jrt.fellowshipofring-第40部分

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as　the　wind　stirred　it。　Up　from　the　dark　plain　below　came　the　crying　of　fell　voices；　and　the　howling　of　many　wolves。　Suddenly　a　shadow；　like　the　shape　of　great　wings；　passed　across　the　moon。　The　figure　lifted　his　arms　and　a　light　flashed　from　the　staff　that　he　wielded。　A　mighty　eagle　swept　down　and　bore　him　away。　The　voices　wailed　and　the　wolves　yammered。　There　was　a　noise　like　a　strong　wind　blowing；　and　on　it　was　borne　the　sound　of　hoofs；　galloping；　galloping；　galloping　from　the　East。　'Black　Riders！'　thought　Frodo　as　he　wakened；　with　the　sound　of　the　hoofs　still　echoing　in　his　mind。　He　wondered　if　he　would　ever　again　have　the　courage　to　leave　the　safety　of　these　stone　walls。　He　lay　motionless；　still　listening；　but　all　was　now　silent；　and　at　last　he　turned　and　fell　asleep　again　or　wandered　into　some　other　unremembered　dream。
　　　At　his　side　Pippin　lay　dreaming　pleasantly；　but　a　change　came　over　his　dreams　and　he　turned　and　groaned。　Suddenly　he　woke；　or　thought　he　had　waked；　and　yet　still　heard　in　the　darkness　the　sound　that　had　disturbed　his　dream：　tip…tap；　squeak：　the　noise　was　like　branches　fretting　in　the　wind；　twig…fingers　scraping　wall　and　window：　creak；　creak；　creak。　He　wondered　if　there　were　willow…trees　close　to　the　house；　and　then　suddenly　he　had　a　dreadful　feeling　that　he　was　not　in　an　ordinary　house　at　all；　but　inside　the　willow　and　listening　to　that　horrible　dry　creaking　voice　laughing　at　him　again。　He　sat　up；　and　felt　the　soft　pillows　yield　to　his　hands；　and　he　lay　down　again　relieved。　He　seemed　to　hear　the　echo　of　words　in　his　ears：　'Fear　nothing！　Have　peace　until　the　morning！　Heed　no　nightly　noises！'　Then　he　went　to　sleep　again。
　　　It　was　the　sound　of　water　that　Merry　heard　falling　into　his　quiet　sleep：　water　streaming　down　gently；　and　then　spreading；　spreading　irresistibly　all　round　the　house　into　a　dark　shoreless　pool。　It　gurgled　under　the　walls；　and　was　rising　slowly　but　surely。　'I　shall　be　drowned！'　he　thought。　It　will　find　its　way　in；　and　then　I　shall　drown。'　He　felt　that　he　was　lying　in　a　soft　slimy　bog；　and　springing　up　he　set　his　fool　on　the　corner　of　a　cold　hard　flagstone。　Then　he　remembered　where　he　was　and　lay　down　again。　He　seemed　to　hear　or　remember　hearing：　'Nothing　passes　doors　or　windows　save　moonlight　and　starlight　and　the　wind　off　the　hill…top。'　A　little　breath　of　sweet　air　moved　the　curtain。　He　breathed　deep　and　fell　asleep　again。
　　　As　far　as　he　could　remember；　Sam　slept　through　the　night　in　deep　content；　if　logs　are　contented。
　　　They　woke　up；　all　four　at　once；　in　the　morning　light。　Tom　was　moving　about　the　room　whistling　like　a　starling。　When　he　heard　them　stir　he　clapped　his　hands；　and　cried：　'Hey！　e　merry　dol！　derry　dol！　My　hearties！'　He　drew　back　the　yellow　curtains；　and　the　hobbits　saw　that　these　had　covered　the　windows；　at　either　end　of　the　room；　one　looking　east　and　the　other　looking　west。
　　　They　leapt　up　refreshed。　Frodo　ran　to　the　eastern　window；　and　found　himself　looking　into　a　kitchen…garden　grey　with　dew。　He　had　half　expected　to　see　turf　right　up　to　the　walls；　turf　all　pocked　with　hoof…prints。　Actually　his　view　was　screened　by　a　tall　line　of　beans　on　poles；　but　above　and　far　beyond　them　the　grey　top　of　the　hill　loomed　up　against　the　sunrise。　It　was　a　pale　morning：　in　the　East；　behind　long　clouds　like　lines　of　soiled　wool　stained　red　at　the　edges；　lay　glimmering　deeps　of　yellow。　The　sky　spoke　of　rain　to　e；　but　the　light　was　broadening　quickly；　and　the　red　flowers　on　the　beans　began　to　glow　against　the　wet　green　leaves。
　　　Pippin　looked　out　of　the　western　window；　down　into　a　pool　of　mist。　The　Forest　was　hidden　under　a　fog。　It　was　like　looking　down　on　to　a　sloping　cloud…roof　from　above。　There　was　a　fold　or　channel　where　the　mist　was　broken　into　many　plumes　and　billows；　the　valley　of　the　Withywindle。　The　stream　ran　down　the　hill　on　the　left　and　vanished　into　the　white　shadows。　Near　at　hand　was　a　flower…garden　and　a　clipped　hedge　silver…netted；　and　beyond　that　grey　shaven　grass　pale　with　dew…drops。　There　was　no　willow…tree　to　be　seen。
　　　'Good　morning；　merry　friends！'　cried　Tom；　opening　the　eastern　window　wide。　A　cool　air　flowed　in；　it　had　a　rainy　smell。　'Sun　won't　show　her　face　much　today。　I'm　thinking。　I　have　been　walking　wide；　leaping　on　the　hilltops；　since　the　grey　dawn　began；　nosing　wind　and　weather；　wet　grass　underfoot；　wet　sky　above　me。　I　wakened　Goldberry　singing　under　window；　but　nought　wakes　hobbit…folk　in　the　early　morning。　In　the　night　little　folk　wake　up　in　the　darkness；　and　sleep　after　light　has　e！　Ring　a　ding　dillo！　Wake　now；　my　merry　friends！　Forget　the　nightly　noises！　Ring　a　ding　dillo　del！　derry　del；　my　hearties！　If　you　e　soon　you'll　find　breakfast　on　the　table。　If　you　e　late　you'll　get　grass　and　rain…water！'
　　　Needless　to　say　…　not　that　Tom's　threat　sounded　very　serious　…　the　hobbits　came　soon；　and　left　the　table　late　and　only　when　it　was　beginning　lo　look　rather　empty。　Neither　Tom　nor　Goldberry　were　there。　Tom　could　be　heard　about　the　house；　clattering　in　the　kitchen；　and　up　and　down　the　stairs；　and　singing　here　and　there　outside。　The　room　looked　westward　over　the　mist…clouded　valley；　and　the　window　was　open。　Water　dripped　down　from　the　thatched　eaves　above。　Before　they　had　finished　breakfast　the　clouds　had　joined　into　an　unbroken　roof；　and　a　straight　grey　rain　came　softly　and　steadily　down。　Behind　its　deep　curtain　the　Forest　was　pletely　veiled。
　　　As　they　looked　out　of　the　window　there　came　falling　gently　as　if　it　was　flowing　down　the　rain　out　of　the　sky；　the　clear　voice　of　Goldberry　singing　up　above　them。　They　could　hear　few　words；　but　it　seemed　plain　to　them　that　the　song　was　a　rain…song；　as　sweet　as　showers　on　dry　hills；　that　told　the　tale　of　a　river　from　the　spring　in　the　highlands　to　the　Sea　far　below。　The　hobbits　listened　with　delight；　and　Frodo　was　glad　in　his　heart；　and　blessed　the　kindly　weather；　because　it　delayed　them　from　departing。　The　thought　of　going　had　been　heavy　upon　him　from　the　moment　he　awoke；　but　he　guessed　now　that　they　would　not　go　further　that　day。
　　　The　upper　wind　settled　in　the　West　and　deeper　and　wetter　clouds　rolled　up　to　spill　their　laden　rain　on　the　bare　heads　of　the　Downs。　Nothing　could　be　seen　all　round　the　house　but　falling　water。　Frodo　stood　near　the　open　door　and　watched　the　white　chalky　path　turn　into　a　little　river　of　milk　and　go　bubbling　away　down　into　the　valley。　Tom　Bombadil　came　trotting　round　the　corner　of　the　house；　waving　his　arms　as　if　he　was　warding　off　the　rain　…　and　indeed　when　he　sprang　over　the　threshold　he　seemed　quite　dry；　except　for　his　boots。　These　he　took　off　and　put　in　the　chimney…corner。　Then　he　sat　in　the　largest　chair　and　called　the　hobbits　to　gather　round　him。
　　　'This　is　Goldberry's　washing　day；'　he　said；　'and　her　autumn…cleaning。　Too　wet　for　hobbit…folk　…　let　them　rest　while　they　are　able！　It's　a　good　day　for　long　tales；　for　questions　and　for　answers；　so　Tom　will　start　the　talking。'
　　　He　then　told　them　many　remarkable　stories；　sometimes　half　as　if　speaking　to　himself；　sometimes　looking　at　them　suddenly　with　a　bright　blue　eye　under　his　deep　brows。　Often　his　voice　would　turn　to　song；　and　he　would　get　out　of　his　chair　and　dance　about。　He　told　them　tales　of　bees　and　flowers；　the　ways　of　trees；　and　the　strange　creatures　of　the　Forest；　about　the　evil　things　and　good　things；　things　friendly　and　things　unfriendly；　cruel　things　and　kind　things；　and　secrets　hidden　under　brambles。
　　　As　they　listened；　they　began　to　understand　the　lives　of　the　Forest；　apart　from　themselves；　indeed　to　feel　themselves　as　the　strangers　where　all　other　things　were　at　home。　Moving　constantly　in　and　out　of　his　talk　was　Old　Man　Willow；　and　Frodo　learned　now　enough　to　content　him；　indeed　more　than　enough；　for　it　was　not　fortable　lore。　Tom's　words　laid　bare　the　hearts　of　trees　and　their　thoughts；　which　were　often　dark　and　strange；　and　filled　with　a　hatred　of　things　that　go　free　upon　the　earth；　gnawing；　biting；　breaking；　hacking；　burning：　destroyers　and　usurpers。　It　was　not　called　the　Old　Forest　without　reason；　for　it　was　indeed　ancient；　a　survivor　of　vast　forgotten　woods；　and　in　it　there　lived　yet；　ageing　no　quicker　than　the　hills；　the　fathers　of　the　fathers　of　trees；　remembering　times　when　they　were　lords。　The　countless　years　had