章节正文
guess he really is converted."
"I hope it will last, I'm sure," said Felicity. She did not say
it nastily, however. We were all glad for Peter's sake, though a
little dizzy over the unexpectedness of it all.
"This is what I'D like to know," said Peter. "How did Peg Bowen
know my father was coming home? Don't you tell me she isn't a
witch after that."
"And she knew about your Aunt Olivia's wedding, too," added Sara
Ray.
"Oh, well, she likely heard that from some one. Grown up folks
talk things over long before they tell them to children," said
Cecily.
"Well, she couldn't have heard father was coming home from any
one," answered Peter. "He was converted up in Maine, where nobody
knew him, and he never told a soul he was coming till he got here.
No, you can believe what you like, but I'm satisfied at last that
Peg is a witch and that skull of hers does tell her things. She
told me father was coming home and he come!"
"How happy you must be," sighed Sara Ray romantically. "It's just
like that story in the Family Guide, where the missing earl comes
home to his family just as the Countess and Lady Violetta are
going to be turned out by the cruel heir."
Felicity sniffed.
"There's some difference, I guess. The earl had been imprisoned
for years in a loathsomedungeon."
Perhaps Peter's father had too, if we but realized it--imprisoned
in the dungeon of his own evil appetites and habits, than which
none could be more loathsome. But a Power, mightier than the
forces of evil, had struck off his fetters and led him back to his
long-forfeited liberty and light. And no countess or lady of high
degree could have welcomed a long-lost earl home more joyfully
than the tired little washerwoman had welcomed the erring husband
of her youth.
But in Peter's ointment of joy there was a fly or two. So very,
very few things are flawless in this world, even on the golden
road.
"Of course I'm awful glad that father has come back and that ma
won't have to wash any more," he said with a sigh, "but there are
two things that kind of worry me. My Aunt Jane always said that
it didn't do any good to worry, and I s'pose it don't, but it's
kind of a relief."
"What's worrying you?" asked Felix.
"Well, for one thing I'll feel awful bad to go away from you all.
I'll miss you just dreadful, and I won't even be able to go to the
same school. I'll have to go to Markdale school."
"But you must come and see us often," said Felicity graciously.
"Markdale isn't so far away, and you could spend every other
Saturday afternoon with us anyway."
Peter's black eyes filled with adoring gratitude.
"That's so kind of you, Felicity. I'll come as often as I can, of
course; but it won't be the same as being around with you all the
time. The other thing is even worse. You see, it was a Methodist
revival father got converted in, and so of course he joined the
Methodist church. He wasn't anything before. He used to say he
was a Nothingarian and lived up to it--kind of bragging like. But
he's a strong Methodist now, and is going to go to Markdale
Methodist church and pay to the salary. Now what'll he say when I
tell him I'm a Presbyterian?"
"You haven't told him, yet?" asked the Story Girl.
"No, I didn't dare. I was scared he'd say I'd have to be a Methodist."
"Well, Methodists are pretty near as good as Presbyterians," said
Felicity, with the air of one making a great concession.
"I guess they're every bit as good," retorted Peter. "But that
ain't the point. I've got to be a Presbyterian, 'cause I stick to
a thing when I once decide it. But I expect father will be mad
when he finds out."
"If he's converted he oughtn't to get mad," said Dan.
"Well, lots o' people do. But if he isn't mad he'll be sorry, and
that'll be even worse, for a Presbyterian I'm bound to be. But I
expect it will make things unpleasant."
"You needn't tell him anything about it," advised Felicity. "Just
keep quiet and go to the Methodist church until you get big, and
then you can go where you please."
"No, that wouldn't be honest," said Peter sturdily. "My Aunt Jane
always said it was best to be open and above board in everything,
and especially in religion. So I'll tell father right out, but
I'll wait a few weeks so as not to spoil things for ma too soon if
he acts up."
Peter was not the only one who had secret cares. Sara Ray was
beginning to feel worried over her looks. I heard her and Cecily
talking over their troubles one evening while I was weeding the
onion bed and they were behind the hedge knitting lace. I did not
mean to eavesdrop. I supposed they knew I was there until Cecily
overwhelmed me with indignation later on.
"I'm so afraid, Cecily, that I'm going to be homely all my life,"
said poor Sara with a tremble in her voice. "You can stand being
ugly when you are young if you have any hope of being better
looking when you grow up. But I'm getting worse. Aunt Mary says
I'm going to be the very image of Aunt Matilda. And Aunt Matilda
is as homely as she can be. It isn't"--and poor Sara sighed--"a
very cheerfulprospect. If I am ugly nobody will ever want to
marry me, and," concluded Sara candidly, "I don't want to be an
old maid."
"But plenty of girls get married who aren't a bit pretty,"
comforted Cecily. "Besides, you are real nice looking at times,
Sara. I think you are going to have a nice figure."
"But just look at my hands," moaned Sara. "They're simply covered
with warts."
"Oh, the warts will all disappear before you grow up," said
Cecily.
"But they won't disappear before the school concert. How am I to
get up there and recite? You know there is one line in my
recitation, 'She waved her lily-white hand,' and I have to wave
mine when I say it. Fancy waving a lily-white hand all covered
with warts. I've tried every remedy I ever heard of, but nothing
does any good. Judy Pineau said if I rubbed them with toad-spit
it would take them away for sure. But how am I to get any toad-
spit?"
"It doesn't sound like a very nice remedy, anyhow," shuddered
Cecily. "I'd rather have the warts. But do you know, I believe
if you didn't cry so much over every little thing, you'd be ever
so much better looking. Crying spoils your eyes and makes the end
of your nose red."
"I can't help crying," protested Sara. "My feelings are so very
sensitive. I've given up trying to keep THAT resolution."
"Well, men don't like cry-babies," said Cecily sagely. Cecily had
a good deal of Mother Eve's wisdom tucked away in that smooth,
brown head of hers.
"Cecily, do you ever intend to be married?" asked Sara in a
confidential tone.
"Goodness!" cried Cecily, quite shocked. "It will be time enough
when I grow up to think of that, Sara."
"I should think you'd have to think of it now, with Cyrus Brisk as
crazy after you as he is."
"I wish Cyrus Brisk was at the bottom of the Red Sea," exclaimed
Cecily, goaded into a spurt of temper by mention of the detested
name.
"What has Cyrus been doing now?" asked Felicity, coming around the
corner of the hedge.
"Doing NOW! It's ALL the time. He just worries me to death,"
returned Cecily angrily. "He keeps writing me letters and putting
them in my desk or in my reader. I never answer one of them, but
he keeps on. And in the last one, mind you, he said he'd do
something desperate right off if I wouldn't promise to marry him
when we grew up."
"Just think, Cecily, you've had a proposal already," said Sara Ray
in an awe-struck tone.
"But he hasn't done anything desperate yet, and that was last
week," commented Felicity, with a toss of her head.
"He sent me a lock of his hair and wanted one of mine in
exchange," continued Cecily indignantly. "I tell you I sent his
back to him pretty quick."
"Did you never answer any of his letters?" asked Sara Ray.
"No, indeed! I guess not!"
"Do you know," said Felicity, "I believe if you wrote him just
once and told him your exact opinion of him in good plain English
it would cure him of his nonsense."
"I couldn't do that. I haven't enough spunk," confessed Cecily
with a blush. "But I'll tell you what I did do once. He wrote me
a long letter last week. It was just awfully SOFT, and every
other word was spelled wrong. He even spelled baking soda, 'bacon
soda!'"
"What on earth had he to say about baking soda in a love-letter?"
asked Felicity.
"Oh, he said his mother sent him to the store for some and he
forgot it because he was thinking about me. Well, I just took his
letter and wrote in all the words, spelled right, above the wrong
ones, in red ink, just as Mr. Perkins makes us do with our
dictation exercises, and sent it back to him. I thought maybe
he'd feel insulted and stop writing to me."
"And did he?"
"No, he didn't. It is my opinion you can't insult Cyrus Brisk.
He is too thick-skinned. He wrote another letter, and thanked me
for correcting his mistakes, and said it made him feel glad
because it showed I was beginning to take an interest in him when
I wanted him to spell better. Did you ever? Miss Marwood says it
is wrong to hate anyone, but I don't care, I hate Cyrus Brisk."
"Mrs. Cyrus Brisk WOULD be an awful name," giggled Felicity.
"Flossie Brisk says Cyrus is ruining all the trees on his father's
place cutting your name on them," said Sara Ray. "His father told
him he would whip him if he didn't stop, but Cyrus keeps right on.
He told Flossie it relieved his feelings. Flossie says he cut
yours and his together on the birch tree in front of the parlour
window, and a row of hearts around them."
"Just where every visitor can see them, I suppose," lamented
Cecily. "He just worries my life out. And what I mind most of
all is, he sits and looks at me in school with such melancholy,
reproachful eyes when he ought to be working sums. I won't look
at him, but I FEEL him staring at me, and it makes me so nervous."
"They say his mother was out of her mind at one time," said
Felicity.
I do not think Felicity was quite well pleased that Cyrus should
have passed over her rose-red prettiness to set his affections on
that demure elf of a Cecily. She did not want the allegiance of
Cyrus in the least, but it was something of a slight that he had
not wanted her to want it.
"And he sends me pieces of poetry he cuts out of the papers,"
Cecily went on, "with lots of the lines marked with a lead pencil.
Yesterday he put one in his letter, and this is what he marked:
"'If you will not relent to me
Then must I learn to know
Darkness alone till life be flown.
Here--I have the piece in my sewing-bag--I'll read it all to you."
Those three graceless girls read the sentimental rhyme and giggled
over it. Poor Cyrus! His young affections were sadly misplaced.
But after all, though Cecily never relented towards him, he did
not condemn himself to darkness alone till life was flown. Quite
early in life he wedded a stout, rosy, buxom lass, the very
antithesis of his first love; he prospered in his undertakings,
raised a large and respectable family, and was eventually
appointed a Justice of the Peace. Which was all very sensible of
"I hope it will last, I'm sure," said Felicity. She did not say
it nastily, however. We were all glad for Peter's sake, though a
little dizzy over the unexpectedness of it all.
"This is what I'D like to know," said Peter. "How did Peg Bowen
know my father was coming home? Don't you tell me she isn't a
witch after that."
"And she knew about your Aunt Olivia's wedding, too," added Sara
Ray.
"Oh, well, she likely heard that from some one. Grown up folks
talk things over long before they tell them to children," said
Cecily.
"Well, she couldn't have heard father was coming home from any
one," answered Peter. "He was converted up in Maine, where nobody
knew him, and he never told a soul he was coming till he got here.
No, you can believe what you like, but I'm satisfied at last that
Peg is a witch and that skull of hers does tell her things. She
told me father was coming home and he come!"
"How happy you must be," sighed Sara Ray romantically. "It's just
like that story in the Family Guide, where the missing earl comes
home to his family just as the Countess and Lady Violetta are
going to be turned out by the cruel heir."
Felicity sniffed.
"There's some difference, I guess. The earl had been imprisoned
for years in a loathsomedungeon."
Perhaps Peter's father had too, if we but realized it--imprisoned
in the dungeon of his own evil appetites and habits, than which
none could be more loathsome. But a Power, mightier than the
forces of evil, had struck off his fetters and led him back to his
long-forfeited liberty and light. And no countess or lady of high
degree could have welcomed a long-lost earl home more joyfully
than the tired little washerwoman had welcomed the erring husband
of her youth.
But in Peter's ointment of joy there was a fly or two. So very,
very few things are flawless in this world, even on the golden
road.
"Of course I'm awful glad that father has come back and that ma
won't have to wash any more," he said with a sigh, "but there are
two things that kind of worry me. My Aunt Jane always said that
it didn't do any good to worry, and I s'pose it don't, but it's
kind of a relief."
"What's worrying you?" asked Felix.
"Well, for one thing I'll feel awful bad to go away from you all.
I'll miss you just dreadful, and I won't even be able to go to the
same school. I'll have to go to Markdale school."
"But you must come and see us often," said Felicity graciously.
"Markdale isn't so far away, and you could spend every other
Saturday afternoon with us anyway."
Peter's black eyes filled with adoring gratitude.
"That's so kind of you, Felicity. I'll come as often as I can, of
course; but it won't be the same as being around with you all the
time. The other thing is even worse. You see, it was a Methodist
revival father got converted in, and so of course he joined the
Methodist church. He wasn't anything before. He used to say he
was a Nothingarian and lived up to it--kind of bragging like. But
he's a strong Methodist now, and is going to go to Markdale
Methodist church and pay to the salary. Now what'll he say when I
tell him I'm a Presbyterian?"
"You haven't told him, yet?" asked the Story Girl.
"No, I didn't dare. I was scared he'd say I'd have to be a Methodist."
"Well, Methodists are pretty near as good as Presbyterians," said
Felicity, with the air of one making a great concession.
"I guess they're every bit as good," retorted Peter. "But that
ain't the point. I've got to be a Presbyterian, 'cause I stick to
a thing when I once decide it. But I expect father will be mad
when he finds out."
"If he's converted he oughtn't to get mad," said Dan.
"Well, lots o' people do. But if he isn't mad he'll be sorry, and
that'll be even worse, for a Presbyterian I'm bound to be. But I
expect it will make things unpleasant."
"You needn't tell him anything about it," advised Felicity. "Just
keep quiet and go to the Methodist church until you get big, and
then you can go where you please."
"No, that wouldn't be honest," said Peter sturdily. "My Aunt Jane
always said it was best to be open and above board in everything,
and especially in religion. So I'll tell father right out, but
I'll wait a few weeks so as not to spoil things for ma too soon if
he acts up."
Peter was not the only one who had secret cares. Sara Ray was
beginning to feel worried over her looks. I heard her and Cecily
talking over their troubles one evening while I was weeding the
onion bed and they were behind the hedge knitting lace. I did not
mean to eavesdrop. I supposed they knew I was there until Cecily
overwhelmed me with indignation later on.
"I'm so afraid, Cecily, that I'm going to be homely all my life,"
said poor Sara with a tremble in her voice. "You can stand being
ugly when you are young if you have any hope of being better
looking when you grow up. But I'm getting worse. Aunt Mary says
I'm going to be the very image of Aunt Matilda. And Aunt Matilda
is as homely as she can be. It isn't"--and poor Sara sighed--"a
very cheerfulprospect. If I am ugly nobody will ever want to
marry me, and," concluded Sara candidly, "I don't want to be an
old maid."
"But plenty of girls get married who aren't a bit pretty,"
comforted Cecily. "Besides, you are real nice looking at times,
Sara. I think you are going to have a nice figure."
"But just look at my hands," moaned Sara. "They're simply covered
with warts."
"Oh, the warts will all disappear before you grow up," said
Cecily.
"But they won't disappear before the school concert. How am I to
get up there and recite? You know there is one line in my
recitation, 'She waved her lily-white hand,' and I have to wave
mine when I say it. Fancy waving a lily-white hand all covered
with warts. I've tried every remedy I ever heard of, but nothing
does any good. Judy Pineau said if I rubbed them with toad-spit
it would take them away for sure. But how am I to get any toad-
spit?"
"It doesn't sound like a very nice remedy, anyhow," shuddered
Cecily. "I'd rather have the warts. But do you know, I believe
if you didn't cry so much over every little thing, you'd be ever
so much better looking. Crying spoils your eyes and makes the end
of your nose red."
"I can't help crying," protested Sara. "My feelings are so very
sensitive. I've given up trying to keep THAT resolution."
"Well, men don't like cry-babies," said Cecily sagely. Cecily had
a good deal of Mother Eve's wisdom tucked away in that smooth,
brown head of hers.
"Cecily, do you ever intend to be married?" asked Sara in a
confidential tone.
"Goodness!" cried Cecily, quite shocked. "It will be time enough
when I grow up to think of that, Sara."
"I should think you'd have to think of it now, with Cyrus Brisk as
crazy after you as he is."
"I wish Cyrus Brisk was at the bottom of the Red Sea," exclaimed
Cecily, goaded into a spurt of temper by mention of the detested
name.
"What has Cyrus been doing now?" asked Felicity, coming around the
corner of the hedge.
"Doing NOW! It's ALL the time. He just worries me to death,"
returned Cecily angrily. "He keeps writing me letters and putting
them in my desk or in my reader. I never answer one of them, but
he keeps on. And in the last one, mind you, he said he'd do
something desperate right off if I wouldn't promise to marry him
when we grew up."
"Just think, Cecily, you've had a proposal already," said Sara Ray
in an awe-struck tone.
"But he hasn't done anything desperate yet, and that was last
week," commented Felicity, with a toss of her head.
"He sent me a lock of his hair and wanted one of mine in
exchange," continued Cecily indignantly. "I tell you I sent his
back to him pretty quick."
"Did you never answer any of his letters?" asked Sara Ray.
"No, indeed! I guess not!"
"Do you know," said Felicity, "I believe if you wrote him just
once and told him your exact opinion of him in good plain English
it would cure him of his nonsense."
"I couldn't do that. I haven't enough spunk," confessed Cecily
with a blush. "But I'll tell you what I did do once. He wrote me
a long letter last week. It was just awfully SOFT, and every
other word was spelled wrong. He even spelled baking soda, 'bacon
soda!'"
"What on earth had he to say about baking soda in a love-letter?"
asked Felicity.
"Oh, he said his mother sent him to the store for some and he
forgot it because he was thinking about me. Well, I just took his
letter and wrote in all the words, spelled right, above the wrong
ones, in red ink, just as Mr. Perkins makes us do with our
dictation exercises, and sent it back to him. I thought maybe
he'd feel insulted and stop writing to me."
"And did he?"
"No, he didn't. It is my opinion you can't insult Cyrus Brisk.
He is too thick-skinned. He wrote another letter, and thanked me
for correcting his mistakes, and said it made him feel glad
because it showed I was beginning to take an interest in him when
I wanted him to spell better. Did you ever? Miss Marwood says it
is wrong to hate anyone, but I don't care, I hate Cyrus Brisk."
"Mrs. Cyrus Brisk WOULD be an awful name," giggled Felicity.
"Flossie Brisk says Cyrus is ruining all the trees on his father's
place cutting your name on them," said Sara Ray. "His father told
him he would whip him if he didn't stop, but Cyrus keeps right on.
He told Flossie it relieved his feelings. Flossie says he cut
yours and his together on the birch tree in front of the parlour
window, and a row of hearts around them."
"Just where every visitor can see them, I suppose," lamented
Cecily. "He just worries my life out. And what I mind most of
all is, he sits and looks at me in school with such melancholy,
reproachful eyes when he ought to be working sums. I won't look
at him, but I FEEL him staring at me, and it makes me so nervous."
"They say his mother was out of her mind at one time," said
Felicity.
I do not think Felicity was quite well pleased that Cyrus should
have passed over her rose-red prettiness to set his affections on
that demure elf of a Cecily. She did not want the allegiance of
Cyrus in the least, but it was something of a slight that he had
not wanted her to want it.
"And he sends me pieces of poetry he cuts out of the papers,"
Cecily went on, "with lots of the lines marked with a lead pencil.
Yesterday he put one in his letter, and this is what he marked:
"'If you will not relent to me
Then must I learn to know
Darkness alone till life be flown.
Here--I have the piece in my sewing-bag--I'll read it all to you."
Those three graceless girls read the sentimental rhyme and giggled
over it. Poor Cyrus! His young affections were sadly misplaced.
But after all, though Cecily never relented towards him, he did
not condemn himself to darkness alone till life was flown. Quite
early in life he wedded a stout, rosy, buxom lass, the very
antithesis of his first love; he prospered in his undertakings,
raised a large and respectable family, and was eventually
appointed a Justice of the Peace. Which was all very sensible of
- wedding [´wediŋ]
n.婚礼，结婚 (初中英语单词) - missing [´misiŋ] a.缺掉的；失踪的 (初中英语单词)
- dreadful [´dredful] a.可怕的；讨厌的 (初中英语单词)
- knitting [´nitiŋ] n.编织(物)；接合；联合 (初中英语单词)
- supposed [sə´pəuzd] a.想象的；假定的 (初中英语单词)
- cheerful [´tʃiəful] a.快乐的；高兴的 (初中英语单词)
- prospect [´prɔspekt, prəs´pekt] n.景色；境界 v.勘察 (初中英语单词)
- recite [ri´sait] v.背诵；叙述 (初中英语单词)
- wisdom [´wizdəm] n.智慧，聪明，才智 (初中英语单词)
- temper [´tempə] n.韧度 v.锻炼；调和 (初中英语单词)
- writing [´raitiŋ] n.书写；写作；书法 (初中英语单词)
- desperate [´despərit] a.拼死的；绝望的 (初中英语单词)
- insult [in´sʌlt, ´insʌlt] n.&vt.侮辱；损害 (初中英语单词)
- beginning [bi´giniŋ] n.开始，开端；起源 (初中英语单词)
- visitor [´vizitə] n.访问者；来宾；参观者 (初中英语单词)
- working [´wə:kiŋ] a.工人的；劳动的 (初中英语单词)
- poetry [´pəuitri] n.诗；诗意 (初中英语单词)
- condemn [kən´dem] vt.谴责；定罪，判处 (初中英语单词)
- sensible [´sensəbəl] a.感觉得到的 (初中英语单词)
- dungeon [´dʌndʒən] n.地牢，土牢 (高中英语单词)
- indignation [,indig´neiʃən] n.愤慨；气愤 (高中英语单词)
- homely [´həumli] a.朴素的；不漂亮的 (高中英语单词)
- remedy [´remidi] n.药品 vt.医治；减轻 (高中英语单词)
- angrily [´æŋgrili] ad.生气地；愤怒地 (高中英语单词)
- awfully [´ɔ:fuli] ad.令人畏惧地 (高中英语单词)
- baking [´beikiŋ] n.&a.烘烤(的) (高中英语单词)
- allegiance [ə´li:dʒəns] n.忠诚，效忠 (高中英语单词)
- respectable [ri´spektəbəl] a.可敬的；有身价的 (高中英语单词)
- presbyterian [,prezbi´tiəriən] a.长老会(制)的 (英语四级单词)
- trying [´traiiŋ] a.难堪的；费劲的 (英语四级单词)
- sentimental [,senti´mentl] a.感伤的；多愁善感的 (英语四级单词)
- wedded [´wedid] a.(已)结婚的；献身的 (英语四级单词)
- felicity [fi´lisiti] n.幸福；(措词)适当 (英语六级单词)
- countess [´kauntis] n.伯爵夫人；女伯爵 (英语六级单词)
- loathsome [´ləuðsəm] a.讨厌的，令人作呕的 (英语六级单词)
- ointment [´ɔintmənt] n.软膏；药膏；油膏 (英语六级单词)
- indignantly [in´dignəntli] ad.愤慨地，义愤地 (英语六级单词)
- relent [ri´lent] vi.发慈悲心；怜悯 (英语六级单词)
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