谁有saki的The Storyteller的英文原文啊 帮帮忙 急!

谁有saki的The Storyteller的英文原文啊 帮帮忙 急!

It was a hot afternoon,and the railway carriage was correspondingly sultry,and the next stop was at Templecombe,nearly an hour ahead.The occupants of the carriage were a small girl,and a smaller girl,and a small boy.An aunt belonging to the children occupied one corner seat,and the further corner seat on the opposite side was occupied by a bachelor who was a stranger to their party,but the small girls and the small boy emphatically occupied the compartment.Both the aunt and the children were conversational in a limited,persistent way,reminding one of the attentions of a housefly that refuses to be discouraged.Most of the aunt‟s remarks seemed to begin with 鈥淒on‟t,鈥 and nearly all of the children‟s remarks began with 鈥淲hy?鈥 The bachelor said nothing out loud.鈥淒on‟t,Cyril,don‟t,鈥 exclaimed the aunt,as the small boy began smacking the cushions of the seat,producing a cloud of dust at each blow.鈥淐ome and look out of the window,鈥 she added.
The child moved reluctantly to the window.鈥淲hy are those sheep being driven out of that field?鈥 he asked.
鈥淚 expect they are being driven to another field where there is more grass,鈥 said the aunt weakly.
鈥淏ut there is lots of grass in that field,鈥 protested the boy; 鈥渢here‟s nothing else but grass there.Aunt,there‟s lots of grass in that field.鈥
鈥淧erhaps the grass in the other field is better,鈥 suggested the aunt fatuously.鈥淲hy is it better?鈥 came the swift,inevitable question.
鈥淥h,look at those cows!鈥 exclaimed the aunt.Nearly every field along the line had contained cows or bullocks,but she spoke as though she were drawing attention to a rarity.鈥淲hy is the grass in the other field better?鈥 persisted Cyril.
The frown on the bachelor‟s face was deepening to a scowl.He was a hard,unsympathetic man,the aunt decided in her mind.She was utterly unable to come to any satisfactory decision about the grass in the other field.
The smaller girl created a diversion by beginning to recite 鈥淥n the Road to Mandalay.鈥 She only knew the first line,but she put her limited knowledge to the fullest possible use.She repeated the line over and over again in a dreamy but resolute and very audible voice; it seemed to the bachelor as though some one had had a bet with her that she could not repeat the line aloud two thousand times without stopping.Whoever it was who had made the wager was likely to lose his bet.
鈥淐ome over here and listen to a story,鈥 said the aunt,when the bachelor had looked twice at her and once at the communication cord.
The children moved listlessly towards the aunt‟s end of the carriage.Evidently her reputation as a story-teller did not rank high in their estimation.
In a low,confidential voice,interrupted at frequent intervals by loud,petulant questionings from her listeners,she began an unenterprising and deplorably uninteresting story about a little girl who was good,and made friends with every one on account of her goodness,and was finally saved from a mad bull by a number of rescuers who admired her moral character.
鈥淲ouldn‟t they have saved her if she hadn‟t been good?鈥 demanded the bigger of the small girls.It was exactly the question that the bachelor had wanted to ask.
鈥淲ell,yes,鈥 admitted the aunt lamely,鈥渂ut I don‟t think they would have run quite so fast to her help if they had not liked her so much.鈥
鈥淚t‟s the stupidest story I‟ve ever heard,鈥 said the bigger of the small girls,with immense conviction.鈥淚 didn‟t listen after the first bit,it was so stupid,鈥 said Cyril.
The smaller girl made no actual comment on the story,but she had long ago recommenced a murmured repetition of her favorite line.鈥淵ou don‟t seem to be a success as a story-teller,鈥 said the bachelor suddenly from his corner.The aunt bristled in instant defense at this unexpected attack.
鈥淚t‟s a very difficult thing to tell stories that children can both understand and appreciate,鈥 she said stiffly.鈥淚 don‟t agree with you,鈥 said the bachelor.
鈥淧erhaps you would like to tell them a story,鈥 was the aunt‟s retort.鈥淭ell us a story,鈥 demanded the bigger of the small girls.
鈥淥nce upon a time,鈥 began the bachelor,鈥渢here was a little girl called Bertha,who was extraordinarily good.鈥
The children‟s momentarily-aroused interest began at once to flicker; all stories seemed dreadfully alike,no matter who told them.
鈥淪he did all that she was told,she was always truthful,she kept her clothes clean,ate milk puddings as though they were jam tarts,learned her lessons perfectly,and was polite in her manners.鈥 鈥淲as she pretty?鈥 asked the bigger of the small girls.
鈥淣ot as pretty as any of you,鈥 said the bachelor,鈥渂ut she was horribly good.鈥
There was a wave of reaction in favor of the story; the word horrible in connection with goodness was a novelty that commended itself.It seemed to introduce a ring of truth that was absent from the aunt‟s tales of infant life.
鈥淪he was so good,鈥 continued the bachelor,鈥渢hat she won several medals for goodness,which she always wore,pinned on to her dress.There was a medal for obedience,another medal for punctuality,and a third for good behavior.They were large metal medals and they clicked against one another as she walked.No other child in the town where she lived had as many as three medals,so everybody knew that she must be an extra good child.鈥
鈥淗orribly good,鈥 quoted Cyril.
鈥淓verybody talked about her goodness,and the Prince of the country got to hear about it,and he said that as she was so very good she might be allowed once a week to walk in his park,which was just outside the town.It was a beautiful park,and no children were ever allowed in it,so it was a great honor for Bertha to be allowed to go there.鈥
鈥淲ere there any sheep in the park?鈥 demanded Cyril.鈥淣o;鈥 said the bachelor,鈥渢here were no sheep.鈥
鈥淲hy weren‟t there any sheep?鈥 came the inevitable question arising out of that answer.The aunt permitted herself a smile,which might almost have been described as a grin.
鈥淭here were no sheep in the park,鈥 said the bachelor,鈥渂ecause the Prince‟s mother had once had a dream that her son would either be killed by a sheep or else by a clock falling on him.For that reason the Prince never kept a sheep in his park or a clock in his palace.鈥 The aunt suppressed a gasp of admiration.
鈥淲as the Prince killed by a sheep or by a clock?鈥 asked Cyril.
鈥淗e is still alive,so we can‟t tell whether the dream will come true,鈥 said the bachelor unconcernedly; 鈥渁nyway,there were no sheep in the park,but there were lots of little pigs running all over the place.鈥 鈥淲hat color were they?鈥
鈥淏lack with white faces,white with black spots,black all over,grey with white patches,and some were white all over.鈥
The story-teller paused to let a full idea of the park‟s treasures sink into the children‟s imaginations; then he resumed:
鈥淏ertha was rather sorry to find that there were no flowers in the park.She had promised her aunts,with tears in her eyes,that she would not pick any of the kind Prince‟s flowers,and she had meant to keep her promise,so of course it made her feel silly to find that there were no flowers to pick.鈥 鈥淲hy weren‟t there any flowers?鈥
鈥淏ecause the pigs had eaten them all,鈥 said the bachelor promptly.鈥淭he gardeners had told the Prince that you couldn‟t have pigs and flowers,so he decided to have pigs and no flowers.鈥
There was a murmur of approval at the excellence of the Prince‟s decision; so many people would have decided the other way.
鈥淭here were lots of other delightful things in the park.There were ponds with gold and blue and green fish in them,and trees with beautiful parrots that said clever things at a moment‟s notice,and humming birds that hummed all the popular tunes of the day.Bertha walked up and down and enjoyed herself immensely,and thought to herself:„If I were not so extraordinarily good I should not have been allowed to come into this beautiful park and enjoy all that there is to be seen in it,‟ and her three medals clinked