the golden road-第17部分

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　seemed　to　have　been　moved　slightly　since　my　last　visit；　and　it　was　now　resting　wholly　on　the　floor。　　I　lifted　it　upand　there　was　a　cat　lying　on　the　floor　under　it。　　I　had　heard　you　had　lost　yours　and　I　took　it　this　was　your　pet。　　I　was　afraid　he　was　dead　at　first。　　He　was　lying　there　with　his　eyes　closed；　but　when　I　bent　over　him　he　opened　them　and　gave　a　pitiful　little　mew；　or　rather　his　mouth　made　the　motion　of　a　mew；　for　he　was　too　weak　to　utter　a　sound。〃

〃Oh；　poor；　poor　Paddy；〃　said　tender…hearted　Cecily　tearfully。

〃He　couldn't　stand；　so　I　carried　him　home　and　gave　him　just　a　little　milk。　　Fortunately　he　was　able　to　lap　it。　　I　gave　him　a　little　more　at　intervals　all　day；　and　when　I　left　he　was　able　to　crawl　around。　　I　think　he'll　be　all　right；　but　you'll　have　to　be　careful　how　you　feed　him　for　a　few　days。　　Don't　let　your　hearts　run　away　with　your　judgment　and　kill　him　with　kindness。〃

〃Do　you　suppose　any　one　put　him　under　that　barrel？〃　asked　the　Story　Girl。

〃No。　　The　barn　was　locked。　　Nothing　but　a　cat　could　get　in。　　I　suppose　he　went　under　the　barrel；　perhaps　in　pursuit　of　a　mouse；　and　somehow　knocked　it　off　the　block　and　so　imprisoned　himself。〃

Paddy　was　sitting　before　the　fire　in　the　Awkward　Man's　clean；　bare　kitchen。　　Thin！　　Why；　he　was　literally　skin　and　bone；　and　his　fur　was　dull　and　lustreless。　　It　almost　broke　our　hearts　to　see　our　beautiful　Paddy　brought　so　low。

〃Oh；　how　he　must　have　suffered！〃　moaned　Cecily。

〃He'll　be　as　prosperous　as　ever　in　a　week　or　two；〃　said　the　Awkward　Man　kindly。

The　Story　Girl　gathered　Paddy　up　in　her　arms。　　Most　mellifluously　did　he　purr　as　we　crowded　around　to　stroke　him；　with　friendly　joy　he　licked　our　hands　with　his　little　red　tongue；　poor　Paddy　was　a　thankful　cat；　he　was　no　longer　lost；　starving；　imprisoned；　helpless；　he　was　with　his　comrades　once　more　and　he　was　going　homehome　to　his　old　familiar　haunts　of　orchard　and　dairy　and　granary；　to　his　daily　rations　of　new　milk　and　cream；　to　the　cosy　corner　of　his　own　fireside。　　We　trooped　home　joyfully；　the　Story　Girl　in　our　midst　carrying　Paddy　hugged　against　her　shoulder。　　Never　did　April　stars　look　down　on　a　happier　band　of　travellers　on　the　golden　road。　　There　was　a　little　gray　wind　out　in　the　meadows　that　night；　and　it　danced　along　beside　us　on　viewless；　fairy　feet；　and　sang　a　delicate　song　of　the　lovely；　waiting　years；　while　the　night　laid　her　beautiful　hands　of　blessing　over　the　world。

〃You　see　what　Peg's　wishbone　did；〃　said　Peter　triumphantly。

〃Now；　look　here；　Peter；　don't　talk　nonsense；〃　expostulated　Dan。　　〃The　Awkward　Man　found　Paddy　this　morning　and　had　started　to　bring　us　word　before　Cecily　ever　thought　of　the　wishbone。　　Do　you　mean　to　say　you　believe　he　wouldn't　have　come　walking　up　our　lane　just　when　he　did　if　she　had　never　thought　of　it？〃

〃I　mean　to　say　that　I　wouldn't　mind　if　I　had　several　wishbones　of　the　same　kind；〃　retorted　Peter　stubbornly。

〃Of　course　I　don't　think　the　wishbone　had　really　anything　to　do　with　our　getting　Paddy　back；　but　I'm　glad　I　tried　it；　for　all　that；〃　remarked　Cecily　in　a　tone　of　satisfaction。

〃Well；　anyhow；　we've　got　Pat　and　that's　the　main　thing；〃　said　Felix。

〃And　I　hope　it　will　be　a　lesson　to　him　to　stay　home　after　this；〃　commented　Felicity。

〃They　say　the　barrens　are　full　of　mayflowers；〃　said　the　Story　Girl。　　〃Let　us　have　a　mayflower　picnic　tomorrow　to　celebrate　Paddy's　safe　return。〃



CHAPTER　XII

FLOWERS　O'　MAY


Accordingly　we　went　a…maying；　following　the　lure　of　dancing　winds　to　a　certain　westward　sloping　hill　lying　under　the　spirit…like　blue　of　spring　skies；　feathered　over　with　lisping　young　pines　and　firs；　which　cupped　little　hollows　and　corners　where　the　sunshine　got　in　and　never　got　out　again；　but　stayed　there　and　grew　mellow；　coaxing　dear　things　to　bloom　long　before　they　would　dream　of　waking　up　elsewhere。

'Twas　there　we　found　our　mayflowers；　after　faithful　seeking。　　Mayflowers；　you　must　know；　never　flaunt　themselves；　they　must　be　sought　as　becomes　them；　and　then　they　will　yield　up　their　treasures　to　the　seekerclusters　of　star…white　and　dawn…pink　that　have　in　them　the　very　soul　of　all　the　springs　that　ever　were；　re…　incarnated　in　something　it　seems　gross　to　call　perfume；　so　exquisite　and　spiritual　is　it。

We　wandered　gaily　over　the　hill；　calling　to　each　other　with　laughter　and　jest；　getting　parted　and　delightfully　lost　in　that　little　pathless　wilderness；　and　finding　each　other　unexpectedly　in　nooks　and　dips　and　sunny　silences；　where　the　wind　purred　and　gentled　and　went　softly。　　When　the　sun　began　to　hang　low；　sending　great　fan…like　streamers　of　radiance　up　to　the　zenith；　we　foregathered　in　a　tiny；　sequestered　valley；　full　of　young　green　fern；　lying　in　the　shadow　of　a　wooded　hill。　　In　it　was　a　shallow　poola　glimmering　green　sheet　of　water　on　whose　banks　nymphs　might　dance　as　blithely　as　ever　they　did　on　Argive　hill　or　in　Cretan　dale。　　There　we　sat　and　stripped　the　faded　leaves　and　stems　from　our　spoil；　making　up　the　blossoms　into　bouquets　to　fill　our　baskets　with　sweetness。　　The　Story　Girl　twisted　a　spray　of　divinest　pink　in　her　brown　curls；　and　told　us　an　old　legend　of　a　beautiful　Indian　maiden　who　died　of　a　broken　heart　when　the　first　snows　of　winter　were　falling；　because　she　believed　her　long…absent　lover　was　false。　　But　he　came　back　in　the　spring　time　from　his　long　captivity；　and　when　he　heard　that　she　was　dead　he　sought　her　grave　to　mourn　her；　and　lo；　under　the　dead　leaves　of　the　old　year　he　found　sweet　sprays　of　a　blossom　never　seen　before；　and　knew　that　it　was　a　message　of　love　and　remembrance　from　his　dark…eyed　sweet…heart。

〃Except　in　stories　Indian　girls　are　called　squaws；〃　remarked　practical　Dan；　tying　his　mayflowers　together　in　one　huge；　solid；　cabbage…like　bunch。　　Not　for　Dan　the　bother　of　filling　his　basket　with　the　loose　sprays；　mingled　with　feathery　elephant's…ears　and　trails　of　creeping　spruce；　as　the　rest　of　us；　following　the　Story　Girl's　example；　did。　　Nor　would　he　admit　that　ours　looked　any　better　than　his。

〃I　like　things　of　one　kind　together。　　I　don't　like　them　mixed；〃　he　said。

〃You　have　no　taste；〃　said　Felicity。

〃Except　in　my　mouth；　best　beloved；〃　responded　Dan。

〃You　do　think　you　are　so　smart；〃　retorted　Felicity；　flushing　with　anger。

〃Don't　quarrel　this　lovely　day；〃　implored　Cecily。

〃Nobody's　quarrelling；　Sis。　　I　ain't　a　bit　mad。　　It's　Felicity。　　What　on　earth　is　that　at　the　bottom　of　your　basket；　Cecily？〃

〃It's　a　History　of　the　Reformation　in　France；〃　confessed　poor　Cecily；　〃by　a　man　named　D…a…u…b…i…g…n…y。　　I　can't　pronounce　it。　　I　heard　Mr。　Marwood　saying　it　was　a　book　everyone　ought　to　read；　so　I　began　it　last　Sunday。　　I　brought　it　along　today　to　read　when　I　got　tired　picking　flowers。　　I'd　ever　so　much　rather　have　brought　Ester　Reid。　　There's　so　much　in　the　history　I　can't　understand；　and　it　is　so　dreadful　to　read　of　people　being　burned　to　death。　　But　I　felt　I　OUGHT　to　read　it。〃

〃Do　you　really　think　your　mind　has　improved　any？〃　asked　Sara　Ray　seriously；　wreathing　the　handle　of　her　basket　with　creeping　spruce。

〃No；　I'm　afraid　it　hasn't　one　bit；〃　answered　Cecily　sadly。　　〃I　feel　that　I　haven't　succeeded　very　well　in　keeping　my　resolutions。〃

〃I've　kept　mine；〃　said　Felicity　complacently。

〃It's　easy　to　keep　just　one；〃　retorted　Cecily；　rather　resentfully。

〃It's　not　so　easy　to　think　beautiful　thoughts；〃　answered　Felicity。

〃It's　the　easiest　thing　in　the　world；〃　said　the　Story　Girl；　tiptoeing　to　the　edge　of　the　pool　to　peep　at　her　own　arch　reflection；　as　some　nymph　left　over　from　the　golden　age　might　do。　　〃Beautiful　thoughts　just　crowd　into　your　mind　at　times。〃

〃Oh；　yes；　AT　TIMES。　　But　that's　different　from　thinking　one　REGULARLY　at　a　given　hour。　　And　mother　is　always　calling　up　the　stairs　for　me　to　hurry　up　and　get　dressed；　and　it's　VERY　hard　sometimes。〃

〃That's　so；〃　conceded　the　Story　Girl。　　〃There　ARE　times　when　I　can't　think　anything　but　gray　thoughts。　　Then；　other　days；　I　think　pink　and　blue　and　gold　and　purple　and　rainbow　thoughts　all　the　time。〃

〃The　idea！　　As　if　thoughts　were　coloured；〃　giggled　Felicity。

〃Oh；　they　are！〃　cried　the　Story　Girl。　　〃Why；　I　can　always　SEE　the　colour　of　any　thought　I　think。　　Can't　you？〃

〃I　never　heard　of　such　a　thing；〃　declared　Felicity；　〃and　I　don't　believe　it。　　I　believe　you　are　just　making　that　up。〃

〃Indeed　I'm　not。　　Why；　I　always　supposed　everyone　thought　in　colours。　　It　must　be　very　tiresome　if　you　don't。〃

〃When　you　think　of　me　what　colour　is　it？〃　asked　Peter　curiously。

〃Yellow；〃　answered　the　Story　Girl　promptly。　　〃And　Cecily　is　a　sweet　pink；　like　those　mayflowers；　and　Sara　Ray　is　very　pale　blue；　and　Dan　is　red　and　Felix　is　yellow；　like　Peter；　and　Bev　is　striped。〃

〃What　colour　am　I？〃　asked　Felicity；　amid　the　laughter　at　my　expense。

〃You'reyou're　like　a　rainbow；〃　answered　the　Story　Girl　rather　reluctantly。　　She　had　to　be　honest；　but　she　would　rather　not　have　complimented　Felicity。　　〃And　you　needn't　laugh　at　Bev。　　His　stripes　are　beautiful。　　It　isn't　HE　that　is　striped。　　It's　just　the　THOUGHT　of　him。　　Peg　Bowen　is　a　queer　sort　of　yellowish　green　and　the　Awkward　Man　is　lilac。　　Aunt　Olivia　is　pansy…purple　mixed　with　gold；　and　Uncle　Roger　is　navy　blue。〃

〃I　never　heard　such　nonsense；〃　declared　Felicity。　　The　rest　of　us　were　rather　inclined　to　agree　with　her　for　once。　　We　thought　the　Story　Girl　was　making　fun　of　us。　　But　I　believe　she　really　had　a　strange　gift　of　thinking　in　colours。　　In　later　years；　when　we　were　grown　up；　she　told　me　of　it　again。　　She　said　that　everything　had　colour　in　her　thought；　the　months　of　the　year　ran　through　all　the　tints　of　the　spectrum；　the　days　of　the　week　were　arrayed　as　Solomon　in　his　glory；　morning　was　golden；　noon　orange；　evening　crystal　blue；　and　night　violet。　　Every　idea　came　to　her　mind　robed　in　its　own　especial　hue。　　Perhaps　that　was　why　her　voice　and　words　had　such　a　charm；　conveying　to　the　listeners'　perception　such　fine　shadings　of　meaning　and　tint　and　music。

〃Well；　let's　go　and　have　something　to　eat；〃　suggested　Dan。　　〃What　colour　is　eating；　Sara？〃

〃Golden　brown；　just　the　colour　of　a　molasses　cooky；〃　laughed　the　Story　Girl。

We　sat　on　the　ferny　bank　of　the　pool　and　ate　of　the　generous　basket　Aunt　Janet　had　provided；　with　appetites　sharpened　by　the　keen　spring　air　and　our　wilderness