章节正文
send me away or not?" I've tried to be patient all the morning,
but I really feel that I cannot bear not knowing any longer.
It's a dreadful feeling. Please tell me."
"You haven't scalded the dishcloth in clean hot water as I
told you to do," said Marilla immovably. "Just go and do
it before you ask any more questions, Anne."
Anne went and attended to the dishcloth. Then she returned
to Marilla and fastened imploring eyes of the latter's face.
"Well," said Marilla, unable to find any excuse for deferring
her explanation longer, "I suppose I might as well tell you.
Matthew and I have decided to keep you--that is, if you will
try to be a good little girl and show yourself grateful.
Why, child, whatever is the matter?"
"I'm crying," said Anne in a tone of bewilderment. "I can't
think why. I'm glad as glad can be. Oh, GLAD doesn't seem
the right word at all. I was glad about the White Way and
the cherry blossoms--but this! Oh, it's something more than
glad. I'm so happy. I'll try to be so good. It will be
uphill work, I expect, for Mrs. Thomas often told me I was
desperately wicked. However, I'll do my very best. But can
you tell me why I'm crying?"
"I suppose it's because you're all excited and worked up,"
said Marilla disapprovingly. "Sit down on that chair and
try to calm yourself. I'm afraid you both cry and laugh
far too easily. Yes, you can stay here and we will try to
do right by you. You must go to school; but it's only a
fortnight till vacation so it isn't worth while for you to
start before it opens again in September."
"What am I to call you?" asked Anne. "Shall I always say
Miss Cuthbert? Can I call you Aunt Marilla?"
"No; you'll call me just plain Marilla. I'm not used to
being called Miss Cuthbert and it would make me nervous."
"It sounds awfully disrespectful to just say Marilla,"
protested Anne.
"I guess there'll be nothing disrespectful in it if you're
careful to speak respectfully. Everybody, young and old,
in Avonlea calls me Marilla except the minister. He says
Miss Cuthbert--when he thinks of it."
"I'd love to call you Aunt Marilla," said Anne wistfully.
"I've never had an aunt or any relation at all--not even a
grandmother. It would make me feel as if I really belonged
to you. Can't I call you Aunt Marilla?"
"No. I'm not your aunt and I don't believe in calling
people names that don't belong to them."
"But we could imagine you were my aunt."
"I couldn't," said Marilla grimly.
"Do you never imagine things different from what they
really are?" asked Anne wide-eyed.
"No."
"Oh!" Anne drew a long breath. "Oh, Miss--Marilla,
how much you miss!"
"I don't believe in imagining things different from what
they really are," retorted Marilla. "When the Lord puts us
in certain circumstances He doesn't mean for us to imagine
them away. And that reminds me. Go into the sitting
room, Anne--be sure your feet are clean and don't let any
flies in--and bring me out the illustrated card that's on
the mantelpiece. The Lord's Prayer is on it and you'll
devote your spare time this afternoon to learning it off by
heart. There's to be no more of such praying as I heard
last night."
"I suppose I was very awkward," said Anne apologetically,
"but then, you see, I'd never had any practice. You
couldn't really expect a person to pray very well the first
time she tried, could you? I thought out a splendid prayer
after I went to bed, just as I promised you I would. It was
nearly as long as a minister's and so poetical. But would
you believe it? I couldn't remember one word when I woke
up this morning. And I'm afraid I'll never be able to think
out another one as good. Somehow, things never are so good
when they're thought out a second time. Have you ever
noticed that?"
"Here is something for you to notice, Anne. When I tell
you to do a thing I want you to obey me at once and not
stand stock-still and discourse about it. Just you go and
do as I bid you."
Anne promptlydeparted for the sitting-room across the hall;
she failed to return; after waiting ten minutes Marilla laid
down her knitting and marched after her with a grim expression.
She found Anne standingmotionless before a picture hanging on
the wall between the two windows, with her eyes astar with
dreams. The white and green light strained through apple trees
and clustering vines outside fell over the rapt little figure
with a half-unearthly radiance.
"Anne, whatever are you thinking of?" demanded Marilla sharply.
Anne came back to earth with a start.
"That," she said, pointing to the picture--a rather vivid
chromo entitled, "Christ Blessing Little Children"--"and I
was just imagining I was one of them--that I was the little
girl in the blue dress, standing off by herself in the
corner as if she didn't belong to anybody, like me. She
looks lonely and sad, don't you think? I guess she hadn't
any father or mother of her own. But she wanted to be
blessed, too, so she just crept shyly up on the outside of
the crowd, hoping nobody would notice her--except Him. I'm
sure I know just how she felt. Her heart must have beat and
her hands must have got cold, like mine did when I asked you
if I could stay. She was afraid He mightn't notice her.
But it's likely He did, don't you think? I've been trying
to imagine it all out--her edging a little nearer all the
time until she was quite close to Him; and then He would
look at her and put His hand on her hair and oh, such a
thrill of joy as would run over her! But I wish the artist
hadn't painted Him so sorrowful looking. All His pictures
are like that, if you've noticed. But I don't believe He
could really have looked so sad or the children would have
been afraid of Him."
"Anne," said Marilla, wondering why she had not broken
into this speech long before, "you shouldn't talk that
way. It's irreverent--positively irreverent."
Anne's eyes marveled.
"Why, I felt just as reverent as could be. I'm sure I
didn't mean to be irreverent."
"Well I don't suppose you did--but it doesn't sound right
to talk so familiarly about such things. And another
thing, Anne, when I send you after something you're to
bring it at once and not fall into mooning and imagining
before pictures. Remember that. Take that card and come
right to the kitchen. Now, sit down in the corner and
learn that prayer off by heart."
Anne set the card up against the jugful of apple blossoms
she had brought in to decorate the dinnertable--Marilla
had eyed that decoration askance, but had said nothing--
propped her chin on her hands, and fell to studying it
intently for several silent minutes.
"I like this," she announced at length. "It's beautiful.
I've heard it before--I heard the superintendent of the
asylum Sunday school say it over once. But I didn't like it
then. He had such a cracked voice and he prayed it so
mournfully. I really felt sure he thought praying was a
disagreeable duty. This isn't poetry, but it makes me feel
just the same way poetry does. `Our Father who art in heaven
hallowed be Thy name.' That is just like a line of music.
Oh, I'm so glad you thought of making me learn this, Miss--
Marilla."
"Well, learn it and hold your tongue," said Marilla shortly.
Anne tipped the vase of apple blossoms near enough to bestow
a soft kiss on a pink-cupped but, and then studied
diligently for some moments longer.
"Marilla," she demanded presently, "do you think that I
shall ever have a bosom friend in Avonlea?"
"A--a what kind of friend?"
"A bosom friend--an intimate friend, you know--a really
kindred spirit to whom I can confide my inmost soul. I've
dreamed of meeting her all my life. I never really supposed
I would, but so many of my loveliest dreams have come true
all at once that perhaps this one will, too. Do you think
it's possible?"
"Diana Barry lives over at Orchard Slope and she's about
your age. She's a very nice little girl, and perhaps she
will be a playmate for you when she comes home. She's
visiting her aunt over at Carmody just now. You'll have
to be careful how you behave yourself, though. Mrs. Barry
is a very particular woman. She won't let Diana play with
any little girl who isn't nice and good."
Anne looked at Marilla through the apple blossoms, her
eyes aglow with interest.
"What is Diana like? Her hair isn't red, is it? Oh, I hope
not. It's bad enough to have red hair myself, but I
positively couldn't endure it in a bosom friend."
"Diana is a very pretty little girl. She has black eyes
and hair and rosy cheeks. And she is good and smart, which
is better than being pretty."
Marilla was as fond of morals as the Duchess in Wonderland,
and was firmly convinced that one should be tacked on to
every remark made to a child who was being brought up.
But Anne waved the moral inconsequently aside and seized
only on the delightful possibilities before it.
"Oh, I'm so glad she's pretty. Next to being beautiful
oneself--and that's impossible in my case--it would be
best to have a beautiful bosom friend. When I lived with
Mrs. Thomas she had a bookcase in her sitting room with
glass doors. There weren't any books in it; Mrs. Thomas
kept her best china and her preserves there--when she
had any preserves to keep. One of the doors was broken.
Mr. Thomas smashed it one night when he was slightly
intoxicated. But the other was whole and I used to
pretend that my reflection in it was another little girl who
lived in it. I called her Katie Maurice, and we were very
intimate. I used to talk to her by the hour, especially on
Sunday, and tell her everything. Katie was the comfort
and consolation of my life. We used to pretend that the
bookcase was enchanted and that if I only knew the spell
I could open the door and step right into the room where
Katie Maurice lived, instead of into Mrs. Thomas' shelves
of preserves and china. And then Katie Maurice would have
taken me by the hand and led me out into a wonderful place,
all flowers and sunshine and fairies, and we would have
lived there happy for ever after. When I went to live with
Mrs. Hammond it just broke my heart to leave Katie Maurice.
She felt it dreadfully, too, I know she did, for she was
crying when she kissed me good-bye through the bookcase
door. There was no bookcase at Mrs. Hammond's. But just up
the river a little way from the house there was a long
green little valley, and the loveliest echo lived there.
It echoed back every word you said, even if you didn't talk
a bit loud. So I imagined that it was a little girl called
Violetta and we were great friends and I loved her almost as
well as I loved Katie Maurice--not quite, but almost, you
know. The night before I went to the asylum I said
good-bye to Violetta, and oh, her good-bye came back to me
but I really feel that I cannot bear not knowing any longer.
It's a dreadful feeling. Please tell me."
"You haven't scalded the dishcloth in clean hot water as I
told you to do," said Marilla immovably. "Just go and do
it before you ask any more questions, Anne."
Anne went and attended to the dishcloth. Then she returned
to Marilla and fastened imploring eyes of the latter's face.
"Well," said Marilla, unable to find any excuse for deferring
her explanation longer, "I suppose I might as well tell you.
Matthew and I have decided to keep you--that is, if you will
try to be a good little girl and show yourself grateful.
Why, child, whatever is the matter?"
"I'm crying," said Anne in a tone of bewilderment. "I can't
think why. I'm glad as glad can be. Oh, GLAD doesn't seem
the right word at all. I was glad about the White Way and
the cherry blossoms--but this! Oh, it's something more than
glad. I'm so happy. I'll try to be so good. It will be
uphill work, I expect, for Mrs. Thomas often told me I was
desperately wicked. However, I'll do my very best. But can
you tell me why I'm crying?"
"I suppose it's because you're all excited and worked up,"
said Marilla disapprovingly. "Sit down on that chair and
try to calm yourself. I'm afraid you both cry and laugh
far too easily. Yes, you can stay here and we will try to
do right by you. You must go to school; but it's only a
fortnight till vacation so it isn't worth while for you to
start before it opens again in September."
"What am I to call you?" asked Anne. "Shall I always say
Miss Cuthbert? Can I call you Aunt Marilla?"
"No; you'll call me just plain Marilla. I'm not used to
being called Miss Cuthbert and it would make me nervous."
"It sounds awfully disrespectful to just say Marilla,"
protested Anne.
"I guess there'll be nothing disrespectful in it if you're
careful to speak respectfully. Everybody, young and old,
in Avonlea calls me Marilla except the minister. He says
Miss Cuthbert--when he thinks of it."
"I'd love to call you Aunt Marilla," said Anne wistfully.
"I've never had an aunt or any relation at all--not even a
grandmother. It would make me feel as if I really belonged
to you. Can't I call you Aunt Marilla?"
"No. I'm not your aunt and I don't believe in calling
people names that don't belong to them."
"But we could imagine you were my aunt."
"I couldn't," said Marilla grimly.
"Do you never imagine things different from what they
really are?" asked Anne wide-eyed.
"No."
"Oh!" Anne drew a long breath. "Oh, Miss--Marilla,
how much you miss!"
"I don't believe in imagining things different from what
they really are," retorted Marilla. "When the Lord puts us
in certain circumstances He doesn't mean for us to imagine
them away. And that reminds me. Go into the sitting
room, Anne--be sure your feet are clean and don't let any
flies in--and bring me out the illustrated card that's on
the mantelpiece. The Lord's Prayer is on it and you'll
devote your spare time this afternoon to learning it off by
heart. There's to be no more of such praying as I heard
last night."
"I suppose I was very awkward," said Anne apologetically,
"but then, you see, I'd never had any practice. You
couldn't really expect a person to pray very well the first
time she tried, could you? I thought out a splendid prayer
after I went to bed, just as I promised you I would. It was
nearly as long as a minister's and so poetical. But would
you believe it? I couldn't remember one word when I woke
up this morning. And I'm afraid I'll never be able to think
out another one as good. Somehow, things never are so good
when they're thought out a second time. Have you ever
noticed that?"
"Here is something for you to notice, Anne. When I tell
you to do a thing I want you to obey me at once and not
stand stock-still and discourse about it. Just you go and
do as I bid you."
Anne promptlydeparted for the sitting-room across the hall;
she failed to return; after waiting ten minutes Marilla laid
down her knitting and marched after her with a grim expression.
She found Anne standingmotionless before a picture hanging on
the wall between the two windows, with her eyes astar with
dreams. The white and green light strained through apple trees
and clustering vines outside fell over the rapt little figure
with a half-unearthly radiance.
"Anne, whatever are you thinking of?" demanded Marilla sharply.
Anne came back to earth with a start.
"That," she said, pointing to the picture--a rather vivid
chromo entitled, "Christ Blessing Little Children"--"and I
was just imagining I was one of them--that I was the little
girl in the blue dress, standing off by herself in the
corner as if she didn't belong to anybody, like me. She
looks lonely and sad, don't you think? I guess she hadn't
any father or mother of her own. But she wanted to be
blessed, too, so she just crept shyly up on the outside of
the crowd, hoping nobody would notice her--except Him. I'm
sure I know just how she felt. Her heart must have beat and
her hands must have got cold, like mine did when I asked you
if I could stay. She was afraid He mightn't notice her.
But it's likely He did, don't you think? I've been trying
to imagine it all out--her edging a little nearer all the
time until she was quite close to Him; and then He would
look at her and put His hand on her hair and oh, such a
thrill of joy as would run over her! But I wish the artist
hadn't painted Him so sorrowful looking. All His pictures
are like that, if you've noticed. But I don't believe He
could really have looked so sad or the children would have
been afraid of Him."
"Anne," said Marilla, wondering why she had not broken
into this speech long before, "you shouldn't talk that
way. It's irreverent--positively irreverent."
Anne's eyes marveled.
"Why, I felt just as reverent as could be. I'm sure I
didn't mean to be irreverent."
"Well I don't suppose you did--but it doesn't sound right
to talk so familiarly about such things. And another
thing, Anne, when I send you after something you're to
bring it at once and not fall into mooning and imagining
before pictures. Remember that. Take that card and come
right to the kitchen. Now, sit down in the corner and
learn that prayer off by heart."
Anne set the card up against the jugful of apple blossoms
she had brought in to decorate the dinnertable--Marilla
had eyed that decoration askance, but had said nothing--
propped her chin on her hands, and fell to studying it
intently for several silent minutes.
"I like this," she announced at length. "It's beautiful.
I've heard it before--I heard the superintendent of the
asylum Sunday school say it over once. But I didn't like it
then. He had such a cracked voice and he prayed it so
mournfully. I really felt sure he thought praying was a
disagreeable duty. This isn't poetry, but it makes me feel
just the same way poetry does. `Our Father who art in heaven
hallowed be Thy name.' That is just like a line of music.
Oh, I'm so glad you thought of making me learn this, Miss--
Marilla."
"Well, learn it and hold your tongue," said Marilla shortly.
Anne tipped the vase of apple blossoms near enough to bestow
a soft kiss on a pink-cupped but, and then studied
diligently for some moments longer.
"Marilla," she demanded presently, "do you think that I
shall ever have a bosom friend in Avonlea?"
"A--a what kind of friend?"
"A bosom friend--an intimate friend, you know--a really
kindred spirit to whom I can confide my inmost soul. I've
dreamed of meeting her all my life. I never really supposed
I would, but so many of my loveliest dreams have come true
all at once that perhaps this one will, too. Do you think
it's possible?"
"Diana Barry lives over at Orchard Slope and she's about
your age. She's a very nice little girl, and perhaps she
will be a playmate for you when she comes home. She's
visiting her aunt over at Carmody just now. You'll have
to be careful how you behave yourself, though. Mrs. Barry
is a very particular woman. She won't let Diana play with
any little girl who isn't nice and good."
Anne looked at Marilla through the apple blossoms, her
eyes aglow with interest.
"What is Diana like? Her hair isn't red, is it? Oh, I hope
not. It's bad enough to have red hair myself, but I
positively couldn't endure it in a bosom friend."
"Diana is a very pretty little girl. She has black eyes
and hair and rosy cheeks. And she is good and smart, which
is better than being pretty."
Marilla was as fond of morals as the Duchess in Wonderland,
and was firmly convinced that one should be tacked on to
every remark made to a child who was being brought up.
But Anne waved the moral inconsequently aside and seized
only on the delightful possibilities before it.
"Oh, I'm so glad she's pretty. Next to being beautiful
oneself--and that's impossible in my case--it would be
best to have a beautiful bosom friend. When I lived with
Mrs. Thomas she had a bookcase in her sitting room with
glass doors. There weren't any books in it; Mrs. Thomas
kept her best china and her preserves there--when she
had any preserves to keep. One of the doors was broken.
Mr. Thomas smashed it one night when he was slightly
intoxicated. But the other was whole and I used to
pretend that my reflection in it was another little girl who
lived in it. I called her Katie Maurice, and we were very
intimate. I used to talk to her by the hour, especially on
Sunday, and tell her everything. Katie was the comfort
and consolation of my life. We used to pretend that the
bookcase was enchanted and that if I only knew the spell
I could open the door and step right into the room where
Katie Maurice lived, instead of into Mrs. Thomas' shelves
of preserves and china. And then Katie Maurice would have
taken me by the hand and led me out into a wonderful place,
all flowers and sunshine and fairies, and we would have
lived there happy for ever after. When I went to live with
Mrs. Hammond it just broke my heart to leave Katie Maurice.
She felt it dreadfully, too, I know she did, for she was
crying when she kissed me good-bye through the bookcase
door. There was no bookcase at Mrs. Hammond's. But just up
the river a little way from the house there was a long
green little valley, and the loveliest echo lived there.
It echoed back every word you said, even if you didn't talk
a bit loud. So I imagined that it was a little girl called
Violetta and we were great friends and I loved her almost as
well as I loved Katie Maurice--not quite, but almost, you
know. The night before I went to the asylum I said
good-bye to Violetta, and oh, her good-bye came back to me
- knowing [´nəuiŋ]
a.会意的，心照不宣的 (初中英语单词) - dreadful [´dredful] a.可怕的；讨厌的 (初中英语单词)
- unable [ʌn´eibəl] a.不能的；无能为力的 (初中英语单词)
- explanation [,eksplə´neiʃən] n.解释；说明；辩解 (初中英语单词)
- whatever [wɔt´evə] pron.&a.无论什么 (初中英语单词)
- wicked [´wikid] a.邪恶的；不道德的 (初中英语单词)
- vacation [və´keiʃən, vei´keiʃən] n.假期；休庭期；腾空 (初中英语单词)
- minister [´ministə] n.部长；大臣 v.伺候 (初中英语单词)
- breath [breθ] n.呼吸；气息 (初中英语单词)
- learning [´lə:niŋ] n.学习；学问；知识 (初中英语单词)
- promptly [´prɔmptli] ad.敏捷地；即时地 (初中英语单词)
- waiting [´weitiŋ] n.等候；伺候 (初中英语单词)
- knitting [´nitiŋ] n.编织(物)；接合；联合 (初中英语单词)
- standing [´stændiŋ] n.持续 a.直立的 (初中英语单词)
- blessing [´blesiŋ] n.祝福 (初中英语单词)
- lonely [´ləunli] a.孤独的；无人烟的 (初中英语单词)
- decorate [´dekəreit] vt.装饰；装修(房屋等) (初中英语单词)
- decoration [,dekə´reiʃən] n.装饰(品)；装璜 (初中英语单词)
- poetry [´pəuitri] n.诗；诗意 (初中英语单词)
- presently [´prezəntli] ad.不久；目前 (初中英语单词)
- intimate [´intimit] a.亲密的 n.知己 (初中英语单词)
- orchard [´ɔ:tʃəd] n.果园 (初中英语单词)
- behave [bi´heiv] v.举止；表现；举止端正 (初中英语单词)
- endure [in´djuə] vt.忍耐，忍受；坚持 (初中英语单词)
- firmly [´fə:mli] ad.坚固地，稳定地 (初中英语单词)
- delightful [di´laitful] a.讨人喜欢的 (初中英语单词)
- reflection [ri´flekʃən] n.反射；映象；想法 (初中英语单词)
- pretend [pri´tend] v.假装；借口；妄求 (初中英语单词)
- sunshine [´sʌnʃain] n.日光，阳光 (初中英语单词)
- dreadfully [dredfuli] ad.可怕地；糟透地 (初中英语单词)
- valley [´væli] n.谷；河谷；流域 (初中英语单词)
- decided [di´saidid] a.明显的；决定的 (高中英语单词)
- cherry [´tʃeri] n.樱桃(树) (高中英语单词)
- awfully [´ɔ:fuli] ad.令人畏惧地 (高中英语单词)
- discourse [´diskɔ:s] n.论文；演说；说教 (高中英语单词)
- motionless [´məuʃənləs] a.静止的；固定的 (高中英语单词)
- hanging [´hæŋiŋ] n.绞刑 a.悬挂着的 (高中英语单词)
- superintendent [,su:pərin´tendənt, ,sju:-] n.管理人，负责人 (高中英语单词)
- confide [kən´faid] v.委托；吐露；信任 (高中英语单词)
- playmate [´pleimeit] n.游戏伙伴 (高中英语单词)
- duchess [´dʌtʃis] n.公爵夫人；女公爵 (高中英语单词)
- respectfully [ris´pektfuli] ad.恭敬地 (英语四级单词)
- sorrowful [´sɔrəuful] a.悲伤的，使人伤心的 (英语四级单词)
- consolation [,kɔnsə´leiʃən] n.安慰，慰问 (英语四级单词)
- bewilderment [bi´wildəmənt] n.为难；狼狈；迷惑 (英语六级单词)
- poetical [pəu´etikəl] a.理想化了的 (英语六级单词)
- departed [di´pɑ:tid] a.已往的；已故的 (英语六级单词)
- cracked [krækt] a.有裂缝的；碎的；粗哑 (英语六级单词)
- bookcase [´buk-keis] n.书架(箱) (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
京公网安备 11011202003401号
