(原版)澳大利亚语文第六册 LESSON 35
LESSON 35 THE SHELTERING ROCK
THE SHELTERING ROCK
From the mountain-pass the widow's dwelling was ten miles off, and no human habitation [1] was nearer than her own. She had undertaken a long journey, carrying with her her only child, a boy two years old.
The morning when the widow left her home gave promise of a lovely day. But before noon a sudden change took place in the weather. Northward, the sky became black and lowering. Masses of clouds rested upon the hills. Sudden gusts of wind began to whistle among the rocks, and to ruffle, with black squalls [2] , the surface of the lake.
The wind was followed by rain, and the rain by sleet, and the sleet by a heavy fall of snow. It was the month of May—for that storm is yet remembered as "the great May storm." The wildest day of winter never beheld flakes of snow falling heavier or faster, or whirling with more fury through the mountain-pass, filling every hollow and whitening every rock!
Weary, and wet, and cold, the widow reached that pass with her child. She knew that, a mile beyond it, there was a mountain hut which could give shelter; but the moment she attempted to face the storm of snow which was rushing through the gorge [3] , all hope of proceeding in that direction failed. To turn home was equally impossible. She must find shelter. The wild cat's or the fox's den would be welcome.
After wandering for some time among the huge fragments of granite which skirted the base of the over-hanging precipices, she at last found a sheltered nook. She crouched beneath a projecting rock, and pressed her child to her trembling bosom.
The storm continued to rage. The snow was accumulating [4] overhead. Hour after hour passed. It became bitterly cold. The evening approached. The widow's heart was sick with fear and anxiety. Her child—her only child—was all she thought of. She wrapped him in her shawl. But the poor thing had been scantily clad, and the shawl was thin and worn.
SHE PUT HER CHILD INTO A DEEP CREVICE OF THE ROCK.
The widow was poor, and her clothing could hardly defend her from the piercing cold of such a night as that. But, whatever might become of herself, her child must be preserved. The snow, in whirling eddies [5] , entered the recess [6] , which afforded them at best but miserable shelter.
The night came on. The wretched mother then stripped off almost all her own clothing and wrapped it round her child, whom at last, in despair, she put into a deep crevice of the rock, among some heather [7] and fern.
And now she resolved, at all hazards, to brave the storm, and return home in order to get assistance for her babe, or perish in the attempt. Clasping her infant to her heart, and covering his face with tears and kisses, she laid him softly down in sleep, and rushed into the snowy drift [8] . That night of storm was succeeded by a peaceful morning. The sun shone from a clear blue sky, and wreaths of mist hung along the tops of the mountains, while a thousand waterfalls poured down their sides.
Dark figures, made visible at a distance by the white ground, may now be seen with long poles, examining every hollow near the mountain-pass. They are people from the village, who are searching for the widow and her son.
They have reached the pass. A cry is uttered by one of the shepherds, as he sees a bit of a tartan [9] cloak among the snow. They have found the widow—dead! her arms stretched forth, as if imploring assistance! Before noon, they discovered her child by his cries. He was safe in the crevice of the rock. The story of that woman's affection for her child was soon read in language which all understood.
Many a tear was shed, many a sigh of affection was uttered from sorrowing hearts, when, on that evening, the aged pastor gathered the villagers into the deserted house of mourning, and, by prayer and fatherly exhortation [10] , sought to improve for their souls' good an event so sorrowful.
More than half a century later, the son of that clergy-man was one day preaching to a congregation of High-landers in one of our great cities. In the course of his sermon he told the above story of the widow and her son, and he asked, "If that child is now alive, what would you think of his heart if he did not cherish an affection for his mother's memory?"
During the following week he was called to visit a dying soldier. The sick man grasped the minister's hand and said, "You do not know me, I dare say; but I know you well. After being a wanderer in many lands, I came to this town a few weeks ago in bad health. Last Sunday I went to your church, and heard you tell the story of the widow and her son."
Here his voice faltered; but recovering himself, he cried, "I am that son !" and burst into tears.
Yes, he continued, "I am that son ! Never, never did I forget my mother's love. Well might you ask: What a heart should mine have been if she had been forgotten by me? Very dear to me is her memory; and my only desire is, to lay my bones beside hers in the old churchyard among the hills."
The wish, thus fervently expressed, was not forgotten when, a few days later, the old soldier died.
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[1] habitation: Dwelling-place.
[2] squalls: Violent gusts of wind and rain.
[3] gorge: Narrow passage between hills.
[4] accumulating: Piling up.
[5] eddies: Whirling currents.
[6] recess: Corner; nook.
[7] heather: A small bush that grows in Scotland.
[8] drift: Loose snow.
[9] tartan: Cloth woven in colours in a checkered pattern.
[10] exhortation: Address; talk.
