章节正文
such a mood. "There's plenty of room in our boat for
three, and we'll tie the flat on behind."
"Oh, I suppose I must reconcile myself to being the odd
one again," said poor Leslie with another bitter
laugh. "Forgive me, Anne--that was hateful. I ought
to be thankful--and I AM--that I have two good friends
who are glad to count me in as a third. Don't mind my
hateful speeches. I just seem to be one great pain all
over and everything hurts me."
"Leslie seemed very quiet tonight, didn't she?" said
Gilbert, when he and Anne reached home. "What in the
world was she doing over there on the bar alone?"
"Oh, she was tired--and you know she likes to go to the
shore after one of Dick's bad days."
"What a pity she hadn't met and married a fellow like
Ford long ago," ruminated Gilbert. "They'd have made
an ideal couple, wouldn't they?"
"For pity's sake, Gilbert, don't develop into a
match-maker. It's an abominableprofession for a
man," cried Anne rather sharply, afraid that Gilbert
might blunder on the truth if he kept on in this
strain.
"Bless us, Anne-girl, I'm not matchmaking," protested
Gilbert, rather surprised at her tone. "I was only
thinking of one of the might-have-beens."
"Well, don't. It's a waste of time," said Anne. Then
she added suddenly:
"Oh, Gilbert, I wish everybody could be as happy as we
are."
CHAPTER 28
ODDS AND ENDS
"I've been reading obituary notices," said Miss
Cornelia, laying down the Daily Enterprise and taking
up her sewing.
The harbor was lying black and sullen under a dour
November sky; the wet, dead leaves clung drenched and
sodden to the window sills; but the little house was
gay with firelight and spring-like with Anne's ferns
and geraniums.
"It's always summer here, Anne," Leslie had said one
day; and all who were the guests of that house of
dreams felt the same.
"The Enterprise seems to run to obituaries these
days," quoth Miss Cornelia. "It always has a couple
of columns of them, and I read every line. It's one of
my forms of recreation, especially when there's some
original poetry attached to them. Here's a choice
sample for you:
She's gone to be with her Maker, Never more to
roam. She used to play and sing with joy The
song of Home, Sweet Home.
Who says we haven't any poeticaltalent on the Island!
Have you ever noticed what heaps of good people die,
Anne, dearie? It's kind of pitiful. Here's ten
obituaries, and every one of them saints and models,
even the men. Here's old Peter Stimson, who has `left
a large circle of friends to mourn his untimely loss.'
Lord, Anne, dearie, that man was eighty, and everybody
who knew him had been wishing him dead these thirty
years. Read obituaries when you're blue, Anne,
dearie--especially the ones of folks you know. If
you've any sense of humor at all they'll cheer you up,
believe ME. I just wish _I_ had the writing of the
obituaries of some people. Isn't `obituary' an awful
ugly word? This very Peter I've been speaking of had a
face exactly like one. I never saw it but I thought of
the word OBITUARY then and there. There's only one
uglier word that I know of, and that's RELICT. Lord,
Anne, dearie, I may be an old maid, but there's this
comfort in it--I'll never be any man's `relict.'"
"It IS an ugly word," said Anne, laughing. "Avonlea
graveyard was full of old tombstones `sacred to the
memory of So-and-So, RELICT of the late So-and-So.' It
always made me think of something worn out and moth
eaten. Why is it that so many of the words connected
with death are so disagreeable? I do wish that the
custom of calling a dead body `the remains' could be
abolished. I positivelyshiver when I hear the
undertaker say at a funeral, `All who wish to see the
remains please step this way.' It always gives me the
horrible impression that I am about to view the scene
of a cannibal feast."
"Well, all I hope," said Miss Cornelia calmly, "is
that when I'm dead nobody will call me `our departed
sister.' I took a scunner at this
sister-and-brothering business five years ago when
there was a travelling evangelist holding meetings at
the Glen. I hadn't any use for him from the start. I
felt in my bones that there was something wrong with
him. And there was. Mind you, he was pretending to be
a Presbyterian--PresbyTARian, HE called it--and all the
time he was a Methodist. He brothered and sistered
everybody. He had a large circle of relations, that
man had. He clutched my hand fervently one night, and
said imploringly, `My DEAR sister Bryant, are you a
Christian?' I just looked him over a bit, and then I
said calmly, `The only brother I ever had, MR. Fiske,
was buried fifteen years ago, and I haven't adopted any
since. As for being a Christian, I was that, I hope
and believe, when you were crawling about the floor in
petticoats.' THAT squelched him, believe ME. Mind
you, Anne dearie, I'm not down on all evangelists.
We've had some real fine, earnest men, who did a lot of
good and made the old sinners squirm. But this
Fiske-man wasn't one of them. I had a good laugh all
to myself one evening. Fiske had asked all who were
Christians to stand up. _I_ didn't, believe me! I
never had any use for that sort of thing. But most of
them did, and then he asked all who wanted to be
Christians to stand up. Nobody stirred for a spell, so
Fiske started up a hymn at the top of his voice. Just
in front of me poor little Ikey Baker was sitting in
the Millison pew. He was a home boy, ten years old,
and Millison just about worked him to death. The poor
little creature was always so tired he fell asleep
right off whenever he went to church or anywhere he
could sit still for a few minutes. He'd been sleeping
all through the meeting, and I was thankful to see the
poor child getting a rest, believe ME. Well, when
Fiske's voice went soaring skyward and the rest joined
in, poor Ikey wakened with a start. He thought it was
just an ordinary singing and that everybody ought to
stand up, so he scrambled to his feet mighty quick,
knowing he'd get a combing down from Maria Millison for
sleeping in meeting. Fiske saw him, stopped and
shouted, `Another soul saved! Glory Hallelujah!' And
there was poor, frightened Ikey, only half awake and
yawning, never thinking about his soul at all. Poor
child, he never had time to think of anything but his
tired, overworked little body.
"Leslie went one night and the Fiske-man got right
after her--oh, he was especially anxious about the
souls of the nice-looking girls, believe me!--and he
hurt her feelings so she never went again. And then he
prayed every night after that, right in public, that
the Lord would soften her hard heart. Finally I went
to Mr. Leavitt, our minister then, and told him if he
didn't make Fiske stop that I'd just rise up the next
night and throw my hymn book at him when he mentioned
that `beautiful but unrepentant young woman.' I'd have
done it too, believe ME. Mr. Leavitt did put a stop to
it, but Fiske kept on with his meetings until Charley
Douglas put an end to his career in the Glen. Mrs.
Charley had been out in California all winter. She'd
been real melancholy in the fall--religious
melancholy--it ran in her family. Her father worried
so much over believing that he had committed the
unpardonable sin that he died in the asylum. So when
Rose Douglas got that way Charley packed her off to
visit her sister in Los Angeles. She got perfectly
well and came home just when the Fiske revival was in
full swing. She stepped off the train at the Glen,
real smiling and chipper, and the first thing she saw
staring her in the face on the black, gable-end of the
freight shed, was the question, in big white letters,
two feet high, `Whither goest thou--to heaven or hell?'
That had been one of Fiske's ideas, and he had got
Henry Hammond to paint it. Rose just gave a shriek and
fainted; and when they got her home she was worse than
ever. Charley Douglas went to Mr. Leavitt and told him
that every Douglas would leave the church if Fiske was
kept there any longer. Mr. Leavitt had to give in, for
the Douglases paid half his salary, so Fiske departed,
and we had to depend on our Bibles once more for
instructions on how to get to heaven. After he was
gone Mr. Leavitt found out he was just a masquerading
Methodist, and he felt pretty sick, believe ME. Mr.
Leavitt fell short in some ways, but he was a good,
sound Presbyterian."
"By the way, I had a letter from Mr. Ford yesterday,"
said Anne. "He asked me to remember him kindly to
you."
"I don't want his remembrances," said Miss Cornelia,
curtly.
"Why?" said Anne, in astonishment. "I thought you
liked him."
"Well, so I did, in a kind of way. But I'll never
forgive him for what he done to Leslie. There's that
poor child eating her heart out about him--as if she
hadn't had trouble enough--and him ranting round
Toronto, I've no doubt, enjoying himself same as ever.
Just like a man."
"Oh, Miss Cornelia, how did you find out?"
"Lord, Anne, dearie, I've got eyes, haven't I? And
I've known Leslie since she was a baby . There's been
a new kind of heartbreak in her eyes all the fall, and
I know that writer-man was behind it somehow. I'll
never forgive myself for being the means of bringing
him here. But I never expected he'd be like he was. I
thought he'd just be like the other men Leslie had
boarded--conceited young asses, every one of them, that
she never had any use for. One of them did try to
flirt with her once and she froze him out--so bad, I
feel sure he's never got himself thawed since. So I
never thought of any danger."
"Don't let Leslie suspect you know her secret," said
Anne hurriedly. "I think it would hurt her."
"Trust me, Anne, dearie. _I_ wasn't born yesterday.
Oh, a plague on all the men! One of them ruined
Leslie's life to begin with, and now another of the
tribe comes and makes her still more wretched. Anne,
three, and we'll tie the flat on behind."
"Oh, I suppose I must reconcile myself to being the odd
one again," said poor Leslie with another bitter
laugh. "Forgive me, Anne--that was hateful. I ought
to be thankful--and I AM--that I have two good friends
who are glad to count me in as a third. Don't mind my
hateful speeches. I just seem to be one great pain all
over and everything hurts me."
"Leslie seemed very quiet tonight, didn't she?" said
Gilbert, when he and Anne reached home. "What in the
world was she doing over there on the bar alone?"
"Oh, she was tired--and you know she likes to go to the
shore after one of Dick's bad days."
"What a pity she hadn't met and married a fellow like
Ford long ago," ruminated Gilbert. "They'd have made
an ideal couple, wouldn't they?"
"For pity's sake, Gilbert, don't develop into a
match-maker. It's an abominableprofession for a
man," cried Anne rather sharply, afraid that Gilbert
might blunder on the truth if he kept on in this
strain.
"Bless us, Anne-girl, I'm not matchmaking," protested
Gilbert, rather surprised at her tone. "I was only
thinking of one of the might-have-beens."
"Well, don't. It's a waste of time," said Anne. Then
she added suddenly:
"Oh, Gilbert, I wish everybody could be as happy as we
are."
CHAPTER 28
ODDS AND ENDS
"I've been reading obituary notices," said Miss
Cornelia, laying down the Daily Enterprise and taking
up her sewing.
The harbor was lying black and sullen under a dour
November sky; the wet, dead leaves clung drenched and
sodden to the window sills; but the little house was
gay with firelight and spring-like with Anne's ferns
and geraniums.
"It's always summer here, Anne," Leslie had said one
day; and all who were the guests of that house of
dreams felt the same.
"The Enterprise seems to run to obituaries these
days," quoth Miss Cornelia. "It always has a couple
of columns of them, and I read every line. It's one of
my forms of recreation, especially when there's some
original poetry attached to them. Here's a choice
sample for you:
She's gone to be with her Maker, Never more to
roam. She used to play and sing with joy The
song of Home, Sweet Home.
Who says we haven't any poeticaltalent on the Island!
Have you ever noticed what heaps of good people die,
Anne, dearie? It's kind of pitiful. Here's ten
obituaries, and every one of them saints and models,
even the men. Here's old Peter Stimson, who has `left
a large circle of friends to mourn his untimely loss.'
Lord, Anne, dearie, that man was eighty, and everybody
who knew him had been wishing him dead these thirty
years. Read obituaries when you're blue, Anne,
dearie--especially the ones of folks you know. If
you've any sense of humor at all they'll cheer you up,
believe ME. I just wish _I_ had the writing of the
obituaries of some people. Isn't `obituary' an awful
ugly word? This very Peter I've been speaking of had a
face exactly like one. I never saw it but I thought of
the word OBITUARY then and there. There's only one
uglier word that I know of, and that's RELICT. Lord,
Anne, dearie, I may be an old maid, but there's this
comfort in it--I'll never be any man's `relict.'"
"It IS an ugly word," said Anne, laughing. "Avonlea
graveyard was full of old tombstones `sacred to the
memory of So-and-So, RELICT of the late So-and-So.' It
always made me think of something worn out and moth
eaten. Why is it that so many of the words connected
with death are so disagreeable? I do wish that the
custom of calling a dead body `the remains' could be
abolished. I positivelyshiver when I hear the
undertaker say at a funeral, `All who wish to see the
remains please step this way.' It always gives me the
horrible impression that I am about to view the scene
of a cannibal feast."
"Well, all I hope," said Miss Cornelia calmly, "is
that when I'm dead nobody will call me `our departed
sister.' I took a scunner at this
sister-and-brothering business five years ago when
there was a travelling evangelist holding meetings at
the Glen. I hadn't any use for him from the start. I
felt in my bones that there was something wrong with
him. And there was. Mind you, he was pretending to be
a Presbyterian--PresbyTARian, HE called it--and all the
time he was a Methodist. He brothered and sistered
everybody. He had a large circle of relations, that
man had. He clutched my hand fervently one night, and
said imploringly, `My DEAR sister Bryant, are you a
Christian?' I just looked him over a bit, and then I
said calmly, `The only brother I ever had, MR. Fiske,
was buried fifteen years ago, and I haven't adopted any
since. As for being a Christian, I was that, I hope
and believe, when you were crawling about the floor in
petticoats.' THAT squelched him, believe ME. Mind
you, Anne dearie, I'm not down on all evangelists.
We've had some real fine, earnest men, who did a lot of
good and made the old sinners squirm. But this
Fiske-man wasn't one of them. I had a good laugh all
to myself one evening. Fiske had asked all who were
Christians to stand up. _I_ didn't, believe me! I
never had any use for that sort of thing. But most of
them did, and then he asked all who wanted to be
Christians to stand up. Nobody stirred for a spell, so
Fiske started up a hymn at the top of his voice. Just
in front of me poor little Ikey Baker was sitting in
the Millison pew. He was a home boy, ten years old,
and Millison just about worked him to death. The poor
little creature was always so tired he fell asleep
right off whenever he went to church or anywhere he
could sit still for a few minutes. He'd been sleeping
all through the meeting, and I was thankful to see the
poor child getting a rest, believe ME. Well, when
Fiske's voice went soaring skyward and the rest joined
in, poor Ikey wakened with a start. He thought it was
just an ordinary singing and that everybody ought to
stand up, so he scrambled to his feet mighty quick,
knowing he'd get a combing down from Maria Millison for
sleeping in meeting. Fiske saw him, stopped and
shouted, `Another soul saved! Glory Hallelujah!' And
there was poor, frightened Ikey, only half awake and
yawning, never thinking about his soul at all. Poor
child, he never had time to think of anything but his
tired, overworked little body.
"Leslie went one night and the Fiske-man got right
after her--oh, he was especially anxious about the
souls of the nice-looking girls, believe me!--and he
hurt her feelings so she never went again. And then he
prayed every night after that, right in public, that
the Lord would soften her hard heart. Finally I went
to Mr. Leavitt, our minister then, and told him if he
didn't make Fiske stop that I'd just rise up the next
night and throw my hymn book at him when he mentioned
that `beautiful but unrepentant young woman.' I'd have
done it too, believe ME. Mr. Leavitt did put a stop to
it, but Fiske kept on with his meetings until Charley
Douglas put an end to his career in the Glen. Mrs.
Charley had been out in California all winter. She'd
been real melancholy in the fall--religious
melancholy--it ran in her family. Her father worried
so much over believing that he had committed the
unpardonable sin that he died in the asylum. So when
Rose Douglas got that way Charley packed her off to
visit her sister in Los Angeles. She got perfectly
well and came home just when the Fiske revival was in
full swing. She stepped off the train at the Glen,
real smiling and chipper, and the first thing she saw
staring her in the face on the black, gable-end of the
freight shed, was the question, in big white letters,
two feet high, `Whither goest thou--to heaven or hell?'
That had been one of Fiske's ideas, and he had got
Henry Hammond to paint it. Rose just gave a shriek and
fainted; and when they got her home she was worse than
ever. Charley Douglas went to Mr. Leavitt and told him
that every Douglas would leave the church if Fiske was
kept there any longer. Mr. Leavitt had to give in, for
the Douglases paid half his salary, so Fiske departed,
and we had to depend on our Bibles once more for
instructions on how to get to heaven. After he was
gone Mr. Leavitt found out he was just a masquerading
Methodist, and he felt pretty sick, believe ME. Mr.
Leavitt fell short in some ways, but he was a good,
sound Presbyterian."
"By the way, I had a letter from Mr. Ford yesterday,"
said Anne. "He asked me to remember him kindly to
you."
"I don't want his remembrances," said Miss Cornelia,
curtly.
"Why?" said Anne, in astonishment. "I thought you
liked him."
"Well, so I did, in a kind of way. But I'll never
forgive him for what he done to Leslie. There's that
poor child eating her heart out about him--as if she
hadn't had trouble enough--and him ranting round
Toronto, I've no doubt, enjoying himself same as ever.
Just like a man."
"Oh, Miss Cornelia, how did you find out?"
"Lord, Anne, dearie, I've got eyes, haven't I? And
I've known Leslie since she was a baby . There's been
a new kind of heartbreak in her eyes all the fall, and
I know that writer-man was behind it somehow. I'll
never forgive myself for being the means of bringing
him here. But I never expected he'd be like he was. I
thought he'd just be like the other men Leslie had
boarded--conceited young asses, every one of them, that
she never had any use for. One of them did try to
flirt with her once and she froze him out--so bad, I
feel sure he's never got himself thawed since. So I
never thought of any danger."
"Don't let Leslie suspect you know her secret," said
Anne hurriedly. "I think it would hurt her."
"Trust me, Anne, dearie. _I_ wasn't born yesterday.
Oh, a plague on all the men! One of them ruined
Leslie's life to begin with, and now another of the
tribe comes and makes her still more wretched. Anne,
- profession [prə´feʃən]
n.职业；声明；表白 (初中英语单词) - sharply [´ʃɑ:pli] ad.锋利地；剧烈地 (初中英语单词)
- reading [´ri:diŋ] n.(阅)读；朗读；读物 (初中英语单词)
- enterprise [´entəpraiz] n.企业；雄心；胆识 (初中英语单词)
- poetry [´pəuitri] n.诗；诗意 (初中英语单词)
- talent [´tælənt] n.天才；才干；天资 (初中英语单词)
- circle [´sə:kəl] n.圆圈 v.环绕；盘旋 (初中英语单词)
- writing [´raitiŋ] n.书写；写作；书法 (初中英语单词)
- shiver [´ʃivə] v.&n.(使)颤抖；碎片 (初中英语单词)
- funeral [´fju:nərəl] n.葬礼，丧葬；困难 (初中英语单词)
- impression [im´preʃən] n.印刷；印象；效果 (初中英语单词)
- calmly [´kɑ:mli] ad.平静地；无风浪地 (初中英语单词)
- earnest [´ə:nist] a.认真的 n.认真；诚恳 (初中英语单词)
- whenever [wen´evə] conj.&ad.无论何时 (初中英语单词)
- anywhere [´eniweə] ad.无论何处；任何地方 (初中英语单词)
- anxious [´æŋkʃəs] a.担忧的；渴望的 (初中英语单词)
- soften [´sɔfən] v.使(变)软(柔和) (初中英语单词)
- minister [´ministə] n.部长；大臣 v.伺候 (初中英语单词)
- career [kə´riə] n.经历；生涯；职业 (初中英语单词)
- california [,kæli´fɔ:njə] n.加利福尼亚 (初中英语单词)
- shriek [ʃri:k] v.&n.尖叫(声) (初中英语单词)
- astonishment [ə´stɔniʃmənt] n.吃惊；惊异 (初中英语单词)
- forgive [fə´giv] vt.原谅，谅解，宽恕 (初中英语单词)
- suspect [´sʌspekt, sə´spekt] v.怀疑；觉得 n.嫌疑犯 (初中英语单词)
- wretched [´retʃid] a.可怜的；倒霉的 (初中英语单词)
- reconcile [´rekənsail] vt.调和；使和谐 (高中英语单词)
- blunder [´blʌndə] n.&v.(犯)大错；疏忽 (高中英语单词)
- sullen [´sʌlən] a.不高兴的 (高中英语单词)
- recreation [,rekri´eiʃən] n.消遣；休养 (高中英语单词)
- pitiful [´pitifəl] a.可怜的；慈悲的 (高中英语单词)
- disagreeable [,disə´gri:əbl] a.令人不悦的 (高中英语单词)
- positively [´pɔzətivli] ad.确实；断然；绝对 (高中英语单词)
- thankful [´θæŋkfəl] a.感激的；欣慰的 (高中英语单词)
- mighty [´maiti] a.强有力的 ad.很 (高中英语单词)
- melancholy [´melənkəli] n.忧郁 a.忧郁的 (高中英语单词)
- plague [pleig] n.瘟疫 vt.使...染疫 (高中英语单词)
- hateful [´heitfəl] a.可恨的，可憎的 (英语四级单词)
- abominable [ə´bɔminəbəl] a.可憎的；极坏的 (英语四级单词)
- revival [ri´vaivəl] n.苏醒；复活；复兴 (英语四级单词)
- hurriedly [´hʌridli] ad.仓促地，忙乱地 (英语四级单词)
- poetical [pəu´etikəl] a.理想化了的 (英语六级单词)
- untimely [ʌn´taimli] a.&ad.不合时宜的(地) (英语六级单词)
- speaking [´spi:kiŋ] n.说话 a.发言的 (英语六级单词)
- calling [´kɔ:liŋ] n.点名；职业；欲望 (英语六级单词)
- cannibal [´kænibəl] n.吃同类动物的 (英语六级单词)
- holding [´həuldiŋ] n.保持，固定，存储 (英语六级单词)
- fervently [´fə:vəntli] ad.火热地，热烈地 (英语六级单词)
- asylum [ə´sailəm] n.避难所，收容所 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
章节正文
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