章节正文
realized that soon it would be able to spread them and sail away.
His long-coming soul sent up its first shivering cry.
"I don't know what it is! Oh, I wish I knew! How I wish I knew!
It must be something grand! It can't be a butterfly! It's away
too big. Oh, I wish there was someone to tell me what it is!"
He climbed on the locust post, and balancing himself with the wire,
held a finger in the line of the moth's advance up the twig.
It unhesitatingly climbed on, so he stepped to the path, holding
it to the light and examining it closely. Then he held it in the
shade and turned it, gloating over its markings and beautiful coloring.
When he held the moth to the limb, it climbed on, still waving those
magnificent wings.
"My, but I'd like to be staying with you!" he said. "But if I was
to stand here all day you couldn't grow any prettier than you are
right now, and I wouldn't grow smart enough to tell what you are.
I suppose there's someone who knows. Of course there is! Mr. McLean
said there were people who knew every leaf, bird, and flower in
the Limberlost. Oh Lord! How I wish You'd be telling me just this
one thing!"
The goldfinch had ventured back to the wire, for there was his
mate, only a few inches above the man-creature's head; and indeed,
he simply must not be allowed to look up, so the brave little
fellow rocked on the wire and piped, as he had done every day for
a week: "SEE ME? SEE ME?"
"See you! Of course I see you," growled Freckles. "I see you day
after day, and what good is it doing me? I might see you every
morning for a year, and then not be able to be telling anyone
about it. `Seen a bird with black silk wings--little, and yellow
as any canary.' That's as far as I'd get. What you doing here, anyway?
Have you a mate? What's your name? `See you?' I reckon I see you;
but I might as well be blind, for any good it's doing me!"
Freckles impatiently struck the wire. With a screech of fear, the
goldfinch fled precipitately. His mate arose from the nest with a
whirr--Freckles looked up and saw it.
"O--ho!" he cried. "So THAT'S what you are doing here! You have
a wife. And so close my head I have been mighty near wearing a bird
on my bonnet, and never knew it!"
Freckles laughed at his own jest, while in better humor he climbed
to examine the neat, tiny cradle and its contents. The hen darted
at him in a frenzy. "Now, where do you come in?" he demanded, when
he saw that she was not similar to the goldfinch.
"You be clearing out of here! This is none of your fry. This is the
nest of me little, yellow friend of the wire, and you shan't be
touching it. Don't blame you for wanting to see, though. My, but
it's a fine nest and beauties of eggs. Will you be keeping away, or
will I fire this stick at you?"
Freckles dropped to the trail. The hen darted to the nest and
settled on it with a tender, coddling movement. He of the yellow
coat flew to the edge to make sure that everything was right.
It would have been plain to the veriest novice that they were
partners in that cradle.
"Well, I'll be switched!" muttered Freckles. "If that ain't both
their nest! And he's yellow and she's green, or she's yellow and
he's green. Of course, I don't know, and I haven't any way to find
out, but it's plain as the nose on your face that they are both
ready to be fighting for that nest, so, of course, they belong.
Doesn't that beat you? Say, that's what's been sticking me all
of this week on that grass nest in the thorn tree down the line.
One day a blue bird is setting, so I think it is hers. The next day
a brown bird is on, and I chase it off because the nest is blue's.
Next day the brown bird is on again, and I let her be, because I
think it must be hers. Next day, be golly, blue's on, and off I
send her because it's brown's; and now, I bet my hat, it's both
their nest and I've only been bothering them and making a big fool
of mesilf. Pretty specimen I am, pretending to be a friend to the
birds, and so blamed ignorant I don't know which ones go in pairs,
and blue and brown are a pair, of course, if yellow and green
are--and there's the red birds! I never thought of them! He's red
and she's gray--and now I want to be knowing, are they all different?
Why no! Of course, they ain't! There's the jays all blue, and
the crows all black."
The tide of Freckles' discontent welled until he almost choked with
anger and chagrin. He plodded down the trail, scowling blackly and
viciously spanging the wire. At the finches' nest he left the line
and peered into the thorn tree. There was no bird brooding.
He pressed closer to take a peep at the snowy, spotless little eggs
he had found so beautiful, when at the slight noise up raised four
tiny baby heads with wide-open mouths, uttering hunger cries.
Freckles stepped back. The brown bird alighted on the edge and
closed one cavity with a wiggling green worm, while not two minutes
later the blue filled another with a white. That settled it.
The blue and brown were mates. Once again Freckles repeated his
"How I wish I knew!"
Around the bridge spanning Sleepy Snake Creek the swale spread
widely, the timber was scattering, and willows, rushes, marsh-
grass, and splendid wild flowers grew abundantly. Here lazy,
big, black water snakes, for which the creek was named, sunned on
the bushes, wild ducks and grebe chattered, cranes and herons
fished, and muskrats plowed the bank in queer, rolling furrows.
It was always a place full of interest, so Freckles loved to linger on
the bridge, watching the marsh and water people. He also transacted
affairs of importance with the wild flowers and sweet marsh-grass.
He enjoyed splashing through the shallow pools on either side of
the bridge.
Then, too, where the creek entered the swamp was a place of
unusual beauty. The water spread in darksome, mossy, green pools.
Water-plants and lilies grew luxuriantly, throwing up large, rank,
green leaves. Nowhere else in the Limberlost could be found
frog-music to equal that of the mouth of the creek. The drumming
and piping rolled in never-ending orchestral effect, while the full
chorus rang to its accompaniment throughout the season.
Freckles slowly followed the path leading from the bridge to
the line. It was the one spot at which he might relax his vigilance.
The boldest timber thief the swamp ever had known would not have
attempted to enter it by the mouth of the creek, on account of the
water and because there was no protection from surrounding trees.
He was bending the rank grass with his cudgel, and thinking of the
shade the denser swamp afforded, when he suddenly dodged sidewise;
the cudgelwhistled sharply through the air and Freckles sprang back.
From the clear sky above him, first level with his face, then skimming,
dipping, tilting, whirling until it struck, quill down, in the path
in front of him, came a glossy, iridescent, big black feather. As it
touched the ground, Freckles snatched it up with almost a continuous
movement facing the sky. There was not a tree of any size in a
large open space. There was no wind to carry it. From the clear sky
it had fallen, and Freckles, gazing eagerly into the arch of June
blue with a few lazy clouds floating high in the sea of ether,
had neither mind nor knowledge to dream of a bird hanging as if
frozen there. He turned the big quill questioningly, and again
his awed eyes swept the sky.
"A feather dropped from Heaven!" he breathed reverently. "Are the
holy angels moulting? But no; if they were, it would be white.
Maybe all the angels are not for being white. What if the angels of
God are white and those of the devil are black? But a black one has
no business up there. Maybe some poor black angel is so tired of
being punished it's for slipping to the gates, beating its wings
trying to make the Master hear!"
Again and again Freckles searched the sky, but there was no
answering gleam of golden gates, no form of sailing bird; then he
went slowly on his way, turning the feather and wondering about it.
It was a wing quill, eighteen inches in length, with a heavy spine,
gray at the base, shading to jet black at the tip, and it caught the
play of the sun's rays in slanting gleams of green and bronze.
Again Freckles' "old man of the sea" sat sullen and heavy on his
shoulders and weighted him down until his step lagged and his
heart ached.
"Where did it come from? What is it? Oh, how I wish I knew!" he
kept repeating as he turned and studied the feather, with almost
unseeing eyes, so intently was he thinking.
Before him spread a large, green pool, filled with rotting logs and
leaves, bordered with delicate ferns and grasses among which lifted
the creamy spikes of the arrow-head, the blue of water-hyacinth,
and the delicate yellow of the jewel-flower. As Freckles leaned,
handling the feather and staring at it, then into the depths of the
pool, he once more gave voice to his old query: "I wonder what it is!"
Straight across from him, couched in the mosses of a soggy old log,
a big green bullfrog, with palpitant throat and batting eyes,
lifted his head and bellowed in answer. "FIN' DOUT! FIN' DOUT!"
"Wha--what's that?" stammered Freckles, almost too much bewildered
to speak. "I--I know you are only a bullfrog, but, be jabbers, that
sounded mightily like speech. Wouldn't you please to be saying it over?"
The bullfrog cuddled contentedly in the ooze. Then suddenly he
lifted his voice, and, as an imperative drumbeat, rolled it again:
"FIN' DOUT! FIN' DOUT! FIN DOUT!"
Freckles had the answer. Something seemed to snap in his brain.
There was a wavering flame before his eyes. Then his mind cleared.
His head lifted in a new poise, his shoulders squared, while his
spine straightened. The agony was over. His soul floated free.
Freckles came into his birthright.
"Before God, I will!" He uttered the oath so impressively that the
recording angel never winced as he posted it in the prayer column.
Freckles set his hat over the top of one of the locust posts used
between trees to hold up the wire while he fastened the feather
securely in the band. Then he started down the line, talking to
himself as men who have worked long alone always fall into the
habit of doing.
"What a fool I have been!" he muttered. "Of course that's what I
have to do! There wouldn't likely anybody be doing it for me.
Of course I can! What am I a man for? If I was a four-footed thing
of the swamp, maybe I couldn't; but a man can do anything if he's
the grit to work hard enough and stick at it, Mr. McLean is always
saying, and here's the way I am to do it. He said, too, that there
were people that knew everything in the swamp. Of course they have
written books! The thing for me to be doing is to quit moping and be
buying some. Never bought a book in me life, or anything else of much
account, for that matter. Oh, ain't I glad I didn't waste me money!
I'll surely be having enough to get a few. Let me see."
Freckles sat on a log, took his pencil and account-book, and
figured on a back page. He had walked the timber-line ten months.
His pay was thirty dollars a month, and his board cost him eight.
That left twenty-two dollars a month, and his clothing had cost him
very little. At the least he had two hundred dollars in the bank.
He drew a deep breath and smiled at the sky with satisfaction.
"I'll be having a book about all the birds, trees, flowers,
butterflies, and----Yes, by gummy! I'll be having one about the
frogs--if it takes every cent I have," he promised himself.
He put away the account-book, that was his most cherished
possession, caught up his stick, and started down the line.
The even tap, tap, and the cheery, gladsome whistle carried
far ahead of him the message that Freckles was himself again.
He fell into a rapid pace, for he had lost time that morning; when
he rounded the last curve he was almost running. There was a chance
that the Boss might be there for his weekly report.
Then, wavering, flickering, darting here and there over the sweet
marsh-grass, came a large black shadow, sweeping so closely before
him that for the second time that morning Freckles dodged and
sprang back. He had seen some owls and hawks of the swamp that he
thought might be classed as large birds, but never anything like
this, for six feet it spread its big, shining wings. Its strong
feet could be seen drawn among its feathers. The sun glinted on its
sharp, hooked beak. Its eyes glowed, caught the light, and seemed
His long-coming soul sent up its first shivering cry.
"I don't know what it is! Oh, I wish I knew! How I wish I knew!
It must be something grand! It can't be a butterfly! It's away
too big. Oh, I wish there was someone to tell me what it is!"
He climbed on the locust post, and balancing himself with the wire,
held a finger in the line of the moth's advance up the twig.
It unhesitatingly climbed on, so he stepped to the path, holding
it to the light and examining it closely. Then he held it in the
shade and turned it, gloating over its markings and beautiful coloring.
When he held the moth to the limb, it climbed on, still waving those
magnificent wings.
"My, but I'd like to be staying with you!" he said. "But if I was
to stand here all day you couldn't grow any prettier than you are
right now, and I wouldn't grow smart enough to tell what you are.
I suppose there's someone who knows. Of course there is! Mr. McLean
said there were people who knew every leaf, bird, and flower in
the Limberlost. Oh Lord! How I wish You'd be telling me just this
one thing!"
The goldfinch had ventured back to the wire, for there was his
mate, only a few inches above the man-creature's head; and indeed,
he simply must not be allowed to look up, so the brave little
fellow rocked on the wire and piped, as he had done every day for
a week: "SEE ME? SEE ME?"
"See you! Of course I see you," growled Freckles. "I see you day
after day, and what good is it doing me? I might see you every
morning for a year, and then not be able to be telling anyone
about it. `Seen a bird with black silk wings--little, and yellow
as any canary.' That's as far as I'd get. What you doing here, anyway?
Have you a mate? What's your name? `See you?' I reckon I see you;
but I might as well be blind, for any good it's doing me!"
Freckles impatiently struck the wire. With a screech of fear, the
goldfinch fled precipitately. His mate arose from the nest with a
whirr--Freckles looked up and saw it.
"O--ho!" he cried. "So THAT'S what you are doing here! You have
a wife. And so close my head I have been mighty near wearing a bird
on my bonnet, and never knew it!"
Freckles laughed at his own jest, while in better humor he climbed
to examine the neat, tiny cradle and its contents. The hen darted
at him in a frenzy. "Now, where do you come in?" he demanded, when
he saw that she was not similar to the goldfinch.
"You be clearing out of here! This is none of your fry. This is the
nest of me little, yellow friend of the wire, and you shan't be
touching it. Don't blame you for wanting to see, though. My, but
it's a fine nest and beauties of eggs. Will you be keeping away, or
will I fire this stick at you?"
Freckles dropped to the trail. The hen darted to the nest and
settled on it with a tender, coddling movement. He of the yellow
coat flew to the edge to make sure that everything was right.
It would have been plain to the veriest novice that they were
partners in that cradle.
"Well, I'll be switched!" muttered Freckles. "If that ain't both
their nest! And he's yellow and she's green, or she's yellow and
he's green. Of course, I don't know, and I haven't any way to find
out, but it's plain as the nose on your face that they are both
ready to be fighting for that nest, so, of course, they belong.
Doesn't that beat you? Say, that's what's been sticking me all
of this week on that grass nest in the thorn tree down the line.
One day a blue bird is setting, so I think it is hers. The next day
a brown bird is on, and I chase it off because the nest is blue's.
Next day the brown bird is on again, and I let her be, because I
think it must be hers. Next day, be golly, blue's on, and off I
send her because it's brown's; and now, I bet my hat, it's both
their nest and I've only been bothering them and making a big fool
of mesilf. Pretty specimen I am, pretending to be a friend to the
birds, and so blamed ignorant I don't know which ones go in pairs,
and blue and brown are a pair, of course, if yellow and green
are--and there's the red birds! I never thought of them! He's red
and she's gray--and now I want to be knowing, are they all different?
Why no! Of course, they ain't! There's the jays all blue, and
the crows all black."
The tide of Freckles' discontent welled until he almost choked with
anger and chagrin. He plodded down the trail, scowling blackly and
viciously spanging the wire. At the finches' nest he left the line
and peered into the thorn tree. There was no bird brooding.
He pressed closer to take a peep at the snowy, spotless little eggs
he had found so beautiful, when at the slight noise up raised four
tiny baby heads with wide-open mouths, uttering hunger cries.
Freckles stepped back. The brown bird alighted on the edge and
closed one cavity with a wiggling green worm, while not two minutes
later the blue filled another with a white. That settled it.
The blue and brown were mates. Once again Freckles repeated his
"How I wish I knew!"
Around the bridge spanning Sleepy Snake Creek the swale spread
widely, the timber was scattering, and willows, rushes, marsh-
grass, and splendid wild flowers grew abundantly. Here lazy,
big, black water snakes, for which the creek was named, sunned on
the bushes, wild ducks and grebe chattered, cranes and herons
fished, and muskrats plowed the bank in queer, rolling furrows.
It was always a place full of interest, so Freckles loved to linger on
the bridge, watching the marsh and water people. He also transacted
affairs of importance with the wild flowers and sweet marsh-grass.
He enjoyed splashing through the shallow pools on either side of
the bridge.
Then, too, where the creek entered the swamp was a place of
unusual beauty. The water spread in darksome, mossy, green pools.
Water-plants and lilies grew luxuriantly, throwing up large, rank,
green leaves. Nowhere else in the Limberlost could be found
frog-music to equal that of the mouth of the creek. The drumming
and piping rolled in never-ending orchestral effect, while the full
chorus rang to its accompaniment throughout the season.
Freckles slowly followed the path leading from the bridge to
the line. It was the one spot at which he might relax his vigilance.
The boldest timber thief the swamp ever had known would not have
attempted to enter it by the mouth of the creek, on account of the
water and because there was no protection from surrounding trees.
He was bending the rank grass with his cudgel, and thinking of the
shade the denser swamp afforded, when he suddenly dodged sidewise;
the cudgelwhistled sharply through the air and Freckles sprang back.
From the clear sky above him, first level with his face, then skimming,
dipping, tilting, whirling until it struck, quill down, in the path
in front of him, came a glossy, iridescent, big black feather. As it
touched the ground, Freckles snatched it up with almost a continuous
movement facing the sky. There was not a tree of any size in a
large open space. There was no wind to carry it. From the clear sky
it had fallen, and Freckles, gazing eagerly into the arch of June
blue with a few lazy clouds floating high in the sea of ether,
had neither mind nor knowledge to dream of a bird hanging as if
frozen there. He turned the big quill questioningly, and again
his awed eyes swept the sky.
"A feather dropped from Heaven!" he breathed reverently. "Are the
holy angels moulting? But no; if they were, it would be white.
Maybe all the angels are not for being white. What if the angels of
God are white and those of the devil are black? But a black one has
no business up there. Maybe some poor black angel is so tired of
being punished it's for slipping to the gates, beating its wings
trying to make the Master hear!"
Again and again Freckles searched the sky, but there was no
answering gleam of golden gates, no form of sailing bird; then he
went slowly on his way, turning the feather and wondering about it.
It was a wing quill, eighteen inches in length, with a heavy spine,
gray at the base, shading to jet black at the tip, and it caught the
play of the sun's rays in slanting gleams of green and bronze.
Again Freckles' "old man of the sea" sat sullen and heavy on his
shoulders and weighted him down until his step lagged and his
heart ached.
"Where did it come from? What is it? Oh, how I wish I knew!" he
kept repeating as he turned and studied the feather, with almost
unseeing eyes, so intently was he thinking.
Before him spread a large, green pool, filled with rotting logs and
leaves, bordered with delicate ferns and grasses among which lifted
the creamy spikes of the arrow-head, the blue of water-hyacinth,
and the delicate yellow of the jewel-flower. As Freckles leaned,
handling the feather and staring at it, then into the depths of the
pool, he once more gave voice to his old query: "I wonder what it is!"
Straight across from him, couched in the mosses of a soggy old log,
a big green bullfrog, with palpitant throat and batting eyes,
lifted his head and bellowed in answer. "FIN' DOUT! FIN' DOUT!"
"Wha--what's that?" stammered Freckles, almost too much bewildered
to speak. "I--I know you are only a bullfrog, but, be jabbers, that
sounded mightily like speech. Wouldn't you please to be saying it over?"
The bullfrog cuddled contentedly in the ooze. Then suddenly he
lifted his voice, and, as an imperative drumbeat, rolled it again:
"FIN' DOUT! FIN' DOUT! FIN DOUT!"
Freckles had the answer. Something seemed to snap in his brain.
There was a wavering flame before his eyes. Then his mind cleared.
His head lifted in a new poise, his shoulders squared, while his
spine straightened. The agony was over. His soul floated free.
Freckles came into his birthright.
"Before God, I will!" He uttered the oath so impressively that the
recording angel never winced as he posted it in the prayer column.
Freckles set his hat over the top of one of the locust posts used
between trees to hold up the wire while he fastened the feather
securely in the band. Then he started down the line, talking to
himself as men who have worked long alone always fall into the
habit of doing.
"What a fool I have been!" he muttered. "Of course that's what I
have to do! There wouldn't likely anybody be doing it for me.
Of course I can! What am I a man for? If I was a four-footed thing
of the swamp, maybe I couldn't; but a man can do anything if he's
the grit to work hard enough and stick at it, Mr. McLean is always
saying, and here's the way I am to do it. He said, too, that there
were people that knew everything in the swamp. Of course they have
written books! The thing for me to be doing is to quit moping and be
buying some. Never bought a book in me life, or anything else of much
account, for that matter. Oh, ain't I glad I didn't waste me money!
I'll surely be having enough to get a few. Let me see."
Freckles sat on a log, took his pencil and account-book, and
figured on a back page. He had walked the timber-line ten months.
His pay was thirty dollars a month, and his board cost him eight.
That left twenty-two dollars a month, and his clothing had cost him
very little. At the least he had two hundred dollars in the bank.
He drew a deep breath and smiled at the sky with satisfaction.
"I'll be having a book about all the birds, trees, flowers,
butterflies, and----Yes, by gummy! I'll be having one about the
frogs--if it takes every cent I have," he promised himself.
He put away the account-book, that was his most cherished
possession, caught up his stick, and started down the line.
The even tap, tap, and the cheery, gladsome whistle carried
far ahead of him the message that Freckles was himself again.
He fell into a rapid pace, for he had lost time that morning; when
he rounded the last curve he was almost running. There was a chance
that the Boss might be there for his weekly report.
Then, wavering, flickering, darting here and there over the sweet
marsh-grass, came a large black shadow, sweeping so closely before
him that for the second time that morning Freckles dodged and
sprang back. He had seen some owls and hawks of the swamp that he
thought might be classed as large birds, but never anything like
this, for six feet it spread its big, shining wings. Its strong
feet could be seen drawn among its feathers. The sun glinted on its
sharp, hooked beak. Its eyes glowed, caught the light, and seemed
- reckon [´rekən]
v.计算；认为；估计 (初中英语单词) - cradle [´kreidl] n.摇篮；发源地 (初中英语单词)
- contents [´kɔ:ntents] n.容纳物；要旨 (初中英语单词)
- movement [´mu:vmənt] n.活动；运动；动作 (初中英语单词)
- ignorant [´ignərənt] a.无知的，愚昧的 (初中英语单词)
- knowing [´nəuiŋ] a.会意的，心照不宣的 (初中英语单词)
- hunger [´hʌŋgə] n.饥饿；渴望 (初中英语单词)
- timber [´timbə] n.木材；木料；横梁 (初中英语单词)
- linger [´liŋgə] v.逗留；留恋；拖延 (初中英语单词)
- shallow [´ʃæləu] a.肤浅的；表面的 (初中英语单词)
- account [ə´kaunt] vi.说明 vt.认为 n.帐目 (初中英语单词)
- protection [prə´tekʃən] n.警戒；护照；通行证 (初中英语单词)
- sharply [´ʃɑ:pli] ad.锋利地；剧烈地 (初中英语单词)
- sprang [spræŋ] spring 的过去式 (初中英语单词)
- feather [´feðə] n.羽毛 (初中英语单词)
- eagerly [´i:gəli] ad.渴望地，急切地 (初中英语单词)
- delicate [´delikət] a.精美的；微妙的 (初中英语单词)
- throat [θrəut] n.咽喉；嗓子；出入口 (初中英语单词)
- breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
- whistle [´wisəl] v.吹哨 n.口哨；汽笛 (初中英语单词)
- running [´rʌniŋ] a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词)
- weekly [´wi:kli] a.&ad.每周一次(的) (初中英语单词)
- hooked [hukt] a.钩状的；上瘾的 (初中英语单词)
- mighty [´maiti] a.强有力的 ad.很 (高中英语单词)
- bonnet [´bɔnit] n.无边女帽；童帽 (高中英语单词)
- specimen [´spesimən] n.标本，样品；抽样 (高中英语单词)
- discontent [´diskən´tent] n.&a.不满(平)(的) (高中英语单词)
- cavity [´kæviti] n.洞，窝；(人体)腔 (高中英语单词)
- repeated [ri´pi:tid] a.反复的；重复的 (高中英语单词)
- sleepy [´sli:pi] a.困的，想睡的 (高中英语单词)
- nowhere [´nəuweə] n.无处；不知道 (高中英语单词)
- surrounding [sə´raundiŋ] n.周围的事物 (高中英语单词)
- hanging [´hæŋiŋ] n.绞刑 a.悬挂着的 (高中英语单词)
- sullen [´sʌlən] a.不高兴的 (高中英语单词)
- studied [´stʌdid] a.故意的；有计划的 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- sweeping [´swi:piŋ] a.掠过的 n.扫除；清除 (高中英语单词)
- locust [´ləukəst] n.蝗虫 (英语四级单词)
- impatiently [im´peiʃəntli] ad.不耐烦地，急躁地 (英语四级单词)
- screech [skri:tʃ] v.&n.尖叫(声) (英语四级单词)
- frenzy [´frenzi] n.&vt.(使)狂乱 (英语四级单词)
- clearing [´kliəriŋ] n.(森林中的)空旷地 (英语四级单词)
- setting [´setiŋ] n.安装；排字；布景 (英语四级单词)
- bridge [bridʒ] n.桥(梁)；鼻梁；桥牌 (英语四级单词)
- accompaniment [ə´kʌmpənimənt] n.伴随物；伴奏(唱) (英语四级单词)
- intently [in´tentli] ad.专心地 (英语四级单词)
- imperative [im´perətiv] a.紧急的 n.命令式 (英语四级单词)
- cheery [´tʃiəri] a.愉快的；活泼的 (英语四级单词)
- wanting [´wɔntiŋ, wɑ:n-] a.短缺的；不足的 (英语六级单词)
- novice [´nɔvis] n.新手；初学者 (英语六级单词)
- chagrin [´ʃægrin] n.悔恨，懊恼，委曲 (英语六级单词)
- cudgel [´kʌdʒəl] n.短棍，棒 vt.棒打 (英语六级单词)
- glossy [´glɔsi] a.光滑的，有光泽的 (英语六级单词)
- iridescent [,iri´desənt] a.彩虹的 (英语六级单词)
- beating [´bi:tiŋ] n.敲；搅打；失败 (英语六级单词)
- creamy [´kri:mi] a.含奶油的；米色的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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