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英语故事加州故事马克吐温The Californians Tale byMark Twainplaystopmutemaxvolume13:35-01:51repeatBy VOA2014/10/23Our storytoday iscalled TheCaliforniansTale.It waswritten byMark Twain.Here isShepONeal withthe story.When I was young,I wentlooking for gold inCalifornia.I neverfound enoughto makeme rich.ButI diddiscover abeautiful partof thecountry.It wascalled the Stanislau/The Stanislauwas likeHeavenon Earth.It hadbright greenhills anddeep forestswhere softwinds touchedthe trees.Other men,also lookingfor gold,had reached the Stanislau hills ofCalifornia manyyears beforeIdid.They hadbuilt atown in the valleywith sidewalksand stores,banks andschools.They hadalsobuilt prettylittle housesfor theirfamilies.At first,they founda lotof goldin theStanislauhills.But theirgood luckdid notlast.After afewyears,the golddisappeared.By thetime IreachedtheStanislau,all thepeople weregone,too.Grass nowgrew in the streets.And the little houseswere coveredby wildrose bushes.Only thesoundof insectsfilled theair as I walkedthrough theempty townthat summerday solong ago.Then,I realizedI wasnot aloneafter all.A manwas smilingat meas hestood in front ofone of thelittle houses.This house was notcoveredby wildrose bushes.A nicelittle gardeninfrontof thehousewasfull ofblue andyellowflowers.White curtainshung fromthe windowsand floatedinthesoft summerwind.Still smiling,the manopened thedoor ofhis houseand motionedto me.I wentinside andcouldnot believemy eyes.I hadbeen livingfor weeksin roughmining campswith othergold miners.We slepton thehard ground,ate cannedbeans fromcold metalplates andspent ourdays inthedifficult searchforgold.Here in this littlehouse,my spiritseemed tocome tolife again.I sawa brightrug on the shiningwooden floor.Pictures hungall aroundthe room.And onlittletables therewere seashells,books andchina vasesfull offlowers.A womanhad madethis houseinto a home.〃The pleasureI feltin myheart musthave shownon myface.The manread mythoughts.“Yes,he smiled,it is all herwork.Everything inthis roomhas feltthe touchof herhand.One of the pictureson thewall wasnot hangingstraight.He noticedit andwent tofix it.Hestepped backseveral timesto makesure the picture wasreally straight.Then hegave ita gentletouchwith hishand.She alwaysdoes that,he explainedto me.It islike thefinishing pata mothergives herchildshair aftershe hasbrushed it.I haveseen herfix allthese thingsso oftenthat Ican do it justthe〃way shedoes.I dontknow whyI doit.I justdoit.As hetalked,I realizedthere wassomething inthis roomthat hewanted meto discover.I lookedaround.When myeyes reacheda corneroftheroom nearthe fireplace,he brokeinto ahappylaugh andrubbed hishands together.〃Thats it!he criedout.You havefound it!I knewyou would.It isher picture.I wenttoalittleblack shelfthat helda smallpicture ofthe mostbeautiful womanI hadever seen.There wasasweetness andsoftness inthe womansexpression that I hadnever seenbefore.The mantook thepicture frommy handsand staredat it.She wasnineteen on her lastbirthday.That was the daywe weremarried.When yousee her...oh,just waituntil youmeet her!,zWhere isshe now”I asked.Oh,she isaway,“the mansighed,putting thepicture backon thelittle blackshelf.She wenttovisit her parents.They liveforty orfifty milesfrom here.She has been gonetwo weekstoday.”When willshe be back”I asked.Well,this isWednesday/7he saidslowly.She will bebackonSaturday,intheevening.”I felta sharpsense ofregret.I amsorry,because Iwillbegone by then,“I said.Gone No!Why shouldyou goDont go.She willbe sosorry.You see,she likesto havepeople〃come andstay withus.No,I reallymust leave/I saidfirmly.He pickedup herpicture andheld itbefore myeyes.Here/7he said.Now youtell her to herfacethat youcould havestayed tomeet herand youwould not.Something mademe changemy mindasIlooked atthepicturefor asecond time.I decidedtostay.The mantold mehis namewas Henry.That night,Henry andI talkedabout manydifferent things,but mainlyabout her.The nextdaypassed quietly.Thursday eveningwe hada visitor.He wasa big,grey-haired minernamed Tom.I justcame forafew minutesto askwhen she is cominghome/he explained.Is thereany newsOhyes,the manreplied.I gota letter.Would youlike to hear itHe tooka yellowedletter outofhis shirtpocket andread it to us.It wasfull ofloving messagesto himand toother people-theirclose friendsand neighbors.When theman finishedreading it,he lookedat hisfriend.Oh no,youare doingit again,Tom!You alwayscry whenI reada letterfrom her.Im goingto tellher thistime!”No,you mustnot dothat,Henry/the grey-haired minersaid.I amgetting old.And anylittlesorrow makesme cry.I reallywas hopingshe wouldbe here tonight.The nextday,Friday,another oldminer cameto visit.He askedtohearthe letter.The messageinit made him cry,too.We allmiss herso much,he said.Saturday finallycame.I foundI waslooking atmy watchvery often.Henry noticedthis.You dontthinksomething hashappened to her,do youhe askedme.I smiledand saidthatIwas sureshe wasjust fine.But hedid notseem satisfied.Iwasglad to see his two friends,Tom andJoe,coming downthe roadas thesun began to set.Theold minerswere carryingguitars.They alsobrought flowersand abottle of whiskey.They puttheflowers invases andbegantoplay somefast andlively songson theirguitars.Henrys friendskept givinghim glassesofwhiskey,which theymadehimdrink.When Ireachedfor oneofthe two glassesleft onthe table,Tom stoppedmy arm.Drop thatglass andtake theotherone!”he whispered.He gavethe remainingglass ofwhiskey toHenry justastheclock begantostrike midnight.Henry emptiedthe glass.His facegrew whiterand whiter.Boys/he said,I amfeeling sick.Iwant tolie down.Henry wasasleep almostbefore thewords wereout ofhis mouth.In amoment,histwofriends hadpicked himup andcarried himinto thebedroom.They closedthedoor andcame back.They seemedto begetting readyto leave.So Isaid,Please dontgogentlemen.She willnot knowme.I ama strangertoher.”〃They lookedat eachother.His wifehasbeendead for nineteen years,Tom said.Dead”I whispered.Dead orworse/7he said.She wenttosee herparentsabout sixmonths aftershe gotmarried.On herway back,on aSaturdayevening inJune,when shewas almosthere,the Indianscaptured her.No oneever sawheragain.Henry losthis mind.He thinksshe isstill alive.When Junecomes,he thinksshe hasgoneonhertrip toseeherparents.Then hebegins towait forhertocome back.He getsout thatoldletter.And we come aroundto visitso hecan readittous.On theSaturday nightsheissupposed tocome home,wecomeheretobe withhim.We putasleeping drugin hisdrink sohe willsleep throughthe night.Then heisallright foranother year.Joe pickedup hishat andhis guitar.We havedone thisevery Junefornineteenyears,“he said.The firstyear therewere twenty-seven of us.Now justthetwoofusare left,He openedthe doorofthe prettylittlehouse.And thetwo oldmen disappearedinto thedarkness oftheStanislau.Words inthis Storycurtain-n.a pieceof cloththat hangsdown fromabove awindow andcan beused tocover thewindowwhisper-匕to speakvery softlyor quietlysigh-iz.to takein andlet outa long,loud breathin away thatshows youare bored,disappointed,relieved,etc.sorrow-n.a feelingof sadnessor griefcaused especiallybytheloss ofsomeone orsomethingNow itsyour turnto usethese WordsinthisStory,In thecomments section,write asentence usingone ofthesewords andwe willprovide feedbackontheuse ofvocabulary andgrammar.。