Shortly after the schoolmaster had arranged the forms and taken his seat behind his desk，a small white-headed boy with a sunburnt face appeared at the door，and，stopping there to make a rustic bow，came in and took his seat upon one of the forms.He then put an open book，astonishingly dog's-eared，upon his knees，and，thrusting his hands into his pockets，began counting the marbles with which they were filled；displaying，in the expression of his face，a remarkable capacity of totally abstracting his mind from the spelling on which his eyes were fixed.
Soon afterward，another white-headed little boy came straggling in，and after him，a red-headed lad，and then one with a flaxen poll，until the forms were occupied by a dozen boys，or thereabouts，with heads of every color but gray，and ranging in their ages from four years old to fourteen years or more；for the legs of the youngest were a long way from the floor，when he sat upon the form；and the eldest was a heavy，good-tempered fellow，about half a head taller than the schoolmaster.
At the top of the first form——the post of honor in the school——was the vacant place of the little sick scholar；and，at the head of the row of pegs，on which those who wore hats or caps were wont to hang them，one was empty.No boy attempted to violate the sanctity of seat or peg，but many a one looked from the empty spaces to the schoolmaster，and whispered to his idle neighbor，behind his hand.
Then began the hum of conning over lessons and getting them by heart，the whispered jest and stealthy game，and all the noise and drawl of school；and in the midst of the din，sat the poor schoolmaster，vainly attempting to fix his mind upon the duties of the day，and to forget his little sick friend.But the tedium of his office reminded him more strongly of the willing scholar，and his thoughts were rambling from his pupils——it was plain.
None knew this better than the idlest boys，who，growing bolder with impunity，waxed louder and more daring；playing “odd or even”under the master's eye；eating apples openly and without rebuke；pinching each other in sport or malice，without the least reserve；and cutting their initials in the very legs of his desk.The puzzled dunce，who stood beside it to say his lesson “off the book，”looked no longer at the ceiling for forgotten words，but drew closer to the master's elbow，and boldly cast his eye upon the page；the wag of the little troop squinted and made grimaces （at the smallest boy，of course），holding no book before his face，and his approving companions knew no constraint in their delight.If the master did chance to rouse himself，and seem alive to what was going on，the noise subsided for a moment，and no eye met his but wore a studious and deeply humble look；but the instant he relapsed again，it broke out afresh，and ten times louder than before.
Oh！how some of those idle fellows longed to be outside，and how they looked at the open door and window，as if they half meditated rushing violently out，plunging into the woods，and being wild boys and savages from that time forth.What rebellious thoughts of the cool river，and some shady bathing place，beneath willow trees with branches dipping in the water，kept tempting and urging that sturdy boy，who，with his shirt collar unbuttoned，and flung back as far as it could go，sat fanning his flushed face with a spelling book，wishing himself a whale，or a minnow，or a fly，or anything but a boy at school，on that hot，broiling day.
Heat！ask that other boy，whose seat being nearest to the door，gave him opportunities of gliding out into the garden，and driving his companions to madness，by dipping his face into the bucket of the well，and then rolling on the grass，——ask him if there was ever such a day as that，when even the bees were diving deep down into the cups of the flowers，and stopping there，as if they had made up their minds to retire from business，and be manufacturers of honey no more.The day was made for laziness，and lying on one's back in green places，and staring at the sky，till its brightness forced the gazer to shut his eyes and go to sleep.And was this a time to be poring over musty books in a dark room，slighted by the very sun itself？Monstrous！
The lessons over，writing time began.This was a more quiet time；for the master would come and look over the writer's shoulder，and mildly tell him to observe how such a letter was turned up，in such a copy on the wall，which had been written by their sick companion，and bid him take it as a model.Then he would stop and tell them what the sick child had said last night，and how he had longed to be among them once again；and such was the poor schoolmaster's gentle and affectionate manner，that the boys seemed quite remorseful that they had worried him so much，and were absolutely quiet；eating no apples，cutting no names，and making no grimaces for full two minutes afterward.
“I think，boys，”said the schoolmaster，when the clock struck twelve，“that I shall give you an extra half holiday this afternoon.”At this intelligence，the boys，led on and headed by the tall boy，raised a great shout，in the midst of which the master was seen to speak，but could not be heard.As he held up his hand，however，in token of his wish that they should be silent，they were considerate enough to leave off，as soon as the longest-winded among them were quite out of breath.“You must promise me，first，”said the schoolmaster，“that you'll not be noisy，or at least，if you are，that you'll go away first，out of the village，I mean.I'm sure you wouldn't disturb your old playmate and companion.”
There was a general murmur （and perhaps a very sincere one，for they were but boys）in the negative；and the tall boy，perhaps as sincerely as any of them，called those about him to witness，that he had only shouted in a whisper.“Then pray don't forget，there's my dear scholars，”said the schoolmaster，“what I have asked you，and do it as a favor to me.Be as happy as you can，and don't be unmindful that you are blessed with health.Good-by，all.”
“Thank 'ee，sir，”and “Good-by，sir，”were said a great many times in a great variety of voices，and the boys went out very slowly and softly.But there was the sun shining and there were birds singing，as the sun only shines and the birds only sing on holidays and half holidays；there were the trees waving to all free boys to climb，and nestle among their leafy branches；the hay，entreating them to come and scatter it to the pure air；the green corn，gently beckoning toward wood and stream；the smooth ground，rendered smoother still by blending lights and shadows，inviting to runs and leaps，and long walks，nobody knows whither.It was more than boy could bear，and with a joyous whoop，the whole cluster took to their heels，and spread themselves about，shouting and laughing as they went.“ 'T is natural，thank Heaven！”said the poor schoolmaster，looking after them，“I am very glad they didn't mind me.”
Toward night，the schoolmaster walked over to the cottage where his little friend lay sick.Knocking gently at the cottage door，it was opened without loss of time.He entered a room where a group of women were gathered about one who was wringing her hands and crying bitterly.“O dame！”said the schoolmaster，drawing near her chair，“is it so bad as this？”Without replying，she pointed to another room，which the schoolmaster immediately entered；and there lay his little friend，halfdressed，stretched upon a bed.
He was a very young boy；quite a little child.His hair still hung in curls about his face，and his eyes were very bright；but their light was of heaven，not of earth.The schoolmaster took a seat beside him，and，stooping over the pillow whispered his name.The boy sprung up，stroked his face with his hand，and threw his wasted arms around his neck，crying，that he was his dear，kind friend.“I hope I always was.I meant to be，God knows，”said the poor schoolmaster.“You remember my garden，Henry？”whispered the old man，anxious to rouse him，for dullness seemed gathering upon the child，“and how pleasant it used to be in the evening time？You must make haste to visit it again，for I think the very flowers have missed you，and are less gay than they used to be.You will come soon，very soon now，won't you？”
The boy smiled faintly——so very，very faintly——and put his hand upon his friend's gray head.He moved his lips too，but no voice came from them，——no，not a sound.In the silence that ensued，the hum of distant voices，borne upon the evening air，came floating through the open window.“What's that？”said the sick child，opening his eyes.“The boys at play，upon the green.”He took a handkerchief from his pillow，and tried to wave it above his head.But the feeble arm dropped powerless down.“Shall I do it？”said the schoolmaster.“Please wave it at the window，”was the faint reply.“Tie it to the lattice.Some of them may see it there.Perhaps they'll think of me，and look this way.”
He raised his head and glanced from the fluttering signal to his idle bat，that lay，with slate，and book，and other boyish property，upon the table in the room.And then he laid him softly down once more，and again clasped his little arms around the old man's neck.The two old friends and companions——for such they were，though they were man and child——held each other in a long embrace，and then the little scholar turned his face to the wall and fell asleep.
The poor schoolmaster sat in the same place，holding the small，cold hand in his，and chafing it.It was but the hand of a dead child.He felt that；and yet he chafed it still，and could not lay it down.
译文 TRANSLATION
老师排好各个年级的座位，刚在讲台后面的椅子上坐下，一个晒得黑黑的、亚麻色头发的小男孩站在了门口，他土气地鞠了一躬，走进教室，在自己的座位上坐下。他拿出一本摊开的书放在膝盖上，书页赫然卷了起来，然后把手伸进衣袋，开始数里面的弹珠。从他的表情可以看出，一股非凡的力量把他的心思从拼写本上吸走了，虽然他的眼睛还盯在那儿。
一会儿，又一个亚麻色头发的小男孩散漫地走了进来，他后面跟着一个红头发的男孩，然后又是一个亚麻色头发的男孩，直到十二个男孩把各年级的座位都坐满了，男孩们的头发有着不同的颜色，只是没有灰色；他们的年龄跨度也从四岁到十四岁多。最小的孩子坐在座位上时，他们的腿离地面还有一大段距离；而最大的孩子比老师还高半个头，胖胖的、性情温和。
在一年级顶端的位置——那是全校优等生的座位——空着，因为坐在那儿的小学者病了；而在那排挂帽子的钉子中，也有一个空着。男孩们没有谁想去破坏那个座位或那个钉子的圣洁。不过，不少孩子看看那些空出的地方再看看老师，然后跟身后懒散的伙伴耳语一番。
然后，是一片嗡嗡声，里面交织着温课和背书的声音、低低的戏谑声、偷偷做游戏的声音，以及学校里所有的嘈杂和舒缓。在这片喧哗声里，那可怜的老师坐在那儿徒劳地试图把精神贯注在每天例行的公务上，以便忘记他生病的小朋友。可是，教室里的无聊与沉闷却让他更强烈地想念那个聚精会神的孩子，他的思绪已经离开了学生，正在别处漫游——这是再明白不过的。
那些最懒散的孩子对此知道得最清楚。因为不会受到惩罚，他们胆子更大了，声音也随之变得更响亮、更不在乎了；他们公然在老师眼皮底下玩起“猜单双”；公然吃起苹果而不受申斥；无所顾忌地捏着掐着彼此，不知是为了好玩还是出于恶意；有的还在老师讲桌桌腿上刻下他们姓氏的缩写；那个一脸懵懂的笨学生站在讲桌边说自己背完书了，这回他不再望着天花板想那些忘记的词，而是靠近老师的肘部，瞄着老师的书；那个爱说笑的学生对最小的男孩做着各种各样的鬼脸，都不再用书挡着脸了；而他那些深表赞许的伙伴们更觉其乐无穷。如果老师碰巧回过神来，似乎注意到教室里的情况，他们就暂时压低了声音，避开老师的眼睛，摆出一副勤奋、谦恭的模样；可是一旦他又开始走神，喧哗就卷土重来，而且比先前嘈杂十倍。
啊！这些懒散的学生多渴望到外面去！他们盯着洞开的门和窗，似乎在思量怎么冲出教室，扎进树林，从此做个野孩子、野人！想到那凉凉的河水、想到在柳荫下洗澡、想到柳枝轻拂水面，这些令人热血沸腾的念头不断地诱惑着、怂恿着那个结实的男孩，他解开领口，把衬衫尽可能地向后甩，坐在座位上用识字课本遮住红红的脸，希望自己是一只鲸鱼，或者是一只米诺鱼、一只飞蝇，在这热得要把人烤熟的天气里，只要不是在校的学童，是什么都行！
热死了！问问男孩，因为座位离门最近，他趁机溜到了花园里，把脸浸在盛满井水的桶里，然后，在草地上打了几个滚，而这把他的同伴们都要气疯了，——问问他是否曾有这样一天，甚至蜜蜂都飞进花蕊里，一动不动，仿佛它们已下定决心退休，不再酿蜜。这样的日子本该无所事事：平躺在草坪上，望着天空，直到明亮的光线使人闭上眼睛，进入梦乡。这样的时光里，竟然在被太阳遗忘了的阴暗小屋里啃发霉的课本！太过分了！
课讲完了，开始习字。这时比刚才安静些了；因为老师来回巡视，站在学生旁边，温和地告诉他如何模仿墙上他们那位生病的伙伴写就的范本。然后，他会停下来告诉学生们那个生病的孩子昨晚说了些什么以及他多么渴望重新回到他们当中来。可怜的老师温情、体恤的方式令孩子们懊悔给他添了那么多烦忧，他们完全安静下来了；足足有两分钟不再吃苹果、不再刻名字、不再做鬼脸。
这时，钟敲响了十二点。老师说：“孩子们，我想给你们半天额外的假期。”听到这个消息，在高个子男孩的带领下，孩子们一阵欢呼，他们只见老师在说话，却全然听不到他在说什么。不过，当老师举手示意安静时，孩子们都很善解人意地停了下来。“你们必须先答应我，”老师说，“你们不能吵，至少，要吵也要到村外去吵。我相信，你们不会打扰你们生病的伙伴的。”
孩子们都异口同声说不会（这或许是真诚的，因为他们毕竟是孩子）；那个高个子男孩——他跟其他孩子一样诚心诚意——还让周围的同学给他作证，他只小声喊过。“那么，千万别忘了，我亲爱的孩子们，”老师说，“我对你们说的话，一定要做到，权当为我做。尽情地玩吧！别担心，你们身体都很棒。再见，孩子们！”
“谢谢老师”“老师再见”，孩子们用他们的不同音色把这两句话重复了好多遍，边说边轻轻地、慢慢地走到外面去。教室外，阳光在照耀，鸟儿在鸣唱，就像阳光只在假日照耀，鸟儿只在假日鸣唱似的；树在向自由自在的孩子们招手，让他们在它身上爬上爬下，在覆满绿叶的枝干间藏身；干草请他们来到跟前把自己撒向纯净天空；绿油油的谷物朝树林和溪流招着手；平整的大地，在光影交错下显得更加平整，它在邀请孩子们在上面奔跑、跳跃，漫步。谁也不知道还有枯萎、凋零。那是孩子们无法承受的。伴着欢呼，他们四处奔跑着、笑着、叫着。“这是他们的天性啊。谢天谢地，”可怜的老师一边目送着他们一边说，“真高兴我没有影响他们。”
当晚，老师走向一间村舍，他的小朋友就在那里卧病。他轻轻敲了敲门，门马上开了。他走进房间，屋内聚着一群女士，中间那位绞着手、哀哀地哭着。“夫人，”老师边说边走到她椅边，“情况这么差吗？”她没作声，用手指着另一个房间，老师马上走了进去，他的小朋友半披着衣服直直地躺在那儿。
他是一个年轻的男孩，简直是个孩子。他的卷发垂在腮旁，眼睛很亮，但那是天堂的光，而不是尘世的光。老师坐在他旁边，俯身在他的枕边低声唤着他的名字。男孩突然坐起身，用手轻轻抚摸着老人的脸，用憔悴的双臂抱着老人的脖子，哭着说老人是他亲爱的、慈爱的朋友。“上帝知道，我希望，我愿意一直做你的……”可怜的老师说。“亨利，你记得我的花园吗？”老人低语着，急切地唤醒他，因为孩子的反应显得似乎有些迟钝，“傍晚的花园多怡人啊。你抓紧来看看花园吧，我觉得那些花都想你了，和过去相比，它们不那么欢快了。你快点来吧，快点，好吗？”
孩子淡淡地微笑了——笑得那么淡、那么淡——把手放在他朋友灰色的发上。他嚅嗫着，却发不出声音——是的，一点声音也没有。在静寂中，远处的哼唱声，乘着晚风，从敞开的窗口飘进来。“那是什么？”男孩问，张开他的眼睛。“孩子们在做游戏，在草坪上。”孩子从枕头下拿出手帕，试着在头上摇，但他瘦弱的胳膊无力地垂下了。“我来摇吧？”老师说。“请在窗前挥动它，”男孩声音微弱地回答，“把它系在窗棂上。有些孩子可能会看见，也许他们会想起我，会朝这儿看看。”
他抬起头，看着那飘动的手帕、那闲置的球棒，看着桌子上写字的石板、书和其他孩子气的物品。然后，他轻柔地躺下了，双臂环着老人的脖子。这两个老朋友、老伙伴——尽管他们一个是成人一个是孩子，但他们的确是老朋友和老伙伴——久久地拥抱在一起，之后，孩子把脸转向墙，睡着了。
这可怜的老师还坐在那个位置上，握着那冰冷的小手，摩挲着。孩子已经死了，他知道，但他还是摩挲着那只手，不能放下。
免责声明：以上内容源自网络，版权归原作者所有，如有侵犯您的原创版权请告知，我们将尽快删除相关内容。
