章节正文
ciety. They entertained at their red brick mausoleum
of ancient greatness in an old square that is a ceme-
tery of crumbled glory. And Robert Walmsley was
proud of his wife; although while one of his hands
shook his guests' the other held tightly to his alpen-
stock and thermometer.
One day Alicia found a letter written to Robert by
his mother. It was an unerudite letter, full of crops
and motherly love and farm notes. It chronicled the
health of the pig and the recent red calf, and asked
concerning Robert's in return. It was a letter direct
from the soil, straight from home, full of biographies
of bees, tales of turnips, peaans of new-laid eggs, neg-
lected parents and the slump in dried apples.
"Why have I not been shown your mother's let-
ters?" asked Alicia. There was always something in
her voice that made you think of lorgnettes, of ac-
counts at Tiffany's, of sledges smoothly gliding on
the trail from Dawson to Forty Mile, of the tinkling
of pendant prisms on your grandmothers' chandeliers,
of snow lying on a convent roof; of a police sergeant
refusing bail. "Your mother," continued Alicia,
"invites us to make a visit to the farm. I have
never seen a farm. We will go there for a week or
two, Robert."
"We will," said Robert, with the grand air of an
associate Supreme Justice concurring in an opinion.
"I did not lay the invitation before you because I
thought you would not care to go. I am much pleased
at your decision."
"I will write to her myself," answered Alicia, with
a faint foreshadowing of enthusiasm. " Felice shall
pack my trunks at once. Seven, I think, will be
enough. I do not suppose that your mother entertains
a great deal. Does she give many house parties?"
Robert arose, and as attorney for rural places filed
a demurrer against six of the seven trunks. He en-
deavored to define, picture, elucidate, set forth and
describe a farm. His own words sounded strange in
his ears. He had not realized how thoroughly urbsi-
dized he had become.
A week passed and found them landed at the little
country station five hours out from the city. A grin-
ning, stentorian, sarcastic youth driving a mule to a
spring wagon hailed Robert savagely.
"Hallo, Mr. Walmsley. Found your way back at
last, have you? Sorry I couldn't bring in the auto-
mobile for you, but dad's bull-tonguing the ten-acre
clover patch with it to-day. Guess you'll excuse my,
not wearing a dress suit over to meet you -- it ain't
six o'clock yet, you know."
"I'm glad to see you, Tom," said Robert, grasp-
ing his brother's band. "Yes, I've found my way at
last. You've a right to say 'at last.' It's been over
two years since the last time. But it will be oftener
after this, my boy."
Alicia, cool in the summer beat as an Arctic wraith,
white as a Norse snow maiden in her flimsy muslin and
fluttering lace parasol, came round the corner of the
station; and Tom was stripped of his assurance. He
became chiefly eyesight clothed in blue jeans, and on
the homeward drive to the mule alone did he confide
in language the inwardness of his thoughts.
They drove homeward. The low sun dropped a
spendthrift flood of gold upon the fortunate fields of
wheat. The cities were far away. The road lay curl-
ing around wood and dale and bill like a ribbon lost
from the robe of careless summer. The wind followed
like a whinnying colt in the track of Phoebus's steeds.
By and by the farmhouse peeped gray out of its
faithful grove; they saw the long lane with its convoy
of walnut trees running from the road to the house;
they smelled the wild rose and the breath of cool,
damp willows in the creek's bed. And then in unison
all the voices of the soil began a chant addressed to
the soul of Robert Walmsley. Out of the tilted aisles
of the dim wood they came hollowly; they chirped and
buzzed from the parched grass; they trilled from the
ripples of the creek ford; they floated up in clear
Pan's pipe notes from the dimming meadows; the
whippoorwills joined in as they pursued midges in the
upper air; slow-going cow-bells struck out a homely
accompaniment -- and this was what each one said:
"You've found your way back at last, have you?"
The old voices of the soil spoke to him. Leaf and
bud and blossom conversed with him in the old vocabu-
lary of his careless youth - the inanimate things, the
familiar stones and rails, the gates and furrows and
roofs and turns of the road had an eloquence, too, and
a power in the transformation. The country had
smiled and he had felt the breath of it, and his heart
was drawn as if in a moment back to his old love.
The city was far away.
This rural atavism, then, seized Robert Walmsley
and possessed him. A queer thing he noticed in con-
nection with it was that Alicia, sitting at his side,
suddenly seemed to him a stranger. She did not be-
long to this recurrent phase. Never before had she
seemed so remote, so colorless and high - so intan-
gible and unreal. And yet he had never admired her
more than when she sat there by him in the rickety
spring wagon, chiming no more with his mood and
with her environment than the Matterhorn chimes
with a peasant's cabbage garden.
That night when the greetings and the supper were
over, the entire family, including Buff, the yellow dog,
bestrewed itself upon the front porch. Alicia, not
haughty but silent, sat in the shadow dressed in an
exquisite pale-gray tea gown. Robert's mother dis-
coursed to her happily concerning marmalade and
lumbago. Tom sat on the top step; Sisters Millie
and Pam on the lowest step to catch the lightning
bugs. Mother had the willow rocker. Father sat in
the big armchair with one of its arms gone. Buff
sprawled in the middle of the porch in everybody's
way. The twilight pixies and pucks stole forth un-
seen and plunged other poignant shafts of memory
into the heart of Robert. A rural madness entered
his soul. The city was far away.
Father sat without his pipe, writhing in his heavy
boots, a sacrifice to rigid courtesy. Robert shouted:
"No, you don't!" He fetched the pipe and lit it; be
seized the old gentleman's boots and tore them off.
The last one slipped suddenly, and Mr. Robert
Walmsley, of Washington Square, tumbled off the
porch backward with Buff on top of him, bowling
fearfully. Tom laughed sarcastically.
Robert tore off his coat and vest and hurled them
into a lilac bush.
"Come out here, you landlubber," be cried to Tom,
and I'll put grass seed on your back. I think you
Called me a 'dude' a while ago. Come along and cut
your capers."
Tom understood the invitation and accepted it with
delight. Three times they wrestled on the grass,
"side holds," even as the giants of the mat. And
twice was Tom forced to bite grass at the hands of
the distinguishedlawyer. Dishevelled, panting, each
still boasting of his own prowess, they stumbled back
to the porch. Millie cast a pert reflection upon the
qualities of a city brother. In an instant Robert had
secured a horrid katydid in his fingers and bore down
upon her. Screaming wildly, she fled up the lane,
pursued by the avenging glass of form. A quarter
of a mile and they returned, she full of apology to
the victorious " dude." The rustic mania possessed
him unabatedly.
I can do up a cowpenful of you slow hayseeds,"
he proclaimed, vaingloriously. "Bring on your bull-
dogs, your hired men and your log-rollers."
He turned handsprings on the grass that prodded
Tom to envious sarcasm. And then, with a whoop,
he clattered to the rear and brought back Uncle like,
a battered colored retainer of the family, with his
banjo, and strewed sand on the porch and danced
"Chicken in the Bread Tray" and did buck-and-
wing wonders for half an hour longer. Incredibly,
wild and boisterous things he did. He sang, he told
stories that set all but one shrieking, he played the
yokel, the humorous clodhopper; he was mad, and
with the revival of the old life in his blood.
He became so extravagant that once his mother
sought gently to reprove him. Then Alicia moved as
though she were about to speak, but she did not.
Through it all she sat immovable, a slim, white spirit
in the dusk that no man might question or read.
By and by she asked permission to ascend to her
room, saying that she was tired. On her way she
passed Robert. He was standing in the door, the
figure of vulgarcomedy, with ruffled hair, reddened
face and unpardonable confusion of attire -- no trace
there of the immaculate Robert Walmsley, the courted
clubman and ornament of select circles. He was do-
ing a conjuring trick with some household utensils,
and the family, now won over to him without excep-
tion, was beholding him with worshipful admiration.
As Alicia passed in Robert started suddenly. He
had forgotten for the moment that she was present.
Without a glance at him she went on upstairs.
After that the fun grew quiet. An hour passed
in talk, and then Robert went up himself.
She was standing by the window when he entered
their room. She was still clothed as when they were
on the porch. Outside and crowding against the
window was a giant apple tree, full blossomed.
Robert sighed and went near the window. He was
ready to meet his fate. A confessed vulgarian, he
foresaw the verdict of justice in the shape of that
whiteclad form. He knew the rigid lines that a
Van Der Pool would draw. He was a peasant gam-
bolling indecorously in the valley, and the pure, cold,
white, unthawed summit of the Matterhorn could not
but frown on him. He had been unmasked by his
own actions. All the polish, the poise, the form that
the city had given him had fallen from him like an
ill-fitting mantle at the first breath of a country
breeze. Dully be awaited the approaching condemna-
tion.
"Robert," said the calm, cool voice of his judge,
"I thought I married a gentleman."
Yes, it was coming. And yet, in the face of it,
of ancient greatness in an old square that is a ceme-
tery of crumbled glory. And Robert Walmsley was
proud of his wife; although while one of his hands
shook his guests' the other held tightly to his alpen-
stock and thermometer.
One day Alicia found a letter written to Robert by
his mother. It was an unerudite letter, full of crops
and motherly love and farm notes. It chronicled the
health of the pig and the recent red calf, and asked
concerning Robert's in return. It was a letter direct
from the soil, straight from home, full of biographies
of bees, tales of turnips, peaans of new-laid eggs, neg-
lected parents and the slump in dried apples.
"Why have I not been shown your mother's let-
ters?" asked Alicia. There was always something in
her voice that made you think of lorgnettes, of ac-
counts at Tiffany's, of sledges smoothly gliding on
the trail from Dawson to Forty Mile, of the tinkling
of pendant prisms on your grandmothers' chandeliers,
of snow lying on a convent roof; of a police sergeant
refusing bail. "Your mother," continued Alicia,
"invites us to make a visit to the farm. I have
never seen a farm. We will go there for a week or
two, Robert."
"We will," said Robert, with the grand air of an
associate Supreme Justice concurring in an opinion.
"I did not lay the invitation before you because I
thought you would not care to go. I am much pleased
at your decision."
"I will write to her myself," answered Alicia, with
a faint foreshadowing of enthusiasm. " Felice shall
pack my trunks at once. Seven, I think, will be
enough. I do not suppose that your mother entertains
a great deal. Does she give many house parties?"
Robert arose, and as attorney for rural places filed
a demurrer against six of the seven trunks. He en-
deavored to define, picture, elucidate, set forth and
describe a farm. His own words sounded strange in
his ears. He had not realized how thoroughly urbsi-
dized he had become.
A week passed and found them landed at the little
country station five hours out from the city. A grin-
ning, stentorian, sarcastic youth driving a mule to a
spring wagon hailed Robert savagely.
"Hallo, Mr. Walmsley. Found your way back at
last, have you? Sorry I couldn't bring in the auto-
mobile for you, but dad's bull-tonguing the ten-acre
clover patch with it to-day. Guess you'll excuse my,
not wearing a dress suit over to meet you -- it ain't
six o'clock yet, you know."
"I'm glad to see you, Tom," said Robert, grasp-
ing his brother's band. "Yes, I've found my way at
last. You've a right to say 'at last.' It's been over
two years since the last time. But it will be oftener
after this, my boy."
Alicia, cool in the summer beat as an Arctic wraith,
white as a Norse snow maiden in her flimsy muslin and
fluttering lace parasol, came round the corner of the
station; and Tom was stripped of his assurance. He
became chiefly eyesight clothed in blue jeans, and on
the homeward drive to the mule alone did he confide
in language the inwardness of his thoughts.
They drove homeward. The low sun dropped a
spendthrift flood of gold upon the fortunate fields of
wheat. The cities were far away. The road lay curl-
ing around wood and dale and bill like a ribbon lost
from the robe of careless summer. The wind followed
like a whinnying colt in the track of Phoebus's steeds.
By and by the farmhouse peeped gray out of its
faithful grove; they saw the long lane with its convoy
of walnut trees running from the road to the house;
they smelled the wild rose and the breath of cool,
damp willows in the creek's bed. And then in unison
all the voices of the soil began a chant addressed to
the soul of Robert Walmsley. Out of the tilted aisles
of the dim wood they came hollowly; they chirped and
buzzed from the parched grass; they trilled from the
ripples of the creek ford; they floated up in clear
Pan's pipe notes from the dimming meadows; the
whippoorwills joined in as they pursued midges in the
upper air; slow-going cow-bells struck out a homely
accompaniment -- and this was what each one said:
"You've found your way back at last, have you?"
The old voices of the soil spoke to him. Leaf and
bud and blossom conversed with him in the old vocabu-
lary of his careless youth - the inanimate things, the
familiar stones and rails, the gates and furrows and
roofs and turns of the road had an eloquence, too, and
a power in the transformation. The country had
smiled and he had felt the breath of it, and his heart
was drawn as if in a moment back to his old love.
The city was far away.
This rural atavism, then, seized Robert Walmsley
and possessed him. A queer thing he noticed in con-
nection with it was that Alicia, sitting at his side,
suddenly seemed to him a stranger. She did not be-
long to this recurrent phase. Never before had she
seemed so remote, so colorless and high - so intan-
gible and unreal. And yet he had never admired her
more than when she sat there by him in the rickety
spring wagon, chiming no more with his mood and
with her environment than the Matterhorn chimes
with a peasant's cabbage garden.
That night when the greetings and the supper were
over, the entire family, including Buff, the yellow dog,
bestrewed itself upon the front porch. Alicia, not
haughty but silent, sat in the shadow dressed in an
exquisite pale-gray tea gown. Robert's mother dis-
coursed to her happily concerning marmalade and
lumbago. Tom sat on the top step; Sisters Millie
and Pam on the lowest step to catch the lightning
bugs. Mother had the willow rocker. Father sat in
the big armchair with one of its arms gone. Buff
sprawled in the middle of the porch in everybody's
way. The twilight pixies and pucks stole forth un-
seen and plunged other poignant shafts of memory
into the heart of Robert. A rural madness entered
his soul. The city was far away.
Father sat without his pipe, writhing in his heavy
boots, a sacrifice to rigid courtesy. Robert shouted:
"No, you don't!" He fetched the pipe and lit it; be
seized the old gentleman's boots and tore them off.
The last one slipped suddenly, and Mr. Robert
Walmsley, of Washington Square, tumbled off the
porch backward with Buff on top of him, bowling
fearfully. Tom laughed sarcastically.
Robert tore off his coat and vest and hurled them
into a lilac bush.
"Come out here, you landlubber," be cried to Tom,
and I'll put grass seed on your back. I think you
Called me a 'dude' a while ago. Come along and cut
your capers."
Tom understood the invitation and accepted it with
delight. Three times they wrestled on the grass,
"side holds," even as the giants of the mat. And
twice was Tom forced to bite grass at the hands of
the distinguishedlawyer. Dishevelled, panting, each
still boasting of his own prowess, they stumbled back
to the porch. Millie cast a pert reflection upon the
qualities of a city brother. In an instant Robert had
secured a horrid katydid in his fingers and bore down
upon her. Screaming wildly, she fled up the lane,
pursued by the avenging glass of form. A quarter
of a mile and they returned, she full of apology to
the victorious " dude." The rustic mania possessed
him unabatedly.
I can do up a cowpenful of you slow hayseeds,"
he proclaimed, vaingloriously. "Bring on your bull-
dogs, your hired men and your log-rollers."
He turned handsprings on the grass that prodded
Tom to envious sarcasm. And then, with a whoop,
he clattered to the rear and brought back Uncle like,
a battered colored retainer of the family, with his
banjo, and strewed sand on the porch and danced
"Chicken in the Bread Tray" and did buck-and-
wing wonders for half an hour longer. Incredibly,
wild and boisterous things he did. He sang, he told
stories that set all but one shrieking, he played the
yokel, the humorous clodhopper; he was mad, and
with the revival of the old life in his blood.
He became so extravagant that once his mother
sought gently to reprove him. Then Alicia moved as
though she were about to speak, but she did not.
Through it all she sat immovable, a slim, white spirit
in the dusk that no man might question or read.
By and by she asked permission to ascend to her
room, saying that she was tired. On her way she
passed Robert. He was standing in the door, the
figure of vulgarcomedy, with ruffled hair, reddened
face and unpardonable confusion of attire -- no trace
there of the immaculate Robert Walmsley, the courted
clubman and ornament of select circles. He was do-
ing a conjuring trick with some household utensils,
and the family, now won over to him without excep-
tion, was beholding him with worshipful admiration.
As Alicia passed in Robert started suddenly. He
had forgotten for the moment that she was present.
Without a glance at him she went on upstairs.
After that the fun grew quiet. An hour passed
in talk, and then Robert went up himself.
She was standing by the window when he entered
their room. She was still clothed as when they were
on the porch. Outside and crowding against the
window was a giant apple tree, full blossomed.
Robert sighed and went near the window. He was
ready to meet his fate. A confessed vulgarian, he
foresaw the verdict of justice in the shape of that
whiteclad form. He knew the rigid lines that a
Van Der Pool would draw. He was a peasant gam-
bolling indecorously in the valley, and the pure, cold,
white, unthawed summit of the Matterhorn could not
but frown on him. He had been unmasked by his
own actions. All the polish, the poise, the form that
the city had given him had fallen from him like an
ill-fitting mantle at the first breath of a country
breeze. Dully be awaited the approaching condemna-
tion.
"Robert," said the calm, cool voice of his judge,
"I thought I married a gentleman."
Yes, it was coming. And yet, in the face of it,
- supreme [su:´pri:m, sju:-]
a.最高的，无上的 (初中英语单词) - invitation [,invi´teiʃən] n.邀请；请帖；吸引 (初中英语单词)
- enthusiasm [in´θju:ziæzəm] n.热心；狂热；爱好 (初中英语单词)
- attorney [ə´tə:ni] n.代理人；律师 (初中英语单词)
- thoroughly [´θʌrəli] ad.完全地，彻底地 (初中英语单词)
- maiden [´meidn] n.少女 a.未婚的 (初中英语单词)
- chiefly [´tʃi:fli] ad.主要地；尤其 (初中英语单词)
- fortunate [´fɔ:tʃənət] a.幸运的，侥幸的 (初中英语单词)
- ribbon [´ribən] n.缎带；带子；色带 (初中英语单词)
- careless [´keəlis] a.粗心的；草率的 (初中英语单词)
- running [´rʌniŋ] a.奔跑的；流动的 (初中英语单词)
- breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
- blossom [´blɔsəm] n.花；开花期 vi.开花 (初中英语单词)
- remote [ri´məut] a.遥远的；偏僻的 (初中英语单词)
- cabbage [´kæbidʒ] n.卷心菜；洋白菜 (初中英语单词)
- willow [´wiləu] n.柳树 (初中英语单词)
- twilight [´twailait] n.黎明；黄昏 (初中英语单词)
- backward [´bækwəd] ad.向后 a.向后的 (初中英语单词)
- lawyer [´lɔ:jə] n.律师；法学家 (初中英语单词)
- reflection [ri´flekʃən] n.反射；映象；想法 (初中英语单词)
- instant [´instənt] a.立即的 n.紧迫；瞬间 (初中英语单词)
- gently [´dʒentli] ad.温和地；静静地 (初中英语单词)
- permission [pə´miʃən] n.允许；同意；许可 (初中英语单词)
- ascend [ə´send] v.登；上升；追溯 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- confusion [kən´fju:ʒən] n.混乱(状态)；骚乱 (初中英语单词)
- ornament [´ɔ:nəmənt] n.装饰(物) vt.装饰 (初中英语单词)
- peasant [´pezənt] n.农民；庄稼人 (初中英语单词)
- valley [´væli] n.谷；河谷；流域 (初中英语单词)
- greatness [´greitnis] n.巨大；高尚；卓越 (高中英语单词)
- tightly [´taitli] ad.紧，紧密地 (高中英语单词)
- smoothly [´smu:ðli] ad.光滑地；顺利地 (高中英语单词)
- convent [´kɔnvənt] n.女修道院；女修道会 (高中英语单词)
- define [di´fain] vt.解释；说明；限定 (高中英语单词)
- arctic [´ɑ:ktik] a.北极的 (高中英语单词)
- assurance [ə´ʃuərəns] n.保证；自信；信任 (高中英语单词)
- homeward [´həumwəd] ad.&a.回家(的) (高中英语单词)
- farmhouse [´fɑ:mhaus] n.农场住房，农舍 (高中英语单词)
- environment [in´vaiərənmənt] n.郊区；周围；条件 (高中英语单词)
- concerning [kən´sə:niŋ] prep.关于 (高中英语单词)
- madness [´mædnis] n.疯狂；狂热 (高中英语单词)
- courtesy [´kə:tisi] n.礼貌；殷勤；好意 (高中英语单词)
- distinguished [di´stiŋgwiʃt] a.卓越的，著名的 (高中英语单词)
- horrid [´hɔrid] a.令人讨厌的；极糟的 (高中英语单词)
- victorious [vik´tɔ:riəs] a.得胜的，胜利的 (高中英语单词)
- rustic [´rʌstik] a.田野的；质朴的 (高中英语单词)
- extravagant [ik´strævəgənt] a.奢侈的；过度的 (高中英语单词)
- saying [´seiŋ, ´sei-iŋ] n.言语；言论；格言 (高中英语单词)
- comedy [´kɔmidi] n.喜剧；喜剧场面 (高中英语单词)
- attire [ə´taiə] vt.装饰；穿 n.衣服 (高中英语单词)
- summit [´sʌmit] n.顶(点)；绝顶 (高中英语单词)
- mantle [´mæntl] n.斗蓬 v.覆盖；笼罩 (高中英语单词)
- muslin [´mʌzlin] n.平纹细布，薄纱织物 (英语四级单词)
- walnut [´wɔ:lnʌt] n.胡桃(树，木) (英语四级单词)
- eloquence [´eləkwəns] n.雄辩；口才 (英语四级单词)
- transformation [,trænsfə´meiʃən] n.转化；转变；改造 (英语四级单词)
- armchair [´ɑ:mtʃeə] n.扶手椅 (英语四级单词)
- prowess [´prauis] n.勇猛；技术；本领 (英语四级单词)
- apology [ə´pɔlədʒi] n.道歉(的话)；辩解 (英语四级单词)
- envious [´enviəs] a.妒忌的，羡慕的 (英语四级单词)
- humorous [´hju:mərəs] a.富于幽默的，诙谐的 (英语四级单词)
- revival [ri´vaivəl] n.苏醒；复活；复兴 (英语四级单词)
- vulgar [´vʌlgə] a.粗俗的；大众的 (英语四级单词)
- verdict [´və:dikt] n.裁决，判决；判定 (英语四级单词)
- polish [´pəuliʃ] a.波兰(人)的 n.波兰语 (英语四级单词)
- boisterous [´bɔistərəs] a.狂暴的；吵闹的 (英语六级单词)
- reprove [ri´pru:v] vt.责骂，谴责；非难 (英语六级单词)
- immovable [i´mu:vəbəl] a.不能移动的，固定的 (英语六级单词)
- immaculate [i´mækjulit] a.纯洁的；无瑕疵的 (英语六级单词)
- worshipful [´wə:ʃipfəl] a.虔敬的；崇拜的 (英语六级单词)
文章标签:名著
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