章节正文
grove that sheltered the house on the north, absorbed in a book of
fairy tales. He sprang up radiantly at sight of her.
"Oh, I'm so glad you've come, teacher," he said eagerly, "because
Grandma's away. You'll stay and have tea with me, won't you?
It's so lonesome to have tea all by oneself. YOU know, teacher.
I've had serious thoughts of asking Young Mary Joe to sit down
and eat her tea with me, but I expect Grandma wouldn't approve.
She says the French have to be kept in their place. And anyhow,
it's difficult to talk with Young Mary Joe. She just laughs and says,
`Well, yous do beat all de kids I ever knowed.' That isn't my idea
of conversation."
"Of course I'll stay to tea," said Anne gaily. "I was dying to be
asked. My mouth has been watering for some more of your grandma's
delicious shortbread ever since I had tea here before."
Paul looked very sober.
"If it depended on me, teacher," he said, standing before Anne with
his hands in his pockets and his beautiful little face shadowed with
sudden care, "You should have shortbread with a right good will.
But it depends on Mary Joe. I heard Grandma tell her before she
left that she wasn't to give me any shortcake because it was too
rich for little boys' stomachs. But maybe Mary Joe will cut some
for you if I promise I won't eat any. Let us hope for the best."
"Yes, let us," agreed Anne, whom this cheerfulphilosophy suited
exactly, "and if Mary Joe proves hard-hearted and won't give me any
shortbread it doesn't matter in the least, so you are not to worry
over that."
"You're sure you won't mind if she doesn't?" said Paul anxiously.
"Perfectly sure, dear heart."
"Then I won't worry," said Paul, with a long breath of relief,
"especially as I really think Mary Joe will listen to reason.
She's not a naturally unreasonable person, but she has learned
by experience that it doesn't do to disobey Grandma's orders.
Grandma is an excellent woman but people must do as she tells them.
She was very much pleased with me this morning because I managed at
last to eat all my plateful of porridge. It was a great effort but
I succeeded. Grandma says she thinks she'll make a man of me yet.
But, teacher, I want to ask you a very important question.
You will answer it truthfully, won't you?"
"I'll try," promised Anne.
"Do you think I'm wrong in my upper story?" asked Paul, as if his
very existence depended on her reply.
"Goodness, no, Paul," exclaimed Anne in amazement. "Certainly
you're not. What put such an idea into your head?"
"Mary Joe. . .but she didn't know I heard her. Mrs. Peter Sloane's
hired girl, Veronica, came to see Mary Joe last evening and I heard
them talking in the kitchen as I was going through the hall.
I heard Mary Joe say, `Dat Paul, he is de queeres' leetle boy.
He talks dat queer. I tink dere's someting wrong in his upper story.'
I couldn't sleep last night for ever so long, thinking of it, and
wondering if Mary Joe was right. I couldn't bear to ask Grandma
about it somehow, but I made up my mind I'd ask you. I'm so glad
you think I'm all right in my upper story."
"Of course you are. Mary Joe is a silly, ignorant girl, and you
are never to worry about anything she says," said Anne indignantly,
secretly resolving to give Mrs. Irving a discreet hint as to the
advisability of restraining Mary Joe's tongue.
"Well, that's a weight off my mind," said Paul. "I'm perfectly
happy now, teacher, thanks to you. It wouldn't be nice to
have something wrong in your upper story, would it, teacher?
I suppose the reason Mary Joe imagines I have is because I tell
her what I think about things sometimes."
"It is a rather dangerous practice," admitted Anne, out of the
depths of her own experience.
"Well, by and by I'll tell you the thoughts I told Mary Joe and you
can see for yourself if there's anything queer in them," said Paul,
"but I'll wait till it begins to get dark. That is the time I ache
to tell people things, and when nobody else is handy I just HAVE to
tell Mary Joe. But after this I won't, if it makes her imagine I'm
wrong in my upper story. I'll just ache and bear it."
"And if the ache gets too bad you can come up to Green Gables and
tell me your thoughts," suggested Anne, with all the gravity that
endeared her to children, who so dearly love to be taken seriously.
"Yes, I will. But I hope Davy won't be there when I go because he
makes faces at me. I don't mind VERY much because he is such a
little boy and I am quite a big one, but still it is not pleasant
to have faces made at you. And Davy makes such terrible ones.
Sometimes I am frightened he will never get his face straightened
out again. He makes them at me in church when I ought to be thinking
of sacred things. Dora likes me though, and I like her, but not so
well as I did before she told Minnie May Barry that she meant to
marry me when I grew up. I may marry somebody when I grow up but
I'm far too young to be thinking of it yet, don't you think, teacher?"
"Rather young," agreed teacher.
"Speaking of marrying, reminds me of another thing that has been
troubling me of late," continued Paul. "Mrs. Lynde was down here
one day last week having tea with Grandma, and Grandma made me show
her my little mother's picture. . .the one father sent me for my
birthday present. I didn't exactly want to show it to Mrs. Lynde.
Mrs. Lynde is a good, kind woman, but she isn't the sort of person
you want to show your mother's picture to. YOU know, teacher.
But of course I obeyed Grandma. Mrs. Lynde said she was very
pretty ut kind of actressy looking, and must have been an awful lot
younger than father. Then she said, `Some of these days your pa
will be marrying again likely. How will you like to have a new ma,
Master Paul? ' Well, the idea almost took my breath away, teacher,
but I wasn't going to let Mrs. Lynde see THAT. I just looked her
straight in the face. . .like this. . .and I said, `Mrs. Lynde,
father made a pretty good job of picking out my first mother and I
could trust him to pick out just as good a one the second time.'
And I CAN trust him, teacher. But still, I hope, if he ever does
give me a new mother, he'll ask my opinion about her before it's
too late. There's Mary Joe coming to call us to tea. I'll go and
consult with her about the shortbread."
As a result of the "consultation," Mary Joe cut the shortbread and
added a dish of preserves to the bill of fare. Anne poured the tea
and she and Paul had a very merry meal in the dim old sitting room
whose windows were open to the gulf breezes, and they talked so much
"nonsense" that Mary Joe was quite scandalized and told Veronica
the next evening that "de school mees" was as queer as Paul.
After tea Paul took Anne up to his room to show her his
mother's picture, which had been the mysterious birthday present
kept by Mrs. Irving in the bookcase. Paul's little low-ceilinged
room was a soft whirl of ruddy light from the sun that was setting
over the sea and swinging shadows from the fir trees that grew
close to the square, deep-set window. From out this soft glow
and glamor shone a sweet, girlish face, with tender mother eyes,
that was hanging on the wall at the foot of the bed.
"That's my little mother," said Paul with loving pride. "I got
Grandma to hang it there where I'd see it as soon as I opened my
eyes in the morning. I never mind not having the light when I go
to bed now, because it just seems as if my little mother was right
here with me. Father knew just what I would like for a birthday
present, although he never asked me. Isn't it wonderful how much
fathers DO know?"
"Your mother was very lovely, Paul, and you look a little like her.
But her eyes and hair are darker than yours."
"My eyes are the same color as father's," said Paul, flying
about the room to heap all available cushions on the window seat,
"but father's hair is gray. He has lots of it, but it is gray.
You see, father is nearly fifty. That's ripe old age, isn't it?
But it's only OUTSIDE he's old. INSIDE he's just as young as anybody.
Now, teacher, please sit here; and I'll sit at your feet. May I lay
my head against your knee? That's the way my little mother and I
used to sit. Oh, this is real splendid, I think."
"Now, I want to hear those thoughts which Mary Joe pronounces so queer,"
said Anne, patting the mop of curls at her side. Paul never needed any
coaxing to tell his thoughts. . .at least, to congenial souls.
"I thought them out in the fir grove one night," he said dreamily.
"Of course I didn't BELIEVE them but I THOUGHT them. YOU know,
teacher. And then I wanted to tell them to somebody and there was
nobody but Mary Joe. Mary Joe was in the pantrysetting bread and
I sat down on the bench beside her and I said, `Mary Joe, do you
know what I think? I think the evening star is a lighthouse on the
land where the fairies dwell.' And Mary Joe said, `Well, yous are
de queer one. Dare ain't no such ting as fairies.' I was very much
provoked. Of course, I knew there are no fairies; but that needn't
prevent my thinking there is. You know, teacher. But I tried
again quite patiently. I said, `Well then, Mary Joe, do you know
what I think? I think an angel walks over the world after the sun
sets. . .a great, tall, white angel, with silvery folded wings. . .
and sings the flowers and birds to sleep. Children can hear him
if they know how to listen.' Then Mary Joe held up her hands
all over flour and said, `Well, yous are de queer leetle boy.
Yous make me feel scare.' And she really did looked scared.
I went out then and whispered the rest of my thoughts to the garden.
There was a little birch tree in the garden and it died. Grandma says
the salt spray killed it; but I think the dryad belonging to it was
a foolish dryad who wandered away to see the world and got lost.
And the little tree was so lonely it died of a broken heart."
"And when the poor, foolish little dryad gets tired of the world
and comes back to her tree HER heart will break," said Anne.
"Yes; but if dryads are foolish they must take the consequences,
just as if they were real people," said Paul gravely. "Do you know
what I think about the new moon, teacher? I think it is a little
golden boat full of dreams."
"And when it tips on a cloud some of them spill out and fall into
your sleep."
"Exactly, teacher. Oh, you DO know. And I think the violets are
little snips of the sky that fell down when the angels cut out
holes for the stars to shine through. And the buttercups are made
out of old sunshine; and I think the sweet peas will be butterflies
when they go to heaven. Now, teacher, do you see anything so very
queer about those thoughts?"
"No, laddie dear, they are not queer at all; they are strange and
beautiful thoughts for a little boy to think, and so people who
couldn't think anything of the sort themselves, if they tried for a
hundred years, think them queer. But keep on thinking them, Paul
. . .some day you are going to be a poet, I believe."
When Anne reached home she found a very different type of boyhood
waiting to be put to bed. Davy was sulky; and when Anne had
undressed him he bounced into bed and buried his face in the pillow.
"Davy, you have forgotten to say your prayers," said Anne rebukingly.
"No, I didn't forget," said Davy defiantly, "but I ain't going to
say my prayers any more. I'm going to give up trying to be good,
'cause no matter how good I am you'd like Paul Irving better.
So I might as well be bad and have the fun of it."
"I don't like Paul Irving BETTER," said Anne seriously. "I like
you just as well, only in a different way."
"But I want you to like me the same way," pouted Davy.
"You can't like different people the same way. You don't like Dora
and me the same way, do you?"
Davy sat up and reflected.
"No. . .o. . .o," he admitted at last, "I like Dora because she's
my sister but I like you because you're YOU."
"And I like Paul because he is Paul and Davy because he is Davy,"
said Anne gaily.
"Well, I kind of wish I'd said my prayers then," said Davy, convinced
by this logic. "But it's too much bother getting out now to say them.
I'll say them twice over in the morning, Anne. Won't that do as well?"
No, Anne was positive it would not do as well. So Davy scrambled
out and knelt down at her knee. When he had finished his devotions
fairy tales. He sprang up radiantly at sight of her.
"Oh, I'm so glad you've come, teacher," he said eagerly, "because
Grandma's away. You'll stay and have tea with me, won't you?
It's so lonesome to have tea all by oneself. YOU know, teacher.
I've had serious thoughts of asking Young Mary Joe to sit down
and eat her tea with me, but I expect Grandma wouldn't approve.
She says the French have to be kept in their place. And anyhow,
it's difficult to talk with Young Mary Joe. She just laughs and says,
`Well, yous do beat all de kids I ever knowed.' That isn't my idea
of conversation."
"Of course I'll stay to tea," said Anne gaily. "I was dying to be
asked. My mouth has been watering for some more of your grandma's
delicious shortbread ever since I had tea here before."
Paul looked very sober.
"If it depended on me, teacher," he said, standing before Anne with
his hands in his pockets and his beautiful little face shadowed with
sudden care, "You should have shortbread with a right good will.
But it depends on Mary Joe. I heard Grandma tell her before she
left that she wasn't to give me any shortcake because it was too
rich for little boys' stomachs. But maybe Mary Joe will cut some
for you if I promise I won't eat any. Let us hope for the best."
"Yes, let us," agreed Anne, whom this cheerfulphilosophy suited
exactly, "and if Mary Joe proves hard-hearted and won't give me any
shortbread it doesn't matter in the least, so you are not to worry
over that."
"You're sure you won't mind if she doesn't?" said Paul anxiously.
"Perfectly sure, dear heart."
"Then I won't worry," said Paul, with a long breath of relief,
"especially as I really think Mary Joe will listen to reason.
She's not a naturally unreasonable person, but she has learned
by experience that it doesn't do to disobey Grandma's orders.
Grandma is an excellent woman but people must do as she tells them.
She was very much pleased with me this morning because I managed at
last to eat all my plateful of porridge. It was a great effort but
I succeeded. Grandma says she thinks she'll make a man of me yet.
But, teacher, I want to ask you a very important question.
You will answer it truthfully, won't you?"
"I'll try," promised Anne.
"Do you think I'm wrong in my upper story?" asked Paul, as if his
very existence depended on her reply.
"Goodness, no, Paul," exclaimed Anne in amazement. "Certainly
you're not. What put such an idea into your head?"
"Mary Joe. . .but she didn't know I heard her. Mrs. Peter Sloane's
hired girl, Veronica, came to see Mary Joe last evening and I heard
them talking in the kitchen as I was going through the hall.
I heard Mary Joe say, `Dat Paul, he is de queeres' leetle boy.
He talks dat queer. I tink dere's someting wrong in his upper story.'
I couldn't sleep last night for ever so long, thinking of it, and
wondering if Mary Joe was right. I couldn't bear to ask Grandma
about it somehow, but I made up my mind I'd ask you. I'm so glad
you think I'm all right in my upper story."
"Of course you are. Mary Joe is a silly, ignorant girl, and you
are never to worry about anything she says," said Anne indignantly,
secretly resolving to give Mrs. Irving a discreet hint as to the
advisability of restraining Mary Joe's tongue.
"Well, that's a weight off my mind," said Paul. "I'm perfectly
happy now, teacher, thanks to you. It wouldn't be nice to
have something wrong in your upper story, would it, teacher?
I suppose the reason Mary Joe imagines I have is because I tell
her what I think about things sometimes."
"It is a rather dangerous practice," admitted Anne, out of the
depths of her own experience.
"Well, by and by I'll tell you the thoughts I told Mary Joe and you
can see for yourself if there's anything queer in them," said Paul,
"but I'll wait till it begins to get dark. That is the time I ache
to tell people things, and when nobody else is handy I just HAVE to
tell Mary Joe. But after this I won't, if it makes her imagine I'm
wrong in my upper story. I'll just ache and bear it."
"And if the ache gets too bad you can come up to Green Gables and
tell me your thoughts," suggested Anne, with all the gravity that
endeared her to children, who so dearly love to be taken seriously.
"Yes, I will. But I hope Davy won't be there when I go because he
makes faces at me. I don't mind VERY much because he is such a
little boy and I am quite a big one, but still it is not pleasant
to have faces made at you. And Davy makes such terrible ones.
Sometimes I am frightened he will never get his face straightened
out again. He makes them at me in church when I ought to be thinking
of sacred things. Dora likes me though, and I like her, but not so
well as I did before she told Minnie May Barry that she meant to
marry me when I grew up. I may marry somebody when I grow up but
I'm far too young to be thinking of it yet, don't you think, teacher?"
"Rather young," agreed teacher.
"Speaking of marrying, reminds me of another thing that has been
troubling me of late," continued Paul. "Mrs. Lynde was down here
one day last week having tea with Grandma, and Grandma made me show
her my little mother's picture. . .the one father sent me for my
birthday present. I didn't exactly want to show it to Mrs. Lynde.
Mrs. Lynde is a good, kind woman, but she isn't the sort of person
you want to show your mother's picture to. YOU know, teacher.
But of course I obeyed Grandma. Mrs. Lynde said she was very
pretty ut kind of actressy looking, and must have been an awful lot
younger than father. Then she said, `Some of these days your pa
will be marrying again likely. How will you like to have a new ma,
Master Paul? ' Well, the idea almost took my breath away, teacher,
but I wasn't going to let Mrs. Lynde see THAT. I just looked her
straight in the face. . .like this. . .and I said, `Mrs. Lynde,
father made a pretty good job of picking out my first mother and I
could trust him to pick out just as good a one the second time.'
And I CAN trust him, teacher. But still, I hope, if he ever does
give me a new mother, he'll ask my opinion about her before it's
too late. There's Mary Joe coming to call us to tea. I'll go and
consult with her about the shortbread."
As a result of the "consultation," Mary Joe cut the shortbread and
added a dish of preserves to the bill of fare. Anne poured the tea
and she and Paul had a very merry meal in the dim old sitting room
whose windows were open to the gulf breezes, and they talked so much
"nonsense" that Mary Joe was quite scandalized and told Veronica
the next evening that "de school mees" was as queer as Paul.
After tea Paul took Anne up to his room to show her his
mother's picture, which had been the mysterious birthday present
kept by Mrs. Irving in the bookcase. Paul's little low-ceilinged
room was a soft whirl of ruddy light from the sun that was setting
over the sea and swinging shadows from the fir trees that grew
close to the square, deep-set window. From out this soft glow
and glamor shone a sweet, girlish face, with tender mother eyes,
that was hanging on the wall at the foot of the bed.
"That's my little mother," said Paul with loving pride. "I got
Grandma to hang it there where I'd see it as soon as I opened my
eyes in the morning. I never mind not having the light when I go
to bed now, because it just seems as if my little mother was right
here with me. Father knew just what I would like for a birthday
present, although he never asked me. Isn't it wonderful how much
fathers DO know?"
"Your mother was very lovely, Paul, and you look a little like her.
But her eyes and hair are darker than yours."
"My eyes are the same color as father's," said Paul, flying
about the room to heap all available cushions on the window seat,
"but father's hair is gray. He has lots of it, but it is gray.
You see, father is nearly fifty. That's ripe old age, isn't it?
But it's only OUTSIDE he's old. INSIDE he's just as young as anybody.
Now, teacher, please sit here; and I'll sit at your feet. May I lay
my head against your knee? That's the way my little mother and I
used to sit. Oh, this is real splendid, I think."
"Now, I want to hear those thoughts which Mary Joe pronounces so queer,"
said Anne, patting the mop of curls at her side. Paul never needed any
coaxing to tell his thoughts. . .at least, to congenial souls.
"I thought them out in the fir grove one night," he said dreamily.
"Of course I didn't BELIEVE them but I THOUGHT them. YOU know,
teacher. And then I wanted to tell them to somebody and there was
nobody but Mary Joe. Mary Joe was in the pantrysetting bread and
I sat down on the bench beside her and I said, `Mary Joe, do you
know what I think? I think the evening star is a lighthouse on the
land where the fairies dwell.' And Mary Joe said, `Well, yous are
de queer one. Dare ain't no such ting as fairies.' I was very much
provoked. Of course, I knew there are no fairies; but that needn't
prevent my thinking there is. You know, teacher. But I tried
again quite patiently. I said, `Well then, Mary Joe, do you know
what I think? I think an angel walks over the world after the sun
sets. . .a great, tall, white angel, with silvery folded wings. . .
and sings the flowers and birds to sleep. Children can hear him
if they know how to listen.' Then Mary Joe held up her hands
all over flour and said, `Well, yous are de queer leetle boy.
Yous make me feel scare.' And she really did looked scared.
I went out then and whispered the rest of my thoughts to the garden.
There was a little birch tree in the garden and it died. Grandma says
the salt spray killed it; but I think the dryad belonging to it was
a foolish dryad who wandered away to see the world and got lost.
And the little tree was so lonely it died of a broken heart."
"And when the poor, foolish little dryad gets tired of the world
and comes back to her tree HER heart will break," said Anne.
"Yes; but if dryads are foolish they must take the consequences,
just as if they were real people," said Paul gravely. "Do you know
what I think about the new moon, teacher? I think it is a little
golden boat full of dreams."
"And when it tips on a cloud some of them spill out and fall into
your sleep."
"Exactly, teacher. Oh, you DO know. And I think the violets are
little snips of the sky that fell down when the angels cut out
holes for the stars to shine through. And the buttercups are made
out of old sunshine; and I think the sweet peas will be butterflies
when they go to heaven. Now, teacher, do you see anything so very
queer about those thoughts?"
"No, laddie dear, they are not queer at all; they are strange and
beautiful thoughts for a little boy to think, and so people who
couldn't think anything of the sort themselves, if they tried for a
hundred years, think them queer. But keep on thinking them, Paul
. . .some day you are going to be a poet, I believe."
When Anne reached home she found a very different type of boyhood
waiting to be put to bed. Davy was sulky; and when Anne had
undressed him he bounced into bed and buried his face in the pillow.
"Davy, you have forgotten to say your prayers," said Anne rebukingly.
"No, I didn't forget," said Davy defiantly, "but I ain't going to
say my prayers any more. I'm going to give up trying to be good,
'cause no matter how good I am you'd like Paul Irving better.
So I might as well be bad and have the fun of it."
"I don't like Paul Irving BETTER," said Anne seriously. "I like
you just as well, only in a different way."
"But I want you to like me the same way," pouted Davy.
"You can't like different people the same way. You don't like Dora
and me the same way, do you?"
Davy sat up and reflected.
"No. . .o. . .o," he admitted at last, "I like Dora because she's
my sister but I like you because you're YOU."
"And I like Paul because he is Paul and Davy because he is Davy,"
said Anne gaily.
"Well, I kind of wish I'd said my prayers then," said Davy, convinced
by this logic. "But it's too much bother getting out now to say them.
I'll say them twice over in the morning, Anne. Won't that do as well?"
No, Anne was positive it would not do as well. So Davy scrambled
out and knelt down at her knee. When he had finished his devotions
- sprang [spræŋ]
spring 的过去式 (初中英语单词) - eagerly [´i:gəli] ad.渴望地，急切地 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- cheerful [´tʃiəful] a.快乐的；高兴的 (初中英语单词)
- philosophy [fi´lɔsəfi] n.哲学；人生观 (初中英语单词)
- breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
- existence [ig´zistəns] n.存在；生存；生活 (初中英语单词)
- amazement [ə´meizmənt] n.惊愕；惊奇 (初中英语单词)
- ignorant [´ignərənt] a.无知的，愚昧的 (初中英语单词)
- sacred [´seikrid] a.神圣的；庄严的 (初中英语单词)
- mysterious [mi´stiəriəs] a.神秘的；难以理解的 (初中英语单词)
- available [ə´veiləbəl] a.可用的；有效的 (初中英语单词)
- lonely [´ləunli] a.孤独的；无人烟的 (初中英语单词)
- gravely [´greivli] ad.庄重地，严肃地 (初中英语单词)
- sunshine [´sʌnʃain] n.日光，阳光 (初中英语单词)
- seriously [´siəriəsli] ad.严肃；严重，重大 (初中英语单词)
- bother [´bɔðə] v.打扰 n.麻烦(事) (初中英语单词)
- lonesome [´ləunsəm] a.孤独的；冷清清的 (高中英语单词)
- grandma [´grænmɑ:] n.奶奶；外婆 (高中英语单词)
- gravity [´græviti] n.严肃；严重；重力 (高中英语单词)
- hanging [´hæŋiŋ] n.绞刑 a.悬挂着的 (高中英语单词)
- loving [´lʌviŋ] a.爱的，有爱情的 (高中英语单词)
- pantry [´pæntri] n.食品室；餐具室 (高中英语单词)
- patiently [´peiʃəntli] ad.有耐心地；坚韧地 (高中英语单词)
- positive [´pɔzətiv] a.确定的 (高中英语单词)
- unreasonable [ʌn´ri:zənəbl] a.不合理的；荒唐的 (英语四级单词)
- disobey [,disə´bei] v.不服从；不听命令 (英语四级单词)
- dearly [´diəli] ad.深深地(爱等)；昂贵 (英语四级单词)
- congenial [kən´dʒi:niəl] a.意气相投的；合适的 (英语四级单词)
- setting [´setiŋ] n.安装；排字；布景 (英语四级单词)
- lighthouse [´laithaus] n.灯塔 (英语四级单词)
- silvery [´silvəri] a.银一般的 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- discreet [di´skri:t] a.谨慎的，考虑周到的 (英语六级单词)
- bookcase [´buk-keis] n.书架(箱) (英语六级单词)
- glamor [´glæmə] n.魔力，魅力 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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