the story of a bad boy-第15部分
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e whole thing as much as anyone。
The monkey was a perpetual marvel to Gypsy。 They became bosom…friends in an incredibly brief period； and were never easy out of each other's sight。 Prince Zany…that's what Pepper Whitcomb and I christened him one day； much to the disgust of the monkey； who bit a piece out of Pepper's nose…resided in the stable； and went to roost every night on the pony's back； where I usually found him in the morning。 Whenever I rode out； I was obliged to secure his Highness the Prince with a stout cord to the fence； he chattering all the time like a madman。
One afternoon as I was cantering through the crowded part of the town； I noticed that the people in the street stopped； stared at me； and fell to laughing。 I turned round in the saddle； and there was Zany； with a great burdock leaf in his paw； perched up behind me on the crupper； as solemn as a judge。
After a few months； poor Zany sickened mysteriously； and died。 The dark thought occurred to me then； and comes back to me now with redoubled force； that Miss Abigail must have given him some hot…drops。 Zany left a large circle of sorrowing friends； if not relatives。 Gypsy； I think； never entirely recovered from the shock occasioned by his early demise。 She became fonder of me； though； and one of her cunningest demonstrations was to escape from the stable…yard； and trot up to the door of the Temple Grammar School； where I would discover her at recess patiently waiting for me； with her fore feet on the second step； and wisps of straw standing out all over her； like quills upon the fretful porcupine。
I should fail if I tried to tell you how dear the pony was to me。 Even hard； unloving men become attached to the horses they take care of； so I； who was neither unloving nor hard； grew to love every glossy hair of the pretty little creature that depended on me for her soft straw bed and her daily modicum of oats。 In my prayer at night I never forgot to mention Gypsy with the rest of the family…generally setting forth her claims first。
Whatever relates to Gypsy belongs properly to this narrative； therefore I offer no apology for rescuing from oblivion； and boldly printing here a short composition which I wrote in the early part of my first quarter at the Temple Grammar School。 It is my maiden effort in a difficult art； and is； perhaps； lacking in those graces of thought and style which are reached only after the severest practice。
Every Wednesday morning； on entering school； each pupil was expected to lay his exercise on Mr。 Grimshaw's desk； the subject was usually selected by Mr。 Grimshaw himself； the Monday previous。 With a humor characteristic of him； our teacher had instituted two prizes； one for the best and the other for the worst composition of the month。 The first prize consisted of a penknife； or a pencil…case； or some such article dear to the heart of youth； the second prize entitled the winner to wear for an hour or two a sort of conical paper cap； on the front of which was written； in tall letters； this modest admission： I AM A DUNCE！ The competitor who took prize No。 2。 wasn't generally an object of envy。
My pulse beat high with pride and expectation that Wednesday morning； as I laid my essay； neatly folded； on the master's table。 I firmly decline to say which prize I won； but here's the composition to speak for itself。
It is no small…author vanity that induces me to publish this stray leaf of natural history。 I lay it before our young folks； not for their admiration； but for their criticism。 Let each reader take his lead…pencil and remorselessly correct the orthography； the capitalization； and the punctuation of the essay。 I shall not feel hurt at seeing my treatise cut all to pieces； though I think highly of the production； not on account of its literary excellence； which I candidly admit is not overpowering； but because it was written years and years ago about Gypsy； by a little fellow who； when I strive to recall him； appears to me like a reduced ghost of my present self。
I am confident that any reader who has ever had pets； birds or animals； will forgive me for this brief digression。
Chapter Twelve
Winter at Rivermouth
〃I guess we're going to have a regular old…fashioned snowstorm；〃 said Captain Nutter； one bleak December morning； casting a peculiarly nautical glance skyward。
The Captain was always hazarding prophecies about the weather； which somehow never turned out according to his prediction。 The vanes on the church…steeples seemed to take fiendish pleasure in humiliating the dear old gentleman。 If he said it was going to be a clear day； a dense sea…fog was pretty certain to set in before noon。 Once he caused a protracted drought by assuring us every morning； for six consecutive weeks； that it would rain in a few hours。 But； sure enough； that afternoon it began snowing。
Now I had not seen a snow…storm since I was eighteen months old； and of course remembered nothing about it。 A boy familiar from his infancy with the rigors of our New England winters can form no idea of the impression made on me by this natural phenomenon。 My delight and surprise were as boundless as if the heavy gray sky had let down a shower of pond lilies and white roses； instead of snow…flakes。 It happened to be a half…holiday； so I had nothing to do but watch the feathery crystals whirling hither and thither through the air。 I stood by the sitting…room window gazing at the wonder until twilight shut out the novel scene。
We had had several slight flurries of hail and snow before； but this was a regular nor'easter。
Several inches of snow had already fallen。 The rose…bushes at the door drooped with the weight of their magical blossoms； and the two posts that held the garden gate were transformed into stately Turks； with white turbans； guarding the entrance to the Nutter House。
The storm increased at sundown； and continued with unabated violence through the night。 The next morning； when I jumped out of bed； the sun was shining brightly； the cloudless heavens wore the tender azure of June； and the whole earth lay muffled up to the eyes； as it were； in a thick mantle of milk…white down。
It was a very deep snow。 The Oldest Inhabitant （what would become of a New England town or village without its oldest Inhabitant？） overhauled his almanacs； and pronounced it the deepest snow we had bad for twenty years。 It couldn't have been much deeper without smothering us all。 Our street was a sight to be seen； or； rather； it was a sight not to be seen； for very little street was visible。 One huge drift completely banked up our front door and half covered my bedroom window。
There was no school that day； for all the thoroughfares were impassable。 By twelve o'clock； however； the great snowploughs； each drawn by four yokes of oxen； broke a wagon…path through the principal streets； but the foot…passengers had a hard time of it floundering in the arctic drifts。
The Captain and I cut a tunnel； three feet wide and six feet high； from our front door to the sidewalk opposite。 It was a beautiful cavern； with its walls and roof inlaid with mother…of…pearl and diamonds。 I am sure the ice palace of the Russian Empress； in Cowper's poem； was not a more superb piece of architecture。
The thermometer began falling shortly before sunset and we had the bitterest cold night I ever experienced。 This brought out the Oldest Inhabitant again the next day…and what a gay old boy he was for deciding everything！ Our tunnel was turned into solid ice。 A crust thick enough to bear men and horses had formed over the snow everywhere； and the air was alive with merry sleigh…bells。 Icy stalactites； a yard long； bung from the eaves of the house； and the Turkish sentinels at the gate looked as if they had given up all hopes of ever being relieved from duty。
So the winter set in cold and glittering。 Everything out…of…doors was sheathed in silver mail。 To quote from Charley Marden； it was 〃cold enough to freeze the tail off a brass monkey；〃…an observation which seemed to me extremely happy； though I knew little or nothing concerning the endurance of brass monkeys； having never seen one。
I had looked forward to the advent of the season with grave apprehensions； nerving myself to meet dreary nights and monotonous days； but summer itself was not more jolly than winter at Rivermouth。 Snow…balling at school； skating on the Mill Pond； coasting by moonlight； long rides behind Gypsy in a brand…new little sleigh built expressly for her； were sports no less exhilarating than those which belonged to the sunny months。 And then Thanksgiving！ The nose of Memory…why shouldn't Memory have a nose？…dilates with pleasure over the rich perfume of Miss Abigail's forty mince…pies； each one more delightful than the other； like the Sultan's forty wives。 Christmas was another red…letter day； though it was not so generally observed in New England as it is now。
The great wood…fire in the tiled chimney…place made our sitting…room very cheerful of winter nights。 When the north…wind howled about the eaves； and the sharp fingers of the sleet tapped against the window…panes； it was nice to be so warmly sheltered from the storm。 A dish of apples and a pitcher of chilly cider were always served during the evening。 The Captain had a funny way of leaning back in the chair； and eating his apple with his eyes closed。 Sometimes I played dominos with him； and sometimes Miss Abigail read aloud to us； pronouncing 〃to〃 toe； and sounding all the eds。
In a former chapter I alluded to Miss Abigail's managing propensities。 She had affected many changes in the Nutter House before I came there to live； but there was one thing against which she bad long contended without being able to overcome。 This was the Captain's pipe。 On first taking command of the household； she prohibited smoking in the sitting…room； where it had been the old gentleman's custom to take a whiff or two of the fragrant weed after meals。 The edict went forth…and so did the pipe。 An excellent move； no doubt； but then the house was his； and if he saw fit to keep a tub of tobacco burning in the middle of the parlor floor； he had a perfect right to do so。 However； be humored her in this as in other matters； and smoked by stealth； like a gui
