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(单词翻译:双击或拖选)
Unit 13
TEXT I
Christmas
Text
That fall, before it was discovered that the soles of both my shoes were worn clear through, I still went to Sunday school. And one time the Sunday-school superintendent1 made a speech to all the classes. He said that these were hard times, and that many poor children weren't getting enough to eat. It was the first time that I had heard about it. He asked everybody to bring some food for the poor children next Sunday. I felt very sorry for the poor children.
Also, little envelopes were distributed to all the classes. Each little boy and girl was to bring money for the poor, next Sunday. The pretty Sunday-school teacher explained that we were to write our names, or have our parents write them, up in the left-hand corner of the little envelopes. ... I told my mother all about it when I came home. And my mother gave me, the next Sunday, a small bag of potatoes to carry to Sunday school. I supposed the poor children's mothers would make potato soup out of them. ... Potato soup was good. My father, who was quite a joker, would always say, as if he were surprised, "Ah! I see we have some nourishing potato soup today!" It was so good that we had it every day. My father was at home all day long and every day, now; and I liked that. I had my parents all to myself, too; the others were away. My oldest brother was in Quincy, and memory does not reveal where the others were: perhaps with relatives in the country.
Taking my small bag of potatoes to Sunday school, I looked around for the poor children; I was disappointed not to see them. I had heard about poor children in stories. But I was told just to put my contribution with the others on the big table in the side room.
I had brought with me the little yellow envelope, with some money in it for the poor children. My mother had put the money in it and sealed it up. She wouldn't tell me how much money she had put in it, but it felt like several dimes2. Only she wouldn't let me write my name on the envelope. I had learned to write my name, and I was proud of being able to do it. But my mother said firmly, no, I must not write my name on the envelope; she didn't tell me why. On the way to Sunday school I had pressed the envelope against the coins until I could tell what they were; they weren't dimes but pennies.
When I handed in my envelope, my Sunday school teacher noticed that my name wasn't on it, and she gave me a pencil; I could write my own name, she said. So I did. But I was confused because my mother had said not to; and when I came home, I confessed what I had done. She looked distressed3. "I told you not to!" she said. But she didn't explain why. ...
I didn't go back to school that fall. My mother said it was because I was sick. I did have a cold the week that school opened; I had been playing in the gutters4 and had got my feet wet, because there were holes in my shoes. My father cut insoles out of cardboard, and I wore those in my shoes. As long as I had to stay in the house anyway, they were all right.
I stayed cooped up in the house, without any companionship. We didn't take a Sunday paper any more, and though I did not read small print, I could see the Santa Clauses and holly5 wreaths in the advertisements.
There was a calendar in the kitchen. The red days were Sundays and holidays; and that red was Christmas. I knew just when Christmas was going to be.
But there was something queer! My father and mother didn't say a word about Christmas. And once when I spoke6 of it, there was a strange, embarrassed silence; so I didn't say anything more about it. But I wondered, and was troubled. Why didn't they say anything about it? Was what I had said I wanted too expensive?
I wasn't arrogant7 and talkative now. I was silent and frightened. What was the matter? Why didn't my father and mother say anything about Christmas? As the day approached, my chest grew tighter with anxiety.
Now it was the day before Christmas. I couldn't be mistaken. But not a word about it from my father and mother. I waited in painful bewilderment all day. I had supper with them, and was allowed to sit up for an hour. I was waiting for them to say something. "It's time for you to go to bed," my mother said gently. I had to say something.
"This is Christmas Eve, isn't it?" I asked, as if I didn't know.
My father and mother looked at one another. Then my mother looked away. Her face was pale and stony8. My father cleared his throat, and his face took on a joking look. He pretended he hadn't known it was Christmas Eve, because he hadn't been reading the papers. He said he would go downtown and find out.
My mother got up and walked out of the room. I didn't want my father to have to keep on being funny about it, so I got up and went to bed. I went by myself without having a light. I undressed in the dark and crawled into bed.
I was numb9. As if I had been hit by something. It was hard to breathe. I ached all through. I was stunned10 — with finding out the truth.
My body knew before my mind quite did. In a minute, when I could think, my mind
would know. And as the pain in my body ebbed11, the pain in my mind began. I knew. I couldn't put it into words yet. But I knew why I had taken only a little bag of potatoes to Sunday school that fall. I knew why there had been only pennies in my little yellow envelope. I knew why I hadn't gone to school that fall — why I hadn't any new shoes — why we had been living on potato soup all winter. All these things, and others, many others fitted themselves together in my mind, and meant something.
Then the words came into my mind and I whispered them into the darkness.
"We're poor!"
That was it. I was one of those poor children I had been sorry for, when I heard about them in Sunday school. My mother hadn't told me. My father was out of work, and we hadn't any money. That was why there wasn't going to be any Christmas at our house.
" We're poor." There in bed in the dark, I whispered it over and over to myself. I was making myself get used to it.
It wasn't so bad, now that I knew, I just hadn't known! I had thought all sorts of foolish things: that I was going to Ann Arbor12 — going to be a lawyer — going to make speeches in the Square, going to be President. Now I know better.
I had wanted (something) for Christmas, I didn't want it, now. I didn't want anything.
I lay there in the dark, feeling the cold emotion of renunciation. (The tendrils of desire unfold their clasp on the outer world of objects, withdraw, shrivel up. Wishes shrivel up, turn black, die. It is like that.)
It hurt. But nothing would ever hurt again. I would never let myself want anything again.
I lay there stretched out straight and stiff in the dark, my fists clenched13 hard upon Nothing...
In the morning it had been like a nightmare that is not clearly remembered — that one wishes to forget. Though I hadn't hung up any stocking there was one hanging at the foot of my bed. A bag of popcorn14, and a lead pencil, for me. They had done the best they could, now they realized that I knew about Christmas. But they needn't have thought they had to. I didn't want anything.
From Homecoming — An Autobiography15 by Floyd Dell
TEXT II
Family Christmas
Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave in ribbons, which are cheap, and make a goodly show for sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; while Master Peter Cratchit plunged17 a fork into the saucepans of potatoes, and, getting the corners of his monstrous18 shirt collar (Bob's private property, conferred upon his son and heir in honour of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced to find himself so gallantly19 attired20, and yearned21 to show his linen22 in the fashionable parks. And now two smaller Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that outside the baker's they had smelt23 the goose, and known it for their own; and, basking24 in luxurious25 thoughts of sage26 and onion, these young Cratchits danced about the table, and exalted27 Master Peter Cratchit to the skies; while he (not proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew the fire until the slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid to be let out and peeled.
"What has ever got your precious father, then?" said Mrs. Cratchit. "And your brother Tiny Tim! And Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by half-an-hour!"
"Here's Martha, Mother!" cried the two young Cratchits. "Hurrah28! There's such a goose, Martha!"
"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you are!" said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times, and taking off her shawl and bonnet29 for her with officious zeal30.
"We'd a great deal of work to finish up last night," replied the girl, "and had to clear away this morning, Mother."
"Well, never mind, so long as you are come," said Mrs. Cratchit. "Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have a warm, Lord bless ye!"
"No, no! There's Father coming!" cried the two young Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. "Hide, Martha, hide!"
So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father with at least three feet of comforter exclusive of the fringe, hanging down before him, and his threadbare clothes darned up and brushed to look seasonable, and Tiny Tim upon his shoulder. Alas31 for Tiny Tim! he bore a little crutch32, and had his limbs supported by an iron frame.
"Why, where's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit, looking round.
"Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit.
"Not coming!" said Bob, with a sudden declension in his high spirits; for he had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church, and had come home rampant33. "Not coming upon Christmas Day!"
Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke, so she came out prematurely34 from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms; while the two young Cratchits hustled35 Tiny Tim, and bore him off to the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper36.
"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit, when she had rallied Bob on his credulity, and Bob had hugged his daughter to his heart's content.
"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be pleasant to them to remember upon Christmas Day who made lame37 beggars walk, and blind men see."
Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing strong and hearty38.
His active little crutch was heard upon the floor; and back came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken, escorted by his brother and sister to his stool beside the fire. And while Bob, turning up his cuffs39 — as if, poor fellow!, they were capable of being made more shabby — compounded some hot mixture in a jug40 with gin and lemons, and stirred it round and round, and put it on the hob to simmer, Master Peter and the two ubiquitous young Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon returned in high procession.
Such a bustle41 ensued that you might have thought a goose the rarest of all birds — a feathered phenomenon, to which a black swan was a matter of course; and, in truth, it was something very like it in that house. Mrs. Cratchit made the gravy42 (ready beforehand in a little saucepan) hissing43 hot; Master Peter mashed44 the potatoes with incredible vigour45; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple sauce; Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and, mounting guard upon their posts, crammed46 spoons into their mouths, lest they should shriek47 for goose before their turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on, and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving-knife, prepared to plunge16 it in the breast; but when she did, and when the long-expected gush48 of stuffing issued forth49, one murmur50 of delight arose all round the board; and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits, beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly cried "Hurrah!"
There never was such a goose. Bob said he didn't believe there ever was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness and flavour, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal admiration51. Eked52 out by the apple sauce and mashed potatoes, it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family; indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't ate it all at last! Yet everyone had had enough, and the youngest Cratchits, in particular, were steeped in sage and onions to the eyebrows53. But now, the plates being changed by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone — too nervous to bear witnesses — to take the pudding up and bring it in.
Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it should break in turning out! Suppose somebody should have got over the wall of the backyard, and stolen it, while they were merry with the goose — a supposition at which the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors were supposed.
Halloa! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper. A smell like a washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastry-cook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that! That was the pudding. In half a minute, Mrs. Cratchit entered — flushed, but smiling proudly — with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half a quartern of ignited brandy and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.
Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs. Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for a large family. It would have been flat heresy54 to do so. Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.
At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the hearth55 swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the jug being tasted and considered perfect, apples and oranges were put upon the table, and a shovelful56 of chestnuts57 on the fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half-a-one; and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of glass, two tumblers and a custard-cup without a handle.
These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as golden goblets58 would have done; and Bob served it out with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered59 and crackled noisily. Then Bob proposed:
"A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears! God bless us!" Which all the family reechoed.
"God bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all.
From Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens
收听单词发音 |
1
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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dimes
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| n.（美国、加拿大的）10分铸币( dime的名词复数 ) | |
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distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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gutters
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| （路边）排水沟( gutter的名词复数 )； 阴沟； （屋顶的）天沟； 贫贱的境地 | |
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holly
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| n.[植]冬青属灌木 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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arrogant
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| adj.傲慢的，自大的 | |
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stony
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| adj.石头的，多石头的，冷酷的，无情的 | |
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numb
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| adj.麻木的，失去感觉的；v.使麻木 | |
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stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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11
ebbed
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| （指潮水）退( ebb的过去式和过去分词 )； 落； 减少； 衰落 | |
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arbor
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| n.凉亭；树木 | |
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13
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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14
popcorn
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| n.爆米花 | |
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autobiography
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| n.自传 | |
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16
plunge
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| v.跳入，(使)投入，(使)陷入；猛冲 | |
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17
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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18
monstrous
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| adj.巨大的；恐怖的；可耻的，丢脸的 | |
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gallantly
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| adv. 漂亮地，勇敢地，献殷勤地 | |
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attired
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| adj.穿着整齐的v.使穿上衣服，使穿上盛装( attire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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21
yearned
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| 渴望，切盼，向往( yearn的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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23
smelt
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| v.熔解，熔炼；n.银白鱼，胡瓜鱼 | |
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24
basking
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| v.晒太阳，取暖( bask的现在分词 )；对…感到乐趣；因他人的功绩而出名；仰仗…的余泽 | |
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25
luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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26
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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27
exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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28
hurrah
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| int.好哇，万岁，乌拉 | |
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29
bonnet
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| n.无边女帽；童帽 | |
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30
zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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31
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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32
crutch
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| n.T字形拐杖；支持，依靠，精神支柱 | |
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33
rampant
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| adj.(植物)蔓生的；狂暴的，无约束的 | |
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34
prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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35
hustled
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| 催促（hustle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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36
copper
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| n.铜；铜币；铜器；adj.铜(制)的；(紫)铜色的 | |
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37
lame
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| adj.跛的，(辩解、论据等)无说服力的 | |
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38
hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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39
cuffs
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| n.袖口( cuff的名词复数 )v.掌打，拳打( cuff的第三人称单数 ) | |
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40
jug
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| n.(有柄，小口，可盛水等的)大壶，罐，盂 | |
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41
bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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42
gravy
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| n.肉汁；轻易得来的钱，外快 | |
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43
hissing
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| n. 发嘶嘶声, 蔑视 动词hiss的现在分词形式 | |
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44
mashed
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| a.捣烂的 | |
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45
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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46
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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47
shriek
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| v./n.尖叫，叫喊 | |
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48
gush
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| v.喷，涌；滔滔不绝(说话)；n.喷，涌流；迸发 | |
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49
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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50
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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51
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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52
eked
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| v.（靠节省用量）使…的供应持久( eke的过去式和过去分词 )；节约使用；竭力维持生计；勉强度日 | |
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53
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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54
heresy
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| n.异端邪说；异教 | |
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55
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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56
shovelful
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| n．一铁铲 | |
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57
chestnuts
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| n.栗子( chestnut的名词复数 )；栗色；栗树；栗色马 | |
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58
goblets
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| n.高脚酒杯( goblet的名词复数 ) | |
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59
sputtered
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| v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的过去式和过去分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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