章节正文
then they all climbed to the top of the pig-house roof and cut
their initials on the saddleboard. The flat-roofed henhouse and
a pile of straw beneath gave Davy another inspiration. They
spent a splendid half hour climbing on the roof and diving off
into the straw with whoops and yells.
But even unlawful pleasures must come to an end. When the rumble
of wheels over the pond bridge told that people were going home
from church Davy knew they must go. He discarded Tommy's overalls,
resumed his own rightfulattire, and turned away from his string
of trout with a sigh. No use to think of taking them home.
"Well, hadn't we a splendid time?" he demanded defiantly, as they
went down the hill field.
"I hadn't," said Dora flatly. "And I don't believe you had --
really -- either," she added, with a flash of insight that was
not to be expected of her.
"I had so," cried Davy, but in the voice of one who doth protest too much.
"No wonder you hadn't -- just sitting there like a -- like a mule."
"I ain't going to, 'sociate with the Cottons," said Dora loftily.
"The Cottons are all right," retorted Davy. "And they have far better
times than we have. They do just as they please and say just what they
like before everybody. _I_'m going to do that, too, after this."
"There are lots of things you wouldn't dare say before everybody,"
averred Dora.
"No, there isn't."
"There is, too. Would you," demanded Dora gravely, "would you
say `tomcat' before the minister?"
This was a staggerer. Davy was not prepared for such a concrete
example of the freedom of speech. But one did not have to be
consistent with Dora.
"Of course not," he admitted sulkily.
"`Tomcat' isn't a holy word. I wouldn't mention such an animal
before a minister at all."
"But if you had to?" persisted Dora.
"I'd call it a Thomas pussy," said Davy.
"_I_ think `gentleman cat' would be more polite," reflected Dora.
"YOU thinking!" retorted Davy with withering scorn.
Davy was not feeling comfortable, though he would have died
before he admitted it to Dora. Now that the exhilaration of
truant delights had died away, his conscience was beginning to
give him salutary twinges. After all, perhaps it would have been
better to have gone to Sunday School and church. Mrs. Lynde
might be bossy; but there was always a box of cookies in her
kitchen cupboard and she was not stingy. At this inconvenient
moment Davy remembered that when he had torn his new school pants
the week before, Mrs. Lynde had mended them beautifully and
never said a word to Marilla about them.
But Davy's cup of iniquity was not yet full. He was to discover
that one sin demands another to cover it. They had dinner with
Mrs. Lynde that day, and the first thing she asked Davy was,
"Were all your class in Sunday School today?"
"Yes'm," said Davy with a gulp. "All were there -- 'cept one."
"Did you say your Golden Text and catechism?"
"Yes'm."
"Did you put your collection in?"
"Yes'm."
"Was Mrs. Malcolm MacPherson in church?"
"I don't know." This, at least, was the truth, thought wretched Davy.
"Was the Ladies' Aid announced for next week?"
"Yes'm" -- quakingly.
"Was prayer-meeting?"
"I -- I don't know."
"YOU should know. You should listen more attentively to the announcements.
What was Mr. Harvey's text?"
Davy took a frantic gulp of water and swallowed it and the last
protest of conscience together. He glibly recited an old Golden
Text learned several weeks ago. Fortunately Mrs. Lynde now
stopped questioning him; but Davy did not enjoy his dinner.
He could only eat one helping of pudding.
"What's the matter with you?" demanded justly astonished Mrs. Lynde.
"Are you sick?"
"No," muttered Davy.
"You look pale. You'd better keep out of the sun this afternoon,"
admonished Mrs. Lynde.
"Do you know how many lies you told Mrs. Lynde?" asked Dora
reproachfully, as soon as they were alone after dinner.
Davy, goaded to desperation, turned fiercely.
"I don't know and I don't care," he said. "You just shut up,
Dora Keith."
Then poor Davy betook himself to a secluded retreat behind the
woodpile to think over the way of transgressors.
Green Gables was wrapped in darkness and silence when Anne
reached home. She lost no time going to bed, for she was very
tired and sleepy. There had been several Avonlea jollifications
the preceding week, involving rather late hours. Anne's head was
hardly on her pillow before she was half asleep; but just then
her door was softly opened and a pleading voice said, "Anne."
Anne sat up drowsily.
"Davy, is that you? What is the matter?"
A white-clad figure flung itself across the floor and on to the bed.
"Anne," sobbed Davy, getting his arms about her neck. "I'm awful
glad you're home. I couldn't go to sleep till I'd told somebody."
"Told somebody what?"
"How mis'rubul I am."
"Why are you miserable, dear?"
"'Cause I was so bad today, Anne. Oh, I was awful bad --
badder'n I've ever been yet."
"What did you do?"
"Oh, I'm afraid to tell you. You'll never like me again, Anne.
I couldn't say my prayers tonight. I couldn't tell God what
I'd done. I was 'shamed to have Him know."
"But He knew anyway, Davy."
"That's what Dora said. But I thought p'raps He mightn't have
noticed just at the time. Anyway, I'd rather tell you first."
"WHAT is it you did?"
Out it all came in a rush.
"I run away from Sunday School -- and went fishing with the
Cottons -- and I told ever so many whoppers to Mrs. Lynde -- oh!
'most half a dozen -- and -- and -- I -- I said a swear word,
Anne -- a pretty near swear word, anyhow -- and I called God names."
There was silence. Davy didn't know what to make of it. Was
Anne so shocked that she never would speak to him again?
"Anne, what are you going to do to me?" he whispered.
"Nothing, dear. You've been punished already, I think."
"No, I haven't. Nothing's been done to me."
"You've been very unhappy ever since you did wrong, haven't you?"
"You bet!" said Davy emphatically.
"That was your conscience punishing you, Davy."
"What's my conscience? I want to know."
"It's something in you, Davy, that always tells you when you are
doing wrong and makes you unhappy if you persist in doing it.
Haven't you noticed that?"
"Yes, but I didn't know what it was. I wish I didn't have it.
I'd have lots more fun. Where is my conscience, Anne? I want to know.
Is it in my stomach?"
"No, it's in your soul," answered Anne, thankful for the
darkness, since gravity must be preserved in serious matters.
"I s'pose I can't get clear of it then," said Davy with a sigh.
"Are you going to tell Marilla and Mrs. Lynde on me, Anne?"
"No, dear, I'm not going to tell any one. You are sorry you were
naughty, aren't you?"
"You bet!"
"And you'll never be bad like that again."
"No, but -- " added Davy cautiously, "I might be bad some other way."
"You won't say naughty words, or run away on Sundays, or tell falsehoods
to cover up your sins?"
"No. It doesn't pay," said Davy.
"Well, Davy, just tell God you are sorry and ask Him to forgive you."
"Have YOU forgiven me, Anne?"
"Yes, dear."
"Then," said Davy joyously, "I don't care much whether God does or not."
"Davy!"
"Oh -- I'll ask Him -- I'll ask Him," said Davy quickly,
scrambling off the bed, convinced by Anne's tone that he must
have said something dreadful. "I don't mind asking Him, Anne.
-- Please, God, I'm awful sorry I behaved bad today and
I'll try to be good on Sundays always and please forgive me.
-- There now, Anne."
"Well, now, run off to bed like a good boy."
"All right. Say, I don't feel mis'rubul any more. I feel fine.
Good night."
"Good night."
Anne slipped down on her pillows with a sigh of relief. Oh --
how sleepy -- she was! In another second --
"Anne!" Davy was back again by her bed. Anne dragged her eyes open.
"What is it now, dear?" she asked, trying to keep a note of
impatience out of her voice.
"Anne, have you ever noticed how Mr. Harrison spits? Do you
s'pose, if I practice hard, I can learn to spit just like him?"
Anne sat up.
"Davy Keith," she said, "go straight to your bed and don't let me
catch you out of it again tonight! Go, now!"
Davy went, and stood not upon the order of his going.
Chapter XIV
The Summons
Anne was sitting with Ruby Gillis in the Gillis' garden after the day
had crept lingeringly through it and was gone. It had been a warm,
smoky summer afternoon. The world was in a splendor of out-flowering.
The idle valleys were full of hazes. The woodways were pranked with
shadows and the fields with the purple of the asters.
Anne had given up a moonlight drive to the White Sands beach that
she might spend the evening with Ruby. She had so spent many
evenings that summer, although she often wondered what good it did
any one, and sometimes went home deciding that she could not go again.
Ruby grew paler as the summer waned; the White Sands school was
given up -- "her father thought it better that she shouldn't
teach till New Year's" -- and the fancy work she loved oftener
and oftener fell from hands grown too weary for it. But she was
always gay, always hopeful, always chattering and whispering of
her beaux, and their rivalries and despairs. It was this that
made Anne's visits hard for her. What had once been silly or
amusing was gruesome, now; it was death peering through a wilful
mask of life. Yet Ruby seemed to cling to her, and never let her
go until she had promised to come again soon. Mrs. Lynde
grumbled about Anne's frequent visits, and declared she would
catch consumption; even Marilla was dubious.
"Every time you go to see Ruby you come home looking tired out,"
she said.
"It's so very sad and dreadful," said Anne in a low tone. "Ruby
doesn't seem to realize her condition in the least. And yet I
somehow feel she needs help -- craves it -- and I want to give it
to her and can't. All the time I'm with her I feel as if I were
watching her struggle with an invisible foe -- trying to push it
back with such feebleresistance as she has. That is why I come
home tired."
But tonight Anne did not feel this so keenly. Ruby was strangely
quiet. She said not a word about parties and drives and dresses
and "fellows." She lay in the hammock, with her untouched work
beside her, and a white shawl wrapped about her thin shoulders.
Her long yellow braids of hair -- how Anne had envied those
beautiful braids in old schooldays! -- lay on either side of her.
She had taken the pins out -- they made her head ache, she said.
their initials on the saddleboard. The flat-roofed henhouse and
a pile of straw beneath gave Davy another inspiration. They
spent a splendid half hour climbing on the roof and diving off
into the straw with whoops and yells.
But even unlawful pleasures must come to an end. When the rumble
of wheels over the pond bridge told that people were going home
from church Davy knew they must go. He discarded Tommy's overalls,
resumed his own rightfulattire, and turned away from his string
of trout with a sigh. No use to think of taking them home.
"Well, hadn't we a splendid time?" he demanded defiantly, as they
went down the hill field.
"I hadn't," said Dora flatly. "And I don't believe you had --
really -- either," she added, with a flash of insight that was
not to be expected of her.
"I had so," cried Davy, but in the voice of one who doth protest too much.
"No wonder you hadn't -- just sitting there like a -- like a mule."
"I ain't going to, 'sociate with the Cottons," said Dora loftily.
"The Cottons are all right," retorted Davy. "And they have far better
times than we have. They do just as they please and say just what they
like before everybody. _I_'m going to do that, too, after this."
"There are lots of things you wouldn't dare say before everybody,"
averred Dora.
"No, there isn't."
"There is, too. Would you," demanded Dora gravely, "would you
say `tomcat' before the minister?"
This was a staggerer. Davy was not prepared for such a concrete
example of the freedom of speech. But one did not have to be
consistent with Dora.
"Of course not," he admitted sulkily.
"`Tomcat' isn't a holy word. I wouldn't mention such an animal
before a minister at all."
"But if you had to?" persisted Dora.
"I'd call it a Thomas pussy," said Davy.
"_I_ think `gentleman cat' would be more polite," reflected Dora.
"YOU thinking!" retorted Davy with withering scorn.
Davy was not feeling comfortable, though he would have died
before he admitted it to Dora. Now that the exhilaration of
truant delights had died away, his conscience was beginning to
give him salutary twinges. After all, perhaps it would have been
better to have gone to Sunday School and church. Mrs. Lynde
might be bossy; but there was always a box of cookies in her
kitchen cupboard and she was not stingy. At this inconvenient
moment Davy remembered that when he had torn his new school pants
the week before, Mrs. Lynde had mended them beautifully and
never said a word to Marilla about them.
But Davy's cup of iniquity was not yet full. He was to discover
that one sin demands another to cover it. They had dinner with
Mrs. Lynde that day, and the first thing she asked Davy was,
"Were all your class in Sunday School today?"
"Yes'm," said Davy with a gulp. "All were there -- 'cept one."
"Did you say your Golden Text and catechism?"
"Yes'm."
"Did you put your collection in?"
"Yes'm."
"Was Mrs. Malcolm MacPherson in church?"
"I don't know." This, at least, was the truth, thought wretched Davy.
"Was the Ladies' Aid announced for next week?"
"Yes'm" -- quakingly.
"Was prayer-meeting?"
"I -- I don't know."
"YOU should know. You should listen more attentively to the announcements.
What was Mr. Harvey's text?"
Davy took a frantic gulp of water and swallowed it and the last
protest of conscience together. He glibly recited an old Golden
Text learned several weeks ago. Fortunately Mrs. Lynde now
stopped questioning him; but Davy did not enjoy his dinner.
He could only eat one helping of pudding.
"What's the matter with you?" demanded justly astonished Mrs. Lynde.
"Are you sick?"
"No," muttered Davy.
"You look pale. You'd better keep out of the sun this afternoon,"
admonished Mrs. Lynde.
"Do you know how many lies you told Mrs. Lynde?" asked Dora
reproachfully, as soon as they were alone after dinner.
Davy, goaded to desperation, turned fiercely.
"I don't know and I don't care," he said. "You just shut up,
Dora Keith."
Then poor Davy betook himself to a secluded retreat behind the
woodpile to think over the way of transgressors.
Green Gables was wrapped in darkness and silence when Anne
reached home. She lost no time going to bed, for she was very
tired and sleepy. There had been several Avonlea jollifications
the preceding week, involving rather late hours. Anne's head was
hardly on her pillow before she was half asleep; but just then
her door was softly opened and a pleading voice said, "Anne."
Anne sat up drowsily.
"Davy, is that you? What is the matter?"
A white-clad figure flung itself across the floor and on to the bed.
"Anne," sobbed Davy, getting his arms about her neck. "I'm awful
glad you're home. I couldn't go to sleep till I'd told somebody."
"Told somebody what?"
"How mis'rubul I am."
"Why are you miserable, dear?"
"'Cause I was so bad today, Anne. Oh, I was awful bad --
badder'n I've ever been yet."
"What did you do?"
"Oh, I'm afraid to tell you. You'll never like me again, Anne.
I couldn't say my prayers tonight. I couldn't tell God what
I'd done. I was 'shamed to have Him know."
"But He knew anyway, Davy."
"That's what Dora said. But I thought p'raps He mightn't have
noticed just at the time. Anyway, I'd rather tell you first."
"WHAT is it you did?"
Out it all came in a rush.
"I run away from Sunday School -- and went fishing with the
Cottons -- and I told ever so many whoppers to Mrs. Lynde -- oh!
'most half a dozen -- and -- and -- I -- I said a swear word,
Anne -- a pretty near swear word, anyhow -- and I called God names."
There was silence. Davy didn't know what to make of it. Was
Anne so shocked that she never would speak to him again?
"Anne, what are you going to do to me?" he whispered.
"Nothing, dear. You've been punished already, I think."
"No, I haven't. Nothing's been done to me."
"You've been very unhappy ever since you did wrong, haven't you?"
"You bet!" said Davy emphatically.
"That was your conscience punishing you, Davy."
"What's my conscience? I want to know."
"It's something in you, Davy, that always tells you when you are
doing wrong and makes you unhappy if you persist in doing it.
Haven't you noticed that?"
"Yes, but I didn't know what it was. I wish I didn't have it.
I'd have lots more fun. Where is my conscience, Anne? I want to know.
Is it in my stomach?"
"No, it's in your soul," answered Anne, thankful for the
darkness, since gravity must be preserved in serious matters.
"I s'pose I can't get clear of it then," said Davy with a sigh.
"Are you going to tell Marilla and Mrs. Lynde on me, Anne?"
"No, dear, I'm not going to tell any one. You are sorry you were
naughty, aren't you?"
"You bet!"
"And you'll never be bad like that again."
"No, but -- " added Davy cautiously, "I might be bad some other way."
"You won't say naughty words, or run away on Sundays, or tell falsehoods
to cover up your sins?"
"No. It doesn't pay," said Davy.
"Well, Davy, just tell God you are sorry and ask Him to forgive you."
"Have YOU forgiven me, Anne?"
"Yes, dear."
"Then," said Davy joyously, "I don't care much whether God does or not."
"Davy!"
"Oh -- I'll ask Him -- I'll ask Him," said Davy quickly,
scrambling off the bed, convinced by Anne's tone that he must
have said something dreadful. "I don't mind asking Him, Anne.
-- Please, God, I'm awful sorry I behaved bad today and
I'll try to be good on Sundays always and please forgive me.
-- There now, Anne."
"Well, now, run off to bed like a good boy."
"All right. Say, I don't feel mis'rubul any more. I feel fine.
Good night."
"Good night."
Anne slipped down on her pillows with a sigh of relief. Oh --
how sleepy -- she was! In another second --
"Anne!" Davy was back again by her bed. Anne dragged her eyes open.
"What is it now, dear?" she asked, trying to keep a note of
impatience out of her voice.
"Anne, have you ever noticed how Mr. Harrison spits? Do you
s'pose, if I practice hard, I can learn to spit just like him?"
Anne sat up.
"Davy Keith," she said, "go straight to your bed and don't let me
catch you out of it again tonight! Go, now!"
Davy went, and stood not upon the order of his going.
Chapter XIV
The Summons
Anne was sitting with Ruby Gillis in the Gillis' garden after the day
had crept lingeringly through it and was gone. It had been a warm,
smoky summer afternoon. The world was in a splendor of out-flowering.
The idle valleys were full of hazes. The woodways were pranked with
shadows and the fields with the purple of the asters.
Anne had given up a moonlight drive to the White Sands beach that
she might spend the evening with Ruby. She had so spent many
evenings that summer, although she often wondered what good it did
any one, and sometimes went home deciding that she could not go again.
Ruby grew paler as the summer waned; the White Sands school was
given up -- "her father thought it better that she shouldn't
teach till New Year's" -- and the fancy work she loved oftener
and oftener fell from hands grown too weary for it. But she was
always gay, always hopeful, always chattering and whispering of
her beaux, and their rivalries and despairs. It was this that
made Anne's visits hard for her. What had once been silly or
amusing was gruesome, now; it was death peering through a wilful
mask of life. Yet Ruby seemed to cling to her, and never let her
go until she had promised to come again soon. Mrs. Lynde
grumbled about Anne's frequent visits, and declared she would
catch consumption; even Marilla was dubious.
"Every time you go to see Ruby you come home looking tired out,"
she said.
"It's so very sad and dreadful," said Anne in a low tone. "Ruby
doesn't seem to realize her condition in the least. And yet I
somehow feel she needs help -- craves it -- and I want to give it
to her and can't. All the time I'm with her I feel as if I were
watching her struggle with an invisible foe -- trying to push it
back with such feebleresistance as she has. That is why I come
home tired."
But tonight Anne did not feel this so keenly. Ruby was strangely
quiet. She said not a word about parties and drives and dresses
and "fellows." She lay in the hammock, with her untouched work
beside her, and a white shawl wrapped about her thin shoulders.
Her long yellow braids of hair -- how Anne had envied those
beautiful braids in old schooldays! -- lay on either side of her.
She had taken the pins out -- they made her head ache, she said.
- gravely [´greivli]
ad.庄重地，严肃地 (初中英语单词) - minister [´ministə] n.部长；大臣 v.伺候 (初中英语单词)
- conscience [´kɔnʃəns] n.良心；道德心 (初中英语单词)
- beginning [bi´giniŋ] n.开始，开端；起源 (初中英语单词)
- collection [kə´lekʃən] n.收集；征收；募捐 (初中英语单词)
- wretched [´retʃid] a.可怜的；倒霉的 (初中英语单词)
- retreat [ri´tri:t] v.&n.退却；撤退；放弃 (初中英语单词)
- softly [´sɔftli] ad.软化地；柔和地 (初中英语单词)
- miserable [´mizərəbəl] a.悲惨的；可怜的 (初中英语单词)
- unhappy [ʌn´hæpi] a.不幸的；不快乐的 (初中英语单词)
- forgive [fə´giv] vt.原谅，谅解，宽恕 (初中英语单词)
- dreadful [´dredful] a.可怕的；讨厌的 (初中英语单词)
- relief [ri´li:f] n.救济；援救；减轻 (初中英语单词)
- splendor [´splendə] n.壮丽 =splendour (初中英语单词)
- purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
- moonlight [´mu:nlait] n.&a.月光(的) (初中英语单词)
- frequent [´fri:kwənt] a.常见的，频繁的 (初中英语单词)
- invisible [in´vizəbəl] a.看不见的；无形的 (初中英语单词)
- feeble [´fi:bəl] a.虚弱的，无力的 (初中英语单词)
- resistance [ri´zistəns] n.抵抗；抵制；耐力 (初中英语单词)
- keenly [´ki:nli] ad.敏锐地；强烈地 (初中英语单词)
- inspiration [,inspi´reiʃən] n.鼓舞；灵感；启发 (高中英语单词)
- attire [ə´taiə] vt.装饰；穿 n.衣服 (高中英语单词)
- cupboard [´kʌbəd] n.碗柜，食橱 (高中英语单词)
- frantic [´fræntik] a.发狂的；急忙的 (高中英语单词)
- learned [´lə:nid] a.有学问的，博学的 (高中英语单词)
- fortunately [´fɔ:tʃənətli] ad.幸运地 (高中英语单词)
- sleepy [´sli:pi] a.困的，想睡的 (高中英语单词)
- persist [pə´sist] vi.坚持；固执；持续 (高中英语单词)
- thankful [´θæŋkfəl] a.感激的；欣慰的 (高中英语单词)
- gravity [´græviti] n.严肃；严重；重力 (高中英语单词)
- cautiously [´kɔ:ʃəsli] ad.小心地；谨慎地 (高中英语单词)
- naughty [´nɔ:ti] a.顽皮的；下流的 (高中英语单词)
- consumption [kən´sʌmpʃən] n.消耗；结核病 (高中英语单词)
- bridge [bridʒ] n.桥(梁)；鼻梁；桥牌 (英语四级单词)
- beautifully [´bju:tifəli] ad.美丽地；优美地 (英语四级单词)
- justly [´dʒʌstli] ad.公正地，正当地 (英语四级单词)
- desperation [,despə´reiʃən] n.铤而走险，拼命 (英语四级单词)
- preceding [pri(:)´si:diŋ] a.在先的；前面的 (英语四级单词)
- fishing [´fiʃiŋ] n.钓鱼；捕鱼；渔业 (英语四级单词)
- forgiven [fə´givn] forgive的过去分词 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- hopeful [´həupfəl] a.有希望的，激励人的 (英语四级单词)
- hammock [´hæmək] n.吊床；圆丘 (英语四级单词)
- rightful [´raitfəl] a.正义的；合法的 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- flatly [´flætli] ad.平淡地；断然地 (英语六级单词)
- insight [´insait] n.洞悉；洞察力；见识 (英语六级单词)
- iniquity [i´nikwiti] n.不公正；邪恶 (英语六级单词)
- joyously [´dʒɔiəsli] ad.快乐地，高兴地 (英语六级单词)
- untouched [ʌn´tʌtʃt] a.原样的；未触动过的 (英语六级单词)
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