THE TRUMPET OF THE SWAN(3)
热度 1 已有 303 次阅读 2012-3-12 11:37 系统分类:英语学习
Chapter 3
A Visitor
A Visitor
One day, almost a week later, the swan
slipped quietly into her nest and laid an egg.
Each day she tried to deposit one egg
in the nest. Sometimes she succeeded, sometimes she
didn't. There were now three eggs, and she was ready
to lay a fourth.
As she sat there, with her husband, the cob,
floating gracefully nearby, she had a strange
feeling that she was being watched. It made her
uneasy. Birds don't like to be stared at. They
particularly dislike being stared at when they are on
a nest. So the swan twisted and turned and peered
everywhere. She gazed intently at the point of land
that jutted out into the pond near the nest. With her
sharp eyes, she searched the nearby shore for
signs of an intruder. What she finally saw
gave her the surprise of her life. There,
seated on a log on the point of land, was a
small boy. He was being very quiet, and he had
no gun.
"Do you see what I see?" the swan whispered
to her husband.
"No. What?"
"Over there. On that log. It's a boy!
Now what are we going to do?"
"How did a boy get here?" whispered the
cob. "We are deep in the wilds of Canada.
There are no human beings for miles around."
"That's what I thought too," she replied.
"But if that isn't a boy over there on that log,
my name isn't Cygnus Buccinator."
The cob was furious. "I didn't fly all
the way north into Canada to get involved with a
boy," he said. "We came here to this idyllic
spot, this remote little hideaway, so we could
enjoy some well-deserved privacy."
"Well," said his wife, "I'm sorry to see
the boy, too, but I must say he's behaving
himself. He sees us, but he's not throwing stones.
He's not throwing sticks. He's not messing around.
He's simply observing."
"I do not wish to be observed," complained the
cob. "I did not travel all this immense
distance into the heart of Canada to be observed.
Furthermore, I don't want you to be
observed--except by me. You're laying an egg
--that is, I hope you are--and you are entitled
to privacy. It has been my experience that all
boys throw stones and sticks--it is their nature.
I'm going over to strike that boy with my powerful
wing, and he'll think he has been hit with a
billy club. I'll knock him cold!"
"Now, just wait a minute!" said the
swan. "There's no use starting a fight. This
boy is not bothering me at the moment. He's not
bothering you either."
"But how did he get here?" said the cob, who
was no longer talking in a whisper but was beginning
to shout. "How did he get here? Boys can't
fly, and there are no roads in this part of
Canada. We're fifty miles from the nearest
highway."
"Maybe he's lost," said the swan.
"Maybe he's starving to death. Maybe he
wants to rob the nest and eat the eggs, but I
doubt it. He doesn't look hungry.
Anyway, I've started this nest, and I have three
beautiful eggs, and the boy's behaving himself at the
moment, and I intend to go right ahead and try for a
fourth egg."
"Good luck, my love!" said the cob. "I shall
be here at your side to defend you if anything
happens. Lay the egg!"
For the next hour, the cob paddled slowly round
and around the tiny island, keeping watch. His wife
remained quietly on the nest. Sam sat on his
log, hardly moving a muscle. He was
spellbound at the sight of the swans. They were the
biggest water birds he had ever seen. He had
heard their trumpeting and had searched the woods and
swamps until he had found the pond and located
the nest. Sam knew enough about birds to know that these were
Trumpeters. Sam always felt happy when he
was in a wild place among wild creatures.
Sitting on his log, watching the swans, he had
the same good feeling some people get when they are
sitting in church.
After he had watched for an hour, Sam got
up. He walked slowly and quietly away,
putting one foot straight ahead of the other,
Indian-fashion, hardly making a sound. The
swans watched him go. When the female left the
nest, she turned and looked back. There, lying
safely in the soft feathers at the bottom of the
nest, was the fourth egg. The cob waddled out onto
the island and looked in the nest.
"A masterpiece!" he said. "An egg of
supreme beauty and perfect proportions. I
would say that that egg is almost five inches in
length."
His wife was pleased.
slipped quietly into her nest and laid an egg.
Each day she tried to deposit one egg
in the nest. Sometimes she succeeded, sometimes she
didn't. There were now three eggs, and she was ready
to lay a fourth.
As she sat there, with her husband, the cob,
floating gracefully nearby, she had a strange
feeling that she was being watched. It made her
uneasy. Birds don't like to be stared at. They
particularly dislike being stared at when they are on
a nest. So the swan twisted and turned and peered
everywhere. She gazed intently at the point of land
that jutted out into the pond near the nest. With her
sharp eyes, she searched the nearby shore for
signs of an intruder. What she finally saw
gave her the surprise of her life. There,
seated on a log on the point of land, was a
small boy. He was being very quiet, and he had
no gun.
"Do you see what I see?" the swan whispered
to her husband.
"No. What?"
"Over there. On that log. It's a boy!
Now what are we going to do?"
"How did a boy get here?" whispered the
cob. "We are deep in the wilds of Canada.
There are no human beings for miles around."
"That's what I thought too," she replied.
"But if that isn't a boy over there on that log,
my name isn't Cygnus Buccinator."
The cob was furious. "I didn't fly all
the way north into Canada to get involved with a
boy," he said. "We came here to this idyllic
spot, this remote little hideaway, so we could
enjoy some well-deserved privacy."
"Well," said his wife, "I'm sorry to see
the boy, too, but I must say he's behaving
himself. He sees us, but he's not throwing stones.
He's not throwing sticks. He's not messing around.
He's simply observing."
"I do not wish to be observed," complained the
cob. "I did not travel all this immense
distance into the heart of Canada to be observed.
Furthermore, I don't want you to be
observed--except by me. You're laying an egg
--that is, I hope you are--and you are entitled
to privacy. It has been my experience that all
boys throw stones and sticks--it is their nature.
I'm going over to strike that boy with my powerful
wing, and he'll think he has been hit with a
billy club. I'll knock him cold!"
"Now, just wait a minute!" said the
swan. "There's no use starting a fight. This
boy is not bothering me at the moment. He's not
bothering you either."
"But how did he get here?" said the cob, who
was no longer talking in a whisper but was beginning
to shout. "How did he get here? Boys can't
fly, and there are no roads in this part of
Canada. We're fifty miles from the nearest
highway."
"Maybe he's lost," said the swan.
"Maybe he's starving to death. Maybe he
wants to rob the nest and eat the eggs, but I
doubt it. He doesn't look hungry.
Anyway, I've started this nest, and I have three
beautiful eggs, and the boy's behaving himself at the
moment, and I intend to go right ahead and try for a
fourth egg."
"Good luck, my love!" said the cob. "I shall
be here at your side to defend you if anything
happens. Lay the egg!"
For the next hour, the cob paddled slowly round
and around the tiny island, keeping watch. His wife
remained quietly on the nest. Sam sat on his
log, hardly moving a muscle. He was
spellbound at the sight of the swans. They were the
biggest water birds he had ever seen. He had
heard their trumpeting and had searched the woods and
swamps until he had found the pond and located
the nest. Sam knew enough about birds to know that these were
Trumpeters. Sam always felt happy when he
was in a wild place among wild creatures.
Sitting on his log, watching the swans, he had
the same good feeling some people get when they are
sitting in church.
After he had watched for an hour, Sam got
up. He walked slowly and quietly away,
putting one foot straight ahead of the other,
Indian-fashion, hardly making a sound. The
swans watched him go. When the female left the
nest, she turned and looked back. There, lying
safely in the soft feathers at the bottom of the
nest, was the fourth egg. The cob waddled out onto
the island and looked in the nest.
"A masterpiece!" he said. "An egg of
supreme beauty and perfect proportions. I
would say that that egg is almost five inches in
length."
His wife was pleased.
When the swan had laid five eggs,
she felt satisfied. She gazed at them
proudly. Then she settled herself on the nest
to keep her eggs warm. Carefully, she reached
down with her bill and poked each egg until it was
in just the right spot to receive the heat from her body. The
cob cruised around close by, to keep her
company and protect her from enemies. He knew
that a fox prowled somewhere in the woods; he had
heard him barking on nights when the hunting was good.
Days passed, and still the swan sat quietly
on the five eggs. Nights passed. She sat and
sat, giving her warmth to the eggs. No one
disturbed her. The boy was gone--perhaps he would never
come back. Inside of each egg, something was
happening that she couldn't see: a little swan was
taking shape. As the weeks went by, the days
grew longer, the nights grew shorter. When a
rainy day came, the swan just sat still and let it
rain.
"My dear," said her husband, the cob, one
afternoon, "do you never find your duties onerous or
irksome? Do you never tire of sitting in one
place and in one position, covering the eggs, with no
diversions, no pleasures, no escapades, or
capers? Do you never suffer from boredom?"
"No," replied his wife. "Not really."
"Isn't it uncomfortable to sit on eggs?"
"Yes, it is," replied the wife. "But I
can put up with a certain amount of discomfort for the
sake of bringing young swans into the world."
"Do you know how many more days you must sit?" he
asked.
"Haven't any idea," she said. "But I
notice that the ducks at the other end of the pond have
hatched their young ones; I notice that the Red-winged
Blackbirds have hatched theirs, and the other evening
I saw a Striped Skunk hunting along the
shore, and she had four little skunks with her. So
I think I must be getting near the end of my time.
With any luck, we will soon be able to see our children
--our beautiful little cygnets."
"Don't you ever feel the pangs of hunger or
suffer the tortures of thirst?" asked the cob.
"Yes, I do," said his mate. "As a matter
of fact, I could use a drink right now."
The afternoon was warm; the sun was bright. The swan
decided she could safely leave her eggs for a few
minutes. She stood up. First she pushed some
loose feathers around the eggs, hiding them from view
and giving them a warm covering in her
absence. Then she stepped off the nest and entered the
water. She took several quick drinks. Then she
glided over to a shallow place, thrust her head
underwater, and pulled up tender greens from the
bottom. She next took a bath by tossing
water over herself. Then she waddled out onto a
grassy bank and stood there, preening her feathers.
The swan felt good. She had no idea that an
enemy was near. She failed to notice the Red
Fox as he watched her from his hiding place behind a
clump of bushes. The fox had been attracted
to the pond by the sound of splashing water. He hoped
he would find a goose. Now he sniffed the air
and smelled the swan. Her back was turned, so
he began creeping slowly toward her. She would be
too big for him to carry, but he decided he would
kill her anyway and get a taste of blood.
The cob, her husband, was still floating on the
pond. He spied the fox first.
"Look out!" he trumpeted. "Look out for the
fox, who is creeping toward you even as I
speak, his eyes bright, his bushy tail out
straight, his mind lusting for blood, his belly
almost touching the ground! You are in grave danger,
and we must act immediately."
While the cob was making this elegant speech of
warning, something happened that surprised everybody.
Just as the fox was about to spring and sink his teeth in the
swan's neck, a stick came hurtling through the
air. It struck the fox full on the nose, and
he turned and ran away. The two swans
couldn't imagine what had happened. Then they
noticed a movement in the bushes. Out stepped
Sam Beaver, the boy who had visited them a
month ago. Sam was grinning. In his hand he
held another stick, in case the fox should
return. But the fox was in no mood to return.
He had a very sore nose, and he had lost his
appetite for fresh swan.
"Hello," said Sam in a low voice.
"Ko-hoh, ko-hoh!" replied the cob.
"Ko-hoh!" said his wife. The pond rang
with the trumpet sounds--sounds of triumph over the
fox, sounds of victory and gladness.
Sam was thrilled at the noise of swans, which
some people say is like the sound of a French horn. He
walked slowly around the shore to the little point of land
near the island and sat down on his log. The
swans now realized, beyond any doubt, that the boy
was their friend. He had saved the swan's
life. He had been in the right place at the right
time andwiththe right ammunition. The swans felt
grateful. The cob swam over toward Sam,
climbed out of the pond, and stood close to the boy,
looking at him in a friendly way and arching his neck
gracefully. Once, he ran his neck far out,
cautiously, and almost touched the boy. Sam never
moved a muscle. His heart thumped from
excitement and joy.
The female paddled back to her nest and
returned to the job of warming the eggs. She felt
lucky to be alive.
That night before Sam crawled into his bunk at
camp, he got out his notebook and found a
pencil. This is what he wrote:
she felt satisfied. She gazed at them
proudly. Then she settled herself on the nest
to keep her eggs warm. Carefully, she reached
down with her bill and poked each egg until it was
in just the right spot to receive the heat from her body. The
cob cruised around close by, to keep her
company and protect her from enemies. He knew
that a fox prowled somewhere in the woods; he had
heard him barking on nights when the hunting was good.
Days passed, and still the swan sat quietly
on the five eggs. Nights passed. She sat and
sat, giving her warmth to the eggs. No one
disturbed her. The boy was gone--perhaps he would never
come back. Inside of each egg, something was
happening that she couldn't see: a little swan was
taking shape. As the weeks went by, the days
grew longer, the nights grew shorter. When a
rainy day came, the swan just sat still and let it
rain.
"My dear," said her husband, the cob, one
afternoon, "do you never find your duties onerous or
irksome? Do you never tire of sitting in one
place and in one position, covering the eggs, with no
diversions, no pleasures, no escapades, or
capers? Do you never suffer from boredom?"
"No," replied his wife. "Not really."
"Isn't it uncomfortable to sit on eggs?"
"Yes, it is," replied the wife. "But I
can put up with a certain amount of discomfort for the
sake of bringing young swans into the world."
"Do you know how many more days you must sit?" he
asked.
"Haven't any idea," she said. "But I
notice that the ducks at the other end of the pond have
hatched their young ones; I notice that the Red-winged
Blackbirds have hatched theirs, and the other evening
I saw a Striped Skunk hunting along the
shore, and she had four little skunks with her. So
I think I must be getting near the end of my time.
With any luck, we will soon be able to see our children
--our beautiful little cygnets."
"Don't you ever feel the pangs of hunger or
suffer the tortures of thirst?" asked the cob.
"Yes, I do," said his mate. "As a matter
of fact, I could use a drink right now."
The afternoon was warm; the sun was bright. The swan
decided she could safely leave her eggs for a few
minutes. She stood up. First she pushed some
loose feathers around the eggs, hiding them from view
and giving them a warm covering in her
absence. Then she stepped off the nest and entered the
water. She took several quick drinks. Then she
glided over to a shallow place, thrust her head
underwater, and pulled up tender greens from the
bottom. She next took a bath by tossing
water over herself. Then she waddled out onto a
grassy bank and stood there, preening her feathers.
The swan felt good. She had no idea that an
enemy was near. She failed to notice the Red
Fox as he watched her from his hiding place behind a
clump of bushes. The fox had been attracted
to the pond by the sound of splashing water. He hoped
he would find a goose. Now he sniffed the air
and smelled the swan. Her back was turned, so
he began creeping slowly toward her. She would be
too big for him to carry, but he decided he would
kill her anyway and get a taste of blood.
The cob, her husband, was still floating on the
pond. He spied the fox first.
"Look out!" he trumpeted. "Look out for the
fox, who is creeping toward you even as I
speak, his eyes bright, his bushy tail out
straight, his mind lusting for blood, his belly
almost touching the ground! You are in grave danger,
and we must act immediately."
While the cob was making this elegant speech of
warning, something happened that surprised everybody.
Just as the fox was about to spring and sink his teeth in the
swan's neck, a stick came hurtling through the
air. It struck the fox full on the nose, and
he turned and ran away. The two swans
couldn't imagine what had happened. Then they
noticed a movement in the bushes. Out stepped
Sam Beaver, the boy who had visited them a
month ago. Sam was grinning. In his hand he
held another stick, in case the fox should
return. But the fox was in no mood to return.
He had a very sore nose, and he had lost his
appetite for fresh swan.
"Hello," said Sam in a low voice.
"Ko-hoh, ko-hoh!" replied the cob.
"Ko-hoh!" said his wife. The pond rang
with the trumpet sounds--sounds of triumph over the
fox, sounds of victory and gladness.
Sam was thrilled at the noise of swans, which
some people say is like the sound of a French horn. He
walked slowly around the shore to the little point of land
near the island and sat down on his log. The
swans now realized, beyond any doubt, that the boy
was their friend. He had saved the swan's
life. He had been in the right place at the right
time andwiththe right ammunition. The swans felt
grateful. The cob swam over toward Sam,
climbed out of the pond, and stood close to the boy,
looking at him in a friendly way and arching his neck
gracefully. Once, he ran his neck far out,
cautiously, and almost touched the boy. Sam never
moved a muscle. His heart thumped from
excitement and joy.
The female paddled back to her nest and
returned to the job of warming the eggs. She felt
lucky to be alive.
That night before Sam crawled into his bunk at
camp, he got out his notebook and found a
pencil. This is what he wrote:
I don't know of anything in the entire world more
wonderful to look at than a nest with eggs in it.
An egg, because it contains life, is the most
perfect thing there is. It is beautiful and
mysterious. An egg is a far finer thing than a
tennis ball or a cake of soap. A tennis
ball will always be just a tennis ball. A cake of
soap will always be just a cake of soap--until it
gets so small nobody wants it and they throw it
away. But an egg will someday be a living
creature. A swan's egg will open and out will come
a little swan. A nest is almost as wonderful and
mysterious as an egg. How does a bird know
how to make a nest? Nobody ever taught her.
How does a bird know how to build a nest?
wonderful to look at than a nest with eggs in it.
An egg, because it contains life, is the most
perfect thing there is. It is beautiful and
mysterious. An egg is a far finer thing than a
tennis ball or a cake of soap. A tennis
ball will always be just a tennis ball. A cake of
soap will always be just a cake of soap--until it
gets so small nobody wants it and they throw it
away. But an egg will someday be a living
creature. A swan's egg will open and out will come
a little swan. A nest is almost as wonderful and
mysterious as an egg. How does a bird know
how to make a nest? Nobody ever taught her.
How does a bird know how to build a nest?
Sam closed his notebook, said good night
to his father, blew out his lamp, and climbed into his
bunk. He lay there wondering how a bird knows
how to build a nest. Pretty soon his eyes
closed, and he was asleep.
to his father, blew out his lamp, and climbed into his
bunk. He lay there wondering how a bird knows
how to build a nest. Pretty soon his eyes
closed, and he was asleep.
