章节正文
came a gintleman, and we got into a little heated argument.
It's either settled, or it's just begun, but between us, I'm that
late I haven't started for the afternoon yet. I must be going
at once, for there's a tree I must find before the day's over."
"You plucky little idiot," growled McLean. "You can't walk the line!
I doubt if you can reach Duncan's. Don't you know when you are
done up? You go to bed; I'll finish your work."
"Niver!" protested Freckles. "I was just a little done up for the
prisint, a minute ago. I'm all right now. Riding-boots are far
too low. The day's hot and the walk a good seven miles, sir. Niver!"
As he reached for the outfit he pitched forward and his eyes closed.
McLean stretched him on the moss and applied restoratives.
When Freckles returned to consciousness, McLean ran to the cabin to
tell Mrs. Duncan to have a hot bath ready, and to bring Nellie.
That worthy woman promptly filled the wash-boiler, starting a
roaring fire under it. She pushed the horse-trough from its base
and rolled it to the kitchen.
By the time McLean came again, leading Nelie and holding Freckles
on her back, Mrs. Duncan was ready for business. She and the Boss
laid Freckles in the trough and poured on hot water until he squirmed.
They soaked and massaged him. Then they drew off the hot water and
closed his pores with cold. Lastly they stretched him on the floor
and chafed, rubbed, and kneaded him until he cried out for mercy.
As they rolled him into bed, his eyes dropped shut, but a little
later they flared open.
"Mr. McLean," he cried, "the tree! Oh, do be looking after the tree!"
McLean bent over him. "Which tree, Freckles?"
"I don't know exact" sir; but it's on the east line, and the wire
is fastened to it. He bragged that you nailed it yourself, sir.
You'll know it by the bark having been laid open to the grain
somewhere low down. Five hundred dollars he offered me--to be--
selling you out--sir!"
Freckles' head rolled over and his eyes dropped shut. McLean towered
above the lad. His bright hair waved on the pillow. His face was
swollen, and purple with bruises. His left arm, with the hand
battered almost out of shape, stretched beside him, and the right,
with no hand at all, lay across a chest that was a mass of purple welts.
McLean's mind traveled to the night, almost a year before, when he
had engaged Freckles, a stranger.
The Boss bent, covering the hurt arm with one hand and laying the
other with a caress on the boy's forehead. Freckles stirred at his
touch, and whispered as softly as the swallows under the eaves:
"If you're coming this way--tomorrow--be pleased to step over--
and we'll repate--the chorussoftly!"
"Bless the gritty devil," muttered McLean.
Then he went out and told Mrs. Duncan to keep close watch on
Freckles, also to send Duncan to him at the swamp the minute he
came home. Following the trail to the line and back to the scent
of the fight, the Boss entered Freckles' study quietly, as if his
spirit, keeping there, might be roused, and gazed around with
astonished eyes.
How had the boy conceived it? What a picture he had wrought in
living colors! He had the heart of a painter. He had the soul of
a poet. The Boss stepped carefully over the velvetcarpet to touch
the walls of crisp verdure with gentle fingers. He stood long
beside the flower bed, and gazed at the banked wall of bright bloom
as if he doubted its reality.
Where had Freckles ever found, and how had he transplanted
such ferns? As McLean turned from them he stopped suddenly.
He had reached the door of the cathedral. That which Freckles had
attempted would have been patent to anyone. What had been in the
heart of the shy, silent boy when he had found that long, dim
stretch of forest, decorated its entrance, cleared and smoothed
its aisle, and carpeted its altar? What veriest work of God was
in these mighty living pillars and the arched dome of green!
How similar to stained cathedral windows were the long openings
between the trees, filled with rifts of blue, rays of gold, and the
shifting emerald of leaves! Where could be found mosaics to match
this aisle paved with living color and glowing light? Was Freckles
a devout Christian, and did he worship here? Or was he an untaught
heathen, and down this vista of entrancing loveliness did Pan come
piping, and dryads, nymphs, and fairies dance for him?
Who can fathom the heart of a boy? McLean had been thinking of
Freckles as a creature of unswerving honesty, courage, and
faithfulness. Here was evidence of a heart aching for beauty, art,
companionship, worship. It was writ large all over the floor,
walls, and furnishing of that little Limberlost clearing.
When Duncan came, McLean told him the story of the fight, and they
laughed until they cried. Then they started around the line in
search of the tree.
Said Duncan: "Now the boy is in for sore trouble!"
"I hope not," answered McLean. "You never in all your life saw a
cur whipped so completely. He won't come back for the repetition of
the chorus. We surely can find the tree. If we can't, Freckles can.
I will bring enough of the gang to take it out at once. That will
insure peace for a time, at least, and I am hoping that in a month
more the whole gang may be moved here. It soon will be fall, and
then, if he will go, I intend to send Freckles to my mother to
be educated. With his quickness of mind and body and a few years'
good help he can do anything. Why, Duncan, I'd give a hundred-
dollar bill if you could have been here and seen for yourself."
"Yes, and I'd `a' done murder," muttered the big teamster. "I hope,
sir, ye will make good your plans for Freckles, though I'd as soon
see ony born child o' my ain taken from our home. We love the lad,
me and Sarah."
Locating the tree was easy, because it was so well identified.
When the rumble of the big lumber wagons passing the cabin on the
way to the swamp wakened Freckles next morning, he sprang up and
was soon following them. He was so sore and stiff that every
movement was torture at first, but he grew easier, and shortly did
not suffer so much. McLean scolded him for coming, yet in his
heart triumphed over every new evidence of fineness in the boy.
The tree was a giant maple, and so precious that they almost dug it
out by the roots. When it was down, cut in lengths, and loaded,
there was yet an empty wagon. As they were gathering up their tools
to go, Duncan said: "There's a big hollow tree somewhere mighty
close here that I've been wanting for a watering-trough for my
stock; the one I have is so small. The Portland company cut this
for elm butts last year, and it's six feet diameter and hollow for
forty feet. It was a buster! While the men are here and there is an
empty wagon, why mightn't I load it on and tak' it up to the barn
as we pass?"
McLean said he was very willing, ordered the driver to break line
and load the log, detailing men to assist. He told Freckles to ride
on a section of the maple with him, but now the boy asked to enter
the swamp with Duncan.
"I don't see why you want to go," said McLean. "I have no business
to let you out today at all."
"It's me chickens," whispered Freckles in distress. "You see, I was
just after findingyesterday, from me new book, how they do be
nesting in hollow trees, and there ain't any too many in the swamp.
There's just a chance that they might be in that one."
"Go ahead," said McLean. "That's a different story. If they happen
to be there, why tell Duncan he must give up the tree until they
have finished with it."
Then he climbed on a wagon and was driven away. Freckles hurried
into the swamp. He was a little behind, yet he could see the men.
Before he overtook them, they had turned from the west road and had
entered the swamp toward the east.
They stopped at the trunk of a monstrousprostrate log. It had been
cut three feet from the ground, over three-fourths of the way
through, and had fallen toward the east, the body of the log still
resting on the stump. The underbrush was almost impenetrable, but
Duncan plunged in and with a crowbar began tapping along the trunk
to decide how far it was hollow, so that they would know where to cut.
As they waited his decision, there came from the mouth of it--on
wings--a large black bird that swept over their heads.
Freckles danced wildly. "It's me chickens! Oh, it's me chickens!"
he shouted. "Oh, Duncan, come quick! You've found the nest of me
precious chickens!"
Duncan hurried to the mouth of the log, but Freckles was before him.
He crashed through poison-vines and underbrushregardless of any
danger, and climbed on the stump. When Duncan came he was shouting
like a wild man.
"It's hatched!" he yelled. "Oh, me big chicken has hatched out me
little chicken, and there's another egg. I can see it plain, and
oh, the funny little white baby! Oh, Duncan, can you see me little
white chicken?"
Duncan could easily see it; so could everyone else. Freckles crept
into the log and tenderly carried the hissing, blinking little bird
to the light in a leaf-lined hat. The men found it sufficiently
wonderful to satisfy even Freckles, who had forgotten he was ever
sore or stiff, and coddled over it with every blarneying term of
endearment he knew.
Duncan gathered his tools. "Deal's off, boys!" he said cheerfully.
"This log mauna be touched until Freckles' chaukies have finished
with it. We might as weel gang. Better put it back, Freckles.
It's just out, and it may chill. Ye will probably hae twa the morn."
Freckles crept into the log and carefully deposited the baby beside
the egg. When he came back, he said: "I made a big mistake not to
be bringing the egg out with the baby, but I was fearing to touch it.
It's shaped like a hen's egg, and it's big as a turkey's, and the
beautifulest blue--just splattered with big brown splotches,
like me book said, precise. Bet you never saw such a sight as it
made on the yellow of the rotten wood beside that funny
leathery-faced little white baby."
"Tell you what, Freckles," said one of the teamsters. "Have you
ever heard of this Bird Woman who goes all over the country with a
camera and makes pictures? She made some on my brother Jim's place
last summer, and Jim's so wild about them he quits plowing and goes
after her about every nest he finds. He helps her all he can to
take them, and then she gives him a picture. Jim's so proud of what
he has he keeps them in the Bible. He shows them to everybody that
comes, and brags about how he helped. If you're smart, you'll send
for her and she'll come and make a picture just like life. If you
help her, she will give you one. It would be uncommon pretty to
keep, after your birds are gone. I dunno what they are. I never see
their like before. They must be something rare. Any you fellows
ever see a bird like that hereabouts?"
No one ever had.
"Well," said the teamster, "failing to get this log lets me off
till noon, and I'm going to town. I go right past her place.
I've a big notion to stop and tell her. If she drives straight
back in the swamp on the west road, and turns east at this big
sycamore, she can't miss finding the tree, even if Freckles ain't
here to show her. Jim says her work is a credit to the State she
lives in, and any man is a measly creature who isn't willing to
help her all he can. My old daddy used to say that all there was
to religion was doing to the other fellow what you'd want him to
do to you, and if I was making a living taking bird pictures,
seems to me I'd be mighty glad for a chance to take one like that.
So I'll just stop and tell her, and by gummy! maybe she will give
me a picture of the little white sucker for my trouble."
Freckles touched his arm.
"Will she be rough with it?" he asked.
"Government land! No!" said the teamster. "She's dead down on
anybody that shoots a bird or tears up a nest. Why, she's half
killing herself in all kinds of places and weather to teach people
to love and protect the birds. She's that plum careful of them that
Jim's wife says she has Jim a standin' like a big fool holding an
ombrelly over them when they are young and tender until she gets a
It's either settled, or it's just begun, but between us, I'm that
late I haven't started for the afternoon yet. I must be going
at once, for there's a tree I must find before the day's over."
"You plucky little idiot," growled McLean. "You can't walk the line!
I doubt if you can reach Duncan's. Don't you know when you are
done up? You go to bed; I'll finish your work."
"Niver!" protested Freckles. "I was just a little done up for the
prisint, a minute ago. I'm all right now. Riding-boots are far
too low. The day's hot and the walk a good seven miles, sir. Niver!"
As he reached for the outfit he pitched forward and his eyes closed.
McLean stretched him on the moss and applied restoratives.
When Freckles returned to consciousness, McLean ran to the cabin to
tell Mrs. Duncan to have a hot bath ready, and to bring Nellie.
That worthy woman promptly filled the wash-boiler, starting a
roaring fire under it. She pushed the horse-trough from its base
and rolled it to the kitchen.
By the time McLean came again, leading Nelie and holding Freckles
on her back, Mrs. Duncan was ready for business. She and the Boss
laid Freckles in the trough and poured on hot water until he squirmed.
They soaked and massaged him. Then they drew off the hot water and
closed his pores with cold. Lastly they stretched him on the floor
and chafed, rubbed, and kneaded him until he cried out for mercy.
As they rolled him into bed, his eyes dropped shut, but a little
later they flared open.
"Mr. McLean," he cried, "the tree! Oh, do be looking after the tree!"
McLean bent over him. "Which tree, Freckles?"
"I don't know exact" sir; but it's on the east line, and the wire
is fastened to it. He bragged that you nailed it yourself, sir.
You'll know it by the bark having been laid open to the grain
somewhere low down. Five hundred dollars he offered me--to be--
selling you out--sir!"
Freckles' head rolled over and his eyes dropped shut. McLean towered
above the lad. His bright hair waved on the pillow. His face was
swollen, and purple with bruises. His left arm, with the hand
battered almost out of shape, stretched beside him, and the right,
with no hand at all, lay across a chest that was a mass of purple welts.
McLean's mind traveled to the night, almost a year before, when he
had engaged Freckles, a stranger.
The Boss bent, covering the hurt arm with one hand and laying the
other with a caress on the boy's forehead. Freckles stirred at his
touch, and whispered as softly as the swallows under the eaves:
"If you're coming this way--tomorrow--be pleased to step over--
and we'll repate--the chorussoftly!"
"Bless the gritty devil," muttered McLean.
Then he went out and told Mrs. Duncan to keep close watch on
Freckles, also to send Duncan to him at the swamp the minute he
came home. Following the trail to the line and back to the scent
of the fight, the Boss entered Freckles' study quietly, as if his
spirit, keeping there, might be roused, and gazed around with
astonished eyes.
How had the boy conceived it? What a picture he had wrought in
living colors! He had the heart of a painter. He had the soul of
a poet. The Boss stepped carefully over the velvetcarpet to touch
the walls of crisp verdure with gentle fingers. He stood long
beside the flower bed, and gazed at the banked wall of bright bloom
as if he doubted its reality.
Where had Freckles ever found, and how had he transplanted
such ferns? As McLean turned from them he stopped suddenly.
He had reached the door of the cathedral. That which Freckles had
attempted would have been patent to anyone. What had been in the
heart of the shy, silent boy when he had found that long, dim
stretch of forest, decorated its entrance, cleared and smoothed
its aisle, and carpeted its altar? What veriest work of God was
in these mighty living pillars and the arched dome of green!
How similar to stained cathedral windows were the long openings
between the trees, filled with rifts of blue, rays of gold, and the
shifting emerald of leaves! Where could be found mosaics to match
this aisle paved with living color and glowing light? Was Freckles
a devout Christian, and did he worship here? Or was he an untaught
heathen, and down this vista of entrancing loveliness did Pan come
piping, and dryads, nymphs, and fairies dance for him?
Who can fathom the heart of a boy? McLean had been thinking of
Freckles as a creature of unswerving honesty, courage, and
faithfulness. Here was evidence of a heart aching for beauty, art,
companionship, worship. It was writ large all over the floor,
walls, and furnishing of that little Limberlost clearing.
When Duncan came, McLean told him the story of the fight, and they
laughed until they cried. Then they started around the line in
search of the tree.
Said Duncan: "Now the boy is in for sore trouble!"
"I hope not," answered McLean. "You never in all your life saw a
cur whipped so completely. He won't come back for the repetition of
the chorus. We surely can find the tree. If we can't, Freckles can.
I will bring enough of the gang to take it out at once. That will
insure peace for a time, at least, and I am hoping that in a month
more the whole gang may be moved here. It soon will be fall, and
then, if he will go, I intend to send Freckles to my mother to
be educated. With his quickness of mind and body and a few years'
good help he can do anything. Why, Duncan, I'd give a hundred-
dollar bill if you could have been here and seen for yourself."
"Yes, and I'd `a' done murder," muttered the big teamster. "I hope,
sir, ye will make good your plans for Freckles, though I'd as soon
see ony born child o' my ain taken from our home. We love the lad,
me and Sarah."
Locating the tree was easy, because it was so well identified.
When the rumble of the big lumber wagons passing the cabin on the
way to the swamp wakened Freckles next morning, he sprang up and
was soon following them. He was so sore and stiff that every
movement was torture at first, but he grew easier, and shortly did
not suffer so much. McLean scolded him for coming, yet in his
heart triumphed over every new evidence of fineness in the boy.
The tree was a giant maple, and so precious that they almost dug it
out by the roots. When it was down, cut in lengths, and loaded,
there was yet an empty wagon. As they were gathering up their tools
to go, Duncan said: "There's a big hollow tree somewhere mighty
close here that I've been wanting for a watering-trough for my
stock; the one I have is so small. The Portland company cut this
for elm butts last year, and it's six feet diameter and hollow for
forty feet. It was a buster! While the men are here and there is an
empty wagon, why mightn't I load it on and tak' it up to the barn
as we pass?"
McLean said he was very willing, ordered the driver to break line
and load the log, detailing men to assist. He told Freckles to ride
on a section of the maple with him, but now the boy asked to enter
the swamp with Duncan.
"I don't see why you want to go," said McLean. "I have no business
to let you out today at all."
"It's me chickens," whispered Freckles in distress. "You see, I was
just after findingyesterday, from me new book, how they do be
nesting in hollow trees, and there ain't any too many in the swamp.
There's just a chance that they might be in that one."
"Go ahead," said McLean. "That's a different story. If they happen
to be there, why tell Duncan he must give up the tree until they
have finished with it."
Then he climbed on a wagon and was driven away. Freckles hurried
into the swamp. He was a little behind, yet he could see the men.
Before he overtook them, they had turned from the west road and had
entered the swamp toward the east.
They stopped at the trunk of a monstrousprostrate log. It had been
cut three feet from the ground, over three-fourths of the way
through, and had fallen toward the east, the body of the log still
resting on the stump. The underbrush was almost impenetrable, but
Duncan plunged in and with a crowbar began tapping along the trunk
to decide how far it was hollow, so that they would know where to cut.
As they waited his decision, there came from the mouth of it--on
wings--a large black bird that swept over their heads.
Freckles danced wildly. "It's me chickens! Oh, it's me chickens!"
he shouted. "Oh, Duncan, come quick! You've found the nest of me
precious chickens!"
Duncan hurried to the mouth of the log, but Freckles was before him.
He crashed through poison-vines and underbrushregardless of any
danger, and climbed on the stump. When Duncan came he was shouting
like a wild man.
"It's hatched!" he yelled. "Oh, me big chicken has hatched out me
little chicken, and there's another egg. I can see it plain, and
oh, the funny little white baby! Oh, Duncan, can you see me little
white chicken?"
Duncan could easily see it; so could everyone else. Freckles crept
into the log and tenderly carried the hissing, blinking little bird
to the light in a leaf-lined hat. The men found it sufficiently
wonderful to satisfy even Freckles, who had forgotten he was ever
sore or stiff, and coddled over it with every blarneying term of
endearment he knew.
Duncan gathered his tools. "Deal's off, boys!" he said cheerfully.
"This log mauna be touched until Freckles' chaukies have finished
with it. We might as weel gang. Better put it back, Freckles.
It's just out, and it may chill. Ye will probably hae twa the morn."
Freckles crept into the log and carefully deposited the baby beside
the egg. When he came back, he said: "I made a big mistake not to
be bringing the egg out with the baby, but I was fearing to touch it.
It's shaped like a hen's egg, and it's big as a turkey's, and the
beautifulest blue--just splattered with big brown splotches,
like me book said, precise. Bet you never saw such a sight as it
made on the yellow of the rotten wood beside that funny
leathery-faced little white baby."
"Tell you what, Freckles," said one of the teamsters. "Have you
ever heard of this Bird Woman who goes all over the country with a
camera and makes pictures? She made some on my brother Jim's place
last summer, and Jim's so wild about them he quits plowing and goes
after her about every nest he finds. He helps her all he can to
take them, and then she gives him a picture. Jim's so proud of what
he has he keeps them in the Bible. He shows them to everybody that
comes, and brags about how he helped. If you're smart, you'll send
for her and she'll come and make a picture just like life. If you
help her, she will give you one. It would be uncommon pretty to
keep, after your birds are gone. I dunno what they are. I never see
their like before. They must be something rare. Any you fellows
ever see a bird like that hereabouts?"
No one ever had.
"Well," said the teamster, "failing to get this log lets me off
till noon, and I'm going to town. I go right past her place.
I've a big notion to stop and tell her. If she drives straight
back in the swamp on the west road, and turns east at this big
sycamore, she can't miss finding the tree, even if Freckles ain't
here to show her. Jim says her work is a credit to the State she
lives in, and any man is a measly creature who isn't willing to
help her all he can. My old daddy used to say that all there was
to religion was doing to the other fellow what you'd want him to
do to you, and if I was making a living taking bird pictures,
seems to me I'd be mighty glad for a chance to take one like that.
So I'll just stop and tell her, and by gummy! maybe she will give
me a picture of the little white sucker for my trouble."
Freckles touched his arm.
"Will she be rough with it?" he asked.
"Government land! No!" said the teamster. "She's dead down on
anybody that shoots a bird or tears up a nest. Why, she's half
killing herself in all kinds of places and weather to teach people
to love and protect the birds. She's that plum careful of them that
Jim's wife says she has Jim a standin' like a big fool holding an
ombrelly over them when they are young and tender until she gets a
- worthy [´wə:ði]
a.有价值的；值得的 (初中英语单词) - promptly [´prɔmptli] ad.敏捷地；即时地 (初中英语单词)
- purple [´pə:pl] n.紫色 a.紫(红)的 (初中英语单词)
- forehead [´fɔrid] n.额，前部 (初中英语单词)
- softly [´sɔftli] ad.软化地；柔和地 (初中英语单词)
- chorus [´kɔ:rəs] n.合唱；齐声 v.合唱 (初中英语单词)
- wrought [rɔ:t] work 的过去式(分词) (初中英语单词)
- painter [´peintə] n.画家；(油)漆工 (初中英语单词)
- velvet [´velvit] n.&a.天鹅绒(般的) (初中英语单词)
- carpet [´kɑ:pit] n.地毯 vt.铺地毯 (初中英语单词)
- cathedral [kə´θi:drəl] n.大教堂 (初中英语单词)
- patent [´peitənt, ´pæ-] a.专利的 n.专利品 (初中英语单词)
- worship [´wə:ʃip] n.&v.崇拜；敬仰 (初中英语单词)
- lumber [´lʌmbə] v.伐木 n.木材 (初中英语单词)
- sprang [spræŋ] spring 的过去式 (初中英语单词)
- torture [´tɔ:tʃə] n.&vt.折磨；痛苦；拷问 (初中英语单词)
- shortly [´ʃɔ:tli] ad.立刻，马上；不久 (初中英语单词)
- willing [´wiliŋ] a.情愿的，乐意的 (初中英语单词)
- assist [ə´sist] v.协助；援助；搀扶 (初中英语单词)
- distress [di´stres] n.痛苦 vt.使苦恼 (初中英语单词)
- yesterday [´jestədi] n.&ad.昨天；前不久 (初中英语单词)
- driven [´driv(ə)n] drive 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- everyone [´evriwʌn] pron.=everybody 每人 (初中英语单词)
- outfit [´aut,fit] n.装备 vt.供给；装备 (高中英语单词)
- consciousness [´kɔnʃəsnis] n.意识；觉悟；知觉 (高中英语单词)
- caress [kə´res] n.&vt.爱抚；接吻 (高中英语单词)
- mighty [´maiti] a.强有力的 ad.很 (高中英语单词)
- honesty [´ɔnisti] n.诚实，老实 (高中英语单词)
- repetition [,repi´tiʃən] n.重复；背诵；复制品 (高中英语单词)
- rumble [´rʌmbəl] v.(使)隆隆响 n.隆隆声 (高中英语单词)
- diameter [dai´æmitə] n.直径 (高中英语单词)
- finding [´faindiŋ] n.发现物；判断；结果 (高中英语单词)
- monstrous [´mɔnstrəs] a.怪异的；庞大的 (高中英语单词)
- hurried [´hʌrid] a.仓促的，慌忙的 (高中英语单词)
- regardless [ri´gɑ:dləs] a.不留心的；不关心的 (高中英语单词)
- tenderly [´tendəli] ad.娇嫩地；柔和地 (高中英语单词)
- rotten [´rɔtn] a.腐烂的；腐朽的 (高中英语单词)
- trough [trɔf] n.槽；水槽；饲料槽 (英语四级单词)
- lastly [´lɑ:stli] ad.最后，终于 (英语四级单词)
- traveled [´trævəld] a.见面广的；旅客多的 (英语四级单词)
- emerald [´emərəld] n.纯绿宝石；翠绿色 (英语四级单词)
- loveliness [´lʌvlinis] n.美丽，可爱 (英语四级单词)
- fathom [´fæðəm] n.英寻 vt.推测，揣摩 (英语四级单词)
- gathering [´gæðəriŋ] n.集会，聚集 (英语四级单词)
- overtook [,əuvə´tuk] overtake的过去式 (英语四级单词)
- prostrate [´prɔstreit, prɔ´streit] a.俯伏的 vt.弄倒 (英语四级单词)
- underbrush [´ʌndəbrʌʃ] n.矮树丛 (英语四级单词)
- precise [pri´sais] a.精确的；清楚的 (英语四级单词)
- uncommon [ʌn´kɔmən] a.非常的，非凡的，罕见的 (英语四级单词)
- applied [ə´plaid] a.实用的，应用的 (英语六级单词)
- holding [´həuldiŋ] n.保持，固定，存储 (英语六级单词)
- arched [´ɑ:tʃid] a.弓形(结构)的 (英语六级单词)
- devout [di´vaut] a.虔诚的；热心的 (英语六级单词)
- fineness [´fainnis] n.美好；细微；优雅 (英语六级单词)
- wanting [´wɔntiŋ, wɑ:n-] a.短缺的；不足的 (英语六级单词)
- taking [´teikiŋ] a.迷人的 n.捕获物 (英语六级单词)
- sucker [´sʌkə] n.乳儿；吸管；吸吮者 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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