最昂貴的聖誕禮物 a trg f be bead (第1/8頁)
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佚名Anonymous
PeteRichardwastheloneliestmanintownonthedayJeanGraceoenedthedoorofhissho。Itsasmallshowhichhadcomedowntohimfromhisgrandfather。Thelittlefrontwindowwasstrewnwithadisarrayofold-fashionedthings:braceletsandlocketswornindaysbeforetheCivilWar，goldringsandsilverboxes，imagesofjadeandivory，orcelainfigurines。Onthiswintersafternoonachildwasstandingthere，herforeheadagainsttheglass，earnestandenormouseyesstudyingeachtreasureasifshewerelookingforsomethingquitesecial。Finallyshestraighteneduwithasatisfiedairandenteredthestore。
TheshadowyinteriorofPeteRichardsestablishmentwasevenmoreclutteredthanhisshowwindow。Shelveswerestackedwithjewelcaskets，duelingistols，clocksandlams，andthefloorwasheaedwithirons，mandolinsandthingshardtofindanamefor。BehindthecounterstoodPetehimself，amannotmorethanthirtybutwithhairalreadyturninggray。Therewasableakairabouthimashelookedatthesmallcustomerwhoflattenedherunglovedhandsonthecounter。
“Mister，”shebegan，“wouldyouleaseletmelookatthestringofbluebeadsinthewindow?”Peteartedthedraeriesandliftedoutanecklace。Theturquoisestonesgleamedbrightlyagainsttheallorofhisalmashesreadtheornamentbeforeher。“Theyrejusterfect，”saidthechild，entirelytoherself。“Willyouwrathemurettyforme，lease?”
Petestudiedherwithastonyair。“Areyoubuyingtheseforsomeone?”“Theyreformybigsister。Shetakescareofme。Yousee，thiswillbethefirstChristmassinceMotherdied。IvebeenlookingforthemostwonderfulChristmasresentformysister。”
“Howmuchmoneydoyouhave?”askedPetewarily。Shehadbeenbusilyuntingtheknotsinahandkerchiefandnowsheouredoutahandfulofenniesonthecounter。“Iemtiedmybank。”sheexlainedsimly。
Petelookedatherthoughtfully。Thenhecarefullydrewbackthenecklace。Thericetagwasvisibletohimbutnottoher。Howcouldhetellher?Thetrustinglookofherblueeyessmotehimliketheainofanoldwound。“Justaminute，”hesaid，andturnedtowardthebackofthestore。Overhisshoulderhecalled，“Whatsyourname?”Hewasverybusyaboutsomething。“JeanGrace。”
WhenPetereturnedtowhereJeanGracewaited，aackagelayinhishand，wraedinscarletaerandtiedwithabowofgreen。“Hereyouare，”hesaidshortly，“Dontloseitonthewayhome。”
Shesmiledhailyoverhershoulderassheranoutofthedoor。Throughthewindowhewatchedhergo，whiledesolationfloodedhisthoughts。SomethingaboutJeanGraceandherstringofbeadshadstirredhimtothedethsofagriefthatwouldnotstayburied。Thechildshairwaswheatyellow，hereyesseablue，andonceuonatime，notlongbefore，Petehadbeeninlovewithagirlwithhairofthatsameyellowandwitheyesjustasblue。Andtheturquoisenecklacewastohavebeenhers。
Buttherehadcomearainynight-atruckskiddingonaslieryroad-andthelifewascrushedoutofhisdream。Sincethen，Petehadlivedtoomuchwithhisgriefinsolitude。Hewasolitelyattentivetocustomers，butafterhourshisworldseemedirrevocablyemty。Hewastryingtoforgetinaself-ityinghazethatdeeeneddaybyday。TheblueeyesofJeanGracejoltedhimintoacuteremembranceofwhathehadlost。Theainofitmadehimrecoilfromtheexuberanceofholidayshoers。Duringthenexttendaystradewasbrisk;chatteringwomenswarmedin，fingeringtrinkets，tryingtobargain。Whenthelastcustomerhadgone，lateonChristmasEve，hesighedwithrelief。Itwasoverforanotheryear。ButforPetethenightwasnotquiteover。
