章节正文
said one evening to Captain Jim. "I like her so
much--I admire her so much--I WANT to take her right
into my heart and creep right into hers. But I can
never cross the barrier."
"You've been too happy all your life, Mistress
Blythe," said Captain Jim thoughtfully. "I reckon
that's why you and Leslie can't get real close together
in your souls. The barrier between you is her
experience of sorrow and trouble. She ain't
responsible for it and you ain't; but it's there and
neither of you can cross it."
"My childhood wasn't very happy before I came to Green
Gables," said Anne, gazing soberly out of the window
at the still, sad, dead beauty of the leafless
tree-shadows on the moonlit snow.
"Mebbe not--but it was just the usual unhappiness of a
child who hasn't anyone to look after it properly.
There hasn't been any TRAGEDY in your life, Mistress
Blythe. And poor Leslie's has been almost ALL
tragedy. She feels, I reckon, though mebbe she hardly
knows she feels it, that there's a vast deal in her
life you can't enter nor understand--and so she has to
keep you back from it--hold you off, so to speak, from
hurting her. You know if we've got anything about us
that hurts we shrink from anyone's touch on or near it.
It holds good with our souls as well as our bodies, I
reckon. Leslie's soul must be near raw--it's no wonder
she hides it away."
"If that were really all, I wouldn't mind, Captain Jim.
I would understand. But there are times--not always,
but now and again-- when I almost have to believe that
Leslie doesn't--doesn't like me. Sometimes I surprise
a look in her eyes that seems to show resentment and
dislike--it goes so quickly--but I've seen it, I'm sure
of that. And it hurts me, Captain Jim. I'm not used
to being disliked-- and I've tried so hard to win
Leslie's friendship."
"You have won it, Mistress Blythe. Don't you go
cherishing any foolish notion that Leslie don't like
you. If she didn't she wouldn't have anything to do
with you, much less chumming with you as she does. I
know Leslie Moore too well not to be sure of that."
"The first time I ever saw her, driving her geese down
the hill on the day I came to Four Winds, she looked at
me with the same expression," persisted Anne. "I felt
it, even in the midst of my admiration of her beauty.
She looked at me resentfully--she did, indeed, Captain
Jim."
"The resentment must have been about something else,
Mistress Blythe, and you jest come in for a share of it
because you happened past. Leslie DOES take sullen
spells now and again, poor girl. I can't blame her,
when I know what she has to put up with. I don't know
why it's permitted. The doctor and I have talked a lot
abut the origin of evil, but we haven't quite found out
all about it yet. There's a vast of onunderstandable
things in life, ain't there, Mistress Blythe?
Sometimes things seem to work out real proper-like,
same as with you and the doctor. And then again they
all seem to go catawampus. There's Leslie, so clever
and beautiful you'd think she was meant for a queen,
and instead she's cooped up over there, robbed of
almost everything a woman'd value, with no prospect
except waiting on Dick Moore all her life. Though,
mind you, Mistress Blythe, I daresay she'd choose her
life now, such as it is, rather than the life she
lived with Dick before he went away. THAT'S something
a clumsy old sailor's tongue mustn't meddle with. But
you've helped Leslie a lot--she's a different creature
since you come to Four Winds. Us old friends see the
difference in her, as you can't. Miss Cornelia and me
was talking it over the other day, and it's one of the
mighty few p'ints that we see eye to eye on. So jest
you throw overboard any idea of her not liking you."
Anne could hardly discard it completely, for there were
undoubtedly times when she felt, with an instinct that
was not to be combated by reason, that Leslie harbored
a queer, indefinable resentment towards her. At times,
this secret consciousness marred the delight of their
comradeship; at others it was almost forgotten; but
Anne always felt the hidden thorn was there, and might
prick her at any moment. She felt a cruel sting from
it on the day when she told Leslie of what she hoped
the spring would bring to the little house of dreams.
Leslie looked at her with hard, bitter, unfriendly
eyes.
"So you are to have THAT, too," she said in a choked
voice. And without another word she had turned and
gone across the fields homeward. Anne was deeply hurt;
for the moment she felt as if she could never like
Leslie again. But when Leslie came over a few
evenings later she was so pleasant, so friendly, so
frank, and witty, and winsome, that Anne was charmed
into forgiveness and forgetfulness. Only, she never
mentioned her darling hope to Leslie again; nor did
Leslie ever refer to it. But one evening, when late
winter was listening for the word of spring, she came
over to the little house for a twilight chat; and when
she went away she left a small, white box on the table.
Anne found it after she was gone and opened it
wonderingly. In it was a tiny white dress of exquisite
workmanship-- delicateembroidery, wonderful tucking,
sheer loveliness. Every stitch in it was handwork; and
the little frills of lace at neck and sleeves were of
real Valenciennes. Lying on it was a card--"with
Leslie's love."
"What hours of work she must have put on it," said
Anne. "And the material must have cost more than she
could really afford. It is very sweet of her."
But Leslie was brusque and curt when Anne thanked her,
and again the latter felt thrown back upon herself.
Leslie's gift was not alone in the little house. Miss
Cornelia had, for the time being, given up sewing for
unwanted, welcome" target="_blank" title="a.不受欢迎的 n.冷淡">unwelcome eighth babies, and fallen to sewing
for a very much wanted first one, whose welcome would
leave nothing to be desired. Philippa Blake and Diana
Wright each sent a marvellous garment; and Mrs. Rachel
Lynde sent several, in which good material and honest
stitches took the place of embroidery and frills. Anne
herself made many, desecrated by no touch of machinery,
spending over them the happiest hours of the happy
winter.
Captain Jim was the most frequent guest of the little
house, and none was more welcome. Every day Anne loved
the simple-souled, true-hearted old sailor more and
more. He was as refreshing as a sea breeze, as
interesting as some ancient chronicle" target="_blank" title="n.历史 vt.记述">chronicle. She was never
tired of listening to his stories, and his quaint
remarks and comments were a continual delight to her.
Captain Jim was one of those rare and interesting
people who "never speak but they say something." The
milk of human kindness and the wisdom of the serpent
were mingled in his composition in delightful
proportions.
Nothing ever seemed to put Captain Jim out or depress
him in any way.
"I've kind of contracted a habit of enj'ying things,"
he remarked once, when Anne had commented on his
invariable cheerfulness. "It's got so chronic that I
believe I even enj'y the disagreeable things. It's
great fun thinking they can't last. `Old rheumatiz,'
says I, when it grips me hard, `you've GOT to stop
aching sometime. The worse you are the sooner you'll
stop, mebbe. I'm bound to get the better of you in the
long run, whether in the body or out of the body.'"
One night, by the fireside at the light Anne saw
Captain Jim's "life-book." He needed no coaxing to
show it and proudly gave it to her to read.
"I writ it to leave to little Joe," he said. "I don't
like the idea of everything I've done and seen being
clean forgot after I've shipped for my last v'yage.
Joe, he'll remember it, and tell the yarns to his
children."
It was an old leather-bound book filled with the record
of his voyages and adventures. Anne thought what a
treasure trove it would be to a writer. Every sentence
was a nugget. In itself the book had no literary
merit; Captain Jim's charm of storytelling failed him
when he came to pen and ink; he could only jot roughly
down the outline of his famous tales, and both spelling
and grammar were sadly askew. But Anne felt that if
anyone possessed of the gift could take that simple
record of a brave, adventurous life, reading between
the bald lines the tales of dangers staunchly faced and
duty manfully done, a wonderful story might be made
from it. Rich comedy and thrilling tragedy were both
lying hidden in Captain Jim's "life-book," waiting for
the touch of the master hand to waken the laughter and
grief and horror of thousands.
Anne said something of this to Gilbert as they walked
home.
"Why don't you try your hand at it yourself, Anne?"
Anne shook her head.
" No. I only wish I could. But it's not in the power
of my gift. You know what my forte is, Gilbert--the
fanciful, the fairylike, the pretty. To write Captain
Jim's life-book as it should be written one should be a
master of vigorous yet subtle style, a keen
psychologist, a born humorist and a born tragedian. A
rare combination of gifts is needed. Paul might do it
if he were older. Anyhow, I'm going to ask him to come
down next summer and meet Captain Jim."
"Come to this shore," wrote Anne to Paul. "I am
afraid you cannot find here Nora or the Golden Lady or
the Twin Sailors; but you will find one old sailor who
can tell you wonderful stories."
Paul, however wrote back, saying regretfully that he
could not come that year. He was going abroad for two
year's study.
"When I return I'll come to Four Winds, dear Teacher,"
he wrote.
"But meanwhile, Captain Jim is growing old," said
Anne, sorrowfully, "and there is nobody to write his
life-book."
CHAPTER 18
SPRING DAYS
The ice in the harbor grew black and rotten in the
March suns; in April there were blue waters and a
windy, white-capped gulf again; and again the Four
Winds light begemmed the twilights.
"I'm so glad to see it once more," said Anne, on the
much--I admire her so much--I WANT to take her right
into my heart and creep right into hers. But I can
never cross the barrier."
"You've been too happy all your life, Mistress
Blythe," said Captain Jim thoughtfully. "I reckon
that's why you and Leslie can't get real close together
in your souls. The barrier between you is her
experience of sorrow and trouble. She ain't
responsible for it and you ain't; but it's there and
neither of you can cross it."
"My childhood wasn't very happy before I came to Green
Gables," said Anne, gazing soberly out of the window
at the still, sad, dead beauty of the leafless
tree-shadows on the moonlit snow.
"Mebbe not--but it was just the usual unhappiness of a
child who hasn't anyone to look after it properly.
There hasn't been any TRAGEDY in your life, Mistress
Blythe. And poor Leslie's has been almost ALL
tragedy. She feels, I reckon, though mebbe she hardly
knows she feels it, that there's a vast deal in her
life you can't enter nor understand--and so she has to
keep you back from it--hold you off, so to speak, from
hurting her. You know if we've got anything about us
that hurts we shrink from anyone's touch on or near it.
It holds good with our souls as well as our bodies, I
reckon. Leslie's soul must be near raw--it's no wonder
she hides it away."
"If that were really all, I wouldn't mind, Captain Jim.
I would understand. But there are times--not always,
but now and again-- when I almost have to believe that
Leslie doesn't--doesn't like me. Sometimes I surprise
a look in her eyes that seems to show resentment and
dislike--it goes so quickly--but I've seen it, I'm sure
of that. And it hurts me, Captain Jim. I'm not used
to being disliked-- and I've tried so hard to win
Leslie's friendship."
"You have won it, Mistress Blythe. Don't you go
cherishing any foolish notion that Leslie don't like
you. If she didn't she wouldn't have anything to do
with you, much less chumming with you as she does. I
know Leslie Moore too well not to be sure of that."
"The first time I ever saw her, driving her geese down
the hill on the day I came to Four Winds, she looked at
me with the same expression," persisted Anne. "I felt
it, even in the midst of my admiration of her beauty.
She looked at me resentfully--she did, indeed, Captain
Jim."
"The resentment must have been about something else,
Mistress Blythe, and you jest come in for a share of it
because you happened past. Leslie DOES take sullen
spells now and again, poor girl. I can't blame her,
when I know what she has to put up with. I don't know
why it's permitted. The doctor and I have talked a lot
abut the origin of evil, but we haven't quite found out
all about it yet. There's a vast of onunderstandable
things in life, ain't there, Mistress Blythe?
Sometimes things seem to work out real proper-like,
same as with you and the doctor. And then again they
all seem to go catawampus. There's Leslie, so clever
and beautiful you'd think she was meant for a queen,
and instead she's cooped up over there, robbed of
almost everything a woman'd value, with no prospect
except waiting on Dick Moore all her life. Though,
mind you, Mistress Blythe, I daresay she'd choose her
life now, such as it is, rather than the life she
lived with Dick before he went away. THAT'S something
a clumsy old sailor's tongue mustn't meddle with. But
you've helped Leslie a lot--she's a different creature
since you come to Four Winds. Us old friends see the
difference in her, as you can't. Miss Cornelia and me
was talking it over the other day, and it's one of the
mighty few p'ints that we see eye to eye on. So jest
you throw overboard any idea of her not liking you."
Anne could hardly discard it completely, for there were
undoubtedly times when she felt, with an instinct that
was not to be combated by reason, that Leslie harbored
a queer, indefinable resentment towards her. At times,
this secret consciousness marred the delight of their
comradeship; at others it was almost forgotten; but
Anne always felt the hidden thorn was there, and might
prick her at any moment. She felt a cruel sting from
it on the day when she told Leslie of what she hoped
the spring would bring to the little house of dreams.
Leslie looked at her with hard, bitter, unfriendly
eyes.
"So you are to have THAT, too," she said in a choked
voice. And without another word she had turned and
gone across the fields homeward. Anne was deeply hurt;
for the moment she felt as if she could never like
Leslie again. But when Leslie came over a few
evenings later she was so pleasant, so friendly, so
frank, and witty, and winsome, that Anne was charmed
into forgiveness and forgetfulness. Only, she never
mentioned her darling hope to Leslie again; nor did
Leslie ever refer to it. But one evening, when late
winter was listening for the word of spring, she came
over to the little house for a twilight chat; and when
she went away she left a small, white box on the table.
Anne found it after she was gone and opened it
wonderingly. In it was a tiny white dress of exquisite
workmanship-- delicateembroidery, wonderful tucking,
sheer loveliness. Every stitch in it was handwork; and
the little frills of lace at neck and sleeves were of
real Valenciennes. Lying on it was a card--"with
Leslie's love."
"What hours of work she must have put on it," said
Anne. "And the material must have cost more than she
could really afford. It is very sweet of her."
But Leslie was brusque and curt when Anne thanked her,
and again the latter felt thrown back upon herself.
Leslie's gift was not alone in the little house. Miss
Cornelia had, for the time being, given up sewing for
unwanted, welcome" target="_blank" title="a.不受欢迎的 n.冷淡">unwelcome eighth babies, and fallen to sewing
for a very much wanted first one, whose welcome would
leave nothing to be desired. Philippa Blake and Diana
Wright each sent a marvellous garment; and Mrs. Rachel
Lynde sent several, in which good material and honest
stitches took the place of embroidery and frills. Anne
herself made many, desecrated by no touch of machinery,
spending over them the happiest hours of the happy
winter.
Captain Jim was the most frequent guest of the little
house, and none was more welcome. Every day Anne loved
the simple-souled, true-hearted old sailor more and
more. He was as refreshing as a sea breeze, as
interesting as some ancient chronicle" target="_blank" title="n.历史 vt.记述">chronicle. She was never
tired of listening to his stories, and his quaint
remarks and comments were a continual delight to her.
Captain Jim was one of those rare and interesting
people who "never speak but they say something." The
milk of human kindness and the wisdom of the serpent
were mingled in his composition in delightful
proportions.
Nothing ever seemed to put Captain Jim out or depress
him in any way.
"I've kind of contracted a habit of enj'ying things,"
he remarked once, when Anne had commented on his
invariable cheerfulness. "It's got so chronic that I
believe I even enj'y the disagreeable things. It's
great fun thinking they can't last. `Old rheumatiz,'
says I, when it grips me hard, `you've GOT to stop
aching sometime. The worse you are the sooner you'll
stop, mebbe. I'm bound to get the better of you in the
long run, whether in the body or out of the body.'"
One night, by the fireside at the light Anne saw
Captain Jim's "life-book." He needed no coaxing to
show it and proudly gave it to her to read.
"I writ it to leave to little Joe," he said. "I don't
like the idea of everything I've done and seen being
clean forgot after I've shipped for my last v'yage.
Joe, he'll remember it, and tell the yarns to his
children."
It was an old leather-bound book filled with the record
of his voyages and adventures. Anne thought what a
treasure trove it would be to a writer. Every sentence
was a nugget. In itself the book had no literary
merit; Captain Jim's charm of storytelling failed him
when he came to pen and ink; he could only jot roughly
down the outline of his famous tales, and both spelling
and grammar were sadly askew. But Anne felt that if
anyone possessed of the gift could take that simple
record of a brave, adventurous life, reading between
the bald lines the tales of dangers staunchly faced and
duty manfully done, a wonderful story might be made
from it. Rich comedy and thrilling tragedy were both
lying hidden in Captain Jim's "life-book," waiting for
the touch of the master hand to waken the laughter and
grief and horror of thousands.
Anne said something of this to Gilbert as they walked
home.
"Why don't you try your hand at it yourself, Anne?"
Anne shook her head.
" No. I only wish I could. But it's not in the power
of my gift. You know what my forte is, Gilbert--the
fanciful, the fairylike, the pretty. To write Captain
Jim's life-book as it should be written one should be a
master of vigorous yet subtle style, a keen
psychologist, a born humorist and a born tragedian. A
rare combination of gifts is needed. Paul might do it
if he were older. Anyhow, I'm going to ask him to come
down next summer and meet Captain Jim."
"Come to this shore," wrote Anne to Paul. "I am
afraid you cannot find here Nora or the Golden Lady or
the Twin Sailors; but you will find one old sailor who
can tell you wonderful stories."
Paul, however wrote back, saying regretfully that he
could not come that year. He was going abroad for two
year's study.
"When I return I'll come to Four Winds, dear Teacher,"
he wrote.
"But meanwhile, Captain Jim is growing old," said
Anne, sorrowfully, "and there is nobody to write his
life-book."
CHAPTER 18
SPRING DAYS
The ice in the harbor grew black and rotten in the
March suns; in April there were blue waters and a
windy, white-capped gulf again; and again the Four
Winds light begemmed the twilights.
"I'm so glad to see it once more," said Anne, on the
- childhood [´tʃaildhud]
n.幼年(时代)；早期 (初中英语单词) - tragedy [´trædʒidi] n.悲剧；惨案；灾难 (初中英语单词)
- reckon [´rekən] v.计算；认为；估计 (初中英语单词)
- mistress [´mistris] n.女主人；情妇；女能手 (初中英语单词)
- admiration [,ædmə´reiʃən] n.赞赏，钦佩 (初中英语单词)
- origin [´ɔridʒin] n.起源；由来；出身 (初中英语单词)
- waiting [´weitiŋ] n.等候；伺候 (初中英语单词)
- instinct [´instiŋkt] n.本能；直觉；天资 (初中英语单词)
- hidden [´hid(ə)n] hide 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- darling [´dɑ:liŋ] n.爱人 a.亲爱的 (初中英语单词)
- twilight [´twailait] n.黎明；黄昏 (初中英语单词)
- delicate [´delikət] a.精美的；微妙的 (初中英语单词)
- welcome [´welkəm] a.受欢迎的；可喜的 (初中英语单词)
- garment [´gɑ:mənt] n.衣服，外衣 (初中英语单词)
- frequent [´fri:kwənt] a.常见的，频繁的 (初中英语单词)
- breeze [bri:z] n.微风；不费力的事 (初中英语单词)
- wisdom [´wizdəm] n.智慧，聪明，才智 (初中英语单词)
- sometime [´sʌmtaim] ad.曾经 a.从前的 (初中英语单词)
- proudly [´praudli] ad.骄傲地；傲慢地 (初中英语单词)
- writer [´raitə] n.作者；作家 (初中英语单词)
- outline [´autlain] n.外形 vt.画出...轮廓 (初中英语单词)
- reading [´ri:diŋ] n.(阅)读；朗读；读物 (初中英语单词)
- laughter [´lɑ:ftə] n.笑，笑声 (初中英语单词)
- horror [´hɔrə] n.恐怖；战栗 (初中英语单词)
- combination [,kɔmbi´neiʃən] n.结合；联合；团体 (初中英语单词)
- abroad [ə´brɔ:d] ad.海外；到处；广泛 (初中英语单词)
- meanwhile [´mi:n´wail] n.&ad.其间；同时 (初中英语单词)
- thoughtfully [´θɔ:tfuli] ad.深思地；体贴地 (高中英语单词)
- barrier [´bæriə] n.栅栏；屏障；障碍 (高中英语单词)
- shrink [ʃriŋk] v.收缩；退缩；畏缩 (高中英语单词)
- resentment [ri´zentmənt] n.不满；怨恨；忿恨 (高中英语单词)
- clumsy [´klʌmzi] a.笨拙的；粗俗的 (高中英语单词)
- meddle [´medl] vi.干涉(预)；乱弄 (高中英语单词)
- discard [dis´kɑ:d] vt.丢弃，抛弃；解雇 (高中英语单词)
- consciousness [´kɔnʃəsnis] n.意识；觉悟；知觉 (高中英语单词)
- homeward [´həumwəd] ad.&a.回家(的) (高中英语单词)
- forgiveness [fə´givnis] n.原谅，饶恕；宽仁 (高中英语单词)
- stitch [stitʃ] n.针脚 v.缝(纫) (高中英语单词)
- sewing [´səuiŋ] n.缝纫；(书的)装订 (高中英语单词)
- chronicle [´krɔnikl] n.历史 vt.记述 (高中英语单词)
- continual [kən´tinjuəl] a.不断的，频繁的 (高中英语单词)
- composition [,kɔmpə´ziʃən] n.写作；作曲；作品 (高中英语单词)
- disagreeable [,disə´gri:əbl] a.令人不悦的 (高中英语单词)
- comedy [´kɔmidi] n.喜剧；喜剧场面 (高中英语单词)
- vigorous [´vigərəs] a.精力旺盛的；健壮的 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- rotten [´rɔtn] a.腐烂的；腐朽的 (高中英语单词)
- soberly [´səubəli] ad.严肃地；清醒地 (英语四级单词)
- overboard [´əuvəbɔ:d] ad.向船外；到水中 (英语四级单词)
- embroidery [im´brɔidəri] n.刺绣(品) (英语四级单词)
- loveliness [´lʌvlinis] n.美丽，可爱 (英语四级单词)
- adventurous [əd´ventʃərəs] a.冒险的；惊险的 (英语四级单词)
- moonlit [´mu:n,lit] a.月光普照的 (英语六级单词)
- liking [´laikiŋ] n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 (英语六级单词)
- forgetfulness [fə´getminɔt] n.健忘 (英语六级单词)
- unwelcome [ʌn´welkəm] a.不受欢迎的 n.冷淡 (英语六级单词)
- refreshing [ri´freʃiŋ] a.使心神爽快的 (英语六级单词)
- contracted [kən´træktid] a.收缩了的；缩略的 (英语六级单词)
- cheerfulness [´tʃiəfulnis] n.高兴，愉快 (英语六级单词)
- chronic [´krɔnik] a.慢性的；剧烈的 (英语六级单词)
- fireside [´faiəsaid] n.炉边；家；家庭生活 (英语六级单词)
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章节正文
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