章节正文
hypocrites as most of you are it would be better for you to go
miles into the woods and commit suicide."
Wheeling about, she strode to the door. Then she turned for a
Parthian shot.
"I've felt kind of worried for God sometimes, seeing He has so
much to attend to," she said, "but I see I needn't be, so long's
there's plenty of ministers to tell Him what to do."
With that Peg shook the dust of Carlisle church from her feet.
Poor Mr. Davidson resumed his discourse. Old Elder Bayley, whose
attention an earthquake could not have distracted from the sermon,
afterwards declared that it was an excellent and edifying
exhortation, but I doubt if anyone else in Carlisle church tasted
it much or gained much good therefrom. Certainly we of the King
household did not. We could not even remember the text when we
reached home. Felicity was comfortless.
"Mr. Davidson would be sure to think she belonged to our family
when she was in our pew," she said bitterly. "Oh, I feel as if I
could never get over such a mortification! Peter, I do wish you
wouldn't go telling people they ought to go to church. It's all
your fault that this happened."
"Never mind, it will be a good story to tell sometime," remarked
the Story Girl with relish.
CHAPTER XXII
THE YANKEE STORM
In an August orchard six children and a grown-up were sitting
around the pulpit stone. The grown-up was Miss Reade, who had
been up to give the girls their music lesson and had consented to
stay to tea, much to the rapture of the said girls, who continued
to worship her with unabated and romanticardour. To us, over the
golden grasses, came the Story Girl, carrying in her hand a single
large poppy, like a blood-red chalice filled with the wine of
August wizardry. She proffered it to Miss Reade and, as the
latter took it into her singularly slender, beautiful hand, I saw
a ring on her third finger. I noticed it, because I had heard the
girls say that Miss Reade never wore rings, not liking them. It
was not a new ring; it was handsome, but of an old-fashioned
design and setting, with a glint of diamonds about a central
sapphire. Later on, when Miss Reade had gone, I asked the Story
Girl if she had noticed the ring. She nodded, but seemed
disinclined to say more about it.
"Look here, Sara," I said, "there's something about that ring--
something you know."
"I told you once there was a story growing but you would have to
wait until it was fully grown," she answered.
"Is Miss Reade going to marry anybody--anybody we know?" I persisted.
"Curiosity killed a cat," observed the Story Girl coolly. "Miss
Reade hasn't told me that she was going to marry anybody. You
will find out all that is good for you to know in due time."
When the Story Girl put on grown-up airs I did not like her so
well, and I dropped the subject with a dignity that seemed to
amuse her mightily.
She had been away for a week, visiting cousins in Markdale, and
she had come home with a new treasure-trove of stories, most of
which she had heard from the old sailors of Markdale Harbour. She
had promised that morning to tell us of "the most tragic event
that had ever been known on the north shore," and we now reminded
her of her promise.
"Some call it the 'Yankee Storm,' and others the 'American Gale,'"
she began, sitting down by Miss Reade and beaming, because the
latter put her arm around her waist. "It happened nearly forty
years ago, in October of 1851. Old Mr. Coles at the Harbour told
me all about it. He was a young man then and he says he can never
forget that dreadful time. You know in those days hundreds of
American fishing schooners used to come down to the Gulf every
summer to fish mackerel. On one beautiful Saturday night in this
October of 1851, more than one hundred of these vessels could be
counted from Markdale Capes. By Monday night more than seventy of
them had been destroyed. Those which had escaped were mostly
those which went into harbour Saturday night, to keep Sunday. Mr.
Coles says the rest stayed outside and fished all day Sunday, same
as through the week, and HE says the storm was a judgment on them
for doing it. But he admits that even some of them got into
harbour later on and escaped, so it's hard to know what to think.
But it is certain that on Sunday night there came up a sudden and
terrible storm--the worst, Mr. Coles says, that has ever been
known on the north shore. It lasted for two days and scores of
vessels were drivenashore and completely wrecked. The crews of
most of the vessels that went ashore on the sand beaches were
saved, but those that struck on the rocks went to pieces and all
hands were lost. For weeks after the storm the north shore was
strewn with the bodies of drowned men. Think of it! Many of them
were unknown and unrecognizable, and they were buried in Markdale
graveyard. Mr. Coles says the schoolmaster who was in Markdale
then wrote a poem on the storm and Mr. Coles recited the first two
verses to me.
"'Here are the fishers' hillside graves,
The church beside, the woods around,
Below, the hollow moaning waves
Where the poor fishermen were drowned.
"'A sudden tempest the blue welkin tore,
The seamen tossed and torn apart
Rolled with the seaweed to the shore
While landsmen gazed with aching heart.'
"Mr. Coles couldn't remember any more of it. But the saddest of
all the stories of the Yankee Storm was the one about the Franklin
Dexter. The Franklin Dexter went ashore on the Markdale Capes and
all on board perished, the Captain and three of his brothers among
them. These four young men were the sons of an old man who lived
in Portland, Maine, and when he heard what had happened he came
right down to the Island to see if he could find their bodies.
They had all come ashore and had been buried in Markdale
graveyard; but he was determined to take them up and carry them
home for burial. He said he had promised their mother to take her
boys home to her and he must do it. So they were taken up and put
on board a sailing vessel at Markdale Harbour to be taken back to
Maine, while the father himself went home on a passenger steamer.
The name of the sailing vessel was the Seth Hall, and the
captain's name was Seth Hall, too. Captain Hall was a dreadfully
profane man and used to swear blood-curdling oaths. On the night
he sailed out of Markdale Harbour the old sailors warned him that
a storm was brewing and that it would catch him if he did not wait
until it was over. The captain had become very impatient because
of several delays he had already met with, and he was in a furious
temper. He swore a wicked oath that he would sail out of Markdale
Harbour that night and 'God Almighty Himself shouldn't catch him.'
He did sail out of the harbour; and the storm did catch him, and
the Seth Hall went down with all hands, the dead and the living
finding a watery grave together. So the poor old mother up in
Maine never had her boys brought back to her after all. Mr. Coles
says it seems as if it were foreordained that they should not rest
in a grave, but should lie beneath the waves until the day when
the sea gives up its dead."
"'They sleep as well beneath that purple tide
As others under turf,'"
quoted Miss Reade softly. "I am very thankful," she added. "that
I am not one of those whose dear ones 'go down to the sea in
ships.' It seems to me that they have treble their share of this
world's heartache."
"Uncle Stephen was a sailor and he was drowned," said Felicity,
"and they say it broke Grandmother King's heart. I don't see why
people can't be contented on dry land."
Cecily's tears had been dropping on the autograph quilt square she
was faithfully embroidering. She had been diligently collecting
names for it ever since the preceding autumn and had a goodly
number; but Kitty Marr had one more and this was certainly a fly
in Cecily's ointment.
"Besides, one I've got isn't paid for--Peg Bowen's," she lamented,
"and I don't suppose it ever will be, for I'll never dare to ask
her for it."
"I wouldn't put it on at all," said Felicity.
"Oh, I don't dare not to. She'd be sure to find out I didn't and
then she'd be very angry. I wish I could get just one more name
and then I'd be contented. But I don't know of a single person
who hasn't been asked already."
"Except Mr. Campbell," said Dan.
"Oh, of course nobody would ask Mr. Campbell. We all know it
would be of no use. He doesn't believe in missions at all--in
fact, he says he detests the very mention of missions--and he
never gives one cent to them."
"All the same, I think he ought to be asked, so that he wouldn't
have the excuse that nobody DID ask him," declared Dan.
"Do you really think so, Dan?" asked Cecily earnestly.
"Sure," said Dan, solemnly. Dan liked to tease even Cecily a wee
bit now and then.
Cecily relapsed into anxious thought, and care sat visibly on her
brow for the rest of the day. Next morning she came to me and
said:
"Bev, would you like to go for a walk with me this afternoon?"
"Of course," I replied. "Any particular where?"
"I'm going to see Mr. Campbell and ask him for his name for my
square," said Cecily resolutely. "I don't suppose it will do any
good. He wouldn't give anything to the library last summer, you
remember, till the Story Girl told him that story about his
grandmother. She won't go with me this time--I don't know why. I
can't tell a story and I'm frightened to death just to think of
going to him. But I believe it is my duty; and besides I would
love to get as many names on my square as Kitty Marr has. So if
you'll go with me we'll go this afternoon. I simply COULDN'T go
alone."
CHAPTER XXIII
A MISSIONARY HEROINE
Accordingly, that afternoon we bearded the lion in his den. The
road we took was a beautiful one, for we went "cross lots," and we
enjoyed it, in spite of the fact that we did not expect the
interview with Mr. Campbell to be a very pleasant one. To be
sure, he had been quite civil on the occasion of our last call
upon him, but the Story Girl had been with us then and had
beguiled him into good-humour and generosity by the magic of her
voice and personality. We had no such ally now, and Mr. Campbell
was known to be virulently opposed to missions in any shape or
form.
"I don't know whether it would have been any better if I could
have put on my good clothes," said Cecily, with a rueful glance at
her print dress, which, though neat and clean, was undeniably
faded and RATHER short and tight. "The Story Girl said it would,
and I wanted to, but mother wouldn't let me. She said it was all
nonsense, and Mr. Campbell would never notice what I had on."
"It's my opinion that Mr. Campbell notices a good deal more than
you'd think for," I said sagely.
"Well, I wish our call was over," sighed Cecily. "I can't tell
you how I dread it."
"Now, see here, Sis," I said cheerfully, "let's not think about it
till we get there. It'll only spoil our walk and do no good.
Let's just forget it and enjoy ourselves."
"I'll try," agreed Cecily, "but it's ever so much easier to preach
than to practise."
Our way lay first over a hill top, gallantly plumed with golden
rod, where cloud shadows drifted over us like a gypsying crew.
Carlisle, in all its ripely tinted length and breadth, lay below
us, basking in the August sunshine, that spilled over the brim of
the valley to the far-off Markdale Harbour, cupped in its harvest-
miles into the woods and commit suicide."
Wheeling about, she strode to the door. Then she turned for a
Parthian shot.
"I've felt kind of worried for God sometimes, seeing He has so
much to attend to," she said, "but I see I needn't be, so long's
there's plenty of ministers to tell Him what to do."
With that Peg shook the dust of Carlisle church from her feet.
Poor Mr. Davidson resumed his discourse. Old Elder Bayley, whose
attention an earthquake could not have distracted from the sermon,
afterwards declared that it was an excellent and edifying
exhortation, but I doubt if anyone else in Carlisle church tasted
it much or gained much good therefrom. Certainly we of the King
household did not. We could not even remember the text when we
reached home. Felicity was comfortless.
"Mr. Davidson would be sure to think she belonged to our family
when she was in our pew," she said bitterly. "Oh, I feel as if I
could never get over such a mortification! Peter, I do wish you
wouldn't go telling people they ought to go to church. It's all
your fault that this happened."
"Never mind, it will be a good story to tell sometime," remarked
the Story Girl with relish.
CHAPTER XXII
THE YANKEE STORM
In an August orchard six children and a grown-up were sitting
around the pulpit stone. The grown-up was Miss Reade, who had
been up to give the girls their music lesson and had consented to
stay to tea, much to the rapture of the said girls, who continued
to worship her with unabated and romanticardour. To us, over the
golden grasses, came the Story Girl, carrying in her hand a single
large poppy, like a blood-red chalice filled with the wine of
August wizardry. She proffered it to Miss Reade and, as the
latter took it into her singularly slender, beautiful hand, I saw
a ring on her third finger. I noticed it, because I had heard the
girls say that Miss Reade never wore rings, not liking them. It
was not a new ring; it was handsome, but of an old-fashioned
design and setting, with a glint of diamonds about a central
sapphire. Later on, when Miss Reade had gone, I asked the Story
Girl if she had noticed the ring. She nodded, but seemed
disinclined to say more about it.
"Look here, Sara," I said, "there's something about that ring--
something you know."
"I told you once there was a story growing but you would have to
wait until it was fully grown," she answered.
"Is Miss Reade going to marry anybody--anybody we know?" I persisted.
"Curiosity killed a cat," observed the Story Girl coolly. "Miss
Reade hasn't told me that she was going to marry anybody. You
will find out all that is good for you to know in due time."
When the Story Girl put on grown-up airs I did not like her so
well, and I dropped the subject with a dignity that seemed to
amuse her mightily.
She had been away for a week, visiting cousins in Markdale, and
she had come home with a new treasure-trove of stories, most of
which she had heard from the old sailors of Markdale Harbour. She
had promised that morning to tell us of "the most tragic event
that had ever been known on the north shore," and we now reminded
her of her promise.
"Some call it the 'Yankee Storm,' and others the 'American Gale,'"
she began, sitting down by Miss Reade and beaming, because the
latter put her arm around her waist. "It happened nearly forty
years ago, in October of 1851. Old Mr. Coles at the Harbour told
me all about it. He was a young man then and he says he can never
forget that dreadful time. You know in those days hundreds of
American fishing schooners used to come down to the Gulf every
summer to fish mackerel. On one beautiful Saturday night in this
October of 1851, more than one hundred of these vessels could be
counted from Markdale Capes. By Monday night more than seventy of
them had been destroyed. Those which had escaped were mostly
those which went into harbour Saturday night, to keep Sunday. Mr.
Coles says the rest stayed outside and fished all day Sunday, same
as through the week, and HE says the storm was a judgment on them
for doing it. But he admits that even some of them got into
harbour later on and escaped, so it's hard to know what to think.
But it is certain that on Sunday night there came up a sudden and
terrible storm--the worst, Mr. Coles says, that has ever been
known on the north shore. It lasted for two days and scores of
vessels were drivenashore and completely wrecked. The crews of
most of the vessels that went ashore on the sand beaches were
saved, but those that struck on the rocks went to pieces and all
hands were lost. For weeks after the storm the north shore was
strewn with the bodies of drowned men. Think of it! Many of them
were unknown and unrecognizable, and they were buried in Markdale
graveyard. Mr. Coles says the schoolmaster who was in Markdale
then wrote a poem on the storm and Mr. Coles recited the first two
verses to me.
"'Here are the fishers' hillside graves,
The church beside, the woods around,
Below, the hollow moaning waves
Where the poor fishermen were drowned.
"'A sudden tempest the blue welkin tore,
The seamen tossed and torn apart
Rolled with the seaweed to the shore
While landsmen gazed with aching heart.'
"Mr. Coles couldn't remember any more of it. But the saddest of
all the stories of the Yankee Storm was the one about the Franklin
Dexter. The Franklin Dexter went ashore on the Markdale Capes and
all on board perished, the Captain and three of his brothers among
them. These four young men were the sons of an old man who lived
in Portland, Maine, and when he heard what had happened he came
right down to the Island to see if he could find their bodies.
They had all come ashore and had been buried in Markdale
graveyard; but he was determined to take them up and carry them
home for burial. He said he had promised their mother to take her
boys home to her and he must do it. So they were taken up and put
on board a sailing vessel at Markdale Harbour to be taken back to
Maine, while the father himself went home on a passenger steamer.
The name of the sailing vessel was the Seth Hall, and the
captain's name was Seth Hall, too. Captain Hall was a dreadfully
profane man and used to swear blood-curdling oaths. On the night
he sailed out of Markdale Harbour the old sailors warned him that
a storm was brewing and that it would catch him if he did not wait
until it was over. The captain had become very impatient because
of several delays he had already met with, and he was in a furious
temper. He swore a wicked oath that he would sail out of Markdale
Harbour that night and 'God Almighty Himself shouldn't catch him.'
He did sail out of the harbour; and the storm did catch him, and
the Seth Hall went down with all hands, the dead and the living
finding a watery grave together. So the poor old mother up in
Maine never had her boys brought back to her after all. Mr. Coles
says it seems as if it were foreordained that they should not rest
in a grave, but should lie beneath the waves until the day when
the sea gives up its dead."
"'They sleep as well beneath that purple tide
As others under turf,'"
quoted Miss Reade softly. "I am very thankful," she added. "that
I am not one of those whose dear ones 'go down to the sea in
ships.' It seems to me that they have treble their share of this
world's heartache."
"Uncle Stephen was a sailor and he was drowned," said Felicity,
"and they say it broke Grandmother King's heart. I don't see why
people can't be contented on dry land."
Cecily's tears had been dropping on the autograph quilt square she
was faithfully embroidering. She had been diligently collecting
names for it ever since the preceding autumn and had a goodly
number; but Kitty Marr had one more and this was certainly a fly
in Cecily's ointment.
"Besides, one I've got isn't paid for--Peg Bowen's," she lamented,
"and I don't suppose it ever will be, for I'll never dare to ask
her for it."
"I wouldn't put it on at all," said Felicity.
"Oh, I don't dare not to. She'd be sure to find out I didn't and
then she'd be very angry. I wish I could get just one more name
and then I'd be contented. But I don't know of a single person
who hasn't been asked already."
"Except Mr. Campbell," said Dan.
"Oh, of course nobody would ask Mr. Campbell. We all know it
would be of no use. He doesn't believe in missions at all--in
fact, he says he detests the very mention of missions--and he
never gives one cent to them."
"All the same, I think he ought to be asked, so that he wouldn't
have the excuse that nobody DID ask him," declared Dan.
"Do you really think so, Dan?" asked Cecily earnestly.
"Sure," said Dan, solemnly. Dan liked to tease even Cecily a wee
bit now and then.
Cecily relapsed into anxious thought, and care sat visibly on her
brow for the rest of the day. Next morning she came to me and
said:
"Bev, would you like to go for a walk with me this afternoon?"
"Of course," I replied. "Any particular where?"
"I'm going to see Mr. Campbell and ask him for his name for my
square," said Cecily resolutely. "I don't suppose it will do any
good. He wouldn't give anything to the library last summer, you
remember, till the Story Girl told him that story about his
grandmother. She won't go with me this time--I don't know why. I
can't tell a story and I'm frightened to death just to think of
going to him. But I believe it is my duty; and besides I would
love to get as many names on my square as Kitty Marr has. So if
you'll go with me we'll go this afternoon. I simply COULDN'T go
alone."
CHAPTER XXIII
A MISSIONARY HEROINE
Accordingly, that afternoon we bearded the lion in his den. The
road we took was a beautiful one, for we went "cross lots," and we
enjoyed it, in spite of the fact that we did not expect the
interview with Mr. Campbell to be a very pleasant one. To be
sure, he had been quite civil on the occasion of our last call
upon him, but the Story Girl had been with us then and had
beguiled him into good-humour and generosity by the magic of her
voice and personality. We had no such ally now, and Mr. Campbell
was known to be virulently opposed to missions in any shape or
form.
"I don't know whether it would have been any better if I could
have put on my good clothes," said Cecily, with a rueful glance at
her print dress, which, though neat and clean, was undeniably
faded and RATHER short and tight. "The Story Girl said it would,
and I wanted to, but mother wouldn't let me. She said it was all
nonsense, and Mr. Campbell would never notice what I had on."
"It's my opinion that Mr. Campbell notices a good deal more than
you'd think for," I said sagely.
"Well, I wish our call was over," sighed Cecily. "I can't tell
you how I dread it."
"Now, see here, Sis," I said cheerfully, "let's not think about it
till we get there. It'll only spoil our walk and do no good.
Let's just forget it and enjoy ourselves."
"I'll try," agreed Cecily, "but it's ever so much easier to preach
than to practise."
Our way lay first over a hill top, gallantly plumed with golden
rod, where cloud shadows drifted over us like a gypsying crew.
Carlisle, in all its ripely tinted length and breadth, lay below
us, basking in the August sunshine, that spilled over the brim of
the valley to the far-off Markdale Harbour, cupped in its harvest-
- commit [kə´mit]
vt.犯(罪)；把...判处 (初中英语单词) - bitterly [´bitəli] ad.悲痛地；憎恨地 (初中英语单词)
- yankee [´jæŋki] n.美国佬；美国公民 (初中英语单词)
- orchard [´ɔ:tʃəd] n.果园 (初中英语单词)
- grown-up [´grəun-ʌp] n.成年人 a.成熟的 (初中英语单词)
- worship [´wə:ʃip] n.&v.崇拜；敬仰 (初中英语单词)
- romantic [rəu´mæntik] a.传奇(式)的；浪漫的 (初中英语单词)
- slender [´slendə] a.细长的；微薄的 (初中英语单词)
- dignity [´digniti] n.尊严，尊贵；高官显贵 (初中英语单词)
- dreadful [´dredful] a.可怕的；讨厌的 (初中英语单词)
- driven [´driv(ə)n] drive 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- ashore [ə´ʃɔ:] ad.向岸上 (初中英语单词)
- hillside [´hilsaid] n.山腰 (初中英语单词)
- vessel [´vesəl] n.容器；船；脉管 (初中英语单词)
- wicked [´wikid] a.邪恶的；不道德的 (初中英语单词)
- purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
- softly [´sɔftli] ad.软化地；柔和地 (初中英语单词)
- grandmother [´græn,mʌðə] n.(外)祖母 (初中英语单词)
- diligently [´dilidʒəntli] ad.勤奋地 (初中英语单词)
- anxious [´æŋkʃəs] a.担忧的；渴望的 (初中英语单词)
- personality [,pə:sə´næliti] n.人；个性；人品；人物 (初中英语单词)
- sunshine [´sʌnʃain] n.日光，阳光 (初中英语单词)
- valley [´væli] n.谷；河谷；流域 (初中英语单词)
- strode [strəud] stride的过去式 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- discourse [´diskɔ:s] n.论文；演说；说教 (高中英语单词)
- earthquake [´ə:θkweik] n.地震；大变动 (高中英语单词)
- rapture [´ræptʃə] n.着迷；全神贯注 (高中英语单词)
- tragic [´trædʒik] a.悲剧的；悲惨的 (高中英语单词)
- tempest [´tempist] n.暴风雨 (高中英语单词)
- impatient [im´peiʃənt] a.不耐烦的，急躁的 (高中英语单词)
- contented [kən´tentid] a.满足的；心满意足的 (高中英语单词)
- faithfully [´feiθfəli] ad.忠实地；诚恳地 (高中英语单词)
- solemnly [´sɔləmli] ad.严肃地，庄严地 (高中英语单词)
- missionary [´miʃənəri] a.传教(士)的 n.传教士 (高中英语单词)
- generosity [,dʒenə´rɔsiti] n.慷慨；慷慨的行为 (高中英语单词)
- cheerfully [´tʃiəfuli] ad.高兴地，愉快地 (高中英语单词)
- breadth [bredθ] n.宽度，幅面，广度 (高中英语单词)
- pulpit [´pulpit] n.讲坛 (英语四级单词)
- ardour [´ɑ:də] n.热心，热情 (英语四级单词)
- setting [´setiŋ] n.安装；排字；布景 (英语四级单词)
- coolly [´ku:li] ad.冷(静地)，沉着地 (英语四级单词)
- fishing [´fiʃiŋ] n.钓鱼；捕鱼；渔业 (英语四级单词)
- schoolmaster [´sku:l,mɑ:stə] n.教练；(男)教师 (英语四级单词)
- almighty [ɔ:l´maiti] a.万能的；全能的 (英语四级单词)
- preceding [pri(:)´si:diŋ] a.在先的；前面的 (英语四级单词)
- far-off [´fɑ:rɔ:f] a.远方的，遥远的 (英语四级单词)
- felicity [fi´lisiti] n.幸福；(措词)适当 (英语六级单词)
- august [ɔ:´gʌst] a.尊严的；威严的 (英语六级单词)
- liking [´laikiŋ] n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 (英语六级单词)
- beaming [´bi:miŋ] a.笑吟吟的 (英语六级单词)
- seaweed [´si:wi:d] n.海草，海藻 (英语六级单词)
- watery [´wɔ:təri] a.水的；像水的 (英语六级单词)
- treble [´trebəl] a.&n.三倍(重)的 (英语六级单词)
- resolutely [´rezəlju:tli] ad.坚决地；果断地 (英语六级单词)
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