THE DUMB BOOK故事　　 IN the high-road which led through a wood stood a solitary　　 farm-house; the road, in fact, ran right through its yard.

The　　 sun was shining and all the windows were open; within the　　 house people were very busy.

In the yard, in an arbour formed　　 by lilac bushes in full bloom, stood an open coffin; thither　　 they had carried a dead man, who was to be buried that very　　 afternoon.

Nobody shed a tear over him; his face was covered　　 over with a white cloth, under his head they had placed a　　 large thick book, the leaves of which consisted of folded　　 sheets of blotting-paper, and withered flowers lay between　　 them; it was the herbarium which he had gathered in various　　 places and was to be buried with him, according to his own　　 wish.

Every one of the flowers in it was connected with some　　 chapter of his life.

　　 "Who is the dead man?

" we asked.

　　 "The old student," was the reply.

"They say that he was　　 once an energetic young man, that he studied the dead　　 languages, and sang and even composed many songs; then　　 something had happened to him, and in consequence of this he　　 gave himself up to drink, body and mind.

When at last he had　　 ruined his health, they brought him into the country, where　　 someone paid for his board and residence.

He was gentle as a　　 child as long as the sullen mood did not come over him; but　　 when it came he was fierce, became as strong as a giant, and　　 ran about in the wood like a chased deer.

But when we　　 succeeded in bringing him home, and prevailed upon him to open　　 the book with the dried-up plants in it, he would sometimes　　 sit for a whole day looking at this or that plant, while　　 frequently the tears rolled over his cheeks.

God knows what　　 was in his mind; but he requested us to put the book into his　　 coffin, and now he lies there.

In a little while the lid will　　 be placed upon the coffin, and he will have sweet rest in the　　 grave!

"　　 The cloth which covered his face was lifted up; the dead　　 man's face expressed peace- a sunbeam fell upon it.

A swallow　　 flew with the swiftness of an arrow into the arbour, turning　　 in its flight, and twittered over the dead man's head.

　　 What a strange feeling it is- surely we all know it- to　　 look through old letters of our young days; a different life　　 rises up out of the past, as it were, with all its hopes and　　 sorrows.

How many of the people with whom in those days we　　 used to be on intimate terms appear to us as if dead, and yet　　 they are still alive- only we have not thought of them for　　 such a long time, whom we imagined we should retain in our　　 memories for ever, and share every joy and sorrow with them.

　　 The withered oak leaf in the book here recalled the　　 friend, the schoolfellow, who was to be his friend for life.

　　 He fixed the leaf to the student's cap in the green wood, when　　 they vowed eternal friendship.

Where does he dwell now?

The　　 leaf is kept, but the friendship does no longer exist.

Here is　　 a foreign hothouse plant, too tender for the gardens of the　　 North.

It is almost as if its leaves still smelt sweet!

She　　 gave it to him out of her own garden- a nobleman's daughter.

　　 Here is a water-lily that he had plucked himself, and　　 watered with salt tears- a lily of sweet water.

And here is a　　 nettle: what may its leaves tell us?

What might he have　　 thought when he plucked and kept it?

Here is a little snowdrop　　 out of the solitary wood; here is an evergreen from the　　 flower-pot at the tavern; and here is a simple blade of grass.

　　 The lilac bends its fresh fragrant flowers over the dead　　 man's head; the swallow passes again- "twit, twit;" now the　　 men come with hammer and nails, the lid is placed over the　　 dead man, while his head rests on the du　　mb book- so long　　 cherished, now closed for ever!

　　 THE END【英语童话故事THE DUMB BOOK故事查看网站：[db:时间]】