I was living in the Smoky Mountains1 in Carolina. It was autumn. I needed quiet to be away from people. My mind was troubled and the mountain air helped me write better. I also wanted to see the red autumn leaves, the pumpkins2 and to feel the excitement of living free and alone. I found them all in a small house which belongs to the Children's Home3.
　　The house is cut off4 from the village below and from the world by deep mountain snows.
　　The heavy fog that surrounds5 the Smoky Mountains hides the house from the eyes of the people.　　When I moved into the house, I asked the lady at the Children's Home to send a boy to cut wood for the fireplace.
　　About a week later, I looked up from my writing a little surprised. There, in front of me, was a small boy. My dog, Pat, had not barked6 to warn me. The boy wore old torn pants and shirt worn thin from too many washings. He wore no shoes on his feet. “I cut some wood today,”he said.
　　“But I have a boy coming from the Children's Home.”
　　“I am the boy.”
　　“You? But you're so small.”
　　“I can carry milk to the Baby's House, ma'am. Some days I carry it two times.”
　　“In this bitter wind?”
　　“Yes, ma'am, stiff7 fingers don't feel bad once you get used to them. We get our faces bitten8 by the cold wind because we can't put our hands over them. But I have gloves. Some of the boys don't have any gloves.”
　　“But cutting wood is a man's job.”
　　He smiled at me, “I know all kinds of wood, ma'am, I've been cutting wood at the Children's Home for a long time.”
　　“Very well, there's the ax9. Go ahead and try cutting10 and see what you can do.”
　　I began to work again. The first sounds of the ax cutting through the wood, interfered with11 my thought. But soon the steady chop, chop, stopped troubling me. I settled down12 and wrote for the rest of the afternoon.
　　The sun saw slowly dropping behind the cold, purple mountains when I heard the boy's footsteps coming toward my door.
　　“I have to go eat now. I can come again tomorrow afternoon.”
　　“I'll pay you for what you've done.”
　　We went together to see his work. Next to the house was a lot of cleanly-cut wood.
　　“But you have cut as much as a man. This is a wonderful pile of wood.”
　　I gave him some money. “You may come again tomorrow and thank you very much.”
　　He looked at me and then at the money. He seemed as if he wanted to talk. But he could not. He turned away but over his thin shoulder he shouted back to me, “I'll cut some small pieces tomorrow. You'll need small thin pieces and middle size pieces and some heavier ones.”

　　He came again the next day and worked until it was time to leave. His name was Jerry. He was 12 years old and had been at Children's Home since he was only four.
　　I thought of him as he must have looked when he was four years old. The same gray eyes with the small rings of blue around them, the same integrity13 and courage. Integrity is honesty. But it is more than just being honest. For example, the handle of the ax broke one day. Jerry said the Children's Home would repair it. I handed him some money to pay for it. He wouldn't take the money.
　　“I'll pay for it, ma'am. I broke it. I didn't hit the wood in the right place.”
　　“But Jerry, no one hits the wood in the right place all the time. It was a weak handle. I'll speak to the man who sold it to me.”
　　It was only then that he would take the money.
　　Another thing about Jerry that was special. He would do those little, helpful things that are not necessary but make life so much easier, things only the heart can do, things that can not be trained or taught, for they are done quickly and without thought.
　　He found a hole near the fireplace that I had not seen. “I'll place some wood on the hole, ma'am. Then when a sudden storm comes up14, you can stay warm.”
　　Or the day he found a loose15 stone in the walking place outside. “Let me place a bigger stone there. I'll dig the hole deeper so it won't come loose again.”
　　The day passed. And Jerry and my dog, Pat, became close friends. Perhaps it was because a boy and a dog have a common spirit, a wisdom that is closer than a grown person and a dog.
　　One cold day, Jerry sat close by me near the fire. The dog lay close to him. We watched the fire burn. Jerry suddenly talked of something he had never talked of before. “You look like my mother, especially next to the fire.”
　　"But you were only four, Jerry, when you came to live at the Children's Home. Do you still remember your mother?"
　　He nodded his head yes. “My mother lives near Manville.”
　　Learning he had a mother surprised me. I also felt anger against her. How could she abandon16 such a nice boy? The Children's Home was nice. The people there were kind and the boys were healthy. But what sort of a person was his mother? Jerry must have looked as nice as he did now. His fine qualities have always been there. Any person could see them. My heart filled with questions I dared not ask. I was afraid I would cause him pain, so I talked to him carefully, “Have you seen your mother lately?”
　　“I see her every summer. She sends for17 me.”
　　I wanted to cry aloud. Why are you here? Why aren't you with her? How can she let you go away again?
　　But I said nothing.
　　Jerry talked with happiness in his heart. “She comes for me from Manville whenever she can. She isn't working right now. She wanted to give me a dog but they say a boy can't have a dog at the Home. She sent me a Sunday suit. And last Christmas, she sent me a bicycle. I let the others play with the bicycle when they promise to be careful with it.”
　　My mind was busy trying to understand his mother. She had not completely forgotten him. But why?What was the reason other than18 being poor?
        Jerry, still sounding happy, talked in a very soft voice, “I'm going to take the dollar you gave me and buy her a pair of gloves, white gloves. She likes white gloves.”
　　I could say nothing except, “That will be nice,”for I hated her. There was other food than bread, food for the soul and for the heart that only a mother can give. He was going to buy gloves for his mother while she lived in Manville away from him.
　　I decided I would not leave the mountains until I talked with her to learn why she had placed him in a Children's Home. But the human mind finds many things to think about. Every wind seems to blow new and different thoughts into it.
　　I finished my work, but it did not please me. My thoughts turned to travel. I decided to go to Mexico and then perhaps on to other places. I did not take the time to see Jerry's mother. I was busy preparing to leave and after that night by the fire we did not speak about her again. The fact that he had a mother, any sort of a mother, made me feel better about him.
　　When I was ready to leave, I said to him, “Jerry, you've been my good friend. I shall think of you often and miss you very much. Pat will miss you, too, after we leave tomorrow.”
　　He did not answer.
　　I watched him climb the hill in silence. I expected him to come the next day but he did not come.
　　I placed all my things in the car, closed the house, then drove to the Children's Home to see him. I told the lady that I was leaving and asked her to call Jerry so I could say good-bye. She was troubled. “I did not know where he is. I am afraid he might be sick. He didn't eat his dinner, and one of the boys said he had gone for a walk in the woods.”
　　My heart felt better. I hate goodbye and I knew I would never see him again. It was better for both of us this way.
　　“Here is some money,”I said, “Will you use it to buy him things for his birthday and for Christmas. I might buy him the same things his mother buys. This way he'll get different things and, well, not two bicycles for example.”
　　She looked at me strangely and said, “There isn't much place to ride a bicycle in the mountains.”
　　Her stupidity began to bother19 me. “What I mean is, I don't want to buy him the things his mother might buy him. I might have bought him a bicycle if I hadn't learned she had bought him one.”
　　She still looked at me. Then she finally said, “I don't understand. He has no mother. He has no bicycle.”

---

那是一个秋天，我住在卡罗来纳的雾峰山，远离人群，寻求心中的安宁。我思绪烦乱，惟有那山里的空气才有助于我更好地写作。我还想去看看秋天的红叶和南瓜，感受一下独自一人，自由自在的生活给我带来的激动心情。在孤儿院的一栋小房子里，我终于如愿以偿地得到了这一切。
　　厚厚的积雪把小房子与山下的村庄隔绝开来，进而也把它与外面的世界隔绝了。
　　笼罩着雾峰山的浓雾把小房子掩藏了起来，人们的视线难以看见。　我搬进房子后，请孤儿院的院长给我派一个男孩来帮忙劈点木柴。
　　大约一周后的一天，我正在写作，无意中抬起头来，吃惊地发现一个小男孩悄然站在我的面前。我的狗帕特也没有叫一声，告诉我有人来了。这个男孩穿着一条破旧的裤子，身上的衬衫因洗的次数太多而变薄，脚上也没有穿鞋子。“我今天就可以劈些木柴。”他说道。
　   “可是我已经叫了孤儿院的孩子来了。”
　　“我就是那个孩子。”
　  “你？可是，你太小了。”
　　“夫人，我能给育婴堂搬牛奶。有时，我一天还搬两回呢。”
　   “在这刀子一样的寒风中吗？”
　　“是的，夫人，一旦习惯了，僵硬的手指也就不怎么难受了。我们的脸倒是被寒风吹得生疼，因为我们不能用手捂着脸。但我有手套。有的孩子连手套都没有。”
　　“可是，劈柴该是男人干的活啊。”
　　他冲我微微一笑，“我认识各种各样的木柴，夫人。我给孤儿院劈柴已经好长时间了。”
　　“那好吧，给你斧子。去试试吧，看看你能做得怎样。”
　　我又接着写作了。刚开始，劈柴的声音传来，对我的思绪还有点干扰。可是，没多久，那沉稳而富有节奏的劈柴声不再打扰我了。我渐渐地静下心来，一口气写了一下午。
　　太阳缓缓地落到寒冷的紫色群山后面，这时，我听到了男孩朝我的房门走来的脚步声。
　　“我得回去吃饭了。明天下午我再来。”
　　“我会付你钱的。”
　　我和他一起去看看他劈的木柴。房子旁边堆放了许多劈得整整齐齐的木柴。
　　“你干得跟大人一样多。好大一堆木柴啊。”
　　我给了他一些钱。“你明天再来吧，太谢谢你了。”
　　他看了看我，又看了看钱，好像有话要说，却欲言又止。他转过身去，然而又把瘦削的肩膀扭过来，大声对我说，“明天，我来劈一些小一点的木柴。您需要薄薄的小片儿，中等的，还有大一些的。”
　　第二天，他又来了，一直干到要回去的时候。他的名字叫杰里，十二岁，从四岁起就一直在孤儿院生活。
　　我想像着他四岁时的模样。那时，他一定跟现在一样，灰色眼睛目光炯炯有神，眼圈微微泛蓝，也一定具备同样的正直和勇气。正直也就是诚实，但又不仅仅是诚实。比如说，一天，斧柄断了。杰里说孤儿院可以修。我给他钱，但他不要。
　　“这钱我来付吧，夫人，是我弄坏的。我砍的不是地方。”
　　“可是，杰里，没人能总是劈在恰当的地方的。是斧柄不结实。我会跟卖斧头的人去说的。”
　　直到这时，他才收下了钱。
　　还有一件事挺特别的，杰里会做一些小事情，看似不必要，却很有用处，能使生活方便许多。这些事情只能用心去做，而且不是能教会或训练会的，因为这些事情都是在不经意的情况下迅速完成的。
　　杰里在壁炉旁发现了一个小洞，我却没有看到。“夫人，我去拿一些木头堆放在洞口上，这样，哪天突然来了暴风雪，您也可以暖和些。”
　　还有一天，他在屋外的路上发现有一块石头松动了。“我在这儿放一块大一点的石头，再把坑挖深些，这样就不会再松动了。”　　日子一天天过去了。杰里和我的狗帕特成了要好的朋友，也许是因为小孩与狗之间比成人与狗之间多一份相同的情感和智慧吧。
　　一个寒冷的日子，杰里伴着我坐在火炉旁，狗躺在他旁边。我们看着火在燃烧，突然杰里谈了一些他从没有谈到过的事情。“您看上去像我妈妈，尤其是坐在火炉旁的时候。”
　　“可是，杰里，你来孤儿院时才四岁啊。你还记得你妈妈吗？”
　　他点头称是。“我妈妈住在曼维尔附近。”
　　听说他还有母亲，真是让我大吃一惊。同时，我对她感到气愤。她怎么可以抛弃这么可爱的孩子？孤儿院倒是很不错，那儿的人也很友善，孩子们也很健康。不过，他的母亲是什么样的人呢？杰里小时候一定像现在一样可爱，他的良好的品格也是显而易见的，这一点有目共睹。我有一肚子的问题，却不敢问他，怕勾起他的痛苦回忆。因此，我小心翼翼地问他，“你最近见过你妈妈吗？”
　　“我每年夏天都去看她。她派人来接我去。”
　　我简直想大喊一声，那你为何要呆在这儿呢？你为什么不和她呆在一起？她怎么能再让你离开她？
　　可是，我什么也没说。
　　杰里继续说着，发自内心的喜悦溢于言表。“只要有可能，她就从曼维尔来看我。现在，她没有工作了。她曾经想送我一只狗，可是别人说在孤儿院不准养狗。她送过我一套礼服。去年圣诞节，她送我一辆自行车。我还让别的小孩骑我的车，当然他们得保证不把车子弄坏。”
　　我思绪不宁，试图理解他的母亲。她并没有完全忘掉他。可是为什么呢？除了穷，还有别的原因吗？
　　听上去，杰里还是很高兴的，他用非常柔和的声音说道，“我要用你付我的钱给她买一双手套，一双白色的手套。她喜欢白手套。”
　　我只是说了一句“那很好”，实际上，我很恨她。除了面包以外，孩子还需要精神和心灵的食粮啊，而这精神与心灵的食粮却是只有母亲才能给予的。孩子要给母亲买双手套，可是她远离孩子，住在曼维尔。
　　我打算在离开山区之前，找她聊一聊，弄清她为什么要把杰里一个人留在孤儿院。但是，要考虑的事情太多了，似乎每一阵风都能把新鲜不同的思绪吹进人的大脑。
　　我的写作完成了，但是一点儿也高兴不起来。我想到了去旅行。我决定先去墨西哥，然后或许去别的什么地方。我没想花时间去看杰里的母亲。我忙着为出门旅行做准备，自从那天晚上火炉旁的交谈之后，我们没有再谈起他的母亲。他有母亲，不管是什么样的母亲，这一点使我为他感到些许安慰。
　　在准备离开的时候，我对他说，“杰里，你已经成为我的好朋友。我会常常想起你，会很想你的。明天我们走了之后，帕特也会想你的。”
　　他没有答话。
　　我望着他默默地爬上山。我期望他第二天再来，可是他没有来。
　　我把行李装上车子，关上房门，然后驱车到孤儿院看他。我告诉那儿的院长，我就要走了，请她去把杰里叫来，我好跟他道别。她感到有些为难。“我不知道他在哪儿。恐怕他病了。他没有吃饭，有个孩子说他到林子里散步去了。”
　　我心里好受了些。事实上我讨厌与人道别，而且我知道我再也不会见到他了。以这种方式告别对我们俩或许更好一些。
　　“这儿有点钱，”我说，“请你用这点钱在他过生日和圣诞节时给他买些东西。如果我买的话，可能会和他母亲买重了。你买的话，他就可以得到不同的礼物，呃，比方说，不会买两辆自行车。”
　　她奇怪地看着我，说，“在山里哪有地方骑自行车啊。”
　　她的愚笨令我有些恼火。“我是说，我不想买他母亲已经买过的东西。要不是听说她给他买过一辆自行车，我可能也会给他买一辆的。”
　　她依然狐疑地盯着我，最后她说道，“我搞不懂。他没有什么母亲。他也没有什么自行车。”
 

1. the Smoky Mountains 雾峰山
2． pumpkin  n． 南瓜
3． the Children＇s Home  孤儿院
4． cut off  分离，隔绝
5． surround   v． 包围
6． bark   v． 吠，咆哮
7． stiff [stif]  adj． 硬的，僵直的
8． get sth． done 把…弄得
9． ax   n． 斧头
10． try doing  试，尝试
11． interfere  with 妨碍，打扰
12． settle down （使）平静下来，安下心来

13． integrity  n． 正直，诚实
14． come up  产生；开始
15． loose   adj． 不牢固的， 松的
16． abandon  v． 抛弃

17． send for 派人去叫
18． other than 除了

19． bother   v． 使恼怒