rice."
"Was George too old?"
"No, Master Maurice. He wanted to better himself."
"Oh, you mean he gave notice."
"That's right."
"Mother said he was too old and you gave him notice."
"No, Master Maurice."
"My poor woodstacks'll be glad," said Mrs Howell. Maurice
and the late garden boy had been used to play about in them.
"They are Mother's woodstacks, not yours," said Maurice and went indoors. The Howells were not offended, though they pre-tended to be so to one another. They had been servants all their lives, and liked a gentleman to be a snob. "He has quite a way with him already," they told the cook. "More like his father."
The Barrys, who came to dinner, were of the same opinion. Dr Barry was an old friend, or rather neighbour, of the family, and took a moderate interest in them. No one could be deeply inter-ested in the Halls. Kitty he liked—she had hints of grit in her— but the girls were in bed, and he told his wife afterwards that Maurice ought to have been there too. "And stop there all his life. As he will. Like his father. What is the use of such people?"
When Maurice did go to bed, it was reluctantly. That room always frightened him. He had been such a man all the evening, but the old feeling came over him as soon as his mother had kissed him good night. The trouble was the looking-glass. He did not mind seeing his face in it, nor casting a shadow on the ceiling, but he did mind seeing his shadow on the ceiling re-flected in the glass. He would arrange the candle so as to avoid the combination, and then dare himself to put it back and be gripped with fear. He knew what it was, it reminded him of nothing horrible. But he was afraid. In the end he would dash out the candle and leap into bed. Total darkness he could bear, but this room had the further defect of being opposite a street lamp. On good nights the light would penetrate the curtains un-alarmingly, but sometimes blots like skulls fell over the furni-ture. His heart beat violently, and he lay in terror, with all his household close at hand.
As he opened his eyes to look whether the blots had grown smaller, he remembered George. Something stirred in the unfathomable depths of his heart. He whispered, "George,
George." Who was George? Nobody—just a common servant. Mother and Ada and Kitty were far more important. But he was too little to argue this. He did not even know that when he yielded to this sorrow he overcame the spectral and fell asleep.
莫瑞斯的母亲住在伦敦郊外的一座松林环绕、舒适安逸的老宅里。他和妹妹们都是在这儿出生的，父亲每天从这里去上班，下班后再回来。修建起教堂的时候，他们差点儿搬家，然而他们对教堂也跟对其他的一切那样习惯起来，甚至发现教堂自有好处。惟独教堂是霍尔夫人非去不可的地方，因为家家店铺都送货上门。车站相距不远，女儿们就读的那所还算不错的学校也很近。这是一个凡事都方便的地方，没有任何值得为之拼搏的事物，成功与失败难以分辨。
莫瑞斯喜爱自己这个家，并把母亲看做保佑它的守护神。没有她的话，就不会有柔软的椅子、可口的食物以及轻松的游戏。由于她提供了这么多，他对她不胜感激，并且爱她。他也喜欢妹妹们，他一回家，她们就欢呼着跑出来，帮他脱下厚大衣，将它丢在门厅的地上，让仆人们收拾。像这样被大家捧着，把学校的事夸耀一番，是很惬意的。他那些危地马拉邮票、那本《神圣的田野》的书，以及杜希先生送给他的一帧霍尔拜因照片（译注：德国的霍尔拜因家族中有两位肖像画家最著名，名叫大霍尔拜因（约1465-1524）、小霍尔拜因（1497/1498-1543）。此处指根据肖像拍成的照片。），均受到称赞。喝完茶，天放晴了，霍尔太太穿上高筒橡皮套鞋，跟他一起在庭园里散步。母子二人边走边不时地吻一下，有一搭没一搭地聊着。
“莫瑞……”
“妈咪……”
“现在我得让我的莫瑞过上一段快乐的日子。”
“乔治在哪儿呢？”
“亚伯拉罕先生写来了一份非常出色的成绩报告单。他说，你使他想起你那可怜的父亲。……喂，咱们怎样度过这段假期好呢？”
“我最喜欢待在家里。”
“多乖的孩子啊……”她更亲热地拥抱了他。
“人人都认为任何地方都没有自己的家好。是啊，这里有西红柿——”她喜欢列举蔬菜的名字，“西红柿、萝卜、花椰菜、圆葱头——”
“西红柿、花椰菜、圆葱头、褐皮土豆、浅色皮土豆。”小男孩懒洋洋地说着。
“芜菁叶——”
“妈妈，乔治在哪儿呢？”
“上星期他辞工了。”
“乔治为什么要辞工？”他问道。
“他的年龄太大啦。豪厄尔总是每两年换一个小伙子。”
“哦。”
“芜菁叶，”她接着说下去，“土豆、甜菜根——莫瑞，要是外祖父和艾达姨妈邀请咱们-你愿意不愿意去？我想让你过个非常快乐的假期。亲爱的——你的成绩多棒哇。不过，亚伯拉罕先生这个人真好。要知道，你爸爸也在他那所学校念过书。为了让你成长得跟你爸爸一模一样，我们把你也送到你爸爸的母校萨宁顿公学去。”∫∫文∫檔∫共∫享∫與∫在∫線∫閱∫讀∫
一阵抽泣声打断了她的话。
“莫瑞，乖乖——”
小男孩泪流满面。
“我的乖乖，你怎么啦？”
“我不知道……我不知道……”
“哎呀，莫瑞斯……”
他摇摇头。她没能让他感到愉快，也开始哭起来。女孩们跑了出来，惊叫道：“妈妈，莫瑞斯怎么啦？”
“哦，别……”他大声哭叫，“吉蒂，走开——”
“他太累啦。”霍尔太太说—一凡事她都这么解释。
“我太累啦。”
“到你的屋里去吧，莫瑞——啊，我亲爱的，真是太可怕啦。”
“不——我不要紧。”他咬紧牙关。于是，冒到意识表层的使他突然感到不能自持的那一大团悲哀开始下沉了。他觉察出它降人到自己的心灵深处，终于再也意识不到了。“我不要紧。”他恶狠狠地四下里看了看，将眼泪挤干。“我想玩希腊跳棋。”（译注：希腊跳棋发明于1880年。在方形棋盘上绘有256个方格，双方将棋子从棋盘一角移至对角，先移完者胜。两人玩时每人有19个子，也可以三人玩。） 还没摆好棋子，他就已经能够像平时那样谈话了。那阵稚气的精神崩溃症状消失了。
他把崇拜他的艾达打败了，并将不崇拜他的吉蒂也打败了。接着，他重新跑到庭院里去看望车夫。“你好，豪厄尔。豪厄尔大婶在吗？你好，豪厄尔大婶。”不同于跟社会地位高