英语小说网

In the loveliest town of all, where the houses were white and high and the elm trees were green and higher than the houses, where the front yards were wide and pleasant and the back yards were bushy and worth finding out about, where the streets sloped down to the stream and the stream flowed quietly under the bridge, where the lawns ended in orchards and the orchards ended in fields and the fields ended in pastures and the pastures climbed the hill and disappeared over the top toward the wonderful wide sky, in this loveliest of all towns Stuart stopped to get a drink of sarsaparilla.

Parking his car in front of the general store, he stepped out and the sun felt so good that he sat down on the porch for a few moments to enjoy the feeling of being in a new place on a fine day. This was the most peaceful and beautiful spot he had found in all his travels. It seemed to him a place he would gladly spend the rest of his life in, if it weren't that he might get homesick for the sights of New York and for his family, Mr. and Mrs. Frederick C. Little and George, and if it weren't for the fact that something deep inside him made him want to find Margalo.

After a while the storekeeper came out to smoke a cigarette, and he joined Stuart on the front steps. He started to offer Stuart a cigarette but when he noticed how small he was, he changed his mind.

"Have you any sarsaparilla in your store?" asked Stuart. "I've got a ruinous thirst."

"Let me have a bottle of sarsaparilla, please," said Stuart, "and a paper cup."

"That's very refreshing," remarked Stuart. "There's nothing like a long, cool drink in the heat of the day, when you're traveling."

"Certainly," said the storekeeper. "Gallons of it. Sarsaparilla, root beer, birch beer, ginger ale, Moxie, lemon soda, Coca Cola, Pepsi Cola, Dipsi Cola, Pipsi Cola, Popsi Cola, and raspberry cream tonic. Anything you want."

The storekeeper went back into the store and returned with the drink. He opened the bottle, poured some out into the cup, and set the cup down on the step below Stuart, who whipped off his cap, lay down on his stomach, and dipped up some of the cool refreshing drink, using his cap as a dipper.

"Can't say I have," said the storekeeper. "What does she look like?"

"What's she like?" asked Stuart. "Fair, fat, and forty?"

"Are you going far?" asked the storekeeper.

"You mean in my stocking feet?" said Stuart.

"Perhaps very far," replied Stuart. "I'm looking for a bird named Margalo. You haven't sighted her, have you?"

"Perfectly beautiful," replied Stuart, wiping the sarsaparilla off his lips with the corner of his sleeve. "She's a remarkable bird. Anybody would notice her. She comes from a place where there are thistles."

"Who's that?" asked Stuart, yawning.

"Harriet Ames," said the storekeeper. "She's just your size -- maybe a trifle shorter, if anything."

"No, Harriet is young and she is quite pretty. She is considered one of the best dressed girls in this town, too. All her clothes are tailored specially for her."

"Yes."

The storekeeper looked at Stuart closely.

"You know," said the storekeeper, thoughtfully, "there's somebody in this town you really ought to meet."

"How tall are you?" he asked.

"Two inches nothing and a quarter," answered Stuart. "I haven't been measured recently, however. I may have shot up a bit."

"Yes. Harriet's quite a girl. Her people, the Ameses, are rather prominent in this town. One of her ancestors used to be the ferryman here in Revolutionary days. He would carry anybody across the stream -- he didn't care whether they were British soldiers or American soldiers, as long as they paid their fare. I guess he did pretty well. Anyway, the Ameses have always had plenty of money. They live in a big house with a lot of servants. I know Harriet would be very much interested to meet you."

"That's very kind of you," replied Stuart, "but I'm not much of a society man these days. Too much on the move. I never stay long anywhere -- I blow into a town and blow right out again, here today, gone tomorrow, a will o' the wisp. The highways and byways are where you'll find me, always looking for Margalo. Sometimes I feel that I'm quite near to her and that she's just around the turn of the road. Other times I feel that I'll never find her and never hear her voice again. Which reminds me, it's time I was on my way." Stuart paid for his drink, said good-by to the storekeeper, and drove off.

"That so?" remarked Stuart.

"Harriet Ames," he murmured.

But Ames' Crossing seemed like the finest town he had ever known, and before he reached the end of the main street he swerved sharp left, turned off onto a dirt road, and drove down to a quiet spot on the bank of the river. That afternoon he swam and lay on his back on the mossy bank, his hands crossed under his head, his thoughts returning to the conversation he had had with the storekeeper.

In the morning the sun rose warm and bright and Stuart slipped into the river again for an early dip. After breakfast he left his car hidden under a skunk cabbage leaf and walked up to the post office. While he was filling his fountain pen from the public inkwell he happened to glance toward the door and what he saw startled him so that he almost lost his balance and fell into the ink. A girl about two inches high had entered and was crossing the floor toward the mail boxes. She wore sports clothes and walked with her head held high. In her hair was a stamen from a flower.

Evening came, and Stuart still lingered by the stream. He ate a light supper of a cheese sandwich and a drink of water, and slept that night in the warm grass with the sound of the stream in his ears.

Stuart began to tremble from excitement.

"Must be the Ames girl," he said to himself. And he kept out of sight behind the inkwell as he watched her open her mail box, which was about a quarter of an inch wide, and pull out her letters. The storekeeper had told the truth: Harriet was pretty. And of course she was the only girl Stuart had ever encountered who wasn't miles and miles taller than he was. Stuart figured that if the two of them were to walk along together, her head would come a little higher than his shoulder. The idea filled him with interest. He wanted to slide down to the floor and speak to her, but he didn't dare. All his boldness had left him and he stayed hidden behind the inkwell until Harriet had gone. When he was sure that she was out of sight, he stole out of the post office and slunk down the street to the store, half hoping that he would meet the beautiful little girl, half fearing that he would.

"Have you any engraved stationery?" he asked the storekeeper. "I'm behind on my correspondence."

The storekeeper helped Stuart up onto the counter and found some letter paper for him -- small paper, marked with the initial "L." Stuart whipped out his fountain pen and sat down against a five-cent candy bar and began a letter to Harriet:

"Pray forgive me, Miss Ames," continued Stuart, "for presuming to strike up an acquaintance on so slender an excuse as our physical similarity; but of course the fact is, as you yourself must know, there are very few people who are only two inches in height. I say 'two inches'-- actually I am somewhat taller than that. My only drawback is that I look something like a mouse. I am nicely proportioned, however. Am also muscular beyond my years. Let me be perfectly blunt: my purpose in writing this brief note is to suggest that we meet. I realize that your parents may object to the suddenness and directness of my proposal, as well as to my somewhat mouselike appearance, so I think probably it might be a good idea if you just didn't mention the matter to them. What they don't know won't hurt them. However, you probably understand more about dealing with your father and mother than I do, so I won't attempt to instruct you but will leave everything to your good judgment.

"MY DEAR MISS AMES," he wrote. "I am a young person of modest proportions. By birth I am a New Yorker, but at the moment I am traveling on business of a confidential nature. My travels have brought me to your village. Yesterday the keeper of your local store, who has an honest face and an open manner, gave me a most favorable report of your character and appearance."

At this point in the letter Stuart's pen ran dry from the long words and Stuart had to get the storekeeper to lower him head-first into a bottle of ink so that he could refill the pen. Then he went back to letter writing…

After Stuart had sealed his letter in an envelope, he turned to the storekeeper.

"Being an outdoors person, I am camped by the river in an attractive spot at the foot of Tracy's Lane. Would you care to go for a paddle with me in my canoe? How about tomorrow afternoon toward sundown, when the petty annoyances of the day are behind us and the river seems to flow more quietly in the long shadows of the willows? These tranquil spring evenings are designed by special architects for the enjoyment of boatmen. I love the water, dear Miss Ames, and my canoe is like an old and trusted friend."

"If you wish to accept my invitation, be at the river tomorrow about five o'clock. I shall await your arrival with all the eagerness I can muster. And now I must close this offensive letter and catch up with my affairs.

"Yours very truly, STUART LITTLE."

Stuart forgot, in the excitement of writing Harriet, that he did not own a canoe.

"Where can I get hold of a canoe?" he asked.

"Right here," replied the storekeeper. He walked over to his souvenir counter and took down a little birchbark canoe with the words SUMMER MEMORIES stamped on the side. Stuart examined it closely.

"Does she leak?" asked Stuart.

"These will work out all right as paddles," he said.

"It's a nice canoe," replied the storekeeper, bending it gently back into shape with his fingers. "It will cost you seventy-five cents plus a penny tax."

Stuart took the spoons, but he was disgusted with the looks of them.

"What about paddles?" he said, making his voice sound businesslike. The storekeeper hunted around among the souvenirs but he couldn't seem to find any paddles, so he went over to the ice cream counter and came back with two little cardboard spoons -- the kind you use for eating ice cream on picnics.

The storekeeper carried the canoe and the paddles out in front of the store and set them down in the street. He wondered what this tiny boatman would do next, but Stuart never hesitated. Taking a piece of thread from his pocket, he lashed the paddles to the thwarts, swung the canoe lightly up on his head, and walked off with it as calmly as though he were a Canadian guide. He was very proud of his ability with boats and he liked to show off.

Stuart took out his money and paid the man. Then he looked inside the canoe and noticed that there were no paddles.

"They may work out all right," said Stuart, "but I would hate to meet an American Indian while I had one of these things in my hand."