Chapter 6 OFF TO MONTANA
已有 162 次阅读 2012-3-20 10:40 系统分类:英语学习
Chapter 6
Off to Montana
Off to Montana
At the end of the summer, the cob gathered his
family around him and made an announcement.
"Children," he began, "I have news for you.
Summer is drawing to a close. Leaves are
turning red, pink, and pale yellow. Soon the
leaves will fall. The time has come for us to leave this
pond. The time has come for us to go."
"Go?" cried all the cygnets except
Louis.
"Certainly," replied their father. "You children are
old enough to learn the facts of life, and the
principal fact of our life right now is this: we
can't stay in this marvelous location much longer."
"Why not?" cried all the cygnets except
Louis.
"Because summer is over," said the cob, "and it
is the way of swans to leave their nesting site at
summer's end and travel south to a milder place
where the food supply is good. I know that you are
all fond of this pretty pond, this marvelous
marsh, these reedy shores and restful retreats. You
have found life pleasant and amusing here. You have
learned to dive and swim underwater. You have enjoyed
our daily recreational trips when we formed in
line, myself in front swimming gracefully, like a
locomotive, and your charming mother bringing up the
rear, like a caboose. Daylong, you have listened and
learned. You have avoided the odious otter and the
cruel coyote. You have listened to the little owl that
says co-co-co-co. You have heard the partridge
say kwit-kwit. At night you have dropped off
to sleep to the sound of frogs--the voices of the
night. But these pleasures and pastimes, these
adventures, these games and frolics, these
beloved sights and sounds must come to an end. All
things come to an end. It is time for us to go."
"Where will we go?" cried all the cygnets
except Louis. "Where will we go, ko-hoh,
ko-hoh? Where will we go, ko-hoh, ko-hoh?"
"We will fly south to Montana," replied the
cob.
"What is Montana?" asked all the
cygnets except Louis. "What is
Montana--banana, banana? What is
Montana--banana, banana?"
"Montana," said their father, "is a state of the
Union. And there, in a lovely valley
surrounded by high mountains, are the Red Rock
Lakes, which nature has designed especially
for swans. In these lakes you will enjoy warm
water, arising from hidden springs. Here, ice never
forms, no matter how cold the nights. In the
Red Rock Lakes, you will find other
Trumpeter Swans, as well as the lesser
waterfowl--the geese and the ducks. There are few
enemies. No gunners. Plenty of muskrat
houses. Free grain. Games every day. What more
can a swan ask, in the long, long cold of
winter?"
Louis listened to all this in amazement. He
wanted to ask his father how they would learn to fly and
how they would find Montana even after they learned
to fly. He began to worry about getting lost. But
he wasn't able to ask any questions. He just had
to listen.
One of his brothers spoke up.
"Father," he said, "you said we would fly south.
I don't know how to fly. I've never been up
in the air."
"True," replied the cob. "But flying is
largely a matter of having the right attitude--
plus, of course, good wing feathers. Flying
consists of three parts. First, the takeoff, during
which there is a lot of fuss and commotion, a lot of
splashing and rapid beating of the wings. Second, the
ascent, or gaining of altitude--this requires
hard work and fast wing action. Third, the
leveling-off, the steady elevated flight, high in
air, wings beating slower now, beating strongly and
regularly, carrying us swiftly and surely from
zone to zone as we cry ko-hoh, ko-hoh, with
all the earth stretched out far below."
"It sounds very nice," said the cygnet, "but
I'm not sure I can do it. I might get
dizzy way up there--if I look down."
"Don't look down!" said his father. "Look
straight ahead. And don't lose your nerve.
Besides, swans do not get dizzy--they feel
wonderful in the air. They feel exalted."
"What does "exalted" mean?" asked the
cygnet.
"It means you will feel strong, glad, firm,
high, proud, successful, satisfied,
powerful, and elevated--as though you had conquered
life and had a high purpose."
Louis listened to all this with great attention. The
idea of flying frightened him. "I won't be able
to say ko-hoh," he thought. "I wonder whether a
swan can fly if he has no voice and can't
say ko-hoh."
"I think," said the cob, "the best plan is for
me to demonstrate flying to you. I will make a
short exhibition flight while you watch.
Observe everything I do! Watch me pump my
neck up and down before the takeoff! Watch me
test the wind by turning my head this way and that! The
takeoff must be into the wind--it's much easier that
way. Listen to the noise I make trumpeting!
Watch how I raise my great wings! See how
I beat them furiously as I rush through the water
with my feet going like mad! This frenzy will last for a
couple of hundred feet, at which point I will
suddenly be airborne, my wings still chopping the
air with terrific force but my feet no longer
touching the water! Then watch what I do! Watch
how I stretch my long white elegant neck out
ahead of me until it has reached its full
length! Watch how I retract my feet and
allow them to stream out behind, full-length, until
they extend beyond my tail! Hear my cries as
I gain the upper air and start trumpeting! See
how strong and steady my wingbeat has become! Then
watch me bank and turn, set my wings, and
glide down! And just as I reach the pond again,
watch how I shoot my feet out in front of me
and use them for the splashdown, as though they were a
pair of water skis! Having watched all this,
then you can join me, and your mother, too, and we will
all make a practice flight together, until you
get the hang of it. Then tomorrow we will do it again, and
instead of returning to the pond, we will head south
to Montana. Are you ready for my exhibition
flight?"
"Ready!" cried all the cygnets except
Louis.
"Very well, here I go!" cried the cob.
As the others watched, he swam downwind to the
end of the pond, turned, tested the wind, pumped his
neck up and down, trumpeted, and after a rush of
two hundred feet, got into the air and began
gaining altitude. His long white neck stretched
out ahead. His big black feet stretched out behind.
His wings had great power. The beat slowed as
he settled into sustained flight. All eyes
watched. Louis was more excited than he had ever
been. "I wonder if I can really do it?" he
thought. "Suppose I fail! Then the others will
fly away, and I will be left here all alone on
this deserted pond, with winter approaching, with no
father, no mother, no sisters, no brothers, and no
food to eat when the pond freezes over. I will
die of starvation. I'm scared."
In a few minutes, the cob glided down out
of the sky and skidded to a stop on the pond. They
all cheered. "Ko-hoh, ko-hoh, beep beep,
beep beep!" All but Louis. He had
to express his approval simply by beating his wings
and splashing water in his father's face.
"All right," said the cob. "You've seen how
it's done. Follow me, and we'll give it a
try. Extend yourselves to the utmost, do everything in the
proper order, never forget for a minute that you are
swans and therefore excellent fliers, and I'm
sure all will be well."
They all swam downwind to the end of the pond.
They pumped their necks up and down. Louis
pumped his harder than any of the others. They tested
the wind by turning their heads this way and that.
Suddenly the cob signaled for the start. There was a
tremendous commotion--wings beating, feet racing,
water churned to a froth. And presently, wonder
of wonders, there were seven swans in the air--two
pure white ones and five dirty gray ones.
The takeoff was accomplished, and they started gaining
altitude.
Louis was the first of the young cygnets to become
airborne, ahead of all his brothers and sisters.
The minute his feet lifted clear of the water, he
knew he could fly. It was a tremendous relief
--as well as a splendid sensation.
"Boy!" he said to himself. "I never knew
flying could be such fun. This is great. This is
sensational. This is superb. I feel exalted,
and I'm not dizzy. I'll be able to get
to Montana with the rest of the family. I may be
defective, but at least I can fly."
The seven great birds stayed aloft about half
an hour, then returned to the pond, the cob still in
the lead. They all had a drink to celebrate the
successful flight. Next day they were up early.
It was a beautiful fall morning, with mist rising
from the pond and the trees shining in all colors.
Toward the end of the afternoon, as the sun sank
low in the sky, the swans took off from the pond and
began their journey to Montana. "This way!"
cried the cob. He swung to his left and
straightened out on a southerly course. The others
followed, trumpeting as they went. As they passed
over the camp where Sam Beaver was, Sam
heard them and ran out. He stood watching as they
grew smaller and smaller in the distance and finally
disappeared.
"What was it?" asked his father, when Sam
returned indoors.
"Swans," replied Sam. "They're headed
south."
"We'd better do the same," said Mr.
Beaver. "I think Shorty will be here tomorrow to take
us out."
Mr. Beaver lay down on his bunk. "What
kind of swans were they?" he asked.
"Trumpeters," said Sam.
"That's funny," said Mr. Beaver. "I thought
Trumpeter Swans had quit migrating. I
thought they spent the whole year on the Red Rock
Lakes, where they are protected."
"Most of 'em do," replied Sam. "But not
all of 'em."
It was bedtime. Sam got out his diary. This is
what he wrote:
family around him and made an announcement.
"Children," he began, "I have news for you.
Summer is drawing to a close. Leaves are
turning red, pink, and pale yellow. Soon the
leaves will fall. The time has come for us to leave this
pond. The time has come for us to go."
"Go?" cried all the cygnets except
Louis.
"Certainly," replied their father. "You children are
old enough to learn the facts of life, and the
principal fact of our life right now is this: we
can't stay in this marvelous location much longer."
"Why not?" cried all the cygnets except
Louis.
"Because summer is over," said the cob, "and it
is the way of swans to leave their nesting site at
summer's end and travel south to a milder place
where the food supply is good. I know that you are
all fond of this pretty pond, this marvelous
marsh, these reedy shores and restful retreats. You
have found life pleasant and amusing here. You have
learned to dive and swim underwater. You have enjoyed
our daily recreational trips when we formed in
line, myself in front swimming gracefully, like a
locomotive, and your charming mother bringing up the
rear, like a caboose. Daylong, you have listened and
learned. You have avoided the odious otter and the
cruel coyote. You have listened to the little owl that
says co-co-co-co. You have heard the partridge
say kwit-kwit. At night you have dropped off
to sleep to the sound of frogs--the voices of the
night. But these pleasures and pastimes, these
adventures, these games and frolics, these
beloved sights and sounds must come to an end. All
things come to an end. It is time for us to go."
"Where will we go?" cried all the cygnets
except Louis. "Where will we go, ko-hoh,
ko-hoh? Where will we go, ko-hoh, ko-hoh?"
"We will fly south to Montana," replied the
cob.
"What is Montana?" asked all the
cygnets except Louis. "What is
Montana--banana, banana? What is
Montana--banana, banana?"
"Montana," said their father, "is a state of the
Union. And there, in a lovely valley
surrounded by high mountains, are the Red Rock
Lakes, which nature has designed especially
for swans. In these lakes you will enjoy warm
water, arising from hidden springs. Here, ice never
forms, no matter how cold the nights. In the
Red Rock Lakes, you will find other
Trumpeter Swans, as well as the lesser
waterfowl--the geese and the ducks. There are few
enemies. No gunners. Plenty of muskrat
houses. Free grain. Games every day. What more
can a swan ask, in the long, long cold of
winter?"
Louis listened to all this in amazement. He
wanted to ask his father how they would learn to fly and
how they would find Montana even after they learned
to fly. He began to worry about getting lost. But
he wasn't able to ask any questions. He just had
to listen.
One of his brothers spoke up.
"Father," he said, "you said we would fly south.
I don't know how to fly. I've never been up
in the air."
"True," replied the cob. "But flying is
largely a matter of having the right attitude--
plus, of course, good wing feathers. Flying
consists of three parts. First, the takeoff, during
which there is a lot of fuss and commotion, a lot of
splashing and rapid beating of the wings. Second, the
ascent, or gaining of altitude--this requires
hard work and fast wing action. Third, the
leveling-off, the steady elevated flight, high in
air, wings beating slower now, beating strongly and
regularly, carrying us swiftly and surely from
zone to zone as we cry ko-hoh, ko-hoh, with
all the earth stretched out far below."
"It sounds very nice," said the cygnet, "but
I'm not sure I can do it. I might get
dizzy way up there--if I look down."
"Don't look down!" said his father. "Look
straight ahead. And don't lose your nerve.
Besides, swans do not get dizzy--they feel
wonderful in the air. They feel exalted."
"What does "exalted" mean?" asked the
cygnet.
"It means you will feel strong, glad, firm,
high, proud, successful, satisfied,
powerful, and elevated--as though you had conquered
life and had a high purpose."
Louis listened to all this with great attention. The
idea of flying frightened him. "I won't be able
to say ko-hoh," he thought. "I wonder whether a
swan can fly if he has no voice and can't
say ko-hoh."
"I think," said the cob, "the best plan is for
me to demonstrate flying to you. I will make a
short exhibition flight while you watch.
Observe everything I do! Watch me pump my
neck up and down before the takeoff! Watch me
test the wind by turning my head this way and that! The
takeoff must be into the wind--it's much easier that
way. Listen to the noise I make trumpeting!
Watch how I raise my great wings! See how
I beat them furiously as I rush through the water
with my feet going like mad! This frenzy will last for a
couple of hundred feet, at which point I will
suddenly be airborne, my wings still chopping the
air with terrific force but my feet no longer
touching the water! Then watch what I do! Watch
how I stretch my long white elegant neck out
ahead of me until it has reached its full
length! Watch how I retract my feet and
allow them to stream out behind, full-length, until
they extend beyond my tail! Hear my cries as
I gain the upper air and start trumpeting! See
how strong and steady my wingbeat has become! Then
watch me bank and turn, set my wings, and
glide down! And just as I reach the pond again,
watch how I shoot my feet out in front of me
and use them for the splashdown, as though they were a
pair of water skis! Having watched all this,
then you can join me, and your mother, too, and we will
all make a practice flight together, until you
get the hang of it. Then tomorrow we will do it again, and
instead of returning to the pond, we will head south
to Montana. Are you ready for my exhibition
flight?"
"Ready!" cried all the cygnets except
Louis.
"Very well, here I go!" cried the cob.
As the others watched, he swam downwind to the
end of the pond, turned, tested the wind, pumped his
neck up and down, trumpeted, and after a rush of
two hundred feet, got into the air and began
gaining altitude. His long white neck stretched
out ahead. His big black feet stretched out behind.
His wings had great power. The beat slowed as
he settled into sustained flight. All eyes
watched. Louis was more excited than he had ever
been. "I wonder if I can really do it?" he
thought. "Suppose I fail! Then the others will
fly away, and I will be left here all alone on
this deserted pond, with winter approaching, with no
father, no mother, no sisters, no brothers, and no
food to eat when the pond freezes over. I will
die of starvation. I'm scared."
In a few minutes, the cob glided down out
of the sky and skidded to a stop on the pond. They
all cheered. "Ko-hoh, ko-hoh, beep beep,
beep beep!" All but Louis. He had
to express his approval simply by beating his wings
and splashing water in his father's face.
"All right," said the cob. "You've seen how
it's done. Follow me, and we'll give it a
try. Extend yourselves to the utmost, do everything in the
proper order, never forget for a minute that you are
swans and therefore excellent fliers, and I'm
sure all will be well."
They all swam downwind to the end of the pond.
They pumped their necks up and down. Louis
pumped his harder than any of the others. They tested
the wind by turning their heads this way and that.
Suddenly the cob signaled for the start. There was a
tremendous commotion--wings beating, feet racing,
water churned to a froth. And presently, wonder
of wonders, there were seven swans in the air--two
pure white ones and five dirty gray ones.
The takeoff was accomplished, and they started gaining
altitude.
Louis was the first of the young cygnets to become
airborne, ahead of all his brothers and sisters.
The minute his feet lifted clear of the water, he
knew he could fly. It was a tremendous relief
--as well as a splendid sensation.
"Boy!" he said to himself. "I never knew
flying could be such fun. This is great. This is
sensational. This is superb. I feel exalted,
and I'm not dizzy. I'll be able to get
to Montana with the rest of the family. I may be
defective, but at least I can fly."
The seven great birds stayed aloft about half
an hour, then returned to the pond, the cob still in
the lead. They all had a drink to celebrate the
successful flight. Next day they were up early.
It was a beautiful fall morning, with mist rising
from the pond and the trees shining in all colors.
Toward the end of the afternoon, as the sun sank
low in the sky, the swans took off from the pond and
began their journey to Montana. "This way!"
cried the cob. He swung to his left and
straightened out on a southerly course. The others
followed, trumpeting as they went. As they passed
over the camp where Sam Beaver was, Sam
heard them and ran out. He stood watching as they
grew smaller and smaller in the distance and finally
disappeared.
"What was it?" asked his father, when Sam
returned indoors.
"Swans," replied Sam. "They're headed
south."
"We'd better do the same," said Mr.
Beaver. "I think Shorty will be here tomorrow to take
us out."
Mr. Beaver lay down on his bunk. "What
kind of swans were they?" he asked.
"Trumpeters," said Sam.
"That's funny," said Mr. Beaver. "I thought
Trumpeter Swans had quit migrating. I
thought they spent the whole year on the Red Rock
Lakes, where they are protected."
"Most of 'em do," replied Sam. "But not
all of 'em."
It was bedtime. Sam got out his diary. This is
what he wrote:
I heard the swans tonight. They are headed south.
It must be wonderful to fly at night. I wonder
whether I'll ever see one of them again. How does
a bird know how to get from where he is to where he
wants to be?
It must be wonderful to fly at night. I wonder
whether I'll ever see one of them again. How does
a bird know how to get from where he is to where he
wants to be?
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