章节正文
golden hills.
Then came a little valley overgrown with the pale purple bloom of
thistles and elusively haunted with their perfume. You say that
thistles have no perfume? Go you to a brook hollow where they grow
some late summer twilight at dewfall; and on the still air that
rises suddenly to meet you will come a waft of faint, aromatic
fragrance, wondrously sweet and evasive, the distillation of that
despised thistle bloom.
Beyond this the path wound through a forest of fir, where a wood
wind wove its murmurous spell and a wood brook dimpled pellucidly
among the shadows--the dear, companionable, elfin shadows--that
lurked under the low growing boughs. Along the edges of that
winding path grew banks of velvet green moss, starred with
clusters of pigeon berries. Pigeon berries are not to be eaten.
They are woolly, tasteless things. But they are to be looked at
in their glowing scarlet. They are the jewels with which the
forest of cone-bearers loves to deck its brown breast. Cecily
gathered some and pinned them on hers, but they did not become
her. I thought how witching the Story Girl's brown curls would
have looked twined with those brilliant clusters. Perhaps Cecily
was thinking of it, too, for she presently said,
"Bev, don't you think the Story Girl is changing somehow?"
"There are times--just times--when she seems to belong more among
the grown-ups than among us," I said, reluctantly, "especially
when she puts on her bridesmaid dress."
"Well, she's the oldest of us, and when you come to think of it,
she's fifteen,--that's almost grown-up," sighed Cecily. Then she
added, with sudden vehemence, "I hate the thought of any of us
growing up. Felicity says she just longs to be grown-up, but I
don't, not a bit. I wish I could just stay a little girl for
ever--and have you and Felix and all the others for playmates
right along. I don't know how it is--but whenever I think of
being grown-up I seem to feel tired."
Something about Cecily's speech--or the wistful look that had
crept into her sweet brown eyes--made me feel vaguely
uncomfortable; I was glad that we were at the end of our journey,
with Mr. Campbell's big house before us, and his dog sitting
gravely at the veranda steps.
"Oh, dear," said Cecily, with a shiver, "I'd been hoping that dog
wouldn't be around."
"He never bites," I assured her.
"Perhaps he doesn't, but he always looks as if he was going to,"
rejoined Cecily.
The dog continued to look, and, as we edged gingerly past him and
up the veranda steps, he turned his head and kept on looking.
What with Mr. Campbell before us and the dog behind, Cecily was
trembling with nervousness; but perhaps it was as well that the
dour brute was there, else I verily believe she would have turned
and fled shamelessly when we heard steps in the hall.
It was Mr. Campbell's housekeeper who came to the door, however;
she ushered us pleasantly into the sitting-room where Mr. Campbell
was reading. He laid down his book with a slight frown and said
nothing at all in response to our timid "good afternoon." But
after we had sat for a few minutes in wretched silence, wishing
ourselves a thousand miles away, he said, with a chuckle,
"Well, is it the school library again?"
Cecily had remarked as we were coming that what she dreaded most
of all was introducing the subject; but Mr. Campbell had given her
a splendid opening, and she plunged wildly in at once, rattling
her explanation off nervously with trembling voice and flushed
cheeks.
"No, it's our Mission Band autograph quilt, Mr. Campbell. There
are to be as many squares in it as there are members in the Band.
Each one has a square and is collecting names for it. If you want
to have your name on the quilt you pay five cents, and if you want
to have it right in the round spot in the middle of the square you
must pay ten cents. Then when we have got all the names we can we
will embroider them on the squares. The money is to go to the
little girl our Band is supporting in Korea. I heard that nobody
had asked you, so I thought perhaps you would give me your name
for my square."
Mr. Campbell drew his black brows together in a scowl.
"Stuff and nonsense!" he exclaimed angrily. "I don't believe in
Foreign Missions--don't believe in them at all. I never give a
cent to them."
"Five cents isn't a very large sum," said Cecily earnestly.
Mr. Campbell's scowl disappeared and he laughed.
"It wouldn't break me," he admitted, "but it's the principle of
the thing. And as for that Mission Band of yours, if it wasn't
for the fun you get out of it, catch one of you belonging. You
don't really care a rap more for the heathen than I do."
"Oh, we do," protested Cecily. "We do think of all the poor
little children in Korea, and we like to think we are helping
them, if it's ever so little. We ARE in earnest, Mr. Campbell--
indeed we are."
"Don't believe it--don't believe a word of it," said Mr. Campbell
impolitely. "You'll do things that are nice and interesting.
You'll get up concerts, and chase people about for autographs and
give money your parents give you and that doesn't cost you either
time or labour. But you wouldn't do anything you disliked for the
heathen children--you wouldn't make any real sacrifice for them--
catch you!"
"Indeed we would," cried Cecily, forgetting her timidity in her
zeal. "I just wish I had a chance to prove it to you."
"You do, eh? Come, now, I'll take you at your word. I'll test
you. Tomorrow is Communion Sunday and the church will be full of
folks and they'll all have their best clothes on. If you go to
church tomorrow in the very costume you have on at present,
without telling anyone why you do so, until it is all over, I'll
give you--why, I vow I'll give you five dollars for that quilt of
yours."
Poor Cecily! To go to church in a faded print dress, with a shabby
little old sun-hat and worn shoes! It was very cruel of Mr.
Campbell.
"I--I don't think mother would let me," she faltered.
Her tormentor smiled grimly.
"It's not hard to find some excuse," he said sarcastically.
Cecily crimsoned and sat up facing Mr. Campbell spunkily.
"It's NOT an excuse," she said. "If mother will let me go to
church like this I'll go. But I'll have to tell HER why, Mr.
Campbell, because I'm certain she'd never let me if I didn't."
"Oh, you can tell all your own family," said Mr. Campbell, "but
remember, none of them must tell it outside until Sunday is over.
If they do, I'll be sure to find it out and then our bargain is
off. If I see you in church tomorrow, dressed as you are now,
I'll give you my name and five dollars. But I won't see you.
You'll shrink when you've had time to think it over."
"I sha'n't," said Cecily resolutely.
"Well, we'll see. And now come out to the barn with me. I've got
the prettiest little drove of calves out there you ever saw. I
want you to see them."
Mr. Campbell took us all over his barns and was very affable. He
had beautiful horses, cows and sheep, and I enjoyed seeing them.
I don't think Cecily did, however. She was very quiet and even
Mr. Campbell's handsome new span of dappled grays failed to arouse
any enthusiasm in her. She was already in bitter anticipation
living over the martyrdom of the morrow. On the way home she
asked me seriously if I thought Mr. Campbell would go to heaven
when he died.
"Of course he will," I said. "Isn't he a member of the church?"
"Oh, yes, but I can't imagine him fitting into heaven. You know
he isn't really fond of anything but live stock."
"He's fond of teasing people, I guess," I responded. "Are you
really going to church to-morrow in that dress, Sis?"
"If mother'll let me I'll have to," said poor Cecily. "I won't
let Mr. Campbell triumph over me. And I DO want to have as many
names as Kitty has. And I DO want to help the poor little Korean
children. But it will be simply dreadful. I don't know whether I
hope mother will or not."
I did not believe she would, but Aunt Janet sometimes could be
depended on for the unexpected. She laughed and told Cecily she
could please herself. Felicity was in a rage over it, and
declared SHE wouldn't go to church if Cecily went in such a rig.
Dan sarcastically inquired if all she went to church for was to
show off her fine clothes and look at other people's; then they
quarrelled and didn't speak to each other for two days, much to
Cecily's distress.
I suspect poor Sis wished devoutly that it might rain the next
day; but it was gloriously fine. We were all waiting in the
orchard for the Story Girl who had not begun to dress for church
until Cecily and Felicity were ready. Felicity was her prettiest
in flower-trimmed hat, crisp muslin, floating ribbons and trim
black slippers. Poor Cecily stood beside her mute and pale, in
her faded school garb and heavy copper-toed boots. But her face,
if pale, was very determined. Cecily, having put her hand to the
plough, was not of those who turn back.
"You do look just awful," said Felicity. "I don't care--I'm going
to sit in Uncle James' pew. I WON'T sit with you. There will be
so many strangers there, and all the Markdale people, and what
will they think of you? Some of them will never know the reason,
either."
"I wish the Story Girl would hurry," was all poor Cecily said.
"We're going to be late. It wouldn't have been quite so hard if I
could have got there before anyone and slipped quietly into our
pew."
"Here she comes at last," said Dan. "Why--what's she got on?"
The Story Girl joined us with a quizzical smile on her face. Dan
whistled. Cecily's pale cheeks flushed with understanding and
gratitude. The Story Girl wore her school print dress and hat
also, and was gloveless and heavy shod.
"You're not going to have to go through this all alone, Cecily,"
she said.
"Oh, it won't be half so hard now," said Cecily, with a long
breath of relief.
I fancy it was hard enough even then. The Story Girl did not care
a whit, but Cecily rather squirmed under the curious glances that
were cast at her. She afterwards told me that she really did not
think she could have endured it if she had been alone.
Mr. Campbell met us under the elms in the churchyard, with a
twinkle in his eye.
"Well, you did it, Miss," he said to Cecily, "but you should have
been alone. That was what I meant. I suppose you think you've
cheated me nicely."
"No, she doesn't," spoke up the Story Girl undauntedly. "She was
all dressed and ready to come before she knew I was going to dress
the same way. So she kept her bargainfaithfully, Mr. Campbell,
and I think you were cruel to make her do it."
"You do, eh? Well, well, I hope you'll forgive me. I didn't
think she'd do it--I was sure femininevanity would win the day
over missionary zeal. It seems it didn't--though how much was
pure missionary zeal and how much just plain King spunk I'm
doubtful. I'll keep my promise, Miss. You shall have your five
dollars, and mind you put my name in the round space. No five-
cent corners for me."
CHAPTER XXIV
A TANTALIZING REVELATION
"I shall have something to tell you in the orchard this evening,"
said the Story Girl at breakfast one morning. Her eyes were very
bright and excited. She looked as if she had not slept a great
deal. She had spent the previous evening with Miss Reade and had
not returned until the rest of us were in bed. Miss Reade had
Then came a little valley overgrown with the pale purple bloom of
thistles and elusively haunted with their perfume. You say that
thistles have no perfume? Go you to a brook hollow where they grow
some late summer twilight at dewfall; and on the still air that
rises suddenly to meet you will come a waft of faint, aromatic
fragrance, wondrously sweet and evasive, the distillation of that
despised thistle bloom.
Beyond this the path wound through a forest of fir, where a wood
wind wove its murmurous spell and a wood brook dimpled pellucidly
among the shadows--the dear, companionable, elfin shadows--that
lurked under the low growing boughs. Along the edges of that
winding path grew banks of velvet green moss, starred with
clusters of pigeon berries. Pigeon berries are not to be eaten.
They are woolly, tasteless things. But they are to be looked at
in their glowing scarlet. They are the jewels with which the
forest of cone-bearers loves to deck its brown breast. Cecily
gathered some and pinned them on hers, but they did not become
her. I thought how witching the Story Girl's brown curls would
have looked twined with those brilliant clusters. Perhaps Cecily
was thinking of it, too, for she presently said,
"Bev, don't you think the Story Girl is changing somehow?"
"There are times--just times--when she seems to belong more among
the grown-ups than among us," I said, reluctantly, "especially
when she puts on her bridesmaid dress."
"Well, she's the oldest of us, and when you come to think of it,
she's fifteen,--that's almost grown-up," sighed Cecily. Then she
added, with sudden vehemence, "I hate the thought of any of us
growing up. Felicity says she just longs to be grown-up, but I
don't, not a bit. I wish I could just stay a little girl for
ever--and have you and Felix and all the others for playmates
right along. I don't know how it is--but whenever I think of
being grown-up I seem to feel tired."
Something about Cecily's speech--or the wistful look that had
crept into her sweet brown eyes--made me feel vaguely
uncomfortable; I was glad that we were at the end of our journey,
with Mr. Campbell's big house before us, and his dog sitting
gravely at the veranda steps.
"Oh, dear," said Cecily, with a shiver, "I'd been hoping that dog
wouldn't be around."
"He never bites," I assured her.
"Perhaps he doesn't, but he always looks as if he was going to,"
rejoined Cecily.
The dog continued to look, and, as we edged gingerly past him and
up the veranda steps, he turned his head and kept on looking.
What with Mr. Campbell before us and the dog behind, Cecily was
trembling with nervousness; but perhaps it was as well that the
dour brute was there, else I verily believe she would have turned
and fled shamelessly when we heard steps in the hall.
It was Mr. Campbell's housekeeper who came to the door, however;
she ushered us pleasantly into the sitting-room where Mr. Campbell
was reading. He laid down his book with a slight frown and said
nothing at all in response to our timid "good afternoon." But
after we had sat for a few minutes in wretched silence, wishing
ourselves a thousand miles away, he said, with a chuckle,
"Well, is it the school library again?"
Cecily had remarked as we were coming that what she dreaded most
of all was introducing the subject; but Mr. Campbell had given her
a splendid opening, and she plunged wildly in at once, rattling
her explanation off nervously with trembling voice and flushed
cheeks.
"No, it's our Mission Band autograph quilt, Mr. Campbell. There
are to be as many squares in it as there are members in the Band.
Each one has a square and is collecting names for it. If you want
to have your name on the quilt you pay five cents, and if you want
to have it right in the round spot in the middle of the square you
must pay ten cents. Then when we have got all the names we can we
will embroider them on the squares. The money is to go to the
little girl our Band is supporting in Korea. I heard that nobody
had asked you, so I thought perhaps you would give me your name
for my square."
Mr. Campbell drew his black brows together in a scowl.
"Stuff and nonsense!" he exclaimed angrily. "I don't believe in
Foreign Missions--don't believe in them at all. I never give a
cent to them."
"Five cents isn't a very large sum," said Cecily earnestly.
Mr. Campbell's scowl disappeared and he laughed.
"It wouldn't break me," he admitted, "but it's the principle of
the thing. And as for that Mission Band of yours, if it wasn't
for the fun you get out of it, catch one of you belonging. You
don't really care a rap more for the heathen than I do."
"Oh, we do," protested Cecily. "We do think of all the poor
little children in Korea, and we like to think we are helping
them, if it's ever so little. We ARE in earnest, Mr. Campbell--
indeed we are."
"Don't believe it--don't believe a word of it," said Mr. Campbell
impolitely. "You'll do things that are nice and interesting.
You'll get up concerts, and chase people about for autographs and
give money your parents give you and that doesn't cost you either
time or labour. But you wouldn't do anything you disliked for the
heathen children--you wouldn't make any real sacrifice for them--
catch you!"
"Indeed we would," cried Cecily, forgetting her timidity in her
zeal. "I just wish I had a chance to prove it to you."
"You do, eh? Come, now, I'll take you at your word. I'll test
you. Tomorrow is Communion Sunday and the church will be full of
folks and they'll all have their best clothes on. If you go to
church tomorrow in the very costume you have on at present,
without telling anyone why you do so, until it is all over, I'll
give you--why, I vow I'll give you five dollars for that quilt of
yours."
Poor Cecily! To go to church in a faded print dress, with a shabby
little old sun-hat and worn shoes! It was very cruel of Mr.
Campbell.
"I--I don't think mother would let me," she faltered.
Her tormentor smiled grimly.
"It's not hard to find some excuse," he said sarcastically.
Cecily crimsoned and sat up facing Mr. Campbell spunkily.
"It's NOT an excuse," she said. "If mother will let me go to
church like this I'll go. But I'll have to tell HER why, Mr.
Campbell, because I'm certain she'd never let me if I didn't."
"Oh, you can tell all your own family," said Mr. Campbell, "but
remember, none of them must tell it outside until Sunday is over.
If they do, I'll be sure to find it out and then our bargain is
off. If I see you in church tomorrow, dressed as you are now,
I'll give you my name and five dollars. But I won't see you.
You'll shrink when you've had time to think it over."
"I sha'n't," said Cecily resolutely.
"Well, we'll see. And now come out to the barn with me. I've got
the prettiest little drove of calves out there you ever saw. I
want you to see them."
Mr. Campbell took us all over his barns and was very affable. He
had beautiful horses, cows and sheep, and I enjoyed seeing them.
I don't think Cecily did, however. She was very quiet and even
Mr. Campbell's handsome new span of dappled grays failed to arouse
any enthusiasm in her. She was already in bitter anticipation
living over the martyrdom of the morrow. On the way home she
asked me seriously if I thought Mr. Campbell would go to heaven
when he died.
"Of course he will," I said. "Isn't he a member of the church?"
"Oh, yes, but I can't imagine him fitting into heaven. You know
he isn't really fond of anything but live stock."
"He's fond of teasing people, I guess," I responded. "Are you
really going to church to-morrow in that dress, Sis?"
"If mother'll let me I'll have to," said poor Cecily. "I won't
let Mr. Campbell triumph over me. And I DO want to have as many
names as Kitty has. And I DO want to help the poor little Korean
children. But it will be simply dreadful. I don't know whether I
hope mother will or not."
I did not believe she would, but Aunt Janet sometimes could be
depended on for the unexpected. She laughed and told Cecily she
could please herself. Felicity was in a rage over it, and
declared SHE wouldn't go to church if Cecily went in such a rig.
Dan sarcastically inquired if all she went to church for was to
show off her fine clothes and look at other people's; then they
quarrelled and didn't speak to each other for two days, much to
Cecily's distress.
I suspect poor Sis wished devoutly that it might rain the next
day; but it was gloriously fine. We were all waiting in the
orchard for the Story Girl who had not begun to dress for church
until Cecily and Felicity were ready. Felicity was her prettiest
in flower-trimmed hat, crisp muslin, floating ribbons and trim
black slippers. Poor Cecily stood beside her mute and pale, in
her faded school garb and heavy copper-toed boots. But her face,
if pale, was very determined. Cecily, having put her hand to the
plough, was not of those who turn back.
"You do look just awful," said Felicity. "I don't care--I'm going
to sit in Uncle James' pew. I WON'T sit with you. There will be
so many strangers there, and all the Markdale people, and what
will they think of you? Some of them will never know the reason,
either."
"I wish the Story Girl would hurry," was all poor Cecily said.
"We're going to be late. It wouldn't have been quite so hard if I
could have got there before anyone and slipped quietly into our
pew."
"Here she comes at last," said Dan. "Why--what's she got on?"
The Story Girl joined us with a quizzical smile on her face. Dan
whistled. Cecily's pale cheeks flushed with understanding and
gratitude. The Story Girl wore her school print dress and hat
also, and was gloveless and heavy shod.
"You're not going to have to go through this all alone, Cecily,"
she said.
"Oh, it won't be half so hard now," said Cecily, with a long
breath of relief.
I fancy it was hard enough even then. The Story Girl did not care
a whit, but Cecily rather squirmed under the curious glances that
were cast at her. She afterwards told me that she really did not
think she could have endured it if she had been alone.
Mr. Campbell met us under the elms in the churchyard, with a
twinkle in his eye.
"Well, you did it, Miss," he said to Cecily, "but you should have
been alone. That was what I meant. I suppose you think you've
cheated me nicely."
"No, she doesn't," spoke up the Story Girl undauntedly. "She was
all dressed and ready to come before she knew I was going to dress
the same way. So she kept her bargainfaithfully, Mr. Campbell,
and I think you were cruel to make her do it."
"You do, eh? Well, well, I hope you'll forgive me. I didn't
think she'd do it--I was sure femininevanity would win the day
over missionary zeal. It seems it didn't--though how much was
pure missionary zeal and how much just plain King spunk I'm
doubtful. I'll keep my promise, Miss. You shall have your five
dollars, and mind you put my name in the round space. No five-
cent corners for me."
CHAPTER XXIV
A TANTALIZING REVELATION
"I shall have something to tell you in the orchard this evening,"
said the Story Girl at breakfast one morning. Her eyes were very
bright and excited. She looked as if she had not slept a great
deal. She had spent the previous evening with Miss Reade and had
not returned until the rest of us were in bed. Miss Reade had
- valley [´væli]
n.谷；河谷；流域 (初中英语单词) - purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
- haunted [´hɔ:tid] a.常出现鬼的，闹鬼的 (初中英语单词)
- perfume [´pə:fju:m, pə´fju:m] n.香味 vt.使发香 (初中英语单词)
- twilight [´twailait] n.黎明；黄昏 (初中英语单词)
- velvet [´velvit] n.&a.天鹅绒(般的) (初中英语单词)
- pigeon [pidʒin] n.鸽子 (初中英语单词)
- scarlet [´skɑ:lit] n.猩红色 a.猩红的 (初中英语单词)
- brilliant [´briliənt] a.灿烂的；杰出的 (初中英语单词)
- presently [´prezəntli] ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词)
- grown-up [´grəun-ʌp] n.成年人 a.成熟的 (初中英语单词)
- whenever [wen´evə] conj.&ad.无论何时 (初中英语单词)
- shiver [´ʃivə] v.&n.(使)颤抖；碎片 (初中英语单词)
- reading [´ri:diŋ] n.(阅)读；朗读；读物 (初中英语单词)
- wretched [´retʃid] a.可怜的；倒霉的 (初中英语单词)
- opening [´əupəniŋ] n.开放；开端 a.开始的 (初中英语单词)
- explanation [,eksplə´neiʃən] n.解释；说明；辩解 (初中英语单词)
- mission [´miʃən] n.代表团；使馆vt.派遣 (初中英语单词)
- earnest [´ə:nist] a.认真的 n.认真；诚恳 (初中英语单词)
- costume [´kɔstju:m] n.服装(试样)；女装 (初中英语单词)
- bargain [´bɑ:gin] n.买卖合同 v.议(价) (初中英语单词)
- enthusiasm [in´θju:ziæzəm] n.热心；狂热；爱好 (初中英语单词)
- seriously [´siəriəsli] ad.严肃；严重，重大 (初中英语单词)
- triumph [´traiəmf] n.胜利 vi.得胜，战胜 (初中英语单词)
- dreadful [´dredful] a.可怕的；讨厌的 (初中英语单词)
- suspect [´sʌspekt, sə´spekt] v.怀疑；觉得 n.嫌疑犯 (初中英语单词)
- waiting [´weitiŋ] n.等候；伺候 (初中英语单词)
- forgive [fə´giv] vt.原谅，谅解，宽恕 (初中英语单词)
- vanity [´væniti] n.虚荣；自负；空虚 (初中英语单词)
- orchard [´ɔ:tʃəd] n.果园 (初中英语单词)
- previous [´pri:viəs] a.先，前，以前的 (初中英语单词)
- housekeeper [´haus,ki:pə] n.主妇，女管家 (高中英语单词)
- pleasantly [´plezntli] ad.令人愉快地；舒适地 (高中英语单词)
- response [ri´spɔns] n.回答；响应 (高中英语单词)
- embroider [im´brɔidə] v.刺绣；修饰；渲染 (高中英语单词)
- angrily [´æŋgrili] ad.生气地；愤怒地 (高中英语单词)
- heathen [´hi:ðən] n.异教徒 (高中英语单词)
- shrink [ʃriŋk] v.收缩；退缩；畏缩 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- unexpected [ʌniks´pektid] a.突然的；意外的 (高中英语单词)
- faithfully [´feiθfəli] ad.忠实地；诚恳地 (高中英语单词)
- missionary [´miʃənəri] a.传教(士)的 n.传教士 (高中英语单词)
- thistle [´θisəl] n.蓟 (英语四级单词)
- reluctantly [ri´lʌktəntli] a.不情愿地；勉强地 (英语四级单词)
- wistful [´wistfəl] a.渴望的；不满足的 (英语四级单词)
- veranda [və´rændə] n.游廊；阳台 (英语四级单词)
- verily [´verili] ad.真实的；肯定地 (英语四级单词)
- nervously [´nə:vəsli] ad.神经质地；胆怯地 (英语四级单词)
- communion [kə´mju:niən] n.共享；交流；圣餐 (英语四级单词)
- calves [kɑ:vz] calf的复数 (英语四级单词)
- morrow [´mɔrəu] n.翌日 (英语四级单词)
- muslin [´mʌzlin] n.平纹细布，薄纱织物 (英语四级单词)
- churchyard [´tʃə:tʃjɑ:d] n.教堂院子 (英语四级单词)
- feminine [´feminin] a.女性的 (英语四级单词)
- vehemence [´vi:iməns] n.激烈，猛烈；热烈 (英语六级单词)
- felicity [fi´lisiti] n.幸福；(措词)适当 (英语六级单词)
- assured [ə´ʃuəd] a.确实的 n.被保险人 (英语六级单词)
- martyrdom [´mɑ:tədəm] n.殉难；牺牲 (英语六级单词)
- fitting [´fitiŋ] a.适当的 n.试衣 (英语六级单词)
- gloriously [´glɔ:riəsli] ad.光荣地，辉煌地 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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