앨리스 프로젝트: 영어 따라 말하기

Chapter Two of The Story of Doctor Dolittle

by Hugh Lofting

--------------------------------------------

This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the Public Domain.

For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org.

Narrated by Adele de Pignerolles

Doctor Dolittle: Adam

Polynesia the parrot / Ben Ali the Barbary Dragon: Beth Thomas

Cat's-Meat-Man: Elijah Fisher

Horse: Willy

Audio edited by Rachel

오디오북:

https://librivox.org/the-story-of-doctor-dolittle-dramatic-reading-by-hugh-lofting/

전자책:

http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/501

---------------------------------------------

ANIMAL LANGUAGE

IT happened one day that the Doctor was sitting in his kitchen talking with the Cat’s-meat-Man who had come to see him with a stomach-ache.

“Why don’t you give up being a people’s doctor, and be an animal-doctor?” asked the Cat’s-meat-Man.

The parrot, Polynesia, was sitting in the window looking out at the rain and singing a sailor-song to herself. She stopped singing and started to listen.

“You see, Doctor,” the Cat’s-meat-Man went on, “you know all about animals—much more than what these here vets do. That book you

wrote—about cats, why, it’s wonderful! I can’t read or write myself—or maybe I’d write some books. But my wife, Theodosia, she’s a scholar, she is. And she read your book to me. Well, it’s wonderful—that’s all that can be said—wonderful. You might have been a cat yourself. You know the way they think. And listen: you can make a lot of money doctoring animals. Do you know that? You see, I’d send all the old women who had sick cats or dogs to you. And if they didn’t get sick fast enough, I could put something in the meat I sell ’em to make ’em sick, see?”

“Oh, no,” said the Doctor quickly. “You mustn’t do that. That wouldn’t be right.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean real sick,” answered the Cat’s-meat-Man. “Just a little something to make them droopy-like was what I had reference to. But as you say, maybe it ain’t quite fair on the animals. But they’ll get sick anyway, because the old women always give ’em too much to eat. And look, all the farmers round about who had lame horses and weak lambs—they’d come. Be an animal-doctor.”

When the Cat’s-meat-Man had gone the parrot flew off the window on to the Doctor’s table and said,

“That man’s got sense. That’s what you ought to do. Be an animal-doctor. Give the silly people up—if they haven’t brains enough

to see you’re the best doctor in the world. Take care of animals instead—_they_’ll soon find it out. Be an animal-doctor.”

“Oh, there are plenty of animal-doctors,” said John Dolittle, putting the flower-pots outside on the window-sill to get the rain.

“Yes, there _are_ plenty,” said Polynesia. “But none of them are any good at all. Now listen, Doctor, and I’ll tell you something. Did you know that animals can talk?”

“I knew that parrots can talk,” said the Doctor.

“Oh, we parrots can talk in two languages—people’s language and bird-language,” said Polynesia proudly. “If I say, ‘Polly wants a

cracker,’ you understand me. But hear this: _Ka-ka oi-ee, fee-fee?_”

“Good Gracious!” cried the Doctor. “What does that mean?”

“That means, ‘Is the porridge hot yet?’—in bird-language.”

“My! You don’t say so!” said the Doctor. “You never talked that way to me before.”

“What would have been the good?” said Polynesia, dusting some cracker-crumbs off her left wing. “You wouldn’t have understood me if I had.”

“Tell me some more,” said the Doctor, all excited; and he rushed over to the dresser-drawer and came back with the butcher’s book and a pencil. “Now don’t go too fast—and I’ll write it down. This is interesting—very interesting—something quite new. Give me the Birds’ A.B.C. first—slowly now.”

So that was the way the Doctor came to know that animals had a language of their own and could talk to one another. And all that afternoon, while it was raining, Polynesia sat on the kitchen table giving him bird words to put down in the book.

At tea-time, when the dog, Jip, came in, the parrot said to the Doctor, “See, _he_’s talking to you.”

“Looks to me as though he were scratching his ear,” said the Doctor.

“But animals don’t always speak with their mouths,” said the parrot in a high voice, raising her eyebrows. “They talk with their ears, with their feet, with their tails—with everything. Sometimes they don’t _want_ to make a noise. Do you see now the way he’s twitching up one side of his nose?”

“What’s that mean?” asked the Doctor.

“That means, ‘Can’t you see that it has stopped raining?’” Polynesia answered. “He is asking you a question. Dogs nearly always use their noses for asking questions.”

After a while, with the parrot’s help, the Doctor got to learn the language of the animals so well that he could talk to them himself and understand everything they said. Then he gave up being a people’s doctor altogether.

As soon as the Cat’s-meat-Man had told every one that John Dolittle was going to become an animal-doctor, old ladies began to bring him their pet pugs and poodles who had eaten too much cake; and farmers came many miles to show him sick cows and sheep.

One day a plow-horse was brought to him; and the poor thing was terribly glad to find a man who could talk in horse-language.

“You know, Doctor,” said the horse, “that vet over the hill knows nothing at all. He has been treating me six weeks now—for spavins. What I need is _spectacles_. I am going blind in one eye. There’s no reason why horses shouldn’t wear glasses, the same as people. But that stupid man over the hill never even looked at my eyes. He kept on giving me big pills. I tried to tell him; but he couldn’t understand a word of horse-language. What I need is spectacles.”

“Of course—of course,” said the Doctor. “I’ll get you some at once.”

“I would like a pair like yours,” said the horse—“only green. They’ll keep the sun out of my eyes while I’m plowing the Fifty-Acre Field.”

“Certainly,” said the Doctor. “Green ones you shall have.”

“You know, the trouble is, Sir,” said the plow-horse as the Doctor opened the front door to let him out—“the trouble is that _anybody_ thinks he can doctor animals—just because the animals don’t complain. As a matter of fact it takes a much cleverer man to be a really good animal-doctor than it does to be a good people’s doctor. My farmer’s boy thinks he knows all about horses. I wish you could see him—his face is so fat he looks as though he had no eyes—and he has got as much brain as a potato-bug. He tried to put a mustard-plaster on me last week.”

“Where did he put it?” asked the Doctor.

“Oh, he didn’t put it anywhere—on me,” said the horse. “He only tried to. I kicked him into the duck-pond.”

“Well, well!” said the Doctor.

“I’m a pretty quiet creature as a rule,” said the horse—“very patient with people—don’t make much fuss. But it was bad enough to have that vet giving me the wrong medicine. And when that red-faced booby started to monkey with me, I just couldn’t bear it any more.”

“Did you hurt the boy much?” asked the Doctor.

“Oh, no,” said the horse. “I kicked him in the right place. The vet’s looking after him now. When will my glasses be ready?”

“I’ll have them for you next week,” said the Doctor. “Come in again Tuesday—Good morning!”

Then John Dolittle got a fine, big pair of green spectacles; and the plow-horse stopped going blind in one eye and could see as well as ever.

And soon it became a common sight to see farm-animals wearing glasses in the country round Puddleby; and a blind horse was a thing unknown.

And so it was with all the other animals that were brought to him. As soon as they found that he could talk their language, they told him where the pain was and how they felt, and of course it was easy for him to cure them.

Now all these animals went back and told their brothers and friends that there was a doctor in the little house with the big garden who really _was_ a doctor. And whenever any creatures got sick—not only horses and cows and dogs—but all the little things of the fields, like harvest-mice and water-voles, badgers and bats, they came at once to his house on the edge of the town, so that his big garden was nearly always crowded with animals trying to get in to see him.

There were so many that came that he had to have special doors made for the different kinds. He wrote “HORSES” over the front door, “COWS” over the side door, and “SHEEP” on the kitchen door. Each kind of animal had a separate door—even the mice had a tiny tunnel made for them into the cellar, where they waited patiently in rows for the Doctor to come round to them.

And so, in a few years’ time, every living thing for miles and miles got to know about John Dolittle, M.D. And the birds who flew to other countries in the winter told the animals in foreign lands of the wonderful doctor of Puddleby-on-the-Marsh, who could understand their talk and help them in their troubles. In this way he became famous among the animals—all over the world—better known even than he had been among the folks of the West Country, And he was happy and liked his life very much.

One afternoon when the Doctor was busy writing in a book, Polynesia sat in the window—as she nearly always did—looking out at the leaves blowing about in the garden. Presently she laughed aloud.

“What is it, Polynesia?” asked the Doctor, looking up from his book.

“I was just thinking,” said the parrot; and she went on looking at the leaves.

“What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about people,” said Polynesia. “People make me sick. They think they’re so wonderful. The world has been going on now for thousands of years, hasn’t it? And the only thing in animal-language that _people_ have learned to understand is that when a dog wags his tail he means ‘I’m glad!’—It’s funny, isn’t it? You are the very first man to talk like us. Oh, sometimes people annoy me dreadfully—such airs they put on—talking about ‘the dumb animals.’ _Dumb!_—Huh! Why I knew a macaw once who could say ‘Good morning!’ in seven different ways without once opening his mouth. He could talk every language—and Greek. An old professor with a gray beard bought him. But he didn’t stay. He said the old man didn’t talk Greek right, and he couldn’t stand listening to him teach the language wrong. I often wonder what’s become of him. That bird knew more geography than people will ever know.—_People_, Golly! I suppose if people ever learn to fly—like any common hedge-sparrow—we shall never hear the end of it!”

“You’re a wise old bird,” said the Doctor. “How old are you really? I know that parrots and elephants sometimes live to be very, very old.”

“I can never be quite sure of my age,” said Polynesia. “It’s either a hundred and eighty-three or a hundred and eighty-two. But I know that when I first came here from Africa, King Charles was still hiding in the oak-tree—because I saw him. He looked scared to death.”

End of Chapter 2.

Chapter Two of The Story of Doctor Dolittle

by Hugh Lofting

--------------------------------------------

This LibriVox recording is in the Public Domain.

Recording by Phil Chenevert

오디오북:

https://librivox.org/the-story-of-doctor-dolittle-by-hugh-lofting-2/

전자책:

http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/501

---------------------------------------------

ANIMAL LANGUAGE

IT happened one day that the Doctor was sitting in his kitchen talking with the Cat’s-meat-Man who had come to see him with a stomach-ache.

“Why don’t you give up being a people’s doctor, and be an animal-doctor?” asked the Cat’s-meat-Man.

The parrot, Polynesia, was sitting in the window looking out at the rain and singing a sailor-song to herself. She stopped singing and started to listen.

“You see, Doctor,” the Cat’s-meat-Man went on, “you know all about animals—much more than what these here vets do. That book you

wrote—about cats, why, it’s wonderful! I can’t read or write myself—or maybe I’d write some books. But my wife, Theodosia, she’s a scholar, she is. And she read your book to me. Well, it’s wonderful—that’s all that can be said—wonderful. You might have been a cat yourself. You know the way they think. And listen: you can make a lot of money doctoring animals. Do you know that? You see, I’d send all the old women who had sick cats or dogs to you. And if they didn’t get sick fast enough, I could put something in the meat I sell ’em to make ’em sick, see?”

“Oh, no,” said the Doctor quickly. “You mustn’t do that. That wouldn’t be right.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean real sick,” answered the Cat’s-meat-Man. “Just a little something to make them droopy-like was what I had reference to. But as you say, maybe it ain’t quite fair on the animals. But they’ll get sick anyway, because the old women always give ’em too much to eat. And look, all the farmers round about who had lame horses and weak lambs—they’d come. Be an animal-doctor.”

When the Cat’s-meat-Man had gone the parrot flew off the window on to the Doctor’s table and said,

“That man’s got sense. That’s what you ought to do. Be an animal-doctor. Give the silly people up—if they haven’t brains enough

to see you’re the best doctor in the world. Take care of animals instead—_they_’ll soon find it out. Be an animal-doctor.”

“Oh, there are plenty of animal-doctors,” said John Dolittle, putting the flower-pots outside on the window-sill to get the rain.

“Yes, there _are_ plenty,” said Polynesia. “But none of them are any good at all. Now listen, Doctor, and I’ll tell you something. Did you know that animals can talk?”

“I knew that parrots can talk,” said the Doctor.

“Oh, we parrots can talk in two languages—people’s language and bird-language,” said Polynesia proudly. “If I say, ‘Polly wants a

cracker,’ you understand me. But hear this: _Ka-ka oi-ee, fee-fee?_”

“Good Gracious!” cried the Doctor. “What does that mean?”

“That means, ‘Is the porridge hot yet?’—in bird-language.”

“My! You don’t say so!” said the Doctor. “You never talked that way to me before.”

“What would have been the good?” said Polynesia, dusting some cracker-crumbs off her left wing. “You wouldn’t have understood me if I had.”

“Tell me some more,” said the Doctor, all excited; and he rushed over to the dresser-drawer and came back with the butcher’s book and a pencil. “Now don’t go too fast—and I’ll write it down. This is interesting—very interesting—something quite new. Give me the Birds’ A.B.C. first—slowly now.”

So that was the way the Doctor came to know that animals had a language of their own and could talk to one another. And all that afternoon, while it was raining, Polynesia sat on the kitchen table giving him bird words to put down in the book.

At tea-time, when the dog, Jip, came in, the parrot said to the Doctor, “See, _he_’s talking to you.”

“Looks to me as though he were scratching his ear,” said the Doctor.

“But animals don’t always speak with their mouths,” said the parrot in a high voice, raising her eyebrows. “They talk with their ears, with their feet, with their tails—with everything. Sometimes they don’t _want_ to make a noise. Do you see now the way he’s twitching up one side of his nose?”

“What’s that mean?” asked the Doctor.

“That means, ‘Can’t you see that it has stopped raining?’” Polynesia answered. “He is asking you a question. Dogs nearly always use their noses for asking questions.”

After a while, with the parrot’s help, the Doctor got to learn the language of the animals so well that he could talk to them himself and understand everything they said. Then he gave up being a people’s doctor altogether.

As soon as the Cat’s-meat-Man had told every one that John Dolittle was going to become an animal-doctor, old ladies began to bring him their pet pugs and poodles who had eaten too much cake; and farmers came many miles to show him sick cows and sheep.

One day a plow-horse was brought to him; and the poor thing was terribly glad to find a man who could talk in horse-language.

“You know, Doctor,” said the horse, “that vet over the hill knows nothing at all. He has been treating me six weeks now—for spavins. What I need is _spectacles_. I am going blind in one eye. There’s no reason why horses shouldn’t wear glasses, the same as people. But that stupid man over the hill never even looked at my eyes. He kept on giving me big pills. I tried to tell him; but he couldn’t understand a word of horse-language. What I need is spectacles.”

“Of course—of course,” said the Doctor. “I’ll get you some at once.”

“I would like a pair like yours,” said the horse—“only green. They’ll keep the sun out of my eyes while I’m plowing the Fifty-Acre Field.”

“Certainly,” said the Doctor. “Green ones you shall have.”

“You know, the trouble is, Sir,” said the plow-horse as the Doctor opened the front door to let him out—“the trouble is that _anybody_ thinks he can doctor animals—just because the animals don’t complain. As a matter of fact it takes a much cleverer man to be a really good animal-doctor than it does to be a good people’s doctor. My farmer’s boy thinks he knows all about horses. I wish you could see him—his face is so fat he looks as though he had no eyes—and he has got as much brain as a potato-bug. He tried to put a mustard-plaster on me last week.”

“Where did he put it?” asked the Doctor.

“Oh, he didn’t put it anywhere—on me,” said the horse. “He only tried to. I kicked him into the duck-pond.”

“Well, well!” said the Doctor.

“I’m a pretty quiet creature as a rule,” said the horse—“very patient with people—don’t make much fuss. But it was bad enough to have that vet giving me the wrong medicine. And when that red-faced booby started to monkey with me, I just couldn’t bear it any more.”

“Did you hurt the boy much?” asked the Doctor.

“Oh, no,” said the horse. “I kicked him in the right place. The vet’s looking after him now. When will my glasses be ready?”

“I’ll have them for you next week,” said the Doctor. “Come in again Tuesday—Good morning!”

Then John Dolittle got a fine, big pair of green spectacles; and the plow-horse stopped going blind in one eye and could see as well as ever.

And soon it became a common sight to see farm-animals wearing glasses in the country round Puddleby; and a blind horse was a thing unknown.

And so it was with all the other animals that were brought to him. As soon as they found that he could talk their language, they told him where the pain was and how they felt, and of course it was easy for him to cure them.

Now all these animals went back and told their brothers and friends that there was a doctor in the little house with the big garden who really _was_ a doctor. And whenever any creatures got sick—not only horses and cows and dogs—but all the little things of the fields, like harvest-mice and water-voles, badgers and bats, they came at once to his house on the edge of the town, so that his big garden was nearly always crowded with animals trying to get in to see him.

There were so many that came that he had to have special doors made for the different kinds. He wrote “HORSES” over the front door, “COWS” over the side door, and “SHEEP” on the kitchen door. Each kind of animal had a separate door—even the mice had a tiny tunnel made for them into the cellar, where they waited patiently in rows for the Doctor to come round to them.

And so, in a few years’ time, every living thing for miles and miles got to know about John Dolittle, M.D. And the birds who flew to other countries in the winter told the animals in foreign lands of the wonderful doctor of Puddleby-on-the-Marsh, who could understand their talk and help them in their troubles. In this way he became famous among the animals—all over the world—better known even than he had been among the folks of the West Country, And he was happy and liked his life very much.

One afternoon when the Doctor was busy writing in a book, Polynesia sat in the window—as she nearly always did—looking out at the leaves blowing about in the garden. Presently she laughed aloud.

“What is it, Polynesia?” asked the Doctor, looking up from his book.

“I was just thinking,” said the parrot; and she went on looking at the leaves.

“What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about people,” said Polynesia. “People make me sick. They think they’re so wonderful. The world has been going on now for thousands of years, hasn’t it? And the only thing in animal-language that _people_ have learned to understand is that when a dog wags his tail he means ‘I’m glad!’—It’s funny, isn’t it? You are the very first man to talk like us. Oh, sometimes people annoy me dreadfully—such airs they put on—talking about ‘the dumb animals.’ _Dumb!_—Huh! Why I knew a macaw once who could say ‘Good morning!’ in seven different ways without once opening his mouth. He could talk every language—and Greek. An old professor with a gray beard bought him. But he didn’t stay. He said the old man didn’t talk Greek right, and he couldn’t stand listening to him teach the language wrong. I often wonder what’s become of him. That bird knew more geography than people will ever know.—_People_, Golly! I suppose if people ever learn to fly—like any common hedge-sparrow—we shall never hear the end of it!”

“You’re a wise old bird,” said the Doctor. “How old are you really? I know that parrots and elephants sometimes live to be very, very old.”

“I can never be quite sure of my age,” said Polynesia. “It’s either a hundred and eighty-three or a hundred and eighty-two. But I know that when I first came here from Africa, King Charles was still hiding in the oak-tree—because I saw him. He looked scared to death.”

End of Chapter 2.

Chapter Two of The Story of Doctor Dolittle

by Hugh Lofting

--------------------------------------------

This LibriVox recording is in the Public Domain.

Recording by Karen Savage

오디오북:

https://librivox.org/the-story-of-doctor-dolittle-version-3-by-hugh-lofting/

전자책:

http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/501

---------------------------------------------

ANIMAL LANGUAGE

IT happened one day that the Doctor was sitting in his kitchen talking with the Cat’s-meat-Man who had come to see him with a stomach-ache.

“Why don’t you give up being a people’s doctor, and be an animal-doctor?” asked the Cat’s-meat-Man.

The parrot, Polynesia, was sitting in the window looking out at the rain and singing a sailor-song to herself. She stopped singing and started to listen.

“You see, Doctor,” the Cat’s-meat-Man went on, “you know all about animals—much more than what these here vets do. That book you

wrote—about cats, why, it’s wonderful! I can’t read or write myself—or maybe I’d write some books. But my wife, Theodosia, she’s a scholar, she is. And she read your book to me. Well, it’s wonderful—that’s all that can be said—wonderful. You might have been a cat yourself. You know the way they think. And listen: you can make a lot of money doctoring animals. Do you know that? You see, I’d send all the old women who had sick cats or dogs to you. And if they didn’t get sick fast enough, I could put something in the meat I sell ’em to make ’em sick, see?”

“Oh, no,” said the Doctor quickly. “You mustn’t do that. That wouldn’t be right.”

“Oh, I didn’t mean real sick,” answered the Cat’s-meat-Man. “Just a little something to make them droopy-like was what I had reference to. But as you say, maybe it ain’t quite fair on the animals. But they’ll get sick anyway, because the old women always give ’em too much to eat. And look, all the farmers round about who had lame horses and weak lambs—they’d come. Be an animal-doctor.”

When the Cat’s-meat-Man had gone the parrot flew off the window on to the Doctor’s table and said,

“That man’s got sense. That’s what you ought to do. Be an animal-doctor. Give the silly people up—if they haven’t brains enough

to see you’re the best doctor in the world. Take care of animals instead—_they_’ll soon find it out. Be an animal-doctor.”

“Oh, there are plenty of animal-doctors,” said John Dolittle, putting the flower-pots outside on the window-sill to get the rain.

“Yes, there _are_ plenty,” said Polynesia. “But none of them are any good at all. Now listen, Doctor, and I’ll tell you something. Did you know that animals can talk?”

“I knew that parrots can talk,” said the Doctor.

“Oh, we parrots can talk in two languages—people’s language and bird-language,” said Polynesia proudly. “If I say, ‘Polly wants a

cracker,’ you understand me. But hear this: _Ka-ka oi-ee, fee-fee?_”

“Good Gracious!” cried the Doctor. “What does that mean?”

“That means, ‘Is the porridge hot yet?’—in bird-language.”

“My! You don’t say so!” said the Doctor. “You never talked that way to me before.”

“What would have been the good?” said Polynesia, dusting some cracker-crumbs off her left wing. “You wouldn’t have understood me if I had.”

“Tell me some more,” said the Doctor, all excited; and he rushed over to the dresser-drawer and came back with the butcher’s book and a pencil. “Now don’t go too fast—and I’ll write it down. This is interesting—very interesting—something quite new. Give me the Birds’ A.B.C. first—slowly now.”

So that was the way the Doctor came to know that animals had a language of their own and could talk to one another. And all that afternoon, while it was raining, Polynesia sat on the kitchen table giving him bird words to put down in the book.

At tea-time, when the dog, Jip, came in, the parrot said to the Doctor, “See, _he_’s talking to you.”

“Looks to me as though he were scratching his ear,” said the Doctor.

“But animals don’t always speak with their mouths,” said the parrot in a high voice, raising her eyebrows. “They talk with their ears, with their feet, with their tails—with everything. Sometimes they don’t _want_ to make a noise. Do you see now the way he’s twitching up one side of his nose?”

“What’s that mean?” asked the Doctor.

“That means, ‘Can’t you see that it has stopped raining?’” Polynesia answered. “He is asking you a question. Dogs nearly always use their noses for asking questions.”

After a while, with the parrot’s help, the Doctor got to learn the language of the animals so well that he could talk to them himself and understand everything they said. Then he gave up being a people’s doctor altogether.

As soon as the Cat’s-meat-Man had told every one that John Dolittle was going to become an animal-doctor, old ladies began to bring him their pet pugs and poodles who had eaten too much cake; and farmers came many miles to show him sick cows and sheep.

One day a plow-horse was brought to him; and the poor thing was terribly glad to find a man who could talk in horse-language.

“You know, Doctor,” said the horse, “that vet over the hill knows nothing at all. He has been treating me six weeks now—for spavins. What I need is _spectacles_. I am going blind in one eye. There’s no reason why horses shouldn’t wear glasses, the same as people. But that stupid man over the hill never even looked at my eyes. He kept on giving me big pills. I tried to tell him; but he couldn’t understand a word of horse-language. What I need is spectacles.”

“Of course—of course,” said the Doctor. “I’ll get you some at once.”

“I would like a pair like yours,” said the horse—“only green. They’ll keep the sun out of my eyes while I’m plowing the Fifty-Acre Field.”

“Certainly,” said the Doctor. “Green ones you shall have.”

“You know, the trouble is, Sir,” said the plow-horse as the Doctor opened the front door to let him out—“the trouble is that _anybody_ thinks he can doctor animals—just because the animals don’t complain. As a matter of fact it takes a much cleverer man to be a really good animal-doctor than it does to be a good people’s doctor. My farmer’s boy thinks he knows all about horses. I wish you could see him—his face is so fat he looks as though he had no eyes—and he has got as much brain as a potato-bug. He tried to put a mustard-plaster on me last week.”

“Where did he put it?” asked the Doctor.

“Oh, he didn’t put it anywhere—on me,” said the horse. “He only tried to. I kicked him into the duck-pond.”

“Well, well!” said the Doctor.

“I’m a pretty quiet creature as a rule,” said the horse—“very patient with people—don’t make much fuss. But it was bad enough to have that vet giving me the wrong medicine. And when that red-faced booby started to monkey with me, I just couldn’t bear it any more.”

“Did you hurt the boy much?” asked the Doctor.

“Oh, no,” said the horse. “I kicked him in the right place. The vet’s looking after him now. When will my glasses be ready?”

“I’ll have them for you next week,” said the Doctor. “Come in again Tuesday—Good morning!”

Then John Dolittle got a fine, big pair of green spectacles; and the plow-horse stopped going blind in one eye and could see as well as ever.

And soon it became a common sight to see farm-animals wearing glasses in the country round Puddleby; and a blind horse was a thing unknown.

And so it was with all the other animals that were brought to him. As soon as they found that he could talk their language, they told him where the pain was and how they felt, and of course it was easy for him to cure them.

Now all these animals went back and told their brothers and friends that there was a doctor in the little house with the big garden who really _was_ a doctor. And whenever any creatures got sick—not only horses and cows and dogs—but all the little things of the fields, like harvest-mice and water-voles, badgers and bats, they came at once to his house on the edge of the town, so that his big garden was nearly always crowded with animals trying to get in to see him.

There were so many that came that he had to have special doors made for the different kinds. He wrote “HORSES” over the front door, “COWS” over the side door, and “SHEEP” on the kitchen door. Each kind of animal had a separate door—even the mice had a tiny tunnel made for them into the cellar, where they waited patiently in rows for the Doctor to come round to them.

And so, in a few years’ time, every living thing for miles and miles got to know about John Dolittle, M.D. And the birds who flew to other countries in the winter told the animals in foreign lands of the wonderful doctor of Puddleby-on-the-Marsh, who could understand their talk and help them in their troubles. In this way he became famous among the animals—all over the world—better known even than he had been among the folks of the West Country, And he was happy and liked his life very much.

One afternoon when the Doctor was busy writing in a book, Polynesia sat in the window—as she nearly always did—looking out at the leaves blowing about in the garden. Presently she laughed aloud.

“What is it, Polynesia?” asked the Doctor, looking up from his book.

“I was just thinking,” said the parrot; and she went on looking at the leaves.

“What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking about people,” said Polynesia. “People make me sick. They think they’re so wonderful. The world has been going on now for thousands of years, hasn’t it? And the only thing in animal-language that _people_ have learned to understand is that when a dog wags his tail he means ‘I’m glad!’—It’s funny, isn’t it? You are the very first man to talk like us. Oh, sometimes people annoy me dreadfully—such airs they put on—talking about ‘the dumb animals.’ _Dumb!_—Huh! Why I knew a macaw once who could say ‘Good morning!’ in seven different ways without once opening his mouth. He could talk every language—and Greek. An old professor with a gray beard bought him. But he didn’t stay. He said the old man didn’t talk Greek right, and he couldn’t stand listening to him teach the language wrong. I often wonder what’s become of him. That bird knew more geography than people will ever know.—_People_, Golly! I suppose if people ever learn to fly—like any common hedge-sparrow—we shall never hear the end of it!”

“You’re a wise old bird,” said the Doctor. “How old are you really? I know that parrots and elephants sometimes live to be very, very old.”

“I can never be quite sure of my age,” said Polynesia. “It’s either a hundred and eighty-three or a hundred and eighty-two. But I know that when I first came here from Africa, King Charles was still hiding in the oak-tree—because I saw him. He looked scared to death.”

End of Chapter 2.

“I can never be quite sure of my age,” said Polynesia. “It’s either a hundred and eighty-three or a hundred and eighty-two. But I know that when I first came here from Africa, King Charles was still hiding in the oak-tree—because I saw him. He looked scared to death.”

------------------

“I can never be quite sure of my age,” said Polynesia.

("나도 내 나이를 확실하게는 몰라." 폴리네시아가 말했다.)

“It’s either a hundred and eighty-three or a hundred and eighty-two.

(183살 아니면 182살 둘 중에 하나야.)

✔either [A] or [B]: [A] 아니면 [B]이다. 자세한 용법은 2020년 10월 28일 '[꼬집어 문법] 둘에 대해 이야기하는 both, either, neither'를 참고하세요.

✔발음: either는 '이더'라고 읽어도 되고, '아이더'라고 읽어도 됩니다.

But I know that when I first came here from Africa, King Charles was still hiding in the oak-tree

(하지만 난 알아, 내가 아프리카에서 여길 처음 왔을 때, 찰스 왕이 여전히 참나무에 숨어 있었다는 걸)

✔1651년 찰스 2세는 올리버 크롬웰에게 쫓기다가 참나무(oak tree)에 몸을 숨기기도 했습니다. 1651 + 183 = 1834. 이 책이 출판된 해는 1920년이고, 작가가 이야기 초반에 '할아버지가 어릴 때의 이야기'라고 했으니 이 이야기는 대략 1820-30년대를 배경으로 한다고 짐작됩니다.

—because I saw him.

(-왜냐면 내가 그 모습을 봤으니까.)

He looked scared to death.”

(무서워 죽을 것 같은 모습이었지.)

That bird knew more geography than people will ever know.—'People', Golly! I suppose if people ever learn to fly—like any

common hedge-sparrow—we shall never hear the end of it!”

“You’re a wise old bird,” said the Doctor. “How old are you really? I know that parrots and elephants sometimes live to be very, very old.”

----------------------------

지난 줄거리: 폴리네시아가 얘기하는 마코앵무새는 매우 똑똑했습니다.

That bird knew more geography than people will ever know.—'People', Golly!

(그 새는 사람들이 아는 수준보다 지리를 더 잘 알았어 - '사람들', 아 놔!)

✔geography: 지리학, 지형.

✔than이 people will ever know의 목적어를 대신하므로 know의 목적어는 생략되었습니다.

✔more ... than people will ever know: 사람들이 아무리 안다고 해도 그보다 더 많이

✔golly: 어이쿠, 이런, 맙소사.

✔발음: 첫 번째 버전에서 캐런은 that bird knew more about geography...라고 읽습니다. know 다음에 목적어가 그대로 와도 되고, about을 써도 됩니다. '내가 영국 역사를 안다'라고 말할 때 I know English history 또는 I know about English history 둘 다 가능합니다.

I suppose if people ever learn to fly—like any common hedge-sparrow—

(내가 보기에, 만약 사람들이 날아다니는 법을 배운다면-흔한 바위종다리처럼-)

✔I suppose: 가정하다, 생각하다, ...라고 여기다.

✔common: 흔한

✔hedge-sparrow: 바위종다리

we shall never hear the end of it!”

(끝도 없이 떠들어대겠지!)

✔never hear the end of it: '(맥락상 누군가가) 끝도 없이 반복하여 말하다'라는 뜻의 관용구입니다. 주어가 그렇다는 게 아니니 주의하세요. 이 표현보다 앞서 언급된 대상에 관한 표현입니다. '그 이야기의 끝을 결코 들을 수 없다', 즉 듣는 이가 짜증날 정도로 이야기를 계속하는 행동을 묘사합니다. 여기서는 사람들이 만약 날아다닌다면 아는 척하고 잘난 척하느라 끝없이 떠들 거라는 의미로 보입니다.

✔발음: 세 번째 드라마 버전에서 shall 대신 will이라고 말합니다. 요즘은 shall을 잘 쓰지 않으므로 이처럼 그냥 will로 바꿔 생각하면 됩니다.

“You’re a wise old bird,” said the Doctor.

("너는 세상 경험이 풍부한 현명한 새야." 두리틀이 말했다.)

“How old are you really?

(실제로 몇 살이야?)

I know that parrots and elephants sometimes live to be very, very old.”

(내가 알기로 앵무새들과 코끼리들은 때로는 굉장히, 굉장히 오래 살기도 한다던데.)

He could talk every language—and Greek. An old professor with a gray beard bought him. But he didn’t stay. He said the old man didn’t talk Greek right, and he couldn’t stand listening to him teach the language wrong. I often wonder what’s become of him.

------------

지난 줄거리: 폴리네시아는 한때 알고 지낸 마코앵무새 이야기를 합니다.

He could talk every language—and Greek.

(그 마코앵무새는 모든 언어를 말할 수 있었어- 그리스어도.)

An old professor with a gray beard bought him.

(회색 수염을 지닌 어떤 나이 든 교수가 그를 샀어.)

✔beard: 턱수염. 콧수염은 mustache.

But he didn’t stay.

(하지만 마코앵무새는 그에게 머물지 않았지.)

He said the old man didn’t talk Greek right,

(그는 그 노교수가 그리스어를 제대로 하지 못한다고 말했어.)

and he couldn’t stand listening to him teach the language wrong.

(그리고 그 노교수가 그 언어를 잘못 가르치는 걸 듣고 있자니 견딜 수가 없었어.)

✔teach the language wrong: 그 언어를 잘못 가르치다

✔listen to him [teach the language wrong]: 그가 [그 언어를 잘못 가르치는] 것을 듣다. 여기서 listen이 지각동사이므로 listen to him 다음에 나오는 teach는 동사 원형 또는 -ing 형태가 될 수 있습니다. 여기서는 동사 원형이 되었습니다. 지각동사 용법은 2020년 9월 14일 '[꼬집어 문법] 지각동사 용법'을 참조하세요.

✔stand [-ing]: [-하는 것]을 참다, 견디다

✔he couldn't stand [listening to him teach the language wrong]: 그는 [그가 그 언어를 잘못 가르치는 것을 듣는 것]을 참을 수가 없었다.

I often wonder what’s become of him.

(난 종종 그 마코앵무새가 어떻게 되었는지 궁금해.)

✔I wonder what became of him: 그가 어떻게 되었는지 궁금하다.

✔I wonder what has become of him: 그가 어떻게 되었는지 궁금하다. what 다음에 현재완료형으로 표현했습니다. 뜻은 위의 과거형 표현과 별로 다르지 않습니다. 원서의 what's는 what has의 단축형입니다.

You are the very first man to talk like us. Oh, sometimes people annoy me dreadfully—such airs they put on—talking about ‘the dumb animals.’ 'Dumb!'—Huh!

Why I knew a macaw once who could say ‘Good morning!’ in seven different ways without once opening his mouth.

-----------------------------------

지난 줄거리: 폴리네시아는 인간이 수천 년 동안 세상을 지속시켜 왔으면서 동물 언어 하나도 제대로 모른다고 비판합니다.

You are the very first man to talk like us.

(네가 우리처럼 말하는 바로 최초의 인간이야.)

✔very: first(최초)를 강조하는 수식어입니다.

Oh, sometimes people annoy me dreadfully

(아, 가끔 사람들은 나를 끔찍히도 짜증나게 해)

✔annoy: 짜증나게 만들다

✔dreadfully: 끔찍하게, 심하게

—such airs they put on—

(-어찌나 잘난 척을 하는지-)

✔air: '분위기', '태도'라는 뜻도 있으며, airs는 특히 '점잔 빼는 태도 또는 뻣뻣한 태도'를 뜻합니다.

✔put on airs: 잘난 척하다, 거드름을 피우다.

✔airs they put on: airs 다음에 목적격 관계대명사 which 또는 that이 생략되었습니다. '그들이 하는 잘난 척'

talking about ‘the dumb animals.’ 'Dumb!'—Huh!

('멍청한 동물들'이라고 말을 하면서. '멍청'하다니! -헐!)

✔talking: 앞 문장 poeple annoy me dreadfully에 뜻을 보완해 주는 분사구문입니다. 그 사이 하이픈 부분은 삽입구입니다.

Why I knew a macaw once

(아니, 내가 한때 마코앵무새 하나를 알고 지냈어)

✔why: '왜'라는 뜻의 의문사(부사)가 아니라, '있잖아', '아니 이런' 등의 의미를 지닌 감탄사입니다.

✔macaw: 마코앵무새. 금강앵무새.

✔once: 한때

who could say ‘Good morning!’ in seven different ways without once opening his mouth.

(입을 한 번도 열지 않고 7가지 다른 방식으로 '좋은 아침!'을 말할 수 있는)

✔in seven different ways: 7가지 다른 방식으로

✔without opening his mouth: 그의 입을 열지 않고.

✔once: 여기서 once는 '한 번'이라는 뜻입니다. 앞의 '한때'와 다르게 해석합니다.

“I was thinking about people,” said Polynesia. “People make me sick. They think they’re so wonderful. The world has been going on now for thousands of years, hasn’t it? And the only thing in animal-language that people have learned to understand is that when a dog wags his tail he means ‘I’m glad!’—It’s funny, isn’t it?

----------------------------------------------------

지난 줄거리: 앵무새 폴리네시아가 창 밖을 보다가 갑자기 소리내어 웃었습니다.

“I was thinking about people,” said Polynesia.

("난 인간들에 대해 생각하고 있었어." 폴리네시아가 말했다.)

“People make me sick.

(인간들은 나를 역겹게 해.)

They think they’re so wonderful.

(인간들은 자기들이 아주 대단하다고 생각하지.)

The world has been going on now for thousands of years, hasn’t it?

(세상은 지금 수천 년 동안 지속되고 있어, 그렇지 않아?)

✔go on: 계속되다, 지속되다

✔be going on: 지속되고 있다.

✔have been going on for thousands of years: '수천 년 동안 지속되어 왔고, 지금도 쭉 지속되고 있다.' 현재완료진행형입니다. 어떤 행동이 과거부터 지금까지 계속 진행되어 왔고, 지금도 진행 중임을 표현합니다.

✔hasn't it?: '그렇지 않아?' 부가의문문입니다. 자신의 말에 대한 동의를 구하는 표현입니다. 앞에서 긍정의 말을 했다면 뒤에 부정의 의문문을 붙이고, 부정의 말을 했다면 긍정의 의문문을 붙입니다. 여기서는 앞 문장의 대표 동사가 has이므로 그 부정인 hasn't가 오고, 앞 문장의 주어 the world를 it으로 받아서 hasn't it?이 되었습니다.

And the only thing in animal-language that people have learned to understand is that when a dog wags his tail he means ‘I’m glad!’

(그런데 인간이 배워서 이해하는 유일한 동물 언어는 개가 꼬리를 흔들면 '반가워요!'라는 것뿐이야.)

✔the only thing in animal-language: 동물 언어 중에서 유일한 것. 즉 유일한 동물 언어.

✔the only thing in animal-language [that people have learned to understand]: [인간이 지금까지 이해하는 방법을 배운] 유일한 동물 언어

✔the only thing in animal-language that people have learned to understand is [that...]: 인간이 지금까지 이해하는 방법을 배운 유일한 동물 언어는 [that절 이하]이다.

✔wags his tail: (개가) 그의 꼬리를 흔들다

—It’s funny, isn’t it?

(—웃기지 않아?)

✔부가의문문: it is funny의 동사가 is이고 주어가 it이므로, 부가의문문은 is의 부정인 isn't가 되고 그 뒤에 주어 it이 와서 isn't it?이 되었습니다.

One afternoon when the Doctor was busy writing in a book, Polynesia sat in the window—as she nearly always did—looking out at the leaves blowing about in the garden. Presently she laughed aloud.

“What is it, Polynesia?” asked the Doctor, looking up from his book.

“I was just thinking,” said the parrot; and she went on looking at the leaves.

“What were you thinking?”

-------------------------------------------------

지난 줄거리: 두리틀은 동물들 사이에서 의사로 유명해지고 행복을 느꼈습니다.

One afternoon when the Doctor was busy writing in a book,

(어느 날 오후, 두리틀이 장부 안에 뭘 적느라 바빴을 때)

✔be busy [-ing]: [...하느라] 바쁘다

✔write in a book: 앞에서도 나왔지만 이 이야기에서 book은 보통 장부(어떤 장부든)를 가리킵니다. write a book은 '책을 쓰다'이지만, write in a book은 '장부 안에 뭘 쓰다'라고 해석할 수 있습니다.

Polynesia sat in the window—as she nearly always did—

(폴리네시아는 창가에 앉아 있었다-거의 항상 그랬던 것처럼-)

✔sat in the window: 전치사 in이 특이하지만, 그냥 '창가에 앉아 있었다'라고 해석하면 됩니다. 사실 '창가'를 표현할 때 전치사 in은 잘 쓰지 않습니다. 사람의 경우 sit by the window라고 표현하며, sit at the window도 쓸 수 있습니다. 만약 창턱이 움푹 들어간 구조라면 앵무새가 '창문 영역 안'에 앉을 수 있으므로, 여기에서 in the window라고 표현했을 가능성도 있습니다. 한편 sit on the window라고 하면 창문에 발을 딛고 붙어 앉아야 하므로 좀 다릅니다.

✔as she [nearly always] did: 그녀가 [거의 항상] 그랬던 것처럼

looking out at the leaves blowing about in the garden.

(창 밖으로 정원에서 바람에 날리는 낙엽을 바라보면서.)

✔looking out: 분사구문으로 '밖을 보면서'라고 해석합니다.

✔look out at: 창이나 문 밖으로 시선을 두고 특정 사물을 바라볼 때 이 표현을 씁니다. look out(밖을 보다)과 look at(...을 보다)을 결합한 표현입니다.

✔blow: 바람이 주어일 때는 '바람이 분다'라는 뜻이지만, 다른 사물이 주어일 때는 '입김을 불다' 또는 '바람에 날리다'의 뜻이 됩니다.

✔blow about: 바람에 이리저리 날리다.

✔the leaves [blowing about]: [바람에 이리저리 날리는] 나뭇잎들. blowing은 분사로 앞의 leaves를 꾸며 줍니다. 여기서 blow는 그 자체로 수동의 뜻('날리다')이 있으므로 분사 형태를 blown이 아니라 그냥 blowing으로 썼습니다. blown으로 써도 되지만, blow는 보통 능동의 형태로 '날리다'라는 뜻을 표현하므로 주로 blowing으로 씁니다.

Presently she laughed aloud.

(곧 그녀는 큰 소리로 웃었다.)

✔presently: 지금은 '현재, 지금'이라는 뜻으로만 씁니다. 여기서처럼 '곧, 잠시 후'라는 뜻으로 쓰는 것은 옛날식 표현입니다. 이 단어를 현대어 표현으로 바꾼다면 soon이나 suddenly가 적당해 보입니다.

✔aloud: 큰 소리로, 시끄럽게.

“What is it, Polynesia?” asked the Doctor, looking up from his book.

("왜 그러니, 폴리네시아?" 두리틀이 물었다, 장부에서 고개를 들면서.)

✔what is it: '그게 뭐냐'라고 물은 게 아니라, '뭣 때문에 웃었냐?'라는 의미입니다. 상대의 어떤 행동을 보고 그 행동의 원인을 물어볼 때, what is it이라는 표현을 사용합니다. 요즘 영화나 드라마에서도 많이 들어볼 수 있는 표현입니다. 우리는 '왜 그러냐?'를 영작할 때 'why are you ...ing?'을 생각하기 쉽지만(틀린 건 아닙니다. 그렇게 말해도 됩니다.) what is it이 더 자연스럽고 많이 쓰이는 표현입니다.

✔looking up: 위를 보면서, 또는 고개를 들면서. 장부에서 위를 보았으니 고개를 든 것입니다. 분사구문입니다. '...하면서'

“I was just thinking,” said the parrot;

("그냥 뭣 좀 생각하고 있었어." 앵무새가 말했다.)

and she went on looking at the leaves.

(그리고 그녀는 낙엽을 계속 바라보고 있었다.)

✔go on [-ing]: [어떤 행동]을 계속하다. go on 뒤에 -ing가 오면 그 행동을 계속하는 거고, 뒤에 아무것도 오지 않는다면 맥락상 앞에서 언급된 어떤 행동을 계속하는 것입니다. '이런 식으로 계속 간다면(한다면)' 생각나시나요? if you go on like this... 두리틀 109(2021년 3월 4일)를 참고하세요.

“What were you thinking?”

("뭘 생각하고 있었는데?")

In this way he became famous among the animals—all over the world—better known even than he had been among the folks of the West Country, And he was happy and liked his life very much.

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In this way

(이런 식으로)

he became famous among the animals—all over the world—

(그는 동물들 사이에서 유명해졌다-전 세계적으로-)

better known even than he had been among the folks of the West Country,

(서촌 마을 사람들 사이에서 이름났던 것보다 더 이름이 나고)

✔better known: 더 잘 알려진. 더 이름난.

✔이 부분 전체는 앞의 famous를 보충합니다. 앞에 하이픈이 있긴 하지만, 콤마도 써 주는 편이 좋습니다. (작가는 콤마를 넣지 않았습니다.) 이 부분을 문법적으로 이야기하자면 분사구문으로 보는 편이 적절합니다. [-ing]가 아니라 [과거분사](known)를 활용한 분사구문입니다.

✔[better known] than he had been: 그 전에 이름났던 것보다 [더 이름난]. he had been 뒤에는 known이 생략되어 있습니다. 중복이기 때문입니다. 그리고 than 뒤의 비교 대상은 더 과거의 일(사람을 고치던 의사일 때)이므로, 과거완료(had been)를 사용해서 시제를 한 단계 더 떨어뜨렸습니다.

✔among the folks: 사람들 사이에서

And he was happy and liked his life very much.

(그리고 그는 행복했고 자신의 삶이 너무너무 좋았다.)