the professor at the breakfast table-第26部分

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interested　in。　　If　he　was　her　crippled　child；　instead　of　being　more

than　old　enough　to　be　her　father；　she　could　not　treat　him　more

kindly。　　The　landlady's　daughter　said；　the　other　day；　she　believed

that　girl　was　settin'　her　cap　for　the　Little　Gentleman。



Some　of　them　young　folks　is　very　artful；said　her　mother；and　there

is　them　that　would　merry　Lazarus；　if　he'd　only　picked　up　crumbs

enough。　　I　don't　think；　though；　this　is　one　of　that　sort；　she's

kinder　childlike；said　the　landlady；and　maybe　never　had　any　dolls

to　play　with；　for　they　say　her　folks　was　poor　before　Ma'am　undertook

to　see　to　her　teachin'　and　board　her　and　clothe　her。



I　could　not　help　overhearing　this　conversation。　　〃Board　her　and

clothe　her！〃speaking　of　such　a　young　creature！　　Oh；　dear！Yes；

she　must　be　fed；just　like　Bridget；　maid…of…all…work　at　this

establishment。　　Somebody　must　pay　for　it。　　Somebody　has　a　right　to

watch　her　and　see　how　much　it　takes　to　〃keep〃　her；　and　growl　at　her；

if　she　has　too　good　an　appetite。　　Somebody　has　a　right　to　keep　an　eye

on　her　and　take　care　that　she　does　not　dress　too　prettily。　　No　mother

to　see　her　own　youth　over　again　in　these　fresh　features　and　rising

reliefs　of　half…sculptured　womanhood；　and；　seeing　its　loveliness；

forget　her　lessons　of　neutral…tinted　propriety；　and　open　the　cases

that　hold　her　own　ornaments　to　find　for　her　a　necklace　or　a　bracelet

or　a　pair　of　ear…rings；those　golden　lamps　that　light　up　the　deep；

shadowy　dimples　on　the　cheeks　of　young　beauties；swinging　in　a　semi…

barbaric　splendor　that　carries　the　wild　fancy　to　Abyssinian　queens

and　musky　Odalisques！　　I　don't　believe　any　woman　has　utterly　given　up

the　great　firm　of　Mundus　&　Co。；　so　long　as　she　wears　ear…rings。



I　think　Iris　loves　to　hear　the　Little　Gentleman　talk。　　She　smiles

sometimes　at　his　vehement　statements；　but　never　laughs　at　him。　　When

he　speaks　to　her；　she　keeps　her　eye　always　steadily　upon　him。　　This

may　be　only　natural　good…breeding；　so　to　speak；　but　it　is　worth

noticing。　　I　have　often　observed　that　vulgar　persons；　and　public

audiences　of　inferior　collective　intelligence；　have　this　in　common：

the　least　thing　draws　off　their　minds；　when　you　are　speaking　to　them。

I　love　this　young　creature's　rapt　attention　to　her　diminutive

neighbor　while　he　is　speaking。



He　is　evidently　pleased　with　it。　　For　a　day　or　two　after　she　came；　he

was　silent　and　seemed　nervous　and　excited。　　Now　he　is　fond　of　getting

the　talk　into　his　own　hands；　and　is　obviously　conscious　that　he　has

at　least　one　interested　listener。　　Once　or　twice　I　have　seen　marks　of

special　attention　to　personal　adornment；　a　ruffled　shirt…bosom；　one

day；　and　a　diamond　pin　in　it；not　so　very　large　as　the　Koh…i…noor's；

but　more　lustrous。　　I　mentioned　the　death's…head　ring　he　wears　on　his

right　hand。　　I　was　attracted　by　a　very　handsome　red　stone；　a　ruby　or

carbuncle　or　something　of　the　sort；　to　notice　his　left　hand；　the

other　day。　　It　is　a　handsome　hand；　and　confirms　my　suspicion　that　the

cast　mentioned　was　taken　from　his　arm。　　After　all；　this　is　just　what

I　should　expect。　　It　is　not　very　uncommon　to　see　the　upper　limbs；　or

one　of　them；　running　away　with　the　whole　strength；　and；　therefore；

with　the　whole　beauty；　which　we　should　never　have　noticed；　if　it　had

been　divided　equally　between　all　four　extremities。　　If　it　is　so；　of

course　he　is　proud　of　his　one　strong　and　beautiful　arm；　that　is　human

nature。　　I　am　afraid　he　can　hardly　help　betraying　his　favoritism；　as

people　who　have　any　one　showy　point　are　apt　to　do；especially

dentists　with　handsome　teeth；　who　always　smile　back　to　their　last

molars。



Sitting；　as　he　does；　next　to　the　young　girl；　and　next　but　one　to　the

calm　lady　who　has　her　in　charge；　he　cannot　help　seeing　their

relations　to　each　other。



That　is　an　admirable　woman；　Sir；he　said　to　me　one　day；　as　we　sat

alone　at　the　table　after　breakfast；an　admirable　woman；　Sir；and　I

hate　her。



Of　course；　I　begged　an　explanation。



An　admirable　woman；　Sir；　because　she　does　good　things；　and　even　kind

things；takes　care　of　thisthisyoung　ladywe　have　here；　talks

like　a　sensible　person；　and　always　looks　as　if　she　was　doing　her　duty

with　all　her　might。　　I　hate　her　because　her　voice　sounds　as　if　it

never　trembled　and　her　eyes　look　as　if　she　never　knew　what　it　was　to

cry。　　Besides；　she　looks　at　me；　Sir；　stares　at　me；　as　if　she　wanted

to　get　an　image　of　me　for　some　gallery　in　her　brain；and　we　don't

love　to　be　looked　at　in　this　way；　we　that　haveI　hate　her；I　hate

her；her　eyes　kill　me；it　is　like　being　stabbed　with　icicles　to　be

looked　at　so；the　sooner　she　goes　home；　the　better。　　I　don't　want　a

woman　to　weigh　me　in　a　balance；　there　are　men　enough　for　that　sort　of

work。　　The　judicial　character　is　n't　captivating　in　females；　Sir。　　A

woman　fascinates　a　man　quite　as　often　by　what　she　overlooks　as　by

what　she　sees。　　Love　prefers　twilight　to　daylight；　and　a　man　doesn't

think　much　of；　nor　care　much　for；　a　woman　outside　of　his　household；

unless　he　can　couple　the　idea　of　love；　past；　present；　or　future；　with

her。　　I　don't　believe　the　Devil　would　give　half　as　much　for　the

services　of　a　sinner　as　he　would　for　those　of　one　of　these　folks　that

are　always　doing　virtuous　acts　in　a　way　to　make　them　unpleasing。

That　young　girl　wants　a　tender　nature　to　cherish　her　and　give　her　a

chance　to　put　out　her　leaves；sunshine；　and　not　east　winds。



He　was　silent；and　sat　looking　at　his　handsome　left　hand　with　the

red　stone　ring　upon　it。　Is　he　going　to　fall　in　love　with　Iris？



Here　are　some　lines　I　read　to　the　boarders　the　other　day：



　　　　　　THE　CROOKED　FOOTPATH



Ah；　here　it　is！　the　sliding　rail

That　marks　the　old　remembered　spot；

The　gap　that　struck　our　schoolboy　trail；

The　crooked　path　across　the　lot。



It　left　the　road　by　school　and　church；

A　pencilled　shadow；　nothing　more；

That　parted　from　the　silver　birch

And　ended　at　the　farmhouse　door。



No　line　or　compass　traced　its　plan；

With　frequent　bends　to　left　or　right；

In　aimless；　wayward　curves　it　ran；

But　always　kept　the　door　in　sight。



The　gabled　porch；　with　woodbine　green；

The　broken　millstone　at　the　sill；

Though　many　a　rood　might　stretch　between；

The　truant　child　could　see　them　still。



No　rocks；　across　the　pathway　lie；

No　fallen　trunk　is　o'er　it　thrown；

And　yet　it　winds；　we　know　not　why；

And　turns　as　if　for　tree　or　stone。



Perhaps　some　lover　trod　the　way

With　shaking　knees　and　leaping　heart；

And　so　it　often　runs　astray

With　sinuous　sweep　or　sudden　start。



Or　one；　perchance；　with　clouded　brain

》From　some　unholy　banquet　reeled；

And　since；　our　devious　steps　maintain

His　track　across　the　trodden　field。



Nay；　deem　not　thus；no　earthborn　will

Could　ever　trace　a　faultless　line；

Our　truest　steps　are　human　still；

To　walk　unswerving　were　divine！



Truants　from　love；　we　dream　of　wrath；

Oh；　rather　let　us　trust　the　more！

Through　all　the　wanderings　of　the　path；

We　still　can　see　our　Father's　door！









V