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As Mrs. Hart turned to answer, she heard Dick’s door close. She spoke softly for a moment before she rejoined her husband in the living-room. There were happy tears in her eyes.
哈特太太去接电话的时候，她听见迪克把门关上了。她轻声地讲了一会电话，然后回到客厅去找她的丈夫。她的眼里含着幸福的泪水。
“Mrs. Attson just called up,” she said gently. “She wanted to thank us. Some one left a Thanksgiving basket at her door today—tonight.Mrs. Hughes, across the road, saw the boy. It was Dickie. Mrs. Attson thought we had sent him with it.”
“艾特森太太刚打电话来，”她温柔地说。“她想感谢我们。今天晚上有人在她家门口放了一个感恩节篮子。艾特森太太看见马路对面有个男孩。是迪克。艾特森太太以为是我们让他送来的。”
Mr. Hart’s eyes widened in surprise. “Great Scott!” he cried. “But—where did the boy get the money?”
哈特先生惊讶地睁大了眼睛。“老天爷！”他哭了。“那孩子从哪儿弄来的钱？”
Mrs. Hart told him, then, of the little hoard Dick had said was “gone.”
哈特太太告诉他，狄克所说的那个小宝藏“不见了”。
“The—little scamp!” Mr. Hart exclaimed.
“小捣蛋鬼！”哈特先生喊道。
Thereafter they sat for a little space, staring into the fire. Then Mr. Hart rose suddenly and went to the telephone in the hall. “Telegraph—office,” he directed the operator.
然后他们坐了一会儿，凝视着炉火。然后哈特先生突然站起来，走到大厅里去打电话。“电报局，”他对接线员说。
When Dick came down to supper, his parents smiled at him knowingly. He looked—and felt—sheepish; and he felt more so when his father said in an offhand manner: “By the way, Dick—thought you might want to have some fun with this snow.So I telegraphed to Chicago just now. They’re to send the best pair of snowshoes in town —by express.They will be here by Saturday.”
迪克下来吃晚饭时，他的父母会意地朝他笑了笑。他看起来有点那为情，这时，他父亲漫不经心地说：“顺便说一句，迪克，我觉得觉得你可能很想开心地玩雪。所以我刚才打电报到芝加哥。他们会快递邮寄城里最好的雪鞋。星期六的时候就能到了。”
Dick looked at his father, and then he looked at his mother. Mr. Hart coughed gruffly. His mother smiled happily through her tears. Dick choked, and grinned; his eyes were glowing—and wet.
迪克看了看父亲，然后又看了看母亲。哈特先生粗暴地咳嗽了一声。他母亲含泪开心地笑了。迪克哽住了嘴，咧嘴一笑；他的眼睛又红又湿。
“Thanks, Dad!” he said.
“谢谢，爸爸！他说。
