章节正文
and put up at M`Grath's pub. until such time as we made up our minds
as to what we'd do or where we'd go. We had an idea of waiting
until the shearing season started and then making Out-Back to the big sheds.
Neither of us was in a hurry to go and face Mrs Baker.
`We'll go after dinner,' said Andy at first; then after dinner we had a drink,
and felt sleepy -- we weren't used to big dinners of roast-beef
and vegetables and pudding, and, besides, it was drowsy weather --
so we decided to have a snooze and then go. When we woke up
it was late in the afternoon, so we thought we'd put it off till after tea.
`It wouldn't be manners to walk in while they're at tea,' said Andy --
`it would look as if we only came for some grub.'
But while we were at tea a little girl came with a message
that Mrs Baker wanted to see us, and would be very much obliged
if we'd call up as soon as possible. You see, in those small towns
you can't move without the thing getting round inside of half an hour.
`We'll have to face the music now!' said Andy, `and no get out of it.'
He seemed to hang back more than I did. There was another pub. opposite
where Mrs Baker lived, and when we got up the street a bit I said to Andy --
`Suppose we go and have another drink first, Andy? We might be kept in there
an hour or two.'
`You don't want another drink,' said Andy, rather short.
`Why, you seem to be going the same way as the Boss!' But it was Andy
that edged off towards the pub. when we got near Mrs Baker's place.
`All right!' he said. `Come on! We'll have this other drink,
since you want it so bad.'
We had the drink, then we buttoned up our coats and started across the road --
we'd bought new shirts and collars, and spruced up a bit.
Half-way across Andy grabbed my arm and asked --
`How do you feel now, Jack?'
`Oh, I'M all right,' I said.
`For God's sake!' said Andy, `don't put your foot in it
and make a mess of it.'
`I won't, if you don't.'
Mrs Baker's cottage was a little weather-board box affair back in a garden.
When we went in through the gate Andy gripped my arm again and whispered --
`For God's sake stick to me now, Jack!'
`I'll stick all right,' I said -- `you've been having too much beer, Andy.'
I had seen Mrs Baker before, and remembered her as a cheerful,
contented sort of woman, bustling about the house and getting
the Boss's shirts and things ready when we started North.
Just the sort of woman that is contented with housework and the children,
and with nothing particular about her in the way of brains.
But now she sat by the fire looking like the ghost of herself.
I wouldn't have recognised her at first. I never saw such a change
in a woman, and it came like a shock to me.
Her sister let us in, and after a first glance at Mrs Baker
I had eyes for the sister and no one else. She was a Sydney girl,
about twenty-four or twenty-five, and fresh and fair --
not like the sun-browned women we were used to see. She was a pretty,
bright-eyed girl, and seemed quick to understand, and very sympathetic.
She had been educated, Andy had told me, and wrote stories
for the Sydney `Bulletin' and other Sydney papers. She had her hair done
and was dressed in the city style, and that took us back a bit at first.
`It's very good of you to come,' said Mrs Baker in a weak, weary voice,
when we first went in. `I heard you were in town.'
`We were just coming when we got your message,' said Andy.
`We'd have come before, only we had to see to the horses.'
`It's very kind of you, I'm sure,' said Mrs Baker.
They wanted us to have tea, but we said we'd just had it. Then Miss Standish
(the sister) wanted us to have tea and cake; but we didn't feel
as if we could handle cups and saucers and pieces of cake successfully
just then.
There was something the matter with one of the children in a back-room,
and the sister went to see to it. Mrs Baker cried a little quietly.
`You mustn't mind me,' she said. `I'll be all right presently,
and then I want you to tell me all about poor Bob. It's seeing you,
that saw the last of him, that set me off.'
Andy and I sat stiff and straight, on two chairs against the wall,
and held our hats tight, and stared at a picture of Wellington meeting Blucher
on the opposite wall. I thought it was lucky that that picture was there.
The child was calling `mumma', and Mrs Baker went in to it,
and her sister came out. `Best tell her all about it and get it over,'
she whispered to Andy. `She'll never be content until she hears
all about poor Bob from some one who was with him when he died.
Let me take your hats. Make yourselves comfortable.'
She took the hats and put them on the sewing-machine.
I wished she'd let us keep them, for now we had nothing to hold on to,
and nothing to do with our hands; and as for being comfortable,
we were just about as comfortable as two cats on wet bricks.
When Mrs Baker came into the room she brought little Bobby Baker,
about four years old; he wanted to see Andy. He ran to Andy at once,
and Andy took him up on his knee. He was a pretty child,
but he reminded me too much of his father.
`I'm so glad you've come, Andy!' said Bobby.
`Are you, Bobby?'
`Yes. I wants to ask you about daddy. You saw him go away, didn't you?'
and he fixed his great wondering eyes on Andy's face.
`Yes,' said Andy.
`He went up among the stars, didn't he?'
`Yes,' said Andy.
`And he isn't coming back to Bobby any more?'
`No,' said Andy. `But Bobby's going to him by-and-by.'
Mrs Baker had been leaning back in her chair, resting her head on her hand,
tears glistening in her eyes; now she began to sob, and her sister took her
out of the room.
Andy looked miserable. `I wish to God I was off this job!'
he whispered to me.
`Is that the girl that writes the stories?' I asked.
`Yes,' he said, staring at me in a hopeless sort of way, `and poems too.'
`Is Bobby going up among the stars?' asked Bobby.
`Yes,' said Andy -- `if Bobby's good.'
`And auntie?'
`Yes.'
`And mumma?'
`Yes.'
`Are you going, Andy?'
`Yes,' said Andy hopelessly.
`Did you see daddy go up amongst the stars, Andy?'
`Yes,' said Andy, `I saw him go up.'
`And he isn't coming down again any more?'
`No,' said Andy.
`Why isn't he?'
`Because he's going to wait up there for you and mumma, Bobby.'
There was a long pause, and then Bobby asked --
`Are you going to give me a shilling, Andy?' with the same expression
of innocent wonder in his eyes.
Andy slipped half-a-crown into his hand. `Auntie' came in and told him
he'd see Andy in the morning and took him away to bed,
after he'd kissed us both solemnly; and presently she and Mrs Baker
settled down to hear Andy's story.
`Brace up now, Jack, and keep your wits about you,' whispered Andy to me
just before they came in.
`Poor Bob's brother Ned wrote to me,' said Mrs Baker,
`but he scarcely told me anything. Ned's a good fellow, but he's very simple,
and never thinks of anything.'
Andy told her about the Boss not being well after he crossed the border.
`I knew he was not well,' said Mrs Baker, `before he left.
I didn't want him to go. I tried hard to persuade him
not to go this trip. I had a feeling that I oughtn't to let him go.
But he'd never think of anything but me and the children. He promised
he'd give up droving after this trip, and get something to do near home.
The life was too much for him -- riding in all weathers and camping out
in the rain, and living like a dog. But he was never content at home.
It was all for the sake of me and the children. He wanted
to make money and start on a station again. I shouldn't have let him go.
He only thought of me and the children! Oh! my poor, dear, kind,
dead husband!' She broke down again and sobbed, and her sister comforted her,
while Andy and I stared at Wellington meeting Blucher
on the field of Waterloo. I thought the artist had heaped up the dead
a bit extra, and I thought that I wouldn't like to be trod on by horses,
even if I was dead.
`Don't you mind,' said Miss Standish, `she'll be all right presently,'
and she handed us the `Illustrated Sydney Journal'. This was a great relief,
-- we bumped our heads over the pictures.
Mrs Baker made Andy go on again, and he told her how the Boss broke down
near Mulgatown. Mrs Baker was opposite him and Miss Standish opposite me.
Both of them kept their eyes on Andy's face: he sat, with his hair
straight up like a brush as usual, and kept his big innocent grey eyes
fixed on Mrs Baker's face all the time he was speaking.
I watched Miss Standish. I thought she was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen;
it was a bad case of love at first sight, but she was far and away above me,
and the case was hopeless. I began to feel pretty miserable,
and to think back into the past: I just heard Andy droning away by my side.
`So we fixed him up comfortable in the waggonette with the blankets
and coats and things,' Andy was saying, `and the squatter started
into Mulgatown. . . . It was about thirty miles, Jack, wasn't it?' he asked,
turning suddenly to me. He always looked so innocent that there were times
when I itched to knock him down.
`More like thirty-five,' I said, waking up.
Miss Standish fixed her eyes on me, and I had another look
at Wellington and Blucher.
`They were all very good and kind to the Boss,' said Andy.
`They thought a lot of him up there. Everybody was fond of him.'
`I know it,' said Mrs Baker. `Nobody could help liking him.
He was one of the kindest men that ever lived.'
`Tanner, the publican, couldn't have been kinder to his own brother,'
said Andy. `The local doctor was a decent chap, but he was only
a young fellow, and Tanner hadn't much faith in him, so he wired
for an older doctor at Mackintyre, and he even sent out fresh horses
to meet the doctor's buggy. Everything was done that could be done,
I assure you, Mrs Baker.'
`I believe it,' said Mrs Baker. `And you don't know how it relieves me
to hear it. And did the publican do all this at his own expense?'
`He wouldn't take a penny, Mrs Baker.'
`He must have been a good true man. I wish I could thank him.'
`Oh, Ned thanked him for you,' said Andy, though without meaning
more than he said.
`I wouldn't have fancied that Ned would have thought of that,' said Mrs Baker.
`When I first heard of my poor husband's death, I thought perhaps
he'd been drinking again -- that worried me a bit.'
`He never touched a drop after he left Solong, I can assure you, Mrs Baker,'
said Andy quickly.
Now I noticed that Miss Standish seemed surprised or puzzled, once or twice,
while Andy was speaking, and leaned forward to listen to him;
then she leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands behind her head
and looked at him, with half-shut eyes, in a way I didn't like.
Once or twice she looked at me as if she was going to ask me a question,
but I always looked away quick and stared at Blucher and Wellington,
or into the empty fireplace, till I felt that her eyes were off me.
Then she asked Andy a question or two, in all innocence I believe now,
but it scared him, and at last he watched his chance and winked at her sharp.
Then she gave a little gasp and shut up like a steel trap.
The sick child in the bedroom coughed and cried again. Mrs Baker went to it.
We three sat like a deaf-and-dumb institution, Andy and I staring
all over the place: presently Miss Standish excused herself,
and went out of the room after her sister. She looked hard at Andy
as she left the room, but he kept his eyes away.
`Brace up now, Jack,' whispered Andy to me, `the worst is coming.'
When they came in again Mrs Baker made Andy go on with his story.
`He -- he died very quietly,' said Andy, hitching round, and resting
his elbows on his knees, and looking into the fireplace so as to have his face
as to what we'd do or where we'd go. We had an idea of waiting
until the shearing season started and then making Out-Back to the big sheds.
Neither of us was in a hurry to go and face Mrs Baker.
`We'll go after dinner,' said Andy at first; then after dinner we had a drink,
and felt sleepy -- we weren't used to big dinners of roast-beef
and vegetables and pudding, and, besides, it was drowsy weather --
so we decided to have a snooze and then go. When we woke up
it was late in the afternoon, so we thought we'd put it off till after tea.
`It wouldn't be manners to walk in while they're at tea,' said Andy --
`it would look as if we only came for some grub.'
But while we were at tea a little girl came with a message
that Mrs Baker wanted to see us, and would be very much obliged
if we'd call up as soon as possible. You see, in those small towns
you can't move without the thing getting round inside of half an hour.
`We'll have to face the music now!' said Andy, `and no get out of it.'
He seemed to hang back more than I did. There was another pub. opposite
where Mrs Baker lived, and when we got up the street a bit I said to Andy --
`Suppose we go and have another drink first, Andy? We might be kept in there
an hour or two.'
`You don't want another drink,' said Andy, rather short.
`Why, you seem to be going the same way as the Boss!' But it was Andy
that edged off towards the pub. when we got near Mrs Baker's place.
`All right!' he said. `Come on! We'll have this other drink,
since you want it so bad.'
We had the drink, then we buttoned up our coats and started across the road --
we'd bought new shirts and collars, and spruced up a bit.
Half-way across Andy grabbed my arm and asked --
`How do you feel now, Jack?'
`Oh, I'M all right,' I said.
`For God's sake!' said Andy, `don't put your foot in it
and make a mess of it.'
`I won't, if you don't.'
Mrs Baker's cottage was a little weather-board box affair back in a garden.
When we went in through the gate Andy gripped my arm again and whispered --
`For God's sake stick to me now, Jack!'
`I'll stick all right,' I said -- `you've been having too much beer, Andy.'
I had seen Mrs Baker before, and remembered her as a cheerful,
contented sort of woman, bustling about the house and getting
the Boss's shirts and things ready when we started North.
Just the sort of woman that is contented with housework and the children,
and with nothing particular about her in the way of brains.
But now she sat by the fire looking like the ghost of herself.
I wouldn't have recognised her at first. I never saw such a change
in a woman, and it came like a shock to me.
Her sister let us in, and after a first glance at Mrs Baker
I had eyes for the sister and no one else. She was a Sydney girl,
about twenty-four or twenty-five, and fresh and fair --
not like the sun-browned women we were used to see. She was a pretty,
bright-eyed girl, and seemed quick to understand, and very sympathetic.
She had been educated, Andy had told me, and wrote stories
for the Sydney `Bulletin' and other Sydney papers. She had her hair done
and was dressed in the city style, and that took us back a bit at first.
`It's very good of you to come,' said Mrs Baker in a weak, weary voice,
when we first went in. `I heard you were in town.'
`We were just coming when we got your message,' said Andy.
`We'd have come before, only we had to see to the horses.'
`It's very kind of you, I'm sure,' said Mrs Baker.
They wanted us to have tea, but we said we'd just had it. Then Miss Standish
(the sister) wanted us to have tea and cake; but we didn't feel
as if we could handle cups and saucers and pieces of cake successfully
just then.
There was something the matter with one of the children in a back-room,
and the sister went to see to it. Mrs Baker cried a little quietly.
`You mustn't mind me,' she said. `I'll be all right presently,
and then I want you to tell me all about poor Bob. It's seeing you,
that saw the last of him, that set me off.'
Andy and I sat stiff and straight, on two chairs against the wall,
and held our hats tight, and stared at a picture of Wellington meeting Blucher
on the opposite wall. I thought it was lucky that that picture was there.
The child was calling `mumma', and Mrs Baker went in to it,
and her sister came out. `Best tell her all about it and get it over,'
she whispered to Andy. `She'll never be content until she hears
all about poor Bob from some one who was with him when he died.
Let me take your hats. Make yourselves comfortable.'
She took the hats and put them on the sewing-machine.
I wished she'd let us keep them, for now we had nothing to hold on to,
and nothing to do with our hands; and as for being comfortable,
we were just about as comfortable as two cats on wet bricks.
When Mrs Baker came into the room she brought little Bobby Baker,
about four years old; he wanted to see Andy. He ran to Andy at once,
and Andy took him up on his knee. He was a pretty child,
but he reminded me too much of his father.
`I'm so glad you've come, Andy!' said Bobby.
`Are you, Bobby?'
`Yes. I wants to ask you about daddy. You saw him go away, didn't you?'
and he fixed his great wondering eyes on Andy's face.
`Yes,' said Andy.
`He went up among the stars, didn't he?'
`Yes,' said Andy.
`And he isn't coming back to Bobby any more?'
`No,' said Andy. `But Bobby's going to him by-and-by.'
Mrs Baker had been leaning back in her chair, resting her head on her hand,
tears glistening in her eyes; now she began to sob, and her sister took her
out of the room.
Andy looked miserable. `I wish to God I was off this job!'
he whispered to me.
`Is that the girl that writes the stories?' I asked.
`Yes,' he said, staring at me in a hopeless sort of way, `and poems too.'
`Is Bobby going up among the stars?' asked Bobby.
`Yes,' said Andy -- `if Bobby's good.'
`And auntie?'
`Yes.'
`And mumma?'
`Yes.'
`Are you going, Andy?'
`Yes,' said Andy hopelessly.
`Did you see daddy go up amongst the stars, Andy?'
`Yes,' said Andy, `I saw him go up.'
`And he isn't coming down again any more?'
`No,' said Andy.
`Why isn't he?'
`Because he's going to wait up there for you and mumma, Bobby.'
There was a long pause, and then Bobby asked --
`Are you going to give me a shilling, Andy?' with the same expression
of innocent wonder in his eyes.
Andy slipped half-a-crown into his hand. `Auntie' came in and told him
he'd see Andy in the morning and took him away to bed,
after he'd kissed us both solemnly; and presently she and Mrs Baker
settled down to hear Andy's story.
`Brace up now, Jack, and keep your wits about you,' whispered Andy to me
just before they came in.
`Poor Bob's brother Ned wrote to me,' said Mrs Baker,
`but he scarcely told me anything. Ned's a good fellow, but he's very simple,
and never thinks of anything.'
Andy told her about the Boss not being well after he crossed the border.
`I knew he was not well,' said Mrs Baker, `before he left.
I didn't want him to go. I tried hard to persuade him
not to go this trip. I had a feeling that I oughtn't to let him go.
But he'd never think of anything but me and the children. He promised
he'd give up droving after this trip, and get something to do near home.
The life was too much for him -- riding in all weathers and camping out
in the rain, and living like a dog. But he was never content at home.
It was all for the sake of me and the children. He wanted
to make money and start on a station again. I shouldn't have let him go.
He only thought of me and the children! Oh! my poor, dear, kind,
dead husband!' She broke down again and sobbed, and her sister comforted her,
while Andy and I stared at Wellington meeting Blucher
on the field of Waterloo. I thought the artist had heaped up the dead
a bit extra, and I thought that I wouldn't like to be trod on by horses,
even if I was dead.
`Don't you mind,' said Miss Standish, `she'll be all right presently,'
and she handed us the `Illustrated Sydney Journal'. This was a great relief,
-- we bumped our heads over the pictures.
Mrs Baker made Andy go on again, and he told her how the Boss broke down
near Mulgatown. Mrs Baker was opposite him and Miss Standish opposite me.
Both of them kept their eyes on Andy's face: he sat, with his hair
straight up like a brush as usual, and kept his big innocent grey eyes
fixed on Mrs Baker's face all the time he was speaking.
I watched Miss Standish. I thought she was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen;
it was a bad case of love at first sight, but she was far and away above me,
and the case was hopeless. I began to feel pretty miserable,
and to think back into the past: I just heard Andy droning away by my side.
`So we fixed him up comfortable in the waggonette with the blankets
and coats and things,' Andy was saying, `and the squatter started
into Mulgatown. . . . It was about thirty miles, Jack, wasn't it?' he asked,
turning suddenly to me. He always looked so innocent that there were times
when I itched to knock him down.
`More like thirty-five,' I said, waking up.
Miss Standish fixed her eyes on me, and I had another look
at Wellington and Blucher.
`They were all very good and kind to the Boss,' said Andy.
`They thought a lot of him up there. Everybody was fond of him.'
`I know it,' said Mrs Baker. `Nobody could help liking him.
He was one of the kindest men that ever lived.'
`Tanner, the publican, couldn't have been kinder to his own brother,'
said Andy. `The local doctor was a decent chap, but he was only
a young fellow, and Tanner hadn't much faith in him, so he wired
for an older doctor at Mackintyre, and he even sent out fresh horses
to meet the doctor's buggy. Everything was done that could be done,
I assure you, Mrs Baker.'
`I believe it,' said Mrs Baker. `And you don't know how it relieves me
to hear it. And did the publican do all this at his own expense?'
`He wouldn't take a penny, Mrs Baker.'
`He must have been a good true man. I wish I could thank him.'
`Oh, Ned thanked him for you,' said Andy, though without meaning
more than he said.
`I wouldn't have fancied that Ned would have thought of that,' said Mrs Baker.
`When I first heard of my poor husband's death, I thought perhaps
he'd been drinking again -- that worried me a bit.'
`He never touched a drop after he left Solong, I can assure you, Mrs Baker,'
said Andy quickly.
Now I noticed that Miss Standish seemed surprised or puzzled, once or twice,
while Andy was speaking, and leaned forward to listen to him;
then she leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands behind her head
and looked at him, with half-shut eyes, in a way I didn't like.
Once or twice she looked at me as if she was going to ask me a question,
but I always looked away quick and stared at Blucher and Wellington,
or into the empty fireplace, till I felt that her eyes were off me.
Then she asked Andy a question or two, in all innocence I believe now,
but it scared him, and at last he watched his chance and winked at her sharp.
Then she gave a little gasp and shut up like a steel trap.
The sick child in the bedroom coughed and cried again. Mrs Baker went to it.
We three sat like a deaf-and-dumb institution, Andy and I staring
all over the place: presently Miss Standish excused herself,
and went out of the room after her sister. She looked hard at Andy
as she left the room, but he kept his eyes away.
`Brace up now, Jack,' whispered Andy to me, `the worst is coming.'
When they came in again Mrs Baker made Andy go on with his story.
`He -- he died very quietly,' said Andy, hitching round, and resting
his elbows on his knees, and looking into the fireplace so as to have his face
- cottage [´kɔtidʒ]
n.村舍；小屋；小别墅 (初中英语单词) - miserable [´mizərəbəl] a.悲惨的；可怜的 (初中英语单词)
- innocent [´inəsənt] a.无罪的；单纯的 (初中英语单词)
- presently [´prezəntli] ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词)
- persuade [pə´sweid] v.(被)说服；使相信 (初中英语单词)
- institution [,insti´tju:ʃən] n.建立；制定；制度 (初中英语单词)
- sleepy [´sli:pi] a.困的，想睡的 (高中英语单词)
- pudding [´pudiŋ] n.布丁 (高中英语单词)
- drowsy [´drauzi] a.困倦的；催眠的 (高中英语单词)
- decided [di´saidid] a.明显的；决定的 (高中英语单词)
- contented [kən´tentid] a.满足的；心满意足的 (高中英语单词)
- seeing [si:iŋ] see的现在分词 n.视觉 (高中英语单词)
- hopeless [´həupləs] a.无望的，无可救药的 (高中英语单词)
- amongst [ə´mʌŋst] prep.其中之一 =among (高中英语单词)
- shilling [´ʃiliŋ] n.先令 (高中英语单词)
- solemnly [´sɔləmli] ad.严肃地，庄严地 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- decent [´di:sənt] a.体面的，正派的 (高中英语单词)
- fireplace [´faiəpleis] n.壁炉，炉灶 (高中英语单词)
- innocence [´inəsəns] n.无罪；天真 (高中英语单词)
- tanner [´tænə] n.制革工人 (英语四级单词)
- housework [´hauswə:k] n.家务劳动 (英语六级单词)
- sydney [´sidni] n.悉尼 (英语六级单词)
- calling [´kɔ:liŋ] n.点名；职业；欲望 (英语六级单词)
- liking [´laikiŋ] n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 (英语六级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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