The Lord of the Rings-指环王(英文版)-第31部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！

d　as　they　could　not　imagine　sharing　a　name　without　being　related；　they　took　Frodo　to　their　hearts　as　a　longlost　cousin。

The　Breehobbits　were；　in　fact；　friendly　and　inquisitive；　and　Frodo　soon　found　that　some　explanation　of　what　he　was　doing　would　have　to　be　given。　He　gave　out　that　he　was　interested　in　history　and　geography　（at　which　there　was　much　wagging　of　heads；　although　neither　of　these　words　were　much　used　in　the　Breedialect）。　He　said　he　was　thinking　of　writing　a　book　（at　which　there　was　silent　astonishment）；　and　that　he　and　his　friends　wanted　to　collect　information　about　hobbits　living　outside　the　Shire；　especially　in　the　eastern　lands。

At　this　a　chorus　of　voices　broke　out。　If　Frodo　had　really　wanted　to　write　a　book；　and　had　had　many　ears；　he　would　have　learned　enough　for　several　chapters　in　a　few　minutes。　And　if　that　was　not　enough；　he　was　given　a　whole　list　of　names；　beginning　with　'Old　Barliman　here'；　to　whom　he　could　go　for　further　information。　But　after　a　time；　as　Frodo　did　not　show　any　sign　of　writing　a　book　on　the　spot；　the　hobbits　returned　to　their　questions　about　doings　in　the　Shire。　Frodo　did　not　prove　very　municative；　and　he　soon　found　himself　sitting　alone　in　a　er；　listening　and　looking　around。

The　Men　and　Dwarves　were　mostly　talking　of　distant　events　and　telling　flews　of　a　kind　that　was　being　only　too　familiar。　There　was　trouble　away　in　the　South；　and　it　seemed　that　the　Men　who　had　e　up　the　Greenway　were　on　the　move；　looking　for　lands　where　they　could　find　some　peace。　The　Breefolk　were　sympathetic；　but　plainly　not　very　ready　to　take　a　large　number　of　strangers　into　their　little　land。　One　of　the　travellers；　a　squinteyed　illfavoured　fellow；　was　foretelling　that　more　and　more　people　would　be　ing　north　in　the　near　future。　'If　room　isn't　found　for　them；　they'll　find　it　for　themselves。

They've　a　right　to　live；　same　as　other　folk；'　he　said　loudly。　The　local　inhabitants　did　not　look　pleased　at　the　prospect。

The　hobbits　did　not　pay　much　attention　to　all　this；　and　it　did　not　at　the　moment　seem　to　concern　hobbits。　Big　Folk　could　hardly　beg　for　lodgings　in　hobbitholes。　They　were　more　interested　in　Sam　and　Pippin；　e；　and　were　chatting　gaily　about　events　in　the　Shire。　Pippin　roused　a　good　deal　of　laughter　with　an　account　of　the　collapse　of　the　roof　of　the　Town　Hole　in　Michel　Delving：　Will　Whitfoot；　the　Mayor；　and　the　fattest　hobbit　in　the　Westfarthing；　had　been　buried　in　chalk；　and　came　out　like　a　floured　dumpling。　But　there　ade　Frodo　a　little　uneasy。　One　of　the　Breelanders；　who　seemed　to　have　been　in　the　Shire　several　times；　wanted　to　know　where　the　Underhills　lived　and　who　they　were　related　to。

Suddenly　Frodo　noticed　that　a　strangelooking　weatherbeaten　man；　sitting　in　the　shadows　near　the　wall；　was　also　listening　intently　to　the　hobbittalk。　He　had　a　tall　tankard　in　front　of　him；　and　was　smoking　a　longstemmed　pipe　curiously　carved。　His　legs　were　stretched　out　before　him；　showing　high　boots　of　supple　leather　that　fitted　him　well；　but　had　seen　much　wear　and　were　now　caked　with　mud。　A　travelstained　cloak　of　heavy　darkgreen　cloth　was　drawn　close　about　him；　and　in　spite　of　the　heat　of　the　room　he　wore　a　hood　that　overshadowed　his　face；　but　the　gleam　of　his　eyes　could　be　seen　as　he　watched　the　hobbits。

'Who　is　that？'　Frodo　asked；　when　he　got　a　chance　to　whisper　to　Mr。　Butterbur。　'I　don't　think　you　introduced　him？'

'Him？'　said　the　landlord　in　an　answering　whisper；　cocking　an　eye　without　turning　his　head。　'I　don't　rightly　know。　He　is　one　of　the　wandering　folk　　Rangers　we　call　them。　He　seldom　talks：　not　but　what　he　can　tell　a　rare　tale　when　he　has　the　mind。　He　disappears　for　a　month；　or　a　year；　and　then　he　pops　up　again。　He　was　in　and　out　pretty　often　last　spring；　but　I　haven't　seen　him　about　lately。　What　his　right　name　is　I've　never　heard：　but　he's　known　round　here　as　Strider。　Goes　about　at　a　great　pace　on　his　long　shanks；　though　he　don't　tell　nobody　what　cause　he　has　to　hurry。　But　there's　no　accounting　for　East　and　West；　as　we　say　in　Bree；　meaning　the　Rangers　and　the　Shirefolk；　begging　your　pardon。　Funny　you　should　ask　about　him。'　But　at　that　moment　Mr。　Butterbur　was　called　away　by　a　demand　for　more　ale　and　his　last　remark　remained　unexplained。

Frodo　found　that　Strider　was　now　looking　at　him；　as　if　he　had　heard　or　guessed　all　that　had　been　said。　Presently；　with　a　wave　of　his　hand　and　a　nod；　he　invited　Frodo　to　e　over　and　sit　by　him。　As　Frodo　drew　near　be　threw　back　his　hood；　showing　a　shaggy　head　of　dark　hair　necked　with　grey；　and　in　a　pale　stem　face　a　pair　of　keen　grey　eyes。

'I　am　called　Strider；'　he　said　in　a　low　voice。　'I　am　very　pleased　to　meet　you。　Master　。　Underhill；　if　old　Butterbur　got　your　name　right。'

'He　did；'　said　Frodo　stiffly。　He　felt　far　from　fortable　under　the　stare　of　those　keen　eyes。

'Well；　Master　Underhill；'　said　Strider；　'if　I　were　you；　I　should　stop　your　young　friends　from　talking　too　much。　Drink；　fire；　and　chancemeeting　are　pleasant　enough；　but；　well　。　this　isn't　the　Shire。　There　are　queer　folk　about。　Though　I　say　it　as　shouldn't；　you　may　think；'　he　added　with　a　wry　smile；　seeing　Frodo's　glance。　'And　there　have　been　even　stranger　travellers　through　Bree　lately；'　he　went　on；　watching　Frodo's　face。

Frodo　returned　his　gaze　but　said　nothing；　and　Strider　made　no　further　sign。　His　attention　seemed　suddenly　to　be　fixed　on　Pippin。　To　his　alarm　Frodo　became　aware　that　the　ridiculous　young　Took；　encouraged　by　his　success　with　the　fat　Mayor　of　Michel　Delving；　was　now　actually　giving　a　ic　account　of　Bilbo's　farewell　party。　He　was　already　giving　an　imitation　of　the　Speech；　and　was　drawing　near　to　the　astonishing　Disappearance。

Frodo　was　annoyed。　It　was　a　harmless　enough　tale　for　most　of　the　local　hobbits；　no　doubt：　just　a　funny　story　about　those　funny　people　away　beyond　the　River；　but　some　（old　Butterbur；　for　instance）　knew　a　thing　or　two；　and　had　probably　heard　rumours　long　ago　about　Bilbo's　vanishing。　It　would　bring　the　name　of　Baggins　to　their　minds；　especially　if　there　had　been　inquiries　in　Bree　after　that　name。

Frodo　fidgeted；　wondering　what　to　do。　Pippin　was　evidently　much　enjoying　the　attention　he　was　getting；　and　had　bee　quite　fetful　of　their　danger。　Frodo　had　a　sudden　fear　that　in　his　present　mood　he　might　even　mention　the　Ring；　and　that　might　well　be　disastrous。

'You　had　better　do　something　quick！'　whispered　Strider　in　his　ear。

Frodo　jumped　up　and　stood　on　a　table；　and　began　to　talk。　The　attention　of　Pippin's　audience　was　disturbed。　Some　of　the　hobbits　looked　at　Frodo　and　laughed　and　clapped；　thinking　that　Mr。　Underhill　had　taken　as　much　ale　as　was　good　for　him。

Frodo　suddenly　felt　very　foolish；　and　found　himself　（as　was　his　habit　when　making　a　speech）　fingering　the　things　in　his　pocket。　He　felt　the　Ring　on　its　chain；　and　quite　unaccountably　the　desire　came　over　him　to　slip　it　on　and　vanish　out　of　the　silly　situation。　It　seemed　to　him；　somehow；　as　if　me　suggestion　came　to　him　from　outside；　from　someone　or　something　a　the　room。　He　resisted　the　temptation　firmly；　and　clasped　the　Ring　in　his　hand；　as　if　to　keep　a　hold　on　it　and　prevent　it　from　escaping　or　doing　any　mischief。　At　any　rate　it　gave　him　no　inspiration。　He　spoke　'a　few　suitable　words'；　as　they　would　have　said　in　the　Shire：　We　are　all　very　much　gratified　by　the　kindness　of　your　reception；　and　I　venture　to　hope　that　my　brief　visit　will　help　to　renew　the　old　ties　of　friendship　between　the　Shire　and　Bree；　and　then　he　hesitated　and　coughed。

Everyone　in　the　room　was　now　looking　at　him。　'A　song！'　shouted　one　of　the　hobbits。　'A　song！　A　song！'　shouted　all　the　others。　'e　on　now；　master；　sing　us　something　that　we　haven't　heard　before！'

For　a　moment　Frodo　stood　gaping。　Then　in　desperation　he　began　a　ridiculous　song　that　Bilbo　had　been　rather　fond　of　（and　indeed　rather　proud　of；　for　he　had　made　up　the　words　himself）。　It　was　about　an　inn；　and　that　is　probably　why　it　came　into　Frodo's　mind　just　then。　Here　it　is　in　full。　Only　a　few　words　of　it　are　now；　as　a　rule；　remembered。

There　is　an　inn；　a　merry　old　inn
beneath　an　old　grey　hill；
And　there　they　brew　a　beer　so　brown
That　the　Man　in　the　Moon　himself　came　down
one　night　to　drink　his　fill。

The　ostler　has　a　tipsy　cat
that　plays　a　fivestringed　fiddle；
And　up　and　down　he　runs　his　bow；
Now　squeaking　high；　now　purring　low；
now　sawing　in　the　middle。

The　landlord　keeps　a　little　dog
that　is　mighty　fond　of　jokes；
When　there's　good　cheer　among　the　guests；
He　cocks　an　ear　at　all　the　jests
and　laughs　until　he　chokes。

They　also　keep　a　horned　cow
as　proud　as　any　queen；
But　music　turns　her　head　like　ale；
And　makes　her　wave　her　tufted　tail
and　dance　upon　the　green。

And　O！　the　rows　of　silver　dishes
and　the　store　of　silver　spoons！
For　Sunday　there's　a　special　pair；
And　these　they　polish　up　with　care
on　Saturday　afternoons。

The　Man　in　the　Moon　was　drinking　deep；
and　the　cat　began　to　wail；
A　dish　and　a　spoon　on　the　table　danced；
The　cow　in　the　garden　madly　pranced；
and　the　little　dog　chased　his　tail。

The　Man　in　the　Moon　took　another　mug；
and　then　rolled　beneath　his　chair；
And　there　he　dozed　and　dreamed　of　ale；
Till　in　the　sky　the　stars　were　pale；
and　dawn　was　in　the　air。

Then　the　ostler　said　to　his　tipsy　cat：
'The　white　horses　of　the　Moon；
They　neigh　and　champ　their　silver　bits；
But　their　master's　been　and　drowned　his　wits；
and　the　Sun'll　be　rising　soon！'

So　the　cat　on　his　fiddle　played　heydiddlediddle；
a　jig　that　would　wake　the　dead：
He　squeaked　and　sawed　and　quickened　the　tune；
While　the　landlord　shook　the　Man　in　the　Moon：
'It's　after　three！'　he　said。

They　rolled　the　Man　slowly　up　the　hill
and　bundled　him　into　the　Moon；
While　his　horses　galloped　up　in　rear；
And　the　cow　came　capering　like　a　deer；
and　a　dish　ran　up　with　the　spoon。

Now　quicker　the　fiddle　went　deedledumdiddle；
the　dog　began　to　roar；
The　cow　and　the　horses　stood　on　their　heads；
The　guests　all　bounded　from　their　beds
and　danced　upon　the　floor。

With　a　ping　and　a　pong　the　fiddlestrings　broke！
the　cow　jumped　over　the　Moon；
And　the　little　dog　laughed　to　see　such　fun；
And　the　Saturday　dish　went　off　at　a　run
with　the　silver　Sunday　spoon。

The　round　Moon　rolled　behind　the　hill
as　the　Sun　raised　up　her　head。
She　hardly　believed　her　fiery　eyes；
For　though　it　was　day；　to　her　surprise
they　all　went　back　to　bed！

There　was　loud　and　long　applause。　Frodo　had　a　good　voice；　and　the　song　tickled　their　fancy。　'Where's　old　Barley？'　they　cried。　'He　ought　to　hear　this。　Bob　ought　to　learn　his　cat　the　fiddle；　and　then　we'd　have　a　dance。'　They　called　for　more　ale；　and　began　to　shout：　'Let's　have　it　again；　master！　e　on　now！　Once　more！'

They　made　Frodo　have　another　drink；　and　then　begin　his　song　again；　while　many　of　them　joined　in；　for　the　tune　was　well　known；　and　they　were　quick　at　picking　up　words。　It　was　now　Frodo's　turn　to　feel　pleased　with　himself。　He　capered　about　on　the　table；　and　when　he　came　a　second　time　to　the　cow　jumped　over　the　Moon；　he　leaped　in　the　air。　Much　too　vigorously；　for　he　came　down；　bang；　into　a　tray　full　of　mugs；　and　slipped；　and　rolled　off　the　table　with　a　crash；　clatter；　and　bump！　The　audience　all　opened　their　mouths　wide　for　laughter；　and　stopped　short　a　gaping　silence；　for　the　singer　disappeared。　He　simply　vanished；　as　if　he　had　gone　slap