I can just shut my eyes and think that the shadows are growing darker under the madar tree， and the water in the pond looks shiny black.

　　If twelve o’clock can come in the night， why can’t the night come when it is twelve o’clock？

　　十二点钟

　　妈妈，我现在不想做功课。我已经读了整整一上午的书了。

　　您说，现在才十二点钟。就算现在没有超过十二点吧，您就不能把刚刚十二点想成下午吗？

　　我可以很容易想象出：此刻，太阳已经照到那片稻田的边缘了， 那个年迈的渔妇正在池边采撷草叶作为她的晚餐。

　　我一闭上眼就能想到，马塔尔树下的阴影越发深邃了，池塘里的水看起来黝黑发亮。

　　如果十二点钟能在夜晚来临，为什么黑夜不能在十二点钟的时候到来呢？

　　Authorship

　　You say that father writes a lot of books， but what he writes I don’t understand.

　　He was reading to you all the evening， but could you really make out what he meant？

　　What nice stories， mother， you can tell us！ Why can’t father write like that， I wonder？

　　Did he never hear from his own mother stories of giants and fairies and princesses？

　　Has he forgotten them all？

　　Often when he gets late for his bath you have to go and call him an hundred times.

　　You wait and keep his dishes warm for him， but he goes on writing and forgets.

　　Father always plays at making books.

　　If ever I go to play in father’s room， you come and call me，“What a naughty child！”

　　If I make the slightest noise， you say， Don’t you see that father’s at his work？”

　　What’s the fun of always writing and writing？

　　作 者

　　您说爸爸写了很多书，可是我看不懂他写的东西。

　　整个黄昏他都在读书给您听，可是您真的明白他的意思吗？

　　妈妈，您给我们讲的故事，多么好听啊！

　　我纳闷，为什么爸爸不能写那样的书呢？

　　难道他从来没有听过自己的妈妈讲巨人、精灵和公主的故事吗？

　　还是他已经把那些故事彻底遗忘了？

　　他经常很晚才沐浴，您还得去叫他一百多次。

　　您等候着，为他把饭菜保温，但他总是继续写作，忘记一切。

　　爸爸常常视写书为游戏。

　　每当我走进爸爸的房里去玩耍，您总会过来说我：“真是个调皮的孩子啊！”

　　每当我稍微弄出一点儿声响，您就会说：“你难道没有看见爸爸正在工作吗？”

　　爸爸写呀写，有什么乐趣呢？

　　When I take up father’s pen or pencil and write upon his book just as he does—a， b， c， d， e， f， g， h， i... why do you get cross with me then mother？

　　You never say a word when father writes.

　　When my father wastes such heap of paper， mother， you don’t seem to mind at all.

　　But if I take only one sheet to make a boat with， you say，“Child， how troublesome you are！”

　　What do you think of father’s sibling sheets and sheets of paper with black marks all over on both sides？

　　当我拿起爸爸的钢笔或铅笔，像他那样在他的书上写着：a、b、c、d、e、f、g、h、i……您为什么对我生气呢，妈妈？

　　在爸爸写时，您从未说过一句。

　　当爸爸耗费了那么一大堆纸时，妈妈，您好像一点儿都不在乎。

　　然而，如果我只拿出一张纸做一只船，您却说：“孩子，你真烦！”

　　爸爸把黑黑的点子涂满了纸的两面，浪费了许多纸，您是怎样想的呢？

　　The Wicked Postman

　　Why do you sit there on the floor so quiet and silent？ tell me， mother dear！

　　The rain is coming in through the open window， making you all wet， and you don’t mind it.

　　Do you hear the gong striking four？ It is time for my brother to come home from school.

　　What has happened to you that you look so strange？

　　Haven’t you got a letter from father today？

　　I saw the postman bringing letters in his bag for almost everybody in the town.

　　Only， father’s letters he keeps to read himself. I am sure the postman is a wicked man.

　　坏邮差

　　您为什么坐在地板上一声不吭？告诉我啊，亲爱的妈妈！

　　雨从敞开的窗口飞溅进来，把您淋透了，您却不在乎。

　　您听到钟已经敲了四下吗？正是哥哥放学回家的时候。

　　究竟发生了什么事，您看起来如此奇怪？

　　您今天没有收到爸爸的信吗？

　　我看见邮差的袋子里装了好多信，几乎镇上的每个人都收到信了。

　　只有爸爸的信，他留给自己看。我想这个邮差是个坏人。

　　But don’t be unhappy about that， mother dear.

　　Tomorrow is market day in the next village. You ask your maid to buy some pens and papers.

　　I myself will write all father’s letters； you will not find a single mistake.

　　I shall write from A right up to K.

　　But， mother， why do you smile？

　　You don’t believe that I can write as nicely as father does！

　　But I shall rule my paper carefully， and write all the letters beautifully big.

　　When I finish my writing， do you think I shall be so foolish as father and drop it into the horrid postman’s bag？

　　I shall bring it to you myself without waiting， and letter by letter help you to read my writing.

　　I know the postman does not like to give you the really nice letters.

　　但是不要因此闷闷不乐，亲爱的妈妈。

　　明天是邻村集市的日子。您叫女仆去买些纸和笔回来。

　　我自己来写爸爸该写的每一封信；让您找不出一点儿差错。

　　我将从A一直写到K。

　　但是，妈妈，您为什么笑？

　　您不相信我会写得和爸爸一样好！

　　但是我将用心写，把所有的字母写得又大又好看。

　　当我写完后，您以为我会像爸爸那样笨，把它放到那可恶邮差的袋子里吗？

　　我会马上自己为您送信，然后逐字逐句地给您读。

　　我知道那个邮差不愿意把真正的好信送给您。

　　The Hero

　　Mother， let us imagine we are travelling， and passing through a strange and dangerous country.

　　You are riding in a palanquin and I am trotting by you on a red horse.

　　It is evening and the sun goes down. The waste of Joradighi lies wan and grey before us. The land is desolate and barren.

　　You are frightened and thinking—“I know not where we have come to.”

　　I say to you， “Mother， do not be afraid.”

　　The meadow is prickly with spiky grass， and through it runs a narrow broken path.

　　There are no cattle to be seen in the wide field； they have gone to their village stalls.

　　It grows dark and dim on the land and sky， and we cannot tell where we are going.

　　Suddenly you call me and ask me in a whisper， “What light is that near the bank？”

　　Just then there bursts out a fearful yell， and figures come running towards us.

　　英 雄

　　妈妈，我们假设我们正在旅行，经过一个陌生而危险的国度。

　　您坐在一顶轿子里，我骑着一匹红马，跟在您身旁。

　　黄昏时，太阳落山。暗淡的约拉迪希荒地在我们面前展开。大地贫瘠而荒凉。

　　您害怕地想着——“我不知道我们到了什么地方了。”

　　我对您说：“妈妈，不要害怕。”

　　草原上长满了针尖般刺人的草，一条崎岖的小径穿越其间。

　　在这片广袤的原野上看不见牛群，它们已经回到村子的牛棚里了。

　　夜幕降临，大地和天空一片朦胧昏暗，我们说不出我们正走向何方。

　　突然，您叫我，悄悄地问我：“靠近河岸的是什么光亮？”

　　正在那时，一阵可怕的号叫声传来，一些人影向我们跑来。

　　You sit crouched in your palanquin and repeat the names of the gods in prayer.

　　The bearers， shaking in terror， hide themselves in the thorny bush.

　　I shout to you， “Don’t be afraid， mother， I am here.”

　　With long sticks in their hands and hair all wild about their heads， they come nearer and nearer.

　　I shout， “Have a care！ you villains！ One step more and you are dead men.”

　　They give another terrible yell and rush forward.

　　You clutch my hand and say，

　　“Dear boy， for heaven’s sake， keep away from them.”

　　I say， “Mother， just you watch me.”

　　Then I spur my horse for a wild gallop， and my sword and buckler clash against each other.

　　The fight becomes so fearful， mother， that it would give you a cold shudder could you see it from your palanquin.

　　Many of them fly， and a great number are cut to pieces.