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The Golden Age-Part7_Kenneth Grahame(1859-1932)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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"Oh, _I_ dunno," said Edward, impatiently. `I'm telling you

just what Bobby told me. He got suspicious, anyhow, but he



couldn't exactly call Bella's brother a liar, so Bobby escaped

for the time. But when he was in a hole next week, over a stiff



French exercise, and tried the same sort of game on his sister,

she was too sharp for him, and he got caught out. Somehow women



seem more mistrustful than men. They're so beastlysuspicious by

nature, you know."



"_I_ know," said I. "But did the two--the fellow and the

sister--make it up afterwards?"



"I don't remember about that," replied Edward, indifferently;

"but Bobby got packed off to school a whole year earlier than his



people meant to send him,--which was just what he wanted. So you

see it all came right in the end!"



I was trying to puzzle out the moral of this story--it was

evidently meant to contain one somewhere--when a flood of golden



lamplight mingled with the moon rays on the lawn, and Aunt Maria

and the new curate strolled out on the grass below us, and took



the direction of a garden seat that was backed by a dense laurel

shrubbery reaching round in a half-circle to the house. Edward



mediated moodily. "If we only knew what they were talking

about," said he, "you'd soon see whether I was right or not.



Look here! Let's send the kid down by the porch to reconnoitre!"

"Harold's asleep," I said; "it seems rather a shame--"



"Oh, rot!" said my brother; "he's the youngest, and he's got to

do as he's told!"



So the luckless Harold was hauled out of bed and given his

sailing-orders. He was naturally rather vexed at being stood up



suddenly on the cold floor, and the job had no particular

interest for him; but he was both staunch and well disciplined.



The means of exit were simple enough. A porch of iron trellis

came up to within easy reach of the window, and was habitually



used by all three of us, when modestlyanxious to avoid

public notice. Harold climbed deftly down the porch like a white



rat, and his night gown glimmered a moment on the gravel walk ere

he was lost to sight in the darkness of the shrubbery. A brief



interval of silence ensued, broken suddenly by a sound of

scuffle, and then a shrill, long-drawn squeal, as of metallic



surfaces in friction. Our scout had fallen into the hands of the

enemy!



Indolence alone had made us devolve the task of investigation on

our younger brother. Now that danger had declared itself, there



was no hesitation. In a second we were down the side of the

porch, and crawling Cherokee-wise through the laurels to the back



of the garden-seat. Piteous was the sight that greeted us. Aunt

Maria was on the seat, in a white evening frock, looking--for an



aunt--really quite nice. On the lawn stood an incensed curate,

grasping our small brother by a large ear, which--judging from



the row he was making--seemed on the point of parting company

with the head it adorned. The gruesome noise he was emitting did



not really affect us otherwise than aesthetically. To one who

has tried both, the wail of genuinephysicalanguish is easy



distinguishable from the pumped-up ad misericordiam

blubber. Harold's could clearly be recognised as belonging to



the latter class. "Now, you young--" (whelp, _I_ think it was,

but Edward stoutly maintains it was devil), said the curate,



sternly; "tell us what you mean by it!"

"Well, leggo of my ear then!" shrilled Harold, "and I'll tell you



the solemn truth!"

"Very well," agreed the curate, releasing him; "now go ahead, and



don't lie more than you can help."

We abode the promised disclosure without the least misgiving; but



even we had hardly given Harold due credit for his fertility of

resource and powers of imagination.



"I had just finished saying my prayers," began that young

gentleman, slowly, "when I happened to look out of the window,



and on the lawn I saw a sight which froze the marrow in my veins!

A burglar was approaching the house with snake-like tread! He



had a scowl and a dark lantern, and he was armed to the teeth!"

We listened with interest. The style, though unlike Harold's



native notes, seemed strangely familiar.

"Go on," said the curate, grimly.



"Pausing in his stealthy career," continued Harold, "he gave a

low whistle. Instantly the signal was responded to, and from the



adjacent shadows two more figures glided forth. The miscreants

were both armed to the teeth."






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