每个月的第一个星期三真的都是糟糕透顶——一个在忧虑中等待，勇敢地忍耐后，忙一忙就又忘记的日子。每层地板都不可以有半点污渍（读作[wū zì]，附着在物体上的油泥等），每张椅子都纤尘不染，每条床单都不可以有半条皱痕。97个动来动去的小孤儿都被梳洗妥当后，穿上刚熨（这里读作[yùn]，用烙铁或熨斗烫平）得硬挺的格子衫，并且被一再嘱咐要注意自己的礼貌。只要董事们一问话，就要说：“是的，先生。不是的，先生（描述了乔若莎在星期三是如何忙碌，反映了孤儿院生活的单调和乏味）。”
这真是个痛苦的时刻，可怜的乔若莎·亚伯特，身为最年长的孤儿，首当其冲（指最先受攻击或遭遇灾难）需要承受这痛苦。
不过，这个特别的第一个星期三，跟往常一样，终于也到了尾声。乔若莎逃出了厨房，她刚在那里为访客做了三明治，转到楼上完成她每天的例行工作。她特别关心F号房，那儿有着4 岁到7 岁不等的 11 个小孩，房里11张小床排成一列。乔若莎把他们都叫来，把衣服拉直，鼻涕抹干净后，就让他们排成整齐快乐的一列往餐室前进，享受他们有牛奶、面包跟布丁的感恩的半小时。
乔若莎坐在窗台上，太阳穴靠着冰冷的玻璃。从早晨5点起，她就忙个不停，执行每个人的命令，不时被神经兮兮的女监事（某些公司、学校、团体的监督机构的成员）臭骂、催促着。李皮太太在私底下可不是像她面对董事们跟来访的女士时表现得那样：冷静并带着自负的庄严。乔若莎往外望向枯草皮延展过去的那块地，望向孤儿院的铁篱笆外，望向波浪般绵延起伏的山脊，再望向秃树间螺旋排列上升的村庄（看似写景，实则抒情，表现了乔若莎对未来的美好期待）。
这天，据乔若莎所知，应该算是圆满落幕了。董事们与参访团已经绕过一巡，听过简报，喝过茶，现在正要赶回他们温暖的炉火边了，好忘记他们每个月麻烦的小义务。乔若莎倾身向前，好奇地看着，马车与汽车的车流穿过孤儿院的大门，心里不禁充满一阵渴望。 幻想中，她跟着一辆车子，回到坐落在山边的大房子。她想象自己裹着一件貂皮大衣，戴着天鹅绒帽子，背靠在椅背上，淡淡地向司机说：“回家。”不过一到她家门口，整个想象就变得模糊起来（表现了一个孤儿的内心深处对家的向往）。
乔若莎有个幻想——李皮太太说要是不小心点，她便会惹上麻烦的幻想。尽管这幻想是这样的深切，却仍无法带领她走进那扇她渴望进入的大门。贫穷、热切又富有冒险精神的乔若莎，在17年来，从未踏入一个普通的家庭。她无法想象，其他没有孤儿干扰的人类的日常生活会是怎样的。
乔——若——莎·亚——伯——特
有人要——你
去办公室，
我想
你最好动作快一点！
汤米·迪伦刚加入唱诗班，他越靠近F号房，歌声就越大。乔若莎将自己从窗外拉回来，好面对生活里的麻烦事。
“是谁叫我？”她焦虑的声音打断了汤米的歌声。
李皮太太在办公室，
我觉得她好像火气很大，
阿——门！
汤米很虔诚（读作[qián chénɡ]，恭敬而有诚意，多指宗教信仰）地吟诵着，不过他的腔调不完全是那么幸灾乐祸。就算是这心肠最硬的小孤儿，对一个做错事的姐姐被叫去要见那个讨厌的女监事时，也是感到相当同情的。况且汤米挺喜欢乔若莎的，虽然她有时候太用力地拉他，而且快把他的鼻子给擦掉了！
乔若莎二话不说就去了，不过脑子闪过一些念头，会是哪里出状况了？是三明治切得不够薄？还是有蛋壳掉在杏仁蛋糕里？是哪个来访的女士看到苏西·华生袜子上的破洞？还是——哎，糟糕！——哪个F号房里的天真的小宝贝把调味酱打翻在董事身上（心理描写，反映了乔若莎复杂的心情）？
又长又低矮的大厅已经关了灯，当乔若莎下楼时，最后一个董事站在那儿，正要离开。在通往门廊的门边，她只看了一眼这个人，感觉他好高好高。他正朝弯道上等的一辆车挥手，当它靠近时，大灯把他的影子投在里面的墙上，影子上手脚显得很长。他看起来真像个超大号摇来晃去的长腿叔叔。
乔若莎紧锁的眉头很快地舒展开了，她轻松地笑了笑。她是个天性乐观的人，一有机会就不忘放松一下。假如能化压迫为娱乐，这样也算是件好事吧。因为这段小插曲，让她在进办公室去见李皮太太时，脸上还挂着一丝笑意。令人惊讶的是，女监事也在对她笑，就算不是真的在笑，至少也还算和蔼（读作[hé ǎi]，态度温和，容易接近）。她表现得就像她在接待访客一样愉悦（女监事的表现让乔若莎出乎意料，预示着等待乔若莎的是一件好事）。
“乔若莎，坐下，我有些话要跟你说。”乔若莎跌坐到最近的一张椅子里，屏息以待。汽车的大灯照过窗户，李皮太太望着它。
“你注意到刚走的那位先生了吗？”
“我看到了他的背影。”
“他是我们最富有的董事之一，也捐了很多钱帮助我们。我不能说他的名字，他很明确地要求我不要透露他的姓名（匿名的董事由此成为整部小说的一个悬念）。”
乔若莎的双眼慢慢张大了，她不太习惯被女监事叫来办公室，讨论董事们的怪癖（读作[pǐ]，癖好或嗜好）。
“这位先生已经关照过好几个男孩子了。你记得查理·班顿跟亨利·傅理兹吧？他们都被这位——呃——先生——这位董事，送到大学去读书，并以辛勤的工作与努力赚钱来回报他慷慨花的钱。他从不要求其他的回报。到目前为止，他的仁慈仅限于对男孩子。我从未能让他对本机构的女孩们产生一丁点儿的兴趣，不论是多么优秀的。我可以这样说，他一点儿也不在乎女孩子。”
“是的，女士。”乔若莎喃喃（读作[nán nán]，连续不断地小声说话）答道，此刻似乎应该要答点什么。
“今天的例会里，你的未来被提出来讨论了。”
李皮太太在此停顿了一会儿，然后以一种缓慢而安静的语调说下去，让她的听众感到神经紧绷（读作[jǐn bēnɡ]，这里形容心情很紧张），非常痛苦。
“通常，你知道的，孩子们过了16岁就不能留下来了，不过你算是个特例。你14岁就从中学毕业了，而且表现良好——我必须说，也没有一直都很好啦。由于你的表现，我们就决定让你继续读高中。现在你也毕业了，我们不能再负担你的生活了。就这样，你已经比其他人多享受了两年。”
李皮太太无视于乔若莎这两年为了她的食宿，已经工作得很卖力了。永远都是把孤儿院排第一，功课排第二。像今天这种日子她就得留在孤儿院帮忙。
“就像我刚才说的，你的未来跟你的记录被提出来讨论——彻彻底底地讨论了一番。”
李皮太太用一种指责的眼光盯着乔若莎，而乔若莎表现出一副罪恶感的样子，不是因为她真的记得做过什么坏事，而是她好像应该就要这样。
“当然啦，对你来说，应该讨论你该去哪儿工作好，不过你在学校里，某些科目表现得很突出，你的英文写作表现得很好。你们学校的董事普里查小姐正好在参访团里。她跟你的作文老师谈过，为你说了一番好话。她也朗读了你的一篇作文——名叫《忧郁的星期三》。”
乔若莎这时的负罪感，决不是装出来的了。
“听起来，你嘲笑这个把你养大，为你做了这么多的孤儿院，没有表示出一点儿感激，我不知道你是不是有意嘲弄，我也不知道你会不会被原谅。不过，幸亏先生——就是刚走的那位，显得很有幽默感。就因为那篇不中肯的文章，他愿意让你去念大学。”
“去念大学？”乔若莎睁大眼睛。李皮太太点了点头。
“他跟我谈了确切的时间。董事们都很奇怪。这位先生，我敢这么说，更是古怪。他相信你有天分，他希望把你塑造成一个作家。”
“作家？”乔若莎都蒙了，只能呆呆地重复李皮太太说的话（表现了乔若莎的惊讶）。
“那只是他的希望。不管会变成怎样，以后自然会知道。他会给你足够的零用钱，对一个从没理过财的女孩子来说，真是太大方了。不过这些琐事（读作[suǒ shì]，细小零碎的事情）他都打理好了，不容我插手。你这个夏天都会留在这里，好心的普查德小姐会负责替你打理所有的行李。你的食宿费与学费都会直接付给学校，在那儿的4 年里，你每个月还有35元的零用钱。这让你可以跟其他学生平起平坐。这些钱每个月都会由这位先生的私人秘书寄给你，相应地，你每个月也要回封信表示一下。他并不是要你为零用钱向他道谢，他并不在意这个，不过你要写信告诉他求学的过程跟生活的细节，就像写给你的父母一样，如果他们还在世的话（写信的要求成为整部小说的引子）。
“这些信的收信人写约翰·史密斯先生，这样就会送到他秘书的手上了。这位先生的名字当然不是约翰·史密斯，不过他希望当个无名氏。对你而言，他将只是约翰·史密斯先生。他要求你写信的原因是他认为没有什么比写信更能培养写作技巧的了。由于你没有家人可联络，他才希望你写这样的信给他，另一方面他也想随时知道你的学习状况。他决不会回你的信，也不会特别注意这些信。他很讨厌写信，也不想你变成他的负担。如果有任何紧急事件需要回复——比如你要被退学啦，我相信这应该不会发生——你可以跟他的秘书格利兹先生联络。每个月写信是你绝对要遵守的义务，这也是这位先生唯一的要求，所以你一定要一丝不苟地写信，就当作你在付账单一样。我希望这些信都是以尊敬的语气来写的，并且要表现出你的写作天赋来。你一定要记得你是在写信给约翰·格利尔之家的某位董事。”
乔若莎的眼睛热切地往门口张望。她的脑子兴奋得乱成一团，她只想快点从老生常谈（原指老书生的平凡议论，今指很平常的老话）的李皮太太身边逃开，好好来思考一下。她站起来，尝试着向后退了一步。
李皮太太做了个手势要她留下，这是不容错过的演讲的大好机会。
“我相信你一定很珍惜这个从天而降的好运是吧，世上没有几个像你这种出身的女孩子能有这种好运。你一定要记得——”
“我会的，女士。谢谢您。我想如果没其他事的话，我得去帮弗莱迪·柏金斯的裤子补补丁了。”
乔若莎关起门，李皮太太盯着门板，下巴都快掉下来了，她的演讲被迫中断了。
阅读点拨
本章是小说的开头，交代了整个故事的背景，包括主人公乔若莎的身世和生活环境，长腿叔叔的身份以及对乔若莎的资助情况和要求。在这里，作者塑造了一个从小生活在孤儿院，有着勇敢、直率性格且向往美好生活，却过着单调乏味日子的女孩。可以说，乔若莎的性格和出身为整部小说的发展做了重要铺垫。另外，长腿叔叔的出现让乔若莎的生活有了转机，这一巧妙的安排起到了引出整个故事的作用。在本章中人物对话和心理描写都十分生动形象，将乔若莎、李皮太太等人的形象刻画得十分到位。
Blue Wednesday
The first Wednesday in every month was a Perfectly Awful Day—a day to be awaited with dread, endured with courage and forgotten with haste. Every floor must be spotless, every chair dustless, and every bed without a wrinkle. Ninety-seven squirming little orphans must be scrubbed and combed and buttoned into freshly starched ginghams; and all ninety-seven reminded of their manners, and told to say,“Yes, sir.”“No, sir.”whenever a trustee spoke.
It was a distressing time; and poor Jerusha Abbott, being the oldest orphan, had to bear the brunt of it.
But this particular first Wednesday, like its predecessors, finally dragged itself to a close. Jerusha escaped from the pantry where she had been making sandwiches for the asylum’s guests, and turned upstairs to accomplish her regular work. Her special care was room F, where eleven little tots, from four to seven, occupied eleven little cots set in a row. Jerusha assembled her charges, straightened their rumpled frocks, wiped their noses, and started them in an orderly and willing line towards the dining-room to engage themselves for a blessed half hour with bread and milk and prune pudding.
Then she dropped down on the window seat and leaned throbbing temples against the cool glass. She had been on her feet since five that morning, doing everybody’s bidding, scolded and hurried by a nervous matron. Mrs. Lippett, behind the scenes, did not always maintain that calm and pompous dignity with which she faced an audience of Trustees and lady visitors. Jerusha gazed out across a broad stretch of frozen lawn, beyond the tall iron paling that marked the confines of the asylum, down undulating ridges sprinkled with country estates, to the spires of the village rising from the midst of bare trees.
The day was ended—quite successfully, so far as she knew. The Trustees and the visiting committee had made their rounds, and read their reports, and drunk their tea, and now were hurrying home to their own cheerful firesides, to forget their bothersome little charges for another month. Jerusha leaned forward watching with curiosity-and a touch of wistfulness—the stream of carriages and automobiles that rolled out of the asylum gates. In imagination she followed first one equipage, then another, to the big houses dotted along the hillside. She pictured herself in a fur coat and a velvet hat trimmed with feathers leaning back in the seat and nonchalantly murmuring“Home”to the driver. But on the door-sill of her home the picture grew blurred.
Jerusha had an imagination—an imagination, Mrs. Lippett told her, that would get her into trouble if she didn’t take care—but keen as it was, it could not carry her beyond the front porch of the houses she would enter. Poor, eager, adventurous little Jerusha, in all her seventeen years, had never stepped inside an ordinary house; she could not picture the daily routine of those other human beings who carried on their lives undiscommoded by orphans.
Je—ru—sha Ab—bott
You are wan—ted
In the of—fice,
And I think you’d
Better hurry up!
Tommy Dillon, who had joined the choir, came singing up the stairs and down the corridor, his chant growing louder as he approached room F. Jerusha wrenched herself from the window and refaced the troubles of life.
“Who wants me?”she cut into Tommy’s chant with a note of sharp anxiety.
Mrs. Lippett in the office,
And I think she’s mad.
Ah—a—men!
Tommy piously intoned, but his accent was not entirely malicious. Even the most hardened little orphan felt sympathy for an erring sister who was summoned to the office to face an annoyed matron; and Tommy liked Jerusha even if she did sometimes jerk him by the arm and nearly scrub his nose off.
Jerusha went without comment, but with two parallel lines on her brow. What could have gone wrong, she wondered. Were the sandwiches not thin enough? Were there shells in the nut cakes? Had a lady visitor seen the hole in Susie Hawthorn’s stocking? Had—O horrors! —one of the cherubic little babes in her own room F“sauced”a Trustee?
The long lower hall had not been lighted, and as she came downstairs, a last Trustee stood, on the point of departure, in the open door that led to the porte-cochere. Jerusha caught only a fleeting impression of the man-and the impression consisted entirely of tallness. He was waving his arm towards an automobile waiting in the curved drive. As it sprang into motion and approached, head on for an instant, the glaring headlights threw his shadow sharply against the wall inside. The shadow pictured grotesquely elongated legs and arms that ran along the floor and up the wall of the corridor. It looked, for all the world, like a huge, wavering daddy-long-legs.
Jerusha’s anxious frown gave place to quick laughter. She was by nature a sunny soul, and had always snatched the tiniest excuse to be amused. If one could derive any sort of entertainment out of the oppressive fact of a Trustee, it was something unexpected to the good. She advanced to the office quite cheered by the tiny episode, and presented a smiling face to Mrs. Lippett. To her surprise the matron was also, if not exactly smiling, at least appreciably affable; she wore an expression almost as pleasant as the one she donned for visitors.
“Sit down, Jerusha, I have something to say to you.”Jerusha dropped into the nearest chair and waited with a touch of breathlessness. An automobile flashed past the window; Mrs. Lippett glanced after it.
“Did you notice the gentleman who has just gone?”
“I saw his back.”
“He is one of our most affluential Trustees, and has given large sums of money towards the asylum’s support. I am not at liberty to mention his name; he expressly stipulated that he was to remain unknown.”
Jerusha’s eyes widened slightly; she was not accustomed to being summoned to the office to discuss the eccentricities of Trustees with the matron.
“This gentleman has taken an interest in several of our boys. You remember Charles Benton and Henry Freize? They were both sent through college by Mr. —er—this Trustee, and both have repaid with hard work and success the money that was so generously expended. Other payment the gentleman does not wish. Heretofore his philanthropies have been directed solely towards the boys; I have never been able to interest him in the slightest degree in any of the girls in the institution, no matter how deserving. He does not, I may tell you, care for girls.”
“No, ma’am.”Jerusha murmured, since some reply seemed to be expected at this point.
“Today at the regular meeting, the question of your future was brought up.”
Mrs. Lippett allowed a moment of silence to fall, then resumed in a slow, placid manner extremely trying to her hearer’s suddenly tightened nerves.
“Usually, as you know, the children are not kept after they are sixteen, but an exception was made in your case. You had finished our school at fourteen, and having done so well in your studies—not always, I must say, in your conduct—it was determined to let you go on in the village high school. Now you are finishing that, and of course the asylum cannot be responsible any longer for your support. As it is, you have had two years more than most.”
Mrs. Lippett overlooked the fact that Jerusha had worked hard for her board during those two years, that the convenience of the asylum had come first and her education second; that on days like the present she was kept at home to scrub.
“As I say, the question of your future was brought up and your record was discussed —thoroughly discussed.”
Mrs. Lippett brought accusing eyes to bear upon the prisoner in the dock, and the prisoner looked guilty because it seemed to be expected-not because she could remember any strikingly black pages in her record.
“Of course the usual disposition of one in your place would be to put you in a position where you could begin to work, but you have done well in school in certain branches; it seems that your work in English has even been brilliant. Miss Pritchard, who is on our visiting committee, is also on the school board; she has been talking with your rhetoric teacher, and made a speech in your favour. She also read aloud an essay that you had written entitled,‘Blue Wednesday’.”
Jerusha’s guilty expression this time was not assumed.
“It seemed to me that you showed little gratitude in holding up to ridicule the institution that has done so much for you. Had you not managed to be funny I doubt if you would have been forgiven. But fortunately for you, Mr. —, that is, the gentleman who has just gone-appears to have an immoderate sense of humour. On the strength of that impertinent paper, he has offered to send you to college.”
“To college?”Jerusha’s eyes grew big. Mrs. Lippett nodded.
“He waited to discuss the terms with me. They are unusual. The gentleman, I may say, is erratic. He believes that you have originality, and he is planning to educate you to become a writer.”
“A writer?”Jerusha’s mind was numbed. She could only repeat Mrs. Lippett’s words.
“That is his wish. Whether anything will come of it, the future will show. He is giving you a very liberal allowance, almost, for a girl who has never had any experience in taking care of money, too liberal. But he planned the matter in detail, and I did not feel free to make any suggestions. You are to remain here through the summer, and Miss Pritchard has kindly offered to superintend your outfit. Your board and tuition will be paid directly to the college, and you will receive in addition during the four years you are there, an allowance of thirty-five dollars a month. This will enable you to enter on the same standing as the other students. The money will be sent to you by the gentleman’s private secretary once a month, and in return, you will write a letter of acknowledgment once a month. That is—you are not to thank him for the money; he doesn’t care to have that mentioned, but you are to write a letter telling of the progress in your studies and the details of your daily life. Just such a letter as you would write to your parents if they were living.
“These letters will be addressed to Mr. John Smith and will be sent in care of the secretary. The gentleman’s name is not John Smith, but he prefers to remain unknown. To you he will never be anything but John Smith. His reason in requiring the letters is that he thinks nothing so fosters facility in literary expression as letter-writing. Since you have no family with whom to correspond, he desires you to write in this way; also, he wishes to keep track of your progress. He will never answer your letters, nor in the slightest particular take any notice of them. He detests letter-writing and does not wish you to become a burden.If any point should ever arise where an answer would seem to be imperative—such as in the event of your being expelled, which I trust will not occur-you may correspond with Mr. Griggs, his secretary. These monthly letters are absolutely obligatory on your part; they are the only payment that Mr. Smith requires, so you must be as punctilious in sending them as though it were a bill that you were paying. I hope that they will always be respectful in tone and will reflect credit on your training. You must remember that you are writing to a Trustee of the John Grier Home.”
Jerusha’s eyes longingly sought the door. Her head was in a whirl of excitement, and she wished only to escape from Mrs. Lippett’s platitudes and think. She rose and took a tentativ
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