11.Then she sings an old lullaby，the song of her mother，her mother sang it to her；but she does not sing it through，and falters ere it is done.She rests her head upon her hands，and is silent in the old kitchen.Something glitters down between her fingers in the firelight，and it looks like rain in the soft sunshine.The old grandmother is thinking when she first heard the song，and of the voices that sang it，when，a light-haired and light-hearted girl，she hung round that mother’s chair，nor saw the shadows of the years to come.Oh！the days that are no more！What words unsay，what deeds undo，to set back just this once the ancient clock of time？
12.So our little hands were forever clinging to her garments，and staying her as if from dying；for long ago she had done living for herself，and lived alone in us.
13How she used to welcome us when we were grown，and came back once more to the homestead！We thought we were men and women，but we were children there；the old-fashioned grandmother was blind in her eyes，but she saw with her heart，as she always did.We threw out long shadows through the open door，and she felt them as they fell over her form，and she looked dimly up，and she said：“Edward I know，and Lucy‘s voice I can hear，but whose is that other？
It must be Jane’s，”for she had almost forgotten the folded hands.“Oh，no！not Jane‘s，for she，let me see，she is waiting for me，isn’t she？”and the old grandmother wandered and wept.
14.“It is another daughter，grandmother，that Edward has brought，”says some one，“for your blessing.”“Has she blue eyes，my son？Put her hands in mine，for she is my late-born，the child of my old age.Shall I sing you a song，children？”and she is idly fumbling for a toy，a welcome gift for the children that have come again.
15.One of us，men as we thought we were，is weeping；she hears the half-suppressed sobs，and she says，as she extends her feeble hand，“Here，my poor child，rest upon your grandmother‘s shoulder；she will protect you from all harm.”“Come，my children，sit around the fire again.Shall I sing you a song or tell you a story？Stir the fire，for it is cold；the nights are growing colder.”
16.The clock in the corner struck nine，the bedtime of those old days.The song of life was indeed sung，the story told.It was bedtime at last.Good-night to thee，grandmother.The old-fashioned grandmother is no more，and we shall miss her forever.The old kitchen wants a presence today，and the rush-bottomed chair is tenantless.But we will set up a tablet in the midst of the heart.
中文阅读
1.这里有过通往某处的老厨房，老式的壁炉，古老的磨得光光的石头侧墙，许多把刀都是在这里被磨锋利的，许多双小手曾经扶着它蹒跚学步。柴架的顶端有环，上面建有火焰庙，火焰庙上有深红色的塔尖和角楼。宽阔而破损的炉床足够一家三代围坐在一起。由于被人们常年脚踏的缘故，炉床有些磨损，时间久了，有些地方也裂开了，褪了色，后来又被美化了，人们可以走在镶嵌花样的有金饰的地板上了。角落里有火钳，我们用它夹起一块煤，吹燃，点起我们的第一支蜡烛。那里有铲子，我们用它铲起燃烧未尽的余火，在火中看到了我们的第一个幻境，做了我们的第一个梦。我们用铲子拨拉着木柴，直到火星蹿出了烟囱，就像是下面有炼炉似的，火星四溅。我们幻想着有那么多的羊羔，那么多的玻璃球弹珠……那么多我们渴望得到的东西--这就是我们盼望实现的第一个愿望。
2.那里摆着一把椅子，矮矮的，用灯芯草做底。墙脚边放着一只小轮子，阁楼上放着一只大的。卧室里有一台织布机，还有几箱子的亚麻布、纺线和图案罕见的提花床单布，架子上还摆着刺绣样品。
