IN about a minute somebody spoke1 out of a window without putting his head out, and says:
"Be done, boys! Who's there?"
I says:
"It's me."
"Who's me?"
"George Jackson, sir."
"What do you want?"
"I don't want nothing, sir. I only want to go along by, but the dogs won't let me."
"What are you prowling around here this time of night for -- hey?"
"I warn't prowling around, sir, I fell overboard off of the steamboat."
"Oh, you did, did you? Strike a light there, somebody. What did you say your name was?"
"George Jackson, sir. I'm only a boy."
"Look here, if you're telling the truth you needn't be afraid -- nobody'll hurt you. But don't try to budge2; stand right where you are. Rouse out Bob and Tom, some of you, and fetch the guns. George Jackson, is there anybody with you?"
"No, sir, nobody."
I heard the people stirring around in the house now, and see a light. The man sung out:
"Snatch that light away, Betsy, you old fool -- ain't you got any sense? Put it on the floor behind the front door. Bob, if you and Tom are ready, take your places."
"All ready."
"Now, George Jackson, do you know the Shepherdsons?"
"No, sir; I never heard of them."
"Well, that may be so, and it mayn't. Now, all ready. Step forward, George Jackson. And mind, don't you hurry -- come mighty3 slow. If there's anybody with you, let him keep back -- if he shows himself he'll be shot. Come along now. Come slow; push the door open yourself -- just enough to squeeze in, d' you hear?"
I didn't hurry; I couldn't if I'd a wanted to. I took one slow step at a time and there warn't a sound, only I thought I could hear my heart. The dogs were as still as the humans, but they followed a little behind me. When I got to the three log doorsteps I heard them unlocking and unbarring and unbolting. I put my hand on the door and pushed it a little and a little more till somebody said, "There, that's enough -- put your head in." I done it, but I judged they would take it off.
The candle was on the floor, and there they all was, looking at me, and me at them, for about a quarter of a minute: Three big men with guns pointed4 at me, which made me wince5, I tell you; the oldest, gray and about sixty, the other two thirty or more -- all of them fine and handsome -- and the sweetest old gray-headed lady, and back of her two young women which I couldn't see right well. The old gentleman says:
"There; I reckon it's all right. Come in."
As soon as I was in the old gentleman he locked the door and barred it and bolted it, and told the young men to come in with their guns, and they all went in a big parlor6 that had a new rag carpet on the floor, and got together in a corner that was out of the range of the front windows -- there warn't none on the side. They held the candle, and took a good look at me, and all said, "Why, HE ain't a Shepherdson -- no, there ain't any Shepherdson about him." Then the old man said he hoped I wouldn't mind being searched for arms, because he didn't mean no harm by it -- it was only to make sure. So he didn't pry7 into my pockets, but only felt outside with his hands, and said it was all right. He told me to make myself easy and at home, and tell all about myself; but the old lady says:
"Why, bless you, Saul, the poor thing's as wet as he can be; and don't you reckon it may be he's hungry?"
"True for you, Rachel -- I forgot."
So the old lady says:
"Betsy" (this was a nigger woman), you fly around and get him something to eat as quick as you can, poor thing; and one of you girls go and wake up Buck8 and tell him -- oh, here he is himself. Buck, take this little stranger and get the wet clothes off from him and dress him up in some of yours that's dry."
Buck looked about as old as me -- thirteen or fourteen or along there, though he was a little bigger than me. He hadn't on anything but a shirt, and he was very frowzy-headed. He came in gaping9 and digging one fist into his eyes, and he was dragging a gun along with the other one. He says:
"Ain't they no Shepherdsons around?"
They said, no, 'twas a false alarm.
"Well," he says, "if they'd a ben some, I reckon I'd a got one."
They all laughed, and Bob says:
"Why, Buck, they might have scalped us all, you've been so slow in coming."
"Well, nobody come after me, and it ain't right I'm always kept down; I don't get no show."
"Never mind, Buck, my boy," says the old man, "you'll have show enough, all in good time, don't you fret10 about that. Go 'long with you now, and do as your mother told you."
When we got up-stairs to his room he got me a coarse shirt and a roundabout and pants of his, and I put them on. While I was at it he asked me what my name was, but before I could tell him he started to tell me about a bluejay and a young rabbit he had catched in the woods day before yesterday, and he asked me where Moses was when the candle went out. I said I didn't know; I hadn't heard about it before, no way.
"Well, guess," he says.
"How'm I going to guess," says I, "when I never heard tell of it before?"
"But you can guess, can't you? It's just as easy."
"WHICH candle?" I says.
"Why, any candle," he says.
"I don't know where he was," says I; "where was he?"
"Why, he was in the DARK! That's where he was!"
"Well, if you knowed where he was, what did you ask me for?"
"Why, blame it, it's a riddle11, don't you see? Say, how long are you going to stay here? You got to stay always. We can just have booming times -- they don't have no school now. Do you own a dog? I've got a dog -- and he'll go in the river and bring out chips that you throw in. Do you like to comb up Sundays, and all that kind of foolishness? You bet I don't, but ma she makes me. Confound these ole britches! I reckon I'd better put 'em on, but I'd ruther not, it's so warm. Are you all ready? All right. Come along, old hoss."
Cold corn-pone, cold corn-beef, butter and buttermilk -- that is what they had for me down there, and there ain't nothing better that ever I've come across yet. Buck and his ma and all of them smoked cob pipes, except the nigger woman, which was gone, and the two young women. They all smoked and talked, and I eat and talked. The young women had quilts around them, and their hair down their backs. They all asked me questions, and I told them how pap and me and all the family was living on a little farm down at the bottom of Arkansaw, and my sister Mary Ann run off and got married and never was heard of no more, and Bill went to hunt them and he warn't heard of no more, and Tom and Mort died, and then there warn't nobody but just me and pap left, and he was just trimmed down to nothing, on account of his troubles; so when he died I took what there was left, because the farm didn't belong to us, and started up the river, deck passage, and fell overboard; and that was how I come to be here. So they said I could have a home there as long as I wanted it. Then it was most daylight and everybody went to bed, and I went to bed with Buck, and when I waked up in the morning, drat it all, I had forgot what my name was. So I laid there about an hour trying to think, and when Buck waked up I says:
"Can you spell, Buck?"
"Yes," he says.
"I bet you can't spell my name," says I.
"I bet you what you dare I can," says he.
"All right," says I, "go ahead."
"G-e-o-r-g-e J-a-x-o-n -- there now," he says.
"Well," says I, "you done it, but I didn't think you could. It ain't no slouch of a name to spell -- right off without studying."
I set it down, private, because somebody might want ME to spell it next, and so I wanted to be handy with it and rattle12 it off like I was used to it.
It was a mighty nice family, and a mighty nice house, too. I hadn't seen no house out in the country before that was so nice and had so much style. It didn't have an iron latch13 on the front door, nor a wooden one with a buckskin string, but a brass14 knob to turn, the same as houses in town. There warn't no bed in the parlor, nor a sign of a bed; but heaps of parlors15 in towns has beds in them. There was a big fireplace that was bricked on the bottom, and the bricks was kept clean and red by pouring water on them and scrubbing them with another brick; sometimes they wash them over with red water-paint that they call Spanish-brown, same as they do in town. They had big brass dog-irons that could hold up a sawlog. There was a clock on the middle of the mantelpiece, with a picture of a town painted on the bottom half of the glass front, and a round place in the middle of it for the sun, and you could see the pendulum16 swinging behind it. It was beautiful to hear that clock tick; and sometimes when one of these peddlers had been along and scoured17 her up and got her in good shape, she would start in and strike a hundred and fifty before she got tuckered out. They wouldn't took any money for her.
Well, there was a big outlandish parrot on each side of the clock, made out of something like chalk, and painted up gaudy18. By one of the parrots was a cat made of crockery, and a crockery dog by the other; and when you pressed down on them they squeaked19, but didn't open their mouths nor look different nor interested. They squeaked through underneath20. There was a couple of big wild-turkey-wing fans spread out behind those things. On the table in the middle of the room was a kind of a lovely crockery basket that bad apples and oranges and peaches and grapes piled up in it, which was much redder and yellower and prettier than real ones is, but they warn't real because you could see where pieces had got chipped off and showed the white chalk, or whatever it was, underneath.
This table had a cover made out of beautiful oilcloth, with a red and blue spread-eagle painted on it, and a painted border all around. It come all the way from Philadelphia, they said. There was some books, too, piled up perfectly21 exact, on each corner of the table. One was a big family Bible full of pictures. One was Pilgrim's Progress, about a man that left his family, it didn't say why. I read considerable in it now and then. The statements was interesting, but tough. Another was Friendship's Offering, full of beautiful stuff and poetry; but I didn't read the poetry. Another was Henry Clay's Speeches, and another was Dr. Gunn's Family Medicine, which told you all about what to do if a body was sick or dead. There was a hymn22 book, and a lot of other books. And there was nice split-bottom chairs, and perfectly sound, too -- not bagged down in the middle and busted23, like an old basket.
They had pictures hung on the walls -- mainly Washingtons and Lafayettes, and battles, and Highland24 Marys, and one called "Signing the Declaration." There was some that they called crayons, which one of the daughters which was dead made her own self when she was only fifteen years old. They was different from any pictures I ever see before -- blacker, mostly, than is common. One was a woman in a slim black dress, belted small under the armpits, with bulges25 like a cabbage in the middle of the sleeves, and a large black scoop-shovel bonnet26 with a black veil, and white slim ankles crossed about with black tape, and very wee black slippers27, like a chisel28, and she was leaning pensive29 on a tombstone on her right elbow, under a weeping willow30, and her other hand hanging down her side holding a white handkerchief and a reticule, and underneath the picture it said "Shall I Never See Thee More Alas31." Another one was a young lady with her hair all combed up straight to the top of her head, and knotted there in front of a comb like a chair-back, and she was crying into a handkerchief and had a dead bird laying on its back in her other hand with its heels up, and underneath the picture it said "I Shall Never Hear Thy Sweet Chirrup More Alas." There was one where a young lady was at a window looking up at the moon, and tears running down her cheeks; and she had an open letter in one hand with black sealing wax showing on one edge of it, and she was mashing32 a locket with a chain to it against her mouth, and underneath the picture it said "And Art Thou Gone Yes Thou Art Gone Alas." These was all nice pictures, I reckon, but I didn't somehow seem to take to them, because if ever I was down a little they always give me the fan-tods. Everybody was sorry she died, because she had laid out a lot more of these pictures to do, and a body could see by what she had done what they had lost. But I reckoned that with her disposition33 she was having a better time in the graveyard34. She was at work on what they said was her greatest picture when she took sick, and every day and every night it was her prayer to be allowed to live till she got it done, but she never got the chance. It was a picture of a young woman in a long white gown, standing35 on the rail of a bridge all ready to jump off, with her hair all down her back, and looking up to the moon, with the tears running down her face, and she had two arms folded across her breast, and two arms stretched out in front, and two more reaching up towards the moon -- and the idea was to see which pair would look best, and then scratch out all the other arms; but, as I was saying, she died before she got her mind made up, and now they kept this picture over the head of the bed in her room, and every time her birthday come they hung flowers on it. Other times it was hid with a little curtain. The young woman in the picture had a kind of a nice sweet face, but there was so many arms it made her look too spidery, seemed to me.
This young girl kept a scrap-book when she was alive, and used to paste obituaries36 and accidents and cases of patient suffering in it out of the Presbyterian Observer, and write poetry after them out of her own head. It was very good poetry. This is what she wrote about a boy by the name of Stephen Dowling Bots that fell down a well and was drownded:
ODE TO STEPHEN DOWLING BOTS, DEC'D
And did young Stephen sicken, And did young Stephen die? And did the sad hearts thicken, And did the mourners cry?
No; such was not the fate of Young Stephen Dowling Bots; Though sad hearts round him thickened, 'Twas not from sickness' shots.
No whooping-cough did rack his frame, Nor measles37 drear with spots; Not these impaired38 the sacred name Of Stephen Dowling Bots.
Despised love struck not with woe39 That head of curly knots, Nor stomach troubles laid him low, Young Stephen Dowling Bots.
O no. Then list with tearful eye, Whilst I his fate do tell. His soul did from this cold world fly By falling down a well.
They got him out and emptied him; Alas it was too late; His spirit was gone for to sport aloft In the realms of the good and great.
If Emmeline Grangerford could make poetry like that before she was fourteen, there ain't no telling what she could a done by and by. Buck said she could rattle off poetry like nothing. She didn't ever have to stop to think. He said she would slap down a line, and if she couldn't find anything to rhyme with it would just scratch it out and slap down another one, and go ahead. She warn't particular; she could write about anything you choose to give her to write about just so it was sadful. Every time a man died, or a woman died, or a child died, she would be on hand with her "tribute" before he was cold. She called them tributes. The neighbors said it was the doctor first, then Emmeline, then the undertaker -- the undertaker never got in ahead of Emmeline but once, and then she hung fire on a rhyme for the dead person's name, which was Whistler. She warn't ever the same after that; she never complained, but she kinder pined away and did not live long. Poor thing, many's the time I made myself go up to the little room that used to be hers and get out her poor old scrap-book and read in it when her pictures had been aggravating40 me and I had soured on her a little. I liked all that family, dead ones and all, and warn't going to let anything come between us. Poor Emmeline made poetry about all the dead people when she was alive, and it didn't seem right that there warn't nobody to make some about her now she was gone; so I tried to sweat out a verse or two myself, but I couldn't seem to make it go somehow. They kept Emmeline's room trim and nice, and all the things fixed41 in it just the way she liked to have them when she was alive, and nobody ever slept there. The old lady took care of the room herself, though there was plenty of niggers, and she sewed there a good deal and read her Bible there mostly.
Well, as I was saying about the parlor, there was beautiful curtains on the windows: white, with pictures painted on them of castles with vines all down the walls, and cattle coming down to drink. There was a little old piano, too, that had tin pans in it, I reckon, and nothing was ever so lovely as to hear the young ladies sing "The Last Link is Broken" and play "The Battle of Prague" on it. The walls of all the rooms was plastered, and most had carpets on the floors, and the whole house was whitewashed42 on the outside.
It was a double house, and the big open place betwixt them was roofed and floored, and sometimes the table was set there in the middle of the day, and it was a cool, comfortable place. Nothing couldn't be better. And warn't the cooking good, and just bushels of it too!
半分钟之后，有人打窗户里朝外说话，没有伸出头，那人说："别嚷啦，小子们！谁在那里？"我说："是我。""我是谁呀？""乔治·杰克逊，先生。""你想干嘛？""我什么也不想干，先生。我只是从这儿路过，可狗不让我过去。""你偷偷摸摸在夜里这个时候，上这里干什么--啊？""我没偷偷摸摸的，先生，我打轮船上掉到水里了。""噢，你落水了，是吗？谁给点个火吧。你刚才说你叫什么？""乔治·杰克逊，先生。我仅仅是个小孩儿。""听着，要是你讲的是实话，你就犯不着害怕，没人可以伤害你。可别动弹，站在原地。叫醒鲍勃和汤姆，你们谁去，要带上枪。乔治·杰克逊，你是一个人吗？""是的，先生，没有别的人。"这时候，我听见人们在房子里走动，还看见一处灯光。那人大声喊："拿开那个灯，贝西，你这老蠢货--你没长脑子吗？把它搁在前门后面的地板上。鲍勃，如果你和汤姆准备好了，各就各位。""准备就绪。""现在，乔治·杰克逊，你认得谢泼逊家的人吗？""不认识，先生，我从未听说他们。""好吧，这话或许是真的，或许不是。现在，都做好准备。朝前走，乔治·杰克逊。注意，别急，慢慢儿过来。如果有人跟着你，让他靠后，如果他露面，就会挨到枪子儿。来吧，好。走慢点儿；推开门，你自己推--开得能挤进身子来就行，你听见没有？"我不着急，就算我想急也急不了。我一次慢慢儿迈一步，没有声响。只是我觉得我能听见我的心跳。那些狗跟人一样安静，但是，它们跟在我后面不远。当我登上了那三级木头台阶，我听见他们开锁，卸门杠，拔插销。我把手放在门上，一点一点地推，直到有人说：" 可以了，伸进你的手来。" 我伸进头，可我断定他们会把它切下来。
蜡烛放在地板上，人都在那儿，他们看着我，我也看着他们，这么着过了十几秒钟。三个大个子拿枪对着我，老实讲，我被吓得够着。最老的一个，头发全发白了，六十多岁；另外两个三十多岁--他们都好看又漂亮--还有个很和气的老太太，头发灰白，她身后还有两个年轻女人，我看不大真切。那位老先生说："行了--我看没问题。进来吧。"我一进来，那位老先生就锁好了门，顶上门杠，插上插销，让年轻人带枪过去，他们都走进一个铺着新地毯的大客厅，站到一个角落里，那地方前窗看不到，它那边又没窗户。他们手拿蜡烛，仔细地看着我，都说：" 嗯，他不是谢泼逊家人，不是，没一点像谢泼逊家的人。" 紧接着，那个老人说他希望我别介意，要搜搜我身上的武器，由于他这样做并无恶意，只是想弄明白。所以，他没伸进我口袋里，而仅仅是用手在外边摸一摸，就说声可以了。他告诉我别拘束，就跟是在自己家一样，还让我把自己的事全讲讲。但是，那个老妇人说："哎呀天哪，索尔，这个可怜的小东西都湿成这模样了，你想他会不饿吗？""你说得对，瑞琪尔，我给忘了。"于是，那老妇人说："贝西(这是个黑人妇女)，你得给他拿点吃的来，尽可能快些，可怜的东西；你们俩谁去叫醒巴克并告诉他--噢，他在这儿。巴克，带这个小生人去把他的湿衣服换掉，找两件你的干衣服让他穿上。"巴克看上去年龄跟我差不多--十三四岁或者差不多少，只是，他个头儿比我高点儿。他只穿件衬衣，头发很乱。他打着哈欠过来，还拿一只拳头揉着眼睛，另一只拳头攥着一杆枪。他说："没谢泼逊家的人来吗？"他们告诉他说没有，刚才只是一场虚惊。
"好吧，"他说，" 要是他们来人的话，我看我能打中一个。"他们全笑了，鲍勃还说："嘿，巴克，他们也许已经把我们全都剥光头皮了，你这么慢才过来。""唔，没有人去叫我，这很不公平。我总是受压制，没机会表现。""别在意，巴克，好孩子，"那老先生说，" 你会出够风头的，机会有的是，别生气了。现在先去吧，照你妈说的话做。"我们到了楼上他的房间里，他拿给我一件粗布衬衫，一件短外套和一条裤子，我都穿上了。我正穿着，他询问我的名字，可还没等我告诉他，他就开始给我讲前些日子在树林里他捉到一只蓝鲣鸟和一只小兔子，蜡烛熄灭时，他又问我摩西在哪儿。我说不知道，过去我根本没有听说过，根本没有。
"那，猜猜看。" 他说。
"我怎么猜，"我说，" 我过去从来没听说过这回事儿？""可你会猜呀，会不会？这简直太容易了。""（哪支）蜡烛里？"我说。
"嗨，任何一支。" 他说。
"我可不知道他在那里，"我说，" 他在哪儿？""嗨，他在（黑暗）里呀！那才是他的地方！""哎呀，要是你知道他在哪儿，你还来问我干什么？""嗨，真丢人，这是个谜呀，你难道听不出来？喂，你想在这里住多久？你最好一直住下去。我们玩得可痛快了--现在放假。你有狗吗？我有一条，它会跳进河里把你扔的木片捡出来。你喜欢梳头吗？在星期天，还有好多那种无聊的时候。我可一点儿也不喜欢这样，可是妈她偏让我这样。讨厌，这些旧裤子，我看我最好还是穿上，可是我宁愿不穿，太热了。你穿好了吗？好啦，走吧，老伙计。"凉凉的玉米面包，凉凉的咸牛肉，奶油和奶酪--这就是他们在楼下给我预备的东西，我从没见过这么好吃的东西。巴克和他妈妈，所有的人都在抽玉米穗烟斗，那个黑女人没在那里，两个年轻女人没抽烟。他们还谈着话，我也边吃边说。那两个年轻女人披着披肩，头发垂到背上。他们问我问题，我跟他们说爸和我还有全家人住在阿肯索最南端的一个小农场上，我姐姐丽·安跑掉嫁人了，自此再无消息，比尔去找她们，也没了音讯，汤姆和摩特死了，后来就剩下爸和我，因为他历经了种种不幸，到头来穷困潦倒，所以，他过世之时，我只好带了他所剩的东西出门搭船，因为那农场不是我们的，可我掉入了河；我就这样来到了这里。于是，他们说，只要我乐意，我就可以把这里当成家，想住多长住多长。后来，天都快亮了，大家都回去睡觉，我和巴克睡一块儿。早上，我醒来时，见鬼，我忘了我的名字。所以，我就在床上躺了约一个小时，出劲儿想；这时，巴克醒了过来，我问："你会拼写吗，巴克？""会。" 他说。
"我打赌你一定不会拼我的名字。" 我说。
"我敢打赌我肯定会拼，"他说。
"那好。" 我说，" 那你拼拼看。""G-O-r-g-eJ-a-x-o-n 就这样。" 他说。"对了，"我说，" 你还真可以，不过我还以为你不会呢。这名字不怎么稀罕，用不着细想，马上就能拼出来。"我暗暗把它记下了，因为以后，也许会有人叫我拼写名字，所以，我要把它记熟，到时好脱口而出，就像我已经习惯这个名字一样。
这一家人特别好，房子也特别漂亮。我在农村从来没见过这么漂亮这么气派的房子。它前门上没有铁门闩，也没有带鹿皮带的木门闩，倒装着一个会转的铜把手，和城里的房子一模一样。客厅里没床，连床的影子都没有，倒是城里的好多客厅都有床。客厅里有一个十分大的壁炉，底下铺砖，他们朝砖上洒水，再拿一些砖来摩擦，壁炉的砖既干净又通红，有时，他们往砖上刷洗上一层他们叫做西班牙褚色的水粉涂料，跟城里的做法一样。他们有很大的铜火架，能架住一根圆木。壁炉台上方正中放着一座钟，前面玻璃的下半部画着一幅小镇图，中间部分圆圆的一块算作太阳，你还能看到后面的钟摆晃动。那座大钟咔嗒咔嗒可好听啦；有时，来个修表的把它擦得锃亮，修得好好的，它就能一气连敲一百五十下才会累倒。他们修了还不要钱。
那座钟的两侧一边一个很大的外国鹦鹉，象是用白粉做的，涂得相当艳丽。一只鹦鹉的旁边有一只陶制的猫，另一只鹦鹉的旁边是一只陶器狗，你朝下一按，它们还会吱吱叫，只是不会张嘴，看不出什么特别和高兴，它们是下边响。这些东西后面是一把撑开的一对野火鸡翅做的大扇子。客厅正中的桌子上摆着那种好看的陶制篮子，里面堆着苹果、桔子和葡萄，比真东西还红得多，绿得多，也漂亮得多，可这并不是真的，因为一些地方表层脱落，露出了小块白粉什么的，你从下面可以看得出来。
这张桌子铺着一张十分好看的油画布，上面画着一只红蓝相间，展开翅膀的鹰，周围画着花边儿。他们说这是打费城购进的。还有一些书，摆得很整齐，放在桌子的四角。一部很大的家庭《圣经》，都是图画。一本《天路历程》，是讲一个人离开家出走的，可没说为什么。我有时候翻开里面，看了不少。里面说的话很有趣，但也很难懂。另一本是《友谊的献礼》，满是漂亮的东西和诗歌，但是我没读那些诗。还有一本亨利·克莱的《演说集》，一本格恩博士的《家庭医药》，讲的是有人生病或死了该怎么做。还有一本赞美诗和好多别的书。还有薄木条底座的椅子，很好看也相当结实--而不是中间凹进去，撑裂了，跟个烂筐一般。
墙上挂着画--主要是华盛顿和拉斐德的像，还是战争画面，《高原玛丽》和一张叫《签署独立宣言》的画。还有几张他们称做彩笔画，是一个死去的女儿在她15 岁时自己画的。这些画和我过去见过的画不一样，大部分比一般的画颜色都暗。..这个小姑娘生前有一本剪贴册，总贴些《长老会观察报》上的死人讣告，意外事故和耐心受难的事，还别出心裁写诗附在后面。那都是些很好的诗。..可怜的小姑娘艾米琳活着的时候给所有的死人都做诗，现在她去了，却没人能为她做几首，这看起来有些不合适，于是，我就试着绞尽脑汁想挤出一两行来，可是不知怎么的，就是挤不出来。他们把艾米琳的房间收拾得整洁漂亮，所有的东西都按她生前喜欢的样子保留着，谁也不在那儿睡。虽然有许多黑奴，老太太还是亲自照料那个房间，她老爱在那儿做针线，读《圣经》多半也在那儿。噢，我还正说着客厅哪，窗户上有美丽的窗帘：白色的，上面有画，画的是城堡，藤蔓满墙，还有牛羊到河边饮水，还搁着一架旧钢琴，我猜里面有铁片盘子，再没什么比那些姑娘在钢琴上弹《最后的联系中断了》和《布拉格之战》更动听的了。墙壁全抹过白灰，大部分房间都铺着地板，整座房子外边刷得雪白。
这是一座双排房子，两排房子当中是大空地，上面盖屋顶，下面铺地板，有时候正中午，饭桌就放在那里，真是个凉爽、舒适的地方。简直跟天堂一般。饭菜不仅好吃，还多得很呢！
收听单词发音 |
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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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budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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wince
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| n.畏缩，退避，（因痛苦，苦恼等)面部肌肉抽动；v.畏缩，退缩，退避 | |
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parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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buck
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| n.雄鹿，雄兔；v.马离地跳跃 | |
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gaping
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| adj.口的；张口的；敞口的；多洞穴的v.目瞪口呆地凝视( gape的现在分词 )；张开，张大 | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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latch
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| n.门闩，窗闩；弹簧锁 | |
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brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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parlors
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| 客厅( parlor的名词复数 )； 起居室； （旅馆中的）休息室； （通常用来构成合成词）店 | |
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pendulum
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| n.摆，钟摆 | |
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scoured
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| 走遍（某地）搜寻（人或物）( scour的过去式和过去分词 )； （用力）刷； 擦净； 擦亮 | |
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gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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squeaked
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| v.短促地尖叫( squeak的过去式和过去分词 )；吱吱叫；告密；充当告密者 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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23
busted
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| adj. 破产了的，失败了的，被降级的，被逮捕的，被抓到的 动词bust的过去式和过去分词 | |
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24
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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bulges
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| 膨胀( bulge的名词复数 )； 鼓起； （身体的）肥胖部位； 暂时的激增 | |
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26
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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pensive
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| a.沉思的,哀思的,忧沉的 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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32
mashing
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| 捣碎 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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obituaries
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| 讣告，讣闻( obituary的名词复数 ) | |
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37
measles
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| n.麻疹，风疹，包虫病，痧子 | |
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38
impaired
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| adj.受损的；出毛病的；有（身体或智力）缺陷的v.损害，削弱( impair的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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39
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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40
aggravating
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| adj.恼人的，讨厌的 | |
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41
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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42
whitewashed
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| 粉饰，美化，掩饰( whitewash的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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