Are the following statements true or false? Correct the false ones.

 

 

1. Edward and George were close relatives.
2. They were the Brants’ children.
3. The Brants made Edward and George learn their favorite saying by heart.
4. When Edward and George were babies everybody liked them.
5. When the children grew older they were allowed to do whatever they liked.
6. The boys often slipped out of the window to play out till midnight.
7. The boys were happy to learn the trade.
8. Their master praised the boys for their work.
9. George stole a lot of things from his master and ran away.
10. Soon Edward and George became full partners in their master’s business.
11. Edward and George got interested in many moral organizations.
12. The Brants left their property to George because Edward did not need it.
13. George was a reliable partner in business.
14. Mary married George because she wanted “to reform him”.
15. When George began gambling Edward had to pay his debts.
16. When the two cousins lost their possessions they had to beg in the streets.
17. General attention was drawn to the poor fellows and good jobs were found for them.
18. George was pardoned for his forgery.
19. The cousins received steady and sufficient salaries from the bank where they worked.
20. Edward did not reveal “the combination” because he did not know it.
21. The banks of the country appreciated Edward’s fidelity and heroism and helped the widow and the orphans with a generous sum of money.
22. Petitions were brought from all over the country asking to pardon George.
23. George Benton returned home from the trial with fresh flowers in his hands.
24. Edward’s heroism and fidelity were rewarded.

 

Paraphrase and explain the following sentences recalling the situations from the text.

 

1. His flesh and eyes showed the fact unpleasantly.
2. He was a comfort to everybody about him.
3. George began to haunt her tearfully and imploringly.
4. But the faster Edward died out of public knowledge and interest, the faster George rose in them.
5. The town was drowned in happy tears over the restoration of the poor beast and struggling victim of the fatal bowl.
6. The air burst with applause.
7. He was the talk of the town.
8. … met him at the door with a situation and a comfortable salary.
9. There were ill reports about him.
10. They commanded him to reveal “the combination”.
11. The glad news flew all around.
12. He has fought the good fight.

 

3. Which of the following adjectives described Edward and which describe George:

 

Disagreeable, grateful, faithful, inventive, reliable, dutiful, valuable, tearful, successful, sorrowful, peerless, penniless, considerate, perfect, hard-working, quiet, steady, respected, trusted, pure, honest, sober, ragged, drunk, true, unrewarded.

 

4. Compare Edward and George:

 

a) when they were babies;

b) when they were little boys;

c) when they were youths;

d) when they got married and had families;

e) when they became partners in business;

f) when they lost their property;

g) how they were recovering;

h) how they died.

 

What do you think?

 

1. Edward and George were very different. Why? What do you think about it?
2. Who do you sympathize with? Explain why.
3. If they were contemporaries, do you think their lives might be different from those described by Mark Twain? Why do you think so?
4. What do you think of those moral organizations which tried to reform George? Are there any similar organizations in your country, town, neighborhood? If yes, what do you think of them?
5. Who do you think is able to reform a person: public organizations a family, friends, nobody? Give your reasons.
6. How would you complete the inscription on Edward’s headstone? Why do you think this way?
7. Do you think there is a moral in this tale? If yes, what it is.

 

 

THE CALIFORNIAN TALE

Thirty five years ago I was out prospecting on the Stanislaus[28], tramping all day long with pick and pan and horn, and washing a hatful of dirt here and there, always expecting to make a rich strike, and never doing it. It was a lovely region, woodsy, balmy, delicious. Once it had been populous, long years before, but now the people had vanished and the charming paradise was solitude. They went away when the surface diggings gave out. In one place, where a busy little city with banks and newspapers and fire companies and a mayor and aldermen had been, was nothing but a wide expanse of emerald turf, with not even the faintest sign that human life had ever been present there. At intervals, along the dusty roads, one could find the prettiest little cottage homes, so cobwebbed with vines and roses that the doors and the windows were wholly hidden from sight – sign that these were deserted homes, forsaken years ago by defeated and disappointed families who could neither sell them nor give them away.

Now and then, half an hour apart, one could come across solitary log cabins of the earliest mining days, built by the first gold-miners, the predecessors of the cottage-builders. In some few cases these cabins were still occupied. When this was so, you could depend upon it that the occupant was the very pioneer who had built the cabin. And you could depend on another thing, too – that he was there because he had once had his opportunity to go home to the States rich, and had not done it; had rather lost his wealth, and had resolved to server all communication with his home relatives and friends, and be to them ever since as one dead. Round about California in those days there were scattered a host of these living dead men – pride-smitten poor fellows, grizzled and old at forty whose secret thoughts were made all of regrets and longings – regrets for their wasted lives, and longings to be through with it all.

It was a lonesome land! Not a sound in all those peaceful expanses of grass and woods but the drowsy hum of insects; no glimpse of man or beast; nothing to keep up your spirits and make you glad to be alive. And so, at last, in the early part of the afternoon, when I caught sight of a human creature, I felt a most grateful uplift. This person was about forty-five years old, and he was standing at the gate of one of those cozy little cottages already referred to. However, this one hadn’t a deserted look. It had the look of being lived in and petted and cared for and looked after; and so had its front yard, which was a garden of flowers, abundant, gay, and flourishing. I was invited in, of course, and required to make myself at home – it was the custom of the country.

It was delightful to be in such a place, after long weeks of daily and nightly familiarity with miner’s cabins – with dirt floor, never-made beds, tin plates and cups, bacon and beans and black coffee, and nothing of ornament but war pictures from the Eastern illustrated papers tacked to the log walls. That was all cheerless, materialistic desolation. But here was a nest, which gave rest to the tired eye and refreshed that something in one’s nature which now has found nourishment. I could not have believed that a rag carpet, or wallpaper, or framed lithographs, and bright-coloured tidies and lamp-mats, and Windsor chairs, and varnished whatnots, with sea-shells and books and china vases on them, and the score of little unclassifiable tricks and touches that woman’s hand distributes about a home, could be such solace to the soul. The delight that was in my heart showed in my face, and the man saw it and was pleased.

“All her work,” he said, caressingly. “She did it all herself – every bit.” And he took the room in with a glance, which was full of affectionate worship. One of those soft Japan fabrics, with which women drape the upper part of a picture-frame was out of adjustment. He noticed it, and rearranged it with cautious pains, stepping back several times to gauge the effect before he got it to suit him. Then he gave it a light finishing pat or two with his hand, and said:

“She always does that. You can’t tell just what it lacks, but it does lack something until you’ve done that – you can see it yourself after it’s done, but that is all you know; you can’t find out the law of it. It’s like the finishing pats a mother gives the child’s hair after she’s got it combed and brushed, I reckon. I’ve seen her fix all things so much that I can do them all just her way, though I don’t know the law of any of them. But she knows the law. She knows the why and the how both; but I don’t know the why; I only know the how”.

He took me into a bedroom so that I might wash my hands; such a bedroom as I had not seen for years: white counterpane, white pillows, carpeted floor, papered walls, pictures, dressing-table, with mirror and pin-cushion and dainty toilet things; and in the corner a wash-stand, with real china-ware bowl and pitcher, and with soap in a china dish, and on a rack more than a dozen towels – towels too clean and white for one out of practice to use without some vague sense of profanation. So my face spoke again, and he answered with gratified words:

“All her work; she did it all herself – every bit. Nothing here that hasn’t felt the touch of her hand. Now you would think – but I mustn’t talk so much.”

By this time I was wiping my hands and glancing from detail to detail of the room’s belongings, as one is apt to do when he is in a new place, where everything he sees is a comfort to his eye and his spirit. And I became conscious, in one of those unaccountable ways, you know, that there was something there somewhere that the man wanted me to discover for myself. I knew it perfectly, and I knew he was trying to help me by furtive indications with his eye, so I tried hard to get on the right track, being eager to gratify him. I failed several times, as I could see out of the corner of my eye without being told; but at last I knew I must be looking straight at the thing – knew it from the pleasure issuing in invisible waves from him. He broke into a happy laugh, and rubbed his hands together, and cried out:

“That’s it! You’ve found it. I knew you would. It’s her picture.”

I went to the farther wall, and did find there what I had not yet noticed – a picture-case. It contained the sweetest girlish face, and the most beautiful, as it seemed to me, that I had ever seen. The man drank the admiration from my face, and was fully satisfied.

“Nineteen her last birthday,” he said, as he put the picture back; “and that was the day we were married. When you see her – ah, just wait till you see her!”

“Where is she? When will she be in?”

“Oh, she’s away now. She’s gone to see her people. They live forty-five miles from here. She’s been gone two weeks today.”

“When do you expect her back?”

“This is Wednesday. She’ll be back Saturday, in the evening – about nine o’clock, likely.”

I felt a sharp sense of disappointment.

“I’m sorry, because I’ll be gone then,” I said, regretfully.

“Gone? No – why should you go? Don’t go. She’ll be so disappointed.”

She would be disappointed – that beautiful creature! If she had said the words herself they could hardly have blessed me more. I was feeling a deep, strong longing to see her – a longing so insistent, that it made me afraid. I said to myself: “I will go straight away from this place, for my peace of mind’s sake.”

“You see, she likes to have people come and stop with us – people who know things, and can talk – people like you. She delights in it; for she knows – oh, she knows nearly everything herself, and can talk, oh, like a bird – and the books she reads, why, you would be astonished. Don’t go. It’s only a little while, you know, and she’ll be so disappointed.

I heard the words, but hardly noticed them. I was so deep in my thinkings and strugglings. He left me, but I didn’t know. Presently he was back, with the picture-case in his hand, and he held it open before me and said:

“There, now, tell her to her face you could have stayed to see her, and you wouldn’t.”

The second glimpse broke down my good resolution. I would stay and take the risk.

That night we smoked the tranquil pipe, and talked till late about various things, but mainly about her; and certainly I had had no such pleasant restful time for many a day. The Thursday followed and slipped comfortably away. Toward twilight a big miner from three miles away came – one f the grizzled stranded pioneers – and gave us warm salutation. Then he said:

“I only just dropped over to ask about the little madam, and when is she coming home. Any news from her?”

“O yes, a letter. Would you like to hear it, Tom?”

“Well, I should think I would, if you don’t mind, Henry!”

Henry got the letter out of his wallet, and said he would skip some of the private phrases, if we were willing. Then he went on and read the bulk of it – a loving, sedate, and altogether charming and gracious piece of handiwork, with a postscript full of affectionate regards and messages to Tom, and Joe, and Charley, and other close friends and neighbors.

As the reader finished, he glanced at Tom, and cried out:

“Oh, you’re at it again! Take your hands away, and let me see your eyes. You always do that when I read a letter from her. I will write and tell her.”

“Oh no, you mustn’t, Henry. I’m getting old, you know, and any little disappointment makes me want to cry. I thought she’d be here herself, and now you’ve got only a letter.”

“Well, now, what put that in your head? I thought everybody knew she wasn’t coming till Saturday.”

“Saturday! Why, come to think I did know it. I wonder what’s the matter with me lately? Certainly I knew it. Aren’t we all getting ready for her? Well, I must be going now. But I’ll be on hand when she comes, old man.”

Late Friday afternoon another gray veteran tramped over from his cabin a mile or so away, and said the boys wanted to have a little gaiety and a good time Saturday night, if Henry thought she wouldn’t be too tired after her journey to be kept up.

“Tired? She, tired? Oh, hear the man! Joe, you know she’d sit up six weeks to please any one of you!”

 When Joe heard that there was a letter, he asked to have it read, and the loving messages in it for him broke the old fellow all up; but he said he was such an old wreck that that would happen to him if she only just mentioned his name. “Lord, we miss her so!” he said.

Saturday afternoon I found I was taking out my watch pretty often. Henry noticed it, and said, with a startled look:

“You don’t think she ought to be here so soon, do you?”

I felt caught, and a little embarrassed; but I laughed, and said it was a habit of mine when I was in a state of expectancy. But he didn’t seem quite satisfied; and from that time on he began to show uneasiness. Four times he walked me up the road to a point from where we could see a long distance; and there he would stand, shading his eyes with his hand, and looking. Several times he said;

“I’m getting worried, I’m getting right down worried. I know she’s not due till about nine o’clock, and, yet, something seems to be trying to warn me that something’s happened. You don’t think anything has happened, do you?”

I began pretty thoroughly ashamed of him for his childishness; and at last, when he repeated that imploring question still another time, I lost my patience for the moment, and spoke pretty brutally to him. It seemed to shrivel him up and cow him[29]; and he looked so wounded and so humble after that, that I detested myself for having done the cruel and unnecessary thing. And so I was glad when Charley, another veteran, arrived toward the edge of the evening, and nestled up to Henry to hear the letter read, and talked over the preparations for the welcome. Charley fetched out one hearty speech after another, and did his best to drive away his friend’s bodings and apprehensions.

“Anything happened to her? Henry, that’s pure nonsense. There isn’t anything going to happen to her; just make your mind easy as to that. What did the letter say? Said she was well. didn’t it? Did you ever know her to fail of her word? Why, you know you never did. Well, then, don’t you fret; she’ll be here, and that’s absolutely certain, and as sure as you are born. Come, now, let’s get to decorating – not much time left.”

Pretty soon Tom and Joe arrived, and then all hands set about adorning the house with flowers. Toward nine the three miners said that as they had brought their instruments they might as well tune up, for the boys and girls would soon be arriving now, and hungry for a good, old-fashioned break-down. A fiddle, a banjo, and a clarinet – there were the instruments. The trio took their places side by side, and began to play some rattling dance-music, and beat time with their big boots.

It was getting very close to nine. Henry was standing in the door with his eyes directed up the road, his body swaying to the torture of his mental distress. He had been made to drink his wife’s health and safety several times, and now Tom shouted:

“All hands stand up! One more drink, and she’s here!” Joe brought the glasses on a waiter, and served the party. I reached for one of the two remaining glasses, but Joe growled, under his breath:

“Drop that! Take the other.”

Which I did. Henry was served last. He had hardly swallowed his drink when the clock began to strike. He listened till it finished, his face growing pale and paler; then he said:

“Boys, I’m sick with fear. Help me – I want to lie down.”

They helped him to the sofa. He began to nestle and drowse, but presently spoke like one talking in his sleep, and said: “Did I hear horses’ feet? Have them come?”

One of the veterans answered, close to his ear: “It was Jimmy Parrish come to say the party got delayed, but they’re right up the road a piece, and coming along. Her horse is lame, but she’ll be here in half an hour.”

“Oh, I’m so thankful nothing has happened.”

He was asleep almost before the words were out of his mouth. In a moment those handy men had his clothes off, and had tucked him into his bed in the chamber where I had washed my hands. They closed the door and came back. Then they seemed preparing to leave; but I said: “Please don’t go gentlemen. She won’t know me; I am a stranger.”

They glanced at each other. Then Joe said:

“She? Poor thing, she’s been dead nineteen years!”

“Dead?”

“That or worse. She went to see her folks half a year after she was married, and on her way back, on a Saturday evening, the Indians captured her within five miles of this place, and she’s never been heard of since.”

“And he lost his mind in consequence?”

“Never has been sane an hour since. But he only gets bad when that time of the year comes round. Then we begin to drop in here, three days before she’s due, to encourage him up, and ask if he’s heard from her, and Saturday we all come and fix up the house with flowers, and get everything ready for a dance. We’ve done it every year for nineteen years. The first Saturday there was twenty-seven of us, without counting the girls; there’s only three of us now, and the girls are all gone. We drug him to sleep, or he would go wild. Then he’s all right for another year – thinks she’s with him till the last three or four days come round. Then he begins to look for her, and gets out his poor old letter, and we come and ask him to read it to us. Lord, she was a darling!”

 

Phonetic exercises