(1)Montreal is a very large city, but, like all large cities, it has some very small streets. Streets, for example, like Prince Edward Street, which is only four blocks long, ending in a cul de sac (dead end). No one knew Prince Edward Street as well as did Pierre Dupin (French name), for Pierre had delivered milk to the families on the street for thirty years now.
(2)During the past fifteen years the horse which pulled the milk wagon used by Pierre was a large white horse named Joseph. In Montreal, especially in that part of Montreal which is very French, the animals, like children, are often given the names of saints. When the big white horse first came to the Provincale Milk Company he didn`t have a name. They told Pierre that he could use the white horse henceforth. Pierre stroked the softness of the horse`s neck; he stroked the sheen of its splendid belly and he looked into the eyes of the horse.
“This is a kind horse, a gentle and a faithful horse,” Pierre said, “and I can see a beautiful spirit shining out of the eyes of the horse. I will name him after good St. Joseph, who was also kind and gentle and faithful and a beautiful spirit.”
(3)Within a year Joseph knew the milk route as well as Pierre. Pierre used to say that he didn`t need reins – he never touched them. Each morning Pierre arrived at the stables of the Provincale Milk Company at five o`clock. The wagon would be loaded and Joseph attached to it. Pierre would call “Bon jour, vieux ami,”(good day, my old friend) as he climbed into his seat and Joseph would turn his head and the other drivers would smile and say that the horse would smile at Pierre.
Then Jacques, the boss, would say, “All right, Pierre, go on,” and Pierre would call softly to Joseph, “Avance, mon ami,” (go my friend) and this beautiful combination would go proudly down the street.
(4)The wagon, without any direction from Pierre, would go three blocks down St. Catherine Street, then turn right two blocks along Roslyn Avenue; then left, for that was Prince Edward Street. The horse would stop at the first house, allow Pierre perhaps thirty seconds to get down from his seat and put a bottle of milk at the front door and would then go on, two houses and stopping at the third. So on down the length of the street. Then Joseph, still without any direction from Pierre, would turn around and come back along the other side. Yes, Joseph was a smart horse.
Pierre would say at the stable of Joseph`s skill. “I never touch the reins. “He knows just where to stop. Why, a blind man could handle my route with Joseph pulling the wagon.”
(5)So it went for years – always the same. Pierre and Joseph both grew old together, but slowly, not suddenly. Pierre’s big walrus mustache was pure white now and Joseph didn’t lift his knees so high or raise his head as much. Jacques, the boss of the stables, never noticed that they were both getting old until Pierre came one morning carrying a heavy walking stick.
“Hey, Pierre”, Jacques laughed. “Maybe you got the gout, hey?”
“Mais oui, Jacques,” (But yes, Jack) Pierre said a bit uncertainly. “One grows old. One’s legs get tired.”
“You should teach that horse to carry the milk to the front door for you,” Jacques told him, “He does everything else.”
(6)He knew every one of the forty families he served on Prince Edward Street. The Cooks (family name)knew that Pierre could neither read nor write, so instead of following the usual way of leaving a note in an empty bottle if an another quart of milk was needed they would sing out when they heard the sound of his wagon wheels over the cobbled street, “Bring an extra quart this morning, Pierre.
“So you have company for dinner tonight,” he would call back happily.
(7)Pierre had an excellent memory. When he arrived at the stable he’d always remembered to tell Jacques, “The Paquins (name) took an extra quart this morning; the Lemoines ( name) bought a pint of cream.”
Jacques would write these things in a little book he always carried. Most of the drivers had to make out the weekly bills and collect the money, but Jacques, liking Pierre, had always excused him from this task. All Pierre had to do was to arrive at five in the morning, walk to his wagon, which was always in the same spot at the curb, and deliver his milk. He returned some two hours later, got down stiffly from his seat, called happily, “Au ‘voir” (ah to see) to Jacques, and then walked slowly down the street.
(8)One morning the president of the Provincale Milk Company came to look at the early morning deliveries. Jacques pointed Pierre out to him and said: “Watch how he talks to that horse. See how the horse listens and how he turns his head toward Pierre? See the look in that horse’s eyes? You know, I think those two share a secret. I have often noticed it. It is as though they both sometimes laugh at us as they go off on their route. Pierre is a good man, Monsieur President, (Mr. President) but he gets old. Would it be too bold of me to suggest that he be retired and be given perhaps a small pension?” he added anxiously.
“But of course,” the president laughed. “I know his work. He has been on this route now for thirty years and never once has there been a complaint. Tell him it is time he rested. His salary will go on just the same.”
(9)But Pierre refused to retire. He was panic-stricken (very unhappy & scared) at the thought of not driving Joseph every day. “We are two old men,” he said to Jacques. “Let us wear out together. When Joseph is ready to retire – then I, too, will quit.”
Jacques, who was a kind man, understood. There was something about Pierre and Joseph which made a man smile tenderly. It was as though each drew some hidden strength from the other. When Pierre was sitting in his seat, and when Joseph was at the wagon, neither seemed old. But when they finished their work, then Pierre would walk down the street slowly, seeming very old indeed, and the horse’s head would drop and he would walk very wearily to his place.
(10)Then one morning Jacques had dread-full (very bad) news for Pierre when he arrived. It was a cold morning and still pitch-dark (very dark). The air was like iced wine that morning and the snow which had fallen during the night glistened like a million diamonds piled together.
Jacques said, “Pierre, your horse, Joseph, did not wake up this morning. He was very old, Pierre, he was twenty-five and that is like being seventy-five for a man.”
“Yes,” Pierre said slowly. “Yes. I am seventy. And I cannot see Joseph again.”
“Of course you can,” Jacques said. “He is over in his place, looking very peaceful. Go over and see him.”
Pierre took one step forward, then turned. “No... no... you don’t understand, Jacques.”
(11)Jacques clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll find another horse just as good as Joseph. Why, in a month you’ll teach him to know your route as well as Joseph did. We’ll...”
The look in Pierre’s eyes stopped him. For years Pierre had worn a heavy cap, the peak of which came low over his eyes, keeping the bitter morning wind out of them. Now Jacques looked into Pierre’s eyes and he saw something which startled him. He saw a dead, lifeless look in them. The eyes were mirroring the grief that was in Pierre’s heart and his soul. It was as though his heart and soul had died.
“Take today off, Pierre,” Jacques said, but already Pierre was walking off down the street, and had someone been near one would have seen tears streaming down his cheeks and have heard half-smothered sobs. Pierre walked to the corner and
( 1 ) Montreal เป็นเมืองที่ใหญ่มาก แต่ ชอบเมืองใหญ่ มันมีขนาดเล็กมากถนน ถนน ตัวอย่าง เช่น Prince Edward Street , ซึ่งเป็นเพียงสี่บล็อกยาว สิ้นสุดใน cul de sac ( ทางตัน ) ไม่มีใครรู้ว่าเจ้าชายถนนเป็นอย่างดีเช่นเดียวกับปิแอร์ Dupin ( ชื่อภาษาฝรั่งเศส ) , ปิแอร์ ได้มอบนมให้ครอบครัวบนถนนสามสิบปีแล้ว
(2)During the past fifteen years the horse which pulled the milk wagon used by Pierre was a large white horse named Joseph. In Montreal, especially in that part of Montreal which is very French, the animals, like children, are often given the names of saints. When the big white horse first came to the Provincale Milk Company he didn`t have a name.พวกเขาบอกเราว่า เขาสามารถใช้ม้า สีขาว ต่อไป ปิแอร์ ลูบไล้ความนุ่มของม้า ` s คอ เขาลูบท้องของเงาวิจิตร และเขามองเข้าไปในดวงตาของม้า .
" นี้เป็นชนิดของม้า ม้าอ่อนโยนและซื่อสัตย์ " ปิแอร์ กล่าวว่า " ผมสามารถเห็นวิญญาณที่สวยงามส่องแสงออกมาจากดวงตาของม้า . ผมจะตั้งชื่อมันหลังจากที่ดี เซนต์โยเซฟที่ยังใจดีและอ่อนโยนและซื่อสัตย์และจิตวิญญาณที่สวยงาม . "
( 3 ) ภายในปีโยเซฟรู้ว่านมเส้นทางเช่นเดียวกับปิแอร์ ปิแอร์ เคยบอกว่า เขาไม่ได้ต้องการต่อ และเขาไม่เคยสัมผัสมัน ในแต่ละเช้า ปิแอร์มาที่คอกม้าของบริษัทนม provincale 5 O ' clock รถจะถูกโหลด และ โจเซฟ ที่แนบมากับมัน ปิแอร์จะเรียก " สวัสดี , วิเยอซ์ อามิ " ( วันดีเพื่อนเก่า ) ขณะที่เขาปีนเข้าไปในที่นั่งของเขาและโจเซฟจะหันหัวและไดรเวอร์อื่น ๆ ก็ยิ้มและบอกว่าม้าจะยิ้มให้ปิแอร์
เจ้าชากส์ เจ้านายจะพูดว่า " เอาล่ะ ปิแอร์ ไป " และปิแอร์จะเรียกเบาๆกับโจเซฟ " วนซ์ มอน อามิ " ( ไปเพื่อน ) และ ชุด นี้ สวย น่าจะภาคภูมิใจลงบนถนน .
( 4 ) เก่า without any direction from Pierre, would go three blocks down St. Catherine Street, then turn right two blocks along Roslyn Avenue; then left, for that was Prince Edward Street. The horse would stop at the first house, allow Pierre perhaps thirty seconds to get down from his seat and put a bottle of milk at the front door and would then go on, two houses and stopping at the third. So on down the length of the street. Then Joseph, still without any direction from Pierre, would turn around and come back along the other side. Yes, Joseph was a smart horse.
Pierre would say at the stable of Joseph`s skill. “I never touch the reins. “He knows just where to stop. Why, a blind man could handle my route with Joseph pulling the wagon.”
(5)So it went for years – always the same. Pierre and Joseph both grew old together, but slowly, not suddenly. Pierre’s big walrus mustache was pure white now and Joseph didn’t lift his knees so high or raise his head as much. Jacques, the boss of the stables, never noticed that they were both getting old until Pierre came one morning carrying a heavy walking stick.
“Hey, Pierre”, Jacques laughed. “Maybe you got the gout, hey? ”
“Mais oui, Jacques,” (But yes, Jack) Pierre said a bit uncertainly. “One grows old. One’s legs get tired.”
“You should teach that horse to carry the milk to the front door for you,” Jacques told him, “He does everything else.”
(6)He knew every one of the forty families he served on Prince Edward Street.พ่อครัว ( นามสกุล ) รู้ว่าปิแอร์ไม่สามารถอ่านหรือเขียนได้ ดังนั้น แทนที่จะตามวิธีปกติของการทิ้งข้อความในขวดเปล่า ถ้าเป็นอีกก็ต้องวอร์มพวกเขาจะร้องออกมาเมื่อพวกเขาได้ยินเสียงล้อเกวียนของเขามากกว่า cobbled ถนน " นำวอร์พิเศษเช้านี้ ปิแอร์ .
" เพื่อให้คุณมี บริษัท สำหรับดินเนอร์คืนนี้ เขาจะเรียกกลับอย่างมีความสุข
(7)Pierre had an excellent memory. When he arrived at the stable he’d always remembered to tell Jacques, “The Paquins (name) took an extra quart this morning; the Lemoines ( name) bought a pint of cream.”
Jacques would write these things in a little book he always carried. Most of the drivers had to make out the weekly bills and collect the money, but Jacques, liking Pierre, had always excused him from this task. All Pierre had to do was to arrive at five in the morning, walk to his wagon, which was always in the same spot at the curb, and deliver his milk. He returned some two hours later, got down stiffly from his seat, called happily, “Au ‘voir” (ah to see) to Jacques, and then walked slowly down the street.
( 8 ) วันหนึ่ง ประธานของบริษัทนม provincale มาดูตอนเช้าส่งของ ฌาคส์ปิแอร์ออกมาชี้ให้เขา และกล่าวว่า : " ดูเขาพูดกับม้าตัวนั้น เห็นม้าฟัง เขาหันศีรษะเขาเข้าหาปิแอร์ ดูที่ม้าของตา คุณรู้มั้ย ฉันคิดว่าสองคนนั้นแบ่งปันความลับ ฉันมักจะสังเกตเห็นมัน It is as though they both sometimes laugh at us as they go off on their route. Pierre is a good man, Monsieur President, (Mr. President) but he gets old. Would it be too bold of me to suggest that he be retired and be given perhaps a small pension? ” he added anxiously.
“But of course,” the president laughed. “I know his work. He has been on this route now for thirty years and never once has there been a complaint. Tell him it is time he rested. His salary will go on just the same.”
(9)But Pierre refused to retire. He was panic-stricken (very unhappy & scared) at the thought of not driving Joseph every day. “We are two old men,” he said to Jacques. “Let us wear out together.เมื่อโจเซฟพร้อมที่จะเกษียณและจากนั้นผมก็จะลาออก "
ฌาคส์ ใครเป็นคนดี เข้าใจ มีบางอย่างเกี่ยวกับปิแอร์ และ โจเซฟ ซึ่งทำให้ผู้ชายยิ้มละม่อม มันเหมือนแต่ละคนวาดบางซ่อนความแข็งแกร่งจากอื่น ๆ เมื่อ ปิแอร์นั่งอยู่ในที่นั่งของเขา และเมื่อโยเซฟ อยู่ในรถ และดูเก่า แต่เมื่อพวกเขาเสร็จสิ้นการทำงานของพวกเขา then Pierre would walk down the street slowly, seeming very old indeed, and the horse’s head would drop and he would walk very wearily to his place.
(10)Then one morning Jacques had dread-full (very bad) news for Pierre when he arrived. It was a cold morning and still pitch-dark (very dark).อากาศก็ต้องเย็นไวน์ในเช้าวันนั้น และหิมะที่ได้ลดลงในช่วงกลางคืนพราวแสง เป็นล้าน เพชรซ้อนกัน .
จาคกล่าวว่า " ปิแอร์ , ม้า , โจเซฟ ไม่ได้ตื่นเช้าแบบนี้ ท่านอายุมากแล้ว ปิแอร์ เขาคือ 25 และ 75 ก็เหมือนผู้ชาย "
" ใช่ " ปิแอร์พูดอย่างช้าๆ " ครับ ฉันเจ็ดสิบ และผมไม่สามารถเห็นโจเซฟอีกครั้ง "
.“Of course you can,” Jacques said. “He is over in his place, looking very peaceful. Go over and see him.”
Pierre took one step forward, then turned. “No... no... you don’t understand, Jacques.”
(11)Jacques clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll find another horse just as good as Joseph. Why, in a month you’ll teach him to know your route as well as Joseph did. We’ll...”
The look in Pierre’s eyes stopped him. For years Pierre had worn a heavy cap, the peak of which came low over his eyes, keeping the bitter morning wind out of them. Now Jacques looked into Pierre’s eyes and he saw something which startled him. He saw a dead, lifeless look in them. The eyes were mirroring the grief that was in Pierre’s heart and his soul.มันราวกับว่าหัวใจและวิญญาณได้ตายไป .
" หยุดวันนี้ ปิแอร์ " แจ๊คพูด แต่แล้วปิแอร์ก็เดินลงไปที่ถนน และมีคนมาใกล้ ไม่มีใครได้เห็นน้ำตาไหลลงอาบแก้มของเขา และได้ฟังนั่งเศร้า . . ปิแอร์เดินไปยังมุมและ
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