章节正文
joyously.
"You careless, meddlesome young one, to take it off my steps
where I left it just long enough to go round to the back and hunt
up my door-key! You've given me a fit of sickness with my weak
heart, and what business was it of yours? I believe you think you
OWN the flag! Hand it over to me this minute!"
Rebecca was climbing down during this torrent of language, but as
she turned she flashed one look of knowledge at the false
Simpson, a look that went through him from head to foot, as if it
were carried by electricity.
He had not deceived her after all, owing to the angry chatter of
Mrs. Meserve. He had been handcuffed twice in his life, but no
sheriff had ever discomfited him so thoroughly as this child.
Fury mounted to his brain, and as soon as she was safely out from
between the wheels he stood up in the wagon and flung the flag
out in the road in the midst of the excited group.
"Take it, you pious, passimonious, cheese-parin', hair-splittin',
back-bitin', flag-raisin' crew!" he roared. "Rebecca never took
the flag; I found it in the road, I say!"
"You never, no such a thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Meserve. "You found
it on the doorsteps in my garden!"
"Mebbe twas your garden, but it was so chock full o' weeks I
THOUGHT twas the road," retorted Abner. "I vow I wouldn't a'
given the old rag back to one o' YOU, not if you begged me on
your bended knees! But Rebecca's a friend o' my folks and can do
with her flag's she's a mind to, and the rest o' ye can go to
thunder-- n' stay there, for all I care!"
So saying, he made a sharp turn, gave the gaunt white horse a
lash and disappeared in a cloud of dust, before the astonished
Mr. Brown, the only man in the party, had a thought of detaining
him.
"I'm sorry I spoke so quick, Rebecca," said Mrs. Meserve, greatly
mortified at the situation. "But don't you believe a word that
lyin' critter said! He did steal it off my doorstep, and how did
you come to be ridin' and consortin' with him! I believe it would
kill your Aunt Miranda if she should hear about it!"
The little school-teacher put a sheltering arm round Rebecca as
Mr. Brown picked up the flag and dusted and folded it.
"I'm willing she should hear about it," Rebecca answered. "I
didn't do anything to be ashamed of! I saw the flag in the back
of Mr. Simpson's wagon and I just followed it. There weren't any
men or any Dorcases to take care of it and so it fell to me! You
wouldn't have had me let it out of my sight, would you, and we
going to raise it tomorrow morning?"
"Rebecca's perfectly right, Mrs. Meserve!" said Miss Dearborn
proudly. "And it's lucky there was somebody quick-witted enough
to ride and consort' with Mr. Simpson! I don't know what the
village will think, but seems to me the town clerk might write
down in his book, THIS DAY THE STATE OF MAINE SAVED THE FLAG!'"
Sixth Chronicle
THE STATE O' MAINE GIRL
I
The foregoingepisode, if narrated in a romance, would
undoubtedly have been called "The Saving of the Colors," but at
the nightly conversazione in Watson's store it was alluded to as
the way little Becky Randall got the flag away from Slippery
Simpson.
Dramatic as it was, it passed into the limbo of half-forgotten
things in Rebecca's mind, its brief importance submerged in the
glories of the next day.
There was a painful prelude to these glories. Alice Robinson came
to spend the night with Rebecca, and when the bedroom door closed
upon the two girls, Alice announced here intention of "doing up"
Rebecca's front hair in leads and rags, and braiding the back in
six tight, wetted braids.
Rebecca demurred. Alice persisted.
"Your hair is so long and thick and dark and straight," she said,
"that you'll look like an Injun!"
"I am the State of Maine; it all belonged to the Indians once,"
Rebecca remarked gloomily, for she was curiously shy about
discussing her personal appearance.
"And your wreath of little pine-cones won't set decent without
crimps," continued Alice.
Rebecca glanced in the cracked looking-glass and met what she
considered an accusing lack of beauty, a sight that always either
saddened or enraged her according to circumstances; then she sat
down resignedly and began to help Alice in the philanthropic work
of making the State of Maine fit to be seen at the raising.
Neither of the girls was an expert hairdresser, and at the end of
an hour, when the sixth braid was tied, and Rebecca had given one
last shuddering look in the mirror, both were ready to weep with
fatigue.
The candle was blown out and Alice soon went to sleep, but
Rebecca tossed on her pillow, its goose-feathered softness all
dented by the cruel lead knobs and the knots of twisted rags. She
slipped out of bed and walked to and fro, holding her aching head
with both hands. Finally she leaned on the window-sill, watching
the still weather-vane on Alice's barn and breathing in the
fragrance of the ripening apples, until her restlessness subsided
under the clear starry beauty of the night.
At six in the morning the girls were out of bed, for Alice could
hardly wait until Rebecca's hair was taken down, she was so eager
to see the result of her labors.
The leads and rags were painfully removed, together with much
hair, the operation being punctuated by a series of squeaks,
squeals, and shrieks on the part of Rebecca and a series of
warnings from Alice, who wished the preliminaries to be kept
secret from the aunts, that they might the more fully appreciate
the radiant result.
Then came the unbraiding, and then--dramatic moment--the "combing
out;" a difficult, not to say impossible process, in which the
hairs that had resisted the earlier stages almost gave up the
ghost.
The long front strands had been wound up from various angles and
by various methods, so that, when released, they assumed the
strangest, most obstinate, most unexpected attitudes. When the
comb was dragged through the last braid, the wild, tortured,
electric hairs following, and then rebounding from it in a
bristling, snarling tangle. Massachusetts gave one encompassing
glance at the State o' Maine's head, and announced her intention
of going home to breakfast! She was deeply grieved at the result
of her attempted beautifying, but she felt that meeting Miss
Miranda Sawyer at the morning meal would not mend matters in the
least, so slipping out of the side door, she ran up Guide Board
hill as fast as her legs could carry her.
The State o' Maine, deserted and somewhat unnerved, sat down
before the glass and attacked her hair doggedly and with set
lips, working over it until Miss Jane called her to breakfast;
then, with a boldness born of despair, she entered the dining
room, where her aunts were already seated at table. To "draw
fire" she whistled, a forbidden joy, which only attracted more
attention, instead of diverting it. There was a moment of silence
after the grotesque figure was fully taken in; then came a moan
from Jane and a groan from Miranda.
"What have you done to yourself?" asked Miranda sternly.
"Made an effort to be beautiful and failed!" jauntily replied
Rebecca, but she was too miserable to keep up the fiction. "Oh,
Aunt Miranda, don't scold. I'm so unhappy! Alice and I rolled up
my hair to curl it for the raising. She said it was so straight I
looked like an Indian!"
"Mebbe you did," vigorously agreed Miranda, "but 't any rate you
looked like a Christian Injun, 'n' now you look like a heathen
Injun; that's all the difference I can see. What can we do with
her, Jane, between this and nine o'clock?"
"We'll all go out to the pump just as soon as we're through
breakfast," answered Jane soothingly. "We can accomplish
consid'rable with water and force."
Rebecca nibbled her corn-cake, her tearful eyes cast on her plate
and her chin quivering.
"Don't you cry and red your eyes up," chided Miranda quite
kindly; "the minute you've eat enough run up and get your brush
and comb and meet us at the back door."
"I wouldn't care myself how bad I looked," said Rebecca, "but I
can't bear to be so homely that I shame the State of Maine!"
Oh, what an hour followed this plaint! Did any aspirant for
literary or dramatic honors ever pass to fame through such an
antechamber of horrors? Did poet of the day ever have his head so
maltreated? To be dipped in the rain-water tub, soused again and
again; to be held under the spout and pumped on; to be rubbed
furiously with rough roller towels; to be dried with hot
flannels! And is it not well-nigh incredible that at the close of
such an hour the ends of the long hair should still stand out
straight, the braids having been turned up two inches by Alice,
and tied hard in that position with linen thread?
"Get out the skirt-board, Jane," cried Miranda, to whom
opposition served as a tonic, "and move that flat-iron on to the
front o' the stove. Rebecca, set down in that low chair beside
the board, and Jane, you spread out her hair on it and cover it
up with brown paper. Don't cringe, Rebecca; the worst's over, and
you've borne up real good! I'll be careful not to pull your hair
nor scorch you, and oh, HOW I'd like to have Alice Robinson
acrost my knee and a good strip o' shingle in my right hand!
There, you're all ironed out and your Aunt Jane can put on your
white dress and braid your hair up again good and tight. Perhaps
you won't be the hombliest of the states, after all; but when I
see you comin' in to breakfast I said to myself: I guess if Maine
looked like that, it wouldn't never a' been admitted into the
Union!'"
When Uncle Sam and the stagecoach drew up to the brick house with
a grand swing and a flourish, the goddess of Liberty and most of
the States were already in their places on the "harricane deck."
Words fail to describe the gallantbearing of the horses, their
headstalls gayly trimmed and their harnesses dotted with little
flags. The stage windows were hung in bunting, and from within
beamed Columbia, looking out from the bright frame as if proud of
her freight of loyal children. Patriotic streamers floated from
whip, from dash-board and from rumble, and the effect of the
whole was something to stimulate the most phlegmatic voter.
Rebecca came out on the steps and Aunt Jane brought a chair to
assist in the ascent. Miss Dearborn peeped from the window, and
gave a despairing look at her favorite.
What had happened to her? Who had dressed her? Had her head been
put through a wringing-machine? Why were her eyes red and
swollen? Miss Dearborn determined to take her behind the trees in
the pine grove and give her some finishing touches; touches that
her skillful fingers fairly itched to bestow.
The stage started, and as the roadsidepageant grew gayer and
gayer, Rebecca began to brighten and look prettier, for most of
her beautifying came from within. The people, walking, driving,
or standing on their doorsteps, cheered Uncle Sam's coach with
its freight of gossamer-muslined, fluttering-ribboned girls, and
just behind, the gorgeously decorated haycart, driven by Abijah
Flagg, bearing the jolly but inharmonious fife-and-drum corps.
Was ever such a golden day! Such crystal air! Such mellow
sunshine! Such a merry Uncle Sam!
The stage drew up at an appointed spot near a pine grove, and
while the crowd was gathering, the children waited for the hour
to arrive when they should march to the platform; the hour toward
which they seemed to have been moving since the dawn of creation.
As soon as possible Miss Dearborn whispered to Rebecca: "Come
behind the trees with me; I want to make you prettier!"
"You careless, meddlesome young one, to take it off my steps
where I left it just long enough to go round to the back and hunt
up my door-key! You've given me a fit of sickness with my weak
heart, and what business was it of yours? I believe you think you
OWN the flag! Hand it over to me this minute!"
Rebecca was climbing down during this torrent of language, but as
she turned she flashed one look of knowledge at the false
Simpson, a look that went through him from head to foot, as if it
were carried by electricity.
He had not deceived her after all, owing to the angry chatter of
Mrs. Meserve. He had been handcuffed twice in his life, but no
sheriff had ever discomfited him so thoroughly as this child.
Fury mounted to his brain, and as soon as she was safely out from
between the wheels he stood up in the wagon and flung the flag
out in the road in the midst of the excited group.
"Take it, you pious, passimonious, cheese-parin', hair-splittin',
back-bitin', flag-raisin' crew!" he roared. "Rebecca never took
the flag; I found it in the road, I say!"
"You never, no such a thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Meserve. "You found
it on the doorsteps in my garden!"
"Mebbe twas your garden, but it was so chock full o' weeks I
THOUGHT twas the road," retorted Abner. "I vow I wouldn't a'
given the old rag back to one o' YOU, not if you begged me on
your bended knees! But Rebecca's a friend o' my folks and can do
with her flag's she's a mind to, and the rest o' ye can go to
thunder-- n' stay there, for all I care!"
So saying, he made a sharp turn, gave the gaunt white horse a
lash and disappeared in a cloud of dust, before the astonished
Mr. Brown, the only man in the party, had a thought of detaining
him.
"I'm sorry I spoke so quick, Rebecca," said Mrs. Meserve, greatly
mortified at the situation. "But don't you believe a word that
lyin' critter said! He did steal it off my doorstep, and how did
you come to be ridin' and consortin' with him! I believe it would
kill your Aunt Miranda if she should hear about it!"
The little school-teacher put a sheltering arm round Rebecca as
Mr. Brown picked up the flag and dusted and folded it.
"I'm willing she should hear about it," Rebecca answered. "I
didn't do anything to be ashamed of! I saw the flag in the back
of Mr. Simpson's wagon and I just followed it. There weren't any
men or any Dorcases to take care of it and so it fell to me! You
wouldn't have had me let it out of my sight, would you, and we
going to raise it tomorrow morning?"
"Rebecca's perfectly right, Mrs. Meserve!" said Miss Dearborn
proudly. "And it's lucky there was somebody quick-witted enough
to ride and consort' with Mr. Simpson! I don't know what the
village will think, but seems to me the town clerk might write
down in his book, THIS DAY THE STATE OF MAINE SAVED THE FLAG!'"
Sixth Chronicle
THE STATE O' MAINE GIRL
I
The foregoingepisode, if narrated in a romance, would
undoubtedly have been called "The Saving of the Colors," but at
the nightly conversazione in Watson's store it was alluded to as
the way little Becky Randall got the flag away from Slippery
Simpson.
Dramatic as it was, it passed into the limbo of half-forgotten
things in Rebecca's mind, its brief importance submerged in the
glories of the next day.
There was a painful prelude to these glories. Alice Robinson came
to spend the night with Rebecca, and when the bedroom door closed
upon the two girls, Alice announced here intention of "doing up"
Rebecca's front hair in leads and rags, and braiding the back in
six tight, wetted braids.
Rebecca demurred. Alice persisted.
"Your hair is so long and thick and dark and straight," she said,
"that you'll look like an Injun!"
"I am the State of Maine; it all belonged to the Indians once,"
Rebecca remarked gloomily, for she was curiously shy about
discussing her personal appearance.
"And your wreath of little pine-cones won't set decent without
crimps," continued Alice.
Rebecca glanced in the cracked looking-glass and met what she
considered an accusing lack of beauty, a sight that always either
saddened or enraged her according to circumstances; then she sat
down resignedly and began to help Alice in the philanthropic work
of making the State of Maine fit to be seen at the raising.
Neither of the girls was an expert hairdresser, and at the end of
an hour, when the sixth braid was tied, and Rebecca had given one
last shuddering look in the mirror, both were ready to weep with
fatigue.
The candle was blown out and Alice soon went to sleep, but
Rebecca tossed on her pillow, its goose-feathered softness all
dented by the cruel lead knobs and the knots of twisted rags. She
slipped out of bed and walked to and fro, holding her aching head
with both hands. Finally she leaned on the window-sill, watching
the still weather-vane on Alice's barn and breathing in the
fragrance of the ripening apples, until her restlessness subsided
under the clear starry beauty of the night.
At six in the morning the girls were out of bed, for Alice could
hardly wait until Rebecca's hair was taken down, she was so eager
to see the result of her labors.
The leads and rags were painfully removed, together with much
hair, the operation being punctuated by a series of squeaks,
squeals, and shrieks on the part of Rebecca and a series of
warnings from Alice, who wished the preliminaries to be kept
secret from the aunts, that they might the more fully appreciate
the radiant result.
Then came the unbraiding, and then--dramatic moment--the "combing
out;" a difficult, not to say impossible process, in which the
hairs that had resisted the earlier stages almost gave up the
ghost.
The long front strands had been wound up from various angles and
by various methods, so that, when released, they assumed the
strangest, most obstinate, most unexpected attitudes. When the
comb was dragged through the last braid, the wild, tortured,
electric hairs following, and then rebounding from it in a
bristling, snarling tangle. Massachusetts gave one encompassing
glance at the State o' Maine's head, and announced her intention
of going home to breakfast! She was deeply grieved at the result
of her attempted beautifying, but she felt that meeting Miss
Miranda Sawyer at the morning meal would not mend matters in the
least, so slipping out of the side door, she ran up Guide Board
hill as fast as her legs could carry her.
The State o' Maine, deserted and somewhat unnerved, sat down
before the glass and attacked her hair doggedly and with set
lips, working over it until Miss Jane called her to breakfast;
then, with a boldness born of despair, she entered the dining
room, where her aunts were already seated at table. To "draw
fire" she whistled, a forbidden joy, which only attracted more
attention, instead of diverting it. There was a moment of silence
after the grotesque figure was fully taken in; then came a moan
from Jane and a groan from Miranda.
"What have you done to yourself?" asked Miranda sternly.
"Made an effort to be beautiful and failed!" jauntily replied
Rebecca, but she was too miserable to keep up the fiction. "Oh,
Aunt Miranda, don't scold. I'm so unhappy! Alice and I rolled up
my hair to curl it for the raising. She said it was so straight I
looked like an Indian!"
"Mebbe you did," vigorously agreed Miranda, "but 't any rate you
looked like a Christian Injun, 'n' now you look like a heathen
Injun; that's all the difference I can see. What can we do with
her, Jane, between this and nine o'clock?"
"We'll all go out to the pump just as soon as we're through
breakfast," answered Jane soothingly. "We can accomplish
consid'rable with water and force."
Rebecca nibbled her corn-cake, her tearful eyes cast on her plate
and her chin quivering.
"Don't you cry and red your eyes up," chided Miranda quite
kindly; "the minute you've eat enough run up and get your brush
and comb and meet us at the back door."
"I wouldn't care myself how bad I looked," said Rebecca, "but I
can't bear to be so homely that I shame the State of Maine!"
Oh, what an hour followed this plaint! Did any aspirant for
literary or dramatic honors ever pass to fame through such an
antechamber of horrors? Did poet of the day ever have his head so
maltreated? To be dipped in the rain-water tub, soused again and
again; to be held under the spout and pumped on; to be rubbed
furiously with rough roller towels; to be dried with hot
flannels! And is it not well-nigh incredible that at the close of
such an hour the ends of the long hair should still stand out
straight, the braids having been turned up two inches by Alice,
and tied hard in that position with linen thread?
"Get out the skirt-board, Jane," cried Miranda, to whom
opposition served as a tonic, "and move that flat-iron on to the
front o' the stove. Rebecca, set down in that low chair beside
the board, and Jane, you spread out her hair on it and cover it
up with brown paper. Don't cringe, Rebecca; the worst's over, and
you've borne up real good! I'll be careful not to pull your hair
nor scorch you, and oh, HOW I'd like to have Alice Robinson
acrost my knee and a good strip o' shingle in my right hand!
There, you're all ironed out and your Aunt Jane can put on your
white dress and braid your hair up again good and tight. Perhaps
you won't be the hombliest of the states, after all; but when I
see you comin' in to breakfast I said to myself: I guess if Maine
looked like that, it wouldn't never a' been admitted into the
Union!'"
When Uncle Sam and the stagecoach drew up to the brick house with
a grand swing and a flourish, the goddess of Liberty and most of
the States were already in their places on the "harricane deck."
Words fail to describe the gallantbearing of the horses, their
headstalls gayly trimmed and their harnesses dotted with little
flags. The stage windows were hung in bunting, and from within
beamed Columbia, looking out from the bright frame as if proud of
her freight of loyal children. Patriotic streamers floated from
whip, from dash-board and from rumble, and the effect of the
whole was something to stimulate the most phlegmatic voter.
Rebecca came out on the steps and Aunt Jane brought a chair to
assist in the ascent. Miss Dearborn peeped from the window, and
gave a despairing look at her favorite.
What had happened to her? Who had dressed her? Had her head been
put through a wringing-machine? Why were her eyes red and
swollen? Miss Dearborn determined to take her behind the trees in
the pine grove and give her some finishing touches; touches that
her skillful fingers fairly itched to bestow.
The stage started, and as the roadsidepageant grew gayer and
gayer, Rebecca began to brighten and look prettier, for most of
her beautifying came from within. The people, walking, driving,
or standing on their doorsteps, cheered Uncle Sam's coach with
its freight of gossamer-muslined, fluttering-ribboned girls, and
just behind, the gorgeously decorated haycart, driven by Abijah
Flagg, bearing the jolly but inharmonious fife-and-drum corps.
Was ever such a golden day! Such crystal air! Such mellow
sunshine! Such a merry Uncle Sam!
The stage drew up at an appointed spot near a pine grove, and
while the crowd was gathering, the children waited for the hour
to arrive when they should march to the platform; the hour toward
which they seemed to have been moving since the dawn of creation.
As soon as possible Miss Dearborn whispered to Rebecca: "Come
behind the trees with me; I want to make you prettier!"
- careless [´keəlis]
a.粗心的；草率的 (初中英语单词) - sickness [´siknis] n.生病；呕吐，恶心 (初中英语单词)
- chatter [´tʃætə] vi.&n.饶舌；闲聊 (初中英语单词)
- thoroughly [´θʌrəli] ad.完全地，彻底地 (初中英语单词)
- safely [´seifli] ad.安全地；平安地 (初中英语单词)
- willing [´wiliŋ] a.情愿的，乐意的 (初中英语单词)
- ashamed [ə´ʃeimd] a.惭愧；不好意思 (初中英语单词)
- romance [rəu´mæns] n.中世纪骑士小说 (初中英语单词)
- intention [in´tenʃən] n.意图；打算；意义 (初中英语单词)
- curiously [´kjuəriəsli] ad.好奇地；稀奇古怪地 (初中英语单词)
- wreath [ri:θ] n.花圈；花环；圈状物 (初中英语单词)
- expert [´ekspə:t] n.&a.专家；内行 (初中英语单词)
- series [´siəri:z] n.连续；系列；丛书 (初中英语单词)
- working [´wə:kiŋ] a.工人的；劳动的 (初中英语单词)
- despair [di´speə] vi.&n.绝望 (初中英语单词)
- miserable [´mizərəbəl] a.悲惨的；可怜的 (初中英语单词)
- dramatic [drə´mætik] a.戏剧的；戏剧般的 (初中英语单词)
- flourish [´flʌriʃ] v.茂盛；挥动 n.挥舞 (初中英语单词)
- goddess [´gɔdis] n.女神 (初中英语单词)
- gallant [´gælənt, gə´lænt] a.英勇的；华丽的 (初中英语单词)
- columbia [kə´lʌmbiə] n.哥伦比亚 (初中英语单词)
- freight [freit] n.运货 vt.运送；充满 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- driven [´driv(ə)n] drive 的过去分词 (初中英语单词)
- crystal [´kristəl] n.水晶 a.水晶的 (初中英语单词)
- platform [´plætfɔ:m] n.(平)台；讲台；站台 (初中英语单词)
- torrent [´tɔrənt] n.奔流，激流，洪流；迸发 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- perfectly [´pə:fiktli] ad.理想地；完美地 (高中英语单词)
- painful [´peinfəl] a.痛(苦)的；费力的 (高中英语单词)
- decent [´di:sənt] a.体面的，正派的 (高中英语单词)
- radiant [´reidiənt] a.发光的 n.光源(体) (高中英语单词)
- unexpected [ʌniks´pektid] a.突然的；意外的 (高中英语单词)
- tangle [´tæŋgəl] n.&vt.(使)缠结；纠纷 (高中英语单词)
- forbidden [fə´bidn] forbid的过去分词 (高中英语单词)
- fiction [´fikʃən] n.小说；虚构；谎言 (高中英语单词)
- homely [´həumli] a.朴素的；不漂亮的 (高中英语单词)
- roller [´rəulə] n.打滚的人；滚柱 (高中英语单词)
- incredible [in´kredəbəl] a.不能相信的；惊人的 (高中英语单词)
- bearing [´beəriŋ] n.举止；忍耐；关系 (高中英语单词)
- patriotic [,pætri´ɔtik] a.爱国的 (高中英语单词)
- rumble [´rʌmbəl] v.(使)隆隆响 n.隆隆声 (高中英语单词)
- stimulate [´stimjuleit] v.刺激；服兴奋剂 (高中英语单词)
- ascent [ə´sent] n.上升；攀登；上坡路 (高中英语单词)
- skillful [´skilfəl] a.有技巧的；熟练的 (高中英语单词)
- pageant [´pædʒənt] n.露天表演；虚饰 (高中英语单词)
- brighten [´braitn] v.(使)明亮；(使)愉快 (高中英语单词)
- episode [´episəud] n.插曲；一段情节 (英语四级单词)
- nightly [´naitli] a.&ad.每夜(的) (英语四级单词)
- starry [´stɑ:ri] a.星光照耀的，闪亮的 (英语四级单词)
- painfully [´peinfuli] ad.痛苦地；费力地 (英语四级单词)
- obstinate [´ɔbstinit] a.顽固的；(病)难治的 (英语四级单词)
- boldness [´bəuldnis] n.大胆；冒失；显著 (英语四级单词)
- grotesque [grəu´tesk] a.奇异的，想象中的 (英语四级单词)
- vigorously [´vigərəsli] ad.精力旺盛地；健壮地 (英语四级单词)
- scorch [skɔ:tʃ] v.&n.烧焦；(使)枯黄 (英语四级单词)
- shingle [´ʃiŋgəl] n.盖屋板；木瓦 (英语四级单词)
- roadside [´rəudsaid] n.&a.路边(的) (英语四级单词)
- gathering [´gæðəriŋ] n.集会，聚集 (英语四级单词)
- doorstep [´dɔ:step] n.门阶 (英语六级单词)
- foregoing [´fɔ:gəuiŋ] a.在前的，上述的 (英语六级单词)
- gloomily [´glu:mili] adv.忧郁的 (英语六级单词)
- cracked [krækt] a.有裂缝的；碎的；粗哑 (英语六级单词)
- softness [´sɔftnis] n.柔软；柔和；温柔 (英语六级单词)
- holding [´həuldiŋ] n.保持，固定，存储 (英语六级单词)
- doggedly [´dɔgidli] ad.顽强地，固执地 (英语六级单词)
- bunting [´bʌntiŋ] n.旗帜；白颊鸟 (英语六级单词)
- despairing [di´speəriŋ] a.感到绝望的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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