicked little hole in the pocket every one had escaped.
This was one of the three tragedies in Ella’s life at the seminary. The others were even more crushing. Next to her big doll, her greatest treasure was a paint-box. She had had paint-boxes before, but this was the largest and finest she had ever owned. She had taken the greatest pains to keep it clean, and it was as fresh and white as when she first unwrapped it. If the mother had seen, she would have rescued it, but all her attention was given to a caller; and meanwhile[Pg 23] his little boy, who had by no means the kind of soul that scorns a blot13, daubed the fair white wood of the outside of the box with every hue14 that could be found within it.
Ella had been out with Ponto, and when she came in and saw her beloved paint-box in ruins, her grief was literally15 too deep for words. The mother had taken her callers to see the library, and Ella caught up the ruined treasure and slipped out of doors to Ponto. She told him all about it; then the two went to a quiet little place where wild roses grew. With much difficulty she dug a hole. Therein she laid the precious paint-box, and with it all the hopes of the pictures she was going to paint for the uncle in Andover and the grandmother in the mountains.
The next day, the mother asked, “Where can your paint-box be? Have you seen it this morning?”
Ella felt rather guilty, but she answered, “No,” and it was many years before the mother learned the solution of the mystery.
The third tragedy came from Ella’s ambition to wear a linen16 collar. The grown-up girls in school wore them, and she did so long to have just one. The mother did not approve; she thought a tiny ruffle17 for every day and a bit of lace for best were the only neckwear proper for a child of eight. Fate, however, promised to be kind. Ella had acquired some skill in the making of “perforated paper” bookmarks in the shape of a cross, elaborately cut out in an openwork[Pg 24] pattern; and one Sunday after church a lady in the village, who knew her wishes, promised her a real collar of smooth, stiff linen in exchange for one of these crosses.
Ella was wildly happy, and she wanted to begin the cross at once; but it was Sunday. Somehow she had evolved the notion that while it was wrong to play games on Sunday, it was not wrong to read or write or, indeed, to do whatever she chose with books or paper. Perforated paper seemed, however, a little different. She appealed to the mother, but the mother often left things for the small girl to think out for herself, and this was one of them.
“Some people would say it was right, and some would say it was wrong,” she replied. “Suppose you decide for yourself, and do what you think is right.”
The little girl decided18 not to begin the work until Monday. Surely, she deserved a better reward than she received, for when the cross was done, the lady handed her a little flat package done up in white paper and tied with blue ribbon.
“My sister told me,” she said with a pleasant smile, “that a linen collar was not at all the thing for a little girl of eight, and that she was sure you would like something else better, so I got you this instead.”
Ella took the package with forebodings, which were justified19, for in it was a little white handkerchief. Now handkerchiefs were things to lose and to have more of; but a linen collar was a vision, an aspiration20, a heart’s [Pg 25]desire. Her face must have shown disappointment, for the lady hastened to say, “There is a blue flower worked in one corner.” The lady had taken away her beautiful dream of being grown up and had given her instead a handkerchief—with a blue flower in one corner! These were the three tragedies of Ella’s first experience in the trials and disappointments of life.
There was, however, a little comforting postscript21 to this third tragedy. Among Ella’s accomplishments22 was the ability to embroider23 fairly well those lines of crescent moons known as scallops. She marked out a collar on a strip of Marseilles, and by means of two spools24 she drew a line of scallops on its edge. After a season of diligent25 sewing, she was the proud owner of a stiff white collar. The mother objected to her wearing it in public, but she was free to put it on and stand before her looking-glass and admire it; and even this was bliss26.
Then, too, Christmas was not far away, and its coming would make up for many troubles. To be sure, it was not the custom for children to be loaded down with gifts as they are now, but every one was to have something, the principal had said so; and Ella could hardly wait for the day. Nevertheless, in spite of her impatience27, she thoroughly28 enjoyed herself. She had never before been in the country in the winter, and now she coasted on her “Thomas Jefferson”; she made snow men; she slipped under the branches[Pg 26] of the pines and firs and hemlocks29 and shook them until when she came out her little blue hood30 was all powdered with snow; she brought in great armfuls of creeping Jenny and scarlet31 alder32 berries; she broke the thin ice that formed over the little brooks33 and delighted in the fairy palaces of frostwork that it had concealed34. Best of all, however, was the time when the ice over a shallow pool broke into cakes, and she could float about on them. What the busy mother would have said if she had known of all these adventures is a question; but Ella was well and happy, and before long Christmas Day came, and in the evening the big Christmas tree.
Santa Claus, all a-jingle with sleighbells, climbed in at the window. Ella knew that he was not exactly a real Santa Claus, but still she felt highly honored when in his walk about the room he patted her on the head and asked “How old are you?”
“I’ll be nine to-morrow,” she replied; and it almost made up for the loss of the collar to have him exclaim, “Nine years old! Why, I thought you were a small child. I shall have to go pretty deep into my pack to find anything for a young lady of nine.”
By and by Santa Claus distributed the presents. In her ante-seminary days, Ella had felt rich if she had three or four gifts; but now there was a pearl-handled pen, a little writing-desk with a lock and key; there were new mittens35 to match the blue hood; there was a real jackknife, just such a one as she had been longing[Pg 27] for, big enough to cut things and not too big to go into her pocket; there was a box of candy and another of cassia buds; there was a great package of writing-paper, some little blankbooks, half a dozen lead pencils, and a little matchbox of parian marble. Just why any one should give a small child a matchbox may be questioned, but Ella did not question it. The grapes on the cover were pretty, and that was enough. There was a fine new dress of bright Scotch36 plaid, and a “jockey cap” of black velvet37 with trimmings of red and black ribbon; and pinned to the cap was a note from Ella’s dearest little girl friend at the old home, saying that she had a new cap just like this one.
There was a little chinchilla muff; and that muff had a story. The uncle from Andover had rashly promised to buy whatever she liked best in all Boston. He had supposed that he could guide her choice toward the little muff; but of all the glories of Boston her heart had been set upon a box of tin soldiers. The tall uncle from Andover scoffed38, pleaded, offered bribes39, but the mite40 of a niece claimed her rights. “You promised I might have what I wanted, and I want the tin soldiers,” was her unchanging reply. At length he started in wrath41 to return to the study of theology, and the obstinate42 little niece called after him, “Good-bye, uncle; you broke your promise!” But she had relented sufficiently43 to send him a gracious note to the effect that a muff would really be very nice[Pg 28] to have; he had relented sufficiently to send it to her, and so peace had come to pass between them.
One more present came to Ella’s share, and that was a thin, uninteresting envelop44. But it was all glorious within, for here was a bright, fresh two-dollar bill from her professor. “To spend just as you like,” the card said. Fairyland had opened, for never before had Ella owned such an amount of money to spend as she liked. She had never expected to have so much, but she had decided long before this what she would buy if she should ever become a woman of wealth.
The next day she and the mother talked it over. The mother, too, had decided what would be the best way to spend the money. When she was a little girl, money given to girls was always put into silver spoons, and now she held before Ella the advantages of putting the gift into spoons, which she could always keep and which would always be a remembrance of the professor.
“But I’d never forget him, anyway,” declared Ella, “and I don’t want spoons. I want something useful. Spoons aren’t useful. People just have them on the table to eat with, and then they go away and forget them. I want something I’d really use and like to use and think about using; I want a pair of skates.”
It was against the mother’s inherited ideas of the desirable, and she was afraid of broken bones and thin ice and air holes, but the skates were bought. They [Pg 29]had such a multiplicity of green straps45 as would arouse a skater of to-day to wrath; but to Ella they seemed the most beautiful things in the world, and before long she was gliding46 over the frozen lake in perfect bliss.
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1
disdain
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| n.鄙视，轻视；v.轻视，鄙视，不屑 | |
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2
mischievously
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| adv.有害地；淘气地 | |
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3
humiliated
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| 感到羞愧的 | |
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4
thumped
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| v.重击， （指心脏）急速跳动( thump的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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5
courteous
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| adj.彬彬有礼的，客气的 | |
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6
query
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| n.疑问，问号，质问；vt.询问，表示怀疑 | |
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7
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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8
transcending
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的现在分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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9
peppermints
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| n.薄荷( peppermint的名词复数 )；薄荷糖 | |
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10
joyfully
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| adv. 喜悦地, 高兴地 | |
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11
dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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12
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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13
blot
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| vt.弄脏（用吸墨纸）吸干；n.污点，污渍 | |
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14
hue
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| n.色度；色调；样子 | |
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15
literally
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| adv.照字面意义，逐字地；确实 | |
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16
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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17
ruffle
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| v.弄皱，弄乱；激怒，扰乱；n.褶裥饰边 | |
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18
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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19
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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20
aspiration
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| n.志向，志趣抱负；渴望；(语)送气音；吸出 | |
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21
postscript
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| n.附言，又及；(正文后的)补充说明 | |
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22
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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23
embroider
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| v.刺绣于(布)上；给…添枝加叶，润饰 | |
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24
spools
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| n.（绕线、铁线、照相软片等的）管( spool的名词复数 )；络纱；纺纱机；绕圈轴工人v.把…绕到线轴上（或从线轴上绕下来）( spool的第三人称单数 )；假脱机（输出或输入） | |
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25
diligent
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| adj.勤勉的，勤奋的 | |
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26
bliss
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| n.狂喜，福佑，天赐的福 | |
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27
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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28
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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29
hemlocks
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| 由毒芹提取的毒药( hemlock的名词复数 ) | |
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30
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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31
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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32
alder
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| n.赤杨树 | |
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33
brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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34
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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35
mittens
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| 不分指手套 | |
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36
scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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37
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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38
scoffed
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| 嘲笑，嘲弄( scoff的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
bribes
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| n.贿赂( bribe的名词复数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂v.贿赂( bribe的第三人称单数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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40
mite
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| n.极小的东西；小铜币 | |
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41
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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42
obstinate
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| adj.顽固的，倔强的，不易屈服的，较难治愈的 | |
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43
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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44
envelop
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| vt.包，封，遮盖；包围 | |
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45
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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46
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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