{"text": "Summarize in plain English: Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do. Once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversations?'\nSo she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.\nThere was nothing so very remarkable in that, nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, 'Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!' But when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket and looked at it and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and, burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it and was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole, under the hedge. In another moment, down went Alice after it!\nThe rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down what seemed to be a very deep well.\nEither the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time, as she went down, to look about her. First, she tried to make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed. It was labeled 'ORANGE MARMALADE,' but, to her great disappointment, it was empty; she did not like to drop the jar, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.\nDown, down, down! Would the fall never come to an end? There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began talking to herself. 'Dinah'll miss me very much to-night, I should think!' (Dinah was the cat.) 'I hope they'll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah, my dear, I wish you were down here with me!' Alice felt that she was dozing off, when suddenly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.\nAlice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up in a moment. She looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost. Away went Alice like the wind and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, 'Oh, my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!' She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen.\nShe found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof. There were doors all 'round the hall, but they were all locked; and when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again.\nSuddenly she came upon a little table, all made of solid glass. There was nothing on it but a tiny golden key, and Alice's first idea was that this might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas! either the locks were too large, or the key was too small, but, at any rate, it would not open any of them. However, on the second time 'round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high. She tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight, it fitted!\nAlice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat-hole; she knelt down and looked along the passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head through the doorway. 'Oh,' said Alice, 'how I wish I could", "source": "alice", "length": 1000, "id": 1}
{"text": "Summarize in plain English: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle\nI. A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA\nI.\nTo Sherlock Holmes she is always _the_ woman. I have seldom heard him\nmention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and\npredominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion\nakin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly,\nwere abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He\nwas, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that\nthe world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a\nfalse position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe\nand a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer—excellent for\ndrawing the veil from men’s motives and actions. But for the trained\nreasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely\nadjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might\nthrow a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive\ninstrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not\nbe more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And\nyet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene\nAdler, of dubious and questionable memory.\nI had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away\nfrom each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred\ninterests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master\nof his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention,\nwhile Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian\nsoul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old\nbooks, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition,\nthe drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen\nnature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime,\nand occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of\nobservation in following out those clues, and clearing up those\nmysteries which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police.\nFrom time to time I heard some vague account of his doings: of his\nsummons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up\nof the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and\nfinally of the mission which he had accomplished so delicately and\nsuccessfully for the reigning family of Holland. Beyond these signs of\nhis activity, however, which I merely shared with all the readers of\nthe daily press, I knew little of my former friend and companion.\nOne night—it was on the twentieth of March, 1888—I was returning from a\njourney to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when\nmy way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered\ndoor, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and\nwith the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a\nkeen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his\nextraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I\nlooked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette\nagainst the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his\nhead sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who\nknew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own\nstory. He was at work again. He had risen out of his drug-created\ndreams and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell\nand was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.\nHis manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I think,\nto see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved\nme to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a\nspirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the fire\nand looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.\n“Wedlock suits you,” he remarked. “I think, Watson, that you have put\non seven and a half pounds since I saw you.”\n“Seven!” I answered.\n“Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, I\nfancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell me\nthat you intended to go into harness.”\n“Then, how do you know?”\n“I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting\nyourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless\nservant girl?”\n“My dear Holmes,” said I, “this is too much. You would certainly have\nbeen burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had a\ncountry walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as I\nhave changed my clothes I can’t imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary\nJane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice, but there,\nagain, I fail to see how you work it out.”\nHe chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together.\n“It is simplicity itself,” said he; “my eyes tell me that on the inside\nof your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather is\nscored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused by\nsomeone who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in\norder to remove crusted mud from it. Hence, you see, my double\ndeduction that you had been out in vile weather, and that you had a\nparticularly malignant boot-slitting specimen of the London slavey. As\nto your practice, if a gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of\niodoform, with a black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right\nforefinger, and a bulge on the right side of his top-hat to show where\nhe has secreted his stethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not\npronounce him to be an active member of the medical profession.”\nI could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his\nprocess of deduction. “When I hear you give your reasons,” I remarked,\n“the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously simple that I\ncould easily do it myself, though at each successive instance of your\nreasoning I am baffled until you explain your process. And yet I\nbelieve that my eyes are as good as yours.”\n“Quite so,” he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself\ndown into an armchair. “You see, but you do not observe. The\ndistinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps\nwhich lead up from the hall to this room.”\n“Frequently.”\n“How often?”\n“Well, some hundreds of times.”\n“Then how many are there?”\n“How many? I don’t know.”\n“Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just\nmy point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I have\nboth seen and observed. By the way, since you are interested in these\nlittle problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two\nof my trifling experiences, you may be interested in this.” He threw\nover a sheet of thick, pink-tinted notepaper which had been lying open\nupon the table. “It came by the last post,” said he. “Read it aloud.”\nThe note was undated, and without either signature or address.\n“There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o’clock,” it\nsaid, “a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very\ndeepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses of\nEurope have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with\nmatters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated.\nThis account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your\nchamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor\nwear a mask.”\n“This is indeed a mystery,” I remarked. “What do you imagine that it\nmeans?”\n“I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorise before one has\ndata. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of\ntheories to suit facts. But the note itself. What do you deduce from\nit?”\nI carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was\nwritten.\n“The man who wrote it was presumably well to do,” I remarked,\nendeavouring to imitate my companion’s processes. “Such paper could not\nbe bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong and\nstiff.”\n“Peculiar—that is the very word,” said Holmes. “It is not an English\npaper at all. Hold it up to the light.”\nI did so, and saw a large “E” with a small “g,” a “P,” and a large “G”\nwith a small “t” woven into the texture of the paper.\n“What do you make of that?” asked Holmes.\n“The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram", "source": "sherlock", "length": 2000, "id": 2}
{"text": "Summarize in plain English: CHAPTER I.\nLooking-Glass house\nOne thing was certain, that the _white_ kitten had had nothing to do\nwith it:—it was the black kitten’s fault entirely. For the white kitten\nhad been having its face washed by the old cat for the last quarter of\nan hour (and bearing it pretty well, considering); so you see that it\n_couldn’t_ have had any hand in the mischief.\nThe way Dinah washed her children’s faces was this: first she held the\npoor thing down by its ear with one paw, and then with the other paw\nshe rubbed its face all over, the wrong way, beginning at the nose: and\njust now, as I said, she was hard at work on the white kitten, which\nwas lying quite still and trying to purr—no doubt feeling that it was\nall meant for its good.\nBut the black kitten had been finished with earlier in the afternoon,\nand so, while Alice was sitting curled up in a corner of the great\narm-chair, half talking to herself and half asleep, the kitten had been\nhaving a grand game of romps with the ball of worsted Alice had been\ntrying to wind up, and had been rolling it up and down till it had all\ncome undone again; and there it was, spread over the hearth-rug, all\nknots and tangles, with the kitten running after its own tail in the\nmiddle.\n“Oh, you wicked little thing!” cried Alice, catching up the kitten, and\ngiving it a little kiss to make it understand that it was in disgrace.\n“Really, Dinah ought to have taught you better manners! You _ought_,\nDinah, you know you ought!” she added, looking reproachfully at the old\ncat, and speaking in as cross a voice as she could manage—and then she\nscrambled back into the arm-chair, taking the kitten and the worsted\nwith her, and began winding up the ball again. But she didn’t get on\nvery fast, as she was talking all the time, sometimes to the kitten,\nand sometimes to herself. Kitty sat very demurely on her knee,\npretending to watch the progress of the winding, and now and then\nputting out one paw and gently touching the ball, as if it would be\nglad to help, if it might.\n“Do you know what to-morrow is, Kitty?” Alice began. “You’d have\nguessed if you’d been up in the window with me—only Dinah was making\nyou tidy, so you couldn’t. I was watching the boys getting in sticks\nfor the bonfire—and it wants plenty of sticks, Kitty! Only it got so\ncold, and it snowed so, they had to leave off. Never mind, Kitty, we’ll\ngo and see the bonfire to-morrow.” Here Alice wound two or three turns\nof the worsted round the kitten’s neck, just to see how it would look:\nthis led to a scramble, in which the ball rolled down upon the floor,\nand yards and yards of it got unwound again.\n“Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,” Alice went on as soon as they\nwere comfortably settled again, “when I saw all the mischief you had\nbeen doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out\ninto the snow! And you’d have deserved it, you little mischievous\ndarling! What have you got to say for yourself? Now don’t interrupt\nme!” she went on, holding up one finger. “I’m going to tell you all\nyour faults. Number one: you squeaked twice while Dinah was washing\nyour face this morning. Now you can’t deny it, Kitty: I heard you!\nWhat’s that you say?” (pretending that the kitten was speaking.) “Her\npaw went into your eye? Well, that’s _your_ fault, for keeping your\neyes open—if you’d shut them tight up, it wouldn’t have happened. Now\ndon’t make any more excuses, but listen! Number two: you pulled\nSnowdrop away by the tail just as I had put down the saucer of milk\nbefore her! What, you were thirsty, were you? How do you know she\nwasn’t thirsty too? Now for number three: you unwound every bit of the\nworsted while I wasn’t looking!\n“That’s three faults, Kitty, and you’ve not been punished for any of\nthem yet. You know I’m saving up all your punishments for Wednesday\nweek—Suppose they had saved up all _my_ punishments!” she went on,\ntalking more to herself than the kitten. “What _would_ they do at the\nend of a year? I should be sent to prison, I suppose, when the day\ncame. Or—let me see—suppose each punishment was to be going without a\ndinner: then, when the miserable day came, I should have to go without\nfifty dinners at once! Well, I shouldn’t mind _that_ much! I’d far\nrather go without them than eat them!\n“Do you hear the snow against the window-panes, Kitty? How nice and\nsoft it sounds! Just as if some one was kissing the window all over\noutside. I wonder if the snow _loves_ the trees and fields, that it\nkisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with\na white quilt; and perhaps it says, ‘Go to sleep, darlings, till the\nsummer comes again.’ And when they wake up in the summer, Kitty, they\ndress themselves all in green, and dance about—whenever the wind\nblows—oh, that’s very pretty!” cried Alice, dropping the ball of\nworsted to clap her hands. “And I do so _wish_ it was true! I’m sure\nthe woods look sleepy in the autumn, when the leaves are getting brown.\n“Kitty, can you play chess? Now, don’t smile, my dear, I’m asking it\nseriously. Because, when we were playing just now, you watched just as\nif you understood it: and when I said ‘Check!’ you purred! Well, it\n_was_ a nice check, Kitty, and really I might have won, if it hadn’t\nbeen for that nasty Knight, that came wiggling down among my pieces.\nKitty, dear, let’s pretend—” And here I wish I could tell you half the\nthings Alice used to say, beginning with her favourite phrase “Let’s\npretend.” She had had quite a long argument with her sister only the\nday before—all because Alice had begun with “Let’s pretend we’re kings\nand queens;” and her sister, who liked being very exact, had argued\nthat they couldn’t, because there were only two of them, and Alice had\nbeen reduced at last to say, “Well, _you_ can be one of them then, and\n_I’ll_ be all the rest.” And once she had really frightened her old\nnurse by shouting suddenly in her ear, “Nurse! Do let’s pretend that\nI’m a hungry hyaena, and you’re a bone.”\nBut this is taking us away from Alice’s speech to the kitten. “Let’s\npretend that you’re the Red Queen, Kitty! Do you know, I think if you\nsat up and folded your arms, you’d look exactly like her. Now do try,\nthere’s a dear!” And Alice got the Red Queen off the table, and set it\nup before the kitten as a model for it to imitate: however, the thing\ndidn’t succeed, principally, Alice said, because the kitten wouldn’t\nfold its arms properly. So, to punish it, she held it up to the\nLooking-glass, that it might see how sulky it was—“and if you’re not\ngood directly,” she added, “I’ll put you through into Looking-glass\nHouse. How would you like _that_?”\n“Now, if you’ll only attend, Kitty, and not talk so much, I’ll tell you\nall my ideas about Looking-glass House. First, there’s the room you can\nsee through the glass—that’s just the same as our drawing room, only\nthe things go the other way. I can see all of it when I get upon a\nchair—all but the bit behind the fireplace. Oh! I do so wish I could\nsee _that_ bit! I want so much to know whether they’ve a fire in the\nwinter: you never _can_ tell, you know, unless our fire smokes, and\nthen smoke comes up in that room too—but that may be only pretence,\njust to make it look as if they had a fire. Well then, the books are\nsomething like our books, only the words go the wrong way; I know that,\nbecause I’ve held up one of our books to the glass, and then they hold\nup one in the other room.\n“How would you like to live in Looking-glass House, Kitty? I wonder if\nthey’d give you milk in there? Perhaps Looking-glass milk isn’t good to\ndrink—But oh, Kitty! now we come to the passage. You can just see a\nlittle _peep_ of the passage in Looking-glass House, if you leave the\ndoor of our drawing-room wide open: and it’s very like our passage as\nfar as you can see, only you know it may be quite different on beyond.\nOh, Kitty! how nice it would be if we could only get through into\nLooking-glass House! I’m sure it’s got, oh! such beautiful things in\nit! Let’s pretend there’s a way of getting through into it, somehow,\nKitty. Let’s pretend the glass has got all soft like gauze, so that we\ncan get through. Why, it’s turning into a sort of mist now, I declare!\nIt’ll be easy enough to get through—” She was up on the chimney-piece\nwhile she said this, though she hardly knew how she had got there. And\ncertainly the glass _was_ beginning to melt away, just like a bright\nsilvery mist.\nIn another moment Alice was through the glass, and had jumped lightly\ndown into the Looking-glass room. The very first thing she did was to\nlook whether there was a fire in the fireplace, and she was quite\npleased to find that there was a real one, blazing away as brightly as\nthe one she had left behind. “So I shall be as warm here as I was in\nthe old room,” thought Alice: “warmer, in fact, because there’ll be no\none here to scold me away from the fire. Oh, what fun it’ll be, when\nthey see me through the glass in here, and can’t get at me!”\nThen she began looking about, and noticed that what could be seen from\nthe old room was quite common and uninteresting, but that all the rest\nwas as different as possible. For instance, the pictures on the wall\nnext the fire seemed to be all alive, and the very clock on the\nchimney-piece (you know you can only see the back of it in the\nLooking-glass) had got the face of a little old man, and grinned at\nher.\n“They don’t keep this room so tidy as the other,” Alice thought to\nherself, as she noticed several of the chessmen down in the hearth\namong the cinders: but in another moment, with a little “Oh!” of\nsurprise, she was down on her hands and knees watching them. The\nchessmen were walking about, two and two!\n“Here are the Red King and the Red Queen,” Alice said (in a whisper,\nfor fear of frightening them), “and there are the White King and the\nWhite Queen sitting on the edge of the shovel—and here are two castles\nwalking arm in arm—I don’t think they can hear me,” she went on, as she\nput her head closer down, “and I’m nearly sure they can’t see me. I\nfeel somehow as if I were invisible—”\nHere something began squeaking on the table behind Alice, and made her\nturn her head just in time to see one of the White Pawns roll over and\nbegin kicking: she watched it with great curiosity to see what would\nhappen next.\n“It is the voice of my child!” the White Queen cried out as she rushed\npast the King, so violently that she knocked him over among the\ncinders. “My precious Lily! My imperial kitten!” and she began\nscrambling wildly up the side of the fender.\n“Imperial fiddlestick!” said the King, rubbing his nose, which had been\nhurt by the fall. He had a right to be a _little_ annoyed with the\nQueen, for he was covered with ashes from head to foot.\nAlice was very anxious to be of use, and, as the poor little Lily was\nnearly screaming herself into a fit, she hastily picked up the Queen\nand set her on the table by the side of her noisy little daughter.\nThe Queen gasped, and sat down: the rapid journey through the air had\nquite taken away her breath and for a minute or two she could do\nnothing but hug the little Lily in silence. As soon as she had\nrecovered her breath a little, she called out to the White King, who\nwas sitting sulkily among the ashes, “Mind the volcano!”\n“What volcano?” said the King, looking up anxiously into the fire, as\nif he thought that was the most likely place to find one.\n“Blew—me—up,” panted the Queen, who was still a little out of breath.\n“Mind you come up—the regular way—don’t get blown up!”\nAlice watched the White King as he slowly struggled up from bar to bar,\ntill at last she said, “Why, you’ll be hours and hours getting to the\ntable, at that rate. I’d far better help you, hadn", "source": "lookingglass", "length": 3000, "id": 3}
{"text": "Summarize in plain English: THE BLUE FAIRY BOOK\nBy Various\nEdited by Andrew Lang\nTHE BRONZE RING\nOnce upon a time in a certain country there lived a king whose palace\nwas surrounded by a spacious garden. But, though the gardeners were many\nand the soil was good, this garden yielded neither flowers nor fruits,\nnot even grass or shady trees.\nThe King was in despair about it, when a wise old man said to him:\n“Your gardeners do not understand their business: but what can you\nexpect of men whose fathers were cobblers and carpenters? How should\nthey have learned to cultivate your garden?”\n“You are quite right,” cried the King.\n“Therefore,” continued the old man, “you should send for a gardener\nwhose father and grandfather have been gardeners before him, and very\nsoon your garden will be full of green grass and gay flowers, and you\nwill enjoy its delicious fruit.”\nSo the King sent messengers to every town, village, and hamlet in his\ndominions, to look for a gardener whose forefathers had been gardeners\nalso, and after forty days one was found.\n“Come with us and be gardener to the King,” they said to him.\n“How can I go to the King,” said the gardener, “a poor wretch like me?”\n“That is of no consequence,” they answered. “Here are new clothes for\nyou and your family.”\n“But I owe money to several people.”\n“We will pay your debts,” they said.\nSo the gardener allowed himself to be persuaded, and went away with\nthe messengers, taking his wife and his son with him; and the King,\ndelighted to have found a real gardener, entrusted him with the care\nof his garden. The man found no difficulty in making the royal garden\nproduce flowers and fruit, and at the end of a year the park was not\nlike the same place, and the King showered gifts upon his new servant.\nThe gardener, as you have heard already, had a son, who was a very\nhandsome young man, with most agreeable manners, and every day he\ncarried the best fruit of the garden to the King, and all the prettiest\nflowers to his daughter. Now this princess was wonderfully pretty and\nwas just sixteen years old, and the King was beginning to think it was\ntime that she should be married.\n“My dear child,” said he, “you are of an age to take a husband,\ntherefore I am thinking of marrying you to the son of my prime minister.\n“Father,” replied the Princess, “I will never marry the son of the\nminister.”\n“Why not?” asked the King.\n“Because I love the gardener’s son,” answered the Princess.\nOn hearing this the King was at first very angry, and then he wept and\nsighed, and declared that such a husband was not worthy of his daughter;\nbut the young Princess was not to be turned from her resolution to marry\nthe gardener’s son.\nThen the King consulted his ministers. “This is what you must do,” they\nsaid. “To get rid of the gardener you must send both suitors to a\nvery distant country, and the one who returns first shall marry your\ndaughter.”\nThe King followed this advice, and the minister’s son was presented with\na splendid horse and a purse full of gold pieces, while the gardener’s\nson had only an old lame horse and a purse full of copper money, and\nevery one thought he would never come back from his journey.\nThe day before they started the Princess met her lover and said to him:\n“Be brave, and remember always that I love you. Take this purse full of\njewels and make the best use you can of them for love of me, and come\nback quickly and demand my hand.”\nThe two suitors left the town together, but the minister’s son went off\nat a gallop on his good horse, and very soon was lost to sight behind\nthe most distant hills. He traveled on for some days, and presently\nreached a fountain beside which an old woman all in rags sat upon a\nstone.\n“Good-day to you, young traveler,” said she.\nBut the minister’s son made no reply.\n“Have pity upon me, traveler,” she said again. “I am dying of hunger,\nas you see, and three days have I been here and no one has given me\nanything.”\n“Let me alone, old witch,” cried the young man; “I can do nothing for\nyou,” and so saying he went on his way.\nThat same evening the gardener’s son rode up to the fountain upon his\nlame gray horse.\n“Good-day to you, young traveler,” said the beggar-woman.\n“Good-day, good woman,” answered he.\n“Young traveler, have pity upon me.”\n“Take my purse, good woman,” said he, “and mount behind me, for your\nlegs can’t be very strong.”\nThe old woman didn’t wait to be asked twice, but mounted behind him,\nand in this style they reached the chief city of a powerful kingdom. The\nminister’s son was lodged in a grand inn, the gardener’s son and the old\nwoman dismounted at the inn for beggars.\nThe next day the gardener’s son heard a great noise in the street, and\nthe King’s heralds passed, blowing all kinds of instruments, and crying:\n“The King, our master, is old and infirm. He will give a great reward to\nwhoever will cure him and give him back the strength of his youth.”\nThen the old beggar-woman said to her benefactor:\n“This is what you must do to obtain the reward which the King promises.\nGo out of the town by the south gate, and there you will find three\nlittle dogs of different colors; the first will be white, the second\nblack, the third red. You must kill them and then burn them separately,\nand gather up the ashes. Put the ashes of each dog into a bag of its own\ncolor, then go before the door of the palace and cry out, ‘A celebrated\nphysician has come from Janina in Albania. He alone can cure the King\nand give him back the strength of his youth.’ The King’s physicians will\nsay, This is an impostor, and not a learned man,’ and they will make all\nsorts of difficulties, but you will overcome them all at last, and will\npresent yourself before the sick King. You must then demand as much wood\nas three mules can carry, and a great cauldron, and must shut yourself\nup in a room with the Sultan, and when the cauldron boils you must throw\nhim into it, and there leave him until his flesh is completely separated\nfrom his bones. Then arrange the bones in their proper places, and throw\nover them the ashes out of the three bags. The King will come back to\nlife, and will be just as he was when he was twenty years old. For your\nreward you must demand the bronze ring which has the power to grant\nyou everything you desire. Go, my son, and do not forget any of my\ninstructions.”\nThe young man followed the old beggar-woman’s directions. On going out\nof the town he found the white, red, and black dogs, and killed and\nburnt them, gathering the ashes in three bags. Then he ran to the palace\nand cried:\n“A celebrated physician has just come from Janina in Albania. He alone\ncan cure the King and give him back the strength of his youth.”\nThe King’s physicians at first laughed at the unknown wayfarer, but the\nSultan ordered that the stranger should be admitted. They brought the\ncauldron and the loads of wood, and very soon the King was boiling away.\nToward mid-day the gardener’s son arranged the bones in their places,\nand he had hardly scattered the ashes over them before the old King\nrevived, to find himself once more young and hearty.\n“How can I reward you, my benefactor?” he cried. “Will you take half my\ntreasures?”\n“No,” said the gardener’s son.\n“My daughter’s hand?”\n“_No_.”\n“Take half my kingdom.”\n“No. Give me only the bronze ring which can instantly grant me anything\nI wish for.”\n“Alas!” said the King, “I set great store by that marvelous ring;\nnevertheless, you shall have it.” And he gave it to him.\nThe gardener’s son went back to say good-by to the old beggar-woman;\nthen he said to the bronze ring:\n“Prepare a splendid ship in which I may continue my journey. Let the\nhull be of fine gold, the masts of silver, the sails of brocade; let\nthe crew consist of twelve young men of noble appearance, dressed like\nkings. St. Nicholas will be at the helm. As to the cargo, let it be\ndiamonds, rubies, emeralds, and carbuncles.”\nAnd immediately a ship appeared upon the sea which resembled in every\nparticular the description given by the gardener’s son, and, stepping\non board, he continued his journey. Presently he arrived at a great town\nand established himself in a wonderful palace. After several days he\nmet his rival, the minister’s son, who had spent all his money and was\nreduced to the disagreeable employment of a carrier of dust and rubbish.\nThe gardener’s son said to him:\n“What is your name, what is your family, and from what country do you\ncome?”\n“I am the son of the prime minister of a great nation, and yet see what\na degrading occupation I am reduced to.”\n“Listen to me; though I don’t know anything more about you, I am willing\nto help you. I will give you a ship to take you back to your own country\nupon one condition.”\n“Whatever it may be, I accept it willingly.”\n“Follow me to my palace.”\nThe minister’s son followed the rich stranger, whom he had not\nrecognized. When they reached the palace the gardener’s son made a sign\nto his slaves, who completely undressed the new-comer.\n“Make this ring red-hot,” commanded the master, “and mark the man with\nit upon his back.”\nThe slaves obeyed him.\n“Now, young man,” said the rich stranger, “I am going to give you a\nvessel which will take you back to your own country.”\nAnd, going out, he took the bronze ring and said:\n“Bronze ring, obey thy master. Prepare me a ship of which the\nhalf-rotten timbers shall be painted black, let the sails be in rags,\nand the sailors infirm and sickly. One shall have lost a leg, another\nan arm, the third shall be a hunchback, another lame or club-footed or\nblind, and most of them shall be ugly and covered with scars. Go, and\nlet my orders be executed.”\nThe minister’s son embarked in this old vessel, and thanks to favorable\nwinds, at length reached his own country. In spite of the pitiable\ncondition in which he returned they received him joyfully.\n“I am the first to come back,” said he to the King; now fulfil your\npromise, and give me the princess in marriage.\nSo they at once began to prepare for the wedding festivities. As to the\npoor princess, she was sorrowful and angry enough about it.\nThe next morning, at daybreak, a wonderful ship with every sail set came\nto anchor before the town. The King happened at that moment to be at the\npalace window.\n“What strange ship is this,” he cried, “that has a golden hull, silver\nmasts, and silken sails, and who are the young men like princes who man\nit? And do I not see St. Nicholas at the helm? Go at once and invite the\ncaptain of the ship to come to the palace.”\nHis servants obeyed him, and very soon in came an enchantingly handsome\nyoung prince, dressed in rich silk, ornamented with pearls and diamonds.\n“Young man,” said the King, “you are welcome, whoever you may be. Do me\nthe favor to be my guest as long as you remain in my capital.”\n“Many thanks, sire,” replied the captain, “I accept your offer.”\n“My daughter is about to be married,” said the King; “will you give her\naway?”\n“I shall be charmed, sire.”\nSoon after came the Princess and her betrothed.\n“Why, how is this?” cried the young captain; “would you marry this\ncharming princess to such a man as that?”\n“But he is my prime minister’s son!”\n“What does that matter? I cannot give your daughter away. The man she is\nbetrothed to is one of my servants.”\n“Your servant?”\n“Without doubt. I met him in a distant town reduced to carrying away\ndust and rubbish from the houses. I had pity on him and engaged him as\none of my servants.”\n“It is impossible!” cried the King.\n“Do you wish me to prove what I say? This young man returned in a vessel\nwhich I fitted out for him, an unseaworthy ship with a black battered\nhull, and the sailors were infirm and crippled.”\n“It is quite true,” said the King.\n“It is false,” cried the minister’s son. “I do not know this man!”\n“Sire,” said the young captain, “order your daughter’s betrothed to be\nstripped, and see if the mark of my ring is not branded upon his back.”\nThe King was about to give this order, when the minister’s son, to save\nhimself from such an indignity, admitted that the story was true.\n“And now, sire,” said the young captain, “do you not recognize me?”\n“I recognize you,” said the Princess; “you are the gardener’s son whom I\nhave always loved, and it is you I wish to marry.”\n“Young man, you shall be my son-in-law,” cried the King. “The marriage\nfestivities are already begun, so you shall marry my daughter this very\nday.”\nAnd so that very day the gardener’s son married the beautiful Princess.\nSeveral months passed. The young couple were as happy as the day was\nlong, and the King was more and more pleased with himself for having\nsecured such a son-in-law.\nBut, presently, the captain of the golden ship found it necessary to\ntake a long voyage, and after embracing his wife tenderly he embarked.\nNow in the outskirts of the capital there lived an old man, who had\nspent his life in studying black arts--alchemy, astrology, magic,\nand enchantment. This man found out that the gardener’s son had only\nsucceeded in marrying the Princess by the help of the genii who obeyed\nthe bronze ring.\n“I will have that ring,” said he to himself. So he went down to the\nsea-shore and caught some little red fishes. Really, they were\nquite wonderfully pretty. Then he came back, and, passing before the\nPrincess’s window, he began to cry out:\n“Who wants some pretty little red fishes?”\nThe Princess heard him, and sent out one of her slaves, who said to the\nold peddler:\n“What will you take for your fish?”\n“A bronze ring.”\n“A bronze ring, old simpleton! And where shall I find one?”\n“Under the cushion in the Princess’s room.”\nThe slave went back to her mistress.\n“The old madman will take neither gold nor silver,” said she.\n“What does he want then?”\n“A bronze ring that is hidden under a cushion.”\n“Find the ring and give it to him,” said the Princess.\nAnd at last the slave found the bronze ring, which the captain of the\ngolden ship had accidentally left behind and carried it to the man, who\nmade off with it instantly.\nHardly had he reached his own house when, taking the ring, he said,\n“Bronze ring, obey thy master. I desire that the golden ship shall turn\nto black wood, and the crew to hideous negroes; that St. Nicholas shall\nleave the helm and that the only cargo shall be black cats.”\nAnd the genii of the bronze ring obeyed him.\nFinding himself upon the sea in this miserable condition, the young\ncaptain understood that some one must have stolen the bronze ring from\nhim, and he lamented his misfortune loudly; but that did him no good.\n“Alas!” he said to himself, “whoever has taken my ring has probably\ntaken my dear wife also. What good will it do me to go back to my own\ncountry?” And he sailed about from island to island, and from shore to\nshore, believing that wherever he went everybody was laughing at him,\nand very soon his poverty was so great that he and his crew and the poor\nblack cats had nothing to eat but herbs and roots. After wandering about\na long time he reached an island inhabited by mice. The captain landed\nupon the shore and began to explore the country. There were mice\neverywhere, and nothing but mice. Some of the black cats had followed\nhim, and, not having been fed for several days, they were fearfully\nhungry, and made terrible havoc among the mice.\nThen the queen of the mice held a council.\n“These cats will eat every one of us,” she said, “if the captain of the\nship does not shut the ferocious animals up. Let us send a deputation to\nhim of the bravest among us.”\nSeveral mice offered themselves for this mission and set out to find the\nyoung captain.\n“Captain,” said they, “go away quickly from our island, or we shall\nperish, every mouse of us.”\n“Willingly,” replied the young captain, “upon one condition. That is\nthat you shall first bring me back a bronze ring which some clever\nmagician has stolen from me. If you do not do this I will land all my\ncats upon your island, and you shall be exterminated.”\nThe mice withdrew in great dismay. “What is to be done?” said the Queen.\n“How can we find this bronze ring?” She held a new council, calling in\nmice from every quarter of the globe, but nobody knew where the bronze\nring was. Suddenly three mice arrived from a very distant country. One\nwas blind, the second lame, and the third had her ears cropped.\n“Ho, ho, ho!” said the new-comers. “We come from a far distant country.”\n“Do you know where the bronze ring is which the genii obey?”\n“Ho, ho, ho! we know; an old sorcerer has taken possession of it, and\nnow he keeps it in his pocket by day and in his mouth by night.”\n“Go and take it from him, and come back as soon as possible.”\nSo the three mice made themselves a boat and set sail for the magician’s\ncountry. When they reached the capital they landed and ran to the", "source": "bluefairy", "length": 4000, "id": 4}
{"text": "Summarize in plain English: Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do. Once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, 'and what is the use of a book,' thought Alice, 'without pictures or conversations?'\nSo she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran close by her.\nThere was nothing so very remarkable in that, nor did Alice think it so very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, 'Oh dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!' But when the Rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket and looked at it and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and, burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after it and was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole, under the hedge. In another moment, down went Alice after it!\nThe rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way and then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think about stopping herself before she found herself falling down what seemed to be a very deep well.\nEither the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time, as she went down, to look about her. First, she tried to make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she looked at the sides of the well and noticed that they were filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she passed. It was labeled 'ORANGE MARMALADE,' but, to her great disappointment, it was empty; she did not like to drop the jar, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.\nDown, down, down! Would the fall never come to an end? There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began talking to herself. 'Dinah'll miss me very much to-night, I should think!' (Dinah was the cat.) 'I hope they'll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah, my dear, I wish you were down here with me!' Alice felt that she was dozing off, when suddenly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry leaves, and the fall was over.\nAlice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up in a moment. She looked up, but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage and the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a moment to be lost. Away went Alice like the wind and was just in time to hear it say, as it turned a corner, 'Oh, my ears and whiskers, how late it's getting!' She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but the Rabbit was no longer to be seen.\nShe found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of lamps hanging from the roof. There were doors all 'round the hall, but they were all locked; and when Alice had been all the way down one side and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle, wondering how she was ever to get out again.\nSuddenly she came upon a little table, all made of solid glass. There was nothing on it but a tiny golden key, and Alice's first idea was that this might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas! either the locks were too large, or the key was too small, but, at any rate, it would not open any of them. However, on the second time 'round, she came upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a little door about fifteen inches high. She tried the little golden key in the lock, and to her great delight, it fitted!\nAlice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not much larger than a rat-hole; she knelt down and looked along the passage into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of that dark hall and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head through the doorway. 'Oh,' said Alice, 'how I wish I could shut up like a telescope!  I think I could, if I only knew how to begin.'\nAlice went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on it, or at any rate, a book of rules for shutting people up like telescopes. This time she found a little bottle on it ('which certainly was not here before,' said Alice), and tied 'round the neck of the bottle was a paper label, with the words 'DRINK ME' beautifully printed on it in large letters.\n'No, I'll look first,' she said, 'and see whether it's marked '_poison_' or not,' for she had never forgotten that, if you drink from a bottle marked 'poison,' it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later. However, this bottle was _not_ marked 'poison,' so Alice ventured to taste it, and, finding it very nice (it had a sort of mixed flavor of cherry-tart, custard, pineapple, roast turkey, toffy and hot buttered toast), she very soon finished it off.\n'What a curious feeling!' said Alice. 'I must be shutting up like a telescope!'\nAnd so it was indeed! She was now only ten inches high, and her face brightened up at the thought that she was now the right size for going through the little door into that lovely garden.\nAfter awhile, finding that nothing more happened, she decided on going into the garden at once; but, alas for poor Alice! When she got to the door, she found she had forgotten the little golden key, and when she went back to the table for it, she found she could not possibly reach it: she could see it quite plainly through the glass and she tried her best to climb up one of the legs of the table, but it was too slippery, and when she had tired herself out with trying, the poor little thing sat down and cried.\n'Come, there's no use in crying like that!' said Alice to herself rather sharply. 'I advise you to leave off this minute!' She generally gave herself very good advice (though she very seldom followed it), and sometimes she scolded herself so severely as to bring tears into her eyes.\nSoon her eye fell on a little glass box that was lying under the table: she opened it and found in it a very small cake, on which the words 'EAT ME' were beautifully marked in currants. 'Well, I'll eat it,' said Alice, 'and if it makes me grow larger, I can reach the key; and if it makes me grow smaller, I can creep under the door: so either way I'll get into the garden, and I don't care which happens!'\nShe ate a little bit and said anxiously to herself, 'Which way? Which way?' holding her hand on the top of her head to feel which way she was growing; and she was quite surprised to find that she remained the same size. So she set to work and very soon finished off the cake. [Illustration]\nII--THE POOL OF TEARS\n'Curiouser and curiouser!' cried Alice (she was so much surprised that for the moment she quite forgot how to speak good English). 'Now I'm opening out like the largest telescope that ever was! Good-by, feet! Oh, my poor little feet, I wonder who will put on your shoes and stockings for you now, dears? I shall be a great deal too far off to trouble myself about you.'\nJust at this moment her head struck against the roof of the hall; in fact, she was now rather more than nine feet high, and she at once took up the little golden key and hurried off to the garden door. Poor Alice! It was as much as she could do, lying down on one side, to look through into the garden with one eye; but to get through was more\nhopeless than ever. She sat down and began to cry again.\nShe went on shedding gallons of tears, until there was a large pool all 'round her and reaching half down the hall. After a time, she heard a little pattering of feet in the distance and she hastily dried her eyes to see what was coming. It was the White Rabbit returning, splendidly dressed, with a pair of white kid-gloves in one hand and a large fan in the other. He came trotting along in a great hurry, muttering to himself, 'Oh! the Duchess, the Duchess! Oh!  _won't_ she be savage if I've kept her waiting!'\nWhen the Rabbit came near her, Alice began, in a low, timid voice, 'If you please, sir--' The Rabbit started violently, dropped the white kid-gloves and the fan and skurried away into the darkness as hard as he could go.\nAlice took up the fan and gloves and she kept fanning herself all the time she went on talking. 'Dear, dear! How queer everything is to-day!  And yesterday things went on just as usual. _Was_ I the same when I got up this morning? But if I'm not the same, the next question is, 'Who in the world am I?' Ah, _that's_ the great puzzle!'\nAs she said this, she looked down at her hands and was surprised to see that she had put on one of the Rabbit's little white kid-gloves while she was talking. 'How _can_ I have done that?' she thought. 'I must be growing small again.' She got up and went to the table to measure herself by it and found that she was now about two feet high and was going on shrinking rapidly. She soon found out that the cause of this was the fan she was holding and she dropped it hastily, just in time to save herself from shrinking away altogether.\n'That _was_ a narrow escape!' said Alice, a good deal frightened at the sudden change, but very glad to find herself still in existence. 'And now for the garden!' And she ran with all speed back to the little door; but, alas! the little door was shut again and the little golden key was lying on the glass table as before. 'Things are worse than ever,' thought the poor child, 'for I never was so small as this before, never!'\nAs she said these words, her foot slipped, and in another moment, splash! she was up to her chin in salt-water. Her first idea was that she had somehow fallen into the sea. However, she soon made out that she was in the pool of tears which she had wept when she was nine feet high.\nJust then she heard something splashing about in the pool a little way off, and she swam nearer to see what it was: she soon made out that it was only a mouse that had slipped in like herself.\n'Would it be of any use, now,' thought Alice, 'to speak to this mouse?  Everything is so out-of-the-way down here that I should think very likely it can talk; at any rate, there's no harm in trying.' So she began, 'O Mouse, do you know the way out of this pool? I am very tired of swimming about here, O Mouse!' The Mouse looked at her rather inquisitively and seemed to her to wink with one of its little eyes, but it said nothing.\n'Perhaps it doesn't understand English,' thought Alice. 'I dare say it's a French mouse, come over with William the Conqueror.' So she began again: 'Où est ma chatte?' which was the first sentence in her French lesson-book. The Mouse gave a sudden leap out of the water and seemed to quiver all over with fright. 'Oh, I beg your pardon!' cried Alice hastily, afraid that she had hurt the poor animal's feelings. 'I quite forgot you didn't like cats.'\n'Not like cats!' cried the Mouse in a shrill, passionate voice. 'Would _you_ like cats, if you were me?'\n'Well, perhaps not,' said Alice in a soothing tone; 'don't be angry about it. And yet I wish I could show you our cat Dinah. I think you'd take a fancy to cats, if you could only see her. She is such a dear, quiet thing.' The Mouse was bristling all over and she felt certain it must be really offended. 'We won't talk about her any more, if you'd rather not.'\n'We, indeed!' cried the Mouse, who was trembling down to the end of its tail. 'As if _I_ would talk on such a subject! Our family always _hated_ cats--nasty, low, vulgar things! Don't let me hear the name again!'\n'I won't indeed!' said Alice, in a great hurry to change the subject of conversation. 'Are you--are you fond--of--of dogs? There is such a nice little dog near our house, I should like to show you! It kills all the rats and--oh, dear!' cried Alice in a sorrowful tone. 'I'm afraid I've offended it again!' For the Mouse was swimming away from her as hard as it could go, and making quite a commotion in the pool as it went.\nSo she called softly after it, 'Mouse dear! Do come back again, and we won't talk about cats, or dogs either, if you don't like them!' When the Mouse heard this, it turned 'round and swam slowly back to her; its face was quite pale, and it said, in a low, trembling voice, 'Let us get to the shore and then I'll tell you my history and you'll understand why it is I hate cats and dogs.'\nIt was high time to go, for the pool was getting quite crowded with the\nbirds and animals that had fallen into it; there were a Duck and a Dodo, a Lory and an Eaglet, and several other curious creatures. Alice led the way and the whole party swam to the shore. [Illustration]\nIII--A CAUCUS-RACE AND A LONG TALE\nThey were indeed a queer-looking party that assembled on the bank--the birds with draggled feathers, the animals with their fur clinging close to them, and all dripping wet, cross and uncomfortable.\nThe first question, of course, was how to get dry again. They had a consultation about this and after a few minutes, it seemed quite natural to Alice to find herself talking familiarly with them, as if she had known them all her life.\nAt last the Mouse, who seemed to be a person of some authority among them, called out, 'Sit down, all of you, and listen to me! _I'll_ soon make you dry enough!' They all sat down at once, in a large ring, with the Mouse in the middle.\n'Ahem!' said the Mouse with an important air. 'Are you all ready? This is the driest thing I know. Silence all 'round, if you please! 'William the Conqueror, whose cause was favored by the pope, was soon submitted to by the English, who wanted leaders, and had been of late much accustomed to usurpation and conquest. Edwin and Morcar, the Earls of Mercia and Northumbria'--'\n'Ugh!' said the Lory, with a shiver.\n'--'And even Stigand, the patriotic archbishop of Canterbury, found it\nadvisable'--'\n'Found _what_?' said the Duck.\n'Found _it_,' the Mouse replied rather crossly; 'of course, you know\nwhat 'it' means.'\n'I know what 'it' means well enough, when _I_ find a thing,' said the Duck; 'it's generally a frog or a worm. The question is, what did the archbishop find?'\nThe Mouse did not notice this question, but hurriedly went on, ''--found it advisable to go with Edgar Atheling to meet William and offer him the crown.'--How are you getting on now, my dear?' it continued, turning to Alice as it spoke.\n'As wet as ever,' said Alice in a melancholy tone; 'it doesn't seem to dry me at all.'\n'In that case,' said the Dodo solemnly, rising to its feet, 'I move that the meeting adjourn, for the immediate adoption of more energetic remedies--'\n'Speak English!' said the Eaglet. 'I don't know the meaning of half those long words, and, what's more, I don't believe you do either!'\n'What I was going to say,' said the Dodo in an offended tone, 'is that the best thing to get us dry would be a Caucus-race.'\n'What _is_ a Caucus-race?' said Alice.\n'Why,' said the Dodo, 'the best way to explain it is to do it.' First it marked out a race-course, in a sort of circle, and then all the party were placed along the course, here and there. There was no 'One, two, three and away!' but they began running when they liked and left off when they liked, so that it was not easy to know when the race was over.  However, when they had been running half an hour or so and were quite dry again, the Dodo suddenly called out, 'The race is over!' and they all crowded 'round it, panting and asking, 'But who has won?'\nThis question the Dodo could not answer without a great deal of thought.  At last it said, '_Everybody_ has won, and _all_ must have prizes.'\n'But who is to give the prizes?' quite a chorus of voices asked.\n'Why, _she_, of course,' said the Dodo, pointing to Alice with one finger; and the whole party at once crowded 'round her, calling out, in a confused way, 'Prizes! Prizes!'\nAlice had no idea what to do, and in despair she put her hand into her pocket and pulled out a box of comfits (luckily the salt-water had not got into it) and handed them 'round as prizes. There was exactly one a-piece, all 'round.\nThe next thing was to eat the comfits; this caused some noise and confusion, as the large birds complained that they could not taste theirs, and the small ones choked and had to be patted on the back.  However, it was over at last and they sat down again in a ring and begged the Mouse to tell them something more.\n'You promised to tell me your history, you know,' said Alice, 'and why it is you hate--C and D,' she added in a whisper, half afraid that it would be offended again.\n'Mine is a long and a sad tale!' said the Mouse, turning to Alice and sighing.\n'It _is_ a long tail, certainly,' said Alice, looking down with wonder at the Mouse's tail, 'but why do you call it sad?' And she kept on puzzling about it while the Mouse was speaking, so that her idea of the tale was something like this:--\n    'Fury said to\n      a mouse, That\n         he met in the\n            house, 'Let\n              us both go\n                to law: _I_\n                 will prosecute\n               _you_.--\n                 Come, I'll\n              take no denial:\n             We\n           must have\n        the trial;\n     For really\n    this morning\n    I've\n    nothing\n    to do.'\n    Said the\n     mouse to\n      the cur,\n       'Such a\n        trial, dear\n           sir, With\n               no jury\n                or judge,\n                   would\n                  be wasting\n                our\n             breath.'\n         'I'll be\n        judge,\n       I'll be\n      jury,'\n     said\n    cunning\n    old\n     Fury;\n      'I'll\n       try\n        the\n         whole\n          cause,\n          and\n         condemn\n       you to\n    death.''\n'You are not attending!' said the Mouse to Alice, severely. 'What are you thinking of?'\n'I beg your pardon,' said Alice very humbly, 'you had got to the fifth bend, I think?'\n'You insult me by talking such nonsense!' said the Mouse, getting up and walking away.\n'Please come back and finish your story!' Alice called after it. And the others all joined in chorus, 'Yes, please do!' But the Mouse only shook its head impatiently and walked a little quicker.\n'I wish I had Dinah, our cat, here!' said Alice. This caused a remarkable sensation among the party. Some of the birds hurried off at once, and a Canary called out in a trembling voice, to its children, 'Come away, my dears! It's high time you were all in bed!' On various pretexts they all moved off and Alice was soon left alone.\n'I wish I hadn't mentioned Dinah! Nobody seems to like her down here and I'm sure she's the best cat in the world!' Poor Alice began to cry again, for she felt very lonely and low-spirited. In a little while, however, she again heard a little pattering of footsteps in the distance and she looked up eagerly.\nIV--THE RABBIT SENDS IN A LITTLE BILL\nIt was the White Rabbit, trotting slowly back again and looking anxiously about as it went, as if it had lost something; Alice heard it muttering to itself, 'The Duchess! The Duchess! Oh, my dear paws! Oh, my fur and whiskers! She'll get me executed, as sure as ferrets are ferrets! Where _can_ I have dropped them, I wonder?' Alice guessed in a moment that it was looking for the fan and the pair of white kid-gloves and she very good-naturedly began hunting about for them, but they were nowhere to be seen--everything seemed to have changed since her swim in the pool, and the great hall, with the glass table and the little door, had vanished completely.\nVery soon the Rabbit noticed Alice, and called to her, in an angry tone, 'Why, Mary Ann, what _are_ you doing out here? Run home this moment and fetch me a pair of gloves and a fan! Quick, now!' 'He took me for his housemaid!' said Alice, as she ran off. 'How surprised he'll be when he finds out who I am!' As she said this, she came upon a neat little house, on the door of which was a bright brass plate with the name 'W. RABBIT' engraved upon it. She went in without knocking and hurried upstairs, in great fear lest she should meet the real Mary Ann and be turned out of the house before she had found the fan and gloves.\nBy this time, Alice had found her way into a tidy little room with a table in the window, and on it a fan and two or three pairs of tiny white kid-gloves; she took up the fan and a pair of the gloves and was just going to leave the room, when her eyes fell upon a little bottle that stood near the looking-glass. She uncorked it and put it to her lips, saying to herself, 'I do hope it'll make me grow large again, for, really, I'm quite tired", "source": "alice", "length": 5000, "id": 5}
{"text": "Summarize in plain English: Great Expectations [1867 Edition] by Charles Dickens\nChapter I.\nMy father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my\ninfant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit\nthan Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.\nI give Pirrip as my father’s family name, on the authority of his\ntombstone and my sister,—Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith.\nAs I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of\neither of them (for their days were long before the days of\nphotographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like were\nunreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on\nmy father’s, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man,\nwith curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription,\n“_Also Georgiana Wife of the Above_,” I drew a childish conclusion that\nmy mother was freckled and sickly. To five little stone lozenges, each\nabout a foot and a half long, which were arranged in a neat row beside\ntheir grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of\nmine,—who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in that\nuniversal struggle,—I am indebted for a belief I religiously\nentertained that they had all been born on their backs with their hands\nin their trousers-pockets, and had never taken them out in this state\nof existence.\nOurs was the marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river\nwound, twenty miles of the sea. My first most vivid and broad\nimpression of the identity of things seems to me to have been gained on\na memorable raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found out\nfor certain that this bleak place overgrown with nettles was the\nchurchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also\nGeorgiana wife of the above, were dead and buried; and that Alexander,\nBartholomew, Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, infant children of the\naforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat wilderness\nbeyond the churchyard, intersected with dikes and mounds and gates,\nwith scattered cattle feeding on it, was the marshes; and that the low\nleaden line beyond was the river; and that the distant savage lair from\nwhich the wind was rushing was the sea; and that the small bundle of\nshivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry, was Pip.\n“Hold your noise!” cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from\namong the graves at the side of the church porch. “Keep still, you\nlittle devil, or I’ll cut your throat!”\nA fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man\nwith no hat, and with broken shoes, and with an old rag tied round his\nhead. A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and\nlamed by stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by\nbriars; who limped, and shivered, and glared, and growled; and whose\nteeth chattered in his head as he seized me by the chin.\n“Oh! Don’t cut my throat, sir,” I pleaded in terror. “Pray don’t do it,\nsir.”\n“Tell us your name!” said the man. “Quick!”\n“Pip, sir.”\n“Once more,” said the man, staring at me. “Give it mouth!”\n“Pip. Pip, sir.”\n“Show us where you live,” said the man. “Pint out the place!”\nI pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore among the\nalder-trees and pollards, a mile or more from the church.\nThe man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me upside down, and\nemptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread.\nWhen the church came to itself,—for he was so sudden and strong that he\nmade it go head over heels before me, and I saw the steeple under my\nfeet,—when the church came to itself, I say, I was seated on a high\ntombstone, trembling while he ate the bread ravenously.\n[Illustration]\n“You young dog,” said the man, licking his lips, “what fat cheeks you\nha’ got.”\nI believe they were fat, though I was at that time undersized for my\nyears, and not strong.\n“Darn me if I couldn’t eat ’em,” said the man, with a threatening shake\nof his head, “and if I han’t half a mind to’t!”\nI earnestly expressed my hope that he wouldn’t, and held tighter to the\ntombstone on which he had put me; partly, to keep myself upon it;\npartly, to keep myself from crying.\n“Now lookee here!” said the man. “Where’s your mother?”\n“There, sir!” said I.\nHe started, made a short run, and stopped and looked over his shoulder.\n“There, sir!” I timidly explained. “Also Georgiana. That’s my mother.”\n“Oh!” said he, coming back. “And is that your father alonger your\nmother?”\n“Yes, sir,” said I; “him too; late of this parish.”\n“Ha!” he muttered then, considering. “Who d’ye live with,—supposin’\nyou’re kindly let to live, which I han’t made up my mind about?”\n“My sister, sir,—Mrs. Joe Gargery,—wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith,\nsir.”\n“Blacksmith, eh?” said he. And looked down at his leg.\nAfter darkly looking at his leg and me several times, he came closer to\nmy tombstone, took me by both arms, and tilted me back as far as he\ncould hold me; so that his eyes looked most powerfully down into mine,\nand mine looked most helplessly up into his.\n“Now lookee here,” he said, “the question being whether you’re to be\nlet to live. You know what a file is?”\n“Yes, sir.”\n“And you know what wittles is?”\n“Yes, sir.”\nAfter each question he tilted me over a little more, so as to give me a\ngreater sense of helplessness and danger.\n“You get me a file.” He tilted me again. “And you get me wittles.” He\ntilted me again. “You bring ’em both to me.” He tilted me again. “Or\nI’ll have your heart and liver out.” He tilted me again.\nI was dreadfully frightened, and so giddy that I clung to him with both\nhands, and said, “If you would kindly please to let me keep upright,\nsir, perhaps I shouldn’t be sick, and perhaps I could attend more.”\nHe gave me a most tremendous dip and roll, so that the church jumped\nover its own weathercock. Then, he held me by the arms, in an upright\nposition on the top of the stone, and went on in these fearful terms:—\n“You bring me, to-morrow morning early, that file and them wittles. You\nbring the lot to me, at that old Battery over yonder. You do it, and\nyou never dare to say a word or dare to make a sign concerning your\nhaving seen such a person as me, or any person sumever, and you shall\nbe let to live. You fail, or you go from my words in any partickler, no\nmatter how small it is, and your heart and your liver shall be tore\nout, roasted, and ate. Now, I ain’t alone, as you may think I am.\nThere’s a young man hid with me, in comparison with which young man I\nam a Angel. That young man hears the words I speak. That young man has\na secret way pecooliar to himself, of getting at a boy, and at his\nheart, and at his liver. It is in wain for a boy to attempt to hide\nhimself from that young man. A boy may lock his door, may be warm in\nbed, may tuck himself up, may draw the clothes over his head, may think\nhimself comfortable and safe, but that young man will softly creep and\ncreep his way to him and tear him open. I am a keeping that young man\nfrom harming of you at the present moment, with great difficulty. I\nfind it wery hard to hold that young man off of your inside. Now, what\ndo you say?”\nI said that I would get him the file, and I would get him what broken\nbits of food I could, and I would come to him at the Battery, early in\nthe morning.\n“Say Lord strike you dead if you don’t!” said the man.\nI said so, and he took me down.\n“Now,” he pursued, “you remember what you’ve undertook, and you\nremember that young man, and you get home!”\n“Goo-good night, sir,” I faltered.\n“Much of that!” said he, glancing about him over the cold wet flat. “I\nwish I was a frog. Or a eel!”\nAt the same time, he hugged his shuddering body in both his\narms,—clasping himself, as if to hold himself together,—and limped\ntowards the low church wall. As I saw him go, picking his way among the\nnettles, and among the brambles that bound the green mounds, he looked\nin my young eyes as if he were eluding the hands of the dead people,\nstretching up cautiously out of their graves, to get a twist upon his\nankle and pull him in.\nWhen he came to the low church wall, he got over it, like a man whose\nlegs were numbed and stiff, and then turned round to look for me. When\nI saw him turning, I set my face towards home, and made the best use of\nmy legs. But presently I looked over my shoulder, and saw him going on\nagain towards the river, still hugging himself in both arms, and\npicking his way with his sore feet among the great stones dropped into\nthe marshes here and there, for stepping-places when the rains were\nheavy or the tide was in.\nThe marshes were just a long black horizontal line then, as I stopped\nto look after him; and the river was just another horizontal line, not\nnearly so broad nor yet so black; and the sky was just a row of long\nangry red lines and dense black lines intermixed. On the edge of the\nriver I could faintly make out the only two black things in all the\nprospect that seemed to be standing upright; one of these was the\nbeacon by which the sailors steered,—like an unhooped cask upon a\npole,—an ugly thing when you were near it; the other, a gibbet, with\nsome chains hanging to it which had once held a pirate. The man was\nlimping on towards this latter, as if he were the pirate come to life,\nand come down, and going back to hook himself up again. It gave me a\nterrible turn when I thought so; and as I saw the cattle lifting their\nheads to gaze after him, I wondered whether they thought so too. I\nlooked all round for the horrible young man, and could see no signs of\nhim. But now I was frightened again, and ran home without stopping.\nChapter II.\nMy sister, Mrs. Joe Gargery, was more than twenty years older than I,\nand had established a great reputation with herself and the neighbours\nbecause she had brought me up “by hand.” Having at that time to find\nout for myself what the expression meant, and knowing her to have a\nhard and heavy hand, and to be much in the habit of laying it upon her\nhusband as well as upon me, I supposed that Joe Gargery and I were both\nbrought up by hand.\nShe was not a good-looking woman, my sister; and I had a general\nimpression that she must have made Joe Gargery marry her by hand. Joe\nwas a fair man, with curls of flaxen hair on each side of his smooth\nface, and with eyes of such a very undecided blue that they seemed to\nhave somehow got mixed with their own whites. He was a mild,\ngood-natured, sweet-tempered, easy-going, foolish, dear fellow,—a sort\nof Hercules in strength, and also in weakness.\nMy sister, Mrs. Joe, with black hair and eyes, had such a prevailing\nredness of skin that I sometimes used to wonder whether it was possible\nshe washed herself with a nutmeg-grater instead of soap. She was tall\nand bony, and almost always wore a coarse apron, fastened over her\nfigure behind with two loops, and having a square impregnable bib in\nfront, that was stuck full of pins and needles. She made it a powerful\nmerit in herself, and a strong reproach against Joe, that she wore this\napron so much. Though I really see no reason why she should have worn\nit at all; or why, if she did wear it at all, she should not have taken\nit off, every day of her life.\nJoe’s forge adjoined our house, which was a wooden house, as many of\nthe dwellings in our country were,—most of them, at that time. When I\nran home from the churchyard, the forge was shut up, and Joe was\nsitting alone in the kitchen. Joe and I being fellow-sufferers, and\nhaving confidences as such, Joe imparted a confidence to me, the moment\nI raised the latch of the door and peeped in at him opposite to it,\nsitting in the chimney corner.\n“Mrs. Joe has been out a dozen times, looking for you, Pip. And she’s\nout now, making it a baker’s dozen.”\n“Is she?”\n“Yes, Pip,” said Joe; “and what’s worse, she’s got Tickler with her.”\nAt this dismal intelligence, I twisted the only button on my waistcoat\nround and round, and looked in great depression at the fire. Tickler\nwas a wax-ended piece of cane, worn smooth by collision with my tickled\nframe.\n“She sot down,” said Joe, “and she got up, and she made a grab at\nTickler, and she Ram-paged out. That’s what she did,” said Joe, slowly\nclearing the fire between the lower bars with the poker, and looking at\nit; “she Ram-paged out, Pip.”\n“Has she been gone long, Joe?” I always treated him as a larger species\nof child, and as no more than my equal.\n“Well,” said Joe, glancing up at the Dutch clock, “she’s been on the\nRam-page, this last spell, about five minutes, Pip. She’s a-coming! Get\nbehind the door, old chap, and have the jack-towel betwixt you.”\nI took the advice. My sister, Mrs. Joe, throwing the door wide open,\nand finding an obstruction behind it, immediately divined the cause,\nand applied Tickler to its further investigation. She concluded by\nthrowing me—I often served as a connubial missile—at Joe, who, glad to\nget hold of me on any terms, passed me on into the chimney and quietly\nfenced me up there with his great leg.\n“Where have you been, you young monkey?” said Mrs. Joe, stamping her\nfoot. “Tell me directly what you’ve been doing to wear me away with\nfret and fright and worrit, or I’d have you out of that corner if you\nwas fifty Pips, and he was five hundred Gargerys.”\n“I have only been to the churchyard,” said I, from my stool, crying and\nrubbing myself.\n“Churchyard!” repeated my sister. “If it warn’t for me you’d have been\nto the churchyard long ago, and stayed there. Who brought you up by\nhand?”\n“You did,” said I.\n“And why did I do it, I should like to know?” exclaimed my sister.\nI whimpered, “I don’t know.”\n“_I_ don’t!” said my sister. “I’d never do it again! I know that. I may\ntruly say I’ve never had this apron of mine off since born you were.\nIt’s bad enough to be a blacksmith’s wife (and him a Gargery) without\nbeing your mother.”\nMy thoughts strayed from that question as I looked disconsolately at\nthe fire. For the fugitive out on the marshes with the ironed leg, the\nmysterious young man, the file, the food, and the dreadful pledge I was\nunder to commit a larceny on those sheltering premises, rose before me\nin the avenging coals.\n“Hah!” said Mrs. Joe, restoring Tickler to his station. “Churchyard,\nindeed! You may well say churchyard, you two.” One of us, by the by,\nhad not said it at all. “You’ll drive _me_ to the churchyard betwixt\nyou, one of these days, and O, a pr-r-recious pair you’d be without\nme!”\nAs she applied herself to set the tea-things, Joe peeped down at me\nover his leg, as if he were mentally casting me and himself up, and\ncalculating what kind of pair we practically should make, under the\ngrievous circumstances foreshadowed. After that, he sat feeling his\nright-side flaxen curls and whisker, and following Mrs. Joe about with\nhis blue eyes, as his manner always was at squally times.\nMy sister had a trenchant way of cutting our bread and butter for us,\nthat never varied. First, with her left hand she jammed the loaf hard\nand fast against her bib,—where it sometimes got a pin into it, and\nsometimes a needle, which we afterwards got into our mouths. Then she\ntook some butter (not too much) on a knife and spread it on the loaf,\nin an apothecary kind of way, as if she were making a plaster,—using\nboth sides of the knife with a slapping dexterity, and trimming and\nmoulding the butter off round the crust. Then, she gave the knife a\nfinal smart wipe on the edge of the plaster, and then sawed a very\nthick round off the loaf: which she finally, before separating from the\nloaf, hewed into two halves, of which Joe got one, and I the other.\nOn the present occasion, though I was hungry, I dared not eat my slice.\nI felt that I must have something in reserve for my dreadful\nacquaintance, and his ally the still more dreadful young man. I knew\nMrs. Joe’s housekeeping to be of the strictest kind, and that my\nlarcenous researches might find nothing available in the safe.\nTherefore I resolved to put my hunk of bread and butter down the leg of\nmy trousers.\nThe effort of resolution necessary to the achievement of this purpose I\nfound to be quite awful. It was as if I had to make up my mind to leap\nfrom the top of a high house, or plunge into a great depth of water.\nAnd it was made the more difficult by the unconscious Joe. In our\nalready-mentioned freemasonry as fellow-sufferers, and in his\ngood-natured companionship with me, it was our evening habit to compare\nthe way we bit through our slices, by silently holding them up to each\nother’s admiration now and then,—which stimulated us to new exertions.\nTo-night, Joe several times invited me, by the display of his fast\ndiminishing slice, to enter upon our usual friendly competition; but he\nfound me, each time, with my yellow mug of tea on one knee, and my\nuntouched bread and butter on the other. At last, I desperately\nconsidered that the thing I contemplated must be done, and that it had\nbest be done in the least improbable manner consistent with the\ncircumstances. I took advantage of a moment when Joe had just looked at\nme, and got my bread and butter down my leg.\nJoe was evidently made uncomfortable by what he supposed to be my loss\nof appetite, and took a thoughtful bite out of his slice, which he\ndidn’t seem to enjoy. He turned it about in his mouth much longer than\nusual, pondering over it a good deal, and after all gulped it down like\na pill. He was about to take another bite, and had just got his head on\none side for a good purchase on it, when his eye fell on me, and he saw\nthat my bread and butter was gone.\nThe wonder and consternation with which Joe stopped on the threshold of\nhis bite and stared at me, were too evident to escape my sister’s\nobservation.\n“What’s the matter _now_?” said she, smartly, as she put down her cup.\n“I say, you know!” muttered Joe, shaking his head at me in very serious\nremonstrance. “Pip, old chap! You’ll do yourself a mischief. It’ll\nstick somewhere. You can’t have chawed it, Pip.”\n“What’s the matter now?” repeated my sister, more sharply than before.\n“If you can cough any trifle on it up, Pip, I’d recommend you to do\nit,” said Joe, all aghast. “Manners is manners, but still your elth’s\nyour elth.”\nBy this time, my sister was quite desperate, so she pounced on Joe,\nand, taking him by the two whiskers, knocked his head for a little\nwhile against the wall behind him, while I sat in the corner, looking\nguiltily on.\n“Now, perhaps you’ll mention what’s the matter,” said my sister, out of\nbreath, “you staring great stuck pig.”\nJoe looked at her in a helpless way, then took a helpless bite, and\nlooked at me again.\n“You know, Pip,” said Joe, solemnly, with his last bite in his cheek,\nand speaking in a confidential voice, as if we two were quite alone,\n“you and me is always friends, and I’d be the last to tell upon you,\nany time. But such a—” he moved his chair and looked about the floor\nbetween us, and then again at me—“such a most oncommon Bolt as that!”\n“Been bolting his food, has he?” cried my sister.\n“You know, old chap,” said Joe, looking at me, and not at Mrs. Joe,\nwith his bite still in his cheek, “I Bolted, myself, when I was your\nage—frequent—and as a boy I’ve been among a many Bolters; but I never\nsee your Bolting equal yet, Pip, and it’s a mercy you ain’t Bolted\ndead.”\nMy sister made a dive at me, and fished me up by the hair, saying\nnothing more than the awful words, “You come along and be dosed.”\nSome medical beast had revived Tar-water in those days as a fine\nmedicine, and Mrs. Joe always kept a supply of it in the cupboard;\nhaving a belief in its virtues correspondent to its nastiness. At the\nbest of times, so much of this elixir was administered to me as a\nchoice restorative, that I was conscious of going about, smelling like\na new fence. On this particular evening the urgency of my case demanded\na pint of this mixture, which was poured down my throat, for my greater\ncomfort, while Mrs. Joe held my head under her arm, as a boot would be\nheld in a bootjack. Joe got off with half a pint; but was made to\nswallow that (much to his disturbance, as he sat slowly munching and\nmeditating before the fire), “because he had had a turn.” Judging from\nmyself, I should say he certainly had a turn afterwards, if he had had\nnone before.\nConscience is a dreadful thing when it accuses man or boy; but when, in\nthe case of a boy, that secret burden co-operates with another secret\nburden down the leg of his trousers, it is (as I can testify) a great\npunishment. The guilty knowledge that I was going to rob Mrs. Joe—I\nnever thought I was going to rob Joe, for I never thought of any of the\nhousekeeping property as his—united to the necessity of always keeping\none hand on my bread and butter as I sat, or when I was ordered about\nthe kitchen on any small errand, almost drove me out of my mind. Then,\nas the marsh winds made the fire glow and flare, I thought I heard the\nvoice outside, of the man with the iron on his leg who had sworn me to\nsecrecy, declaring that he couldn’t and wouldn’t starve until\nto-morrow, but must be fed now. At other times, I thought, What if the\nyoung man who was with so much difficulty restrained from imbruing his\nhands in me should yield to a constitutional impatience, or should\nmistake the time, and should think himself accredited to my heart and\nliver to-night, instead of to-morrow! If ever anybody’s hair stood on\nend with terror, mine must have done so then. But, perhaps, nobody’s\never did?\nIt was Christmas Eve, and I had to stir the pudding for next day, with\na copper-stick, from seven to eight by the Dutch clock. I tried it with\nthe load upon my leg (and that made me think afresh of the man with the\nload on _his_ leg), and found the tendency of exercise to bring the\nbread and butter out at my ankle, quite unmanageable. Happily I slipped\naway, and deposited that part of my conscience in my garret bedroom.\n“Hark!” said I, when I had done my stirring, and was taking a final\nwarm in the chimney corner before being sent up to bed; “was that great\nguns, Joe?”\n“Ah!” said Joe. “There’s another conwict off.”\n“What does that mean, Joe?” said I.\nMrs. Joe, who always took explanations upon herself, said, snappishly,\n“Escaped. Escaped.” Administering the definition like Tar-water.\nWhile Mrs. Joe sat with her head bending over her needlework, I put my\nmouth into the forms of saying to Joe, “What’s a convict?” Joe put\n_his_ mouth into the forms of returning such a highly elaborate answer,\nthat I could make out nothing of it but the single word “Pip.”\n“There was a conwict off last night,” said Joe, aloud, “after\nsunset-gun. And they fired warning of him. And now it appears they’re\nfiring warning of another.”\n“_Who’s_ firing?” said I.\n“Drat that boy,” interposed my sister, frowning at me over her work,\n“what a questioner he is. Ask no questions, and you’ll be told no\nlies.”\nIt was not very polite to herself, I thought, to imply that I should be\ntold lies by her even if I did ask questions. But she never was polite\nunless there was company.\nAt this point Joe greatly augmented my curiosity by taking the utmost\npains to open his mouth very wide, and to put it into the form of a\nword that looked to me like “sulks.” Therefore, I naturally pointed to\nMrs. Joe, and put my mouth into the form of saying, “her?” But Joe\nwouldn’t hear of that, at all, and again opened his mouth very wide,\nand shook the form of a most emphatic word out of it. But I could make\nnothing of the word.\n“", "source": "greatexpectations", "length": 6000, "id": 6}
{"text": "Summarize in plain English: Little Women by Louisa May Alcott\nPART 1\nCHAPTER ONE\nPLAYING PILGRIMS\n“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying\non the rug.\n“It’s so dreadful to be poor!” sighed Meg, looking down at her old\ndress.\n“I don’t think it’s fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty\nthings, and other girls nothing at all,” added little Amy, with an\ninjured sniff.\n“We’ve got Father and Mother, and each other,” said Beth contentedly\nfrom her corner.\nThe four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the\ncheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, “We haven’t got\nFather, and shall not have him for a long time.” She didn’t say\n“perhaps never,” but each silently added it, thinking of Father far\naway, where the fighting was.\nNobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone, “You know\nthe reason Mother proposed not having any presents this Christmas was\nbecause it is going to be a hard winter for everyone; and she thinks we\nought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in\nthe army. We can’t do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, and\nought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don’t,” and Meg shook her\nhead, as she thought regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted.\n“But I don’t think the little we should spend would do any good. We’ve\neach got a dollar, and the army wouldn’t be much helped by our giving\nthat. I agree not to expect anything from Mother or you, but I do want\nto buy _Undine and Sintran_ for myself. I’ve wanted it so long,” said\nJo, who was a bookworm.\n“I planned to spend mine in new music,” said Beth, with a little sigh,\nwhich no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle-holder.\n“I shall get a nice box of Faber’s drawing pencils; I really need\nthem,” said Amy decidedly.\n“Mother didn’t say anything about our money, and she won’t wish us to\ngive up everything. Let’s each buy what we want, and have a little fun;\nI’m sure we work hard enough to earn it,” cried Jo, examining the heels\nof her shoes in a gentlemanly manner.\n“I know I do—teaching those tiresome children nearly all day, when I’m\nlonging to enjoy myself at home,” began Meg, in the complaining tone\nagain.\n“You don’t have half such a hard time as I do,” said Jo. “How would you\nlike to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps\nyou trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you’re ready to\nfly out the window or cry?”\n“It’s naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and keeping things\ntidy is the worst work in the world. It makes me cross, and my hands\nget so stiff, I can’t practice well at all.” And Beth looked at her\nrough hands with a sigh that any one could hear that time.\n“I don’t believe any of you suffer as I do,” cried Amy, “for you don’t\nhave to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague you if you\ndon’t know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and label your\nfather if he isn’t rich, and insult you when your nose isn’t nice.”\n“If you mean libel, I’d say so, and not talk about labels, as if Papa\nwas a pickle bottle,” advised Jo, laughing.\n“I know what I mean, and you needn’t be statirical about it. It’s\nproper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary,” returned Amy,\nwith dignity.\n“Don’t peck at one another, children. Don’t you wish we had the money\nPapa lost when we were little, Jo? Dear me! How happy and good we’d be,\nif we had no worries!” said Meg, who could remember better times.\n“You said the other day you thought we were a deal happier than the\nKing children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in\nspite of their money.”\n“So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are. For though we do have to work,\nwe make fun of ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say.”\n“Jo does use such slang words!” observed Amy, with a reproving look at\nthe long figure stretched on the rug.\nJo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began to\nwhistle.\n“Don’t, Jo. It’s so boyish!”\n“That’s why I do it.”\n“I detest rude, unladylike girls!”\n“I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!”\n“Birds in their little nests agree,” sang Beth, the peacemaker, with\nsuch a funny face that both sharp voices softened to a laugh, and the\n“pecking” ended for that time.\n“Really, girls, you are both to be blamed,” said Meg, beginning to\nlecture in her elder-sisterly fashion. “You are old enough to leave off\nboyish tricks, and to behave better, Josephine. It didn’t matter so\nmuch when you were a little girl, but now you are so tall, and turn up\nyour hair, you should remember that you are a young lady.”\n“I’m not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I’ll wear it in two\ntails till I’m twenty,” cried Jo, pulling off her net, and shaking down\na chestnut mane. “I hate to think I’ve got to grow up, and be Miss\nMarch, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China Aster! It’s bad\nenough to be a girl, anyway, when I like boy’s games and work and\nmanners! I can’t get over my disappointment in not being a boy. And\nit’s worse than ever now, for I’m dying to go and fight with Papa. And\nI can only stay home and knit, like a poky old woman!”\nAnd Jo shook the blue army sock till the needles rattled like\ncastanets, and her ball bounded across the room.\n“Poor Jo! It’s too bad, but it can’t be helped. So you must try to be\ncontented with making your name boyish, and playing brother to us\ngirls,” said Beth, stroking the rough head with a hand that all the\ndish washing and dusting in the world could not make ungentle in its\ntouch.\n“As for you, Amy,” continued Meg, “you are altogether too particular\nand prim. Your airs are funny now, but you’ll grow up an affected\nlittle goose, if you don’t take care. I like your nice manners and\nrefined ways of speaking, when you don’t try to be elegant. But your\nabsurd words are as bad as Jo’s slang.”\n“If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?” asked Beth,\nready to share the lecture.\n“You’re a dear, and nothing else,” answered Meg warmly, and no one\ncontradicted her, for the ‘Mouse’ was the pet of the family.\nAs young readers like to know ‘how people look’, we will take this\nmoment to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who sat\nknitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly\nwithout, and the fire crackled cheerfully within. It was a comfortable\nroom, though the carpet was faded and the furniture very plain, for a\ngood picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses,\nchrysanthemums and Christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a\npleasant atmosphere of home peace pervaded it.\nMargaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, being\nplump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft brown hair, a sweet\nmouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain. Fifteen-year-old\nJo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt, for she\nnever seemed to know what to do with her long limbs, which were very\nmuch in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp,\ngray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce,\nfunny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair was her one beauty, but it\nwas usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way. Round shoulders\nhad Jo, big hands and feet, a flyaway look to her clothes, and the\nuncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a\nwoman and didn’t like it. Elizabeth, or Beth, as everyone called her,\nwas a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy\nmanner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression which was seldom\ndisturbed. Her father called her ‘Little Miss Tranquility’, and the\nname suited her excellently, for she seemed to live in a happy world of\nher own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved.\nAmy, though the youngest, was a most important person, in her own\nopinion at least. A regular snow maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow\nhair curling on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always carrying\nherself like a young lady mindful of her manners. What the characters\nof the four sisters were we will leave to be found out.\nThe clock struck six and, having swept up the hearth, Beth put a pair\nof slippers down to warm. Somehow the sight of the old shoes had a good\neffect upon the girls, for Mother was coming, and everyone brightened\nto welcome her. Meg stopped lecturing, and lighted the lamp, Amy got\nout of the easy chair without being asked, and Jo forgot how tired she\nwas as she sat up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze.\n“They are quite worn out. Marmee must have a new pair.”\n“I thought I’d get her some with my dollar,” said Beth.\n“No, I shall!” cried Amy.\n“I’m the oldest,” began Meg, but Jo cut in with a decided, “I’m the man\nof the family now Papa is away, and I shall provide the slippers, for\nhe told me to take special care of Mother while he was gone.”\n“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said Beth, “let’s each get her something\nfor Christmas, and not get anything for ourselves.”\n“That’s like you, dear! What will we get?” exclaimed Jo.\nEveryone thought soberly for a minute, then Meg announced, as if the\nidea was suggested by the sight of her own pretty hands, “I shall give\nher a nice pair of gloves.”\n“Army shoes, best to be had,” cried Jo.\n“Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed,” said Beth.\n“I’ll get a little bottle of cologne. She likes it, and it won’t cost\nmuch, so I’ll have some left to buy my pencils,” added Amy.\n“How will we give the things?” asked Meg.\n“Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open the bundles.\nDon’t you remember how we used to do on our birthdays?” answered Jo.\n“I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the chair\nwith the crown on, and see you all come marching round to give the\npresents, with a kiss. I liked the things and the kisses, but it was\ndreadful to have you sit looking at me while I opened the bundles,”\nsaid Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea at the same\ntime.\n“Let Marmee think we are getting things for ourselves, and then\nsurprise her. We must go shopping tomorrow afternoon, Meg. There is so\nmuch to do about the play for Christmas night,” said Jo, marching up\nand down, with her hands behind her back, and her nose in the air.\n“I don’t mean to act any more after this time. I’m getting too old for\nsuch things,” observed Meg, who was as much a child as ever about\n‘dressing-up’ frolics.\n“You won’t stop, I know, as long as you can trail round in a white gown\nwith your hair down, and wear gold-paper jewelry. You are the best\nactress we’ve got, and there’ll be an end of everything if you quit the\nboards,” said Jo. “We ought to rehearse tonight. Come here, Amy, and do\nthe fainting scene, for you are as stiff as a poker in that.”\n“I can’t help it. I never saw anyone faint, and I don’t choose to make\nmyself all black and blue, tumbling flat as you do. If I can go down\neasily, I’ll drop. If I can’t, I shall fall into a chair and be\ngraceful. I don’t care if Hugo does come at me with a pistol,” returned\nAmy, who was not gifted with dramatic power, but was chosen because she\nwas small enough to be borne out shrieking by the villain of the piece.\n“Do it this way. Clasp your hands so, and stagger across the room,\ncrying frantically, ‘Roderigo! Save me! Save me!’” and away went Jo,\nwith a melodramatic scream which was truly thrilling.\nAmy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly before her, and\njerked herself along as if she went by machinery, and her “Ow!” was\nmore suggestive of pins being run into her than of fear and anguish. Jo\ngave a despairing groan, and Meg laughed outright, while Beth let her\nbread burn as she watched the fun with interest. “It’s no use! Do the\nbest you can when the time comes, and if the audience laughs, don’t\nblame me. Come on, Meg.”\nThen things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the world in a speech\nof two pages without a single break. Hagar, the witch, chanted an awful\nincantation over her kettleful of simmering toads, with weird effect.\nRoderigo rent his chains asunder manfully, and Hugo died in agonies of\nremorse and arsenic, with a wild, “Ha! Ha!”\n“It’s the best we’ve had yet,” said Meg, as the dead villain sat up and\nrubbed his elbows.\n“I don’t see how you can write and act such splendid things, Jo. You’re\na regular Shakespeare!” exclaimed Beth, who firmly believed that her\nsisters were gifted with wonderful genius in all things.\n“Not quite,” replied Jo modestly. “I do think _The Witches Curse, an\nOperatic Tragedy_ is rather a nice thing, but I’d like to try\n_Macbeth_, if we only had a trapdoor for Banquo. I always wanted to do\nthe killing part. ‘Is that a dagger that I see before me?” muttered Jo,\nrolling her eyes and clutching at the air, as she had seen a famous\ntragedian do.\n“No, it’s the toasting fork, with Mother’s shoe on it instead of the\nbread. Beth’s stage-struck!” cried Meg, and the rehearsal ended in a\ngeneral burst of laughter.\n“Glad to find you so merry, my girls,” said a cheery voice at the door,\nand actors and audience turned to welcome a tall, motherly lady with a\n‘can I help you’ look about her which was truly delightful. She was not\nelegantly dressed, but a noble-looking woman, and the girls thought the\ngray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid mother in\nthe world.\n“Well, dearies, how have you got on today? There was so much to do,\ngetting the boxes ready to go tomorrow, that I didn’t come home to\ndinner. Has anyone called, Beth? How is your cold, Meg? Jo, you look\ntired to death. Come and kiss me, baby.”\nWhile making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March got her wet things\noff, her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy chair, drew Amy\nto her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day. The\ngirls flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own\nway. Meg arranged the tea table, Jo brought wood and set chairs,\ndropping, over-turning, and clattering everything she touched. Beth\ntrotted to and fro between parlor kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amy\ngave directions to everyone, as she sat with her hands folded.\nAs they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a particularly\nhappy face, “I’ve got a treat for you after supper.”\nA quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sunshine. Beth\nclapped her hands, regardless of the biscuit she held, and Jo tossed up\nher napkin, crying, “A letter! A letter! Three cheers for Father!”\n“Yes, a nice long letter. He is well, and thinks he shall get through\nthe cold season better than we feared. He sends all sorts of loving\nwishes for Christmas, and an especial message to you girls,” said Mrs.\nMarch, patting her pocket as if she had got a treasure there.\n“Hurry and get done! Don’t stop to quirk your little finger and simper\nover your plate, Amy,” cried Jo, choking on her tea and dropping her\nbread, butter side down, on the carpet in her haste to get at the\ntreat.\nBeth ate no more, but crept away to sit in her shadowy corner and brood\nover the delight to come, till the others were ready.\n“I think it was so splendid in Father to go as chaplain when he was too\nold to be drafted, and not strong enough for a soldier,” said Meg\nwarmly.\n“Don’t I wish I could go as a drummer, a vivan—what’s its name? Or a\nnurse, so I could be near him and help him,” exclaimed Jo, with a\ngroan.\n“It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and eat all sorts of\nbad-tasting things, and drink out of a tin mug,” sighed Amy.\n“When will he come home, Marmee?” asked Beth, with a little quiver in\nher voice.\n“Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick. He will stay and do his\nwork faithfully as long as he can, and we won’t ask for him back a\nminute sooner than he can be spared. Now come and hear the letter.”\nThey all drew to the fire, Mother in the big chair with Beth at her\nfeet, Meg and Amy perched on either arm of the chair, and Jo leaning on\nthe back, where no one would see any sign of emotion if the letter\nshould happen to be touching. Very few letters were written in those\nhard times that were not touching, especially those which fathers sent\nhome. In this one little was said of the hardships endured, the dangers\nfaced, or the homesickness conquered. It was a cheerful, hopeful\nletter, full of lively descriptions of camp life, marches, and military\nnews, and only at the end did the writer’s heart over-flow with\nfatherly love and longing for the little girls at home.\n“Give them all of my dear love and a kiss. Tell them I think of them by\nday, pray for them by night, and find my best comfort in their\naffection at all times. A year seems very long to wait before I see\nthem, but remind them that while we wait we may all work, so that these\nhard days need not be wasted. I know they will remember all I said to\nthem, that they will be loving children to you, will do their duty\nfaithfully, fight their bosom enemies bravely, and conquer themselves\nso beautifully that when I come back to them I may be fonder and\nprouder than ever of my little women.” Everybody sniffed when they came\nto that part. Jo wasn’t ashamed of the great tear that dropped off the\nend of her nose, and Amy never minded the rumpling of her curls as she\nhid her face on her mother’s shoulder and sobbed out, “I am a selfish\ngirl! But I’ll truly try to be better, so he mayn’t be disappointed in\nme by-and-by.”\n“We all will,” cried Meg. “I think too much of my looks and hate to\nwork, but won’t any more, if I can help it.”\n“I’ll try and be what he loves to call me, ‘a little woman’ and not be\nrough and wild, but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere\nelse,” said Jo, thinking that keeping her temper at home was a much\nharder task than facing a rebel or two down South.\nBeth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with the blue army sock and\nbegan to knit with all her might, losing no time in doing the duty that\nlay nearest her, while she resolved in her quiet little soul to be all\nthat Father hoped to find her when the year brought round the happy\ncoming home.\nMrs. March broke the silence that followed Jo’s words, by saying in her\ncheery voice, “Do you remember how you used to play Pilgrims Progress\nwhen you were little things? Nothing delighted you more than to have me\ntie my piece bags on your backs for burdens, give you hats and sticks\nand rolls of paper, and let you travel through the house from the\ncellar, which was the City of Destruction, up, up, to the housetop,\nwhere you had all the lovely things you could collect to make a\nCelestial City.”\n“What fun it was, especially going by the lions, fighting Apollyon, and\npassing through the valley where the hob-goblins were,” said Jo.\n“I liked the place where the bundles fell off and tumbled downstairs,”\nsaid Meg.\n“I don’t remember much about it, except that I was afraid of the cellar\nand the dark entry, and always liked the cake and milk we had up at the\ntop. If I wasn’t too old for such things, I’d rather like to play it\nover again,” said Amy, who began to talk of renouncing childish things\nat the mature age of twelve.\n“We never are too old for this, my dear, because it is a play we are\nplaying all the time in one way or another. Our burdens are here, our\nroad is before us, and the longing for goodness and happiness is the\nguide that leads us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace\nwhich is a true Celestial City. Now, my little pilgrims, suppose you\nbegin again, not in play, but in earnest, and see how far on you can\nget before Father comes home.”\n“Really, Mother? Where are our bundles?” asked Amy, who was a very\nliteral young lady.\n“Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth. I rather\nthink she hasn’t got any,” said her mother.\n“Yes, I have. Mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nice\npianos, and being afraid of people.”\nBeth’s bundle was such a funny one that everybody wanted to laugh, but\nnobody did, for it would have hurt her feelings very much.\n“Let us do it,” said Meg thoughtfully. “It is only another name for\ntrying to be good, and the story may help us, for though we do want to\nbe good, it’s hard work and we forget, and don’t do our best.”\n“We were in the Slough of Despond tonight, and Mother came and pulled\nus out as Help did in the book. We ought to have our roll of\ndirections, like Christian. What shall we do about that?” asked Jo,\ndelighted with the fancy which lent a little romance to the very dull\ntask of doing her duty.\n“Look under your pillows Christmas morning, and you will find your\nguidebook,” replied Mrs. March.\nThey talked over the new plan while old Hannah cleared the table, then\nout came the four little work baskets, and the needles flew as the\ngirls made sheets for Aunt March. It was uninteresting sewing, but\ntonight no one grumbled. They adopted Jo’s plan of dividing the long\nseams into four parts, and calling the quarters Europe, Asia, Africa,\nand America, and in that way got on capitally, especially when they\ntalked about the different countries as they stitched their way through\nthem.\nAt nine they stopped work, and sang, as usual, before they went to bed.\nNo one but Beth could get much music out of the old piano, but she had\na way of softly touching the yellow keys and making a pleasant\naccompaniment to the simple songs they sang. Meg had a voice like a\nflute, and she and her mother led the little choir. Amy chirped like a\ncricket, and Jo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, always\ncoming out at the wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoiled the\nmost pensive tune. They had always done this from the time they could\nlisp...\nCrinkle, crinkle, ’ittle ’tar,\nand it had become a household custom, for the mother was a born singer.\nThe first sound in the morning was her voice as she went about the\nhouse singing like a lark, and the last sound at night was the same\ncheery sound, for the girls never grew too old for that familiar\nlullaby.\nCHAPTER TWO\nA MERRY CHRISTMAS\nJo was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morning. No\nstockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as much\ndisappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell down\nbecause it was crammed so full of goodies. Then she remembered her\nmother’s promise and, slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a\nlittle crimson-covered book. She knew it very well, for it was that\nbeautiful old story of the best life ever lived, and Jo felt that it\nwas a true guidebook for any pilgrim going on a long journey. She woke\nMeg with a “Merry Christmas,” and bade her see what was under her\npillow. A green-covered book appeared, with the same picture inside,\nand a few words written by their mother, which made their one present\nvery precious in their eyes. Presently Beth and Amy woke to rummage and\nfind their little books also, one dove-colored, the other blue, and all\nsat looking at and talking about them, while the east grew rosy with\nthe coming day.\nIn spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and pious nature,\nwhich unconsciously influenced her sisters, especially Jo, who loved\nher very tenderly, and obeyed her because her advice was so gently\ngiven.\n“Girls,” said Meg seriously, looking from the tumbled head beside her\nto the two little night-capped ones in the room beyond, “Mother wants\nus to read and love and mind these books, and we must begin at once. We\nused to be faithful about it, but since Father went away and all this\nwar trouble unsettled us, we have neglected many things. You can do as\nyou please, but I shall keep my book on the table here and read a\nlittle every morning as soon as I wake, for I know it will do me good\nand help me through the day.”\nThen she opened her new book and began to read. Jo put her arm round\nher and, leaning cheek to cheek, read also, with the quiet expression\nso seldom seen on her restless face.\n“How good Meg is! Come, Amy, let’s do as they do. I’ll help you with\nthe hard words, and they’ll explain things if we don’t understand,”\nwhispered Beth, very much impressed by the pretty books and her\nsisters’ example.\n“I’m glad mine is blue,” said Amy. and then the rooms were very still\nwhile the pages were softly turned, and the winter sunshine crept in to\ntouch the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting.\n“Where is Mother?” asked Meg, as she and Jo ran down to thank her for\ntheir gifts, half an hour later.\n“Goodness only knows. Some poor creeter came a-beggin’, and your ma\nwent straight off to see what was needed. There never was such a woman\nfor givin’ away vittles and drink, clothes and firin’,” replied Hannah,\nwho had lived with the family since Meg was born, and was considered by\nthem all more as a friend than a servant.\n“She will be back soon, I think, so fry your cakes, and have everything\nready,” said Meg, looking over the presents which were collected in a\nbasket and kept under the sofa, ready to be produced at the proper\ntime. “Why, where is Amy’s bottle of cologne?” she added, as the little\nflask did not appear.\n“She took it out a minute ago, and went off with it to put a ribbon on\nit, or some such notion,” replied Jo, dancing about the room to take\nthe first stiffness off the new army slippers.\n“How nice my handkerchiefs look, don’t they? Hannah washed and ironed\nthem for me, and I marked them all myself,” said Beth, looking proudly\nat the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her such labor.\n“Bless the child! She’s gone and put ‘Mother’ on them instead of ‘M.\nMarch’. How funny!” cried Jo, taking one up.\n“Isn’t that right? I thought it was better to do it so, because Meg’s\ninitials are M.M., and I don’t want anyone to use these but Marmee,”\nsaid Beth, looking troubled.\n“It’s all right, dear, and a very pretty idea, quite sensible too, for\nno one can ever mistake now. It will please her very much, I know,”\nsaid Meg, with a frown for Jo and a smile for Beth.\n“There’s Mother. Hide the basket, quick!” cried Jo, as a door slammed\nand steps sounded in the hall.\nAmy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed when she saw her sisters\nall waiting for her.\n“Where have you been, and what are you hiding behind you?” asked Meg,\nsurprised to see, by her hood and cloak, that lazy Amy had been out so\nearly.\n“Don’t laugh at me, Jo! I didn’t mean anyone should know till the time\ncame. I only meant to change the little bottle for a big one, and I\ngave all my money to get it, and I’m truly trying not to be selfish any\nmore.”\nAs she spoke, Amy showed the handsome flask which replaced the cheap\none, and looked so earnest and humble in her little effort to forget\nherself that Meg hugged her on the spot, and Jo pronounced her ‘a\ntrump’, while Beth ran to the window, and picked her finest rose to\nornament the stately bottle.\n“You see I felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking about\nbeing good this morning, so I ran round the corner and changed it the\nminute I was up, and I’m so glad, for mine is the handsomest now.”\nAnother bang of the street door sent the basket under the sofa, and the\ngirls to the table, eager for breakfast.\n“Merry Christmas, Marmee! Many of them! Thank you for our books. We\nread some, and mean to every day,” they all cried in chorus.\n“Merry Christmas, little daughters! I’m glad you began at once, and\nhope you will keep on. But I want to say one word before we sit down.\nNot far away from here lies a poor woman with a little newborn baby.\nSix children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they\nhave no fire. There is nothing to eat over there, and the oldest boy\ncame to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold. My girls, will you\ngive them your breakfast as a Christmas present?”\nThey were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a\nminute no one spoke, only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously, “I’m\nso glad you came before we began!”\n“May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?” asked\nBeth eagerly.\n“I shall take the cream and the muffings,” added Amy, heroically giving\nup the article she most liked.\nMeg was already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread into one\nbig plate.\n“I thought you’d do it,” said Mrs. March", "source": "littlewomen", "length": 7000, "id": 7}
{"text": "Summarize in plain English: The Time Machine An Invention by H. G. Wells\nI.\nIntroduction\nThe Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was\nexpounding a recondite matter to us. His pale grey eyes shone and\ntwinkled, and his usually pale face was flushed and animated. The fire\nburnt brightly, and the soft radiance of the incandescent lights in the\nlilies of silver caught the bubbles that flashed and passed in our\nglasses. Our chairs, being his patents, embraced and caressed us rather\nthan submitted to be sat upon, and there was that luxurious\nafter-dinner atmosphere, when thought runs gracefully free of the\ntrammels of precision. And he put it to us in this way—marking the\npoints with a lean forefinger—as we sat and lazily admired his\nearnestness over this new paradox (as we thought it) and his fecundity.\n“You must follow me carefully. I shall have to controvert one or two\nideas that are almost universally accepted. The geometry, for instance,\nthey taught you at school is founded on a misconception.”\n“Is not that rather a large thing to expect us to begin upon?” said\nFilby, an argumentative person with red hair.\n“I do not mean to ask you to accept anything without reasonable ground\nfor it. You will soon admit as much as I need from you. You know of\ncourse that a mathematical line, a line of thickness _nil_, has no real\nexistence. They taught you that? Neither has a mathematical plane.\nThese things are mere abstractions.”\n“That is all right,” said the Psychologist.\n“Nor, having only length, breadth, and thickness, can a cube have a\nreal existence.”\n“There I object,” said Filby. “Of course a solid body may exist. All\nreal things—”\n“So most people think. But wait a moment. Can an _instantaneous_ cube\nexist?”\n“Don’t follow you,” said Filby.\n“Can a cube that does not last for any time at all, have a real\nexistence?”\nFilby became pensive. “Clearly,” the Time Traveller proceeded, “any\nreal body must have extension in _four_ directions: it must have\nLength, Breadth, Thickness, and—Duration. But through a natural\ninfirmity of the flesh, which I will explain to you in a moment, we\nincline to overlook this fact. There are really four dimensions, three\nwhich we call the three planes of Space, and a fourth, Time. There is,\nhowever, a tendency to draw an unreal distinction between the former\nthree dimensions and the latter, because it happens that our\nconsciousness moves intermittently in one direction along the latter\nfrom the beginning to the end of our lives.”\n“That,” said a very young man, making spasmodic efforts to relight his\ncigar over the lamp; “that . . . very clear indeed.”\n“Now, it is very remarkable that this is so extensively overlooked,”\ncontinued the Time Traveller, with a slight accession of cheerfulness.\n“Really this is what is meant by the Fourth Dimension, though some\npeople who talk about the Fourth Dimension do not know they mean it. It\nis only another way of looking at Time. _There is no difference between\nTime and any of the three dimensions of Space except that our\nconsciousness moves along it_. But some foolish people have got hold of\nthe wrong side of that idea. You have all heard what they have to say\nabout this Fourth Dimension?”\n“_I_ have not,” said the Provincial Mayor.\n“It is simply this. That Space, as our mathematicians have it, is\nspoken of as having three dimensions, which one may call Length,\nBreadth, and Thickness, and is always definable by reference to three\nplanes, each at right angles to the others. But some philosophical\npeople have been asking why _three_ dimensions particularly—why not\nanother direction at right angles to the other three?—and have even\ntried to construct a Four-Dimensional geometry. Professor Simon Newcomb\nwas expounding this to the New York Mathematical Society only a month\nor so ago. You know how on a flat surface, which has only two\ndimensions, we can represent a figure of a three-dimensional solid, and\nsimilarly they think that by models of three dimensions they could\nrepresent one of four—if they could master the perspective of the\nthing. See?”\n“I think so,” murmured the Provincial Mayor; and, knitting his brows,\nhe lapsed into an introspective state, his lips moving as one who\nrepeats mystic words. “Yes, I think I see it now,” he said after some\ntime, brightening in a quite transitory manner.\n“Well, I do not mind telling you I have been at work upon this geometry\nof Four Dimensions for some time. Some of my results are curious. For\ninstance, here is a portrait of a man at eight years old, another at\nfifteen, another at seventeen, another at twenty-three, and so on. All\nthese are evidently sections, as it were, Three-Dimensional\nrepresentations of his Four-Dimensioned being, which is a fixed and\nunalterable thing.\n“Scientific people,” proceeded the Time Traveller, after the pause\nrequired for the proper assimilation of this, “know very well that Time\nis only a kind of Space. Here is a popular scientific diagram, a\nweather record. This line I trace with my finger shows the movement of\nthe barometer. Yesterday it was so high, yesterday night it fell, then\nthis morning it rose again, and so gently upward to here. Surely the\nmercury did not trace this line in any of the dimensions of Space\ngenerally recognised? But certainly it traced such a line, and that\nline, therefore, we must conclude, was along the Time-Dimension.”\n“But,” said the Medical Man, staring hard at a coal in the fire, “if\nTime is really only a fourth dimension of Space, why is it, and why has\nit always been, regarded as something different? And why cannot we move\nin Time as we move about in the other dimensions of Space?”\nThe Time Traveller smiled. “Are you so sure we can move freely in\nSpace? Right and left we can go, backward and forward freely enough,\nand men always have done so. I admit we move freely in two dimensions.\nBut how about up and down? Gravitation limits us there.”\n“Not exactly,” said the Medical Man. “There are balloons.”\n“But before the balloons, save for spasmodic jumping and the\ninequalities of the surface, man had no freedom of vertical movement.”\n“Still they could move a little up and down,” said the Medical Man.\n“Easier, far easier down than up.”\n“And you cannot move at all in Time, you cannot get away from the\npresent moment.”\n“My dear sir, that is just where you are wrong. That is just where the\nwhole world has gone wrong. We are always getting away from the present\nmoment. Our mental existences, which are immaterial and have no\ndimensions, are passing along the Time-Dimension with a uniform\nvelocity from the cradle to the grave. Just as we should travel _down_\nif we began our existence fifty miles above the earth’s surface.”\n“But the great difficulty is this,” interrupted the Psychologist. ’You\n_can_ move about in all directions of Space, but you cannot move about\nin Time.”\n“That is the germ of my great discovery. But you are wrong to say that\nwe cannot move about in Time. For instance, if I am recalling an\nincident very vividly I go back to the instant of its occurrence: I\nbecome absent-minded, as you say. I jump back for a moment. Of course\nwe have no means of staying back for any length of Time, any more than\na savage or an animal has of staying six feet above the ground. But a\ncivilised man is better off than the savage in this respect. He can go\nup against gravitation in a balloon, and why should he not hope that\nultimately he may be able to stop or accelerate his drift along the\nTime-Dimension, or even turn about and travel the other way?”\n“Oh, _this_,” began Filby, “is all—”\n“Why not?” said the Time Traveller.\n“It’s against reason,” said Filby.\n“What reason?” said the Time Traveller.\n“You can show black is white by argument,” said Filby, “but you will\nnever convince me.”\n“Possibly not,” said the Time Traveller. “But now you begin to see the\nobject of my investigations into the geometry of Four Dimensions. Long\nago I had a vague inkling of a machine—”\n“To travel through Time!” exclaimed the Very Young Man.\n“That shall travel indifferently in any direction of Space and Time, as\nthe driver determines.”\nFilby contented himself with laughter.\n“But I have experimental verification,” said the Time Traveller.\n“It would be remarkably convenient for the historian,” the Psychologist\nsuggested. “One might travel back and verify the accepted account of\nthe Battle of Hastings, for instance!”\n“Don’t you think you would attract attention?” said the Medical Man.\n“Our ancestors had no great tolerance for anachronisms.”\n“One might get one’s Greek from the very lips of Homer and Plato,” the\nVery Young Man thought.\n“In which case they would certainly plough you for the Little-go. The\nGerman scholars have improved Greek so much.”\n“Then there is the future,” said the Very Young Man. “Just think! One\nmight invest all one’s money, leave it to accumulate at interest, and\nhurry on ahead!”\n“To discover a society,” said I, “erected on a strictly communistic\nbasis.”\n“Of all the wild extravagant theories!” began the Psychologist.\n“Yes, so it seemed to me, and so I never talked of it until—”\n“Experimental verification!” cried I. “You are going to verify _that_?”\n“The experiment!” cried Filby, who was getting brain-weary.\n“Let’s see your experiment anyhow,” said the Psychologist, “though it’s\nall humbug, you know.”\nThe Time Traveller smiled round at us. Then, still smiling faintly, and\nwith his hands deep in his trousers pockets, he walked slowly out of\nthe room, and we heard his slippers shuffling down the long passage to\nhis laboratory.\nThe Psychologist looked at us. “I wonder what he’s got?”\n“Some sleight-of-hand trick or other,” said the Medical Man, and Filby\ntried to tell us about a conjuror he had seen at Burslem, but before he\nhad finished his preface the Time Traveller came back, and Filby’s\nanecdote collapsed.\n II.\n The Machine\nThe thing the Time Traveller held in his hand was a glittering metallic\nframework, scarcely larger than a small clock, and very delicately\nmade. There was ivory in it, and some transparent crystalline\nsubstance. And now I must be explicit, for this that follows—unless his\nexplanation is to be accepted—is an absolutely unaccountable thing. He\ntook one of the small octagonal tables that were scattered about the\nroom, and set it in front of the fire, with two legs on the hearthrug.\nOn this table he placed the mechanism. Then he drew up a chair, and sat\ndown. The only other object on the table was a small shaded lamp, the\nbright light of which fell upon the model. There were also perhaps a\ndozen candles about, two in brass candlesticks upon the mantel and\nseveral in sconces, so that the room was brilliantly illuminated. I sat\nin a low arm-chair nearest the fire, and I drew this forward so as to\nbe almost between the Time Traveller and the fireplace. Filby sat\nbehind him, looking over his shoulder. The Medical Man and the\nProvincial Mayor watched him in profile from the right, the\nPsychologist from the left. The Very Young Man stood behind the\nPsychologist. We were all on the alert. It appears incredible to me\nthat any kind of trick, however subtly conceived and however adroitly\ndone, could have been played upon us under these conditions.\nThe Time Traveller looked at us, and then at the mechanism. “Well?”\nsaid the Psychologist.\n“This little affair,” said the Time Traveller, resting his elbows upon\nthe table and pressing his hands together above the apparatus, “is only\na model. It is my plan for a machine to travel through time. You will\nnotice that it looks singularly askew, and that there is an odd\ntwinkling appearance about this bar, as though it was in some way\nunreal.” He pointed to the part with his finger. “Also, here is one\nlittle white lever, and here is another.”\nThe Medical Man got up out of his chair and peered into the thing.\n“It’s beautifully made,” he said.\n“It took two years to make,” retorted the Time Traveller. Then, when we\nhad all imitated the action of the Medical Man, he said: “Now I want\nyou clearly to understand that this lever, being pressed over, sends\nthe machine gliding into the future, and this other reverses the\nmotion. This saddle represents the seat of a time traveller. Presently\nI am going to press the lever, and off the machine will go. It will\nvanish, pass into future Time, and disappear. Have a good look at the\nthing. Look at the table too, and satisfy yourselves there is no\ntrickery. I don’t want to waste this model, and then be told I’m a\nquack.”\nThere was a minute’s pause perhaps. The Psychologist seemed about to\nspeak to me, but changed his mind. Then the Time Traveller put forth\nhis finger towards the lever. “No,” he said suddenly. “Lend me your\nhand.” And turning to the Psychologist, he took that individual’s hand\nin his own and told him to put out his forefinger. So that it was the\nPsychologist himself who sent forth the model Time Machine on its\ninterminable voyage. We all saw the lever turn. I am absolutely certain\nthere was no trickery. There was a breath of wind, and the lamp flame\njumped. One of the candles on the mantel was blown out, and the little\nmachine suddenly swung round, became indistinct, was seen as a ghost\nfor a second perhaps, as an eddy of faintly glittering brass and ivory;\nand it was gone—vanished! Save for the lamp the table was bare.\nEveryone was silent for a minute. Then Filby said he was damned.\nThe Psychologist recovered from his stupor, and suddenly looked under\nthe table. At that the Time Traveller laughed cheerfully. “Well?” he\nsaid, with a reminiscence of the Psychologist. Then, getting up, he\nwent to the tobacco jar on the mantel, and with his back to us began to\nfill his pipe.\nWe stared at each other. “Look here,” said the Medical Man, “are you in\nearnest about this? Do you seriously believe that that machine has\ntravelled into time?”\n“Certainly,” said the Time Traveller, stooping to light a spill at the\nfire. Then he turned, lighting his pipe, to look at the Psychologist’s\nface. (The Psychologist, to show that he was not unhinged, helped\nhimself to a cigar and tried to light it uncut.) “What is more, I have\na big machine nearly finished in there”—he indicated the\nlaboratory—“and when that is put together I mean to have a journey on\nmy own account.”\n“You mean to say that that machine has travelled into the future?” said\nFilby.\n“Into the future or the past—I don’t, for certain, know which.”\nAfter an interval the Psychologist had an inspiration. “It must have\ngone into the past if it has gone anywhere,” he said.\n“Why?” said the Time Traveller.\n“Because I presume that it has not moved in space, and if it travelled\ninto the future it would still be here all this time, since it must\nhave travelled through this time.”\n“But,” said I, “If it travelled into the past it would have been\nvisible when we came first into this room; and last Thursday when we\nwere here; and the Thursday before that; and so forth!”\n“Serious objections,” remarked the Provincial Mayor, with an air of\nimpartiality, turning towards the Time Traveller.\n“Not a bit,” said the Time Traveller, and, to the Psychologist: “You\nthink. _You_ can explain that. It’s presentation below the threshold,\nyou know, diluted presentation.”\n“Of course,” said the Psychologist, and reassured us. “That’s a simple\npoint of psychology. I should have thought of it. It’s plain enough,\nand helps the paradox delightfully. We cannot see it, nor can we\nappreciate this machine, any more than we can the spoke of a wheel\nspinning, or a bullet flying through the air. If it is travelling\nthrough time fifty times or a hundred times faster than we are, if it\ngets through a minute while we get through a second, the impression it\ncreates will of course be only one-fiftieth or one-hundredth of what it\nwould make if it were not travelling in time. That’s plain enough.” He\npassed his hand through the space in which the machine had been. “You\nsee?” he said, laughing.\nWe sat and stared at the vacant table for a minute or so. Then the Time\nTraveller asked us what we thought of it all.\n“It sounds plausible enough tonight,” said the Medical Man; “but wait\nuntil tomorrow. Wait for the common sense of the morning.”\n“Would you like to see the Time Machine itself?” asked the Time\nTraveller. And therewith, taking the lamp in his hand, he led the way\ndown the long, draughty corridor to his laboratory. I remember vividly\nthe flickering light, his queer, broad head in silhouette, the dance of\nthe shadows, how we all followed him, puzzled but incredulous, and how\nthere in the laboratory we beheld a larger edition of the little\nmechanism which we had seen vanish from before our eyes. Parts were of\nnickel, parts of ivory, parts had certainly been filed or sawn out of\nrock crystal. The thing was generally complete, but the twisted\ncrystalline bars lay unfinished upon the bench beside some sheets of\ndrawings, and I took one up for a better look at it. Quartz it seemed\nto be.\n“Look here,” said the Medical Man, “are you perfectly serious? Or is\nthis a trick—like that ghost you showed us last Christmas?”\n“Upon that machine,” said the Time Traveller, holding the lamp aloft,\n“I intend to explore time. Is that plain? I was never more serious in\nmy life.”\nNone of us quite knew how to take it.\nI caught Filby’s eye over the shoulder of the Medical Man, and he\nwinked at me solemnly.\n III.\n The Time Traveller Returns\nI think that at that time none of us quite believed in the Time\nMachine. The fact is, the Time Traveller was one of those men who are\ntoo clever to be believed: you never felt that you saw all round him;\nyou always suspected some subtle reserve, some ingenuity in ambush,\nbehind his lucid frankness. Had Filby shown the model and explained the\nmatter in the Time Traveller’s words, we should have shown _him_ far\nless scepticism. For we should have perceived his motives: a\npork-butcher could understand Filby. But the Time Traveller had more\nthan a touch of whim among his elements, and we distrusted him. Things\nthat would have made the fame of a less clever man seemed tricks in his\nhands. It is a mistake to do things too easily. The serious people who\ntook him seriously never felt quite sure of his deportment; they were\nsomehow aware that trusting their reputations for judgment with him was\nlike furnishing a nursery with eggshell china. So I don’t think any of\nus said very much about time travelling in the interval between that\nThursday and the next, though its odd potentialities ran, no doubt, in\nmost of our minds: its plausibility, that is, its practical\nincredibleness, the curious possibilities of anachronism and of utter\nconfusion it suggested. For my own part, I was particularly preoccupied\nwith the trick of the model. That I remember discussing with the\nMedical Man, whom I met on Friday at the Linnæan. He said he had seen a\nsimilar thing at Tübingen, and laid considerable stress on the\nblowing-out of the candle. But how the trick was done he could not\nexplain.\nThe next Thursday I went again to Richmond—I suppose I was one of the\nTime Traveller’s most constant guests—and, arriving late, found four or\nfive men already assembled in his drawing-room. The Medical Man was\nstanding before the fire with a sheet of paper in one hand and his\nwatch in the other. I looked round for the Time Traveller, and—“It’s\nhalf-past seven now,” said the Medical Man. “I suppose we’d better have\ndinner?”\n“Where’s——?” said I, naming our host.\n“You’ve just come? It’s rather odd. He’s unavoidably detained. He asks\nme in this note to lead off with dinner at seven if he’s not back. Says\nhe’ll explain when he comes.”\n“It seems a pity to let the dinner spoil,” said the Editor of a\nwell-known daily paper; and thereupon the Doctor rang the bell.\nThe Psychologist was the only person besides the Doctor and myself who\nhad attended the previous dinner. The other men were Blank, the Editor\naforementioned, a certain journalist, and another—a quiet, shy man with\na beard—whom I didn’t know, and who, as far as my observation went,\nnever opened his mouth all the evening. There was some speculation at\nthe dinner-table about the Time Traveller’s absence, and I suggested\ntime travelling, in a half-jocular spirit. The Editor wanted that\nexplained to him, and the Psychologist volunteered a wooden account of\nthe “ingenious paradox and trick” we had witnessed that day week. He\nwas in the midst of his exposition when the door from the corridor\nopened slowly and without noise. I was facing the door, and saw it\nfirst. “Hallo!” I said. “At last!” And the door opened wider, and the\nTime Traveller stood before us. I gave a cry of surprise. “Good\nheavens! man, what’s the matter?” cried the Medical Man, who saw him\nnext. And the whole tableful turned towards the door.\nHe was in an amazing plight. His coat was dusty and dirty, and smeared\nwith green down the sleeves; his hair disordered, and as it seemed to\nme greyer—either with dust and dirt or because its colour had actually\nfaded. His face was ghastly pale; his chin had a brown cut on it—a cut\nhalf-healed; his expression was haggard and drawn, as by intense\nsuffering. For a moment he hesitated in the doorway, as if he had been\ndazzled by the light. Then he came into the room. He walked with just\nsuch a limp as I have seen in footsore tramps. We stared at him in\nsilence, expecting him to speak.\nHe said not a word, but came painfully to the table, and made a motion\ntowards the wine. The Editor filled a glass of champagne, and pushed it\ntowards him. He drained it, and it seemed to do him good: for he looked\nround the table, and the ghost of his old smile flickered across his\nface. “What on earth have you been up to, man?” said the Doctor. The\nTime Traveller did not seem to hear. “Don’t let me disturb you,” he\nsaid, with a certain faltering articulation. “I’m all right.” He\nstopped, held out his glass for more, and took it off at a draught.\n“That’s good,” he said. His eyes grew brighter, and a faint colour came\ninto his cheeks. His glance flickered over our faces with a certain\ndull approval, and then went round the warm and comfortable room. Then\nhe spoke again, still as it were feeling his way among his words. “I’m\ngoing to wash and dress, and then I’ll come down and explain things....\nSave me some of that mutton. I’m starving for a bit of meat.”\nHe looked across at the Editor, who was a rare visitor, and hoped he\nwas all right. The Editor began a question. “Tell you presently,” said\nthe Time Traveller. “I’m—funny! Be all right in a minute.”\nHe put down his glass, and walked towards the staircase door. Again I\nremarked his lameness and the soft padding sound of his footfall, and\nstanding up in my place, I saw his feet as he went out. He had nothing\non them but a pair of tattered, blood-stained socks. Then the door\nclosed upon him. I had half a mind to follow, till I remembered how he\ndetested any fuss about himself. For a minute, perhaps, my mind was\nwool-gathering. Then, “Remarkable Behaviour of an Eminent Scientist,” I\nheard the Editor say, thinking (after his wont) in headlines. And this\nbrought my attention back to the bright dinner-table.\n“What’s the game?” said the Journalist. “Has he been doing the Amateur\nCadger? I don’t follow.” I met the eye of the Psychologist, and read my\nown interpretation in his face. I thought of the Time Traveller limping\npainfully upstairs. I don’t think anyone else had noticed his lameness.\nThe first to recover completely from this surprise was the Medical Man,\nwho rang the bell—the Time Traveller hated to have servants waiting at\ndinner—for a hot plate. At that the Editor turned to his knife and fork\nwith a grunt, and the Silent Man followed suit. The dinner was resumed.\nConversation was exclamatory for a little while with gaps of\nwonderment; and then the Editor got fervent in his curiosity. “Does our\nfriend eke out his modest income with a crossing? or has he his\nNebuchadnezzar phases?” he inquired. “I feel assured it’s this business\nof the Time Machine,” I said, and took up the Psychologist’s account of\nour previous meeting. The new guests were frankly incredulous. The\nEditor raised objections. “What _was_ this time travelling? A man\ncouldn’t cover himself with dust by rolling in a paradox, could he?”\nAnd then, as the idea came home to him, he resorted to caricature.\nHadn’t they any clothes-brushes in the Future? The Journalist too,\nwould not believe at any price, and joined the Editor in the easy work\nof heaping ridicule on the whole thing. They were both the new kind of\njournalist—very joyous, irreverent young men. “Our Special\nCorrespondent in the Day after Tomorrow reports,” the Journalist was\nsaying—or rather shouting—when the Time Traveller came back. He was\ndressed in ordinary evening clothes, and nothing save his haggard look\nremained of the change that had startled me.\n“I say,” said the Editor hilariously, “these chaps here say you have\nbeen travelling into the middle of next week! Tell us all about little\nRosebery, will you? What will you take for the lot?”\nThe Time Traveller came to the place reserved for him without a word.\nHe smiled quietly, in his old way. “Where’s my mutton?” he said. “What\na treat it is to stick a fork into meat again!”\n“Story!” cried the Editor.\n“Story be damned!” said the Time Traveller. “I want something to eat. I\nwon’t say a word until I get some peptone into my arteries. Thanks. And\nthe salt.”\n“One word,” said I. “Have you been time travelling?”\n“Yes,” said the Time Traveller, with his mouth full, nodding his head.\n“I’d give a shilling a line for a verbatim note,” said the Editor. The\nTime Traveller pushed his glass towards the Silent Man and rang it with\nhis fingernail; at which the Silent Man, who had been staring at his\nface, started convulsively, and poured him wine. The rest of the dinner\nwas uncomfortable. For my own part, sudden questions kept on rising to\nmy lips, and I dare say it was the same with the others. The Journalist\ntried to relieve the tension by telling anecdotes of Hettie Potter. The\nTime Traveller devoted his attention to his dinner, and displayed the\nappetite of a tramp. The Medical Man smoked a cigarette, and watched\nthe Time Traveller through his eyelashes. The Silent Man seemed even\nmore clumsy than usual, and drank champagne with regularity and\ndetermination out of sheer nervousness. At last the Time Traveller\npushed his plate away, and looked round us. “I suppose I must\napologise,” he said. “I was simply starving. I’ve had a most amazing\ntime.” He reached out his hand for a cigar, and cut the end. “But come\ninto the smoking-room. It’s too long a story to tell over greasy\nplates.” And ringing the bell in passing, he led the way into the\nadjoining room.\n“You have told Blank, and Dash, and Chose about the machine?” he said\nto me, leaning back in his easy-chair and naming the three new guests.\n“But the thing’s a mere paradox,” said the Editor.\n“I can’t argue tonight. I don’t mind telling you the story, but I can’t\nargue. I will,” he went on, “tell you the story of what has happened to\nme, if you like, but you must refrain from interruptions. I want to\ntell it. Badly. Most of it will sound like lying. So be it! It’s\ntrue—every word of it, all the same. I was in my laboratory at four\no’clock, and since then … I’ve lived eight days … such days as no human\nbeing ever lived before! I’m nearly worn out, but I shan’t sleep till\nI’ve told this thing over to you. Then I shall go to bed. But no\ninterruptions! Is it agreed?”\n“Agreed,” said the Editor, and the rest of us echoed “Agreed.” And with\nthat the Time Traveller began his story as I have set it forth. He sat\nback in his chair at first, and spoke like a weary man. Afterwards he\ngot more animated. In writing it down I feel with only too much\nkeenness the inadequacy of pen and ink—and, above all, my own\ninadequacy—to express its quality. You read, I will suppose,\nattentively enough; but you cannot see the speaker’s white, sincere\nface in the bright circle of the little lamp, nor hear the intonation\nof his voice. You cannot know how his expression followed the turns of\nhis story! Most of us hearers were in shadow, for the candles in the\nsmoking-room had not been lighted, and only the face of the Journalist\nand the legs of the Silent Man from the knees downward were\nilluminated. At first we glanced now and again at each other. After a\ntime we ceased to do that, and looked only at the Time Traveller’s\nface.\n IV.\n Time Travelling\n“I told some of you last Thursday of the principles of the Time\nMachine, and showed you the actual thing itself, incomplete in the\nworkshop. There it is now, a little travel-worn, truly; and one of the\nivory bars is cracked, and a brass rail bent; but the rest of it’s\nsound enough. I expected to finish it on Friday; but on Friday, when\nthe putting together was nearly done, I found that one of the nickel\nbars was exactly one inch too short, and this I had to get remade; so\nthat the thing was not complete until this morning. It was at ten\no’clock today that the first of all Time Machines began its career. I\ngave it a last tap, tried all the screws again, put one more drop of\noil on the quartz rod, and sat myself in the saddle. I suppose a\nsuicide who holds a pistol to his skull feels much the same wonder at\nwhat will come next as I felt then. I took the starting lever in one\nhand and the stopping one in the other, pressed the first, and almost\nimmediately the second. I seemed to reel; I felt a nightmare sensation\nof falling; and, looking round, I saw the laboratory exactly as before.\nHad anything happened? For a moment I suspected that my intellect had\ntricked me. Then I noted the clock. A moment before, as it seemed, it\nhad stood at a minute or so past ten; now it was nearly half-past\nthree!\n“I drew a breath, set my teeth, gripped the starting lever with both\nhands, and went off with a thud. The laboratory got hazy and went dark.\nMrs. Watchett came in and walked, apparently without seeing me, towards\nthe garden door. I suppose it took her a minute or so to traverse the\nplace, but to me she seemed to shoot across the room like a rocket. I\npressed the lever over to its extreme position. The night came like the\nturning out of a lamp, and in another moment came tomorrow. The\nlaboratory grew faint and hazy, then fainter and ever fainter. Tomorrow\nnight came black, then day again, night again, day again, faster and\nfaster still. An eddying murmur filled my ears, and a strange, dumb\nconfusedness descended on my mind.\n“I am afraid I cannot convey the peculiar sensations of time\ntravelling. They are excessively unpleasant. There is a feeling exactly\nlike that one has upon a switchback—of a helpless headlong motion! I\nfelt the same horrible anticipation, too, of an imminent smash. As I\nput on pace, night followed day like the flapping of a black wing. The\ndim suggestion of the laboratory seemed presently to fall away from me,\nand I saw the sun hopping swiftly across the sky, leaping it every\nminute, and every minute marking a day. I supposed the laboratory had\nbeen destroyed and I had come into the open air. I had a dim impression\nof scaffolding, but I was already going too fast to be conscious of any\nmoving things. The slowest snail that ever crawled dashed by too fast\nfor me. The twinkling succession of darkness and light was excessively\npainful to the eye. Then, in the intermittent darknesses, I saw the\nmoon spinning swiftly through her quarters from new to full, and had a\nfaint glimpse of the circling stars. Presently, as I went on, still\ngaining velocity, the palpitation of night and day merged into one\ncontinuous greyness; the sky took on a wonderful deepness of blue, a\nsplendid luminous colour like that of early twilight; the jerking sun\nbecame a streak of fire, a brilliant arch, in space; the moon a fainter\nfluctuating band; and I could see nothing of the stars, save now and\nthen a brighter circle flickering in the blue.\n“The landscape was misty and vague. I was still on the hillside upon\nwhich this house now stands, and the shoulder rose above me grey and\ndim. I saw trees growing and changing like puffs of vapour, now brown,\nnow green; they grew, spread, shivered, and passed away. I saw huge\nbuildings rise up faint and fair, and pass like dreams. The whole\nsurface of the earth seemed changed—melting and flowing under my eyes.\nThe little hands upon the dials that registered my speed raced round\nfaster and faster. Presently I noted that the sun belt swayed up and\ndown, from solstice to solstice, in a minute or less, and that\nconsequently my pace was over a year a minute; and minute by minute the\nwhite snow flashed across the world, and vanished, and was followed by\nthe bright, brief green of spring.\n“The unpleasant sensations of the start were less poignant now. They\nmerged at last into a kind of hysterical exhilaration. I remarked,\nindeed, a clumsy swaying of the machine, for which I was unable to\naccount. But my mind was too confused to attend to it, so with a kind\nof madness growing upon me, I flung myself into futurity. At first I\nscarce thought of stopping, scarce thought of anything but these new\nsensations. But presently a fresh series of impressions grew up in my\nmind—a certain curiosity and therewith a certain dread—until at last\nthey took complete possession of me. What strange developments of\nhumanity, what wonderful advances upon our rudimentary civilisation, I\nthought, might not appear when I came to look nearly into the dim\nelusive world that raced", "source": "timemachine", "length": 8000, "id": 8}
{"text": "Summarize in plain English: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle\nI. A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA\nI.\nTo Sherlock Holmes she is always _the_ woman. I have seldom heard him\nmention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and\npredominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion\nakin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly,\nwere abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He\nwas, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that\nthe world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a\nfalse position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe\nand a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer—excellent for\ndrawing the veil from men’s motives and actions. But for the trained\nreasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely\nadjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might\nthrow a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive\ninstrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not\nbe more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And\nyet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene\nAdler, of dubious and questionable memory.\nI had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away\nfrom each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred\ninterests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master\nof his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention,\nwhile Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian\nsoul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old\nbooks, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition,\nthe drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen\nnature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime,\nand occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of\nobservation in following out those clues, and clearing up those\nmysteries which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police.\nFrom time to time I heard some vague account of his doings: of his\nsummons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up\nof the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and\nfinally of the mission which he had accomplished so delicately and\nsuccessfully for the reigning family of Holland. Beyond these signs of\nhis activity, however, which I merely shared with all the readers of\nthe daily press, I knew little of my former friend and companion.\nOne night—it was on the twentieth of March, 1888—I was returning from a\njourney to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when\nmy way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered\ndoor, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and\nwith the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a\nkeen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his\nextraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I\nlooked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette\nagainst the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his\nhead sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who\nknew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own\nstory. He was at work again. He had risen out of his drug-created\ndreams and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell\nand was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.\nHis manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I think,\nto see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved\nme to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a\nspirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the fire\nand looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.\n“Wedlock suits you,” he remarked. “I think, Watson, that you have put\non seven and a half pounds since I saw you.”\n“Seven!” I answered.\n“Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, I\nfancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell me\nthat you intended to go into harness.”\n“Then, how do you know?”\n“I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting\nyourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless\nservant girl?”\n“My dear Holmes,” said I, “this is too much. You would certainly have\nbeen burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had a\ncountry walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as I\nhave changed my clothes I can’t imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary\nJane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice, but there,\nagain, I fail to see how you work it out.”\nHe chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together.\n“It is simplicity itself,” said he; “my eyes tell me that on the inside\nof your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather is\nscored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused by\nsomeone who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in\norder to remove crusted mud from it. Hence, you see, my double\ndeduction that you had been out in vile weather, and that you had a\nparticularly malignant boot-slitting specimen of the London slavey. As\nto your practice, if a gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of\niodoform, with a black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right\nforefinger, and a bulge on the right side of his top-hat to show where\nhe has secreted his stethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not\npronounce him to be an active member of the medical profession.”\nI could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his\nprocess of deduction. “When I hear you give your reasons,” I remarked,\n“the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously simple that I\ncould easily do it myself, though at each successive instance of your\nreasoning I am baffled until you explain your process. And yet I\nbelieve that my eyes are as good as yours.”\n“Quite so,” he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself\ndown into an armchair. “You see, but you do not observe. The\ndistinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps\nwhich lead up from the hall to this room.”\n“Frequently.”\n“How often?”\n“Well, some hundreds of times.”\n“Then how many are there?”\n“How many? I don’t know.”\n“Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just\nmy point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I have\nboth seen and observed. By the way, since you are interested in these\nlittle problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two\nof my trifling experiences, you may be interested in this.” He threw\nover a sheet of thick, pink-tinted notepaper which had been lying open\nupon the table. “It came by the last post,” said he. “Read it aloud.”\nThe note was undated, and without either signature or address.\n“There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o’clock,” it\nsaid, “a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very\ndeepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses of\nEurope have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with\nmatters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated.\nThis account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your\nchamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor\nwear a mask.”\n“This is indeed a mystery,” I remarked. “What do you imagine that it\nmeans?”\n“I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorise before one has\ndata. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of\ntheories to suit facts. But the note itself. What do you deduce from\nit?”\nI carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was\nwritten.\n“The man who wrote it was presumably well to do,” I remarked,\nendeavouring to imitate my companion’s processes. “Such paper could not\nbe bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong and\nstiff.”\n“Peculiar—that is the very word,” said Holmes. “It is not an English\npaper at all. Hold it up to the light.”\nI did so, and saw a large “E” with a small “g,” a “P,” and a large “G”\nwith a small “t” woven into the texture of the paper.\n“What do you make of that?” asked Holmes.\n“The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather.”\n“Not at all. The ‘G’ with the small ‘t’ stands for ‘Gesellschaft,’\nwhich is the German for ‘Company.’ It is a customary contraction like\nour ‘Co.’ ‘P,’ of course, stands for ‘Papier.’ Now for the ‘Eg.’ Let us\nglance at our Continental Gazetteer.” He took down a heavy brown volume\nfrom his shelves. “Eglow, Eglonitz—here we are, Egria. It is in a\nGerman-speaking country—in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. ‘Remarkable\nas being the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous\nglass-factories and paper-mills.’ Ha, ha, my boy, what do you make of\nthat?” His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud\nfrom his cigarette.\n“The paper was made in Bohemia,” I said.\n“Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you note the\npeculiar construction of the sentence—‘This account of you we have from\nall quarters received.’ A Frenchman or Russian could not have written\nthat. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It only\nremains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this German who\nwrites upon Bohemian paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his\nface. And here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our\ndoubts.”\nAs he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses’ hoofs and grating\nwheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmes\nwhistled.\n“A pair, by the sound,” said he. “Yes,” he continued, glancing out of\nthe window. “A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred\nand fifty guineas apiece. There’s money in this case, Watson, if there\nis nothing else.”\n“I think that I had better go, Holmes.”\n“Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my Boswell.\nAnd this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity to miss it.”\n“But your client—”\n“Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he comes.\nSit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your best attention.”\nA slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in the\npassage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a loud and\nauthoritative tap.\n“Come in!” said Holmes.\nA man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inches\nin height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was rich\nwith a richness which would, in England, be looked upon as akin to bad\ntaste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and\nfronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was\nthrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and\nsecured at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flaming\nberyl. Boots which extended halfway up his calves, and which were\ntrimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of\nbarbaric opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. He\ncarried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper\npart of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black vizard\nmask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand\nwas still raised to it as he entered. From the lower part of the face\nhe appeared to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip,\nand a long, straight chin suggestive of resolution pushed to the length\nof obstinacy.\n“You had my note?” he asked with a deep harsh voice and a strongly\nmarked German accent. “I told you that I would call.” He looked from\none to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address.\n“Pray take a seat,” said Holmes. “This is my friend and colleague, Dr.\nWatson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases. Whom\nhave I the honour to address?”\n“You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I\nunderstand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and\ndiscretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme\nimportance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you\nalone.”\nI rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into\nmy chair. “It is both, or none,” said he. “You may say before this\ngentleman anything which you may say to me.”\nThe Count shrugged his broad shoulders. “Then I must begin,” said he,\n“by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of\nthat time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too\nmuch to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon\nEuropean history.”\n“I promise,” said Holmes.\n“And I.”\n“You will excuse this mask,” continued our strange visitor. “The august\nperson who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may\nconfess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is\nnot exactly my own.”\n“I was aware of it,” said Holmes dryly.\n“The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to\nbe taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal and\nseriously compromise one of the reigning families of Europe. To speak\nplainly, the matter implicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary\nkings of Bohemia.”\n“I was also aware of that,” murmured Holmes, settling himself down in\nhis armchair and closing his eyes.\nOur visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid,\nlounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him as the\nmost incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmes\nslowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client.\n“If your Majesty would condescend to state your case,” he remarked, “I\nshould be better able to advise you.”\nThe man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in\nuncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore\nthe mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. “You are right,”\nhe cried; “I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?”\n“Why, indeed?” murmured Holmes. “Your Majesty had not spoken before I\nwas aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von\nOrmstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of\nBohemia.”\n“But you can understand,” said our strange visitor, sitting down once\nmore and passing his hand over his high white forehead, “you can\nunderstand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in my own\nperson. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to\nan agent without putting myself in his power. I have come _incognito_\nfrom Prague for the purpose of consulting you.”\n“Then, pray consult,” said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.\n“The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy\nvisit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress,\nIrene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you.”\n“Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,” murmured Holmes without\nopening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketing\nall paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to\nname a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish\ninformation. In this case I found her biography sandwiched in between\nthat of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had written a\nmonograph upon the deep-sea fishes.\n“Let me see!” said Holmes. “Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year 1858.\nContralto—hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of Warsaw—yes!\nRetired from operatic stage—ha! Living in London—quite so! Your\nMajesty, as I understand, became entangled with this young person,\nwrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of getting\nthose letters back.”\n“Precisely so. But how—”\n“Was there a secret marriage?”\n“None.”\n“No legal papers or certificates?”\n“None.”\n“Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person should\nproduce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to\nprove their authenticity?”\n“There is the writing.”\n“Pooh, pooh! Forgery.”\n“My private note-paper.”\n“Stolen.”\n“My own seal.”\n“Imitated.”\n“My photograph.”\n“Bought.”\n“We were both in the photograph.”\n“Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed an\nindiscretion.”\n“I was mad—insane.”\n“You have compromised yourself seriously.”\n“I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now.”\n“It must be recovered.”\n“We have tried and failed.”\n“Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought.”\n“She will not sell.”\n“Stolen, then.”\n“Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her\nhouse. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has\nbeen waylaid. There has been no result.”\n“No sign of it?”\n“Absolutely none.”\nHolmes laughed. “It is quite a pretty little problem,” said he.\n“But a very serious one to me,” returned the King reproachfully.\n“Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the photograph?”\n“To ruin me.”\n“But how?”\n“I am about to be married.”\n“So I have heard.”\n“To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, second daughter of the King of\nScandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her family. She is\nherself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a doubt as to my conduct\nwould bring the matter to an end.”\n“And Irene Adler?”\n“Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I know that\nshe will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. She\nhas the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of the most\nresolute of men. Rather than I should marry another woman, there are no\nlengths to which she would not go—none.”\n“You are sure that she has not sent it yet?”\n“I am sure.”\n“And why?”\n“Because she has said that she would send it on the day when the\nbetrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday.”\n“Oh, then we have three days yet,” said Holmes with a yawn. “That is\nvery fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to look into\njust at present. Your Majesty will, of course, stay in London for the\npresent?”\n“Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name of the Count\nVon Kramm.”\n“Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress.”\n“Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety.”\n“Then, as to money?”\n“You have _carte blanche_.”\n“Absolutely?”\n“I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom to\nhave that photograph.”\n“And for present expenses?”\nThe King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak and laid\nit on the table.\n“There are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in notes,” he\nsaid.\nHolmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and handed it\nto him.\n“And Mademoiselle’s address?” he asked.\n“Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John’s Wood.”\nHolmes took a note of it. “One other question,” said he. “Was the\nphotograph a cabinet?”\n“It was.”\n“Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soon have\nsome good news for you. And good-night, Watson,” he added, as the\nwheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. “If you will be\ngood enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three o’clock I should like\nto chat this little matter over with you.”\nII.\nAt three o’clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not\nyet returned. The landlady informed me that he had left the house\nshortly after eight o’clock in the morning. I sat down beside the fire,\nhowever, with the intention of awaiting him, however long he might be.\nI was already deeply interested in his inquiry, for, though it was\nsurrounded by none of the grim and strange features which were\nassociated with the two crimes which I have already recorded, still,\nthe nature of the case and the exalted station of his client gave it a\ncharacter of its own. Indeed, apart from the nature of the\ninvestigation which my friend had on hand, there was something in his\nmasterly grasp of a situation, and his keen, incisive reasoning, which\nmade it a pleasure to me to study his system of work, and to follow the\nquick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the most inextricable\nmysteries. So accustomed was I to his invariable success that the very\npossibility of his failing had ceased to enter into my head.\nIt was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-looking\ngroom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face and\ndisreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed as I was to my\nfriend’s amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look three\ntimes before I was certain that it was indeed he. With a nod he\nvanished into the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes\ntweed-suited and respectable, as of old. Putting his hands into his\npockets, he stretched out his legs in front of the fire and laughed\nheartily for some minutes.\n“Well, really!” he cried, and then he choked and laughed again until he\nwas obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the chair.\n“What is it?”\n“It’s quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how I employed\nmy morning, or what I ended by doing.”\n“I can’t imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the habits, and\nperhaps the house, of Miss Irene Adler.”\n“Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you, however.\nI left the house a little after eight o’clock this morning in the\ncharacter of a groom out of work. There is a wonderful sympathy and\nfreemasonry among horsey men. Be one of them, and you will know all\nthat there is to know. I soon found Briony Lodge. It is a _bijou_\nvilla, with a garden at the back, but built out in front right up to\nthe road, two stories. Chubb lock to the door. Large sitting-room on\nthe right side, well furnished, with long windows almost to the floor,\nand those preposterous English window fasteners which a child could\nopen. Behind there was nothing remarkable, save that the passage window\ncould be reached from the top of the coach-house. I walked round it and\nexamined it closely from every point of view, but without noting\nanything else of interest.\n“I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, that there\nwas a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. I lent\nthe ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and received in\nexchange twopence, a glass of half-and-half, two fills of shag tobacco,\nand as much information as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say\nnothing of half a dozen other people in the neighbourhood in whom I was\nnot in the least interested, but whose biographies I was compelled to\nlisten to.”\n“And what of Irene Adler?” I asked.\n“Oh, she has turned all the men’s heads down in that part. She is the\ndaintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say the\nSerpentine-mews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives\nout at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom\ngoes out at other times, except when she sings. Has only one male\nvisitor, but a good deal of him. He is dark, handsome, and dashing,\nnever calls less than once a day, and often twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey\nNorton, of the Inner Temple. See the advantages of a cabman as a\nconfidant. They had driven him home a dozen times from Serpentine-mews,\nand knew all about him. When I had listened to all they had to tell, I\nbegan to walk up and down near Briony Lodge once more, and to think\nover my plan of campaign.\n“This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in the matter.\nHe was a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was the relation between\nthem, and what the object of his repeated visits? Was she his client,\nhis friend, or his mistress? If the former, she had probably\ntransferred the photograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was less\nlikely. On the issue of this question depended whether I should\ncontinue my work at Briony Lodge, or turn my attention to the\ngentleman’s chambers in the Temple. It was a delicate point, and it\nwidened the field of my inquiry. I fear that I bore you with these\ndetails, but I have to let you see my little difficulties, if you are\nto understand the situation.”\n“I am following you closely,” I answered.\n“I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom cab drove up\nto Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. He was a remarkably\nhandsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached—evidently the man of whom\nI had heard. He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the cabman\nto wait, and brushed past the maid who opened the door with the air of\na man who was thoroughly at home.\n“He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch glimpses of\nhim in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and down, talking\nexcitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I could see nothing. Presently\nhe emerged, looking even more flurried than before. As he stepped up to\nthe cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it\nearnestly, ‘Drive like the devil,’ he shouted, ‘first to Gross &\nHankey’s in Regent Street, and then to the Church of St. Monica in the\nEdgeware Road. Half a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!’\n“Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do well\nto follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau, the coachman\nwith his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under his ear, while all\nthe tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles. It hadn’t\npulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it. I only\ncaught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, with\na face that a man might die for.\n“‘The Church of St. Monica, John,’ she cried, ‘and half a sovereign if\nyou reach it in twenty minutes.’\n“This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancing whether\nI should run for it, or whether I should perch behind her landau when a\ncab came through the street. The driver looked twice at such a shabby\nfare, but I jumped in before he could object. ‘The Church of St.\nMonica,’ said I, ‘and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty\nminutes.’ It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and of course it was\nclear enough what was in the wind.\n“My cabby drove fast. I don’t think I ever drove faster, but the others\nwere there before us. The cab and the landau with their steaming horses\nwere in front of the door when I arrived. I paid the man and hurried\ninto the church. There was not a soul there save the two whom I had\nfollowed and a surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating with\nthem. They were all three standing in a knot in front of the altar. I\nlounged up the side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a\nchurch. Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to\nme, and Godfrey Norton came running as hard as he could towards me.\n“‘Thank God,’ he cried. ‘You’ll do. Come! Come!’\n“‘What then?’ I asked.\n“‘Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won’t be legal.’\n“I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I was I\nfound myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear, and\nvouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generally assisting in\nthe secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey Norton,\nbachelor. It was all done in an instant, and there was the gentleman\nthanking me on the one side and the lady on the other, while the\nclergyman beamed on me in front. It was the most preposterous position\nin which I ever found myself in my life, and it was the thought of it\nthat started me laughing just now. It seems that there had been some\ninformality about their license, that the clergyman absolutely refused\nto marry them without a witness of some sort, and that my lucky\nappearance saved the bridegroom from having to sally out into the\nstreets in search of a best man. The bride gave me a sovereign, and I\nmean to wear it on my watch chain in memory of the occasion.”\n“This is a very unexpected turn of affairs,” said I; “and what then?”\n“Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It looked as if the\npair might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate very prompt\nand energetic measures on my part. At the church door, however, they\nseparated, he driving back to the Temple, and she to her own house. ‘I\nshall drive out in the park at five as usual,’ she said as she left\nhim. I heard no more. They drove away in different directions, and I\nwent off to make my own arrangements.”\n“Which are?”\n“Some cold beef and a glass of beer,” he answered, ringing the bell. “I\nhave been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to be busier still\nthis evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want your co-operation.”\n“I shall be delighted.”\n“You don’t mind breaking the law?”\n“Not in the least.”\n“Nor running a chance of arrest?”\n“Not in a good cause.”\n“Oh, the cause is excellent!”\n“Then I am your man.”\n“I was sure that I might rely on you.”\n“But what is it you wish?”\n“When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clear to you.\nNow,” he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that our\nlandlady had provided, “I must discuss it while I eat, for I have not\nmuch time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must be on the scene\nof action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive at\nseven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her.”\n“And what then?”\n“You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to occur.\nThere is only one point on which I must insist. You must not interfere,\ncome what may. You understand?”\n“I am to be neutral?”\n“To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small\nunpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being conveyed\ninto the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room window\nwill open. You are to station yourself close to that open window.”\n“Yes.”\n“You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you.”\n“Yes.”\n“And when I raise my hand—so—you will throw into the room what I give\nyou to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. You\nquite follow me?”\n“Entirely.”\n“It is nothing very formidable,” he said, taking a long cigar-shaped\nroll from his pocket. “It is an ordinary plumber’s smoke-rocket, fitted\nwith a cap at either end to make it self-lighting. Your task is\nconfined to that. When you raise your cry of fire, it will be taken up\nby quite a number of people. You may then walk to the end of the\nstreet, and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have made\nmyself clear?”\n“I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and at\nthe signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire, and\nto wait you at the corner of the street.”\n“Precisely.”\n“Then you may entirely rely on me.”\n“That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I prepare\nfor the new role I have to play.”\nHe disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in the\ncharacter of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. His\nbroad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic\nsmile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such\nas Mr. John Hare alone could have equalled. It was not merely that\nHolmes changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul\nseemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a\nfine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a\nspecialist in crime.\nIt was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still\nwanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine\nAvenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as\nwe paced up and down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming\nof its occupant. The house was just such as I had pictured it from\nSherlock Holmes’ succinct description, but the locality appeared to be\nless private than I expected. On the contrary, for a small street in a\nquiet neighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. There was a group of\nshabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a\nscissors-grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a\nnurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who were lounging up and\ndown with cigars in their mouths.\n“You see,” remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of the\nhouse, “this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photograph becomes\na double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she would be as averse\nto its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton, as our client is to its coming\nto the eyes of his princess. Now the question is, Where are we to find\nthe photograph?”\n“Where, indeed?”\n“It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is cabinet\nsize. Too large for easy concealment about a woman’s dress. She knows\nthat the King is capable of having her waylaid and searched. Two\nattempts of the sort have already been made. We may take it, then, that\nshe does not carry it about with her.”\n“Where, then?”\n“Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But I am\ninclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they like\nto do their own secreting. Why should she hand it over to anyone else?\nShe could trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell what\nindirect or political influence might be brought to bear upon a\nbusiness man. Besides, remember that she had resolved to use it within\na few days. It must be where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be\nin her own house.”\n“But it has twice been burgled.”\n“Pshaw! They did not know how to look.”\n“But how will you look?”\n“I will not look.”\n“What then?”\n“I will get her to show me.”\n“But she will refuse.”\n“She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is her\ncarriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter.”\nAs he spoke the gleam of the sidelights of a carriage came round the\ncurve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which rattled up to\nthe door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of the loafing men at\nthe corner dashed forward to open the door in the hope of earning a\ncopper, but was elbowed away by another loafer, who had rushed up with\nthe same intention. A fierce quarrel broke out, which was increased by\nthe two guardsmen, who took sides with one of the loungers, and by the\nscissors-grinder, who was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was\nstruck, and in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage,\nwas the centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who\nstruck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes\ndashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but, just as he reached her,\nhe gave a cry and dropped to the ground, with the blood running freely\ndown his face. At his fall the guardsmen took to their heels in one\ndirection and the loungers in the other, while a number of better\ndressed people, who had watched the scuffle without taking part in it,\ncrowded in to help the lady and to attend to the injured man. Irene\nAdler, as I will still call her, had hurried up the steps; but she\nstood at the top with her superb figure outlined against the lights of\nthe hall, looking back into the street.\n“Is the poor gentleman much hurt?” she asked.\n“He is dead,” cried several voices.\n“No, no, there’s life in him!” shouted another. “But he’ll be gone\nbefore you can get him to hospital.”\n“He’s a brave fellow,” said a woman. “They would have had the lady’s\npurse and watch if it hadn’t been for him. They were a gang, and a\nrough one, too. Ah, he’s breathing now.”\n“He can’t lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?”\n“Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is a comfortable sofa.\nThis way, please!”\nSlowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge and laid out in the\nprincipal room, while I still observed the proceedings from my post by\nthe window. The lamps had been lit, but the blinds had not been drawn,\nso that I could see Holmes as he lay upon the couch. I do not know\nwhether he was seized with compunction at that moment for the part he\nwas playing, but I know that I never felt more heartily ashamed of\nmyself in my life than when I saw the beautiful creature against whom I\nwas conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which she waited upon\nthe injured man. And yet it would be the blackest treachery to Holmes\nto draw back now from the part which he had intrusted to me. I hardened\nmy heart, and took the smoke-rocket from under my ulster. After all, I\nthought, we are not injuring her. We are but preventing her from\ninjuring another.\nHolmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motion like a man who\nis in need of air. A maid rushed across and threw open the window. At\nthe same instant I saw him raise his hand and at the signal I tossed my\nrocket into the room with a cry of “Fire!” The word was no sooner out\nof my mouth than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed and\nill—gentlemen, ostlers, and servant maids—joined in a general shriek of\n“Fire!” Thick clouds of smoke curled through the room and out at the\nopen window. I caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later\nthe voice of Holmes from within assuring them that it was a false\nalarm. Slipping through the shouting crowd I made my way to the corner\n", "source": "sherlock", "length": 9000, "id": 9}
{"text": "Summarize in plain English: CHAPTER I.\nLooking-Glass house\nOne thing was certain, that the _white_ kitten had had nothing to do\nwith it:—it was the black kitten’s fault entirely. For the white kitten\nhad been having its face washed by the old cat for the last quarter of\nan hour (and bearing it pretty well, considering); so you see that it\n_couldn’t_ have had any hand in the mischief.\nThe way Dinah washed her children’s faces was this: first she held the\npoor thing down by its ear with one paw, and then with the other paw\nshe rubbed its face all over, the wrong way, beginning at the nose: and\njust now, as I said, she was hard at work on the white kitten, which\nwas lying quite still and trying to purr—no doubt feeling that it was\nall meant for its good.\nBut the black kitten had been finished with earlier in the afternoon,\nand so, while Alice was sitting curled up in a corner of the great\narm-chair, half talking to herself and half asleep, the kitten had been\nhaving a grand game of romps with the ball of worsted Alice had been\ntrying to wind up, and had been rolling it up and down till it had all\ncome undone again; and there it was, spread over the hearth-rug, all\nknots and tangles, with the kitten running after its own tail in the\nmiddle.\n“Oh, you wicked little thing!” cried Alice, catching up the kitten, and\ngiving it a little kiss to make it understand that it was in disgrace.\n“Really, Dinah ought to have taught you better manners! You _ought_,\nDinah, you know you ought!” she added, looking reproachfully at the old\ncat, and speaking in as cross a voice as she could manage—and then she\nscrambled back into the arm-chair, taking the kitten and the worsted\nwith her, and began winding up the ball again. But she didn’t get on\nvery fast, as she was talking all the time, sometimes to the kitten,\nand sometimes to herself. Kitty sat very demurely on her knee,\npretending to watch the progress of the winding, and now and then\nputting out one paw and gently touching the ball, as if it would be\nglad to help, if it might.\n“Do you know what to-morrow is, Kitty?” Alice began. “You’d have\nguessed if you’d been up in the window with me—only Dinah was making\nyou tidy, so you couldn’t. I was watching the boys getting in sticks\nfor the bonfire—and it wants plenty of sticks, Kitty! Only it got so\ncold, and it snowed so, they had to leave off. Never mind, Kitty, we’ll\ngo and see the bonfire to-morrow.” Here Alice wound two or three turns\nof the worsted round the kitten’s neck, just to see how it would look:\nthis led to a scramble, in which the ball rolled down upon the floor,\nand yards and yards of it got unwound again.\n“Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,” Alice went on as soon as they\nwere comfortably settled again, “when I saw all the mischief you had\nbeen doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out\ninto the snow! And you’d have deserved it, you little mischievous\ndarling! What have you got to say for yourself? Now don’t interrupt\nme!” she went on, holding up one finger. “I’m going to tell you all\nyour faults. Number one: you squeaked twice while Dinah was washing\nyour face this morning. Now you can’t deny it, Kitty: I heard you!\nWhat’s that you say?” (pretending that the kitten was speaking.) “Her\npaw went into your eye? Well, that’s _your_ fault, for keeping your\neyes open—if you’d shut them tight up, it wouldn’t have happened. Now\ndon’t make any more excuses, but listen! Number two: you pulled\nSnowdrop away by the tail just as I had put down the saucer of milk\nbefore her! What, you were thirsty, were you? How do you know she\nwasn’t thirsty too? Now for number three: you unwound every bit of the\nworsted while I wasn’t looking!\n“That’s three faults, Kitty, and you’ve not been punished for any of\nthem yet. You know I’m saving up all your punishments for Wednesday\nweek—Suppose they had saved up all _my_ punishments!” she went on,\ntalking more to herself than the kitten. “What _would_ they do at the\nend of a year? I should be sent to prison, I suppose, when the day\ncame. Or—let me see—suppose each punishment was to be going without a\ndinner: then, when the miserable day came, I should have to go without\nfifty dinners at once! Well, I shouldn’t mind _that_ much! I’d far\nrather go without them than eat them!\n“Do you hear the snow against the window-panes, Kitty? How nice and\nsoft it sounds! Just as if some one was kissing the window all over\noutside. I wonder if the snow _loves_ the trees and fields, that it\nkisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with\na white quilt; and perhaps it says, ‘Go to sleep, darlings, till the\nsummer comes again.’ And when they wake up in the summer, Kitty, they\ndress themselves all in green, and dance about—whenever the wind\nblows—oh, that’s very pretty!” cried Alice, dropping the ball of\nworsted to clap her hands. “And I do so _wish_ it was true! I’m sure\nthe woods look sleepy in the autumn, when the leaves are getting brown.\n“Kitty, can you play chess? Now, don’t smile, my dear, I’m asking it\nseriously. Because, when we were playing just now, you watched just as\nif you understood it: and when I said ‘Check!’ you purred! Well, it\n_was_ a nice check, Kitty, and really I might have won, if it hadn’t\nbeen for that nasty Knight, that came wiggling down among my pieces.\nKitty, dear, let’s pretend—” And here I wish I could tell you half the\nthings Alice used to say, beginning with her favourite phrase “Let’s\npretend.” She had had quite a long argument with her sister only the\nday before—all because Alice had begun with “Let’s pretend we’re kings\nand queens;” and her sister, who liked being very exact, had argued\nthat they couldn’t, because there were only two of them, and Alice had\nbeen reduced at last to say, “Well, _you_ can be one of them then, and\n_I’ll_ be all the rest.” And once she had really frightened her old\nnurse by shouting suddenly in her ear, “Nurse! Do let’s pretend that\nI’m a hungry hyaena, and you’re a bone.”\nBut this is taking us away from Alice’s speech to the kitten. “Let’s\npretend that you’re the Red Queen, Kitty! Do you know, I think if you\nsat up and folded your arms, you’d look exactly like her. Now do try,\nthere’s a dear!” And Alice got the Red Queen off the table, and set it\nup before the kitten as a model for it to imitate: however, the thing\ndidn’t succeed, principally, Alice said, because the kitten wouldn’t\nfold its arms properly. So, to punish it, she held it up to the\nLooking-glass, that it might see how sulky it was—“and if you’re not\ngood directly,” she added, “I’ll put you through into Looking-glass\nHouse. How would you like _that_?”\n“Now, if you’ll only attend, Kitty, and not talk so much, I’ll tell you\nall my ideas about Looking-glass House. First, there’s the room you can\nsee through the glass—that’s just the same as our drawing room, only\nthe things go the other way. I can see all of it when I get upon a\nchair—all but the bit behind the fireplace. Oh! I do so wish I could\nsee _that_ bit! I want so much to know whether they’ve a fire in the\nwinter: you never _can_ tell, you know, unless our fire smokes, and\nthen smoke comes up in that room too—but that may be only pretence,\njust to make it look as if they had a fire. Well then, the books are\nsomething like our books, only the words go the wrong way; I know that,\nbecause I’ve held up one of our books to the glass, and then they hold\nup one in the other room.\n“How would you like to live in Looking-glass House, Kitty? I wonder if\nthey’d give you milk in there? Perhaps Looking-glass milk isn’t good to\ndrink—But oh, Kitty! now we come to the passage. You can just see a\nlittle _peep_ of the passage in Looking-glass House, if you leave the\ndoor of our drawing-room wide open: and it’s very like our passage as\nfar as you can see, only you know it may be quite different on beyond.\nOh, Kitty! how nice it would be if we could only get through into\nLooking-glass House! I’m sure it’s got, oh! such beautiful things in\nit! Let’s pretend there’s a way of getting through into it, somehow,\nKitty. Let’s pretend the glass has got all soft like gauze, so that we\ncan get through. Why, it’s turning into a sort of mist now, I declare!\nIt’ll be easy enough to get through—” She was up on the chimney-piece\nwhile she said this, though she hardly knew how she had got there. And\ncertainly the glass _was_ beginning to melt away, just like a bright\nsilvery mist.\nIn another moment Alice was through the glass, and had jumped lightly\ndown into the Looking-glass room. The very first thing she did was to\nlook whether there was a fire in the fireplace, and she was quite\npleased to find that there was a real one, blazing away as brightly as\nthe one she had left behind. “So I shall be as warm here as I was in\nthe old room,” thought Alice: “warmer, in fact, because there’ll be no\none here to scold me away from the fire. Oh, what fun it’ll be, when\nthey see me through the glass in here, and can’t get at me!”\nThen she began looking about, and noticed that what could be seen from\nthe old room was quite common and uninteresting, but that all the rest\nwas as different as possible. For instance, the pictures on the wall\nnext the fire seemed to be all alive, and the very clock on the\nchimney-piece (you know you can only see the back of it in the\nLooking-glass) had got the face of a little old man, and grinned at\nher.\n“They don’t keep this room so tidy as the other,” Alice thought to\nherself, as she noticed several of the chessmen down in the hearth\namong the cinders: but in another moment, with a little “Oh!” of\nsurprise, she was down on her hands and knees watching them. The\nchessmen were walking about, two and two!\n“Here are the Red King and the Red Queen,” Alice said (in a whisper,\nfor fear of frightening them), “and there are the White King and the\nWhite Queen sitting on the edge of the shovel—and here are two castles\nwalking arm in arm—I don’t think they can hear me,” she went on, as she\nput her head closer down, “and I’m nearly sure they can’t see me. I\nfeel somehow as if I were invisible—”\nHere something began squeaking on the table behind Alice, and made her\nturn her head just in time to see one of the White Pawns roll over and\nbegin kicking: she watched it with great curiosity to see what would\nhappen next.\n“It is the voice of my child!” the White Queen cried out as she rushed\npast the King, so violently that she knocked him over among the\ncinders. “My precious Lily! My imperial kitten!” and she began\nscrambling wildly up the side of the fender.\n“Imperial fiddlestick!” said the King, rubbing his nose, which had been\nhurt by the fall. He had a right to be a _little_ annoyed with the\nQueen, for he was covered with ashes from head to foot.\nAlice was very anxious to be of use, and, as the poor little Lily was\nnearly screaming herself into a fit, she hastily picked up the Queen\nand set her on the table by the side of her noisy little daughter.\nThe Queen gasped, and sat down: the rapid journey through the air had\nquite taken away her breath and for a minute or two she could do\nnothing but hug the little Lily in silence. As soon as she had\nrecovered her breath a little, she called out to the White King, who\nwas sitting sulkily among the ashes, “Mind the volcano!”\n“What volcano?” said the King, looking up anxiously into the fire, as\nif he thought that was the most likely place to find one.\n“Blew—me—up,” panted the Queen, who was still a little out of breath.\n“Mind you come up—the regular way—don’t get blown up!”\nAlice watched the White King as he slowly struggled up from bar to bar,\ntill at last she said, “Why, you’ll be hours and hours getting to the\ntable, at that rate. I’d far better help you, hadn’t I?” But the King\ntook no notice of the question: it was quite clear that he could\nneither hear her nor see her.\nSo Alice picked him up very gently, and lifted him across more slowly\nthan she had lifted the Queen, that she mightn’t take his breath away:\nbut, before she put him on the table, she thought she might as well\ndust him a little, he was so covered with ashes.\nShe said afterwards that she had never seen in all her life such a face\nas the King made, when he found himself held in the air by an invisible\nhand, and being dusted: he was far too much astonished to cry out, but\nhis eyes and his mouth went on getting larger and larger, and rounder\nand rounder, till her hand shook so with laughing that she nearly let\nhim drop upon the floor.\n“Oh! _please_ don’t make such faces, my dear!” she cried out, quite\nforgetting that the King couldn’t hear her. “You make me laugh so that\nI can hardly hold you! And don’t keep your mouth so wide open! All the\nashes will get into it—there, now I think you’re tidy enough!” she\nadded, as she smoothed his hair, and set him upon the table near the\nQueen.\nThe King immediately fell flat on his back, and lay perfectly still:\nand Alice was a little alarmed at what she had done, and went round the\nroom to see if she could find any water to throw over him. However, she\ncould find nothing but a bottle of ink, and when she got back with it\nshe found he had recovered, and he and the Queen were talking together\nin a frightened whisper—so low, that Alice could hardly hear what they\nsaid.\nThe King was saying, “I assure, you my dear, I turned cold to the very\nends of my whiskers!”\nTo which the Queen replied, “You haven’t got any whiskers.”\n“The horror of that moment,” the King went on, “I shall never, _never_\nforget!”\n“You will, though,” the Queen said, “if you don’t make a memorandum of\nit.”\nAlice looked on with great interest as the King took an enormous\nmemorandum-book out of his pocket, and began writing. A sudden thought\nstruck her, and she took hold of the end of the pencil, which came some\nway over his shoulder, and began writing for him.\nThe poor King looked puzzled and unhappy, and struggled with the pencil\nfor some time without saying anything; but Alice was too strong for\nhim, and at last he panted out, “My dear! I really _must_ get a thinner\npencil. I can’t manage this one a bit; it writes all manner of things\nthat I don’t intend—”\n“What manner of things?” said the Queen, looking over the book (in\nwhich Alice had put “_The White Knight is sliding down the poker. He\nbalances very badly_”) “That’s not a memorandum of _your_ feelings!”\nThere was a book lying near Alice on the table, and while she sat\nwatching the White King (for she was still a little anxious about him,\nand had the ink all ready to throw over him, in case he fainted again),\nshe turned over the leaves, to find some part that she could read,\n“—for it’s all in some language I don’t know,” she said to herself.\nIt was like this.\n.YKCOWREBBAJ\nsevot yhtils eht dna, gillirb sawT’\nebaw eht ni elbmig dna eryg diD\n     ,sevogorob eht erew ysmim llA\n.ebargtuo shtar emom eht dnA\nShe puzzled over this for some time, but at last a bright thought\nstruck her. “Why, it’s a Looking-glass book, of course! And if I hold\nit up to a glass, the words will all go the right way again.”\nThis was the poem that Alice read.\nJABBERWOCKY.\n’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves\n    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;\nAll mimsy were the borogoves,\n    And the mome raths outgrabe.\n“Beware the Jabberwock, my son!\n    The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!\nBeware the Jubjub bird, and shun\n    The frumious Bandersnatch!”\nHe took his vorpal sword in hand:\n    Long time the manxome foe he sought—\nSo rested he by the Tumtum tree,\n    And stood awhile in thought.\nAnd as in uffish thought he stood,\n    The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,\nCame whiffling through the tulgey wood,\n    And burbled as it came!\nOne, two! One, two! And through and through\n    The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!\nHe left it dead, and with its head\n    He went galumphing back.\n“And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?\n    Come to my arms, my beamish boy!\nO frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!”\n    He chortled in his joy.\n’Twas brillig, and the slithy toves\n    Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;\nAll mimsy were the borogoves,\n    And the mome raths outgrabe.\n“It seems very pretty,” she said when she had finished it, “but it’s\n_rather_ hard to understand!” (You see she didn’t like to confess, even\nto herself, that she couldn’t make it out at all.) “Somehow it seems to\nfill my head with ideas—only I don’t exactly know what they are!\nHowever, _somebody_ killed _something_: that’s clear, at any rate—”\n“But oh!” thought Alice, suddenly jumping up, “if I don’t make haste I\nshall have to go back through the Looking-glass, before I’ve seen what\nthe rest of the house is like! Let’s have a look at the garden first!”\nShe was out of the room in a moment, and ran down stairs—or, at least,\nit wasn’t exactly running, but a new invention of hers for getting down\nstairs quickly and easily, as Alice said to herself. She just kept the\ntips of her fingers on the hand-rail, and floated gently down without\neven touching the stairs with her feet; then she floated on through the\nhall, and would have gone straight out at the door in the same way, if\nshe hadn’t caught hold of the door-post. She was getting a little giddy\nwith so much floating in the air, and was rather glad to find herself\nwalking again in the natural way.\nCHAPTER II.\nThe Garden of Live Flowers\n“I should see the garden far better,” said Alice to herself, “if I\ncould get to the top of that hill: and here’s a path that leads\nstraight to it—at least, no, it doesn’t do that—” (after going a few\nyards along the path, and turning several sharp corners), “but I\nsuppose it will at last. But how curiously it twists! It’s more like a\ncorkscrew than a path! Well, _this_ turn goes to the hill, I\nsuppose—no, it doesn’t! This goes straight back to the house! Well\nthen, I’ll try it the other way.”\nAnd so she did: wandering up and down, and trying turn after turn, but\nalways coming back to the house, do what she would. Indeed, once, when\nshe turned a corner rather more quickly than usual, she ran against it\nbefore she could stop herself.\n“It’s no use talking about it,” Alice said, looking up at the house and\npretending it was arguing with her. “I’m _not_ going in again yet. I\nknow I should have to get through the Looking-glass again—back into the\nold room—and there’d be an end of all my adventures!”\nSo, resolutely turning her back upon the house, she set out once more\ndown the path, determined to keep straight on till she got to the hill.\nFor a few minutes all went on well, and she was just saying, “I really\n_shall_ do it this time—” when the path gave a sudden twist and shook\nitself (as she described it afterwards), and the next moment she found\nherself actually walking in at the door.\n“Oh, it’s too bad!” she cried. “I never saw such a house for getting in\nthe way! Never!”\nHowever, there was the hill full in sight, so there was nothing to be\ndone but start again. This time she came upon a large flower-bed, with\na border of daisies, and a willow-tree growing in the middle.\n“O Tiger-lily,” said Alice, addressing herself to one that was waving\ngracefully about in the wind, “I _wish_ you could talk!”\n“We _can_ talk,” said the Tiger-lily: “when there’s anybody worth\ntalking to.”\nAlice was so astonished that she could not speak for a minute: it quite\nseemed to take her breath away. At length, as the Tiger-lily only went\non waving about, she spoke again, in a timid voice—almost in a whisper.\n“And can _all_ the flowers talk?”\n“As well as _you_ can,” said the Tiger-lily. “And a great deal louder.”\n“It isn’t manners for us to begin, you know,” said the Rose, “and I\nreally was wondering when you’d speak! Said I to myself, ‘Her face has\ngot _some_ sense in it, though it’s not a clever one!’ Still, you’re\nthe right colour, and that goes a long way.”\n“I don’t care about the colour,” the Tiger-lily remarked. “If only her\npetals curled up a little more, she’d be all right.”\nAlice didn’t like being criticised, so she began asking questions.\n“Aren’t you sometimes frightened at being planted out here, with nobody\nto take care of you?”\n“There’s the tree in the middle,” said the Rose: “what else is it good\nfor?”\n“But what could it do, if any danger came?” Alice asked.\n“It says ‘Bough-wough!’” cried a Daisy: “that’s why its branches are\ncalled boughs!”\n“Didn’t you know _that_?” cried another Daisy, and here they all began\nshouting together, till the air seemed quite full of little shrill\nvoices. “Silence, every one of you!” cried the Tiger-lily, waving\nitself passionately from side to side, and trembling with excitement.\n“They know I can’t get at them!” it panted, bending its quivering head\ntowards Alice, “or they wouldn’t dare to do it!”\n“Never mind!” Alice said in a soothing tone, and stooping down to the\ndaisies, who were just beginning again, she whispered, “If you don’t\nhold your tongues, I’ll pick you!”\nThere was silence in a moment, and several of the pink daisies turned\nwhite.\n“That’s right!” said the Tiger-lily. “The daisies are worst of all.\nWhen one speaks, they all begin together, and it’s enough to make one\nwither to hear the way they go on!”\n“How is it you can all talk so nicely?” Alice said, hoping to get it\ninto a better temper by a compliment. “I’ve been in many gardens\nbefore, but none of the flowers could talk.”\n“Put your hand down, and feel the ground,” said the Tiger-lily. “Then\nyou’ll know why.”\nAlice did so. “It’s very hard,” she said, “but I don’t see what that\nhas to do with it.”\n“In most gardens,” the Tiger-lily said, “they make the beds too soft—so\nthat the flowers are always asleep.”\nThis sounded a very good reason, and Alice was quite pleased to know\nit. “I never thought of that before!” she said.\n“It’s _my_ opinion that you never think _at all_,” the Rose said in a\nrather severe tone.\n“I never saw anybody that looked stupider,” a Violet said, so suddenly,\nthat Alice quite jumped; for it hadn’t spoken before.\n“Hold _your_ tongue!” cried the Tiger-lily. “As if _you_ ever saw\nanybody! You keep your head under the leaves, and snore away there,\ntill you know no more what’s going on in the world, than if you were a\nbud!”\n“Are there any more people in the garden besides me?” Alice said, not\nchoosing to notice the Rose’s last remark.\n“There’s one other flower in the garden that can move about like you,”\nsaid the Rose. “I wonder how you do it—” (“You’re always wondering,”\nsaid the Tiger-lily), “but she’s more bushy than you are.”\n“Is she like me?” Alice asked eagerly, for the thought crossed her\nmind, “There’s another little girl in the garden, somewhere!”\n“Well, she has the same awkward shape as you,” the Rose said, “but\nshe’s redder—and her petals are shorter, I think.”\n“Her petals are done up close, almost like a dahlia,” the Tiger-lily\ninterrupted: “not tumbled about anyhow, like yours.”\n“But that’s not _your_ fault,” the Rose added kindly: “you’re beginning\nto fade, you know—and then one can’t help one’s petals getting a little\nuntidy.”\nAlice didn’t like this idea at all: so, to change the subject, she\nasked “Does she ever come out here?”\n“I daresay you’ll see her soon,” said the Rose. “She’s one of the\nthorny kind.”\n“Where does she wear the thorns?” Alice asked with some curiosity.\n“Why all round her head, of course,” the Rose replied. “I was wondering\n_you_ hadn’t got some too. I thought it was the regular rule.”\n“She’s coming!” cried the Larkspur. “I hear her footstep, thump, thump,\nthump, along the gravel-walk!”\nAlice looked round eagerly, and found that it was the Red Queen. “She’s\ngrown a good deal!” was her first remark. She had indeed: when Alice\nfirst found her in the ashes, she had been only three inches high—and\nhere she was, half a head taller than Alice herself!\n“It’s the fresh air that does it,” said the Rose: “wonderfully fine air\nit is, out here.”\n“I think I’ll go and meet her,” said Alice, for, though the flowers\nwere interesting enough, she felt that it would be far grander to have\na talk with a real Queen.\n“You can’t possibly do that,” said the Rose: “_I_ should advise you to\nwalk the other way.”\nThis sounded nonsense to Alice, so she said nothing, but set off at\nonce towards the Red Queen. To her surprise, she lost sight of her in a\nmoment, and found herself walking in at the front-door again.\nA little provoked, she drew back, and after looking everywhere for the\nqueen (whom she spied out at last, a long way off), she thought she\nwould try the plan, this time, of walking in the opposite direction.\nIt succeeded beautifully. She had not been walking a minute before she\nfound herself face to face with the Red Queen, and full in sight of the\nhill she had been so long aiming at.\n“Where do you come from?” said the Red Queen. “And where are you going?\nLook up, speak nicely, and don’t twiddle your fingers all the time.”\nAlice attended to all these directions, and explained, as well as she\ncould, that she had lost her way.\n“I don’t know what you mean by _your_ way,” said the Queen: “all the\nways about here belong to _me_—but why did you come out here at all?”\nshe added in a kinder tone. “Curtsey while you’re thinking what to say,\nit saves time.”\nAlice wondered a little at this, but she was too much in awe of the\nQueen to disbelieve it. “I’ll try it when I go home,” she thought to\nherself, “the next time I’m a little late for dinner.”\n“It’s time for you to answer now,” the Queen said, looking at her\nwatch: “open your mouth a _little_ wider when you speak, and always say\n‘your Majesty.’”\n“I only wanted to see what the garden was like, your Majesty—”\n“That’s right,” said the Queen, patting her on the head, which Alice\ndidn’t like at all, “though, when you say ‘garden,’—_I’ve_ seen\ngardens, compared with which this would be a wilderness.”\nAlice didn’t dare to argue the point, but went on: “—and I thought I’d\ntry and find my way to the top of that hill—”\n“When you say ‘hill,’” the Queen interrupted, “_I_ could show you\nhills, in comparison with which you’d call that a valley.”\n“No, I shouldn’t,” said Alice, surprised into contradicting her at\nlast: “a hill _can’t_ be a valley, you know. That would be nonsense—”\nThe Red Queen shook her head, “You may call it ‘nonsense’ if you like,”\nshe said, “but _I’ve_ heard nonsense, compared with which that would be\nas sensible as a dictionary!”\nAlice curtseyed again, as she was afraid from the Queen’s tone that she\nwas a _little_ offended: and they walked on in silence till they got to\nthe top of the little hill.\nFor some minutes Alice stood without speaking, looking out in all\ndirections over the country—and a most curious country it was. There\nwere a number of tiny little brooks running straight across it from\nside to side, and the ground between was divided up into squares by a\nnumber of little green hedges, that reached from brook to brook.\n“I declare it’s marked out just like a large chessboard!” Alice said at\nlast. “There ought to be some men moving about somewhere—and so there\nare!” She added in a tone of delight, and her heart began to beat quick\nwith excitement as she went on. “It’s a great huge game of chess that’s\nbeing played—all over the world—if this _is_ the world at all, you\nknow. Oh, what fun it is! How I _wish_ I was one of them! I wouldn’t\nmind being a Pawn, if only I might join—though of course I should\n_like_ to be a Queen, best.”\nShe glanced rather shyly at the real Queen as she said this, but her\ncompanion only smiled pleasantly, and said, “That’s easily managed. You\ncan be the White Queen’s Pawn, if you like, as Lily’s too young to\nplay; and you’re in the Second Square to begin with: when you get to\nthe Eighth Square you’ll be a Queen—” Just at this moment, somehow or\nother, they began to run.\nAlice never could quite make out, in thinking it over afterwards, how\nit was that they began: all she remembers is, that they were running\nhand in hand, and the Queen went so fast that it was all she could do\nto keep up with her: and still the Queen kept crying “Faster! Faster!”\nbut Alice felt she _could not_ go faster, though she had not breath\nleft to say so.\nThe most curious part of the thing was, that the trees and the other\nthings round them never changed their places at all: however fast they\nwent, they never seemed to pass anything. “I wonder if all the things\nmove along with us?” thought poor puzzled Alice. And the Queen seemed\nto guess her thoughts, for she cried, “Faster! Don’t try to talk!”\nNot that Alice had any idea of doing _that_. She felt as if she would\nnever be able to talk again, she was getting so much out of breath: and\nstill the Queen cried “Faster! Faster!” and dragged her along. “Are we\nnearly there?” Alice managed to pant out at last.\n“Nearly there!” the Queen repeated. “Why, we passed it ten minutes ago!\nFaster!” And they ran on for a time in silence, with the wind whistling\nin Alice’s ears, and almost blowing her hair off her head, she fancied.\n“Now! Now!” cried the Queen. “Faster! Faster!” And they went so fast\nthat at last they seemed to skim through the air, hardly touching the\nground with their feet, till suddenly, just as Alice was getting quite\nexhausted, they stopped, and she found herself sitting on the ground,\nbreathless and giddy.\nThe Queen propped her up against a tree, and said kindly, “You may rest\na little now.”\nAlice looked round her in great surprise. “Why, I do believe we’ve been\nunder this tree the whole time! Everything’s just as it was!”\n“Of course it is,” said the Queen, “what would you have it?”\n“Well, in _our_ country,” said Alice, still panting a little, “you’d\ngenerally get to somewhere else—if you ran very fast for a long time,\nas we’ve been doing.”\n“A slow sort of country!” said the Queen. “Now, _here_, you see, it\ntakes all the running _you_ can do, to keep in the same place. If you\nwant to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as\nthat!”\n“I’d rather not try, please!” said Alice. “I’m quite content to stay\nhere—only I _am_ so hot and thirsty!”\n“I know what _you’d_ like!” the Queen said good-naturedly, taking a\nlittle box out of her pocket. “Have a biscuit?”\nAlice thought it would not be civil to say “No,” though it wasn’t at\nall what she wanted. So she took it, and ate it as well as she could:\nand it was _very_ dry; and she thought she had never been so nearly\nchoked in all her life.\n“While you’re refreshing yourself,” said the Queen, “I’ll just take the\nmeasurements.” And she took a ribbon out of her pocket, marked in\ninches, and began measuring the ground, and sticking little pegs in\nhere and there.\n“At the end of two yards,” she said, putting in a peg to mark the\ndistance, “I shall give you your directions—have another biscuit?”\n“No, thank you,” said Alice: “one’s _quite_ enough!”\n“Thirst quenched, I hope?” said the Queen.\nAlice did not know what to say to this, but luckily the Queen did not\nwait for an answer, but went on. “At the end of _three_ yards I shall\nrepeat them—for fear of your forgetting them. At the end of _four_, I\nshall say good-bye. And at the end of _five_, I shall go!”\nShe had got all the pegs put in by this time, and Alice looked on with\ngreat interest as she returned to the tree, and then began slowly\nwalking down the row.\nAt the two-yard peg she faced round, and said, “A pawn goes two squares\nin its first move, you know. So you’ll go _very_ quickly through the\nThird Square—by railway, I should think—and you’ll find yourself in the\nFourth Square in no time. Well, _that_ square belongs to Tweedledum and\nTweedledee—the Fifth is mostly water—the Sixth belongs to Humpty\nDumpty—But you make no remark?”\n“I—I didn’t know I had to make one—just then,” Alice faltered out.\n“You _should_ have said, ‘It’s extremely kind of you to tell me all\nthis’—however, we’ll suppose it said—the Seventh Square is all\nforest—however, one of the Knights will show you the way—and in the\nEighth Square we shall be Queens together, and it’s all feasting and\nfun!” Alice got up and curtseyed, and sat down again.\nAt the next peg the Queen turned again, and this time she said, “Speak\nin French when you can’t think of the English for a thing—turn out your\ntoes as you walk—and remember who you are!” She did not wait for Alice\nto curtsey this time, but walked on quickly to the next peg, where she\nturned for a moment to say “good-bye,” and then hurried on to the last.\nHow it happened, Alice never knew, but exactly as she came to the last\npeg, she was gone. Whether she vanished into the air, or whether she\nran quickly into the wood (“and she _can_ run very fast!” thought\nAlice), there was no way of guessing, but she was gone, and Alice began\nto remember that she was a Pawn, and that it would soon be time for her\nto move.\nCHAPTER III.\nLooking-Glass Insects\nOf course the first thing to do was to make a grand survey of the\ncountry she was going to travel through. “It’s something very like\nlearning geography,” thought Alice, as she stood on tiptoe in hopes of\nbeing able to see a little further. “Principal rivers—there _are_ none.\nPrincipal mountains—I’m on the only one, but I don’t think it’s got any\nname. Principal towns—why, what _are_ those creatures, making honey\ndown there? They can’t be bees—nobody ever saw bees a mile off, you\nknow—” and for some time she stood silent, watching one of them that\nwas bustling about among the flowers, poking its proboscis into them,\n“just as if it was a regular bee,” thought Alice.\nHowever, this was anything but a regular bee: in fact it was an\nelephant—as Alice soon found out, though the idea quite took her breath\naway at first. “And what enormous flowers they must be!” was her next\nidea. “Something like cottages with the roofs taken off, and stalks put\nto them—and what quantities of honey they must make! I think I’ll go\ndown and—no, I won’t _just_ yet,” she went on, checking herself just as\nshe was beginning to run down the hill, and trying to find some excuse\nfor turning shy so suddenly. “It’ll never do to go down among them\nwithout a good long branch to brush them away—and what fun it’ll be\nwhen they ask me how I like my walk. I shall say—‘Oh, I like it well\nenough—’” (here came the favourite little toss of the head), “‘only it\nwas so dusty and hot, and the elephants did tease so!’”\n“I think I’ll go down the other way,” she said after a pause: “and\nperhaps I may visit the elephants later on. Besides, I do so want to\nget into the Third Square!”\nSo with this excuse she ran down the hill and jumped over the first of\nthe six little brooks.\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n    *      *      *      *      *      *\n*      *      *      *      *      *      *\n“Tickets, please!” said the Guard, putting his head in at the window.\nIn a moment everybody was holding out a ticket: they were about the\nsame size as the people, and quite seemed to fill the carriage.\n“Now then! Show your ticket, child!” the Guard went on, looking angrily\nat Alice. And a great many voices all said together (“like the chorus\nof a song,” thought Alice), “Don’t keep him waiting, child! Why, his\ntime is worth a thousand pounds a minute!”\n“I’m afraid I haven’t got one,” Alice said in a frightened tone: “there\nwasn’t a ticket-office where I came from.” And again the chorus of\nvoices went on. “There wasn’t room for one where she came from. The\nland there is worth a thousand pounds an inch!”\n“Don’t make excuses,” said the Guard: “you should have bought one from\nthe engine-driver.” And once more the chorus of voices went on with\n“The man that drives the engine. Why, the smoke alone is worth a\nthousand pounds a puff!”\nAlice thought to herself, “Then there’s no use in speaking.” The voices\ndidn’t join in this time, as she hadn’t spoken, but to her great\nsurprise, they all _thought_ in chorus (I hope you understand what\n_thinking in chorus_ means—for I must confess that _I_ don’t), “Better\nsay nothing at all. Language is worth a thousand pounds a word!”\n“I shall dream about a thousand pounds tonight, I know I shall!”\nthought Alice.\nAll this time the Guard was looking at her, first through a telescope,\nthen through a microscope, and then through an opera-glass. At last he\nsaid, “You’re travelling the wrong way,” and shut up the window and\nwent away.\n“So young a child,” said the gentleman sitting opposite to her (he was\ndressed in white paper), “ought to know which way she’s going, even if\nshe doesn’t know her own name!”\nA Goat, that was sitting next to the gentleman in white, shut his eyes\nand said in a loud voice, “She ought to know her way to the\nticket-office, even if she doesn’t know her alphabet!”\nThere was a Beetle sitting next to the Goat (it was a very queer\ncarriage-full of passengers altogether), and, as the rule seemed to be\nthat they should all speak in turn, _he_ went on with “She’ll have to\ngo back from here as luggage!”\nAlice couldn’t see who was sitting beyond the Beetle, but a hoarse\nvoice spoke next. “Change engines—” it said, and was obliged to leave\noff.\n“It sounds like a horse,” Alice thought to herself. And an extremely\nsmall voice, close to her ear, said, “You might make a joke on\nthat—something about ‘horse’ and ‘hoarse,’ you know.”\nThen a very gentle voice in the distance said, “She must be labelled\n‘Lass, with care,’ you know—”\nAnd after that other voices went on (“What a number of people there are\nin the carriage!” thought Alice), saying, “She must go by post, as\nshe’s got a head on her—” “She must be sent as a message by the\ntelegraph—” “She must draw the train herself the rest of the way—” and\nso on.\nBut the gentleman dressed in white paper leaned forwards and whispered\nin her ear, “Never mind what they all say, my dear, but take a\nreturn-ticket every time the train stops.”\n“Indeed I shan’t!” Alice said rather impatiently. “I don’t belong to\nthis railway journey at all—I was in a wood just now—and I wish I could\nget back there.”\n“You might make a joke on _that_,” said the little voice close to her\near: “something about ‘you _would_ if you could,’ you know.”\n“Don’t tease so,” said Alice, looking about in vain to see where the\nvoice came from; “if you’re so anxious to have a joke made, why don’t\nyou make one yourself?”\nThe little voice sighed deeply: it was _very_ unhappy, evidently, and\nAlice would have said something pitying to comfort it, “If it would\nonly sigh like other people!” she thought. But this was such a\nwonderfully small sigh, that she wouldn’t have heard it at all, if it\nhadn’t come _quite_ close to her ear. The consequence of this was that\nit tickled her ear very much, and quite took off her thoughts from the\nunhappiness of the poor little creature.\n“I know you are a friend,” the little voice went on; “a dear friend,\nand an old friend. And you won’t hurt me, though I _am_ an insect.”\n“What kind of insect?” Alice inquired a little anxiously. What she\nreally wanted to know was, whether it could sting or not, but she\nthought this wouldn’t be quite a civil question to ask.\n“What, then you don’t—” the little voice began, when it was drowned by\na shr", "source": "lookingglass", "length": 10000, "id": 10}
{"text": "Summarize in plain English: THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER By Mark Twain (Samuel Langhorne Clemens)\nPREFACE\nMost of the adventures recorded in this book really occurred; one or two\nwere experiences of my own, the rest those of boys who were schoolmates\nof mine. Huck Finn is drawn from life; Tom Sawyer also, but not from an\nindividual—he is a combination of the characteristics of three boys whom\nI knew, and therefore belongs to the composite order of architecture.\nThe odd superstitions touched upon were all prevalent among children and\nslaves in the West at the period of this story—that is to say, thirty or\nforty years ago.\nAlthough my book is intended mainly for the entertainment of boys and\ngirls, I hope it will not be shunned by men and women on that account,\nfor part of my plan has been to try to pleasantly remind adults of what\nthey once were themselves, and of how they felt and thought and talked,\nand what queer enterprises they sometimes engaged in.\nTHE AUTHOR.\nHARTFORD, 1876.\nCHAPTER I\n“Tom!”\nNo answer.\n“TOM!”\nNo answer.\n“What’s gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!”\nNo answer.\nThe old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the\nroom; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or\nnever looked _through_ them for so small a thing as a boy; they were\nher state pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for “style,” not\nservice—she could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well.\nShe looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but\nstill loud enough for the furniture to hear:\n“Well, I lay if I get hold of you I’ll—”\nShe did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching\nunder the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the\npunches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.\n“I never did see the beat of that boy!”\nShe went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the\ntomato vines and “jimpson” weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So\nshe lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted:\n“Y-o-u-u TOM!”\nThere was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize\na small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.\n“There! I might ’a’ thought of that closet. What you been doing in\nthere?”\n“Nothing.”\n“Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What _is_ that\ntruck?”\n“I don’t know, aunt.”\n“Well, I know. It’s jam—that’s what it is. Forty times I’ve said if you\ndidn’t let that jam alone I’d skin you. Hand me that switch.”\nThe switch hovered in the air—the peril was desperate—\n“My! Look behind you, aunt!”\nThe old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger.\nThe lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and\ndisappeared over it.\nHis aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle\nlaugh.\n“Hang the boy, can’t I never learn anything? Ain’t he played me tricks\nenough like that for me to be looking out for him by this time? But old\nfools is the biggest fools there is. Can’t learn an old dog new tricks,\nas the saying is. But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days,\nand how is a body to know what’s coming? He ’pears to know just how long\nhe can torment me before I get my dander up, and he knows if he can make\nout to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it’s all down again and\nI can’t hit him a lick. I ain’t doing my duty by that boy, and that’s\nthe Lord’s truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile the child, as\nthe Good Book says. I’m a laying up sin and suffering for us both, I\nknow. He’s full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a-me! he’s my own dead\nsister’s boy, poor thing, and I ain’t got the heart to lash him,\nsomehow. Every time I let him off, my conscience does hurt me so, and\nevery time I hit him my old heart most breaks. Well-a-well, man that is\nborn of woman is of few days and full of trouble, as the Scripture says,\nand I reckon it’s so. He’ll play hookey this evening,[*] and I’ll just\nbe obleeged to make him work, tomorrow, to punish him. It’s mighty hard\nto make him work Saturdays, when all the boys is having holiday, but he\nhates work more than he hates anything else, and I’ve _got_ to do some\nof my duty by him, or I’ll be the ruination of the child.”\n[*] Southwestern for “afternoon”\nTom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back home\nbarely in season to help Jim, the small colored boy, saw next-day’s wood\nand split the kindlings before supper—at least he was there in time\nto tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three-fourths of the work.\nTom’s younger brother (or rather half-brother) Sid was already through\nwith his part of the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy,\nand had no adventurous, trouble-some ways.\nWhile Tom was eating his supper, and stealing sugar as opportunity\noffered, Aunt Polly asked him questions that were full of guile, and\nvery deep—for she wanted to trap him into damaging revealments. Like\nmany other simple-hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she\nwas endowed with a talent for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and she\nloved to contemplate her most transparent devices as marvels of low\ncunning. Said she:\n“Tom, it was middling warm in school, warn’t it?”\n“Yes’m.”\n“Powerful warm, warn’t it?”\n“Yes’m.”\n“Didn’t you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?”\nA bit of a scare shot through Tom—a touch of uncomfortable suspicion. He\nsearched Aunt Polly’s face, but it told him nothing. So he said:\n“No’m—well, not very much.”\nThe old lady reached out her hand and felt Tom’s shirt, and said:\n“But you ain’t too warm now, though.” And it flattered her to reflect\nthat she had discovered that the shirt was dry without anybody knowing\nthat that was what she had in her mind. But in spite of her, Tom knew\nwhere the wind lay, now. So he forestalled what might be the next move:\n“Some of us pumped on our heads—mine’s damp yet. See?”\nAunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of\ncircumstantial evidence, and missed a trick. Then she had a new\ninspiration:\n“Tom, you didn’t have to undo your shirt collar where I sewed it, to\npump on your head, did you? Unbutton your jacket!”\nThe trouble vanished out of Tom’s face. He opened his jacket. His shirt\ncollar was securely sewed.\n“Bother! Well, go ’long with you. I’d made sure you’d played hookey\nand been a-swimming. But I forgive ye, Tom. I reckon you’re a kind of a\nsinged cat, as the saying is—better’n you look. _This_ time.”\nShe was half sorry her sagacity had miscarried, and half glad that Tom\nhad stumbled into obedient conduct for once.\nBut Sidney said:\n“Well, now, if I didn’t think you sewed his collar with white thread,\nbut it’s black.”\n“Why, I did sew it with white! Tom!”\nBut Tom did not wait for the rest. As he went out at the door he said:\n“Siddy, I’ll lick you for that.”\nIn a safe place Tom examined two large needles which were thrust into\nthe lapels of his jacket, and had thread bound about them—one needle\ncarried white thread and the other black. He said:\n“She’d never noticed if it hadn’t been for Sid. Confound it! sometimes\nshe sews it with white, and sometimes she sews it with black. I wish to\ngee-miny she’d stick to one or t’other—I can’t keep the run of ’em. But\nI bet you I’ll lam Sid for that. I’ll learn him!”\nHe was not the Model Boy of the village. He knew the model boy very well\nthough—and loathed him.\nWithin two minutes, or even less, he had forgotten all his troubles. Not\nbecause his troubles were one whit less heavy and bitter to him than a\nman’s are to a man, but because a new and powerful interest bore\nthem down and drove them out of his mind for the time—just as men’s\nmisfortunes are forgotten in the excitement of new enterprises. This new\ninterest was a valued novelty in whistling, which he had just acquired\nfrom a negro, and he was suffering to practise it undisturbed. It\nconsisted in a peculiar bird-like turn, a sort of liquid warble,\nproduced by touching the tongue to the roof of the mouth at short\nintervals in the midst of the music—the reader probably remembers how to\ndo it, if he has ever been a boy. Diligence and attention soon gave him\nthe knack of it, and he strode down the street with his mouth full of\nharmony and his soul full of gratitude. He felt much as an astronomer\nfeels who has discovered a new planet—no doubt, as far as strong, deep,\nunalloyed pleasure is concerned, the advantage was with the boy, not the\nastronomer.\nThe summer evenings were long. It was not dark, yet. Presently Tom\nchecked his whistle. A stranger was before him—a boy a shade larger\nthan himself. A new-comer of any age or either sex was an impressive\ncuriosity in the poor little shabby village of St. Petersburg. This boy\nwas well dressed, too—well dressed on a week-day. This was simply\nastounding. His cap was a dainty thing, his close-buttoned blue cloth\nroundabout was new and natty, and so were his pantaloons. He had shoes\non—and it was only Friday. He even wore a necktie, a bright bit of\nribbon. He had a citified air about him that ate into Tom’s vitals. The\nmore Tom stared at the splendid marvel, the higher he turned up his nose\nat his finery and the shabbier and shabbier his own outfit seemed to\nhim to grow. Neither boy spoke. If one moved, the other moved—but only\nsidewise, in a circle; they kept face to face and eye to eye all the\ntime. Finally Tom said:\n“I can lick you!”\n“I’d like to see you try it.”\n“Well, I can do it.”\n“No you can’t, either.”\n“Yes I can.”\n“No you can’t.”\n“I can.”\n“You can’t.”\n“Can!”\n“Can’t!”\nAn uncomfortable pause. Then Tom said:\n“What’s your name?”\n“’Tisn’t any of your business, maybe.”\n“Well I ’low I’ll _make_ it my business.”\n“Well why don’t you?”\n“If you say much, I will.”\n“Much—much—_much_. There now.”\n“Oh, you think you’re mighty smart, _don’t_ you? I could lick you with\none hand tied behind me, if I wanted to.”\n“Well why don’t you _do_ it? You _say_ you can do it.”\n“Well I _will_, if you fool with me.”\n“Oh yes—I’ve seen whole families in the same fix.”\n“Smarty! You think you’re _some_, now, _don’t_ you? Oh, what a hat!”\n“You can lump that hat if you don’t like it. I dare you to knock it\noff—and anybody that’ll take a dare will suck eggs.”\n“You’re a liar!”\n“You’re another.”\n“You’re a fighting liar and dasn’t take it up.”\n“Aw—take a walk!”\n“Say—if you give me much more of your sass I’ll take and bounce a rock\noff’n your head.”\n“Oh, of _course_ you will.”\n“Well I _will_.”\n“Well why don’t you _do_ it then? What do you keep _saying_ you will\nfor? Why don’t you _do_ it? It’s because you’re afraid.”\n“I _ain’t_ afraid.”\n“You are.”\n“I ain’t.”\n“You are.”\nAnother pause, and more eying and sidling around each other. Presently\nthey were shoulder to shoulder. Tom said:\n“Get away from here!”\n“Go away yourself!”\n“I won’t.”\n“I won’t either.”\nSo they stood, each with a foot placed at an angle as a brace, and both\nshoving with might and main, and glowering at each other with hate. But\nneither could get an advantage. After struggling till both were hot and\nflushed, each relaxed his strain with watchful caution, and Tom said:\n“You’re a coward and a pup. I’ll tell my big brother on you, and he can\nthrash you with his little finger, and I’ll make him do it, too.”\n“What do I care for your big brother? I’ve got a brother that’s bigger\nthan he is—and what’s more, he can throw him over that fence, too.”\n [Both brothers were imaginary.]\n“That’s a lie.”\n“_Your_ saying so don’t make it so.”\nTom drew a line in the dust with his big toe, and said:\n“I dare you to step over that, and I’ll lick you till you can’t stand\nup. Anybody that’ll take a dare will steal sheep.”\nThe new boy stepped over promptly, and said:\n“Now you said you’d do it, now let’s see you do it.”\n“Don’t you crowd me now; you better look out.”\n“Well, you _said_ you’d do it—why don’t you do it?”\n“By jingo! for two cents I _will_ do it.”\nThe new boy took two broad coppers out of his pocket and held them out\nwith derision. Tom struck them to the ground. In an instant both boys\nwere rolling and tumbling in the dirt, gripped together like cats; and\nfor the space of a minute they tugged and tore at each other’s hair and\nclothes, punched and scratched each other’s nose, and covered themselves\nwith dust and glory. Presently the confusion took form, and through the\nfog of battle Tom appeared, seated astride the new boy, and pounding him\nwith his fists. “Holler ’nuff!” said he.\nThe boy only struggled to free himself. He was crying—mainly from rage.\n“Holler ’nuff!”—and the pounding went on.\nAt last the stranger got out a smothered “’Nuff!” and Tom let him up and\nsaid:\n“Now that’ll learn you. Better look out who you’re fooling with next\ntime.”\nThe new boy went off brushing the dust from his clothes, sobbing,\nsnuffling, and occasionally looking back and shaking his head and\nthreatening what he would do to Tom the “next time he caught him out.”\n To which Tom responded with jeers, and started off in high feather, and\nas soon as his back was turned the new boy snatched up a stone, threw it\nand hit him between the shoulders and then turned tail and ran like\nan antelope. Tom chased the traitor home, and thus found out where he\nlived. He then held a position at the gate for some time, daring the\nenemy to come outside, but the enemy only made faces at him through the\nwindow and declined. At last the enemy’s mother appeared, and called Tom\na bad, vicious, vulgar child, and ordered him away. So he went away; but\nhe said he “’lowed” to “lay” for that boy.\nHe got home pretty late that night, and when he climbed cautiously in\nat the window, he uncovered an ambuscade, in the person of his aunt; and\nwhen she saw the state his clothes were in her resolution to turn his\nSaturday holiday into captivity at hard labor became adamantine in its\nfirmness.\nCHAPTER II\nSaturday morning was come, and all the summer world was bright and\nfresh, and brimming with life. There was a song in every heart; and if\nthe heart was young the music issued at the lips. There was cheer in\nevery face and a spring in every step. The locust-trees were in bloom\nand the fragrance of the blossoms filled the air. Cardiff Hill, beyond\nthe village and above it, was green with vegetation and it lay just far\nenough away to seem a Delectable Land, dreamy, reposeful, and inviting.\nTom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and a\nlong-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all gladness left him and\na deep melancholy settled down upon his spirit. Thirty yards of board\nfence nine feet high. Life to him seemed hollow, and existence but a\nburden. Sighing, he dipped his brush and passed it along the topmost\nplank; repeated the operation; did it again; compared the insignificant\nwhitewashed streak with the far-reaching continent of unwhitewashed\nfence, and sat down on a tree-box discouraged. Jim came skipping out at\nthe gate with a tin pail, and singing Buffalo Gals. Bringing water from\nthe town pump had always been hateful work in Tom’s eyes, before, but\nnow it did not strike him so. He remembered that there was company at\nthe pump. White, mulatto, and negro boys and girls were always there\nwaiting their turns, resting, trading playthings, quarrelling, fighting,\nskylarking. And he remembered that although the pump was only a hundred\nand fifty yards off, Jim never got back with a bucket of water under an\nhour—and even then somebody generally had to go after him. Tom said:\n“Say, Jim, I’ll fetch the water if you’ll whitewash some.”\nJim shook his head and said:\n“Can’t, Mars Tom. Ole missis, she tole me I got to go an’ git dis water\nan’ not stop foolin’ roun’ wid anybody. She say she spec’ Mars Tom gwine\nto ax me to whitewash, an’ so she tole me go ’long an’ ’tend to my own\nbusiness—she ’lowed _she’d_ ’tend to de whitewashin’.”\n“Oh, never you mind what she said, Jim. That’s the way she always talks.\nGimme the bucket—I won’t be gone only a a minute. _She_ won’t ever\nknow.”\n“Oh, I dasn’t, Mars Tom. Ole missis she’d take an’ tar de head off’n me.\n’Deed she would.”\n“_She_! She never licks anybody—whacks ’em over the head with her\nthimble—and who cares for that, I’d like to know. She talks awful, but\ntalk don’t hurt—anyways it don’t if she don’t cry. Jim, I’ll give you a\nmarvel. I’ll give you a white alley!”\nJim began to waver.\n“White alley, Jim! And it’s a bully taw.”\n“My! Dat’s a mighty gay marvel, I tell you! But Mars Tom I’s powerful\n’fraid ole missis—”\n“And besides, if you will I’ll show you my sore toe.”\nJim was only human—this attraction was too much for him. He put down\nhis pail, took the white alley, and bent over the toe with absorbing\ninterest while the bandage was being unwound. In another moment he\nwas flying down the street with his pail and a tingling rear, Tom was\nwhitewashing with vigor, and Aunt Polly was retiring from the field with\na slipper in her hand and triumph in her eye.\nBut Tom’s energy did not last. He began to think of the fun he had\nplanned for this day, and his sorrows multiplied. Soon the free boys\nwould come tripping along on all sorts of delicious expeditions, and\nthey would make a world of fun of him for having to work—the very\nthought of it burnt him like fire. He got out his worldly wealth and\nexamined it—bits of toys, marbles, and trash; enough to buy an exchange\nof _work_, maybe, but not half enough to buy so much as half an hour\nof pure freedom. So he returned his straitened means to his pocket, and\ngave up the idea of trying to buy the boys. At this dark and hopeless\nmoment an inspiration burst upon him! Nothing less than a great,\nmagnificent inspiration.\nHe took up his brush and went tranquilly to work. Ben Rogers hove in\nsight presently—the very boy, of all boys, whose ridicule he had been\ndreading. Ben’s gait was the hop-skip-and-jump—proof enough that his\nheart was light and his anticipations high. He was eating an apple, and\ngiving a long, melodious whoop, at intervals, followed by a deep-toned\nding-dong-dong, ding-dong-dong, for he was personating a steamboat. As\nhe drew near, he slackened speed, took the middle of the street, leaned\nfar over to starboard and rounded to ponderously and with laborious pomp\nand circumstance—for he was personating the Big Missouri, and considered\nhimself to be drawing nine feet of water. He was boat and captain and\nengine-bells combined, so he had to imagine himself standing on his own\nhurricane-deck giving the orders and executing them:\n“Stop her, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling!” The headway ran almost out, and he\ndrew up slowly toward the sidewalk.\n“Ship up to back! Ting-a-ling-ling!” His arms straightened and stiffened\ndown his sides.\n“Set her back on the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow! ch-chow-wow!\nChow!” His right hand, mean-time, describing stately circles—for it was\nrepresenting a forty-foot wheel.\n“Let her go back on the labboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Chow-ch-chow-chow!”\n The left hand began to describe circles.\n“Stop the stabboard! Ting-a-ling-ling! Stop the labboard! Come ahead on\nthe stabboard! Stop her! Let your outside turn over slow!\nTing-a-ling-ling! Chow-ow-ow! Get out that head-line! _lively_ now!\nCome—out with your spring-line—what’re you about there! Take a turn\nround that stump with the bight of it! Stand by that stage, now—let her\ngo! Done with the engines, sir! Ting-a-ling-ling! SH’T! S’H’T! SH’T!”\n(trying the gauge-cocks).\nTom went on whitewashing—paid no attention to the steamboat. Ben stared\na moment and then said: “_Hi-Yi! You’re_ up a stump, ain’t you!”\nNo answer. Tom surveyed his last touch with the eye of an artist, then\nhe gave his brush another gentle sweep and surveyed the result, as\nbefore. Ben ranged up alongside of him. Tom’s mouth watered for the\napple, but he stuck to his work. Ben said:\n“Hello, old chap, you got to work, hey?”\nTom wheeled suddenly and said:\n“Why, it’s you, Ben! I warn’t noticing.”\n“Say—I’m going in a-swimming, I am. Don’t you wish you could? But of\ncourse you’d druther _work_—wouldn’t you? Course you would!”\nTom contemplated the boy a bit, and said:\n“What do you call work?”\n“Why, ain’t _that_ work?”\nTom resumed his whitewashing, and answered carelessly:\n“Well, maybe it is, and maybe it ain’t. All I know, is, it suits Tom\nSawyer.”\n“Oh come, now, you don’t mean to let on that you _like_ it?”\nThe brush continued to move.\n“Like it? Well, I don’t see why I oughtn’t to like it. Does a boy get a\nchance to whitewash a fence every day?”\nThat put the thing in a new light. Ben stopped nibbling his apple.\nTom swept his brush daintily back and forth—stepped back to note the\neffect—added a touch here and there—criticised the effect again—Ben\nwatching every move and getting more and more interested, more and more\nabsorbed. Presently he said:\n“Say, Tom, let _me_ whitewash a little.”\nTom considered, was about to consent; but he altered his mind:\n“No—no—I reckon it wouldn’t hardly do, Ben. You see, Aunt Polly’s awful\nparticular about this fence—right here on the street, you know—but if it\nwas the back fence I wouldn’t mind and _she_ wouldn’t. Yes, she’s awful\nparticular about this fence; it’s got to be done very careful; I reckon\nthere ain’t one boy in a thousand, maybe two thousand, that can do it\nthe way it’s got to be done.”\n“No—is that so? Oh come, now—lemme just try. Only just a little—I’d let\n_you_, if you was me, Tom.”\n“Ben, I’d like to, honest injun; but Aunt Polly—well, Jim wanted to do\nit, but she wouldn’t let him; Sid wanted to do it, and she wouldn’t let\nSid. Now don’t you see how I’m fixed? If you was to tackle this fence\nand anything was to happen to it—”\n“Oh, shucks, I’ll be just as careful. Now lemme try. Say—I’ll give you\nthe core of my apple.”\n“Well, here—No, Ben, now don’t. I’m afeard—”\n“I’ll give you _all_ of it!”\nTom gave up the brush with reluctance in his face, but alacrity in his\nheart. And while the late steamer Big Missouri worked and sweated in the\nsun, the retired artist sat on a barrel in the shade close by,\ndangled his legs, munched his apple, and planned the slaughter of more\ninnocents. There was no lack of material; boys happened along every\nlittle while; they came to jeer, but remained to whitewash. By the time\nBen was fagged out, Tom had traded the next chance to Billy Fisher for\na kite, in good repair; and when he played out, Johnny Miller bought in\nfor a dead rat and a string to swing it with—and so on, and so on, hour\nafter hour. And when the middle of the afternoon came, from being a\npoor poverty-stricken boy in the morning, Tom was literally rolling in\nwealth. He had besides the things before mentioned, twelve marbles, part\nof a jews-harp, a piece of blue bottle-glass to look through, a spool\ncannon, a key that wouldn’t unlock anything, a fragment of chalk, a\nglass stopper of a decanter, a tin soldier, a couple of tadpoles,\nsix fire-crackers, a kitten with only one eye, a brass door-knob, a\ndog-collar—but no dog—the handle of a knife, four pieces of orange-peel,\nand a dilapidated old window sash.\nHe had had a nice, good, idle time all the while—plenty of company—and\nthe fence had three coats of whitewash on it! If he hadn’t run out of\nwhitewash he would have bankrupted every boy in the village.\nTom said to himself that it was not such a hollow world, after all. He\nhad discovered a great law of human action, without knowing it—namely,\nthat in order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary\nto make the thing difficult to attain. If he had been a great and\nwise philosopher, like the writer of this book, he would now have\ncomprehended that Work consists of whatever a body is _obliged_ to do,\nand that Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do. And\nthis would help him to understand why constructing artificial flowers or\nperforming on a tread-mill is work, while rolling ten-pins or climbing\nMont Blanc is only amusement. There are wealthy gentlemen in England\nwho drive four-horse passenger-coaches twenty or thirty miles on a\ndaily line, in the summer, because the privilege costs them considerable\nmoney; but if they were offered wages for the service, that would turn\nit into work and then they would resign.\nThe boy mused awhile over the substantial change which had taken place\nin his worldly circumstances, and then wended toward headquarters to\nreport.\nCHAPTER III\nTom presented himself before Aunt Polly, who was sitting by an\nopen window in a pleasant rearward apartment, which was bedroom,\nbreakfast-room, dining-room, and library, combined. The balmy summer\nair, the restful quiet, the odor of the flowers, and the drowsing\nmurmur of the bees had had their effect, and she was nodding over her\nknitting—for she had no company but the cat, and it was asleep in her\nlap. Her spectacles were propped up on her gray head for safety. She had\nthought that of course Tom had deserted long ago, and she wondered at\nseeing him place himself in her power again in this intrepid way. He\nsaid: “Mayn’t I go and play now, aunt?”\n“What, a’ready? How much have you done?”\n“It’s all done, aunt.”\n“Tom, don’t lie to me—I can’t bear it.”\n“I ain’t, aunt; it _is_ all done.”\nAunt Polly placed small trust in such evidence. She went out to see for\nherself; and she would have been content to find twenty per cent. of\nTom’s statement true. When she found the entire fence white-washed, and\nnot only whitewashed but elaborately coated and recoated, and even a\nstreak added to the ground, her astonishment was almost unspeakable. She\nsaid:\n“Well, I never! There’s no getting round it, you can work when you’re a\nmind to, Tom.” And then she diluted the compliment by adding, “But it’s\npowerful seldom you’re a mind to, I’m bound to say. Well, go ’long and\nplay; but mind you get back some time in a week, or I’ll tan you.”\nShe was so overcome by the splendor of his achievement that she took\nhim into the closet and selected a choice apple and delivered it to him,\nalong with an improving lecture upon the added value and flavor a treat\ntook to itself when it came without sin through virtuous effort.\nAnd while she closed with a happy Scriptural flourish, he “hooked” a\ndoughnut.\nThen he skipped out, and saw Sid just starting up the outside stairway\nthat led to the back rooms on the second floor. Clods were handy and\nthe air was full of them in a twinkling. They raged around Sid like a\nhail-storm; and before Aunt Polly could collect her surprised faculties\nand sally to the rescue, six or seven clods had taken personal effect,\nand Tom was over the fence and gone. There was a gate, but as a general\nthing he was too crowded for time to make use of it. His soul was at\npeace, now that he had settled with Sid for calling attention to his\nblack thread and getting him into trouble.\nTom skirted the block, and came round into a muddy alley that led by the\nback of his aunt’s cow-stable. He presently got safely beyond the reach\nof capture and punishment, and hastened toward the public square of the\nvillage, where two “military” companies of boys had met for conflict,\naccording to previous appointment. Tom was General of one of these\narmies, Joe Harper (a bosom friend) General of the other. These two\ngreat commanders did not condescend to fight in person—that being better\nsuited to the still smaller fry—but sat together on an eminence\nand conducted the field operations by orders delivered through\naides-de-camp. Tom’s army won a great victory, after a long and\nhard-fought battle. Then the dead were counted, prisoners exchanged,\nthe terms of the next disagreement agreed upon, and the day for the\nnecessary battle appointed; after which the armies fell into line and\nmarched away, and Tom turned homeward alone.\nAs he was passing by the house where Jeff Thatcher lived, he saw a new\ngirl in the garden—a lovely little blue-eyed creature with yellow\nhair plaited into two long-tails, white summer frock and embroidered\npantalettes. The fresh-crowned hero fell without firing a shot. A\ncertain Amy Lawrence vanished out of his heart and left not even a\nmemory of herself behind. He had thought he loved her to distraction;\nhe had regarded his passion as adoration; and behold it was only a poor\nlittle evanescent partiality. He had been months winning her; she had\nconfessed hardly a week ago; he had been the happiest and the proudest\nboy in the world only seven short days, and here in one instant of time\nshe had gone out of his heart like a casual stranger whose visit is\ndone.\nHe worshipped this new angel with furtive eye, till he saw that she had\ndiscovered him; then he pretended he did not know she was present, and\nbegan to “show off” in all sorts of absurd boyish ways, in order to win\nher admiration. He kept up this grotesque foolishness for some time;\nbut by-and-by, while he was in the midst of some dangerous gymnastic\nperformances, he glanced aside and saw that the little girl was wending\nher way toward the house. Tom came up to the fence and leaned on it,\ngrieving, and hoping she would tarry yet awhile longer. She halted a\nmoment on the steps and then moved toward the door. Tom heaved a great\nsigh as she put her foot on the threshold. But his face lit up,\nright away, for she tossed a pansy over the fence a moment before she\ndisappeared.\nThe boy ran around and stopped within a foot or two of the flower, and\nthen shaded his eyes with his hand and began to look down street as\nif he had discovered something of interest going on in that direction.\nPresently he picked up a straw and began trying to balance it on his\nnose, with his head tilted far back; and as he moved from side to side,\nin his efforts, he edged nearer and nearer toward the pansy; finally his\nbare foot rested upon it, his pliant toes closed upon it, and he hopped\naway with the treasure and disappeared round the corner. But only for a\nminute—only while he could button the flower inside his jacket, next\nhis heart—or next his stomach, possibly, for he was not much posted in\nanatomy, and not hypercritical, anyway.\nHe returned, now, and hung about the fence till nightfall, “showing\noff,” as before; but the girl never exhibited herself again, though Tom\ncomforted himself a little with the hope that she had been near some\nwindow, meantime, and been aware of his attentions. Finally he strode\nhome reluctantly, with his poor head full of visions.\nAll through supper his spirits were so high that his aunt wondered “what\nhad got into the child.” He took a good scolding about clodding Sid, and\ndid not seem to mind it in the least. He tried to steal sugar under his\naunt’s very nose, and got his knuckles rapped for it. He said:\n“Aunt, you don’t whack Sid when he takes it.”\n“Well, Sid don’t torment a body the way you do. You’d be always into\nthat sugar if I warn’t watching you.”\nPresently she stepped into the kitchen, and Sid, happy in his immunity,\nreached for the sugar-bowl—a sort of glorying over Tom which was\nwellnigh unbearable. But Sid’s fingers slipped and the bowl dropped and\nbroke. Tom was in ecstasies. In such ecstasies that he even controlled\nhis tongue and was silent. He said to himself that he would not speak a\nword, even when his aunt came in, but would sit perfectly still till she\nasked who did the mischief; and then he would tell, and there would be\nnothing so good in the world as to see that pet model “catch it.” He was\nso brimful of exultation that he could hardly hold himself when the old\nlady came back and stood above the wreck discharging lightnings of wrath\nfrom over her spectacles. He said to himself, “Now it’s coming!” And the\nnext instant he was sprawling on the floor! The potent palm was uplifted\nto strike again when Tom cried out:\n“Hold on, now, what ’er you belting _me_ for?—Sid broke it!”\nAunt Polly paused, perplexed, and Tom looked for healing pity. But when\nshe got her tongue again, she only said:\n“Umf! Well, you didn’t get a lick amiss, I reckon. You been into some\nother audacious mischief when I wasn’t around, like enough.”\nThen her conscience reproached her, and she yearned to say something\nkind and loving; but she judged that this would be construed into a\nconfession that she had been in the wrong, and discipline forbade that.\nSo she kept silence, and went about her affairs with a troubled heart.\nTom sulked in a corner and exalted his woes. He knew that in her heart\nhis aunt was on her knees to him, and he was morosely gratified by the\nconsciousness of it. He would hang out no signals, he would take notice\nof none. He knew that a yearning glance fell upon him, now and then,\nthrough a film of tears, but he refused recognition of it. He pictured\nhimself lying sick unto death and his aunt bending over him beseeching\none little forgiving word, but he would turn his face to the wall, and\ndie with that word unsaid. Ah, how would she feel then? And he pictured\nhimself brought home from the river, dead, with his curls all wet, and\nhis sore heart at rest. How she would throw herself upon him, and how\nher tears would fall like rain, and her lips pray God to give her back\nher boy and she would never, never abuse him any more! But he would\nlie there cold and white and make no sign—a poor little sufferer, whose\ngriefs were at an end. He so worked upon his feelings with the pathos of\nthese dreams, that he had to keep swallowing, he was so like to choke;\nand his eyes swam in a blur of water, which overflowed when he winked,\nand ran down and trickled from the end of his nose. And such a luxury to\nhim was this petting of his sorrows, that he could not bear to have any\nworldly cheeriness or any grating delight intrude upon it; it was too\nsacred for such contact; and so, presently, when his cousin Mary danced\nin, all alive with the joy of seeing home again after an age-long visit\nof one week to the country, he got up and moved in clouds and darkness\nout at one door as she brought song and sunshine in at the other.\nHe wandered far from the accustomed haunts of boys, and sought desolate\nplaces that were in harmony with his spirit. A log raft in the river\ninvited him, and he seated himself on its outer edge and contemplated\nthe dreary vastness of the stream, wishing, the while, that he could\nonly be drowned, all at once and unconsciously, without undergoing the\nuncomfortable routine devised by nature. Then he thought of his flower.\nHe got it out, rumpled and wilted, and it mightily increased his dismal\nfelicity. He wondered if she would pity him if she knew? Would she\ncry, and wish that she had a right to put her arms around his neck and\ncomfort him? Or would she turn coldly away like all the hollow world?\nThis picture brought such an agony of pleasurable suffering that he\nworked it over and over again in his mind and set it up in new and\nvaried lights, till he wore it threadbare. At last he rose up sighing\nand departed in the darkness.\nAbout half-past nine or ten o’clock he came along the deserted street to\nwhere the Adored Unknown lived; he paused a moment; no sound fell upon\nhis listening ear; a candle was casting a dull glow upon the curtain\nof a second-story window. Was the sacred presence there? He climbed the\nfence, threaded his stealthy way through the plants, till he stood under\nthat window; he looked up at it long, and with emotion; then he laid him\ndown on the ground under it, disposing himself upon his back, with his\nhands clasped upon his breast and holding his poor wilted flower.\nAnd thus he would die—out in the cold world, with no shelter over his\nhomeless head, no friendly hand to wipe the death-damps from his brow,\nno loving face to bend pityingly over him when the great agony came. And\nthus _she_ would see him when she looked out upon the glad morning, and\noh! would she drop one little tear upon his poor, lifeless form, would\nshe heave one little sigh to see a bright young life so rudely blighted,\nso untimely cut down?\nThe window went up, a maid-servant’s discordant voice profaned the holy\ncalm, and a deluge of water drenched the prone martyr’s remains!\nThe strangling hero sprang up with a relieving snort. There was a whiz\nas of a missile in the air, mingled with the murmur of a curse, a sound\nas of shivering glass followed, and a small, vague form went over the\nfence and shot away in the gloom.\nNot long after, as Tom, all undressed for bed, was surveying his\ndrenched garments by the light of a tallow dip, Sid woke up; but if he\nhad any dim idea of making any “references to allusions,” he thought\nbetter of it and held his peace, for there was danger in Tom’s eye.\nTom turned in without the added vexation of prayers, and Sid made mental\nnote of the omission.\nCHAPTER IV\nThe sun rose upon a tranquil world, and beamed down upon the peaceful\nvillage like a benediction. Breakfast over, Aunt Polly had family\nworship: it began with a prayer built from the ground up of solid\ncourses of Scriptural quotations, welded together with a thin mortar of\noriginality; and from the summit of this she delivered a grim chapter of\nthe Mosaic Law, as from Sinai.\nThen Tom girded up his loins, so to speak, and went to work to “get\nhis verses.” Sid had learned his lesson days before. Tom bent all his\nenergies to the memorizing of five verses, and he chose part of the\nSermon on the Mount, because he could find no verses that were shorter.\nAt the end of half an hour Tom had a vague general idea of his lesson,\nbut no more, for his mind was traversing the whole field of human\nthought, and his hands were busy with distracting recreations. Mary took\nhis book to hear him recite, and he tried to find his way through the\nfog:\n“Blessed are the—a—a—”\n“Poor”—\n“Yes—poor; blessed are the poor—a—a—”\n“In spirit—”\n“In spirit; blessed are the poor in spirit, for they—they—”\n“_Theirs_—”\n“For _theirs_. Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom\nof heaven. Blessed are they that mourn, for they—they—”\n“Sh—”\n“For they—a—”\n“S, H, A—”\n“For they S, H—Oh, I don’t know what it is!”\n“_Shall_!”\n“Oh, _shall_! for they shall—for they shall—a—a—shall\nmourn—a—a—blessed are they that shall—they that—a—they that\nshall mourn, for they shall—a—shall _what_? Why don’t you tell me,\nMary?—what do you want to be so mean for?”\n“Oh, Tom, you poor thick-headed thing, I’m not teasing you. I wouldn’t\ndo that. You must go and learn it again. Don’t you be discouraged, Tom,\nyou’ll manage it—and if you do, I’ll give you something ever so nice.\nThere, now, that’s a good boy.”\n“All right! What is it, Mary, tell me what it is.”\n“Never you mind, Tom. You know if I say it’s nice, it is nice.”\n“You bet you that’s so, Mary. All right, I’ll tackle it again.”\nAnd he did “tackle it again”—and under the double pressure of curiosity\nand prospective gain he did it with such spirit that he accomplished a\nshining success. Mary gave him a brand-new “Barlow” knife worth twelve\nand a half cents; and the convulsion of delight that swept his system\nshook him to his foundations. True, the knife would not cut anything,\nbut it was a “sure-enough” Barlow, and there was inconceivable grandeur\nin that—though where the Western boys ever got the idea that such a\nweapon could possibly be counterfeited to its injury is an imposing\nmystery and will always remain so, perhaps. Tom contrived to scarify the\ncupboard with it, and was arranging to begin on the bureau, when he was\ncalled off to dress for Sunday-school.\nMary gave him a tin basin of water and a piece of soap, and he went\noutside the door and set the basin on a little bench there; then he\ndipped the soap in the water and laid it down; turned up his sleeves;\npoured out the water on the ground, gently, and then entered the kitchen\nand began to wipe his face diligently on the towel behind the door. But\nMary removed the towel and said:\n“Now ain’t you ashamed, Tom. You mustn’t be so bad. Water won’t hurt\nyou.”\nTom was a trifle disconcerted. The basin was refilled, and this time he\nstood over it a little while, gathering resolution; took in a big breath\nand began. When he entered the kitchen presently, with both eyes shut\nand groping for the towel with his hands, an honorable testimony of\nsuds and water was dripping from his face. But when he emerged from\nthe towel, he was not yet satisfactory, for the clean territory stopped\nshort at his chin and his jaws, like a mask; below and beyond this line\nthere was a dark expanse of unirrigated soil that spread downward in\nfront and backward around his neck. Mary took him in hand, and when she\nwas done with him he was a man and a brother, without distinction of\ncolor, and his saturated hair was neatly brushed, and its short curls\nwrought into a dainty and symmetrical general effect. [He privately\nsmoothed out the curls, with labor and difficulty, and plastered his\nhair close down to his head; for he held curls to be effeminate, and his\nown filled his life with bitterness.] Then Mary got out a suit of his\nclothing that had been used only on Sundays during two years—they were\nsimply called his “other clothes”—and so by that we know the size of his\nwardrobe. The girl “put him to rights” after he had dressed himself;\nshe buttoned his neat roundabout up to his chin, turned his vast shirt\ncollar down over his shoulders, brushed him off and crowned him with\nhis speckled straw hat. He now looked exceedingly improved and\nuncomfortable. He was fully as uncomfortable as he looked; for there\nwas a restraint about whole clothes and cleanliness that galled him. He\nhoped that Mary would forget his shoes, but the hope was blighted; she\ncoated them thoroughly with tallow, as was the custom, and brought\nthem out. He lost his temper and said he was always being made to do\neverything he didn’t want to do. But Mary said, persuasively:\n“Please, Tom—that’s a good boy.”\nSo he got into the shoes snarling. Mary was soon ready, and the three\nchildren set out for Sunday-school—a place that Tom hated with his whole\nheart; but Sid and Mary were fond of it.\nSabbath-school hours were from nine to half-past ten; and then church\nservice. Two of the children always remained for the sermon voluntarily,\nand the other always remained too—for stronger reasons. The church’s\nhigh-backed, uncushioned pews would seat about three hundred persons;\nthe edifice was but a small, plain affair, with a sort of pine board\ntree-box on top of it for a steeple. At the door Tom dropped back a step\nand accosted a Sunday-dressed comrade:\n“Say, Billy, got a yaller ticket?”\n“Yes.”\n“What’ll you take for her?”\n“What’ll you give?”\n“Piece of lickrish and a fish-hook.”\n“Less see ’em.”\nTom exhibited. They were satisfactory, and the property changed hands.\nThen Tom traded a couple of white alleys for three red tickets, and some\nsmall trifle or other for a couple of blue ones. He waylaid other\nboys as they came, and went on buying tickets of various colors ten\nor fifteen minutes longer. He entered the church, now, with a swarm\nof clean and noisy boys and girls, proceeded to his seat and started\na quarrel with the first boy that came handy. The teacher, a grave,\nelderly man, interfered; then turned his back a moment and Tom pulled a\nboy’s hair in the next bench, and was absorbed in his book when the boy\nturned around; stuck a pin in another boy, presently, in order to hear\nhim say “Ouch!” and got a new reprimand from his teacher. Tom’s whole\nclass were of a pattern—restless, noisy, and troublesome. When they came\nto recite their lessons, not one of them knew his verses perfectly, but\nhad to be prompted all along. However, they worried through, and each\ngot his reward—in small blue tickets, each with a passage of Scripture\non it; each blue ticket was pay for two verses of the recitation. Ten\nblue tickets equalled a red one, and could be exchanged for it; ten red\ntickets equalled a yellow one; for ten yellow tickets the superintendent\ngave a very plainly bound Bible (worth forty cents in those easy\ntimes) to the pupil. How many of my readers would have the industry and\napplication to memorize two thousand verses, even for a Doré Bible? And\nyet Mary had acquired two Bibles in this way—it was the patient work of\ntwo years—and a boy of German parentage had won four or five. He once\nrecited three thousand verses without stopping; but the strain upon his\nmental faculties was too great, and he was little better than an idiot\nfrom that day forth—a grievous misfortune for the school, for on great\noccasions, before company, the superintendent (as Tom expressed it)\nhad always made this boy come out and “spread himself.” Only the older\npupils managed to keep their tickets and stick to their tedious work\nlong enough to get a Bible, and so the delivery of one of these prizes\nwas a rare and noteworthy circumstance; the successful pupil was so\ngreat and conspicuous for that day that on the spot every scholar’s\nheart was fired with a fresh ambition that often lasted a couple\nof weeks. It is possible that Tom’s mental stomach had never really\nhungered for one of those prizes, but unquestionably his entire being\nhad for many a day longed for the glory and the eclat that came with it.\nIn due course the superintendent stood up in front of the pulpit, with\na closed hymn-book in his hand and his forefinger inserted between its\nleaves, and commanded attention. When a Sunday-school superintendent\nmakes his customary little speech, a hymn-book in the hand is as\nnecessary as is the inevitable sheet of music in the hand of a singer\nwho stands forward on the platform and sings a solo at a concert—though\nwhy, is a mystery: for neither the hymn-book nor the sheet of music\nis ever referred to by the sufferer. This superintendent was a slim\ncreature of thirty-five, with a sandy goatee and short sandy hair; he\nwore a stiff standing-collar whose upper edge almost reached his ears\nand whose sharp points curved forward abreast the corners of his mouth—a\nfence that compelled a straight lookout ahead, and a turning of the\nwhole body when a side view was required; his chin was propped on a\nspreading cravat which was as broad and as long as a bank-note, and had\nfringed ends; his boot toes were turned sharply up, in the fashion\nof the day, like sleigh-runners—an effect patiently and laboriously\nproduced by the young men by sitting with their toes pressed against a\nwall for hours together. Mr. Walters was very earnest of mien, and very\nsincere and honest at heart; and he held sacred things and places\nin such reverence, and so separated them from worldly matters, that\nunconsciously to himself his Sunday-school voice had acquired a peculiar\nintonation which was wholly absent on week-days. He began after this\nfashion:\n“Now, children, I want you all to sit up just as straight and pretty as\nyou can and give me all your attention for a minute or two. There—that\nis it. That is the way good little boys and girls should do. I see one\nlittle girl who is looking out of the window—I am afraid she thinks I\nam out there somewhere—perhaps up in one of the trees making a speech\nto the little birds. [Applausive titter.] I want to tell you how good it\nmakes me feel to see so many bright, clean little faces assembled in a\nplace like this, learning to do right and be good.” And so forth and so\non. It is not necessary to set down the rest of the oration. It was of a\npattern which does not vary, and so it is familiar to us all.\nThe latter third of the speech was marred by the resumption of fights\nand other recreations among certain of the bad boys, and by fidgetings\nand whisperings that extended far and wide, washing even to the bases of\nisolated and incorruptible rocks like Sid and Mary. But now every sound\nceased suddenly, with the subsidence of Mr. Walters’ voice, and the\nconclusion of the speech was received with a burst of silent gratitude.\nA good part of the whispering had been occasioned by an event which was\nmore or less rare—the entrance of visitors: lawyer Thatcher, accompanied\nby a very feeble and aged man; a fine, portly, middle-aged gentleman\nwith iron-gray hair; and a dignified lady who was doubtless the latter’s\nwife. The lady was leading a child. Tom", "source": "tomsawyer", "length": 12000, "id": 11}
{"text": "Summarize in plain English: Little Women by Louisa May Alcott\nPART 1\nCHAPTER ONE\nPLAYING PILGRIMS\n“Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,” grumbled Jo, lying\non the rug.\n“It’s so dreadful to be poor!” sighed Meg, looking down at her old\ndress.\n“I don’t think it’s fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty\nthings, and other girls nothing at all,” added little Amy, with an\ninjured sniff.\n“We’ve got Father and Mother, and each other,” said Beth contentedly\nfrom her corner.\nThe four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the\ncheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, “We haven’t got\nFather, and shall not have him for a long time.” She didn’t say\n“perhaps never,” but each silently added it, thinking of Father far\naway, where the fighting was.\nNobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone, “You know\nthe reason Mother proposed not having any presents this Christmas was\nbecause it is going to be a hard winter for everyone; and she thinks we\nought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in\nthe army. We can’t do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, and\nought to do it gladly. But I am afraid I don’t,” and Meg shook her\nhead, as she thought regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted.\n“But I don’t think the little we should spend would do any good. We’ve\neach got a dollar, and the army wouldn’t be much helped by our giving\nthat. I agree not to expect anything from Mother or you, but I do want\nto buy _Undine and Sintran_ for myself. I’ve wanted it so long,” said\nJo, who was a bookworm.\n“I planned to spend mine in new music,” said Beth, with a little sigh,\nwhich no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle-holder.\n“I shall get a nice box of Faber’s drawing pencils; I really need\nthem,” said Amy decidedly.\n“Mother didn’t say anything about our money, and she won’t wish us to\ngive up everything. Let’s each buy what we want, and have a little fun;\nI’m sure we work hard enough to earn it,” cried Jo, examining the heels\nof her shoes in a gentlemanly manner.\n“I know I do—teaching those tiresome children nearly all day, when I’m\nlonging to enjoy myself at home,” began Meg, in the complaining tone\nagain.\n“You don’t have half such a hard time as I do,” said Jo. “How would you\nlike to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps\nyou trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you’re ready to\nfly out the window or cry?”\n“It’s naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and keeping things\ntidy is the worst work in the world. It makes me cross, and my hands\nget so stiff, I can’t practice well at all.” And Beth looked at her\nrough hands with a sigh that any one could hear that time.\n“I don’t believe any of you suffer as I do,” cried Amy, “for you don’t\nhave to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague you if you\ndon’t know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and label your\nfather if he isn’t rich, and insult you when your nose isn’t nice.”\n“If you mean libel, I’d say so, and not talk about labels, as if Papa\nwas a pickle bottle,” advised Jo, laughing.\n“I know what I mean, and you needn’t be statirical about it. It’s\nproper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary,” returned Amy,\nwith dignity.\n“Don’t peck at one another, children. Don’t you wish we had the money\nPapa lost when we were little, Jo? Dear me! How happy and good we’d be,\nif we had no worries!” said Meg, who could remember better times.\n“You said the other day you thought we were a deal happier than the\nKing children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in\nspite of their money.”\n“So I did, Beth. Well, I think we are. For though we do have to work,\nwe make fun of ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say.”\n“Jo does use such slang words!” observed Amy, with a reproving look at\nthe long figure stretched on the rug.\nJo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began to\nwhistle.\n“Don’t, Jo. It’s so boyish!”\n“That’s why I do it.”\n“I detest rude, unladylike girls!”\n“I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!”\n“Birds in their little nests agree,” sang Beth, the peacemaker, with\nsuch a funny face that both sharp voices softened to a laugh, and the\n“pecking” ended for that time.\n“Really, girls, you are both to be blamed,” said Meg, beginning to\nlecture in her elder-sisterly fashion. “You are old enough to leave off\nboyish tricks, and to behave better, Josephine. It didn’t matter so\nmuch when you were a little girl, but now you are so tall, and turn up\nyour hair, you should remember that you are a young lady.”\n“I’m not! And if turning up my hair makes me one, I’ll wear it in two\ntails till I’m twenty,” cried Jo, pulling off her net, and shaking down\na chestnut mane. “I hate to think I’ve got to grow up, and be Miss\nMarch, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China Aster! It’s bad\nenough to be a girl, anyway, when I like boy’s games and work and\nmanners! I can’t get over my disappointment in not being a boy. And\nit’s worse than ever now, for I’m dying to go and fight with Papa. And\nI can only stay home and knit, like a poky old woman!”\nAnd Jo shook the blue army sock till the needles rattled like\ncastanets, and her ball bounded across the room.\n“Poor Jo! It’s too bad, but it can’t be helped. So you must try to be\ncontented with making your name boyish, and playing brother to us\ngirls,” said Beth, stroking the rough head with a hand that all the\ndish washing and dusting in the world could not make ungentle in its\ntouch.\n“As for you, Amy,” continued Meg, “you are altogether too particular\nand prim. Your airs are funny now, but you’ll grow up an affected\nlittle goose, if you don’t take care. I like your nice manners and\nrefined ways of speaking, when you don’t try to be elegant. But your\nabsurd words are as bad as Jo’s slang.”\n“If Jo is a tomboy and Amy a goose, what am I, please?” asked Beth,\nready to share the lecture.\n“You’re a dear, and nothing else,” answered Meg warmly, and no one\ncontradicted her, for the ‘Mouse’ was the pet of the family.\nAs young readers like to know ‘how people look’, we will take this\nmoment to give them a little sketch of the four sisters, who sat\nknitting away in the twilight, while the December snow fell quietly\nwithout, and the fire crackled cheerfully within. It was a comfortable\nroom, though the carpet was faded and the furniture very plain, for a\ngood picture or two hung on the walls, books filled the recesses,\nchrysanthemums and Christmas roses bloomed in the windows, and a\npleasant atmosphere of home peace pervaded it.\nMargaret, the eldest of the four, was sixteen, and very pretty, being\nplump and fair, with large eyes, plenty of soft brown hair, a sweet\nmouth, and white hands, of which she was rather vain. Fifteen-year-old\nJo was very tall, thin, and brown, and reminded one of a colt, for she\nnever seemed to know what to do with her long limbs, which were very\nmuch in her way. She had a decided mouth, a comical nose, and sharp,\ngray eyes, which appeared to see everything, and were by turns fierce,\nfunny, or thoughtful. Her long, thick hair was her one beauty, but it\nwas usually bundled into a net, to be out of her way. Round shoulders\nhad Jo, big hands and feet, a flyaway look to her clothes, and the\nuncomfortable appearance of a girl who was rapidly shooting up into a\nwoman and didn’t like it. Elizabeth, or Beth, as everyone called her,\nwas a rosy, smooth-haired, bright-eyed girl of thirteen, with a shy\nmanner, a timid voice, and a peaceful expression which was seldom\ndisturbed. Her father called her ‘Little Miss Tranquility’, and the\nname suited her excellently, for she seemed to live in a happy world of\nher own, only venturing out to meet the few whom she trusted and loved.\nAmy, though the youngest, was a most important person, in her own\nopinion at least. A regular snow maiden, with blue eyes, and yellow\nhair curling on her shoulders, pale and slender, and always carrying\nherself like a young lady mindful of her manners. What the characters\nof the four sisters were we will leave to be found out.\nThe clock struck six and, having swept up the hearth, Beth put a pair\nof slippers down to warm. Somehow the sight of the old shoes had a good\neffect upon the girls, for Mother was coming, and everyone brightened\nto welcome her. Meg stopped lecturing, and lighted the lamp, Amy got\nout of the easy chair without being asked, and Jo forgot how tired she\nwas as she sat up to hold the slippers nearer to the blaze.\n“They are quite worn out. Marmee must have a new pair.”\n“I thought I’d get her some with my dollar,” said Beth.\n“No, I shall!” cried Amy.\n“I’m the oldest,” began Meg, but Jo cut in with a decided, “I’m the man\nof the family now Papa is away, and I shall provide the slippers, for\nhe told me to take special care of Mother while he was gone.”\n“I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” said Beth, “let’s each get her something\nfor Christmas, and not get anything for ourselves.”\n“That’s like you, dear! What will we get?” exclaimed Jo.\nEveryone thought soberly for a minute, then Meg announced, as if the\nidea was suggested by the sight of her own pretty hands, “I shall give\nher a nice pair of gloves.”\n“Army shoes, best to be had,” cried Jo.\n“Some handkerchiefs, all hemmed,” said Beth.\n“I’ll get a little bottle of cologne. She likes it, and it won’t cost\nmuch, so I’ll have some left to buy my pencils,” added Amy.\n“How will we give the things?” asked Meg.\n“Put them on the table, and bring her in and see her open the bundles.\nDon’t you remember how we used to do on our birthdays?” answered Jo.\n“I used to be so frightened when it was my turn to sit in the chair\nwith the crown on, and see you all come marching round to give the\npresents, with a kiss. I liked the things and the kisses, but it was\ndreadful to have you sit looking at me while I opened the bundles,”\nsaid Beth, who was toasting her face and the bread for tea at the same\ntime.\n“Let Marmee think we are getting things for ourselves, and then\nsurprise her. We must go shopping tomorrow afternoon, Meg. There is so\nmuch to do about the play for Christmas night,” said Jo, marching up\nand down, with her hands behind her back, and her nose in the air.\n“I don’t mean to act any more after this time. I’m getting too old for\nsuch things,” observed Meg, who was as much a child as ever about\n‘dressing-up’ frolics.\n“You won’t stop, I know, as long as you can trail round in a white gown\nwith your hair down, and wear gold-paper jewelry. You are the best\nactress we’ve got, and there’ll be an end of everything if you quit the\nboards,” said Jo. “We ought to rehearse tonight. Come here, Amy, and do\nthe fainting scene, for you are as stiff as a poker in that.”\n“I can’t help it. I never saw anyone faint, and I don’t choose to make\nmyself all black and blue, tumbling flat as you do. If I can go down\neasily, I’ll drop. If I can’t, I shall fall into a chair and be\ngraceful. I don’t care if Hugo does come at me with a pistol,” returned\nAmy, who was not gifted with dramatic power, but was chosen because she\nwas small enough to be borne out shrieking by the villain of the piece.\n“Do it this way. Clasp your hands so, and stagger across the room,\ncrying frantically, ‘Roderigo! Save me! Save me!’” and away went Jo,\nwith a melodramatic scream which was truly thrilling.\nAmy followed, but she poked her hands out stiffly before her, and\njerked herself along as if she went by machinery, and her “Ow!” was\nmore suggestive of pins being run into her than of fear and anguish. Jo\ngave a despairing groan, and Meg laughed outright, while Beth let her\nbread burn as she watched the fun with interest. “It’s no use! Do the\nbest you can when the time comes, and if the audience laughs, don’t\nblame me. Come on, Meg.”\nThen things went smoothly, for Don Pedro defied the world in a speech\nof two pages without a single break. Hagar, the witch, chanted an awful\nincantation over her kettleful of simmering toads, with weird effect.\nRoderigo rent his chains asunder manfully, and Hugo died in agonies of\nremorse and arsenic, with a wild, “Ha! Ha!”\n“It’s the best we’ve had yet,” said Meg, as the dead villain sat up and\nrubbed his elbows.\n“I don’t see how you can write and act such splendid things, Jo. You’re\na regular Shakespeare!” exclaimed Beth, who firmly believed that her\nsisters were gifted with wonderful genius in all things.\n“Not quite,” replied Jo modestly. “I do think _The Witches Curse, an\nOperatic Tragedy_ is rather a nice thing, but I’d like to try\n_Macbeth_, if we only had a trapdoor for Banquo. I always wanted to do\nthe killing part. ‘Is that a dagger that I see before me?” muttered Jo,\nrolling her eyes and clutching at the air, as she had seen a famous\ntragedian do.\n“No, it’s the toasting fork, with Mother’s shoe on it instead of the\nbread. Beth’s stage-struck!” cried Meg, and the rehearsal ended in a\ngeneral burst of laughter.\n“Glad to find you so merry, my girls,” said a cheery voice at the door,\nand actors and audience turned to welcome a tall, motherly lady with a\n‘can I help you’ look about her which was truly delightful. She was not\nelegantly dressed, but a noble-looking woman, and the girls thought the\ngray cloak and unfashionable bonnet covered the most splendid mother in\nthe world.\n“Well, dearies, how have you got on today? There was so much to do,\ngetting the boxes ready to go tomorrow, that I didn’t come home to\ndinner. Has anyone called, Beth? How is your cold, Meg? Jo, you look\ntired to death. Come and kiss me, baby.”\nWhile making these maternal inquiries Mrs. March got her wet things\noff, her warm slippers on, and sitting down in the easy chair, drew Amy\nto her lap, preparing to enjoy the happiest hour of her busy day. The\ngirls flew about, trying to make things comfortable, each in her own\nway. Meg arranged the tea table, Jo brought wood and set chairs,\ndropping, over-turning, and clattering everything she touched. Beth\ntrotted to and fro between parlor kitchen, quiet and busy, while Amy\ngave directions to everyone, as she sat with her hands folded.\nAs they gathered about the table, Mrs. March said, with a particularly\nhappy face, “I’ve got a treat for you after supper.”\nA quick, bright smile went round like a streak of sunshine. Beth\nclapped her hands, regardless of the biscuit she held, and Jo tossed up\nher napkin, crying, “A letter! A letter! Three cheers for Father!”\n“Yes, a nice long letter. He is well, and thinks he shall get through\nthe cold season better than we feared. He sends all sorts of loving\nwishes for Christmas, and an especial message to you girls,” said Mrs.\nMarch, patting her pocket as if she had got a treasure there.\n“Hurry and get done! Don’t stop to quirk your little finger and simper\nover your plate, Amy,” cried Jo, choking on her tea and dropping her\nbread, butter side down, on the carpet in her haste to get at the\ntreat.\nBeth ate no more, but crept away to sit in her shadowy corner and brood\nover the delight to come, till the others were ready.\n“I think it was so splendid in Father to go as chaplain when he was too\nold to be drafted, and not strong enough for a soldier,” said Meg\nwarmly.\n“Don’t I wish I could go as a drummer, a vivan—what’s its name? Or a\nnurse, so I could be near him and help him,” exclaimed Jo, with a\ngroan.\n“It must be very disagreeable to sleep in a tent, and eat all sorts of\nbad-tasting things, and drink out of a tin mug,” sighed Amy.\n“When will he come home, Marmee?” asked Beth, with a little quiver in\nher voice.\n“Not for many months, dear, unless he is sick. He will stay and do his\nwork faithfully as long as he can, and we won’t ask for him back a\nminute sooner than he can be spared. Now come and hear the letter.”\nThey all drew to the fire, Mother in the big chair with Beth at her\nfeet, Meg and Amy perched on either arm of the chair, and Jo leaning on\nthe back, where no one would see any sign of emotion if the letter\nshould happen to be touching. Very few letters were written in those\nhard times that were not touching, especially those which fathers sent\nhome. In this one little was said of the hardships endured, the dangers\nfaced, or the homesickness conquered. It was a cheerful, hopeful\nletter, full of lively descriptions of camp life, marches, and military\nnews, and only at the end did the writer’s heart over-flow with\nfatherly love and longing for the little girls at home.\n“Give them all of my dear love and a kiss. Tell them I think of them by\nday, pray for them by night, and find my best comfort in their\naffection at all times. A year seems very long to wait before I see\nthem, but remind them that while we wait we may all work, so that these\nhard days need not be wasted. I know they will remember all I said to\nthem, that they will be loving children to you, will do their duty\nfaithfully, fight their bosom enemies bravely, and conquer themselves\nso beautifully that when I come back to them I may be fonder and\nprouder than ever of my little women.” Everybody sniffed when they came\nto that part. Jo wasn’t ashamed of the great tear that dropped off the\nend of her nose, and Amy never minded the rumpling of her curls as she\nhid her face on her mother’s shoulder and sobbed out, “I am a selfish\ngirl! But I’ll truly try to be better, so he mayn’t be disappointed in\nme by-and-by.”\n“We all will,” cried Meg. “I think too much of my looks and hate to\nwork, but won’t any more, if I can help it.”\n“I’ll try and be what he loves to call me, ‘a little woman’ and not be\nrough and wild, but do my duty here instead of wanting to be somewhere\nelse,” said Jo, thinking that keeping her temper at home was a much\nharder task than facing a rebel or two down South.\nBeth said nothing, but wiped away her tears with the blue army sock and\nbegan to knit with all her might, losing no time in doing the duty that\nlay nearest her, while she resolved in her quiet little soul to be all\nthat Father hoped to find her when the year brought round the happy\ncoming home.\nMrs. March broke the silence that followed Jo’s words, by saying in her\ncheery voice, “Do you remember how you used to play Pilgrims Progress\nwhen you were little things? Nothing delighted you more than to have me\ntie my piece bags on your backs for burdens, give you hats and sticks\nand rolls of paper, and let you travel through the house from the\ncellar, which was the City of Destruction, up, up, to the housetop,\nwhere you had all the lovely things you could collect to make a\nCelestial City.”\n“What fun it was, especially going by the lions, fighting Apollyon, and\npassing through the valley where the hob-goblins were,” said Jo.\n“I liked the place where the bundles fell off and tumbled downstairs,”\nsaid Meg.\n“I don’t remember much about it, except that I was afraid of the cellar\nand the dark entry, and always liked the cake and milk we had up at the\ntop. If I wasn’t too old for such things, I’d rather like to play it\nover again,” said Amy, who began to talk of renouncing childish things\nat the mature age of twelve.\n“We never are too old for this, my dear, because it is a play we are\nplaying all the time in one way or another. Our burdens are here, our\nroad is before us, and the longing for goodness and happiness is the\nguide that leads us through many troubles and mistakes to the peace\nwhich is a true Celestial City. Now, my little pilgrims, suppose you\nbegin again, not in play, but in earnest, and see how far on you can\nget before Father comes home.”\n“Really, Mother? Where are our bundles?” asked Amy, who was a very\nliteral young lady.\n“Each of you told what your burden was just now, except Beth. I rather\nthink she hasn’t got any,” said her mother.\n“Yes, I have. Mine is dishes and dusters, and envying girls with nice\npianos, and being afraid of people.”\nBeth’s bundle was such a funny one that everybody wanted to laugh, but\nnobody did, for it would have hurt her feelings very much.\n“Let us do it,” said Meg thoughtfully. “It is only another name for\ntrying to be good, and the story may help us, for though we do want to\nbe good, it’s hard work and we forget, and don’t do our best.”\n“We were in the Slough of Despond tonight, and Mother came and pulled\nus out as Help did in the book. We ought to have our roll of\ndirections, like Christian. What shall we do about that?” asked Jo,\ndelighted with the fancy which lent a little romance to the very dull\ntask of doing her duty.\n“Look under your pillows Christmas morning, and you will find your\nguidebook,” replied Mrs. March.\nThey talked over the new plan while old Hannah cleared the table, then\nout came the four little work baskets, and the needles flew as the\ngirls made sheets for Aunt March. It was uninteresting sewing, but\ntonight no one grumbled. They adopted Jo’s plan of dividing the long\nseams into four parts, and calling the quarters Europe, Asia, Africa,\nand America, and in that way got on capitally, especially when they\ntalked about the different countries as they stitched their way through\nthem.\nAt nine they stopped work, and sang, as usual, before they went to bed.\nNo one but Beth could get much music out of the old piano, but she had\na way of softly touching the yellow keys and making a pleasant\naccompaniment to the simple songs they sang. Meg had a voice like a\nflute, and she and her mother led the little choir. Amy chirped like a\ncricket, and Jo wandered through the airs at her own sweet will, always\ncoming out at the wrong place with a croak or a quaver that spoiled the\nmost pensive tune. They had always done this from the time they could\nlisp...\nCrinkle, crinkle, ’ittle ’tar,\nand it had become a household custom, for the mother was a born singer.\nThe first sound in the morning was her voice as she went about the\nhouse singing like a lark, and the last sound at night was the same\ncheery sound, for the girls never grew too old for that familiar\nlullaby.\nCHAPTER TWO\nA MERRY CHRISTMAS\nJo was the first to wake in the gray dawn of Christmas morning. No\nstockings hung at the fireplace, and for a moment she felt as much\ndisappointed as she did long ago, when her little sock fell down\nbecause it was crammed so full of goodies. Then she remembered her\nmother’s promise and, slipping her hand under her pillow, drew out a\nlittle crimson-covered book. She knew it very well, for it was that\nbeautiful old story of the best life ever lived, and Jo felt that it\nwas a true guidebook for any pilgrim going on a long journey. She woke\nMeg with a “Merry Christmas,” and bade her see what was under her\npillow. A green-covered book appeared, with the same picture inside,\nand a few words written by their mother, which made their one present\nvery precious in their eyes. Presently Beth and Amy woke to rummage and\nfind their little books also, one dove-colored, the other blue, and all\nsat looking at and talking about them, while the east grew rosy with\nthe coming day.\nIn spite of her small vanities, Margaret had a sweet and pious nature,\nwhich unconsciously influenced her sisters, especially Jo, who loved\nher very tenderly, and obeyed her because her advice was so gently\ngiven.\n“Girls,” said Meg seriously, looking from the tumbled head beside her\nto the two little night-capped ones in the room beyond, “Mother wants\nus to read and love and mind these books, and we must begin at once. We\nused to be faithful about it, but since Father went away and all this\nwar trouble unsettled us, we have neglected many things. You can do as\nyou please, but I shall keep my book on the table here and read a\nlittle every morning as soon as I wake, for I know it will do me good\nand help me through the day.”\nThen she opened her new book and began to read. Jo put her arm round\nher and, leaning cheek to cheek, read also, with the quiet expression\nso seldom seen on her restless face.\n“How good Meg is! Come, Amy, let’s do as they do. I’ll help you with\nthe hard words, and they’ll explain things if we don’t understand,”\nwhispered Beth, very much impressed by the pretty books and her\nsisters’ example.\n“I’m glad mine is blue,” said Amy. and then the rooms were very still\nwhile the pages were softly turned, and the winter sunshine crept in to\ntouch the bright heads and serious faces with a Christmas greeting.\n“Where is Mother?” asked Meg, as she and Jo ran down to thank her for\ntheir gifts, half an hour later.\n“Goodness only knows. Some poor creeter came a-beggin’, and your ma\nwent straight off to see what was needed. There never was such a woman\nfor givin’ away vittles and drink, clothes and firin’,” replied Hannah,\nwho had lived with the family since Meg was born, and was considered by\nthem all more as a friend than a servant.\n“She will be back soon, I think, so fry your cakes, and have everything\nready,” said Meg, looking over the presents which were collected in a\nbasket and kept under the sofa, ready to be produced at the proper\ntime. “Why, where is Amy’s bottle of cologne?” she added, as the little\nflask did not appear.\n“She took it out a minute ago, and went off with it to put a ribbon on\nit, or some such notion,” replied Jo, dancing about the room to take\nthe first stiffness off the new army slippers.\n“How nice my handkerchiefs look, don’t they? Hannah washed and ironed\nthem for me, and I marked them all myself,” said Beth, looking proudly\nat the somewhat uneven letters which had cost her such labor.\n“Bless the child! She’s gone and put ‘Mother’ on them instead of ‘M.\nMarch’. How funny!” cried Jo, taking one up.\n“Isn’t that right? I thought it was better to do it so, because Meg’s\ninitials are M.M., and I don’t want anyone to use these but Marmee,”\nsaid Beth, looking troubled.\n“It’s all right, dear, and a very pretty idea, quite sensible too, for\nno one can ever mistake now. It will please her very much, I know,”\nsaid Meg, with a frown for Jo and a smile for Beth.\n“There’s Mother. Hide the basket, quick!” cried Jo, as a door slammed\nand steps sounded in the hall.\nAmy came in hastily, and looked rather abashed when she saw her sisters\nall waiting for her.\n“Where have you been, and what are you hiding behind you?” asked Meg,\nsurprised to see, by her hood and cloak, that lazy Amy had been out so\nearly.\n“Don’t laugh at me, Jo! I didn’t mean anyone should know till the time\ncame. I only meant to change the little bottle for a big one, and I\ngave all my money to get it, and I’m truly trying not to be selfish any\nmore.”\nAs she spoke, Amy showed the handsome flask which replaced the cheap\none, and looked so earnest and humble in her little effort to forget\nherself that Meg hugged her on the spot, and Jo pronounced her ‘a\ntrump’, while Beth ran to the window, and picked her finest rose to\nornament the stately bottle.\n“You see I felt ashamed of my present, after reading and talking about\nbeing good this morning, so I ran round the corner and changed it the\nminute I was up, and I’m so glad, for mine is the handsomest now.”\nAnother bang of the street door sent the basket under the sofa, and the\ngirls to the table, eager for breakfast.\n“Merry Christmas, Marmee! Many of them! Thank you for our books. We\nread some, and mean to every day,” they all cried in chorus.\n“Merry Christmas, little daughters! I’m glad you began at once, and\nhope you will keep on. But I want to say one word before we sit down.\nNot far away from here lies a poor woman with a little newborn baby.\nSix children are huddled into one bed to keep from freezing, for they\nhave no fire. There is nothing to eat over there, and the oldest boy\ncame to tell me they were suffering hunger and cold. My girls, will you\ngive them your breakfast as a Christmas present?”\nThey were all unusually hungry, having waited nearly an hour, and for a\nminute no one spoke, only a minute, for Jo exclaimed impetuously, “I’m\nso glad you came before we began!”\n“May I go and help carry the things to the poor little children?” asked\nBeth eagerly.\n“I shall take the cream and the muffings,” added Amy, heroically giving\nup the article she most liked.\nMeg was already covering the buckwheats, and piling the bread into one\nbig plate.\n“I thought you’d do it,” said Mrs. March, smiling as if satisfied. “You\nshall all go and help me, and when we come back we will have bread and\nmilk for breakfast, and make it up at dinnertime.”\nThey were soon ready, and the procession set out. Fortunately it was\nearly, and they went through back streets, so few people saw them, and\nno one laughed at the queer party.\nA poor, bare, miserable room it was, with broken windows, no fire,\nragged bedclothes, a sick mother, wailing baby, and a group of pale,\nhungry children cuddled under one old quilt, trying to keep warm.\nHow the big eyes stared and the blue lips smiled as the girls went in.\n“Ach, mein Gott! It is good angels come to us!” said the poor woman,\ncrying for joy.\n“Funny angels in hoods and mittens,” said Jo, and set them to laughing.\nIn a few minutes it really did seem as if kind spirits had been at work\nthere. Hannah, who had carried wood, made a fire, and stopped up the\nbroken panes with old hats and her own cloak. Mrs. March gave the\nmother tea and gruel, and comforted her with promises of help, while\nshe dressed the little baby as tenderly as if it had been her own. The\ngirls meantime spread the table, set the children round the fire, and\nfed them like so many hungry birds, laughing, talking, and trying to\nunderstand the funny broken English.\n“Das ist gut!” “Die Engel-kinder!” cried the poor things as they ate\nand warmed their purple hands at the comfortable blaze. The girls had\nnever been called angel children before, and thought it very agreeable,\nespecially Jo, who had been considered a ‘Sancho’ ever since she was\nborn. That was a very happy breakfast, though they didn’t get any of\nit. And when they went away, leaving comfort behind, I think there were\nnot in all the city four merrier people than the hungry little girls\nwho gave away their breakfasts and contented themselves with bread and\nmilk on Christmas morning.\n“That’s loving our neighbor better than ourselves, and I like it,” said\nMeg, as they set out their presents while their mother was upstairs\ncollecting clothes for the poor Hummels.\nNot a very splendid show, but there was a great deal of love done up in\nthe few little bundles, and the tall vase of red roses, white\nchrysanthemums, and trailing vines, which stood in the middle, gave\nquite an elegant air to the table.\n“She’s coming! Strike up, Beth! Open the door, Amy! Three cheers for\nMarmee!” cried Jo, prancing about while Meg went to conduct Mother to\nthe seat of honor.\nBeth played her gayest march, Amy threw open the door, and Meg enacted\nescort with great dignity. Mrs. March was both surprised and touched,\nand smiled with her eyes full as she examined her presents and read the\nlittle notes which accompanied them. The slippers went on at once, a\nnew handkerchief was slipped into her pocket, well scented with Amy’s\ncologne, the rose was fastened in her bosom, and the nice gloves were\npronounced a perfect fit.\nThere was a good deal of laughing and kissing and explaining, in the\nsimple, loving fashion which makes these home festivals so pleasant at\nthe time, so sweet to remember long afterward, and then all fell to\nwork.\nThe morning charities and ceremonies took so much time that the rest of\nthe day was devoted to preparations for the evening festivities. Being\nstill too young to go often to the theater, and not rich enough to\nafford any great outlay for private performances, the girls put their\nwits to work, and necessity being the mother of invention, made\nwhatever they needed. Very clever were some of their productions,\npasteboard guitars, antique lamps made of old-fashioned butter boats\ncovered with silver paper, gorgeous robes of old cotton, glittering\nwith tin spangles from a pickle factory, and armor covered with the\nsame useful diamond shaped bits left in sheets when the lids of\npreserve pots were cut out. The big chamber was the scene of many\ninnocent revels.\nNo gentleman were admitted, so Jo played male parts to her heart’s\ncontent and took immense satisfaction in a pair of russet leather boots\ngiven her by a friend, who knew a lady who knew an actor. These boots,\nan old foil, and a slashed doublet once used by an artist for some\npicture, were Jo’s chief treasures and appeared on all occasions. The\nsmallness of the company made it necessary for the two principal actors\nto take several parts apiece, and they certainly deserved some credit\nfor the hard work they did in learning three or four different parts,\nwhisking in and out of various costumes, and managing the stage\nbesides. It was excellent drill for their memories, a harmless\namusement, and employed many hours which otherwise would have been\nidle, lonely, or spent in less profitable society.\nOn Christmas night, a dozen girls piled onto the bed which was the\ndress circle, and sat before the blue and yellow chintz curtains in a\nmost flattering state of expectancy. There was a good deal of rustling\nand whispering behind the curtain, a trifle of lamp smoke, and an\noccasional giggle from Amy, who was apt to get hysterical in the\nexcitement of the moment. Presently a bell sounded, the curtains flew\napart, and the _operatic tragedy_ began.\n“A gloomy wood,” according to the one playbill, was represented by a\nfew shrubs in pots, green baize on the floor, and a cave in the\ndistance. This cave was made with a clothes horse for a roof, bureaus\nfor walls, and in it was a small furnace in full blast, with a black\npot on it and an old witch bending over it. The stage was dark and the\nglow of the furnace had a fine effect, especially as real steam issued\nfrom the kettle when the witch took off the cover. A moment was allowed\nfor the first thrill to subside, then Hugo, the villain, stalked in\nwith a clanking sword at his side, a slouching hat, black beard,\nmysterious cloak, and the boots. After pacing to and fro in much\nagitation, he struck his forehead, and burst out in a wild strain,\nsinging of his hatred for Roderigo, his love for Zara, and his pleasing\nresolution to kill the one and win the other. The gruff tones of Hugo’s\nvoice, with an occasional shout when his feelings overcame him, were\nvery impressive, and the audience applauded the moment he paused for\nbreath. Bowing with the air of one accustomed to public praise, he\nstole to the cavern and ordered Hagar to come forth with a commanding,\n“What ho, minion! I need thee!”\nOut came Meg, with gray horsehair hanging about her face, a red and\nblack robe, a staff, and cabalistic signs upon her cloak. Hugo demanded\na potion to make Zara adore him, and one to destroy Roderigo. Hagar, in\na fine dramatic melody, promised both, and proceeded to call up the\nspirit who would bring the love philter.\nHither, hither, from thy home,\nAiry sprite, I bid thee come!\nBorn of roses, fed on dew,\nCharms and potions canst thou brew?\nBring me here, with elfin speed,\nThe fragrant philter which I need.\nMake it sweet and swift and strong,\nSpirit, answer now my song!\nA soft strain of music sounded, and then at the back of the cave\nappeared a little figure in cloudy white, with glittering wings, golden\nhair, and a garland of roses on its head. Waving a wand, it sang...\nHither I come,\nFrom my airy home,\nAfar in the silver moon.\nTake the magic spell,\nAnd use it well,\nOr its power will vanish soon!\nAnd dropping a small, gilded bottle at the witch’s feet, the spirit\nvanished. Another chant from Hagar produced another apparition, not a\nlovely one, for with a bang an ugly black imp appeared and, having\ncroaked a reply, tossed a dark bottle at Hugo and disappeared with a\nmocking laugh. Having warbled his thanks and put the potions in his\nboots, Hugo departed, and Hagar informed the audience that as he had\nkilled a few of her friends in times past, she had cursed him, and\nintends to thwart his plans, and be revenged on him. Then the curtain\nfell, and the audience reposed and ate candy while discussing the\nmerits of the play.\nA good deal of hammering went on before the curtain rose again, but\nwhen it became evident what a masterpiece of stage carpentery had been\ngot up, no one murmured at the delay. It was truly superb. A tower rose\nto the ceiling, halfway up appeared a window with a lamp burning in it,\nand behind the white curtain appeared Zara in a lovely blue and silver\ndress, waiting for Roderigo. He came in gorgeous array, with plumed\ncap, red cloak, chestnut lovelocks, a guitar, and the boots, of course.\nKneeling at the foot of the tower, he sang a serenade in melting tones.\nZara replied and, after a musical dialogue, consented to fly. Then came\nthe grand effect of the play. Roderigo produced a rope ladder, with\nfive steps to it, threw up one end, and invited Zara to descend.\nTimidly she crept from her lattice, put her hand on Roderigo’s\nshoulder, and was about to leap gracefully down when “Alas! Alas for\nZara!” she forgot her train. It caught in the window, the tower\ntottered, leaned forward, fell with a crash, and buried the unhappy\nlovers in the ruins.\nA universal shriek arose as the russet boots waved wildly from the\nwreck and a golden head emerged, exclaiming, “I told you so! I told you\nso!” With wonderful presence of mind, Don Pedro, the cruel sire, rushed\nin, dragged out his daughter, with a hasty aside...\n“Don’t laugh! Act as if it was all right!” and, ordering Roderigo up,\nbanished him from the kingdom with wrath and scorn. Though decidedly\nshaken by the fall from the tower upon him, Roderigo defied the old\ngentleman and refused to stir. This dauntless example fired Zara. She\nalso defied her sire, and he ordered them both to the deepest dungeons\nof the castle. A stout little retainer came in with chains and led them\naway, looking very much frightened and evidently forgetting the speech\nhe ought to have made.\nAct third was the castle hall, and here Hagar appeared, having come to\nfree the lovers and finish Hugo. She hears him coming and hides, sees\nhim put the potions into two cups of wine and bid the timid little\nservant, “Bear them to the captives in their cells, and tell them I\nshall come anon.” The servant takes Hugo aside to tell him something,\nand Hagar changes the cups for two others which are harmless.\nFerdinando, the ‘minion’, carries them away, and Hagar puts back the\ncup which holds the poison meant for Roderigo. Hugo, getting thirsty\nafter a long warble, drinks it, loses his wits, and after a good deal\nof clutching and stamping, falls flat and dies, while Hagar informs him\nwhat she has done in a song of exquisite power and melody.\nThis was a truly thrilling scene, though some persons might have\nthought that the sudden tumbling down of a quantity of long red hair\nrather marred the effect of the villain’s death. He was called before\nthe curtain, and with great propriety appeared, leading Hagar, whose\nsinging was considered more wonderful than all the rest of the\nperformance put together.\nAct fourth displayed the despairing Roderigo on the point of stabbing\nhimself because he has been told that Zara has deserted him. Just as\nthe dagger is at his heart, a lovely song is sung under his window,\ninforming him that Zara is true but in danger, and he can save her if\nhe will. A key is thrown in, which unlocks the door, and in a spasm of\nrapture he tears off his chains and rushes away to find and rescue his\nlady love.\nAct fifth opened with a stormy scene between Zara and Don Pedro. He\nwishes her to go into a convent, but she won’t hear of it, and after a\ntouching appeal, is about to faint when Roderigo dashes in and demands\nher hand. Don Pedro refuses, because he is not rich. They shout and\ngesticulate tremendously but cannot agree, and Rodrigo is about to bear\naway the exhausted Zara, when the timid servant enters with a letter\nand a bag from Hagar, who has mysteriously disappeared. The latter\ninforms the party that she bequeaths untold wealth to the young pair\nand an awful doom to Don Pedro, if he doesn’t make them happy. The bag\nis opened, and several quarts of tin money shower down upon the stage\ntill it is quite glorified with the glitter. This entirely softens the\nstern sire. He consents without a murmur, all join in a joyful chorus,\nand the curtain falls upon the lovers kneeling to receive Don Pedro’s\nblessing in attitudes of the most romantic grace.\nTumultuous applause followed but received an unexpected check, for the\ncot bed, on which the dress circle was built, suddenly shut up and\nextinguished the enthusiastic audience. Roderigo and Don Pedro flew to\nthe rescue, and all were taken out unhurt, though many were speechless\nwith laughter. The excitement had hardly subsided when Hannah appeared,\nwith “Mrs. March’s compliments, and would the ladies walk down to\nsupper.”\nThis was a surprise even to the actors, and when they saw the table,\nthey looked at one another in rapturous amazement. It was like Marmee\nto get up a little treat for them, but anything so fine as this was\nunheard of since the departed days of plenty. There was ice cream,\nactually two dishes of it, pink and white, and cake and fruit and\ndistracting French bonbons and, in the middle of the table, four great\nbouquets of hot house flowers.\nIt quite took their breath away, and they stared first at the table and\nthen at their mother, who looked as if she enjoyed it immensely.\n“Is it fairies?” asked Amy.\n“Santa Claus,” said Beth.\n“Mother did it.” And Meg smiled her sweetest, in spite of her gray\nbeard and white eyebrows.\n“Aunt March had a good fit and sent the supper,” cried Jo, with a\nsudden inspiration.\n“All wrong. Old Mr. Laurence sent it,” replied Mrs. March.\n“The Laurence boy’s grandfather! What in the world put such a thing\ninto his head? We don’t know him!” exclaimed Meg.\n“Hannah told one of his servants about your breakfast party. He is an\nodd old gentleman, but that pleased him. He knew my father years ago,\nand he sent me a polite note this afternoon, saying he hoped I would\nallow him to express his friendly feeling toward my children by sending\nthem a few trifles in honor of the day. I could not refuse, and so you\nhave a little feast at night to make up for the bread-and-milk\nbreakfast.”\n“That boy put it into his head, I know he did! He’s a capital fellow,\nand I wish we could get acquainted. He looks as if he’d like to know us\nbut he’s bashful, and Meg is so prim she won’t let me speak to him when\nwe pass,” said Jo, as the plates went round, and the ice began to melt\nout of sight, with ohs and ahs of satisfaction.\n“You mean the people who live in the big house next door, don’t you?”\nasked one of the girls. “My mother knows old Mr. Laurence, but says\nhe’s very proud and doesn’t like to mix with his neighbors. He keeps\nhis grandson shut up, when he isn’t riding or walking with his tutor,\nand makes him study very hard. We invited him to our party, but he\ndidn’t come. Mother says he’s very nice, though he never speaks to us\ngirls.”\n“Our cat ran away once, and he brought her back, and we talked over the\nfence, and were getting on capitally, all about cricket, and so on,\nwhen he saw Meg coming, and walked off. I mean to know him some day,\nfor he needs fun, I’m sure he does,” said Jo decidedly.\n“I like his manners, and he looks like a little gentleman, so I’ve no\nobjection to your knowing him, if a proper opportunity comes. He\nbrought the flowers himself, and I should have asked him in, if I had\nbeen sure what was going on upstairs. He looked so wistful as he went\naway, hearing the frolic and evidently having none of his own.”\n“It’s a mercy you didn’t, Mother!” laughed Jo, looking at her boots.\n“But we’ll have another play sometime that he can see. Perhaps he’ll\nhelp act. Wouldn’t that be jolly?”\n“I never had such a fine bouquet before! How pretty it is!” And Meg\nexamined her flowers with great interest.\n“They are lovely. But Beth’s roses are sweeter to me,” said Mrs. March,\nsmelling the half-dead posy in her belt.\nBeth nestled up to her, and whispered softly, “I wish I could send my\nbunch to Father. I’m afraid he isn’t having such a merry Christmas as\nwe are.”\nCHAPTER THREE\nTHE LAURENCE BOY\n“Jo! Jo! Where are you?” cried Meg at the foot of the garret stairs.\n“Here!” answered a husky voice from above, and, running up, Meg found\nher sister eating apples and crying over the Heir of Redclyffe, wrapped\nup in a comforter on an old three-legged sofa by the sunny window. This\nwas Jo’s favorite refuge, and here she loved to retire with half a\ndozen russets and a nice book, to enjoy the quiet and the society of a\npet rat who lived near by and didn’t mind her a particle. As Meg\nappeared, Scrabble whisked into his hole. Jo shook the tears off her\ncheeks and waited to hear the news.\n“Such fun! Only see! A regular note of invitation from Mrs. Gardiner\nfor tomorrow night!” cried Meg, waving the precious paper and then\nproceeding to read it with girlish delight.\n“‘Mrs. Gardiner would be happy to see Miss March and Miss Josephine at\na little dance on New Year’s Eve.’ Marmee is willing we should go, now\nwhat shall we wear?”\n“What’s the use of asking that, when you know we shall wear our\npoplins, because we haven’t got anything else?” answered Jo with her\nmouth full.\n“If I only had a silk!” sighed Meg. “Mother says I may when I’m\neighteen perhaps, but two years is an everlasting time to wait.”\n“I’m sure our pops look like silk, and they are nice enough for us.\nYours is as good as new, but I forgot the burn and the tear in mine.\nWhatever shall I do? The burn shows badly, and I can’t take any out.”\n“You must sit still all you can and keep your back out of sight. The\nfront is all right. I shall have a new ribbon for my hair, and Marmee\nwill lend me her little pearl pin, and my new slippers are lovely, and\nmy gloves will do, though they aren’t as nice as I’d like.”\n“Mine are spoiled with lemonade, and I can’t get any new ones, so I\nshall have to go without,” said Jo, who never troubled herself much\nabout dress.\n“You must have gloves, or I won’t go,” cried Meg decidedly. “Gloves are\nmore important than anything else. You can’t dance without them, and if\nyou don’t I should be so mortified.”\n“Then I’ll stay still. I don’t care much for company dancing. It’s no\nfun to go sailing round. I like to fly about and cut capers.”\n“You can’t ask Mother for new ones, they are so expensive, and you are\nso careless. She said when you spoiled the others that she shouldn’t\nget you any more this winter. Can’t you make them do?”\n“I can hold them crumpled up in my hand, so no one will know how\nstained they are. That’s all I can do. No! I’ll tell you how we can\nmanage, each wear one good one and carry a bad one. Don’t you see?”\n“Your hands are bigger than mine, and you will stretch my glove\ndreadfully,” began Meg, whose gloves were a tender point with her.\n“Then I’ll go without. I don’t care what people say!” cried Jo, taking\nup her book.\n“You may have it, you may! Only don’t stain it, and do behave nicely.\nDon’t put your hands behind you, or stare, or say ‘Christopher\nColumbus!’ will you?”\n“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be as prim as I can and not get into any\nscrapes, if I can help it. Now go and answer your note, and let me\nfinish this splendid story.”\nSo Meg went away to ‘accept with thanks’, look over her dress, and sing\nblithely as she did up her one real lace frill, while Jo finished her\nstory, her four apples, and had a game of romps with Scrabble.\nOn New Year’s Eve the parlor was deserted, for the two younger girls\nplayed dressing maids and the two elder were absorbed in the\nall-important business of ‘getting ready for the party’. Simple as the\ntoilets were, there was a great deal of running up and down, laughing\nand talking, and at one time a strong smell of burned hair pervaded the\nhouse. Meg wanted a few curls about her face, and Jo undertook to pinch\nthe papered locks with a pair of hot tongs.\n“Ought they to smoke like that?” asked Beth from her perch on the bed.\n“It’s the dampness drying,” replied Jo.\n“What a queer smell! It’s like burned feathers,” observed Amy,\nsmoothing her own pretty curls with a superior air.\n“There, now I’ll take off the papers and you’ll see a cloud of little\nringlets,” said Jo, putting down the tongs.\nShe did take off the papers, but no cloud of ringlets appeared, for the\nhair came with the papers, and the horrified hairdresser laid a row of\nlittle scorched bundles on the bureau before her victim.\n“Oh, oh, oh! What have you done? I’m spoiled! I can’t go! My hair, oh,\nmy hair!” wailed Meg, looking with despair at the uneven frizzle on her\nforehead.\n“Just my luck! You shouldn’t have asked me to do it. I always spoil\neverything. I’m so sorry, but the tongs were too hot, and so I’ve made\na mess,” groaned poor Jo, regarding the little black pancakes with\ntears of regret.\n“It isn’t spoiled. Just frizzle it, and tie your ribbon so the ends\ncome on your forehead a bit, and it will look like the last fashion.\nI’ve seen many girls do it so,” said Amy consolingly.\n“Serves me right for trying to be fine. I wish I’d let my hair alone,”\ncried Meg petulantly.\n“So do I, it was so smooth and pretty. But it will soon grow out\nagain,” said Beth, coming to kiss and comfort the shorn sheep.\nAfter various lesser mishaps, Meg was finished at last, and by the\nunited exertions of the entire family Jo’s hair was got up and her\ndress on. They looked very well in their simple suits, Meg’s in silvery\ndrab, with a blue velvet snood, lace frills, and the pearl pin. Jo in\nmaroon, with a stiff, gentlemanly linen collar, and a white\nchrysanthemum or two for her only ornament. Each put on one nice light\nglove, and carried one soiled one, and all pronounced the effect “quite\neasy and fine”. Meg’s high-heeled slippers were very tight and hurt\nher, though she would not own it, and Jo’s nineteen hairpins all seemed\nstuck straight into her head, which was not exactly comfortable, but,\ndear me, let us be elegant or die.\n“Have a good time, dearies!” said Mrs. March, as the sisters went\ndaintily down the walk. “Don’t eat much supper, and come away at eleven\nwhen I send Hannah for you.” As the gate clashed behind them, a voice\ncried from a window...\n“Girls, girls! Have you you both got nice pocket handkerchiefs?”\n“Yes, yes, spandy nice, and Meg has cologne on hers,” cried Jo, adding\nwith a laugh as they went on, “I do believe Marmee would ask that if we\nwere all running away from an earthquake.”\n“It is one of her aristocratic tastes, and quite proper, for a real\nlady is always known by neat boots, gloves, and handkerchief,” replied\nMeg, who had a good many little ‘aristocratic tastes’ of her own.\n“Now don’t forget to keep the bad breadth out of sight, Jo. Is my sash\nright? And does my hair look very bad?” said Meg, as she turned from\nthe glass in Mrs. Gardiner’s dressing room after a prolonged prink.\n“I know I shall forget. If you see me doing anything wrong, just remind\nme by a wink, will you?” returned Jo, giving her collar a twitch and\nher head a hasty brush.\n“No, winking isn’t ladylike. I’ll lift my eyebrows if any thing is\nwrong, and nod if you are all right. Now hold your shoulder straight,\nand take short steps, and don’t shake hands if you are introduced to\nanyone. It isn’t the thing.”\n“How do you learn all the proper ways? I never can. Isn’t that music\ngay?”\nDown they went, feeling a trifle timid, for they seldom went to\nparties, and informal as this little gathering was, it was an event to\nthem. Mrs. Gardiner, a stately old lady, greeted them kindly and handed\nthem over to the eldest of her six daughters. Meg knew Sallie and was\nat her ease very soon, but Jo, who didn’t care much for girls or\ngirlish gossip, stood about, with her back carefully against the wall,\nand felt as much out of place as a colt in a flower garden. Half a\ndozen jovial lads were talking about skates in another part of the\nroom, and she longed to go and join them, for skating was one of the\njoys of her life. She telegraphed her wish to Meg, but the eyebrows\nwent up so alarmingly that she dared not stir. No one came to talk to\nher, and one by one the group dwindled away till she was left alone.\nShe could not roam about and amuse herself, for the burned breadth\nwould show, so she stared at people rather forlornly till the dancing\nbegan. Meg was asked at once, and the tight slippers tripped about so\nbriskly that none would have guessed the pain their wearer suffered\nsmilingly. Jo saw a big red headed youth approaching her corner, and\nfearing he meant to engage her, she slipped into a curtained recess,\nintending to peep and enjoy herself in peace. Unfortunately, another\nbashful person had chosen the same refuge, for, as the curtain fell\nbehind her, she found herself face to face with the ‘Laurence boy’.\n“Dear me, I didn’t know anyone was here!” stammered Jo, preparing to\nback out as speedily as she had bounced in.\nBut the boy laughed and said pleasantly, though he looked a little\nstartled, “Don’t mind me, stay if you like.”\n“Shan’t I disturb you?”\n“Not a bit. I only came here because I don’t know many people and felt\nrather strange at first, you know.”\n“So did I. Don’t go away, please, unless you’d rather.”\nThe boy sat down again and looked at his pumps, till Jo said, trying to\nbe polite and easy, “I think I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you\nbefore. You live near us, don’t you?”\n“Next door.” And he looked up and laughed outright, for Jo’s prim\nmanner was rather funny when he remembered how they had chatted about\ncricket when he brought the cat home.\nThat put Jo at her ease and she laughed too, as she said, in her\nheartiest way, “We did have such a good time over your nice Christmas\npresent.”\n“Grandpa sent it.”\n“But you put it into his head, didn’t you, now?”\n“How is your cat, Miss March?” asked the boy, trying to look sober\nwhile his black eyes shone with fun.\n“Nicely, thank you, Mr. Laurence. But I am not Miss March, I’m only\nJo,” returned the young lady.\n“I’m not Mr. Laurence, I’m only Laurie.”\n“Laurie Laurence, what an odd name.”\n“My first name is Theodore, but I don’t like it, for the fellows called\nme Dora, so I made them say Laurie instead.”\n“I hate my name, too, so sentimental! I wish every one would say Jo\ninstead of Josephine. How did you make the boys stop calling you Dora?”\n“I thrashed ’em.”\n“I can’t thrash Aunt March, so I suppose I shall have to bear it.” And\nJo resigned herself with a sigh.\n“Don’t you like to dance, Miss Jo?” asked Laurie, looking as if he\nthought the name suited her.\n“I like it well enough if there is plenty of room, and everyone is\nlively. In a place like this I’m sure to upset something, tread on\npeople’s toes, or do something dreadful, so I keep out of mischief and\nlet Meg sail about. Don’t you dance?”\n“Sometimes. You see I’ve been abroad a good many years, and haven’t\nbeen into company enough yet to know how you do things here.”\n“Abroad!” cried Jo. “Oh, tell me about it! I love dearly to hear people\ndescribe their travels.”\nLaurie didn’t seem to know where to begin, but Jo’s eager questions\nsoon set him going, and he told her how he had been at school in Vevay,\nwhere the boys never wore hats and had a fleet of boats on the lake,\nand for holiday fun went on walking trips about Switzerland with their\nteachers.\n“Don’t I wish I’d been there!” cried Jo. “Did you go to Paris?”\n“We spent last winter there.”\n“Can you talk French?”\n“We were not allowed to speak anything else at Vevay.”\n“Do say some! I can read it, but can’t pronounce.”\n“Quel nom a cette jeune demoiselle en les pantoufles jolis?”\n“How nicely you do it! Let me see ... you said, ‘Who is the young lady\nin the pretty slippers’, didn’t you?”\n“Oui, mademoiselle.”\n“It’s my sister Margaret, and you knew it was! Do you think she is\npretty?”\n“Yes, she makes me think of the German girls, she looks so fresh and\nquiet, and dances like a lady.”\nJo quite glowed with pleasure at this boyish praise of her sister, and\nstored it up to repeat to Meg. Both peeped and criticized and chatted\ntill they felt like old acquaintances. Laurie’s bashfulness soon wore\noff, for Jo’s gentlemanly demeanor amused and set him at his ease, and\nJo was her merry self again, because her dress was forgotten and nobody\nlifted their eyebrows at her. She liked the ‘Laurence boy’ better than\never and took several good looks at him, so that she might describe him\nto the girls, for they had no brothers, very few male cousins, and boys\nwere almost unknown creatures to them.\n“Curly black hair,", "source": "littlewomen", "length": 14000, "id": 12}
{"text": "Summarize in plain English: The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame\nI.\nTHE RIVER BANK\nThe Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning\nhis little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders\nand steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had\ndust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his\nblack fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the\nair above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his\ndark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and\nlonging. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his\nbrush on the floor, said “Bother!” and “O blow!” and also “Hang\nspring-cleaning!” and bolted out of the house without even waiting to\nput on his coat. Something up above was calling him imperiously, and he\nmade for the steep little tunnel which answered in his case to the\ngravelled carriage-drive owned by animals whose residences are nearer\nto the sun and air. So he scraped and scratched and scrabbled and\nscrooged and then he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and\nscraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself,\n“Up we go! Up we go!” till at last, pop! his snout came out into the\nsunlight, and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great\nmeadow.\n“This is fine!” he said to himself. “This is better than whitewashing!”\nThe sunshine struck hot on his fur, soft breezes caressed his heated\nbrow, and after the seclusion of the cellarage he had lived in so long\nthe carol of happy birds fell on his dulled hearing almost like a\nshout. Jumping off all his four legs at once, in the joy of living and\nthe delight of spring without its cleaning, he pursued his way across\nthe meadow till he reached the hedge on the further side.\n“Hold up!” said an elderly rabbit at the gap. “Sixpence for the\nprivilege of passing by the private road!” He was bowled over in an\ninstant by the impatient and contemptuous Mole, who trotted along the\nside of the hedge chaffing the other rabbits as they peeped hurriedly\nfrom their holes to see what the row was about. “Onion-sauce!\nOnion-sauce!” he remarked jeeringly, and was gone before they could\nthink of a thoroughly satisfactory reply. Then they all started\ngrumbling at each other. “How _stupid_ you are! Why didn’t you tell\nhim——” “Well, why didn’t _you_ say——” “You might have reminded him——”\nand so on, in the usual way; but, of course, it was then much too late,\nas is always the case.\nIt all seemed too good to be true. Hither and thither through the\nmeadows he rambled busily, along the hedgerows, across the copses,\nfinding everywhere birds building, flowers budding, leaves\nthrusting—everything happy, and progressive, and occupied. And instead\nof having an uneasy conscience pricking him and whispering “whitewash!”\nhe somehow could only feel how jolly it was to be the only idle dog\namong all these busy citizens. After all, the best part of a holiday is\nperhaps not so much to be resting yourself, as to see all the other\nfellows busy working.\nHe thought his happiness was complete when, as he meandered aimlessly\nalong, suddenly he stood by the edge of a full-fed river. Never in his\nlife had he seen a river before—this sleek, sinuous, full-bodied\nanimal, chasing and chuckling, gripping things with a gurgle and\nleaving them with a laugh, to fling itself on fresh playmates that\nshook themselves free, and were caught and held again. All was a-shake\nand a-shiver—glints and gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl, chatter\nand bubble. The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side\nof the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a\nman who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at\nlast, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him, a\nbabbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the\nheart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.\nAs he sat on the grass and looked across the river, a dark hole in the\nbank opposite, just above the water’s edge, caught his eye, and\ndreamily he fell to considering what a nice snug dwelling-place it\nwould make for an animal with few wants and fond of a bijou riverside\nresidence, above flood level and remote from noise and dust. As he\ngazed, something bright and small seemed to twinkle down in the heart\nof it, vanished, then twinkled once more like a tiny star. But it could\nhardly be a star in such an unlikely situation; and it was too\nglittering and small for a glow-worm. Then, as he looked, it winked at\nhim, and so declared itself to be an eye; and a small face began\ngradually to grow up round it, like a frame round a picture.\nA brown little face, with whiskers.\nA grave round face, with the same twinkle in its eye that had first\nattracted his notice.\nSmall neat ears and thick silky hair.\nIt was the Water Rat!\nThen the two animals stood and regarded each other cautiously.\n“Hullo, Mole!” said the Water Rat.\n“Hullo, Rat!” said the Mole.\n“Would you like to come over?” enquired the Rat presently.\n“Oh, its all very well to _talk_,” said the Mole, rather pettishly, he\nbeing new to a river and riverside life and its ways.\nThe Rat said nothing, but stooped and unfastened a rope and hauled on\nit; then lightly stepped into a little boat which the Mole had not\nobserved. It was painted blue outside and white within, and was just\nthe size for two animals; and the Mole’s whole heart went out to it at\nonce, even though he did not yet fully understand its uses.\nThe Rat sculled smartly across and made fast. Then he held up his\nforepaw as the Mole stepped gingerly down. “Lean on that!” he said.\n“Now then, step lively!” and the Mole to his surprise and rapture found\nhimself actually seated in the stern of a real boat.\n“This has been a wonderful day!” said he, as the Rat shoved off and\ntook to the sculls again. “Do you know, I’ve never been in a boat\nbefore in all my life.”\n“What?” cried the Rat, open-mouthed: “Never been in a—you never—well\nI—what have you been doing, then?”\n“Is it so nice as all that?” asked the Mole shyly, though he was quite\nprepared to believe it as he leant back in his seat and surveyed the\ncushions, the oars, the rowlocks, and all the fascinating fittings, and\nfelt the boat sway lightly under him.\n“Nice? It’s the _only_ thing,” said the Water Rat solemnly, as he leant\nforward for his stroke. “Believe me, my young friend, there is\n_nothing_—absolute nothing—half so much worth doing as simply messing\nabout in boats. Simply messing,” he went on dreamily:\n“messing—about—in—boats; messing——”\n“Look ahead, Rat!” cried the Mole suddenly.\nIt was too late. The boat struck the bank full tilt. The dreamer, the\njoyous oarsman, lay on his back at the bottom of the boat, his heels in\nthe air.\n“—about in boats—or _with_ boats,” the Rat went on composedly, picking\nhimself up with a pleasant laugh. “In or out of ’em, it doesn’t matter.\nNothing seems really to matter, that’s the charm of it. Whether you get\naway, or whether you don’t; whether you arrive at your destination or\nwhether you reach somewhere else, or whether you never get anywhere at\nall, you’re always busy, and you never do anything in particular; and\nwhen you’ve done it there’s always something else to do, and you can do\nit if you like, but you’d much better not. Look here! If you’ve really\nnothing else on hand this morning, supposing we drop down the river\ntogether, and have a long day of it?”\nThe Mole waggled his toes from sheer happiness, spread his chest with a\nsigh of full contentment, and leaned back blissfully into the soft\ncushions. “_What_ a day I’m having!” he said. “Let us start at once!”\n“Hold hard a minute, then!” said the Rat. He looped the painter through\na ring in his landing-stage, climbed up into his hole above, and after\na short interval reappeared staggering under a fat, wicker\nluncheon-basket.\n“Shove that under your feet,” he observed to the Mole, as he passed it\ndown into the boat. Then he untied the painter and took the sculls\nagain.\n“What’s inside it?” asked the Mole, wriggling with curiosity.\n“There’s cold chicken inside it,” replied the Rat briefly; “\ncoldtonguecoldhamcoldbeefpickledgherkinssaladfrenchrollscresssandwiches\npottedme atgingerbeerlemonadesodawater——”\n“O stop, stop,” cried the Mole in ecstacies: “This is too much!”\n“Do you really think so?” enquired the Rat seriously. “It’s only what I\nalways take on these little excursions; and the other animals are\nalways telling me that I’m a mean beast and cut it _very_ fine!”\nThe Mole never heard a word he was saying. Absorbed in the new life he\nwas entering upon, intoxicated with the sparkle, the ripple, the scents\nand the sounds and the sunlight, he trailed a paw in the water and\ndreamed long waking dreams. The Water Rat, like the good little fellow\nhe was, sculled steadily on and forebore to disturb him.\n“I like your clothes awfully, old chap,” he remarked after some half an\nhour or so had passed. “I’m going to get a black velvet smoking-suit\nmyself some day, as soon as I can afford it.”\n“I beg your pardon,” said the Mole, pulling himself together with an\neffort. “You must think me very rude; but all this is so new to me.\nSo—this—is—a—River!”\n“_The_ River,” corrected the Rat.\n“And you really live by the river? What a jolly life!”\n“By it and with it and on it and in it,” said the Rat. “It’s brother\nand sister to me, and aunts, and company, and food and drink, and\n(naturally) washing. It’s my world, and I don’t want any other. What it\nhasn’t got is not worth having, and what it doesn’t know is not worth\nknowing. Lord! the times we’ve had together! Whether in winter or\nsummer, spring or autumn, it’s always got its fun and its excitements.\nWhen the floods are on in February, and my cellars and basement are\nbrimming with drink that’s no good to me, and the brown water runs by\nmy best bedroom window; or again when it all drops away and, shows\npatches of mud that smells like plum-cake, and the rushes and weed clog\nthe channels, and I can potter about dry shod over most of the bed of\nit and find fresh food to eat, and things careless people have dropped\nout of boats!”\n“But isn’t it a bit dull at times?” the Mole ventured to ask. “Just you\nand the river, and no one else to pass a word with?”\n“No one else to—well, I mustn’t be hard on you,” said the Rat with\nforbearance. “You’re new to it, and of course you don’t know. The bank\nis so crowded nowadays that many people are moving away altogether: O\nno, it isn’t what it used to be, at all. Otters, kingfishers,\ndabchicks, moorhens, all of them about all day long and always wanting\nyou to _do_ something—as if a fellow had no business of his own to\nattend to!”\n“What lies over _there?_” asked the Mole, waving a paw towards a\nbackground of woodland that darkly framed the water-meadows on one side\nof the river.\n“That? O, that’s just the Wild Wood,” said the Rat shortly. “We don’t\ngo there very much, we river-bankers.”\n“Aren’t they—aren’t they very _nice_ people in there?” said the Mole, a\ntrifle nervously.\n“W-e-ll,” replied the Rat, “let me see. The squirrels are all right.\n_And_ the rabbits—some of ’em, but rabbits are a mixed lot. And then\nthere’s Badger, of course. He lives right in the heart of it; wouldn’t\nlive anywhere else, either, if you paid him to do it. Dear old Badger!\nNobody interferes with _him_. They’d better not,” he added\nsignificantly.\n“Why, who _should_ interfere with him?” asked the Mole.\n“Well, of course—there—are others,” explained the Rat in a hesitating\nsort of way.\n“Weasels—and stoats—and foxes—and so on. They’re all right in a way—I’m\nvery good friends with them—pass the time of day when we meet, and all\nthat—but they break out sometimes, there’s no denying it, and\nthen—well, you can’t really trust them, and that’s the fact.”\nThe Mole knew well that it is quite against animal-etiquette to dwell\non possible trouble ahead, or even to allude to it; so he dropped the\nsubject.\n“And beyond the Wild Wood again?” he asked: “Where it’s all blue and\ndim, and one sees what may be hills or perhaps they mayn’t, and\nsomething like the smoke of towns, or is it only cloud-drift?”\n“Beyond the Wild Wood comes the Wide World,” said the Rat. “And that’s\nsomething that doesn’t matter, either to you or me. I’ve never been\nthere, and I’m never going, nor you either, if you’ve got any sense at\nall. Don’t ever refer to it again, please. Now then! Here’s our\nbackwater at last, where we’re going to lunch.”\nLeaving the main stream, they now passed into what seemed at first\nsight like a little land-locked lake. Green turf sloped down to either\nedge, brown snaky tree-roots gleamed below the surface of the quiet\nwater, while ahead of them the silvery shoulder and foamy tumble of a\nweir, arm-in-arm with a restless dripping mill-wheel, that held up in\nits turn a grey-gabled mill-house, filled the air with a soothing\nmurmur of sound, dull and smothery, yet with little clear voices\nspeaking up cheerfully out of it at intervals. It was so very beautiful\nthat the Mole could only hold up both forepaws and gasp, “O my! O my! O\nmy!”\nThe Rat brought the boat alongside the bank, made her fast, helped the\nstill awkward Mole safely ashore, and swung out the luncheon-basket.\nThe Mole begged as a favour to be allowed to unpack it all by himself;\nand the Rat was very pleased to indulge him, and to sprawl at full\nlength on the grass and rest, while his excited friend shook out the\ntable-cloth and spread it, took out all the mysterious packets one by\none and arranged their contents in due order, still gasping, “O my! O\nmy!” at each fresh revelation. When all was ready, the Rat said, “Now,\npitch in, old fellow!” and the Mole was indeed very glad to obey, for\nhe had started his spring-cleaning at a very early hour that morning,\nas people _will_ do, and had not paused for bite or sup; and he had\nbeen through a very great deal since that distant time which now seemed\nso many days ago.\n“What are you looking at?” said the Rat presently, when the edge of\ntheir hunger was somewhat dulled, and the Mole’s eyes were able to\nwander off the table-cloth a little.\n“I am looking,” said the Mole, “at a streak of bubbles that I see\ntravelling along the surface of the water. That is a thing that strikes\nme as funny.”\n“Bubbles? Oho!” said the Rat, and chirruped cheerily in an inviting\nsort of way.\nA broad glistening muzzle showed itself above the edge of the bank, and\nthe Otter hauled himself out and shook the water from his coat.\n“Greedy beggars!” he observed, making for the provender. “Why didn’t\nyou invite me, Ratty?”\n“This was an impromptu affair,” explained the Rat. “By the way—my\nfriend Mr. Mole.”\n“Proud, I’m sure,” said the Otter, and the two animals were friends\nforthwith.\n“Such a rumpus everywhere!” continued the Otter. “All the world seems\nout on the river to-day. I came up this backwater to try and get a\nmoment’s peace, and then stumble upon you fellows!—At least—I beg\npardon—I don’t exactly mean that, you know.”\nThere was a rustle behind them, proceeding from a hedge wherein last\nyear’s leaves still clung thick, and a stripy head, with high shoulders\nbehind it, peered forth on them.\n“Come on, old Badger!” shouted the Rat.\nThe Badger trotted forward a pace or two; then grunted, “H’m! Company,”\nand turned his back and disappeared from view.\n“That’s _just_ the sort of fellow he is!” observed the disappointed\nRat. “Simply hates Society! Now we shan’t see any more of him to-day.\nWell, tell us, _who’s_ out on the river?”\n“Toad’s out, for one,” replied the Otter. “In his brand-new wager-boat;\nnew togs, new everything!”\nThe two animals looked at each other and laughed.\n“Once, it was nothing but sailing,” said the Rat, “Then he tired of\nthat and took to punting. Nothing would please him but to punt all day\nand every day, and a nice mess he made of it. Last year it was\nhouse-boating, and we all had to go and stay with him in his\nhouse-boat, and pretend we liked it. He was going to spend the rest of\nhis life in a house-boat. It’s all the same, whatever he takes up; he\ngets tired of it, and starts on something fresh.”\n“Such a good fellow, too,” remarked the Otter reflectively: “But no\nstability—especially in a boat!”\nFrom where they sat they could get a glimpse of the main stream across\nthe island that separated them; and just then a wager-boat flashed into\nview, the rower—a short, stout figure—splashing badly and rolling a\ngood deal, but working his hardest. The Rat stood up and hailed him,\nbut Toad—for it was he—shook his head and settled sternly to his work.\n“He’ll be out of the boat in a minute if he rolls like that,” said the\nRat, sitting down again.\n“Of course he will,” chuckled the Otter. “Did I ever tell you that good\nstory about Toad and the lock-keeper? It happened this way. Toad....”\nAn errant May-fly swerved unsteadily athwart the current in the\nintoxicated fashion affected by young bloods of May-flies seeing life.\nA swirl of water and a “cloop!” and the May-fly was visible no more.\nNeither was the Otter.\nThe Mole looked down. The voice was still in his ears, but the turf\nwhereon he had sprawled was clearly vacant. Not an Otter to be seen, as\nfar as the distant horizon.\nBut again there was a streak of bubbles on the surface of the river.\nThe Rat hummed a tune, and the Mole recollected that animal-etiquette\nforbade any sort of comment on the sudden disappearance of one’s\nfriends at any moment, for any reason or no reason whatever.\n“Well, well,” said the Rat, “I suppose we ought to be moving. I wonder\nwhich of us had better pack the luncheon-basket?” He did not speak as\nif he was frightfully eager for the treat.\n“O, please let me,” said the Mole. So, of course, the Rat let him.\nPacking the basket was not quite such pleasant work as unpacking the\nbasket. It never is. But the Mole was bent on enjoying everything, and\nalthough just when he had got the basket packed and strapped up tightly\nhe saw a plate staring up at him from the grass, and when the job had\nbeen done again the Rat pointed out a fork which anybody ought to have\nseen, and last of all, behold! the mustard pot, which he had been\nsitting on without knowing it—still, somehow, the thing got finished at\nlast, without much loss of temper.\nThe afternoon sun was getting low as the Rat sculled gently homewards\nin a dreamy mood, murmuring poetry-things over to himself, and not\npaying much attention to Mole. But the Mole was very full of lunch, and\nself-satisfaction, and pride, and already quite at home in a boat (so\nhe thought) and was getting a bit restless besides: and presently he\nsaid, “Ratty! Please, _I_ want to row, now!”\nThe Rat shook his head with a smile. “Not yet, my young friend,” he\nsaid—“wait till you’ve had a few lessons. It’s not so easy as it\nlooks.”\nThe Mole was quiet for a minute or two. But he began to feel more and\nmore jealous of Rat, sculling so strongly and so easily along, and his\npride began to whisper that he could do it every bit as well. He jumped\nup and seized the sculls, so suddenly, that the Rat, who was gazing out\nover the water and saying more poetry-things to himself, was taken by\nsurprise and fell backwards off his seat with his legs in the air for\nthe second time, while the triumphant Mole took his place and grabbed\nthe sculls with entire confidence.\n“Stop it, you _silly_ ass!” cried the Rat, from the bottom of the boat.\n“You can’t do it! You’ll have us over!”\nThe Mole flung his sculls back with a flourish, and made a great dig at\nthe water. He missed the surface altogether, his legs flew up above his\nhead, and he found himself lying on the top of the prostrate Rat.\nGreatly alarmed, he made a grab at the side of the boat, and the next\nmoment—Sploosh!\nOver went the boat, and he found himself struggling in the river.\nO my, how cold the water was, and O, how _very_ wet it felt. How it\nsang in his ears as he went down, down, down! How bright and welcome\nthe sun looked as he rose to the surface coughing and spluttering! How\nblack was his despair when he felt himself sinking again! Then a firm\npaw gripped him by the back of his neck. It was the Rat, and he was\nevidently laughing—the Mole could _feel_ him laughing, right down his\narm and through his paw, and so into his—the Mole’s—neck.\nThe Rat got hold of a scull and shoved it under the Mole’s arm; then he\ndid the same by the other side of him and, swimming behind, propelled\nthe helpless animal to shore, hauled him out, and set him down on the\nbank, a squashy, pulpy lump of misery.\nWhen the Rat had rubbed him down a bit, and wrung some of the wet out\nof him, he said, “Now, then, old fellow! Trot up and down the\ntowing-path as hard as you can, till you’re warm and dry again, while I\ndive for the luncheon-basket.”\nSo the dismal Mole, wet without and ashamed within, trotted about till\nhe was fairly dry, while the Rat plunged into the water again,\nrecovered the boat, righted her and made her fast, fetched his floating\nproperty to shore by degrees, and finally dived successfully for the\nluncheon-basket and struggled to land with it.\nWhen all was ready for a start once more, the Mole, limp and dejected,\ntook his seat in the stern of the boat; and as they set off, he said in\na low voice, broken with emotion, “Ratty, my generous friend! I am very\nsorry indeed for my foolish and ungrateful conduct. My heart quite\nfails me when I think how I might have lost that beautiful\nluncheon-basket. Indeed, I have been a complete ass, and I know it.\nWill you overlook it this once and forgive me, and let things go on as\nbefore?”\n“That’s all right, bless you!” responded the Rat cheerily. “What’s a\nlittle wet to a Water Rat? I’m more in the water than out of it most\ndays. Don’t you think any more about it; and, look here! I really think\nyou had better come and stop with me for a little time. It’s very plain\nand rough, you know—not like Toad’s house at all—but you haven’t seen\nthat yet; still, I can make you comfortable. And I’ll teach you to row,\nand to swim, and you’ll soon be as handy on the water as any of us.”\nThe Mole was so touched by his kind manner of speaking that he could\nfind no voice to answer him; and he had to brush away a tear or two\nwith the back of his paw. But the Rat kindly looked in another\ndirection, and presently the Mole’s spirits revived again, and he was\neven able to give some straight back-talk to a couple of moorhens who\nwere sniggering to each other about his bedraggled appearance.\nWhen they got home, the Rat made a bright fire in the parlour, and\nplanted the Mole in an arm-chair in front of it, having fetched down a\ndressing-gown and slippers for him, and told him river stories till\nsupper-time. Very thrilling stories they were, too, to an\nearth-dwelling animal like Mole. Stories about weirs, and sudden\nfloods, and leaping pike, and steamers that flung hard bottles—at least\nbottles were certainly flung, and _from_ steamers, so presumably _by_\nthem; and about herons, and how particular they were whom they spoke\nto; and about adventures down drains, and night-fishings with Otter, or\nexcursions far a-field with Badger. Supper was a most cheerful meal;\nbut very shortly afterwards a terribly sleepy Mole had to be escorted\nupstairs by his considerate host, to the best bedroom, where he soon\nlaid his head on his pillow in great peace and contentment, knowing\nthat his new-found friend the River was lapping the sill of his window.\nThis day was only the first of many similar ones for the emancipated\nMole, each of them longer and full of interest as the ripening summer\nmoved onward. He learnt to swim and to row, and entered into the joy of\nrunning water; and with his ear to the reed-stems he caught, at\nintervals, something of what the wind went whispering so constantly\namong them.\nII.\nTHE OPEN ROAD\n“Ratty,” said the Mole suddenly, one bright summer morning, “if you\nplease, I want to ask you a favour.”\nThe Rat was sitting on the river bank, singing a little song. He had\njust composed it himself, so he was very taken up with it, and would\nnot pay proper attention to Mole or anything else. Since early morning\nhe had been swimming in the river, in company with his friends the\nducks. And when the ducks stood on their heads suddenly, as ducks will,\nhe would dive down and tickle their necks, just under where their chins\nwould be if ducks had chins, till they were forced to come to the\nsurface again in a hurry, spluttering and angry and shaking their\nfeathers at him, for it is impossible to say quite _all_ you feel when\nyour head is under water. At last they implored him to go away and\nattend to his own affairs and leave them to mind theirs. So the Rat\nwent away, and sat on the river bank in the sun, and made up a song\nabout them, which he called\n“DUCKS’ DITTY.”\nAll along the backwater,\nThrough the rushes tall,\nDucks are a-dabbling,\nUp tails all!\nDucks’ tails, drakes’ tails,\nYellow feet a-quiver,\nYellow bills all out of sight\nBusy in the river!\nSlushy green undergrowth\nWhere the roach swim—\nHere we keep our larder,\nCool and full and dim.\nEveryone for what he likes!\n_We_ like to be\nHeads down, tails up,\nDabbling free!\nHigh in the blue above\nSwifts whirl and call—\n_We_ are down a-dabbling\nUptails all!\n“I don’t know that I think so _very_ much of that little song, Rat,”\nobserved the Mole cautiously. He was no poet himself and didn’t care\nwho knew it; and he had a candid nature.\n“Nor don’t the ducks neither,” replied the Rat cheerfully. “They say,\n‘_Why_ can’t fellows be allowed to do what they like _when_ they like\nand _as_ they like, instead of other fellows sitting on banks and\nwatching them all the time and making remarks and poetry and things\nabout them? What _nonsense_ it all is!’ That’s what the ducks say.”\n“So it is, so it is,” said the Mole, with great heartiness.\n“No, it isn’t!” cried the Rat indignantly.\n“Well then, it isn’t, it isn’t,” replied the Mole soothingly. “But what\nI wanted to ask you was, won’t you take me to call on Mr. Toad? I’ve\nheard so much about him, and I do so want to make his acquaintance.”\n“Why, certainly,” said the good-natured Rat, jumping to his feet and\ndismissing poetry from his mind for the day. “Get the boat out, and\nwe’ll paddle up there at once. It’s never the wrong time to call on\nToad. Early or late he’s always the same fellow. Always good-tempered,\nalways glad to see you, always sorry when you go!”\n“He must be a very nice animal,” observed the Mole, as he got into the\nboat and took the sculls, while the Rat settled himself comfortably in\nthe stern.\n“He is indeed the best of animals,” replied Rat. “So simple, so\ngood-natured, and so affectionate. Perhaps he’s not very clever—we\ncan’t all be geniuses; and it may be that he is both boastful and\nconceited. But he has got some great qualities, has Toady.”\nRounding a bend in the river, they came in sight of a handsome,\ndignified old house of mellowed red brick, with well-kept lawns\nreaching down to the water’s edge.\n“There’s Toad Hall,” said the Rat; “and that creek on the left, where\nthe notice-board says, ‘Private. No landing allowed,’ leads to his\nboat-house, where we’ll leave the boat. The stables are over there to\nthe right. That’s the banqueting-hall you’re looking at now—very old,\nthat is. Toad is rather rich, you know, and this is really one of the\nnicest houses in these parts, though we never admit as much to Toad.”\nThey glided up the creek, and the Mole shipped his sculls as they\npassed into the shadow of a large boat-house. Here they saw many\nhandsome boats, slung from the cross beams or hauled up on a slip, but\nnone in the water; and the place had an unused and a deserted air.\nThe Rat looked around him. “I understand,” said he. “Boating is played\nout. He’s tired of it, and done with it. I wonder what new fad he has\ntaken up now? Come along and let’s look him up. We shall hear all about\nit quite soon enough.”\nThey disembarked, and strolled across the gay flower-decked lawns in\nsearch of Toad, whom they presently happened upon resting in a wicker\ngarden-chair, with a pre-occupied expression of face, and a large map\nspread out on his knees.\n“Hooray!” he cried, jumping up on seeing them, “this is splendid!” He\nshook the paws of both of them warmly, never waiting for an\nintroduction to the Mole. “How _kind_ of you!” he went on, dancing\nround them. “I was just going to send a boat down the river for you,\nRatty, with strict orders that you were to be fetched up here at once,\nwhatever you were doing. I want you badly—both of you. Now what will\nyou take? Come inside and have something! You don’t know how lucky it\nis, your turning up just now!”\n“Let’s sit quiet a bit, Toady!” said the Rat, throwing himself into an\neasy chair, while the Mole took another by the side of him and made\nsome civil remark about Toad’s “delightful residence.”\n“Finest house on the whole river,” cried Toad boisterously. “Or\nanywhere else, for that matter,” he could not help adding.\nHere the Rat nudged the Mole. Unfortunately the Toad saw him do it, and\nturned very red. There was a moment’s painful silence. Then Toad burst\nout laughing. “All right, Ratty,” he said. “It’s only my way, you know.\nAnd it’s not such a very bad house, is it? You know you rather like it\nyourself. Now, look here. Let’s be sensible. You are the very animals I\nwanted. You’ve got to help me. It’s most important!”\n“It’s about your rowing, I suppose,” said the Rat, with an innocent\nair. “You’re getting on fairly well, though you splash a good bit\nstill. With a great deal of patience, and any quantity of coaching, you\nmay——”\n“O, pooh! boating!” interrupted the Toad, in great disgust. “Silly\nboyish amusement. I’ve given that up _long_ ago. Sheer waste of time,\nthat’s what it is. It makes me downright sorry to see you fellows, who\nought to know better, spending all your energies in that aimless\nmanner. No, I’ve discovered the real thing, the only genuine occupation\nfor a life time. I propose to devote the remainder of mine to it, and\ncan only regret the wasted years that lie behind me, squandered in\ntrivialities. Come with me, dear Ratty, and your amiable friend also,\nif he will be so very good, just as far as the stable-yard, and you\nshall see what you shall see!”\nHe led the way to the stable-yard accordingly, the Rat following with a\nmost mistrustful expression; and there, drawn out of the coach house\ninto the open, they saw a gipsy caravan, shining with newness, painted\na canary-yellow picked out with green, and red wheels.\n“There you are!” cried the Toad, straddling and expanding himself.\n“There’s real life for you, embodied in that little cart. The open\nroad, the dusty highway, the heath, the common, the hedgerows, the\nrolling downs! Camps, villages, towns, cities! Here to-day, up and off\nto somewhere else to-morrow! Travel, change, interest, excitement! The\nwhole world before you, and a horizon that’s always changing! And mind!\nthis is the very finest cart of its sort that was ever built, without\nany exception. Come inside and look at the arrangements. Planned ’em\nall myself, I did!”\nThe Mole was tremendously interested and excited, and followed him\neagerly up the steps and into the interior of the caravan. The Rat only\nsnorted and thrust his hands deep into his pockets, remaining where he\nwas.\nIt was indeed very compact and comfortable. Little sleeping bunks—a\nlittle table that folded up against the wall—a cooking-stove, lockers,\nbookshelves, a bird-cage with a bird in it; and pots, pans, jugs and\nkettles of every size and variety.\n“All complete!” said the Toad triumphantly, pulling open a locker. “You\nsee—biscuits, potted lobster, sardines—everything you can possibly\nwant. Soda-water here—baccy there—letter-paper, bacon, jam, cards and\ndominoes—you’ll find,” he continued, as they descended the steps again,\n“you’ll find that nothing what ever has been forgotten, when we make\nour start this afternoon.”\n“I beg your pardon,” said the Rat slowly, as he chewed a straw, “but\ndid I overhear you say something about ‘_we_,’ and ‘_start_,’ and\n‘_this afternoon?_’”\n“Now, you dear good old Ratty,” said Toad, imploringly, “don’t begin\ntalking in that stiff and sniffy sort of way, because you know you’ve\n_got_ to come. I can’t possibly manage without you, so please consider\nit settled, and don’t argue—it’s the one thing I can’t stand. You\nsurely don’t mean to stick to your dull fusty old river all your life,\nand just live in a hole in a bank, and _boat?_ I want to show you the\nworld! I’m going to make an _animal_ of you, my boy!”\n“I don’t care,” said the Rat, doggedly. “I’m not coming, and that’s\nflat. And I _am_ going to stick to my old river, _and_ live in a hole,\n_and_ boat, as I’ve always done. And what’s more, Mole’s going to stick\nto me and do as I do, aren’t you, Mole?”\n“Of course I am,” said the Mole, loyally. “I’ll always stick to you,\nRat, and what you say is to be—has got to be. All the same, it sounds\nas if it might have been—well, rather fun, you know!” he added,\nwistfully. Poor Mole! The Life Adventurous was so new a thing to him,\nand so thrilling; and this fresh aspect of it was so tempting; and he\nhad fallen in love at first sight with the canary-coloured cart and all\nits little fitments.\nThe Rat saw what was passing in his mind, and wavered. He hated\ndisappointing people, and he was fond of the Mole, and would do almost\nanything to oblige him. Toad was watching both of them closely.\n“Come along in, and have some lunch,” he said, diplomatically, “and\nwe’ll talk it over. We needn’t decide anything in a hurry. Of course,\n_I_ don’t really care. I only want to give pleasure to you fellows.\n‘Live for others!’ That’s my motto in life.”\nDuring luncheon—which was excellent, of course, as everything at Toad\nHall always was—the Toad simply let himself go. Disregarding the Rat,\nhe proceeded to play upon the inexperienced Mole as on a harp.\nNaturally a voluble animal, and always mastered by his imagination, he\npainted the prospects of the trip and the joys of the open life and the\nroadside in such glowing colours that the Mole could hardly sit in his\nchair for excitement. Somehow, it soon seemed taken for granted by all\nthree of them that the trip was a settled thing; and the Rat, though\nstill unconvinced in his mind, allowed his good-nature to over-ride his\npersonal objections. He could not bear to disappoint his two friends,\nwho were already deep in schemes and anticipations, planning out each\nday’s separate occupation for several weeks ahead.\nWhen they were quite ready, the now triumphant Toad led his companions\nto the paddock and set them to capture the old grey horse, who, without\nhaving been consulted, and to his own extreme annoyance, had been told\noff by Toad for the dustiest job in this dusty expedition. He frankly\npreferred the paddock, and took a deal of catching. Meantime Toad\npacked the lockers still tighter with necessaries, and hung nosebags,\nnets of onions, bundles of hay, and baskets from the bottom of the\ncart. At last the horse was caught and harnessed, and they set off, all\ntalking at once, each animal either trudging by the side of the cart or\nsitting on the shaft, as the humour took him. It was a golden\nafternoon. The smell of the dust they kicked up was rich and\nsatisfying; out of thick orchards on either side the road, birds called\nand whistled to them cheerily; good-natured wayfarers, passing them,\ngave them “Good-day,” or stopped to say nice things about their\nbeautiful cart; and rabbits, sitting at their front doors in the\nhedgerows, held up their fore-paws, and said, “O my! O my! O my!”\nLate in the evening, tired and happy and miles from home, they drew up\non a remote common far from habitations, turned the horse loose to\ngraze, and ate their simple supper sitting on the grass by the side of\nthe cart. Toad talked big about all he was going to do in the days to\ncome, while stars grew fuller and larger all around them, and a yellow\nmoon, appearing suddenly and silently from nowhere in particular, came\nto keep them company and listen to their talk. At last they turned in\nto their little bunks in the cart; and Toad, kicking out his legs,\nsleepily said, “Well, good night, you fellows! This is the real life\nfor a gentleman! Talk about your old river!”\n“I _don’t_ talk about my river,” replied the patient Rat. “You _know_ I\ndon’t, Toad. But I _think_ about it,” he added pathetically, in a lower\ntone: “I think about it—all the time!”\nThe Mole reached out from under his blanket, felt for the Rat’s paw in\nthe darkness, and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll do whatever you like,\nRatty,” he whispered. “Shall we run away to-morrow morning, quite\nearly—_very_ early—and go back to our dear old hole on the river?”\n“No, no, we’ll see it out,” whispered back the Rat. “Thanks awfully,\nbut I ought to stick by Toad till this trip is ended. It wouldn’t be\nsafe for him to be left to himself. It won’t take very long. His fads\nnever do. Good night!”\nThe end was indeed nearer than even the Rat suspected.\nAfter so much open air and excitement the Toad slept very soundly, and\nno amount of shaking could rouse him out of bed next morning. So the\nMole and Rat turned to, quietly and manfully, and while the Rat saw to\nthe horse, and lit a fire, and cleaned last night’s cups and platters,\nand got things ready for breakfast, the Mole trudged off to the nearest\nvillage, a long way off, for milk and eggs and various necessaries the\nToad had, of course, forgotten to provide. The hard work had all been\ndone, and the two animals were resting, thoroughly exhausted, by the\ntime Toad appeared on the scene, fresh and gay, remarking what a\npleasant easy life it was they were all leading now, after the cares\nand worries and fatigues of housekeeping at home.\nThey had a pleasant ramble that day over grassy downs and along narrow\nby-lanes, and camped as before, on a common, only this time the two\nguests took care that Toad should do his fair share of work. In\nconsequence, when the time came for starting next morning, Toad was by\nno means so rapturous about the simplicity of the primitive life, and\nindeed attempted to resume his place in his bunk, whence he was hauled\nby force. Their way lay, as before, across country by narrow lanes, and\nit was not till the afternoon that they came out on the high-road,\ntheir first high-road; and there disaster, fleet and unforeseen, sprang\nout on them—disaster momentous indeed to their expedition, but simply\noverwhelming in its effect on the after-career of Toad.\nThey were strolling along the high-road easily, the Mole by the horse’s\nhead, talking to him, since the horse had complained that he was being\nfrightfully left out of it, and nobody considered him in the least; the\nToad and the Water Rat walking behind the cart talking together—at\nleast Toad was talking, and Rat was saying at intervals, “Yes,\nprecisely; and what did _you_ say to _him?_”—and thinking all the time\nof something very different, when far behind them they heard a faint\nwarning hum; like the drone of a distant bee. Glancing back, they saw a\nsmall cloud of dust, with a dark centre of energy, advancing on them at\nincredible speed, while from out the dust a faint “Poop-poop!” wailed\nlike an uneasy animal in pain. Hardly regarding it, they turned to\nresume their conversation, when in an instant (as it seemed) the\npeaceful scene was changed, and with a blast of wind and a whirl of\nsound that made them jump for the nearest ditch, It was on them! The\n“Poop-poop” rang with a brazen shout in their ears, they had a moment’s\nglimpse of an interior of glittering plate-glass and rich morocco, and\nthe magnificent motor-car, immense, breath-snatching, passionate, with\nits pilot tense and hugging his wheel, possessed all earth and air for\nthe fraction of a second, flung an enveloping cloud of dust that\nblinded and enwrapped them utterly, and then dwindled to a speck in the\nfar distance, changed back into a droning bee once more.\nThe old grey horse, dreaming, as he plodded along, of his quiet\npaddock, in a new raw situation such as this simply abandoned himself\nto his natural emotions. Rearing, plunging, backing steadily, in spite\nof all the Mole’s efforts at his head, and all the Mole’s lively\nlanguage directed at his better feelings, he drove the cart backwards\ntowards the deep ditch at the side of the road. It wavered an\ninstant—then there was a heartrending crash—and the canary-coloured\ncart, their pride and their joy, lay on its side in the ditch, an\nirredeemable wreck.\nThe Rat danced up and down in the road, simply transported with\npassion. “You villains!” he shouted, shaking both fists, “You\nscoundrels, you highwaymen, you—you—roadhogs!—I’ll have the law of you!\nI’ll report you! I’ll take you through all the Courts!” His\nhome-sickness had quite slipped away from him, and for the moment he\nwas the skipper of the canary-coloured vessel driven on a shoal by the\nreckless jockeying of rival mariners, and he was trying to recollect\nall the fine and biting things he used to say to masters of\nsteam-launches when their wash, as they drove too near the bank, used\nto flood his parlour-carpet at home.\nToad sat straight down in the middle of the dusty road, his legs\nstretched out before him, and stared fixedly in the direction of the\ndisappearing motor-car. He breathed short, his face wore a placid\nsatisfied expression, and at intervals he faintly murmured “Poop-poop!”\nThe Mole was busy trying to quiet the horse, which he succeeded in\ndoing after a time. Then he went to look at the cart, on its side in\nthe ditch. It was indeed a sorry sight. Panels and windows smashed,\naxles hopelessly bent, one wheel off, sardine-tins scattered over the\nwide world, and the bird in the bird-cage sobbing pitifully and calling\nto be let out.\nThe Rat came to help him, but their united efforts were not sufficient\nto right the cart. “Hi! Toad!” they cried. “Come and bear a hand, can’t\nyou!”\nThe Toad never answered a word, or budged from his seat in the road; so\nthey went to see what was the matter with him. They found him in a sort\nof a trance, a happy smile on his face, his eyes still fixed on the\ndusty wake of their destroyer. At intervals he was still heard to\nmurmur “Poop-poop!”\nThe Rat shook him by the shoulder. “Are you coming to help us, Toad?”\nhe demanded sternly.\n“Glorious, stirring sight!” murmured Toad, never offering to move. “The\npoetry of motion! The _real_ way to travel! The _only_ way to travel!\nHere to-day—in next week to-morrow! Villages skipped, towns and cities\njumped—always somebody else’s horizon! O bliss! O poop-poop! O my! O\nmy!”\n“O _stop_ being an ass, Toad!” cried the Mole despairingly.\n“And to think I never _knew!_” went on the Toad in a dreamy monotone.\n“All those wasted years that lie behind me, I never knew, never even\n_dreamt!_ But _now_—but now that I know, now that I fully realise! O\nwhat a flowery track lies spread before me, henceforth! What\ndust-clouds shall spring up behind me as I speed on my reckless way!\nWhat carts I shall fling carelessly into the ditch in the wake of my\nmagnificent onset! Horrid little carts—common carts—canary-coloured\ncarts!”\n“What are we to do with him?” asked the Mole of the Water Rat.\n“Nothing at all,” replied the Rat firmly. “Because there is really\nnothing to be done. You see, I know him from of old. He is now\npossessed. He has got a new craze, and it always takes him that way, in\nits first stage. He’ll continue like that for days now, like an animal\nwalking in a happy dream, quite useless for all practical purposes.\nNever mind him. Let’s go and see what there is to be done about the\ncart.”\nA careful inspection showed them that, even if they succeeded in\nrighting it by themselves, the cart would travel no longer. The axles\nwere in a hopeless state, and the missing wheel was shattered into\npieces.\nThe Rat knotted the horse’s reins over his back and took him by the\nhead, carrying the bird cage and its hysterical occupant in the other\nhand. “Come on!” he said grimly to the Mole. “It’s five or six miles to\nthe nearest town, and we shall just have to walk it. The sooner we make\na start the better.”\n“But what about Toad?” asked the Mole anxiously, as they set off\ntogether. “We can’t leave him here, sitting in the middle of the road\nby himself, in the distracted state he’s in! It’s not safe. Supposing\nanother Thing were to come along?”\n“O, _bother_ Toad,” said the Rat savagely; “I’ve done with him!”\nThey had not proceeded very far on their way, however, when there was a\npattering of feet behind them, and Toad caught them up and thrust a paw\ninside the elbow of each of them; still breathing short and staring\ninto vacancy.\n“Now, look here, Toad!” said the Rat sharply: “as soon as we get to the\ntown, you’ll have to go straight to the police-station, and see if they\nknow anything about that motor-car and who it belongs to, and lodge a\ncomplaint against it. And then you’ll have to go to a blacksmith’s or a\nwheelwright’s and arrange for the cart to be fetched and mended and put\nto rights. It’ll take time, but it’s not quite a hopeless smash.\nMeanwhile, the Mole and I will go to an inn and find comfortable rooms\nwhere we can stay till the cart’s ready, and till your nerves have\nrecovered their shock.”\n“Police-station! Complaint!” murmured Toad dreamily. “Me _complain_ of\nthat beautiful, that heavenly vision that has been vouchsafed me!\n_Mend_ the _cart!_ I’ve done with carts for ever. I never want to see\nthe cart, or to hear of it, again. O, Ratty! You can’t think how\nobliged I am to you for consenting to come on this trip! I wouldn’t\nhave gone without you, and then I might never have seen that—that swan,\nthat sunbeam, that thunderbolt! I might never have heard that\nentrancing sound, or smelt that bewitching smell! I owe it all to you,\nmy best of friends!”\nThe Rat turned from him in despair. “You see what it is?” he said to\nthe Mole, addressing him across Toad’s head: “He’s quite hopeless. I\ngive it up—when we get to the town we’ll go to the railway station, and\nwith luck we may pick up a train there that’ll get us back to riverbank\nto-night. And if ever you catch me going a-pleasuring with this\nprovoking animal again!”—He snorted, and during the rest of that weary\ntrudge addressed his remarks exclusively to Mole.\nOn reaching the town they went straight to the station and deposited\nToad in the second-class waiting-room, giving a porter twopence to keep\na strict eye on him. They then left the horse at an inn stable, and\ngave what directions they could about the cart and its contents.\nEventually, a slow train having landed them at a station not very far\nfrom Toad Hall, they escorted the spell-bound, sleep-walking Toad to\nhis door, put him inside it, and instructed his housekeeper to feed\nhim, undress him, and put him to bed. Then they got out their boat from\nthe boat-house, sculled down the river home, and at a very late hour\nsat down to supper in their own cosy riverside parlour, to the Rat’s\ngreat joy and contentment.\nThe following evening the Mole, who had risen late and taken things\nvery easy all day, was sitting on the bank fishing, when the Rat, who\nhad been looking up his friends and gossiping, came strolling along to\nfind him. “Heard the news?” he said. “There’s nothing else being talked\nabout, all along the river bank. Toad went up to Town by an early train\nthis morning. And he has ordered a large and very expensive motor-car.”\nIII.\nTHE WILD WOOD\nThe Mole had long wanted to make the acquaintance of the Badger. He\nseemed, by all accounts, to be such an important personage and, though\nrarely visible, to make his unseen influence felt by everybody about\nthe place. But whenever the Mole mentioned his wish to the Water Rat he\nalways found himself put off. “It’s all right,” the Rat would say.\n“Badger’ll turn up some day or other—he’s always turning up—and then\nI’ll introduce you. The best of fellows! But you must not only take him\n_as_ you find him, but _when_ you find him.”\n“Couldn’t you ask him here dinner or something?” said the Mole.\n“He wouldn’t come,” replied the Rat simply. “Badger hates Society, and\ninvitations, and dinner, and all that sort of thing.”\n“Well, then, supposing we go and call on _him?_” suggested the Mole.\n“O, I’m sure he wouldn’t like that at _all_,” said the Rat, quite\nalarmed. “He’s so very shy, he’d be sure to be offended. I’ve never\neven ventured to call on him at his own home myself, though I know him\nso well. Besides, we can’t. It’s quite out of the question, because he\nlives in the very middle of the Wild Wood.”\n“Well, supposing he does,” said the Mole. “You told me the Wild Wood\nwas all right, you know.”\n“O, I know, I know, so it is,” replied the Rat evasively. “But I think\nwe won’t go there just now. Not _just_ yet. It’s a long way, and he\nwouldn’t be at home at this time of year anyhow, and he’ll be coming\nalong some day, if you’ll wait quietly.”\nThe Mole had to be content with this. But the Badger never came along,\nand every day brought its amusements, and it was not till summer was\nlong over, and cold and frost and miry ways kept them much indoors, and\nthe swollen river raced past outside their windows with a speed that\nmocked at boating of any sort or kind, that he found his thoughts\ndwelling again with much persistence on the solitary grey Badger, who\nlived his own life by himself, in his hole in the middle of the Wild\nWood.\nIn the winter time the Rat slept a great deal, retiring early and\nrising late. During his short day he sometimes scribbled poetry or did\nother small domestic jobs about the house; and, of course, there were\nalways animals dropping in for a chat, and consequently there was a\ngood deal of story-telling and comparing notes on the past summer and\nall its doings.\nSuch a rich chapter it had been, when one came to look back on it all!\nWith illustrations so numerous and so very highly coloured! The pageant\nof the river bank had marched steadily along, unfolding itself in\nscene-pictures that succeeded each other in stately procession. Purple\nloosestrife arrived early, shaking luxuriant tangled locks along the\nedge of the mirror whence its own face laughed back at it. Willow-herb,\ntender and wistful, like a pink sunset cloud, was not slow to follow.\nComfrey, the purple hand-in-hand with the white, crept forth to take\nits place in the line; and at last one morning the diffident and\ndelaying dog-rose stepped delicately on the stage, and one knew, as if\nstring-music had announced it in stately chords that strayed into a\ngavotte, that June at last was here. One member of the company was\nstill awaited; the shepherd-boy for the nymphs to woo, the knight for\nwhom the ladies waited at the window, the prince that was to kiss the\nsleeping summer back to life and love. But when meadow-sweet, debonair\nand odorous in amber jerkin, moved graciously to his place in the\ngroup, then the play was ready to begin.\nAnd what a play it had been! Drowsy animals, snug in their holes while\nwind and rain were battering at their doors, recalled still keen\nmornings, an hour before sunrise, when the white mist, as yet\nundispersed, clung closely along the surface of the water; then the\nshock of the early plunge, the scamper along the bank, and the radiant\ntransformation of earth, air, and water, when suddenly the sun was with\nthem again, and grey was gold and colour was born and sprang out of the\nearth once more. They recalled the languorous siesta of hot mid-day,\ndeep in green undergrowth, the sun striking through in tiny golden\nshafts and spots; the boating and bathing of the afternoon, the rambles\nalong dusty lanes and through yellow cornfields; and the long, cool\nevening at last, when so many threads were gathered up, so many\nfriendships rounded, and so many adventures planned for the morrow.\nThere was plenty to talk about on those short winter days when the\nanimals found themselves round the fire; still, the Mole had a good\ndeal of spare time on his hands, and so one afternoon, when the Rat in\nhis arm-chair before the blaze was alternately dozing and trying over\nrhymes that wouldn’t fit, he formed the resolution to go out by himself\nand explore the Wild Wood, and perhaps strike up an acquaintance with\nMr. Badger.\nIt was a cold still afternoon with a hard steely sky overhead, when he\nslipped out of the warm parlour into the open air. The country lay bare\nand entirely leafless around him, and he thought that he had never seen\nso far and so intimately into the insides of things as on that winter\nday when Nature was deep in her annual slumber and seemed to have\nkicked the clothes off. Copses, dells, quarries and all hidden places,\nwhich had been mysterious mines for exploration in leafy summer, now\nexposed themselves and their secrets pathetically, and seemed to ask\nhim to overlook their shabby poverty for a while, till they could riot\nin rich masquerade as before, and trick and entice him with the old\ndeceptions. It was pitiful in a way, and yet cheering—even\nexhilarating. He was glad that he liked the country undecorated, hard,\nand stripped of its finery. He had got down to the bare bones of it,\nand they were fine and strong and simple. He did not want the warm\nclover and the play of seeding grasses; the screens of quickset, the\nbillowy drapery of beech and elm seemed best away; and with great\ncheerfulness of spirit he pushed on towards the Wild Wood, which lay\nbefore him low and threatening, like a black reef in some still\nsouthern sea.\nThere was nothing to alarm him at first entry. Twigs crackled under his\nfeet, logs tripped him, funguses on stumps resembled caricatures, and\nstartled him for the moment by their likeness to something familiar and\nfar away; but that was all fun, and exciting. It led him on, and he\npenetrated to where the light was less, and trees crouched nearer and\nnearer, and holes made ugly mouths at him on either side.\nEverything was very still now. The dusk advanced on him steadily,\nrapidly, gathering in behind and before; and the light seemed to be\ndraining away like flood-water.\nThen the faces began.\nIt was over his shoulder, and indistinctly, that he first thought he\nsaw a face; a little evil wedge-shaped face, looking out at him from a\nhole. When he turned and confronted it, the thing had vanished.\nHe quickened his pace, telling himself cheerfully not to begin\nimagining things, or there would be simply no end to it. He passed\nanother hole, and another, and another; and then—yes!—no!—yes!\ncertainly a little narrow face, with hard eyes, had flashed up for an\ninstant from a hole, and was gone. He hesitated—braced himself up for\nan effort and strode on. Then suddenly, and as if it had been so all\nthe time, every hole, far and near, and there were hundreds of them,\nseemed to possess its face, coming and going rapidly, all fixing on him\nglances of malice and hatred: all hard-eyed and evil and sharp.\nIf he could only get away from the holes in the banks, he thought,\nthere would be no more faces. He swung off the path and plunged into\nthe untrodden places of the wood.\nThen the whistling began.\nVery faint and shrill it was, and far behind him, when first he heard\nit; but somehow it made him hurry forward. Then, still very faint and\nshrill, it sounded far ahead of him, and made him hesitate and want to\ngo back. As he halted in indecision it broke out on either side, and\nseemed to be caught up and passed on throughout the whole length of the\nwood to its farthest limit. They were up and alert and ready,\nevidently, whoever they were! And he—he was alone, and unarmed, and far\nfrom any help; and the night was closing in.\nThen the pattering began.\nHe thought it was only falling leaves at first, so slight and delicate\nwas the sound of it. Then as it grew it took a regular rhythm, and he\nknew it for nothing else but the pat-pat-pat of little feet still a\nvery long way off. Was it in front or behind? It seemed to be first\none, and then the other, then both. It grew and it multiplied, till\nfrom every quarter as he listened anxiously, leaning this way and that,\nit seemed to be closing in on him. As he stood still to hearken, a\nrabbit came running hard towards him through the trees. He waited,\nexpecting it to slacken pace, or to swerve from him into a different\ncourse. Instead, the animal almost brushed him as it dashed past, his\nface set and hard, his eyes staring. “Get out of this, you fool, get\nout!” the Mole heard him mutter as he swung round a stump and\ndisappeared down a friendly burrow.\nThe pattering increased till it sounded like sudden hail on the dry\nleaf-carpet spread around him. The whole wood seemed running now,\nrunning hard, hunting, chasing, closing in round something or—somebody?\nIn panic, he began to run too, aimlessly, he knew not whither. He ran\nup against things, he fell over things and into things, he darted under\nthings and dodged round things. At last he took refuge in the deep dark\nhollow of an old beech tree, which offered shelter, concealment—perhaps\neven safety, but who could tell? Anyhow, he was too tired to run any\nfurther, and could only snuggle down into the dry leaves which had\ndrifted into the hollow and hope he was safe for a time. And as he lay\nthere panting and trembling, and listened to the whistlings and the\npatterings outside, he knew it at last, in all its fullness, that dread\nthing which other little dwellers in field and hedgerow had encountered\nhere, and known as their darkest moment—that thing which the Rat had\nvainly tried to shield him from—the Terror of the Wild Wood!\nMeantime the Rat, warm and comfortable, dozed by his fireside. His\npaper of half-finished verses slipped from his knee, his head fell\nback, his mouth opened, and he wandered by the verdant banks of\ndream-rivers. Then a coal slipped, the fire crackled and sent up a\nspurt of flame, and he woke with a start. Remembering what he had been\nengaged upon, he reached down to the floor for his verses, pored over\nthem for a minute, and then looked round for the Mole to ask him if he\nknew a good rhyme for something or other.\nBut the Mole was not there.\nHe listened for a time. The house seemed very quiet.\nThen he called “Moly!” several times, and, receiving no answer, got up\nand went out into the hall.\nThe Mole’s cap was missing from its accustomed peg. His goloshes, which\nalways lay by the umbrella-stand, were also gone.\nThe Rat left the house, and carefully examined the muddy surface of the\nground outside, hoping to find the Mole’s tracks. There they were, sure\nenough. The goloshes were new, just bought for the winter, and the\npimples on their soles were fresh and sharp. He could see the imprints\nof them in the mud, running along straight and purposeful, leading\ndirect to the Wild Wood.\nThe Rat looked very grave, and stood in deep thought for a minute or\ntwo. Then he re-entered the house, strapped a belt round his waist,\nshoved a brace of pistols into it, took up a stout cudgel that stood in\na corner of the hall, and set off for the Wild Wood at a smart pace.\nIt was already getting towards dusk when he reached the first fringe of\ntrees and plunged without hesitation into the wood, looking anxiously\non either side for any sign of his friend. Here and there wicked little\nfaces popped out of holes, but vanished immediately at sight of the\nvalorous animal, his pistols, and the great ugly cudgel in his grasp;\nand the whistling and pattering, which he had heard quite plainly on\nhis first entry, died away and ceased, and all was very still. He made\nhis way manfully through the length of the wood, to its furthest edge;\nthen, forsaking all paths, he set himself to traverse it, laboriously\nworking over the whole ground, and all the time calling out cheerfully,\n“Moly, Moly, Moly! Where are you? It’s me—it’s old Rat!”\nHe had patiently hunted through the wood for an hour or more, when at\nlast to his joy he heard a little answering cry. Guiding himself by the\nsound, he made his way through the gathering darkness to the foot of an\nold beech tree, with a hole in it, and from out of the hole came a\nfeeble voice, saying “Ratty! Is that really you?”\nThe Rat crept into the hollow, and there he found the Mole, exhausted\nand still trembling. “O Rat!” he cried, “I’ve been so frightened, you\ncan’t think!”\n“O, I quite understand,” said the Rat soothingly. “You shouldn’t really\nhave gone and done it, Mole. I did my best to keep you from it. We\nriver-bankers, we hardly ever come here by ourselves. If we have to\ncome, we come in couples, at least; then we’re generally all right.\nBesides, there are a hundred things one has to know, which we\nunderstand all about and you don’t, as yet. I mean passwords, and\nsigns, and sayings which have power and effect, and plants you carry in\nyour pocket, and verses you repeat, and dodges and tricks you practise;\nall simple enough when you know them, but they’ve got to be known if\nyou’re small, or you’ll find yourself in trouble. Of course if you were\nBadger or Otter, it would be quite another matter.”\n“Surely the brave Mr. Toad wouldn’t mind coming here by himself, would\nhe?” inquired the Mole.\n“Old Toad?” said the Rat, laughing heartily. “He wouldn’t show his face\nhere alone, not for a whole hatful of golden guineas, Toad wouldn’t.”\nThe Mole was greatly cheered by the sound of the Rat’s careless\nlaughter, as well as by the sight of his stick and his gleaming\npistols, and he stopped shivering and began to feel bolder and more\nhimself again.\n“Now then,” said the Rat presently, “we really must pull ourselves\ntogether and make a start for home while there’s still a little light\nleft. It will never do to spend the night here, you understand. Too\ncold, for one thing.”\n“Dear Ratty,” said the poor Mole, “I’m dreadfully sorry, but I’m simply\ndead beat and that’s a solid fact. You _must_ let me rest here a while\nlonger, and get my strength back, if I’m to get home at all.”\n“O, all right,” said the good-natured Rat, “rest away. It’s pretty\nnearly pitch dark now, anyhow; and there ought to be a bit of a moon\nlater.”\nSo the Mole got well into the dry leaves and stretched himself out, and\npresently dropped off into sleep, though of a broken and troubled sort;\nwhile the Rat covered himself up, too, as best he might, for warmth,\nand lay patiently waiting, with a pistol in his paw.\nWhen at last the Mole woke up, much refreshed and in his usual spirits,\nthe Rat said, “Now then! I’ll just take a look outside and see if\neverything’s quiet, and then we really must be off.”\nHe went to the entrance of their retreat and put his head out. Then the\nMole heard him saying quietly to himself, “Hullo! hullo! here—is—a—go!”\n“What’s up, Ratty?” asked the Mole.\n“_Snow_ is up,” replied the Rat briefly; “or rather, _down_. It’s\nsnowing hard.”\nThe Mole came and crouched beside him, and, looking out, saw the wood\nthat had been so dreadful to him in quite a changed aspect. Holes,\nhollows, pools, pitfalls, and other black menaces to the wayfarer were\nvanishing fast, and a", "source": "windwillows", "length": 16000, "id": 13}
{"text": "Summarize in plain English: The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle\nI. A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA\nI.\nTo Sherlock Holmes she is always _the_ woman. I have seldom heard him\nmention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and\npredominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion\nakin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly,\nwere abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He\nwas, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that\nthe world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a\nfalse position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe\nand a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer—excellent for\ndrawing the veil from men’s motives and actions. But for the trained\nreasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely\nadjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might\nthrow a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive\ninstrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not\nbe more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And\nyet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene\nAdler, of dubious and questionable memory.\nI had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away\nfrom each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred\ninterests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master\nof his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention,\nwhile Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian\nsoul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old\nbooks, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition,\nthe drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen\nnature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime,\nand occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of\nobservation in following out those clues, and clearing up those\nmysteries which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police.\nFrom time to time I heard some vague account of his doings: of his\nsummons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up\nof the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and\nfinally of the mission which he had accomplished so delicately and\nsuccessfully for the reigning family of Holland. Beyond these signs of\nhis activity, however, which I merely shared with all the readers of\nthe daily press, I knew little of my former friend and companion.\nOne night—it was on the twentieth of March, 1888—I was returning from a\njourney to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when\nmy way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered\ndoor, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and\nwith the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a\nkeen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his\nextraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I\nlooked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette\nagainst the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his\nhead sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who\nknew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own\nstory. He was at work again. He had risen out of his drug-created\ndreams and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell\nand was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.\nHis manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I think,\nto see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved\nme to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a\nspirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the fire\nand looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.\n“Wedlock suits you,” he remarked. “I think, Watson, that you have put\non seven and a half pounds since I saw you.”\n“Seven!” I answered.\n“Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, I\nfancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell me\nthat you intended to go into harness.”\n“Then, how do you know?”\n“I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting\nyourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless\nservant girl?”\n“My dear Holmes,” said I, “this is too much. You would certainly have\nbeen burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had a\ncountry walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as I\nhave changed my clothes I can’t imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary\nJane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice, but there,\nagain, I fail to see how you work it out.”\nHe chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together.\n“It is simplicity itself,” said he; “my eyes tell me that on the inside\nof your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather is\nscored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused by\nsomeone who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of the sole in\norder to remove crusted mud from it. Hence, you see, my double\ndeduction that you had been out in vile weather, and that you had a\nparticularly malignant boot-slitting specimen of the London slavey. As\nto your practice, if a gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of\niodoform, with a black mark of nitrate of silver upon his right\nforefinger, and a bulge on the right side of his top-hat to show where\nhe has secreted his stethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not\npronounce him to be an active member of the medical profession.”\nI could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his\nprocess of deduction. “When I hear you give your reasons,” I remarked,\n“the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously simple that I\ncould easily do it myself, though at each successive instance of your\nreasoning I am baffled until you explain your process. And yet I\nbelieve that my eyes are as good as yours.”\n“Quite so,” he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing himself\ndown into an armchair. “You see, but you do not observe. The\ndistinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen the steps\nwhich lead up from the hall to this room.”\n“Frequently.”\n“How often?”\n“Well, some hundreds of times.”\n“Then how many are there?”\n“How many? I don’t know.”\n“Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is just\nmy point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps, because I have\nboth seen and observed. By the way, since you are interested in these\nlittle problems, and since you are good enough to chronicle one or two\nof my trifling experiences, you may be interested in this.” He threw\nover a sheet of thick, pink-tinted notepaper which had been lying open\nupon the table. “It came by the last post,” said he. “Read it aloud.”\nThe note was undated, and without either signature or address.\n“There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight o’clock,” it\nsaid, “a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a matter of the very\ndeepest moment. Your recent services to one of the royal houses of\nEurope have shown that you are one who may safely be trusted with\nmatters which are of an importance which can hardly be exaggerated.\nThis account of you we have from all quarters received. Be in your\nchamber then at that hour, and do not take it amiss if your visitor\nwear a mask.”\n“This is indeed a mystery,” I remarked. “What do you imagine that it\nmeans?”\n“I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorise before one has\ndata. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of\ntheories to suit facts. But the note itself. What do you deduce from\nit?”\nI carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was\nwritten.\n“The man who wrote it was presumably well to do,” I remarked,\nendeavouring to imitate my companion’s processes. “Such paper could not\nbe bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly strong and\nstiff.”\n“Peculiar—that is the very word,” said Holmes. “It is not an English\npaper at all. Hold it up to the light.”\nI did so, and saw a large “E” with a small “g,” a “P,” and a large “G”\nwith a small “t” woven into the texture of the paper.\n“What do you make of that?” asked Holmes.\n“The name of the maker, no doubt; or his monogram, rather.”\n“Not at all. The ‘G’ with the small ‘t’ stands for ‘Gesellschaft,’\nwhich is the German for ‘Company.’ It is a customary contraction like\nour ‘Co.’ ‘P,’ of course, stands for ‘Papier.’ Now for the ‘Eg.’ Let us\nglance at our Continental Gazetteer.” He took down a heavy brown volume\nfrom his shelves. “Eglow, Eglonitz—here we are, Egria. It is in a\nGerman-speaking country—in Bohemia, not far from Carlsbad. ‘Remarkable\nas being the scene of the death of Wallenstein, and for its numerous\nglass-factories and paper-mills.’ Ha, ha, my boy, what do you make of\nthat?” His eyes sparkled, and he sent up a great blue triumphant cloud\nfrom his cigarette.\n“The paper was made in Bohemia,” I said.\n“Precisely. And the man who wrote the note is a German. Do you note the\npeculiar construction of the sentence—‘This account of you we have from\nall quarters received.’ A Frenchman or Russian could not have written\nthat. It is the German who is so uncourteous to his verbs. It only\nremains, therefore, to discover what is wanted by this German who\nwrites upon Bohemian paper and prefers wearing a mask to showing his\nface. And here he comes, if I am not mistaken, to resolve all our\ndoubts.”\nAs he spoke there was the sharp sound of horses’ hoofs and grating\nwheels against the curb, followed by a sharp pull at the bell. Holmes\nwhistled.\n“A pair, by the sound,” said he. “Yes,” he continued, glancing out of\nthe window. “A nice little brougham and a pair of beauties. A hundred\nand fifty guineas apiece. There’s money in this case, Watson, if there\nis nothing else.”\n“I think that I had better go, Holmes.”\n“Not a bit, Doctor. Stay where you are. I am lost without my Boswell.\nAnd this promises to be interesting. It would be a pity to miss it.”\n“But your client—”\n“Never mind him. I may want your help, and so may he. Here he comes.\nSit down in that armchair, Doctor, and give us your best attention.”\nA slow and heavy step, which had been heard upon the stairs and in the\npassage, paused immediately outside the door. Then there was a loud and\nauthoritative tap.\n“Come in!” said Holmes.\nA man entered who could hardly have been less than six feet six inches\nin height, with the chest and limbs of a Hercules. His dress was rich\nwith a richness which would, in England, be looked upon as akin to bad\ntaste. Heavy bands of astrakhan were slashed across the sleeves and\nfronts of his double-breasted coat, while the deep blue cloak which was\nthrown over his shoulders was lined with flame-coloured silk and\nsecured at the neck with a brooch which consisted of a single flaming\nberyl. Boots which extended halfway up his calves, and which were\ntrimmed at the tops with rich brown fur, completed the impression of\nbarbaric opulence which was suggested by his whole appearance. He\ncarried a broad-brimmed hat in his hand, while he wore across the upper\npart of his face, extending down past the cheekbones, a black vizard\nmask, which he had apparently adjusted that very moment, for his hand\nwas still raised to it as he entered. From the lower part of the face\nhe appeared to be a man of strong character, with a thick, hanging lip,\nand a long, straight chin suggestive of resolution pushed to the length\nof obstinacy.\n“You had my note?” he asked with a deep harsh voice and a strongly\nmarked German accent. “I told you that I would call.” He looked from\none to the other of us, as if uncertain which to address.\n“Pray take a seat,” said Holmes. “This is my friend and colleague, Dr.\nWatson, who is occasionally good enough to help me in my cases. Whom\nhave I the honour to address?”\n“You may address me as the Count Von Kramm, a Bohemian nobleman. I\nunderstand that this gentleman, your friend, is a man of honour and\ndiscretion, whom I may trust with a matter of the most extreme\nimportance. If not, I should much prefer to communicate with you\nalone.”\nI rose to go, but Holmes caught me by the wrist and pushed me back into\nmy chair. “It is both, or none,” said he. “You may say before this\ngentleman anything which you may say to me.”\nThe Count shrugged his broad shoulders. “Then I must begin,” said he,\n“by binding you both to absolute secrecy for two years; at the end of\nthat time the matter will be of no importance. At present it is not too\nmuch to say that it is of such weight it may have an influence upon\nEuropean history.”\n“I promise,” said Holmes.\n“And I.”\n“You will excuse this mask,” continued our strange visitor. “The august\nperson who employs me wishes his agent to be unknown to you, and I may\nconfess at once that the title by which I have just called myself is\nnot exactly my own.”\n“I was aware of it,” said Holmes dryly.\n“The circumstances are of great delicacy, and every precaution has to\nbe taken to quench what might grow to be an immense scandal and\nseriously compromise one of the reigning families of Europe. To speak\nplainly, the matter implicates the great House of Ormstein, hereditary\nkings of Bohemia.”\n“I was also aware of that,” murmured Holmes, settling himself down in\nhis armchair and closing his eyes.\nOur visitor glanced with some apparent surprise at the languid,\nlounging figure of the man who had been no doubt depicted to him as the\nmost incisive reasoner and most energetic agent in Europe. Holmes\nslowly reopened his eyes and looked impatiently at his gigantic client.\n“If your Majesty would condescend to state your case,” he remarked, “I\nshould be better able to advise you.”\nThe man sprang from his chair and paced up and down the room in\nuncontrollable agitation. Then, with a gesture of desperation, he tore\nthe mask from his face and hurled it upon the ground. “You are right,”\nhe cried; “I am the King. Why should I attempt to conceal it?”\n“Why, indeed?” murmured Holmes. “Your Majesty had not spoken before I\nwas aware that I was addressing Wilhelm Gottsreich Sigismond von\nOrmstein, Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein, and hereditary King of\nBohemia.”\n“But you can understand,” said our strange visitor, sitting down once\nmore and passing his hand over his high white forehead, “you can\nunderstand that I am not accustomed to doing such business in my own\nperson. Yet the matter was so delicate that I could not confide it to\nan agent without putting myself in his power. I have come _incognito_\nfrom Prague for the purpose of consulting you.”\n“Then, pray consult,” said Holmes, shutting his eyes once more.\n“The facts are briefly these: Some five years ago, during a lengthy\nvisit to Warsaw, I made the acquaintance of the well-known adventuress,\nIrene Adler. The name is no doubt familiar to you.”\n“Kindly look her up in my index, Doctor,” murmured Holmes without\nopening his eyes. For many years he had adopted a system of docketing\nall paragraphs concerning men and things, so that it was difficult to\nname a subject or a person on which he could not at once furnish\ninformation. In this case I found her biography sandwiched in between\nthat of a Hebrew rabbi and that of a staff-commander who had written a\nmonograph upon the deep-sea fishes.\n“Let me see!” said Holmes. “Hum! Born in New Jersey in the year 1858.\nContralto—hum! La Scala, hum! Prima donna Imperial Opera of Warsaw—yes!\nRetired from operatic stage—ha! Living in London—quite so! Your\nMajesty, as I understand, became entangled with this young person,\nwrote her some compromising letters, and is now desirous of getting\nthose letters back.”\n“Precisely so. But how—”\n“Was there a secret marriage?”\n“None.”\n“No legal papers or certificates?”\n“None.”\n“Then I fail to follow your Majesty. If this young person should\nproduce her letters for blackmailing or other purposes, how is she to\nprove their authenticity?”\n“There is the writing.”\n“Pooh, pooh! Forgery.”\n“My private note-paper.”\n“Stolen.”\n“My own seal.”\n“Imitated.”\n“My photograph.”\n“Bought.”\n“We were both in the photograph.”\n“Oh, dear! That is very bad! Your Majesty has indeed committed an\nindiscretion.”\n“I was mad—insane.”\n“You have compromised yourself seriously.”\n“I was only Crown Prince then. I was young. I am but thirty now.”\n“It must be recovered.”\n“We have tried and failed.”\n“Your Majesty must pay. It must be bought.”\n“She will not sell.”\n“Stolen, then.”\n“Five attempts have been made. Twice burglars in my pay ransacked her\nhouse. Once we diverted her luggage when she travelled. Twice she has\nbeen waylaid. There has been no result.”\n“No sign of it?”\n“Absolutely none.”\nHolmes laughed. “It is quite a pretty little problem,” said he.\n“But a very serious one to me,” returned the King reproachfully.\n“Very, indeed. And what does she propose to do with the photograph?”\n“To ruin me.”\n“But how?”\n“I am about to be married.”\n“So I have heard.”\n“To Clotilde Lothman von Saxe-Meningen, second daughter of the King of\nScandinavia. You may know the strict principles of her family. She is\nherself the very soul of delicacy. A shadow of a doubt as to my conduct\nwould bring the matter to an end.”\n“And Irene Adler?”\n“Threatens to send them the photograph. And she will do it. I know that\nshe will do it. You do not know her, but she has a soul of steel. She\nhas the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of the most\nresolute of men. Rather than I should marry another woman, there are no\nlengths to which she would not go—none.”\n“You are sure that she has not sent it yet?”\n“I am sure.”\n“And why?”\n“Because she has said that she would send it on the day when the\nbetrothal was publicly proclaimed. That will be next Monday.”\n“Oh, then we have three days yet,” said Holmes with a yawn. “That is\nvery fortunate, as I have one or two matters of importance to look into\njust at present. Your Majesty will, of course, stay in London for the\npresent?”\n“Certainly. You will find me at the Langham under the name of the Count\nVon Kramm.”\n“Then I shall drop you a line to let you know how we progress.”\n“Pray do so. I shall be all anxiety.”\n“Then, as to money?”\n“You have _carte blanche_.”\n“Absolutely?”\n“I tell you that I would give one of the provinces of my kingdom to\nhave that photograph.”\n“And for present expenses?”\nThe King took a heavy chamois leather bag from under his cloak and laid\nit on the table.\n“There are three hundred pounds in gold and seven hundred in notes,” he\nsaid.\nHolmes scribbled a receipt upon a sheet of his note-book and handed it\nto him.\n“And Mademoiselle’s address?” he asked.\n“Is Briony Lodge, Serpentine Avenue, St. John’s Wood.”\nHolmes took a note of it. “One other question,” said he. “Was the\nphotograph a cabinet?”\n“It was.”\n“Then, good-night, your Majesty, and I trust that we shall soon have\nsome good news for you. And good-night, Watson,” he added, as the\nwheels of the royal brougham rolled down the street. “If you will be\ngood enough to call to-morrow afternoon at three o’clock I should like\nto chat this little matter over with you.”\nII.\nAt three o’clock precisely I was at Baker Street, but Holmes had not\nyet returned. The landlady informed me that he had left the house\nshortly after eight o’clock in the morning. I sat down beside the fire,\nhowever, with the intention of awaiting him, however long he might be.\nI was already deeply interested in his inquiry, for, though it was\nsurrounded by none of the grim and strange features which were\nassociated with the two crimes which I have already recorded, still,\nthe nature of the case and the exalted station of his client gave it a\ncharacter of its own. Indeed, apart from the nature of the\ninvestigation which my friend had on hand, there was something in his\nmasterly grasp of a situation, and his keen, incisive reasoning, which\nmade it a pleasure to me to study his system of work, and to follow the\nquick, subtle methods by which he disentangled the most inextricable\nmysteries. So accustomed was I to his invariable success that the very\npossibility of his failing had ceased to enter into my head.\nIt was close upon four before the door opened, and a drunken-looking\ngroom, ill-kempt and side-whiskered, with an inflamed face and\ndisreputable clothes, walked into the room. Accustomed as I was to my\nfriend’s amazing powers in the use of disguises, I had to look three\ntimes before I was certain that it was indeed he. With a nod he\nvanished into the bedroom, whence he emerged in five minutes\ntweed-suited and respectable, as of old. Putting his hands into his\npockets, he stretched out his legs in front of the fire and laughed\nheartily for some minutes.\n“Well, really!” he cried, and then he choked and laughed again until he\nwas obliged to lie back, limp and helpless, in the chair.\n“What is it?”\n“It’s quite too funny. I am sure you could never guess how I employed\nmy morning, or what I ended by doing.”\n“I can’t imagine. I suppose that you have been watching the habits, and\nperhaps the house, of Miss Irene Adler.”\n“Quite so; but the sequel was rather unusual. I will tell you, however.\nI left the house a little after eight o’clock this morning in the\ncharacter of a groom out of work. There is a wonderful sympathy and\nfreemasonry among horsey men. Be one of them, and you will know all\nthat there is to know. I soon found Briony Lodge. It is a _bijou_\nvilla, with a garden at the back, but built out in front right up to\nthe road, two stories. Chubb lock to the door. Large sitting-room on\nthe right side, well furnished, with long windows almost to the floor,\nand those preposterous English window fasteners which a child could\nopen. Behind there was nothing remarkable, save that the passage window\ncould be reached from the top of the coach-house. I walked round it and\nexamined it closely from every point of view, but without noting\nanything else of interest.\n“I then lounged down the street and found, as I expected, that there\nwas a mews in a lane which runs down by one wall of the garden. I lent\nthe ostlers a hand in rubbing down their horses, and received in\nexchange twopence, a glass of half-and-half, two fills of shag tobacco,\nand as much information as I could desire about Miss Adler, to say\nnothing of half a dozen other people in the neighbourhood in whom I was\nnot in the least interested, but whose biographies I was compelled to\nlisten to.”\n“And what of Irene Adler?” I asked.\n“Oh, she has turned all the men’s heads down in that part. She is the\ndaintiest thing under a bonnet on this planet. So say the\nSerpentine-mews, to a man. She lives quietly, sings at concerts, drives\nout at five every day, and returns at seven sharp for dinner. Seldom\ngoes out at other times, except when she sings. Has only one male\nvisitor, but a good deal of him. He is dark, handsome, and dashing,\nnever calls less than once a day, and often twice. He is a Mr. Godfrey\nNorton, of the Inner Temple. See the advantages of a cabman as a\nconfidant. They had driven him home a dozen times from Serpentine-mews,\nand knew all about him. When I had listened to all they had to tell, I\nbegan to walk up and down near Briony Lodge once more, and to think\nover my plan of campaign.\n“This Godfrey Norton was evidently an important factor in the matter.\nHe was a lawyer. That sounded ominous. What was the relation between\nthem, and what the object of his repeated visits? Was she his client,\nhis friend, or his mistress? If the former, she had probably\ntransferred the photograph to his keeping. If the latter, it was less\nlikely. On the issue of this question depended whether I should\ncontinue my work at Briony Lodge, or turn my attention to the\ngentleman’s chambers in the Temple. It was a delicate point, and it\nwidened the field of my inquiry. I fear that I bore you with these\ndetails, but I have to let you see my little difficulties, if you are\nto understand the situation.”\n“I am following you closely,” I answered.\n“I was still balancing the matter in my mind when a hansom cab drove up\nto Briony Lodge, and a gentleman sprang out. He was a remarkably\nhandsome man, dark, aquiline, and moustached—evidently the man of whom\nI had heard. He appeared to be in a great hurry, shouted to the cabman\nto wait, and brushed past the maid who opened the door with the air of\na man who was thoroughly at home.\n“He was in the house about half an hour, and I could catch glimpses of\nhim in the windows of the sitting-room, pacing up and down, talking\nexcitedly, and waving his arms. Of her I could see nothing. Presently\nhe emerged, looking even more flurried than before. As he stepped up to\nthe cab, he pulled a gold watch from his pocket and looked at it\nearnestly, ‘Drive like the devil,’ he shouted, ‘first to Gross &\nHankey’s in Regent Street, and then to the Church of St. Monica in the\nEdgeware Road. Half a guinea if you do it in twenty minutes!’\n“Away they went, and I was just wondering whether I should not do well\nto follow them when up the lane came a neat little landau, the coachman\nwith his coat only half-buttoned, and his tie under his ear, while all\nthe tags of his harness were sticking out of the buckles. It hadn’t\npulled up before she shot out of the hall door and into it. I only\ncaught a glimpse of her at the moment, but she was a lovely woman, with\na face that a man might die for.\n“‘The Church of St. Monica, John,’ she cried, ‘and half a sovereign if\nyou reach it in twenty minutes.’\n“This was quite too good to lose, Watson. I was just balancing whether\nI should run for it, or whether I should perch behind her landau when a\ncab came through the street. The driver looked twice at such a shabby\nfare, but I jumped in before he could object. ‘The Church of St.\nMonica,’ said I, ‘and half a sovereign if you reach it in twenty\nminutes.’ It was twenty-five minutes to twelve, and of course it was\nclear enough what was in the wind.\n“My cabby drove fast. I don’t think I ever drove faster, but the others\nwere there before us. The cab and the landau with their steaming horses\nwere in front of the door when I arrived. I paid the man and hurried\ninto the church. There was not a soul there save the two whom I had\nfollowed and a surpliced clergyman, who seemed to be expostulating with\nthem. They were all three standing in a knot in front of the altar. I\nlounged up the side aisle like any other idler who has dropped into a\nchurch. Suddenly, to my surprise, the three at the altar faced round to\nme, and Godfrey Norton came running as hard as he could towards me.\n“‘Thank God,’ he cried. ‘You’ll do. Come! Come!’\n“‘What then?’ I asked.\n“‘Come, man, come, only three minutes, or it won’t be legal.’\n“I was half-dragged up to the altar, and before I knew where I was I\nfound myself mumbling responses which were whispered in my ear, and\nvouching for things of which I knew nothing, and generally assisting in\nthe secure tying up of Irene Adler, spinster, to Godfrey Norton,\nbachelor. It was all done in an instant, and there was the gentleman\nthanking me on the one side and the lady on the other, while the\nclergyman beamed on me in front. It was the most preposterous position\nin which I ever found myself in my life, and it was the thought of it\nthat started me laughing just now. It seems that there had been some\ninformality about their license, that the clergyman absolutely refused\nto marry them without a witness of some sort, and that my lucky\nappearance saved the bridegroom from having to sally out into the\nstreets in search of a best man. The bride gave me a sovereign, and I\nmean to wear it on my watch chain in memory of the occasion.”\n“This is a very unexpected turn of affairs,” said I; “and what then?”\n“Well, I found my plans very seriously menaced. It looked as if the\npair might take an immediate departure, and so necessitate very prompt\nand energetic measures on my part. At the church door, however, they\nseparated, he driving back to the Temple, and she to her own house. ‘I\nshall drive out in the park at five as usual,’ she said as she left\nhim. I heard no more. They drove away in different directions, and I\nwent off to make my own arrangements.”\n“Which are?”\n“Some cold beef and a glass of beer,” he answered, ringing the bell. “I\nhave been too busy to think of food, and I am likely to be busier still\nthis evening. By the way, Doctor, I shall want your co-operation.”\n“I shall be delighted.”\n“You don’t mind breaking the law?”\n“Not in the least.”\n“Nor running a chance of arrest?”\n“Not in a good cause.”\n“Oh, the cause is excellent!”\n“Then I am your man.”\n“I was sure that I might rely on you.”\n“But what is it you wish?”\n“When Mrs. Turner has brought in the tray I will make it clear to you.\nNow,” he said as he turned hungrily on the simple fare that our\nlandlady had provided, “I must discuss it while I eat, for I have not\nmuch time. It is nearly five now. In two hours we must be on the scene\nof action. Miss Irene, or Madame, rather, returns from her drive at\nseven. We must be at Briony Lodge to meet her.”\n“And what then?”\n“You must leave that to me. I have already arranged what is to occur.\nThere is only one point on which I must insist. You must not interfere,\ncome what may. You understand?”\n“I am to be neutral?”\n“To do nothing whatever. There will probably be some small\nunpleasantness. Do not join in it. It will end in my being conveyed\ninto the house. Four or five minutes afterwards the sitting-room window\nwill open. You are to station yourself close to that open window.”\n“Yes.”\n“You are to watch me, for I will be visible to you.”\n“Yes.”\n“And when I raise my hand—so—you will throw into the room what I give\nyou to throw, and will, at the same time, raise the cry of fire. You\nquite follow me?”\n“Entirely.”\n“It is nothing very formidable,” he said, taking a long cigar-shaped\nroll from his pocket. “It is an ordinary plumber’s smoke-rocket, fitted\nwith a cap at either end to make it self-lighting. Your task is\nconfined to that. When you raise your cry of fire, it will be taken up\nby quite a number of people. You may then walk to the end of the\nstreet, and I will rejoin you in ten minutes. I hope that I have made\nmyself clear?”\n“I am to remain neutral, to get near the window, to watch you, and at\nthe signal to throw in this object, then to raise the cry of fire, and\nto wait you at the corner of the street.”\n“Precisely.”\n“Then you may entirely rely on me.”\n“That is excellent. I think, perhaps, it is almost time that I prepare\nfor the new role I have to play.”\nHe disappeared into his bedroom and returned in a few minutes in the\ncharacter of an amiable and simple-minded Nonconformist clergyman. His\nbroad black hat, his baggy trousers, his white tie, his sympathetic\nsmile, and general look of peering and benevolent curiosity were such\nas Mr. John Hare alone could have equalled. It was not merely that\nHolmes changed his costume. His expression, his manner, his very soul\nseemed to vary with every fresh part that he assumed. The stage lost a\nfine actor, even as science lost an acute reasoner, when he became a\nspecialist in crime.\nIt was a quarter past six when we left Baker Street, and it still\nwanted ten minutes to the hour when we found ourselves in Serpentine\nAvenue. It was already dusk, and the lamps were just being lighted as\nwe paced up and down in front of Briony Lodge, waiting for the coming\nof its occupant. The house was just such as I had pictured it from\nSherlock Holmes’ succinct description, but the locality appeared to be\nless private than I expected. On the contrary, for a small street in a\nquiet neighbourhood, it was remarkably animated. There was a group of\nshabbily dressed men smoking and laughing in a corner, a\nscissors-grinder with his wheel, two guardsmen who were flirting with a\nnurse-girl, and several well-dressed young men who were lounging up and\ndown with cigars in their mouths.\n“You see,” remarked Holmes, as we paced to and fro in front of the\nhouse, “this marriage rather simplifies matters. The photograph becomes\na double-edged weapon now. The chances are that she would be as averse\nto its being seen by Mr. Godfrey Norton, as our client is to its coming\nto the eyes of his princess. Now the question is, Where are we to find\nthe photograph?”\n“Where, indeed?”\n“It is most unlikely that she carries it about with her. It is cabinet\nsize. Too large for easy concealment about a woman’s dress. She knows\nthat the King is capable of having her waylaid and searched. Two\nattempts of the sort have already been made. We may take it, then, that\nshe does not carry it about with her.”\n“Where, then?”\n“Her banker or her lawyer. There is that double possibility. But I am\ninclined to think neither. Women are naturally secretive, and they like\nto do their own secreting. Why should she hand it over to anyone else?\nShe could trust her own guardianship, but she could not tell what\nindirect or political influence might be brought to bear upon a\nbusiness man. Besides, remember that she had resolved to use it within\na few days. It must be where she can lay her hands upon it. It must be\nin her own house.”\n“But it has twice been burgled.”\n“Pshaw! They did not know how to look.”\n“But how will you look?”\n“I will not look.”\n“What then?”\n“I will get her to show me.”\n“But she will refuse.”\n“She will not be able to. But I hear the rumble of wheels. It is her\ncarriage. Now carry out my orders to the letter.”\nAs he spoke the gleam of the sidelights of a carriage came round the\ncurve of the avenue. It was a smart little landau which rattled up to\nthe door of Briony Lodge. As it pulled up, one of the loafing men at\nthe corner dashed forward to open the door in the hope of earning a\ncopper, but was elbowed away by another loafer, who had rushed up with\nthe same intention. A fierce quarrel broke out, which was increased by\nthe two guardsmen, who took sides with one of the loungers, and by the\nscissors-grinder, who was equally hot upon the other side. A blow was\nstruck, and in an instant the lady, who had stepped from her carriage,\nwas the centre of a little knot of flushed and struggling men, who\nstruck savagely at each other with their fists and sticks. Holmes\ndashed into the crowd to protect the lady; but, just as he reached her,\nhe gave a cry and dropped to the ground, with the blood running freely\ndown his face. At his fall the guardsmen took to their heels in one\ndirection and the loungers in the other, while a number of better\ndressed people, who had watched the scuffle without taking part in it,\ncrowded in to help the lady and to attend to the injured man. Irene\nAdler, as I will still call her, had hurried up the steps; but she\nstood at the top with her superb figure outlined against the lights of\nthe hall, looking back into the street.\n“Is the poor gentleman much hurt?” she asked.\n“He is dead,” cried several voices.\n“No, no, there’s life in him!” shouted another. “But he’ll be gone\nbefore you can get him to hospital.”\n“He’s a brave fellow,” said a woman. “They would have had the lady’s\npurse and watch if it hadn’t been for him. They were a gang, and a\nrough one, too. Ah, he’s breathing now.”\n“He can’t lie in the street. May we bring him in, marm?”\n“Surely. Bring him into the sitting-room. There is a comfortable sofa.\nThis way, please!”\nSlowly and solemnly he was borne into Briony Lodge and laid out in the\nprincipal room, while I still observed the proceedings from my post by\nthe window. The lamps had been lit, but the blinds had not been drawn,\nso that I could see Holmes as he lay upon the couch. I do not know\nwhether he was seized with compunction at that moment for the part he\nwas playing, but I know that I never felt more heartily ashamed of\nmyself in my life than when I saw the beautiful creature against whom I\nwas conspiring, or the grace and kindliness with which she waited upon\nthe injured man. And yet it would be the blackest treachery to Holmes\nto draw back now from the part which he had intrusted to me. I hardened\nmy heart, and took the smoke-rocket from under my ulster. After all, I\nthought, we are not injuring her. We are but preventing her from\ninjuring another.\nHolmes had sat up upon the couch, and I saw him motion like a man who\nis in need of air. A maid rushed across and threw open the window. At\nthe same instant I saw him raise his hand and at the signal I tossed my\nrocket into the room with a cry of “Fire!” The word was no sooner out\nof my mouth than the whole crowd of spectators, well dressed and\nill—gentlemen, ostlers, and servant maids—joined in a general shriek of\n“Fire!” Thick clouds of smoke curled through the room and out at the\nopen window. I caught a glimpse of rushing figures, and a moment later\nthe voice of Holmes from within assuring them that it was a false\nalarm. Slipping through the shouting crowd I made my way to the corner\nof the street, and in ten minutes was rejoiced to find my friend’s arm\nin mine, and to get away from the scene of uproar. He walked swiftly\nand in silence for some few minutes until we had turned down one of the\nquiet streets which lead towards the Edgeware Road.\n“You did it very nicely, Doctor,” he remarked. “Nothing could have been\nbetter. It is all right.”\n“You have the photograph?”\n“I know where it is.”\n“And how did you find out?”\n“She showed me, as I told you she would.”\n“I am still in the dark.”\n“I do not wish to make a mystery,” said he, laughing. “The matter was\nperfectly simple. You, of course, saw that everyone in the street was\nan accomplice. They were all engaged for the evening.”\n“I guessed as much.”\n“Then, when the row broke out, I had a little moist red paint in the\npalm of my hand. I rushed forward, fell down, clapped my hand to my\nface, and became a piteous spectacle. It is an old trick.”\n“That also I could fathom.”\n“Then they carried me in. She was bound to have me in. What else could\nshe do? And into her sitting-room, which was the very room which I\nsuspected. It lay between that and her bedroom, and I was determined to\nsee which. They laid me on a couch, I motioned for air, they were\ncompelled to open the window, and you had your chance.”\n“How did that help you?”\n“It was all-important. When a woman thinks that her house is on fire,\nher instinct is at once to rush to the thing which she values most. It\nis a perfectly overpowering impulse, and I have more than once taken\nadvantage of it. In the case of the Darlington Substitution Scandal it\nwas of use to me, and also in the Arnsworth Castle business. A married\nwoman grabs at her baby; an unmarried one reaches for her jewel-box.\nNow it was clear to me that our lady of to-day had nothing in the house\nmore precious to her than what we are in quest of. She would rush to\nsecure it. The alarm of fire was admirably done. The smoke and shouting\nwere enough to shake nerves of steel. She responded beautifully. The\nphotograph is in a recess behind a sliding panel just above the right\nbell-pull. She was there in an instant, and I caught a glimpse of it as\nshe half drew it out. When I cried out that it was a false alarm, she\nreplaced it, glanced at the rocket, rushed from the room, and I have\nnot seen her since. I rose, and, making my excuses, escaped from the\nhouse. I hesitated whether to attempt to secure the photograph at once;\nbut the coachman had come in, and as he was watching me narrowly, it\nseemed safer to wait. A little over-precipitance may ruin all.”\n“And now?” I asked.\n“Our quest is practically finished. I shall call with the King\nto-morrow, and with you, if you care to come with us. We will be shown\ninto the sitting-room to wait for the lady, but it is probable that\nwhen she comes she may find neither us nor the photograph. It might be\na satisfaction to his Majesty to regain it with his own hands.”\n“And when will you call?”\n“At eight in the morning. She will not be up, so that we shall have a\nclear field. Besides, we must be prompt, for this marriage may mean a\ncomplete change in her life and habits. I must wire to the King without\ndelay.”\nWe had reached Baker Street and had stopped at the door. He was\nsearching his pockets for the key when someone passing said:\n“Good-night, Mister Sherlock Holmes.”\nThere were several people on the pavement at the time, but the greeting\nappeared to come from a slim youth in an ulster who had hurried by.\n“I’ve heard that voice before,” said Holmes, staring down the dimly lit\nstreet. “Now, I wonder who the deuce that could have been.”\nIII.\nI slept at Baker Street that night, and we were engaged upon our toast\nand coffee in the morning when the King of Bohemia rushed into the\nroom.\n“You have really got it!” he cried, grasping Sherlock Holmes by either\nshoulder and looking eagerly into his face.\n“Not yet.”\n“But you have hopes?”\n“I have hopes.”\n“Then, come. I am all impatience to be gone.”\n“We must have a cab.”\n“No, my brougham is waiting.”\n“Then that will simplify matters.” We descended and started off once\nmore for Briony Lodge.\n“Irene Adler is married,” remarked Holmes.\n“Married! When?”\n“Yesterday.”\n“But to whom?”\n“To an English lawyer named Norton.”\n“But she could not love him.”\n“I am in hopes that she does.”\n“And why in hopes?”\n“Because it would spare your Majesty all fear of future annoyance. If\nthe lady loves her husband, she does not love your Majesty. If she does\nnot love your Majesty, there is no reason why she should interfere with\nyour Majesty’s plan.”\n“It is true. And yet—! Well! I wish she had been of my own station!\nWhat a queen she would have made!” He relapsed into a moody silence,\nwhich was not broken until we drew up in Serpentine Avenue.\nThe door of Briony Lodge was open, and an elderly woman stood upon the\nsteps. She watched us with a sardonic eye as we stepped from the\nbrougham.\n“Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I believe?” said she.\n“I am Mr. Holmes,” answered my companion, looking at her with a\nquestioning and rather startled gaze.\n“Indeed! My mistress told me that you were likely to call. She left\nthis morning with her husband by the 5:15 train from Charing Cross for\nthe Continent.”\n“What!” Sherlock Holmes staggered back, white with chagrin and\nsurprise. “Do you mean that she has left England?”\n“Never to return.”\n“And the papers?” asked the King hoarsely. “All is lost.”\n“We shall see.” He pushed past the servant and rushed into the\ndrawing-room, followed by the King and myself. The furniture was\nscattered about in every direction, with dismantled shelves and open\ndrawers, as if the lady had hurriedly ransacked them before her flight.\nHolmes rushed at the bell-pull, tore back a small sliding shutter, and,\nplunging in his hand, pulled out a photograph and a letter. The\nphotograph was of Irene Adler herself in evening dress, the letter was\nsuperscribed to “Sherlock Holmes, Esq. To be left till called for.” My\nfriend tore it open, and we all three read it together. It was dated at\nmidnight of the preceding night and ran in this way:\n    “MY DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES,—You really did it very well. You took\n    me in completely. Until after the alarm of fire, I had not a\n    suspicion. But then, when I found how I had betrayed myself, I\n    began to think. I had been warned against you months ago. I had\n    been told that, if the King employed an agent, it would certainly\n    be you. And your address had been given me. Yet, with all this, you\n    made me reveal what you wanted to know. Even after I became\n    suspicious, I found it hard to think evil of such a dear, kind old\n    clergyman. But, you know, I have been trained as an actress myself.\n    Male costume is nothing new to me. I often take advantage of the\n    freedom which it gives. I sent John, the coachman, to watch you,\n    ran upstairs, got into my walking clothes, as I call them, and came\n    down just as you departed.\n    “Well, I followed you to your door, and so made sure that I was\n    really an object of interest to the celebrated Mr. Sherlock Holmes.\n    Then I, rather imprudently, wished you good-night, and started for\n    the Temple to see my husband.\n    “We both thought the best resource was flight, when pursued by so\n    formidable an antagonist; so you will find the nest empty when you\n    call to-morrow. As to the photograph, your client may rest in\n    peace. I love and am loved by a better man than he. The King may do\n    what he will without hindrance from one whom he has cruelly\n    wronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a\n    weapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might\n    take in the future. I leave a photograph which he might care to\n    possess; and I remain, dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes,\n    “Very truly yours,\n    “IRENE NORTON, _née_ ADLER.”\n“What a woman—oh, what a woman!” cried the King of Bohemia, when we had\nall three read this epistle. “Did I not tell you how quick and resolute\nshe was? Would she not have made an admirable queen? Is it not a pity\nthat she was not on my level?”\n“From what I have seen of the lady, she seems, indeed, to be on a very\ndifferent level to your Majesty,” said Holmes coldly. “I am sorry that\nI have not been able to bring your Majesty’s business to a more\nsuccessful conclusion.”\n“On the contrary, my dear sir,” cried the King; “nothing could be more\nsuccessful. I know that her word is inviolate. The photograph is now as\nsafe as if it were in the fire.”\n“I am glad to hear your Majesty say so.”\n“I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can reward\nyou. This ring—” He slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger and\nheld it out upon the palm of his hand.\n“Your Majesty has something which I should value even more highly,”\nsaid Holmes.\n“You have but to name it.”\n“This photograph!”\nThe King stared at him in amazement.\n“Irene’s photograph!” he cried. “Certainly, if you wish it.”\n“I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the matter.\nI have the honour to wish you a very good morning.” He bowed, and,\nturning away without observing the hand which the King had stretched\nout to him, he set off in my company for his chambers.\nAnd that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of\nBohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a\nwoman’s wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I\nhave not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or\nwhen he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable\ntitle of _the_ woman.\nII. THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE\n I had called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one day in the\n autumn of last year and found him in deep conversation with a very\n stout, florid-faced, elderly gentleman with fiery red hair. With an\n apology for my intrusion, I was about to withdraw when Holmes pulled\n me abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me.\n“You could not possibly have come at a better time, my dear Watson,” he\nsaid cordially.\n“I was afraid that you were engaged.”\n“So I am. Very much so.”\n“Then I can wait in the next room.”\n“Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been my partner and helper\nin many of my most successful cases, and I have no doubt that he will\nbe of the utmost use to me in yours also.”\nThe stout gentleman half rose from his chair and gave a bob of\ngreeting, with a quick little questioning glance from his small\nfat-encircled eyes.\n“Try the settee,” said Holmes, relapsing into his armchair and putting\nhis fingertips together, as was his custom when in judicial moods. “I\nknow, my dear Watson, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and\noutside the conventions and humdrum routine of everyday life. You have\nshown your relish for it by the enthusiasm which has prompted you to\nchronicle, and, if you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish\nso many of my own little adventures.”\n“Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest to me,” I\nobserved.\n“You will remember that I remarked the other day, just before we went\ninto the very simple problem presented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that\nfor strange effects and extraordinary combinations we must go to life\nitself, which is always far more daring than any effort of the\nimagination.”\n“A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting.”\n“You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come round to my view, for\notherwise I shall keep on piling fact upon fact on you until your\nreason breaks down under them and acknowledges me to be right. Now, Mr.\nJabez Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me this morning,\nand to begin a narrative which promises to be one of the most singular\nwhich I have listened to for some time. You have heard me remark that\nthe strangest and most unique things are very often connected not with\nthe larger but with the smaller crimes, and occasionally, indeed, where\nthere is room for doubt whether any positive crime has been committed.\nAs far as I have heard, it is impossible for me to say whether the\npresent case is an instance of crime or not, but the course of events\nis certainly among the most singular that I have ever listened to.\nPerhaps, Mr. Wilson, you would have the great kindness to recommence\nyour narrative. I ask you not merely because my friend Dr. Watson has\nnot heard the opening part but also because the peculiar nature of the\nstory makes me anxious to have every possible detail from your lips. As\na rule, when I have heard some slight indication of the course of\nevents, I am able to guide myself by the thousands of other similar\ncases which occur to my memory. In the present instance I am forced to\nadmit that the facts are, to the best of my belief, unique.”\nThe portly client puffed out his chest with an appearance of some\nlittle pride and pulled a dirty and wrinkled newspaper from the inside\npocket of his greatcoat. As he glanced down the advertisement column,\nwith his head thrust forward and the paper flattened out upon his knee,\nI took a good look at the man and endeavoured, after the fashion of my\ncompanion, to read the indications which might be presented by his\ndress or appearance.\nI did not gain very much, however, by my inspection. Our visitor bore\nevery mark of being an average commonplace British tradesman, obese,\npompous, and slow. He wore rather baggy grey shepherd’s check trousers,\na not over-clean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a drab\nwaistcoat with a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a square pierced bit of\nmetal dangling down as an ornament. A frayed top-hat and a faded brown\novercoat with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him.\nAltogether, look as I would, there was nothing remarkable about the man\nsave his blazing red head, and the expression of extreme chagrin and\ndiscontent upon his features.\nSherlock Holmes’ quick eye took in my occupation, and he shook his head\nwith a smile as he noticed my questioning glances. “Beyond the obvious\nfacts that he has at some time done manual labour, that he takes snuff,\nthat he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and that he has done\na considerable amount of writing lately, I can deduce nothing else.”\nMr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his forefinger upon the\npaper, but his eyes upon my companion.\n“How, in the name of good-fortune, did you know all that, Mr. Holmes?”\nhe asked. “How did you know, for example, that I did manual labour.\nIt’s as true as gospel, for I began as a ship’s carpenter.”\n“Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a size larger than\nyour left. You have worked with it, and the muscles are more\ndeveloped.”\n“Well, the snuff, then, and the Freemasonry?”\n“I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you how I read that,\nespecially as, rather against the strict rules of your order, you use\nan arc-and-compass breastpin.”\n“Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?”\n“What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very shiny for five\ninches, and the left one with the smooth patch near the elbow where you\nrest it upon the desk?”\n“Well, but China?”\n“The fish that you have tattooed immediately above your right wrist\ncould only have been done in China. I have made a small study of tattoo\nmarks and have even contributed to the literature of the subject. That\ntrick of staining the fishes’ scales of a delicate pink is quite\npeculiar to China. When, in addition, I see a Chinese coin hanging from\nyour watch-chain, the matter becomes even more simple.”\nMr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. “Well, I never!” said he. “I thought\nat first that you had done something clever, but I see that there was\nnothing in it after all.”\n“I begin to think, Watson,” said Holmes, “that I make a mistake in\nexplaining. ‘_Omne ignotum pro magnifico_,’ you know, and my poor\nlittle reputation, such as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so\ncandid. Can you not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson?”\n“Yes, I have got it now,” he answered with his thick red finger planted\nhalfway down the column. “Here it is. This is what began it all. You\njust read it for yourself, sir.”\nI took the paper from him and read as follows:\n“TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the late\nEzekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pennsylvania, U.S.A., there is now another\nvacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a salary of £ 4 a\nweek for purely nominal services. All red-headed men who are sound in\nbody and mind and above the age of twenty-one years, are eligible.\nApply in person on Monday, at eleven o’clock, to Duncan Ross, at the\noffices of the League, 7 Pope’s Court, Fleet Street.”\n“What on earth does this mean?” I ejaculated after I had twice read\nover the extraordinary announcement.\nHolmes chuckled and wriggled in his chair, as was his habit when in\nhigh spirits. “It is a little off the beaten track, isn’t it?” said he.\n“And now, Mr. Wilson, off you go at scratch and tell us all about\nyourself, your household, and the effect which this advertisement had\nupon your fortunes. You will first make a note, Doctor, of the paper\nand the date.”\n“It is _The Morning Chronicle_ of April 27, 1890. Just two months ago.”\n“Very good. Now, Mr. Wilson?”\n“Well, it is just as I have been telling you, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,”\nsaid Jabez Wilson, mopping his forehead; “I have a small pawnbroker’s\nbusiness at Coburg Square, near the City. It’s not a very large affair,\nand of late years it has not done more than just give me a living. I\nused to be able to keep two assistants, but now I only keep one; and I\nwould have a job to pay him but that he is willing to come for half\nwages so as to learn the business.”\n“What is the name of this obliging youth?” asked Sherlock Holmes.\n“His name is Vincent Spaulding, and he’s not such a youth, either. It’s\nhard to say his age. I should not wish a smarter assistant, Mr. Holmes;\nand I know very well that he could better himself and earn twice what I\nam able to give him. But, after all, if he is satisfied, why should I\nput ideas in his head?”\n“Why, indeed? You seem most fortunate in having an _employé_ who comes\nunder the full market price. It is not a common experience among\nemployers in this age. I don’t know that your assistant is not as\nremarkable as your advertisement.”\n“Oh, he has his faults, too,” said Mr. Wilson. “Never was such a fellow\nfor photography. Snapping away with a camera when he ought to be\nimproving his mind, and then diving down into the cellar like a rabbit\ninto its hole to develop his pictures. That is his main fault, but on\nthe whole he’s a good worker. There’s no vice in him.”\n“He is still with you, I presume?”\n“Yes, sir. He and a girl of fourteen, who does a bit of simple cooking\nand keeps the place clean—that’s all I have in the house, for I am a\nwidower and never had any family. We live very quietly, sir, the three\nof us; and we keep a roof over our heads and pay our debts, if we do\nnothing more.\n“The first thing that put us out was that advertisement. Spaulding, he\ncame down into the office just this day eight weeks, with this very\npaper in his hand, and he says:\n“‘I wish to the Lord, Mr. Wilson, that I was a red-headed man.’\n“‘Why that?’ I asks.\n“‘Why,’ says he, ‘here’s another vacancy on the League of the\nRed-headed Men. It’s worth quite a little fortune to any man who gets\nit, and I understand that there are more vacancies than there are men,\nso that the trustees are at their wits’ end what to do with the money.\nIf my hair would only change colour, here’s a nice little crib all\nready for me to step into.’\n“‘Why, what is it, then?’ I asked. You see, Mr. Holmes, I am a very\nstay-at-home man, and as my business came to me instead of my having to\ngo to it, I was often weeks on end without putting my foot over the\ndoor-mat. In that way I didn’t know much of what was going on outside,\nand I was always glad of a bit of news.\n“‘Have you never heard of the League of the Red-headed Men?’ he asked\nwith his eyes open.\n“‘Never.’\n“‘Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligible yourself for one of the\nvacancies.’\n“‘And what are they worth?’ I asked.\n“‘Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the work is slight, and it\nneed not interfere very much with one’s other occupations.’\n“Well, you can easily think that that made me prick up my ears, for the\nbusiness has not been over good for some years, and an extra couple of\nhundred would have been very handy.\n“‘Tell me all about it,’ said I.\n“‘Well,’ said he, showing me the advertisement, ‘you can see for\nyourself that the League has a vacancy, and there is the address where\nyou should apply for particulars. As far as I can make out, the League\nwas founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins, who was very\npeculiar in his ways. He was himself red-headed, and he had a great\nsympathy for all red-headed men; so, when he died, it was found that he\nhad left his enormous fortune in the hands of trustees, with\ninstructions to apply the interest to the providing of easy berths to\nmen whose hair is of that colour. From all I hear it is splendid pay\nand very little to do.’\n“‘But,’ said I, ‘there would be millions of red-headed men who would\napply.’\n“‘Not so many as you might think,’ he answered. ‘You see it is really\nconfined to Londoners, and to grown men. This American had started from\nLondon when he was young, and he wanted to do the old town a good turn.\nThen, again, I have heard it is no use your applying if your hair is\nlight red, or dark red, or anything but real bright, blazing, fiery\nred. Now, if you cared to apply, Mr. Wilson, you would just walk in;\nbut perhaps it would hardly be worth your while to put yourself out of\nthe way for the sake of a few hundred pounds.’\n“Now, it is a fact, gentlemen, as you may see for yourselves, that my\nhair is of a very full and rich tint, so that it seemed to me that if\nthere was to be any competition in the matter I stood as good a chance\nas any man that I had ever met. Vincent Spaulding seemed to know so\nmuch about it that I thought he might prove useful, so I just ordered\nhim to put up the shutters for the day and to come right away with me.\nHe was very willing to have a holiday, so we shut the business up and\nstarted off for the address that was given us in the advertisement.\n“I never hope to see such a sight as that again, Mr. Holmes. From\nnorth, south, east, and west every man who had a shade of red in his\nhair had tramped into the city to answer the advertisement. Fleet\nStreet was choked with red-headed folk, and Pope’s Court looked like a\ncoster’s orange barrow. I should not have thought there were so many in\nthe whole country as were brought together by that single\nadvertisement. Every shade of colour they were—straw, lemon, orange,\nbrick, Irish-setter, liver, clay; but, as Spaulding said, there were\nnot many who had the real vivid flame-coloured tint. When I saw how\nmany were waiting, I would have given it up in despair; but Spaulding\nwould not hear of it. How he did it I could not imagine, but he pushed\nand pulled and butted until he got me through the crowd, and right up\nto the steps which led to the office. There was a double stream upon\nthe stair, some going up in hope, and some coming back dejected; but we\nwedged in as well as we could and soon found ourselves in the office.”\n“Your experience has been a most entertaining one,” remarked Holmes as\nhis client paused and refreshed his memory with a huge pinch of snuff.\n“Pray continue your very interesting statement.”\n“There was nothing in the office but a couple of wooden chairs and a\ndeal table, behind which sat a small man with a head that was even\nredder than mine. He said a few words to each candidate as he came up,\nand then he always managed to find some fault in them which would\ndisqualify them. Getting a vacancy did not seem to be such a very easy\nmatter, after all. However, when our turn came the little man was much\nmore favourable to me than to any of the others, and he closed the door\nas we entered, so that he might have a private word with us.\n“‘This is Mr. Jabez Wilson,’ said my assistant, ‘and he is willing to\nfill a vacancy in the League.’\n“‘And he is admirably suited for it,’ the other answered. ‘He has every\nrequirement. I cannot recall when I have seen anything so fine.’ He\ntook a step backward, cocked his head on one side, and gazed at my hair\nuntil I felt quite bashful. Then suddenly he plunged forward, wrung my\nhand, and congratulated me warmly on my success.\n“‘It would be injustice to hesitate,’ said he. ‘You will, however, I am\nsure, excuse me for taking an obvious precaution.’ With that he seized\nmy hair in both his hands, and tugged until I yelled with the pain.\n‘There is water in your eyes,’ said he as he released me. ‘I perceive\nthat all is as it should be. But we have to be careful, for we have\ntwice been deceived by wigs and once by paint. I could tell you tales\nof cobbler’s wax which would disgust you with human nature.’ He stepped\nover to the window and shouted through it at the top of his voice that\nthe vacancy was filled. A groan of disappointment came up from below,\nand the folk all trooped away in different directions until there was\nnot a red-head to be seen except my own and that of the manager.\n“‘My name,’ said he, ‘is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am myself one of the\npensioners upon the fund left by our noble benefactor. Are you a\nmarried man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?’\n“I answered that I had not.\n“His face fell immediately.\n“‘Dear me!’ he said gravely, ‘that is very serious indeed! I am sorry\nto hear you say that. The fund was, of course, for the propagation and\nspread of the red-heads as well as for their maintenance. It is\nexceedingly unfortunate that you should be a bachelor.’\n“My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought that I was not\nto have the vacancy after all; but after thinking it over for a few\nminutes he said that it would be all right.\n“‘In the case of another,’ said he, ‘the objection might be fatal, but\nwe must stretch a point in favour of a man with such a head of hair as\nyours. When shall you be able to enter upon your new duties?’\n“‘Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business already,’ said I.\n“‘Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson!’ said Vincent Spaulding. ‘I\nshould be able to look after that for you.’\n“‘What would be the hours?’ I asked.\n“‘Ten to two.’\n“Now a pawnbroker’s business is mostly done of an evening, Mr. Holmes,\nespecially Thursday and Friday evening, which is just before pay-day;\nso it would suit me very well to earn a little in the mornings.\nBesides, I knew that my assistant was a good man, and that he would see\nto anything that turned up.\n“‘That would suit me very well,’ said I. ‘And the pay?’\n“‘Is £ 4 a week.’\n“‘And the work?’\n“‘Is purely nominal.’\n“‘What do you call purely nominal?’\n“‘Well, you have to be in the office, or at least in the building, the\nwhole time. If you leave, you forfeit your whole position forever. The\nwill is very clear upon that point. You don’t comply with the\nconditions if you budge from the office during that time.’\n“‘It’s only four hours a day, and I should not think of leaving,’ said\nI.\n“‘No excuse will avail,’ said Mr. Duncan Ross; ‘neither sickness nor\nbusiness nor anything else. There you must stay, or you lose your\nbillet.’\n“‘And the work?’\n“‘Is to copy out the _Encyclopædia Britannica_. There is the first\nvolume of it in that press. You must find your own ink, pens, and\nblotting-paper, but we provide this table and chair. Will you be ready\nto-morrow?’\n“‘Certainly,’ I answered.\n“‘Then, good-bye, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me congratulate you once\nmore on the important position which you have been fortunate enough to\ngain.’ He bowed me out of the room and I went home with my assistant,\nhardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at my own good\nfortune.\n“Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by evening I was in low\nspirits again; for I had quite persuaded myself that the whole affair\nmust be some great hoax or fraud, though what its object might be I\ncould not imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that anyone could\nmake such a will, or that they would pay such a sum for doing anything\nso simple as copying out the _Encyclopædia Britannica_. Vincent\nSpaulding did what he could to cheer me up, but by bedtime I had\nreasoned myself out of the whole thing. However, in the morning I\ndetermined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a penny bottle of\nink, and with a quill-pen, and seven sheets of foolscap paper, I\nstarted off for Pope’s Court.\n“Well, to my surprise and delight, everything was as right as possible.\nThe table was set out ready for me, and Mr. Duncan Ross was there to\nsee that I got fairly to work. He started me off upon the letter A, and\nthen he left me; but he would drop in from time to time to see that all\nwas right with me. At two o’clock he bade me good-day, complimented me\nupon the amount that I had written, and locked the door of the office\nafter me.\n“This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on Saturday the manager\ncame in and planked down four golden sovereigns for my week’s work. It\nwas the same next week, and the same the week after. Every morning I\nwas there at ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By degrees Mr.\nDuncan Ross took to coming in only once of a morning, and then, after a\ntime, he did not come in at all. Still, of course, I never dared to\nleave the room for an instant, for I was not sure when he might come,\nand the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well, that I would\nnot risk the loss of it.\n“Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written about Abbots and\nArchery and Armour and Architecture and Attica, and hoped with\ndiligence that I might get on to the B’s before very long. It cost me\nsomething in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my\nwritings. And then suddenly the whole business came to an end.”\n“To an end?”\n“Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to my work as usual\nat ten o’clock, but the door was shut and locked, with a little square\nof cardboard hammered on to the middle of the panel with a tack. Here\nit is, and you can read for yourself.”\nHe held up a piece of white cardboard about the size of a sheet of\nnote-paper. It read in this fashion:\n“THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE IS DISSOLVED. October 9, 1890.”\nSherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announcement and the rueful\nface behind it, until the comical side of the affair so completely\novertopped every other consideration that we both burst out into a roar\nof laughter.\n“I cannot see that there is anything very funny,” cried our client,\nflushing up to the roots of his flaming head. “If you can do nothing\nbetter than laugh at me, I can go elsewhere.”\n“No, no,” cried Holmes, shoving him back into the chair from which he\nhad half risen. “I really wouldn’t miss your case for the world. It is\nmost refreshingly unusual. But there is, if you will excuse my saying\nso, something just a little funny about it. Pray what steps did you\ntake when you found the card upon the door?”\n“I was staggered, sir. I did not know what to do. Then I called at the\noffices round, but none of them seemed to know anything about it.\nFinally, I went to the landlord, who is an accountant living on the\nground floor, and I asked him if he could tell me what had become of\nthe Red-headed League. He said that he had never heard of any such\nbody. Then I asked him who Mr. Duncan Ross was. He answered that the\nname was new to him.\n“‘Well,’ said I, ‘the gentleman at No. 4.’\n“‘What, the red-headed man?’\n“‘Yes.’\n“‘Oh,’ said he, ‘his name was William Morris. He was a solicitor and\nwas using my room as a temporary convenience until his new premises\nwere ready. He moved out yesterday.’\n“‘Where could I find him?’\n“‘Oh, at his new offices. He did tell me the address. Yes, 17 King\nEdward Street, near St. Paul’s.’\n“I started off, Mr. Holmes, but when I got to that address it was a\nmanufactory of artificial knee-caps, and no one in it had ever heard of\neither Mr. William Morris or Mr. Duncan Ross.”\n“And what did you do then?” asked Holmes.\n“I went home to Saxe-Coburg Square, and I took the advice of my\nassistant. But he could not help me in any way. He could only say that\nif I waited I should hear by post. But that was not quite good enough,\nMr. Holmes. I did not wish to lose such a place without a struggle, so,\nas I had heard that you were good enough to give advice to poor folk\nwho were in need of it, I came right away to you.”\n“And you did very wisely,” said Holmes. “Your case is an exceedingly\nremarkable one, and I shall be happy to look into it. From what you\nhave told me I think that it is possible that graver issues hang from\nit than might at first sight appear.”\n“Grave enough!” said Mr. Jabez Wilson. “Why, I have lost four pound a\nweek.”\n“As far as you are personally concerned,” remarked Holmes, “I do not\nsee that you have any grievance against this extraordinary league. On\nthe contrary, you are, as I understand, richer by some £ 30, to say\nnothing of the minute knowledge which you have gained on every subject\nwhich comes under the letter A. You have lost nothing by them.”\n“No, sir. But I want to find out about them, and who they are, and what\ntheir object was in playing this prank—if it was a prank—upon me. It\nwas a pretty expensive joke for them, for it cost them two and thirty\npounds.”\n“We shall endeavour to clear up these points for you. And, first, one\nor two questions, Mr. Wilson. This assistant of yours who first called\nyour attention to the advertisement—how long had he been with you?”\n“About a month then.”\n“How did he come?”\n“In answer to an advertisement.”\n“Was he the only applicant?”\n“No, I had a dozen.”\n“Why did you pick him?”\n“Because he was handy and would come cheap.”\n“At half wages, in fact.”\n“Yes.”\n“What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding?”\n“Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on his face,\nthough he’s not short of thirty. Has a white splash of acid upon his\nforehead.”\nHolmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement. “I thought as\nmuch,” said he. “Have you ever observed that his ears are pierced for\nearrings?”\n“Yes, sir. He told me that a gipsy had done it for him when he was a\nlad.”\n“Hum!” said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought. “He is still with\nyou?”\n“Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him.”\n“And has your business been attended to in your absence?”\n“Nothing to complain of, sir. There’s never very much to do of a\nmorning.”\n“That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give you an opinion upon\nthe subject in the course of a day or two. To-day is Saturday, and I\nhope that by Monday we may come to a conclusion.”\n“Well, Watson,” said Holmes when our visitor had left us, “what do you\nmake of it all?”\n“I make nothing of it,” I answered frankly. “It is a most mysterious\nbusiness.”\n“As a rule,” said Holmes, “the more bizarre a thing is the less\nmysterious it proves to be. It is your commonplace, featureless crimes\nwhich are really puzzling, just as a commonplace face is the most\ndifficult to identify. But I must be prompt over this matter.”\n“What are you going to do, then?” I asked.\n“To smoke,” he answered. “It is quite a three pipe problem, and I beg\nthat you won’t speak to me for fifty minutes.” He curled himself up in\nhis chair, with his thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and\nthere he sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting out\nlike the bill of some strange bird. I had come to the conclusion that\nhe had dropped asleep, and indeed was nodding myself, when he suddenly\nsprang out of his chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his\nmind and put his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.\n“Sarasate plays at the St. James’s Hall this afternoon,” he remarked.\n“What do you think, Watson? Could your patients spare you for a few\nhours?”\n“I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never very absorbing.”\n“Then put on your hat and come. I am going through the City first, and\nwe can have some lunch on the way. I observe that there is a good deal\nof German music on the programme, which is rather more to my taste than\nItalian or French. It is introspective, and I want to introspect. Come\nalong!”\nWe travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate; and a short walk\ntook us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the scene of the singular story which we\nhad listened to in the morning. It was a poky, little, shabby-genteel\nplace, where four lines of dingy two-storied brick houses looked out\ninto a small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of weedy grass and a few\nclumps of faded laurel bushes made a hard fight against a smoke-laden\nand uncongenial atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board with\n“JABEZ WILSON” in white letters, upon a corner house, announced the\nplace where our red-headed client carried on his business. Sherlock\nHolmes stopped in front of it with his head on one side and looked it\nall over, with his eyes shining brightly between puckered lids. Then he\nwalked slowly up the street, and then down again to the corner, still\nlooking keenly at the houses. Finally he returned to the pawnbroker’s,\nand, having thumped vigorously upon the pavement with his stick two or\nthree times, he went up to the door and knocked. It was instantly\nopened by a bright-looking, clean-shaven young fellow, who asked him to\nstep in.\n“Thank you,” said Holmes, “I only wished to ask you how you would go\nfrom here to the Strand.”\n“Third right, fourth left,” answered the assistant promptly, closing\nthe door.\n“Smart fellow, that,” observed Holmes as we walked away. “He is, in my\njudgment, the fourth smartest man in London, and for daring I am not\nsure that he has not a claim to be third. I have known something of him\nbefore.”\n“Evidently,” said I, “Mr. Wilson’s assistant counts for a good deal in\nthis mystery of the Red-headed League. I am sure that you inquired your\nway merely in order that you might see him.”\n“Not him.”\n“What then?”\n“The knees of his trousers.”\n“And what did you see?”\n“What I expected to see.”\n“Why did you beat the pavement?”\n“My dear doctor, this is a time for observation, not for talk. We are\nspies in an enemy’s country. We know something of Saxe-Coburg Square.\nLet us now explore the parts which lie behind it.”\nThe road in which we found ourselves as we turned round the corner from\nthe retired Saxe-Coburg Square presented as great a contrast to it as\nthe front of a picture does to the back. It was one of the main\narteries which conveyed the traffic of the City to the north and west.\nThe roadway was blocked with the immense stream of commerce flowing in\na double tide inward and outward, while the footpaths were black with\nthe hurrying swarm of pedestrians. It was difficult to realise as we\nlooked at the line of fine shops and stately business premises that\nthey really abutted on the other side upon the faded and stagnant\nsquare which we had just quitted.\n“Let me see,” said Holmes, standing at the corner and glancing along\nthe line, “I should like just to remember the order of the houses here.\nIt is a hobby of mine to have an exact knowledge of London. There is\nMortimer’s, the tobacconist, the little newspaper shop, the Coburg\nbranch of the City and Suburban Bank, the Vegetarian Restaurant, and\nMcFarlane’s carriage-building depot. That carries us right on to the\nother block. And now, Doctor, we’ve done our work, so it’s time we had\nsome play. A sandwich and a cup of coffee, and then off to violin-land,\nwhere all is sweetness and delicacy and harmony, and there are no\nred-headed clients to vex us with their conundrums.”\nMy friend was an enthusiastic musician, being himself not only a very\ncapable performer but a composer of no ordinary merit. All the\nafternoon he sat in the stalls wrapped in the most perfect happiness,\ngently waving his long, thin fingers in time to the music, while his\ngently smiling face and his languid, dreamy eyes were as unlike those\nof Holmes the sleuth-hound, Holmes the relentless, keen-witted,\nready-handed criminal agent, as it was possible to conceive. In his\nsingular character the dual nature alternately asserted itself, and his\nextreme exactness and astuteness represented, as I have often thought,\nthe reaction against the poetic and contemplative mood which\noccasionally predominated in him. The swing of his nature took him from\nextreme languor to devouring energy; and, as I knew well, he was never\nso truly formidable as when, for days on end, he had been lounging in\nhis armchair amid his improvisations and his black-letter editions.\nThen it was that the lust of the chase would suddenly come upon him,\nand that his brilliant reasoning power would rise to the level of\nintuition, until those who were unacquainted with his methods would\nlook askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was not that of other\nmortals. When I saw him that afternoon so enwrapped in the music at St.\nJames’s Hall I felt that an evil time might be coming upon those whom\nhe had set himself to hunt down.\n“You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor,” he remarked as we emerged.\n“Yes, it would be as well.”\n“And I have some business to do which will take some hours. This\nbusiness at Coburg Square is serious.”\n“Why serious?”\n“A considerable crime is in contemplation. I have every reason to\nbelieve that we shall be in time to stop it. But to-day being Saturday\nrather complicates matters. I shall want your help to-night.”\n“At what time?”\n“Ten will be early enough.”\n“I shall be at Baker Street at ten.”\n“Very well. And, I say, Doctor, there may be some little danger, so\nkindly put your army revolver in your pocket.” He waved his hand,\nturned on his heel, and disappeared in an instant among the crowd.\nI trust that I am not more dense than my neighbours, but I was always\noppressed with a sense of my own stupidity in my dealings with Sherlock\nHolmes. Here I had heard what he had heard, I had seen what he had\nseen, and yet from his words it was evident that he saw clearly not\nonly what had happened but what was about to happen, while to me the\nwhole business was still confused and grotesque. As I drove home to my\nhouse in Kensington I thought over it all, from the extraordinary story\nof the red-headed copier of the _Encyclopædia_ down to the visit to\nSaxe-Coburg Square, and the ominous words with which he had parted from\nme. What was this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed?\nWhere were we going, and what were we to do? I had the hint from Holmes\nthat this smooth-faced pawnbroker’s assistant was a formidable man—a\nman who might play a deep game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it\nup in despair and set the matter aside until night should bring an\nexplanation.\nIt was a quarter-past nine when I started from home and made my way\nacross the Park, and so through Oxford Street to Baker Street. Two\nhansoms were standing at the door, and as I entered the passage I heard\nthe sound of voices from above. On entering his room, I found Holmes in\nanimated conversation with two men, one of whom I recognised as Peter\nJones, the official police agent, while the other was a long, thin,\nsad-faced man, with a very shiny hat and oppressively respectable\nfrock-coat.\n“Ha! Our party is complete,” said Holmes, buttoning up his pea-jacket\nand taking his heavy hunting crop from the rack. “Watson, I think you\nknow Mr. Jones, of Scotland Yard? Let me introduce you to Mr.\nMerryweather, who is to be our companion in to-night’s adventure.”\n“We’re hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see,” said Jones in his\nconsequential way. “Our friend here is a wonderful man for starting a\nchase. All he wants is an old dog to help him to do the running down.”\n“I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of our chase,”\nobserved Mr. Merryweather gloomily.\n“You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes, sir,” said the\npolice agent loftily. “He has his own little methods, which are, if he\nwon’t mind my saying so, just a little too theoretical and fantastic,\nbut he has the makings of a detective in him. It is not too much to say\nthat once or twice, as in that business of the Sholto murder and the\nAgra treasure, he has been more nearly correct than the official\nforce.”\n“Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right,” said the stranger with\ndeference. “Still, I confess that I miss my rubber. It is the first\nSaturday night for seven-and-twenty years that I have not had my\nrubber.”\n“I think you will find,” said Sherlock Holmes, “that you will play for\na higher stake to-night than you have ever done yet, and that the play\nwill be more exciting. For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will be\nsome £ 30,000; and for you, Jones, it will be the man upon whom you\nwish to lay your hands", "source": "sherlock", "length": 20000, "id": 14}