Thea had three music pupils now, little girls whose mothers declared that Professor Wunsch was “much too severe.” They took their lessons on Saturday, and this, of course, cut down her time for play. She did not really mind this because she was allowed to use the money—her pupils paid her twenty-five cents a lesson—to fit up a little room for herself upstairs in the half-story. It was the end room of the wing, and was not plastered, but was snugly4 lined with soft pine. The ceiling was so low that a grown person could reach it with the palm of the hand, and it sloped down on either side. There was only one window, but it was a double one and went to the floor. In October, while the days were still warm, Thea and Tillie papered the room, walls and ceiling in the same paper, small red and brown roses on a yellowish ground. Thea bought a brown cotton carpet, and her big brother, Gus, put it down for her one Sunday. She made white cheesecloth curtains and hung them on a tape. Her mother gave her an old walnut5 dresser with a broken mirror, and she had her own dumpy walnut single bed, and a blue washbowl and pitcher6 which she had drawn7 at a church fair lottery8. At the head of her bed she had a tall round wooden hat-crate, from the clothing store. This, standing9 on end and draped with cretonne, made a fairly steady table for her lantern. She was not allowed to take a lamp upstairs, so Ray Kennedy gave her a railroad lantern by which she could read at night.
In winter this loft10 room of Thea’s was bitterly cold, but against her mother’s advice—and Tillie’s—she always left her window open a little way. Mrs. Kronborg declared that she “had no patience with American physiology,” though the lessons about the injurious effects of alcohol and tobacco were well enough for the boys. Thea asked Dr. Archie about the window, and he told her that a girl who sang must always have plenty of fresh air, or her voice would get husky, and that the cold would harden her throat. The important thing, he said, was to keep your feet warm. On very cold nights Thea always put a brick in the oven after supper, and when she went upstairs she wrapped it in an old flannel11 petticoat and put it in her bed. The boys, who would never heat bricks for themselves, sometimes carried off Thea’s, and thought it a good joke to get ahead of her.
When Thea first plunged12 in between her red blankets, the cold sometimes kept her awake for a good while, and she comforted herself by remembering all she could of “Polar Explorations,” a fat, calf-bound volume her father had bought from a book-agent, and by thinking about the members of Greely’s party: how they lay in their frozen sleeping-bags, each man hoarding13 the warmth of his own body and trying to make it last as long as possible against the on-coming cold that would be everlasting14. After half an hour or so, a warm wave crept over her body and round, sturdy legs; she glowed like a little stove with the warmth of her own blood, and the heavy quilts and red blankets grew warm wherever they touched her, though her breath sometimes froze on the coverlid. Before daylight, her internal fires went down a little, and she often wakened to find herself drawn up into a tight ball, somewhat stiff in the legs. But that made it all the easier to get up.
The acquisition of this room was the beginning of a new era in Thea’s life. It was one of the most important things that ever happened to her. Hitherto, except in summer, when she could be out of doors, she had lived in constant turmoil15; the family, the day school, the Sunday-School. The clamor about her drowned the voice within herself. In the end of the wing, separated from the other upstairs sleeping-rooms by a long, cold, unfinished lumber16 room, her mind worked better. She thought things out more clearly. Pleasant plans and ideas occurred to her which had never come before. She had certain thoughts which were like companions, ideas which were like older and wiser friends. She left them there in the morning, when she finished dressing17 in the cold, and at night, when she came up with her lantern and shut the door after a busy day, she found them awaiting her. There was no possible way of heating the room, but that was fortunate, for otherwise it would have been occupied by one of her older brothers.
From the time when she moved up into the wing, Thea began to live a double life. During the day, when the hours were full of tasks, she was one of the Kronborg children, but at night she was a different person. On Friday and Saturday nights she always read for a long while after she was in bed. She had no clock, and there was no one to nag18 her.
Ray Kennedy, on his way from the depot19 to his boardinghouse, often looked up and saw Thea’s light burning when the rest of the house was dark, and felt cheered as by a friendly greeting. He was a faithful soul, and many disappointments had not changed his nature. He was still, at heart, the same boy who, when he was sixteen, had settled down to freeze with his sheep in a Wyoming blizzard20, and had been rescued only to play the losing game of fidelity21 to other charges.
Ray had no very clear idea of what might be going on in Thea’s head, but he knew that something was. He used to remark to Spanish Johnny, “That girl is developing something fine.” Thea was patient with Ray, even in regard to the liberties he took with her name. Outside the family, every one in Moonstone, except Wunsch and Dr. Archie, called her “Thee-a,” but this seemed cold and distant to Ray, so he called her “Thee.” Once, in a moment of exasperation22, Thea asked him why he did this, and he explained that he once had a chum, Theodore, whose name was always abbreviated23 thus, and that since he was killed down on the Santa Fé, it seemed natural to call somebody “Thee.” Thea sighed and submitted. She was always helpless before homely24 sentiment and usually changed the subject.
It was the custom for each of the different Sunday Schools in Moonstone to give a concert on Christmas Eve. But this year all the churches were to unite and give, as was announced from the pulpits, “a semi-sacred concert of picked talent” at the opera house. The Moonstone Orchestra, under the direction of Professor Wunsch, was to play, and the most talented members of each Sunday School were to take part in the programme. Thea was put down by the committee “for instrumental.” This made her indignant, for the vocal25 numbers were always more popular. Thea went to the president of the committee and demanded hotly if her rival, Lily Fisher, were going to sing. The president was a big, florid, powdered woman, a fierce W.C.T.U. worker, one of Thea’s natural enemies. Her name was Johnson; her husband kept the livery stable, and she was called Mrs. Livery Johnson, to distinguish her from other families of the same surname. Mrs. Johnson was a prominent Baptist, and Lily Fisher was the Baptist prodigy26. There was a not very Christian27 rivalry28 between the Baptist Church and Mr. Kronborg’s church.
When Thea asked Mrs. Johnson whether her rival was to be allowed to sing, Mrs. Johnson, with an eagerness which told how she had waited for this moment, replied that “Lily was going to recite to be obliging, and to give other children a chance to sing.” As she delivered this thrust, her eyes glittered more than the Ancient Mariner’s, Thea thought. Mrs. Johnson disapproved29 of the way in which Thea was being brought up, of a child whose chosen associates were Mexicans and sinners, and who was, as she pointedly30 put it, “bold with men.” She so enjoyed an opportunity to rebuke32 Thea, that, tightly corseted as she was, she could scarcely control her breathing, and her lace and her gold watch chain rose and fell “with short, uneasy motion.” Frowning, Thea turned away and walked slowly homeward. She suspected guile33. Lily Fisher was the most stuck-up doll in the world, and it was certainly not like her to recite to be obliging. Nobody who could sing ever recited, because the warmest applause always went to the singers.
However, when the programme was printed in the Moonstone Gleam, there it was: “Instrumental solo, Thea Kronborg. Recitation, Lily Fisher.”
Because his orchestra was to play for the concert, Mr. Wunsch imagined that he had been put in charge of the music, and he became arrogant34. He insisted that Thea should play a “Ballade” by Reinecke. When Thea consulted her mother, Mrs. Kronborg agreed with her that the “Ballade” would “never take” with a Moonstone audience. She advised Thea to play “something with variations,” or, at least, “The Invitation to the Dance.”
“It makes no matter what they like,” Wunsch replied to Thea’s entreaties35. “It is time already that they learn something.”
Thea’s fighting powers had been impaired36 by an ulcerated tooth and consequent loss of sleep, so she gave in. She finally had the molar pulled, though it was a second tooth and should have been saved. The dentist was a clumsy, ignorant country boy, and Mr. Kronborg would not hear of Dr. Archie’s taking Thea to a dentist in Denver, though Ray Kennedy said he could get a pass for her. What with the pain of the tooth, and family discussions about it, with trying to make Christmas presents and to keep up her school work and practicing, and giving lessons on Saturdays, Thea was fairly worn out.
On Christmas Eve she was nervous and excited. It was the first time she had ever played in the opera house, and she had never before had to face so many people. Wunsch would not let her play with her notes, and she was afraid of forgetting. Before the concert began, all the participants had to assemble on the stage and sit there to be looked at. Thea wore her white summer dress and a blue sash, but Lily Fisher had a new pink silk, trimmed with white swansdown.
The hall was packed. It seemed as if every one in Moonstone was there, even Mrs. Kohler, in her hood37, and old Fritz. The seats were wooden kitchen chairs, numbered, and nailed to long planks38 which held them together in rows. As the floor was not raised, the chairs were all on the same level. The more interested persons in the audience peered over the heads of the people in front of them to get a good view of the stage. From the platform Thea picked out many friendly faces. There was Dr. Archie, who never went to church entertainments; there was the friendly jeweler who ordered her music for her,—he sold accordions39 and guitars as well as watches,—and the druggist who often lent her books, and her favorite teacher from the school. There was Ray Kennedy, with a party of freshly barbered railroad men he had brought along with him. There was Mrs. Kronborg with all the children, even Thor, who had been brought out in a new white plush coat. At the back of the hall sat a little group of Mexicans, and among them Thea caught the gleam of Spanish Johnny’s white teeth, and of Mrs. Tellamantez’s lustrous40, smoothly41 coiled black hair.
After the orchestra played “Selections from Erminie,” and the Baptist preacher made a long prayer, Tillie Kronborg came on with a highly colored recitation, “The Polish Boy.” When it was over every one breathed more freely. No committee had the courage to leave Tillie off a programme. She was accepted as a trying feature of every entertainment. The Progressive Euchre Club was the only social organization in the town that entirely42 escaped Tillie. After Tillie sat down, the Ladies’ Quartette sang, “Beloved, it is Night,” and then it was Thea’s turn.
The “Ballade” took ten minutes, which was five minutes too long. The audience grew restive43 and fell to whispering. Thea could hear Mrs. Livery Johnson’s bracelets44 jangling as she fanned herself, and she could hear her father’s nervous, ministerial cough. Thor behaved better than any one else. When Thea bowed and returned to her seat at the back of the stage there was the usual applause, but it was vigorous only from the back of the house where the Mexicans sat, and from Ray Kennedy’s claqueurs. Any one could see that a good-natured audience had been bored.
Because Mr. Kronborg’s sister was on the programme, it had also been necessary to ask the Baptist preacher’s wife’s cousin to sing. She was a “deep alto” from McCook, and she sang, “Thy Sentinel Am I.” After her came Lily Fisher. Thea’s rival was also a blonde, but her hair was much heavier than Thea’s, and fell in long round curls over her shoulders. She was the angel-child of the Baptists, and looked exactly like the beautiful children on soap calendars. Her pink-and-white face, her set smile of innocence45, were surely born of a color-press. She had long, drooping46 eyelashes, a little pursed-up mouth, and narrow, pointed31 teeth, like a squirrel’s.
Lily began:—
Thea drew a long breath. That was the game; it was a recitation and a song in one. Lily trailed the hymn49 through half a dozen verses with great effect. The Baptist preacher had announced at the beginning of the concert that “owing to the length of the programme, there would be no encores.” But the applause which followed Lily to her seat was such an unmistakable expression of enthusiasm that Thea had to admit Lily was justified50 in going back. She was attended this time by Mrs. Livery Johnson herself, crimson51 with triumph and gleaming-eyed, nervously52 rolling and unrolling a sheet of music. She took off her bracelets and played Lily’s accompaniment. Lily had the effrontery53 to come out with, “She sang the song of Home, Sweet Home, the song that touched my heart.” But this did not surprise Thea; as Ray said later in the evening, “the cards had been stacked against her from the beginning.” The next issue of the Gleam correctly stated that “unquestionably the honors of the evening must be accorded to Miss Lily Fisher.” The Baptists had everything their own way.
After the concert Ray Kennedy joined the Kronborgs’ party and walked home with them. Thea was grateful for his silent sympathy, even while it irritated her. She inwardly vowed54 that she would never take another lesson from old Wunsch. She wished that her father would not keep cheerfully singing, “When Shepherds Watched,” as he marched ahead, carrying Thor. She felt that silence would become the Kronborgs for a while. As a family, they somehow seemed a little ridiculous, trooping along in the starlight. There were so many of them, for one thing. Then Tillie was so absurd. She was giggling55 and talking to Anna just as if she had not made, as even Mrs. Kronborg admitted, an exhibition of herself.
When they got home, Ray took a box from his overcoat pocket and slipped it into Thea’s hand as he said goodnight. They all hurried in to the glowing stove in the parlor56. The sleepy children were sent to bed. Mrs. Kronborg and Anna stayed up to fill the stockings.
“I guess you’re tired, Thea. You needn’t stay up.” Mrs. Kronborg’s clear and seemingly indifferent eye usually measured Thea pretty accurately57.
Thea hesitated. She glanced at the presents laid out on the dining-room table, but they looked unattractive. Even the brown plush monkey she had bought for Thor with such enthusiasm seemed to have lost his wise and humorous expression. She murmured, “All right,” to her mother, lit her lantern, and went upstairs.
Ray’s box contained a hand-painted white satin fan, with pond lilies—an unfortunate reminder58. Thea smiled grimly and tossed it into her upper drawer. She was not to be consoled by toys. She undressed quickly and stood for some time in the cold, frowning in the broken looking glass at her flaxen pig-tails, at her white neck and arms. Her own broad, resolute59 face set its chin at her, her eyes flashed into her own defiantly60. Lily Fisher was pretty, and she was willing to be just as big a fool as people wanted her to be. Very well; Thea Kronborg wasn’t. She would rather be hated than be stupid, any day. She popped into bed and read stubbornly at a queer paper book the drug-store man had given her because he couldn’t sell it. She had trained herself to put her mind on what she was doing, otherwise she would have come to grief with her complicated daily schedule. She read, as intently as if she had not been flushed with anger, the strange “Musical Memories” of the Reverend H. R. Haweis. At last she blew out the lantern and went to sleep. She had many curious dreams that night. In one of them Mrs. Tellamantez held her shell to Thea’s ear, and she heard the roaring, as before, and distant voices calling, “Lily Fisher! Lily Fisher!”
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收听单词发音
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1
glistened
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| v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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snugly
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| adv.紧贴地；贴身地；暖和舒适地；安适地 | |
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walnut
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| n.胡桃，胡桃木，胡桃色，茶色 | |
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pitcher
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| n.(有嘴和柄的)大水罐；(棒球)投手 | |
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7
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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8
lottery
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| n.抽彩；碰运气的事，难于算计的事 | |
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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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loft
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| n.阁楼，顶楼 | |
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flannel
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| n.法兰绒；法兰绒衣服 | |
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12
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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13
hoarding
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| n.贮藏；积蓄；临时围墙；囤积v.积蓄并储藏（某物）( hoard的现在分词 ) | |
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14
everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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15
turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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16
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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17
dressing
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| n.(食物)调料；包扎伤口的用品，敷料 | |
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18
nag
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| v.(对…)不停地唠叨；n.爱唠叨的人 | |
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depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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blizzard
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| n.暴风雪 | |
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fidelity
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| n.忠诚，忠实；精确 | |
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22
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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23
abbreviated
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| adj. 简短的，省略的 动词abbreviate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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24
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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25
vocal
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| adj.直言不讳的；嗓音的；n.[pl.]声乐节目 | |
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26
prodigy
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| n.惊人的事物，奇迹，神童，天才，预兆 | |
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27
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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rivalry
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| n.竞争，竞赛，对抗 | |
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29
disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
pointedly
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| adv.尖地，明显地 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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32
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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33
guile
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| n.诈术 | |
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arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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entreaties
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| n.恳求，乞求( entreaty的名词复数 ) | |
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36
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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37
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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38
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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39
accordions
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| n.手风琴( accordion的名词复数 ) | |
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40
lustrous
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| adj.有光泽的；光辉的 | |
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41
smoothly
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| adv.平滑地，顺利地，流利地，流畅地 | |
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42
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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43
restive
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| adj.不安宁的，不安静的 | |
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44
bracelets
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| n.手镯，臂镯( bracelet的名词复数 ) | |
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45
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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46
drooping
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| adj. 下垂的，无力的 动词droop的现在分词 | |
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47
cleft
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| n.裂缝；adj.裂开的 | |
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48
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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49
hymn
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| n.赞美诗，圣歌，颂歌 | |
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50
justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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51
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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52
nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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53
effrontery
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| n.厚颜无耻 | |
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54
vowed
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| 起誓，发誓（vow的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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55
giggling
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的现在分词 ) | |
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56
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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57
accurately
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| adv.准确地，精确地 | |
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58
reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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59
resolute
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| adj.坚决的，果敢的 | |
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60
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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