Chapter 2 Chapter two

As they drove into the mountains, Tommy's natural acceptance of Grant gave Grant a lot of peace of mind.Tommy and the mountains accepted him, stood by and watched him come with the familiar silence with the compassion of a bystander. It was a gray and calm morning, and the scenery along the road was clean and empty.Neat gray walls enclose cropless fields and weak fences along neat ditches.In this waiting countryside, no crops have started to grow, only the occasional willows around the gutter reveal the beating and newness of life. Everything will be fine.This silence, this space, this peace was just what he needed.He had almost forgotten how gracious this place was, how satisfying it was.The surrounding hillsides are round, green, soothing, and stretching endlessly, dotted with a touch of blue in the distance.Behind the hillside is a long row of white walls, which are connected with the calm sky along the high ground line.

Driving down into the Tuli Valley, he said, "It's shallow, isn't it?" and a sudden panic seized him. This happens every time.One moment he was a rational, free, and composed person, but the next moment he became a helpless creature controlled by chaos.He clasped his hands together so he wouldn't slam the door open and tried to focus on what Tommy was saying.It hasn't rained in weeks, it hasn't rained in weeks.Yes! It is very important for him to think about the water shortage.It's going to mess up the fishing thing, and he came to Knuckles to fish? You can't fish without water, fish can't live without water after all... Oh! God! Help me, don't tell Tommy to stop. "No water", think about the relationship between water and fishing, if they haven't had rain for weeks, it should rain, shouldn't it? How can you ask your friend to stop and watch you sick? How can you not tell him to stop and let yourself be shut up in a small confined space and can't breathe? Look at the river! Look at the river and think about the river, that's the best fish you caught last year That's where Pat slid down, and he was sitting on the rock, hanging there by the buttocks of his trousers.

Tommy said, "There's still plenty of fish, just like you saw before." The hazel trees by the river, speckled with pale purple on the grey-green heath, whose leaves sing to the river in summer with the rattle and rattle of their leaves, are now peacefully stacked on the banks . Tommy watched the water flow and noticed the bare hazel twigs, but as a father his thoughts did not turn to the beauty of a summer afternoon.Tommy said, "Pat finds out he's a fortune teller." this is a good idea.Think about Pat, talk about Pat. "The house was littered with twigs of all shapes and sizes."

"What did Pat find?" Grant thought. If he could keep his attention on Pat, it should be all right. Tommy said: "He found gold by the living room fireplace; and a body downstairs in the bathroom, in whatever you want to call it, and two wells." "Where's the well?" It should be almost there, only five miles to Knuckle and the head of the canyon. "One under the dining-room floor and one under the kitchen passage," said Tommy. "I guess you haven't dug out the living room fireplace yet!" With the windows wide open, what's there to worry about? It's not really a confined space! It's not a confined space at all.

"We haven't started digging yet. In fact Pat was very upset about it, he said I was a 'one cell'." "Unicellular? " "Yeah, that's his new catchphrase, I know, it means someone a step below the bastard." "Where did he learn the word?" Grant persisted in circling the topic until he reached the birch grove around the corner. Then he'd tell Tommy to stop. "I don't know, probably heard it from a woman on Theosophy last fall, eh! I think so, yes." What did he care about letting Tommy know? It was nothing to be ashamed of.Even though he is a paralyzed syphilitic patient, he accepts Tommy's help and sympathy.Why doesn't he let Tommy know that he's sweating from the fear of something that doesn't exist? Maybe he can tell a lie? Maybe he can just tell Tommy to stop so he can enjoy the view? , at least he made it this far.

He will hold on again, to the place where the river turns.Then he will make up an excuse to look at the river, because looking at the river is more reasonable than looking at the scenery. If you look at the river, Tommy will be very happy; if you look at the scenery, it can only be said that Tommy is at his own discretion. Hold on for another fifty seconds, one, two, three, four... All right. "We lost two sheep on that pond this winter," said Tommy, gliding around the bend. That's too late. What other excuses could he make up? They were already too close to Knuckles to make excuses easy.

He didn't even dare to light a cigarette because his hands were shaking too much. Maybe just do something, whatever... He picked up the newspaper from his seat, refolded it, and looked at it aimlessly.He noticed that the "Signal" was not in it, which he was going to take with him, of course because of the little experimental poem on "Latest News", but he must have left it at the hotel In the restaurant.Oh! Well, never mind.By the time he ate his breakfast anyway, the paper had done its job.Of course, the owner of this newspaper no longer needs it, he is in his paradise, his oblivion, if that is what he wants.As for uncontrollable hands and sweating, it was not his prerogative, nor was fighting demons.Nor is this fresh morning, this loving land, this high-land line of beauty.

For the first time he began to wonder what had brought this young man to the North? Had he booked a first-class sleeper just to get himself drunk? He must have a destination, a Target. But why did he choose such a cold off-season to come to the north? Was it fishing? Down there? Or in the cargo compartment? What else could he possibly be here for besides sports? Was it a business trip? Is he an actor? An artist? Hmm! Possibly. Maybe he's a sailor and reporting for duty here? Or is he going to some naval base north of Inverness? It's very possible.That face was easily associated with the helmsman of the ship.A small boat, extremely fast, gallops on any sea.

What else could have been the reason? What would have brought a dark-haired, thin, wimpy-browed young man with a penchant for alcohol to the Highlands in early March? Unless there was a recent whiskey shortage and he was going to do something illegal. It's a nice idea.But how easy is it to do? Not as easy as in Ireland, where no one has the will to break the law, so when it is done, the whiskey tastes extra sweet.He wished he had actually told the young man the idea.Perhaps, he could have sat across from the young man at dinner last night and saw the gleam in the young man's eyes as this wonderful idea of ​​mocking the law entered his mind.In any case, he wished he had had the opportunity yesterday to talk and exchange ideas with the young man and learn more about him.If anyone had spoken to him last night, he might still be part of this living morning, part of this wonderful world of resources and hope, and not—” and harpooning in the pond under the footbridge Fork it." Tommy had just finished a story.

Grant looked down at his hands and saw that they were still, not shaking. The dead young man couldn't save himself, but he saved Grant. He looked up at the white house standing in front of him, lying alone in the valley, accompanied by the firewood stacked on the wooden boards beside him, very much like the dark green woolen fabric in the empty mountains and rivers.Blue coils of smoke rose from the chimneys and drifted into the still air.This is what peace is all about. As the car turned from the main road into the gravel path, he saw Lola standing at the door waiting for them.She waved at them, and tucked a lock of hair that had fallen across her forehead behind her ear.This familiar move made the frustrated Grant feel warm.That's the way Lola waved her hands when she was a little girl, waiting for Grant on the little Battenoch platform, and that's the same lock of hair tucked back behind her ear.

"Damn!" said Tommy, "I forgot to post her letter, and don't mention it later if she doesn't ask you." Lola kissed him on both cheeks, looked him over carefully, and said, "I've got a wonderful little bird for your lunch, but from the way you look, it seems like you'd better get a good night's sleep first." .Now let's go straight up and let you have a good rest. After you have rested, let's talk about food. We still have a few weeks to talk, there is no rush." Only Laura, he thought, could play the role of hostess so efficiently and understand the needs of her guests.She doesn't particularly boast about her well-prepared lunch, nor does she hide some kind of coercion; she doesn't even force him to drink a cup of tea he doesn't want to drink, and she doesn't suggest that he should take a hot bath first; Ask him to say something polite when he arrives.She neither questioned nor hesitated to offer what he really needed - a pillow. He didn't know if it was because he didn't look human, or because Lola knew him too well.He thought he didn't mind Lola knowing he was gripped by an inexplicable fear, but it was strange that he was always trying to hide his weakness from Tommy. It should have been the other way around, shouldn't it? Lola led him upstairs , Said: "This time I will let you sleep in another room. It turns out that the one on the west side is still under renovation and still has some smell." He noticed that she had gained a little weight, but her ankles were as beautiful as ever.With his consistent objective analysis ability, Grant knew very well that the reason why he didn't hide the childish panic attacks from Laura was because he no longer had the slightest feeling of love between a man and a woman for Laura. The state of having a perfect image in the human eye no longer exists in his relationship with Lola. "Everyone said that the room on the east side had sunshine coming in early in the morning." She stood in the east room and looked around, as if she had never seen this place before. She continued: "Sounds like a benefit, but for me, I prefer the sun shining on what you're looking out because it doesn't hurt you." She tucked her thumb in her belt , loosen the belt that has become too tight. "The west room will be fine for another day or two, so if you still like it, you can switch to it then. How is our dear Sergeant Williams doing?" "Be healthy and work hard." The figure of Williams immediately appeared in his mind, sitting firmly at the coffee table in the lobby of the Seymoreland Hotel, with a timid expression on his face.Once, coming out of a conversation with the hotel manager, he happened to meet Grant and Laura having tea, and they invited him to have tea with him.Williams and Lola get along very well. "You know, whenever the country is in momentary turmoil, I think about Officer Williams and know right away that things are going to be okay." "I guess there's nothing I can do to reassure you," Grant said, busily unpacking. "It's not so clear. Anyway, you are different from Williams. You are the one who really comforts people when everything goes wrong." After speaking with a subtext, she walked out of the room: "Go downstairs when you want to go downstairs." Upstairs. Why don't you go downstairs, just ring the bell after you wake up." Her footsteps got farther and farther away, and silence came from behind her. He took off his clothes, couldn't wait to draw the curtains to block out the sun, and fell asleep. But then it occurred to him: I'd better draw the curtains before the light wakes me up too soon.Reluctantly, he opened his eyes to estimate the intensity of the light, and found that the light stayed outside and no longer came in through the window.He raised his head to think about this strange phenomenon, and then suddenly realized that it was already afternoon. He felt relieved and happy, lying flat and listening to this silence, this old and forgotten silence.He savored the moment, reveling in the momentary relief from a long torture.It's not a closed space between here and the Pentland Firth, nor is it a closed space with the North Pole.Through the open window he could see the dusk sky, gray but still dimly lit and striped by parallel streaks of cloud.There is no rain, just an echo of pure peace immersed in the stillness of the whole world.Oh! It doesn't matter, if you can't fish, you can at least go for a walk! If not, you can also go hunting hares! He watched the clouds gradually darken, thinking about who Laura will introduce him this time? A very peculiar phenomenon: all married women will unite against the existence of single men.If women were happy married, like Lola, they would think that marriage was the only comfortable state for grown men, freeing them from life's incompetence and such obstacles.But what if they are unhappy married? They will resent anyone who escapes this marital punishment. Every time Grant came to Kernu, Lola carefully selected a suitable woman for his consideration.Of course, no one bothered to mention any desirable qualities about the girls, they just walked up and down in front of Grant so that Grant could see their steps. And if Grant hadn't shown a particular interest in a particular candidate, the whole atmosphere wouldn't have shown obvious displeasure, and of course there wouldn't have been any sense of reprimand.The only thing is: Laura will have a new candidate next time. There was a sound in the distance, if it wasn't the lazy cooing of hens, it was the tinkling of piled dishes.He listened for a while, hoping it was a hen, but unfortunately he finally had to accept that it was tea being prepared, so he had to get up.Pat would be leaving school soon, and Bridget would be waking up from her afternoon nap.As always, it was typical of Lola to ask Grant neither for her daughter's modest compliments nor for her daughter's compliments about how much she had grown up in the past year, or that she had grown wiser or prettier.In fact, no one bothered to mention Bridget, she was just a little guy hiding somewhere, like the other animals on the farm. Grant got up, took a shower, and came downstairs twenty minutes later, feeling hungry for the first time in months. Grant looked at the family photo and thought it was pure Zoffany.The door to the living room is pictured wide open, and what once occupied the entire space of an earlier farmhouse is now a side section of the main building.Because it used to be several rooms, it has more windows than other living rooms of the same type, and with solid thick walls, it feels warm and safe.At the same time, because the entire room is facing southwest, it is much brighter than other rooms. All family gatherings and communication are here, just like the hall in some medieval manors.Members of the family use the other rooms only for formal lunches or dinners.A large round table is placed by the fire, which makes the afternoon tea and breakfast here feel as comfortable as a real restaurant. As for the other rooms, it naturally forms a perfect combination of studio, studio, music room, study and greenhouse.There was no need to change any details, Grant thought, because everything was there.Even a beagle can beg at the table and Bridget can comfortably spread her feet by the fireplace. Bridget is a blond, quiet three-year-old who spends most of her time arranging the same little things into different forms."I don't know if she's an idiot or a genius," says Lola, but Grant thinks that from the two seconds Bridget stared at him when she first saw him, he can fully understand why Lola's voice still works. So happy, because "that kid," as Pat called her, had no problem with intelligence at all.Pat didn't mean any public humiliation by calling her that, or even any overt condescension, he was simply emphasizing that he was one of the grownups, six years older enough in his judgment to qualify himself . Pat has red hair and dark, menacing gray eyes.He wore a green checked kilt, blue stockings, and a gray sweater with many patches.The way he greets Grant is improvised and casual, but with a certain comfortable awkwardness.Pat spoke with what his mother called a "thick Perthshire accent", and his best friends at school were shepherd's sons from Killin.Sure, he can speak good English when he's paying attention, but that's usually not a good sign.Because that purely pronounced English is only used when he has something to discuss with you. Over tea, Grant asked him if he had decided what he wanted to do in the future, and Pat had had a stereotyped answer to this question since he was four years old: "I think about it personally." Godfather J. P.Got it there. "Yeah." Pat said as he smeared the jam vigorously, "I've made up my mind." "Really? That's fine. What are you going to do?" "revolutionary." "I hope I don't want to arrest you." "You won't." Pat replied simply. "why? " "I'll be 'good,' man," said Pat, putting down his spoon. "I believe Queen Victoria meant it when she used the word," Lola said, taking the jam from her son as well. It's the kind of thing that makes Grant like Laura, the maternal veins still clearly on display in the occasional shimmering detachment. "I've saved a fish for you," Pat said as he smeared the jam on the toast at least halfway in, which was his goal. "Under the reef in Caddy's Pond, I can give you my worms if you like." Since Pat has an ocean-wide bucket of bait to choose from, "my worm" appears here in the singular, meaning nothing more than "a worm I invented." After Pat left, Grant asked, "What does Pat's bait look like?" "It's horrible, that's all I can say," his mother said. "It's absolutely terrifying." "So did he catch anything with this bait?" Tommy said: "It's so strange! I actually caught it! It seems that the fish world is no different from the human world, and there are many fools." "These poor fish's jaws dropped when they saw his bait," Lola said, "and before they had time to shut their mouths, the rush of the water caught them. Tomorrow is Saturday and you can see for yourself What a sight. But I don't think with the current state of Cuddy Pond, even with Pat's terribly great invention, he can't catch that big six-pound thing." Obviously, Laura was right.It was a clear, rainless Saturday morning, and the six-pound guy in Cuddy Pond, too long in captivity to swim up the river, had no interest in anything on the surface that might distract him. Therefore, they suggested that Grant go fin fishing in the lake and take Pat as a follower. This little calm lake, called Durwood, lies two miles beyond the slopes, in a somewhat deserted wasteland.When the wind blows, the fishing line will be completely blown away from the water by the strong wind and fly straight to the right, like a straight telephone line hanging in mid-air. When the lake is calm, where the mosquitos feast on you as prey, the finfish will jump to the surface and taunt you openly.Fin fishing might not have been Grant's favorite pastime, but being a footman was heaven for Pat. Pat was good at everything, from riding the Dalmore's black bull, to getting threepence worth of sweets from Mrs Meyer at the post office for halfpenny plus duress.Too bad he still didn't have the pleasure of making a mess of the boat, because the boat on the lake was locked. So Grant started walking up the sandy ground over the dry heather, with Pat following him at a pace or so like a well-behaved hound.As Grant walked, he began to feel his spirits sinking, and he didn't know why. Why hold back some of the joy of this morning and the joy of fishing? Maybe brown fin fishing isn't what he considers a good outdoorsy activity, but happy to hold a rod all day, even if there's no fish It doesn't matter, does it? He is very happy that he can walk out happily and leisurely, with the familiar peat under his feet, and the hillside in front of him.Why did this little reluctance keep chasing him? Why would he rather hang around on the farm than spend a day in a boat on Deverwood Lake? They had traveled a full mile before that reason in their subconscious mind.It turned out that he wanted to stay in Kenu today because he could read the morning papers as soon as they came. He would love to know more about the seven B berths. With the tiredness of the journey and the memory of humiliation, he had already forgotten about Seven B.It has been almost twenty-four hours since he fell asleep in Kenu, and he temporarily forgot about Qi B.But obviously, the matter of the seventh B sleeper still followed him closely. He asked Pat, who followed quietly one step behind him and was dedicated to his duties as a small follower: "What time does the daily newspaper here at Kenu arrive?" "If it's Johnny, it'll be there by twelve o'clock, but if it's Kenny, it'll usually be around one o'clock." Pat seemed pleased to finally have a conversation on this expedition, saying, "Kenny will stop at Dalmore on the east side of the road, and then go to Kirsty at McPhee Rock for a cup of tea." It was a wonderful world, Grant thought, waiting for the news that set the country ablaze, while Kenny was safe drinking tea in Kirsty's at McPhee Rock.Before the invention of the radio, the world was close to heaven. "Watch the way to heaven." Singing sand. talking beast still river walking stone singing sand What does this symbolize? Is it just a kingdom of the soul? Being in this empty land, this piece of natural land, no matter how weird things are, they seem to naturally dilute the weirdness.Such a morning really makes people inexplicably believe that there may be walking stones in some places on this planet. Is there no known place, including this highland, where when a person walks alone in the bright summer sun, he suddenly feels that he is being watched, and he becomes terrified and wants to flee quickly? Yes, of course there is. , you don't have to talk to Wimber Streeter to know there is.In some ancient places, anything can happen, even beasts can speak. Where the hell did the Seven B guy get this strange idea? They pulled a boat out of a wooden slide and Grant put it into the lake and paddled against the wind.The sky was extraordinarily bright, but there was something in the air, as if at any moment there would be a wind that would wrinkle the surface of the lake.He watched Pat straighten the rods and tie the worms to the line, and thought: If he wasn't lucky enough to have a son in this life, this little red-haired distant relative would be a good substitute. While busy tying the worms, Pat asked, "Aaron, have you ever given flower elements?" Pat referred to "flower bouquet" as "flower elements". "As far as I can remember, no," said Grant cautiously. "Why do you ask that?" "They want me to bring flowers to the Viscountess, because she's coming to cut the ribbon at Dalmore Hall." "Hall?" Pat said bitterly, "That's the house at the crossroads!" He was silent for a moment, obviously lost in thought. "Giving flowers is like what girls do, it's scary!" Grant felt it his duty to play Laura's part, since she was not around, and thought hard about his answer. "It's a great honor!" "Then let 'that kid' get the honor." "But I'm afraid she's too young for such a big responsibility." "Okay! If Bridget is too young, then I'm too big for such a child's trick, and then they'll have to find someone else to do it, alas! It would have been superfluous! Several halls are already open." It's been a month." Grant was speechless at this savvy contempt for the pretense of the adult world. They fish back-to-back with a kind of masculine friendliness, Grant languidly unconcerned casting his line, and Pat with characteristic optimism.About noon their boat floated close to the embankment, and they turned to paddle to shore, intending to make tea on the primus stove (a portable stove.) in the small farmhouse.Grant paddled until he was about a few yards from the shore when he noticed Pat's eyes fixed on something on the bank and turned around to see what was causing Pat to look so disgusted. He saw a swaying figure approaching them swaggeringly, and asked Pat who that person was. Pat said, "That's little Archie!" Archie carried a shepherd's crook and wore a man's kilt, which, Tommy later said, you'd never see a dead shepherd wield, or any A living Highlander wears a kilt like this.The cranked cane was two feet above Archie's head, and the man's tutu covered his barely there bottom like a soggy petticoat.But Archie, who was wearing this dress, was obviously not aware of this situation. The checks on his skirt were as bright as a peacock spreading its tail, which was incompatible with this wasteland.His small, dark, eel-like head wore a pale blue Scotch cap with a checkered hatband that was pulled all the way out at a pretentious angle and hung from the A clump of plants popped up.Set in.The socks on the shaped legs are a very eye-catching bright blue, and the many hair balls on the socks give the illusion of malignant tumors hanging there.The straps of the leather shoes are crossed and wrapped around the thin ankles, giving people a sense of vitality. Grant asked with interest: "What is he doing there?" "He was a revolutionary." "Really! A revolutionary like you?" "No!" said Pat with the utmost contempt. "Oh! I can't say I wasn't influenced by him at all, but no one cares about a man like him! He also writes poetry!" "So is it a 'single cell'?" "He? He doesn't even have a nucleus! Dude, he's a-a-a 'egg.'" Grant judged that the word Pat was looking for was actually amoeba, but he hadn't learned it yet. The "egg" walked merrily toward them along the stony beach, swaggering his hideous petticoat tail.He moved with a limp on the stone, looking a little awkward.Grant suddenly realized that he had corns, which would appear on pale pink feet that sweated easily.The medical columns of the newspapers often dealt with this foot disease. (Wash and dry your feet thoroughly every evening, especially between the toes, and then sprinkle talcum powder on them. At the same time, pay attention to changing your socks every morning.) "Egg" so called. Grant wondered, coincidence or something, why all debilitated people have this thin and vain voice? Not that this thin and vain voice is reserved for failure and frustration, and failure and frustration make life The longing to live in isolation? Grant hadn't heard Gaelic since he was a child, the language His tone of voice suddenly cooled his enthusiasm for greeting.He simply said good morning to the man. "Pate should tell you it's too light to catch fish today." As he spoke, he waddled toward them. Grant didn't know what was making him uncomfortable, the vulgar Glaswegian language, or Archie's inappropriate overtures? The freckles on Pat's pretty face were covered by a flush of red, and the words he wanted to say trembled on his lips. "I don't think he wants to disappoint me," Grant explained trivially, watching the flush fade from Pat's face and give way to gratitude.Pat was surprised to find that there was a better way to deal with this kind of stupid person than direct attack, and Ding also wanted to taste this for himself and enjoy it. "I suppose you're coming ashore for your mid-morning tea, aren't you?" said Archie cheerfully. "If you don't mind, I'd be happy to join." Although they were reluctant, they had no choice but to politely make tea for Archie.Archie pulled out his own sandwich, and as he ate it he spun off about Scotland's great and glorious past and its dazzling future.Archie didn't ask Grant's name, but his conversation showed that he took Grant for an Englishman, and Grant was surprised to hear about the crimes that England committed against a free and helpless Scotland (it's hard to imagine anything more than The Scotland he knew was more helpless, less free).As if England were a vampire, draining Scotland of its good blood, leaving only lame and pale.Scotland groans under the yoke of invaders, staggers behind the victorious processions of conquerors, pays tribute and offers all her talents to drive the yoke of tyrants.But now Scotland is about to throw off the chains, is about to let go of the chains, and soon the rage will flare up again, and even the heather will burn again.Archie didn't miss a single cliché. Grant watched him with curious eyes, sure that this man was older than he thought, forty-five? Maybe closer to fifty.Too old, whatever he wished he could achieve, has passed him by.He's got nothing but this hideous outlandish outfit and these outdated clichés. He glanced at Pat to see what such vulgar patriotism would do to the young Scot, and was relieved.The young Scot sat facing the lake, as if looking at Archie was too much.The young lad was chewing it all out with a resolute detachment, and his eyes reminded Grant of Flory Knox: eyes like stone walls with broken glass.Revolutions need more intense offensive fire to have an impact on their fellow men than Archie's innocuous rhetoric. Grant wondered what the hell this guy did for a living.Poetry writing doesn't pay for a living, and it's hard to make ends meet as a freelance journalist, or as Archie might have written, but maybe he scrapes by writing so-called reviews.Some lower-level critical media often use the works of lesser-known critics.Of course, he might also get subsidies; if not from disgruntled but power-hungry locals, then from foreign institutions looking to cause trouble.Archie was the type familiar to the Secret Service: a loser, with a morbidly vain sense of frustration. Grant was still thinking that Johnny or Kenny would deliver Knuckle's newspaper at noon, so he always wanted to propose to Pat to end today's "fish lure" work early, especially since the fish didn't seem to want to bite the bait either.But if they were going home now, they would have to go with Archie, and that was something they wanted to avoid, so he decided to continue poking around the lake lazily. But Archie is clearly eager to be part of the fishing group.He said that if there was room for a third person in the boat, he would be happy to keep them company. Pat's mouth began to quiver again. Grant said, "You're most welcome, and you can help with the bailing." "Bail water?" the Scot's savior turned pale.Bai said with a retreat. "Yes! The seams of this boat are not so strong that water will get in." Archie thought for a moment and decided it was time for him to walk back to Milmore.It's time for the postman to arrive, and he has letters to deal with.But in case the two of them thought he couldn't fix the boat, Archie gave an example that he was good at boats.He said he and four others were able to reach the beaches of the Highbury Islands alive last summer because of his skill.He told the story with vigor and impassionedness, but with a demeanor that made one suspect that he was talking too much.He changed the subject as soon as he had finished speaking, as if afraid of being asked further. He asked Grant if he knew the Highbury Islands. 格兰特锁上农舍，把钥匙放进口袋里，说他不知道。 阿奇一面要离开，一面以拥有这山川大水的派头诉说着：路易斯的飞鱼舰队；明格雷的峭壁；巴拉的歌谣；哈里斯的山坡；班伯琼拉的野花、风沙；还有斑墨雷无尽美妙的白沙。 格兰特打断阿奇的自夸之辞，说：“我想，那沙应该不会歌唱吧! ”然后一脚踏进船舱启航。 阿奇说：“噢! 不会，不会，那是在格拉达。” 格兰特被震住了，问：“什么东西在格拉达? ” “就是吟唱的沙啊! 好吧，祝你钓鱼愉快。但是今天实在不是一个钓鱼的好日子，你知道的，天太亮了嘛! ” 阿奇摸了一下自己的头，然后举起那支牧羊人的曲柄拐杖，一摇一晃地沿着岸边走向摩伊摩尔。格兰特一动不动地站在船舱里看着他走开，一直到他几乎要远到听不见的距离时，格兰特才突然开口叫他：“格拉达有什么能走路的石头吗? ” 阿奇的声音已经很微弱了，他回说：“什么? ” “格拉达有能走路的石头吗? ” “噢! 没有，走路的石头在路易斯。” 然后这个蜻蜒般大小的人，和他蚊子般的声音渐行渐远，融入褐色的远方。