介绍:
Because he was so small, Stuart was often hard to find around the house. His father and his mother and his brother George seldom could locate him by looking for him--usually they had to call him; and the house often echoed with cries of "Stuart! Stuuu-art!" You would come into a room, and he might be curled up in a chair, but you wouldn't see him. Mr. Little was in constant fear of losing him and never finding him again. He even made him a tiny red cap, such as hunters wear, so that he would be easier to see.
因为斯图亚特太小了，所以很难被从房子里找到。他的父母与哥哥乔治一般很少能一眼看到他——他们就经常喊他；于是房子里就总是响起这些喊声的回声：“斯图亚特！斯图——亚特！”在你进卧室的时候，他可能已经爬上了椅子，而你却看不到他。利特尔先生总担心失去他，再也找不回来。他就给他做了一个小红帽，就像猎人戴的那种，这样他就容易被看见了。
One day when he was seven years old, Stuart was in the kitchen watching his mother make tapioca pudding. He was feeling hungry, and when Mrs. Little opened the door of the electric refrigerator to get something, Stuart slipped inside to see if he could find a piece of cheese. He supposed, of course, his mother had seen him, and when the door swung shut and he realized he was locked in, it surprised him greatly.
一天，已经七岁大的斯图亚特正在厨房里看他的妈妈做芡粉布丁。他感觉很饿，当利特尔太太打开电冰箱门取东西时，斯图亚特便溜进去看是否能找到一点儿干酪。当然，他以为他的妈妈已经看见他了，可当门被关上后他才极度惊恐地发现自己被锁到了里边。
"Help!" he called. "It's dark in here. It's cold in this refrigerator. Help! Let me out! I'm getting colder by the minute."
But his voice was not strong enough to penetrate the thick wall. In the darkness he stumbled and fell into a saucer of prunes. The juice was cold.
Stuart shivered, and his teeth chattered together. It wasn't until half an hour later that Mrs. Little again opened the door and found him standing on a butter plate, beating his arms together to try to keep warm, and blowing on his hands, and hopping up and down.
“救我！”他喊。“这里太黑了。冰箱真冷。救命！让我出去！一分钟内我就会冻僵的。”
但他的声音太微弱了，根本穿不透厚厚的冰箱壁。
他在黑暗中往前摸索着，不小心掉进了干梅果酱里。那里真冷呀。斯图亚特冷得上牙直打下牙。直到半小时后，利特尔太太又打开冰箱门时才发现他站在装奶油的盘子上，不停地拍打着胳膊试图取暖，还在一边上下蹦着，一边往手上呵气。
"Mercy!" she cried. "Stuart, my poor little boy."
"How about a nip of brandy?" said Stuart.
"I'm chilled to the bone."
But his mother made him some hot broth instead, and put him to bed in his cigarette box with a doll's hot-water bottle against his feet. Even so, Stuart caught a bad cold, and this turned into bronchitis, and Stuart had to stay in bed for almost two weeks.
“真可怜！”她叫。“斯图亚特，我可怜的小儿子。”
“给我喝点儿白兰地如何？”斯图亚特说，“我都冷到骨头里了。”
可他的妈妈却给他喝了点肉汤，又把他放到烟盒床上，把一个玩具热水袋放到他的脚上。即便如此，斯图亚特还是得了一场重感冒，然后又转成了支气管炎，使斯图亚特不得不在床上躺了差不多两周。
During his illness, the other members of the family were extremely kind to Stuart. Mrs. Little played tick-tack-toe with him. George made him a soap bubble pipe and a bow and arrow.
Mr. Little made him a pair of ice skates out of two paper clips.
在他得病期间，其他的家庭成员都对他表示了极大的关心。利特尔太太来和他下“tick-tack-toe”棋。乔治给他做了一个吹肥皂泡的小管子，还有一副弓箭。利特尔先生用两只曲别针给他做了一副溜冰鞋。
One cold afternoon Mrs. Little was shaking her dustcloth out of the window when she noticed a small bird lying on the windowsill, apparently dead.
She brought it in and put it near the radiator, and in a short while it fluttered its wings and opened its eyes. It was a pretty little hen-bird, brown, with a streak of yellow on her breast. The Littles didn't agree on what kind of bird she was.
一个寒冷的下午，利特尔太太把她的一块抹布拿到窗外抖的时候，看到窗台上躺着一只就要被冻死的小鸟。她把小鸟捡起来，放到暖气炉边，一会儿它就抖抖翅膀，睁开了眼睛。那是一只很可爱的小雌鸟，它的身子是棕色的，胸部长着黄色的条纹。对于她到底是种什么鸟，利特尔一家人的意见完全不一致。
"She's a wall-eyed vireo," said George, scientifically.
"I think she's more like a young wren," said Mr. Little. Anyway, they fixed a place for her in the living room, and fed her, and gave her a cup of water. Soon she felt much better and went hopping around the house, examining everything with the greatest care and interest. Presently she hopped upstairs and into Stuart's room where he was lying in bed.
“她是大眼威瑞，”乔治很科学地说。
“我认为她更像一只小鹪鹩，”利特尔先生说。
不管她是什么鸟，他们还是把她带到起居室里，喂她吃食，给她喝水。不久，她感觉好多了，就开始在房子里谨慎而又好奇的到处蹦。不一会儿，她就蹦上楼梯，来到斯图亚特的卧室。
"Hello," said Stuart. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"
"My name is Margalo," said the bird, softly, in a musical voice. "I come from fields once tall with wheat, from pastures deep in fern and thistle; I come from vales of meadowsweet, and I love to whistle."
Stuart sat bolt upright in bed. "Say that again!" he said.
"I can't," replied Margalo. "I have a sore throat."
"So have I," said Stuart. "I've got bronchitis. You better not get too near me, you might catch it."
“你好，”斯图亚特说。“你是谁？你从哪儿来？”
“我是玛戈，”小鸟用甜美的嗓音轻柔地说，“我从长着高高的麦子的田野来，我从长满大蓟和羊齿植物的草场那里来，我从长满绣线菊的山谷来，我喜欢吹口哨。” 斯图亚特一下子就坐了起来。“再说一遍！”他说。
“不行，”玛戈回答。“我嗓子疼。”
“我也是，”斯图亚特说。“我得了支气管炎。你最好别离我太近，容易被传染的。”
"I'll stay right here by the door," said Margalo.
"You can use some of my gargle if you want to," said Stuart. "And here are some nose drops, and I have plenty of Kleenex."
"Thank you very much, you are very kind," replied the bird.
"Did they take your temperature?" asked Stuart, who was beginning to be genuinely worried about his new friend's health.
"No," said Margalo, "but I don't think it will be necessary."
“那么我站到门口好了，”玛戈说。
“如果愿意你可以用点儿我的漱口水，”斯图亚特说。“这里有滴鼻净，还有足够多的‘克里内克丝’牌面巾纸”。
“非常感谢，你真是太好心了，”小鸟回答。
“他们给你量体温了吗？”斯图亚特说着，开始从心底里为新朋友的健康担心起来。“没有，”玛戈说，“我想那没必要。”
"Well, we better make sure," said Stuart, "because I would hate to have anything happen to you. Here. ..." And he tossed her the thermometer. Margalo put it under her tongue, and she and Stuart sat very still for three minutes. Then she took it out and looked at it, turning it slowly and carefully.
"Normal," she announced. Stuart felt his heart leap for gladness. It seemed to him that he had never seen any creature so beautiful as this tiny bird, and he already loved her.
"I hope," he remarked, "that my parents have fixed you up with a decent place to sleep."
"Oh, yes," Margalo replied. "I'm going to sleep in the Boston fern on the bookshelf in the living room. It's a nice place, for a city location. And now, if you'll excuse me, I think I shall go to bed--I see it's getting dark outside. I always go to bed at sundown. Good night, sir!"
"Please don't call me "sir,"" cried Stuart. "Call me Stuart."
"Very well," said the bird. "Good night, Stuart!" And she hopped off, with light, bouncing steps.
"Good night, Margalo," called Stuart.
"See you in the morning."
Stuart settled back under the bedclothes again.
"There's a mighty fine bird," he whispered, and sighed a tender sigh.
When Mrs. Little came in, later, to tuck Stuart in for the night and hear his prayers, Stuart asked her if she thought the bird would be quite safe sleeping down in the living room.
"Quite safe, my dear," replied Mrs. Little.
"What about that cat Snowbell?" asked Stuart, sternly.
"Snowbell won't touch the bird," his mother said. "You go to sleep and forget all about it."
Mrs. Little opened the window and turned out the light.
Stuart closed his eyes and lay there in the dark, but he couldn't seem to go to sleep. He tossed and turned, and the bedclothes got all rumpled up.
He kept thinking about the bird downstairs asleep in the fern. He kept thinking about Snowbell and about the way Snowbell's eyes gleamed. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, he switched on the light. "There's just something in me that doesn't trust a cat," he muttered. "I can't sleep, knowing that Margalo is in danger."
Pushing the covers back, Stuart climbed out of bed. He put on his wrapper and slippers.
Taking his bow and arrow and his flashlight, he tiptoed out into the hall. Everybody had gone to bed and the house was dark. Stuart found his way to the stairs and descended slowly and cautiously into the living room, making no noise.
His throat hurt him, and he felt a little bit dizzy.
"Sick as I am," he said to himself, "this has got to be done."
Being careful not to make a sound, he stole across to the lamp by the bookshelf, shinnied up the cord, and climbed out onto the shelf. There was a faint ray of light from the street lamp outside, and Stuart could dimly see Margalo, asleep in the fern, her head tucked under her wing.
"Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast," he whispered, repeating a speech he had heard in the movies. Then he hid behind a candlestick and waited, listening and watching. For half an hour he saw nothing, heard nothing but the faint ruffle of Margalo's wings when she stirred in a dream. The clock struck ten, loudly, and before the sound of the last stroke had died away Stuart saw two gleaming yellow eyes peering out from behind the sofa.
"So!" thought Stuart. "I guess there's going to be something doing after all." He reached for his bow and arrow.
The eyes came nearer. Stuart was frightened, but he was a brave mouse, even when he had a sore throat. He placed the arrow against the cord of the bow and waited. Snowbell crept softly toward the bookshelf and climbed noiselessly up into the chair within easy reach of the Boston fern where Margalo was asleep. Then he crouched, ready to spring. His tail waved back and forth. His eyes gleamed bright. Stuart decided the time had come. He stepped out from behind the candlestick, knelt down, bent his bow, and took careful aim at Snowbell's left ear--which was the nearest to him.
"This is the finest thing I have ever done," thought Stuart. And he shot the arrow straight into the cat's ear.
Snowbell squealed with pain and jumped down and ran off toward the kitchen.
"A direct hit!" said Stuart. "Thank heaven! Well, there's a good night's work done."
And he threw a kiss toward Margalo's sleeping form.
It was a tired little mouse that crawled into bed a few minutes later--tired but ready for sleep at last.
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