[翻译大赛NO. 2]小矮个儿和他的小猎枪（修改稿）

小矮个儿，小猎枪，
射出铅弹刷刷刷！
小河边，射小鸭，
一枪毙命嘎嘎嘎！

从前，有一个叫作吉姆森的矮个子男人。当吉姆森还是个孩子的时候，不知为什么就不再长高了，所以，成年之后，他仍然是个小矮个儿。而且，他也不像同龄人那样既秃顶，又长着灰白色胡子，正因为如此，人们何时何地看到他，总觉得他是一个小孩子。
    这个小矮个儿特别介意自己的身高，如果你想激怒他，只需要跟他谈谈身高问题就可以了。吉姆森总是打扮得跟其他同龄人一样，每次去教堂做礼拜的时候，他都会穿上一身正式的燕尾服，戴上一顶丝绒礼帽；而骑马外出的时候，则是戴上一顶小圆帽，脚上蹬着长筒靴。散步的时候，他还拄着一根文明棍，夹着一把小雨伞，以便下雨的时候能够使用。事实上，所有正常身高的男人能做的事情，他都渴望去尝试。就算到了打猎的季节，当所有男人擦亮猎枪，准备猎捕小鸟和野鸭的时候，吉姆森也会找人定做一把趁手的小猎枪，自信满满地加入到狩猎的队伍中去。
    吉姆森的妻子是一位身高正常的妇女，甚至比一般的妇女还要高大壮硕一些。这天，吉姆森把做好的小猎枪带回家，拿给他的妻子看。他的妻子却说：“我想你最好装上面包子弹，这样看上去没那么危险，而且你也不会伤害任何小生灵了。”
    “别胡说了，琼！”小矮个儿不屑地说，“我肯定会用铅弹的，就像其他猎手那样。你等着，我会打下所有飞过我眼前的野鸭，然后提着它们回来见你！”
    “唉，我觉得你打不到几只的……”琼继续唠叨着。
    吉姆森没有理会妻子，他坚信自己是最好的猎手。转天早上，他很早便起床了，抄起他的小猎枪，朝着野鸭栖息的小河走去。
    当他走到小河边的时候，太阳才刚刚从地平线上露出半张脸，正准备往东边小山的山顶上爬。吉姆森知道，这才是猎捕野鸭的最好时候，但是，在他的视线范围内却没有一只野鸭。他干脆一屁股坐在小溪边，开始坐等野鸭的出现。渐渐地，渐渐地……他居然睡了过去！
    过了一会儿，他被一阵奇怪的声音吵醒了。
    “嘎嘎嘎！”吉姆森的耳畔充斥着这样的叫声。他睁开眼，抬起头，哇，一只漂亮的小鸭子正在河里游着泳，还时不时地把头扎进水里找吃的呢！其实，这是约翰尼·斯普林格家的小鸭子，他家就住在离小河不远的地方。但是小矮个儿可不知道这些。他以为这是一只野鸭，所以他马上站起来，举起小猎枪仔细地瞄准小鸭子。
    “恐怕我从这个地方打不着它。”他寻思着，“我得站在河中间的那块大石头上，从那儿开枪。”
他马上走到大石头那里，爬了上去，然后瞄准小鸭子，扣动了扳机。
    随着“砰”的一声枪响，只见小矮个儿一个倒栽葱，大头朝下掉到了水里。他差点淹死，但还是使出吃奶的力气，奋力地爬到石头上来。这到底是怎么回事呢？原来是因为枪的后座力啊！吉姆森没怎么练习过射击，所以开枪的后座力一下子把他从大石头上弹到了水里。
    吉姆森平静了一会儿，晃晃悠悠地站起来，沿着河岸往前搜索着。突然，他眼前一亮——那只小鸭子真的被他射中了，现在就躺在河水里！小矮个儿马上找来了一根长树枝，伸出胳膊，用树枝把小鸭子够到了岸上。他开心极了，拿着小鸭子朝家里走去，想马上让妻子看看他的“战利品”。
    “看啊，琼！”他边喊边踏进房门，“晚餐时我们可以吃小野鸭了！你现在还觉得你老公不会打猎吗？”
    “可是你只打到了一只野鸭，”他的妻子提醒他，“还这么小。你能再去打一只回来吗？这样晚饭时我们才能有足够的鸭子吃。”
    “没问题，我当然能再打一只野鸭。”小矮个儿腆着胸脯，骄傲地说，“你生火烧水吧，我马上就带另一只野鸭回来！”
    “这次你最好能打到一只公野鸭，”琼接着吩咐道，“公野鸭个头儿大。”
    说完，琼就转身去生火了。小矮个儿又拿起他的小猎枪，向着小河边走去。这次他又是一只野鸭也没看见，更别提公野鸭了。等了很长时间，也没有野鸭出现，他只好垂头丧气两手空空地朝家里走去。
    “炖这只小鸭子咱俩根本不够吃，”看到老公失望地回家，琼只好耐着性子安慰他说，“无所谓，咱俩晚饭吃猪肉炖豆子吧。我把小野鸭挂在储物棚里，没准儿明天你就能打到一只公鸭了，咱俩明天再把两只鸭子一起炖。”
    晚饭时，他俩吃了香喷喷的猪肉炖豆子。可是，吉姆森一点都不开心，他本来满心期待地等着吃炖野鸭呢！吃过饭，小矮个儿躺在床上，准备睡会儿觉休息一下。琼得意洋洋地出了门，她都等不及要告诉邻居们她老公是一个多么伟大的猎手了。
    这个消息就像长了腿一样，飞快地传遍了整个小镇。等晚报印出来之后，小矮个儿生气地看到了这样一段顺口溜：
    小矮个儿，小猎枪，
    射出铅弹刷刷刷！
    小河边，射小鸭，
    一枪毙命嘎嘎嘎！
    捡起小鸭带回家，
    妻子烧火噼噼啪。
    小矮个儿，再出发，
    要去池塘射公鸭，射公鸭！
    “有必要在报纸上把这件事公之于众吗？！”小矮个儿气急败坏地跳脚高喊，“没准儿现在，晚报的那个编辑布瑞尔先生正嫉妒得牙根痒痒呢！要知道，他可不会打猎啊！也没准儿大家都觉得我根本就不可能射到一只公鸭，好啊，明天我就要向大家证明——我能！”
    转天早晨，吉姆森还是很早就起了床，拿起他的小猎枪，上满了铅弹。然后，他转身对妻子说：“亲爱的，能告诉我公鸭长什么模样吗？”
    “嗯，”琼回答道，“公鸭长得和一般的野鸭差不多，就是尾巴有点卷，而且翅膀是红色的。”
    “我明白了。”吉姆森说道，“我马上就会带一只公鸭回家的，今天的晚饭我们就能吃到比猪肉炖豆子更美味的大餐了。”
    吉姆森离开家，又朝着小河边走去。可是到了小河边，他还是没看到一只野鸭。他又坐了下来，仔细观察着，没想到，他还是打起了瞌睡。
    再说说约翰尼·斯普林格吧。因为一直没找到自己家的小鸭子，他马上意识到肯定是有人射杀了它。要是找到那个人，约翰尼肯定会敲他一笔，让他赔点钱！约翰尼是个健壮高大的光头男人，他总是戴着一头红色的拳曲的假发，好让自己看上去稍微年轻一点。
    约翰尼来到小河边，想看看到底是谁在这儿打猎。起初，他没看到正躺着打盹儿的小矮个儿，所以他蹲在一片矮树丛后，想等等看。没过一会儿，小矮个儿睡醒了，他在岸边来回溜达，寻找着公鸭的影子。就在这时，他“刚巧”看到了矮树丛那里有一片红色的踪影——其实那是约翰尼的红色假发。
    “那儿肯定藏着一只公野鸭，”吉姆森想到，“因为我看到了一团红色的卷毛！”说时迟，那时快，随着“砰”的一声枪响，约翰尼·斯普林格“嗷嗷”大叫着，一下子从矮树丛后面跳了起来。他那头漂亮的红色假发已经被子弹从他的头顶上射了出去，现在正随着河水漂到十米开外了。
    “你想干什么！”狂怒的约翰尼冲着小矮个儿挥舞着大拳头。
    “不干什么，我只想射一只公鸭。”吉姆森平静地回答，“我打中它了，看啊，它就在水里漂着呢！”
    “那是我的假发，先生！”约翰尼·斯普林格大声地回答道，“你得赔我假发，要不我就去法院告你！你没准儿就是昨天早晨射死小鸭子的人吧！”
    “就是我，先生。”小矮个儿骄傲地回答，他得让眼前这个大块头知道，除了假发，他还射过其他的东西！
    “好啊，你还得赔我小鸭子！”斯普林格先生更生气了，“那是我家的小鸭子，你得赔我钱，要不我就让警察把你抓到监狱里去！”
    小矮个儿当然不愿意过那种“铁窗生活”了，他难过地掏出钱，赔了斯普林格先生的假发钱和小鸭子钱。然后，他拖着沉重的脚步往家的方向走去。
    回到家，他没有把遇到斯普林格先生这件事告诉琼，只说是没找到公鸭。不过，琼马上就知道事情的真相，因为整件事都刊登在当天晚报的头版上：
    小矮个儿，小猎枪，
    射出铅弹刷刷刷。
    射掉约翰尼的红假发，
    露出光头哈哈哈！
    小矮个儿简直怒不可遏，从那之后，每个见到他的人都忍不住嘲笑他。他忍无可忍，只好到集市上用猎枪换了一台割草机，而且决定，从此之后再不打猎！
    他射中的那只小鸭子被琼做成了鸭肉派，他们俩把这个派分着吃了。面对这个美味的派，吉姆森却根本高兴不起来。
    “这只破鸭子花了我整整二十块钱！”吉姆森对亲爱的妻子抱怨道，“约翰尼·斯普林格要了我二十块钱呢！用这么多钱买一只这么小的鸭子，真是不值！你说呢，琼？”

————————————————我是原文，我是原文O(∩_∩)O~———————————————————————————————————

The Little Man and His Little Gun

The Little Man and His Little Gun
There was a little man and he had a little gun,
And the bullets were made of lead, lead, lead.
He went to the brook and shot a little duck,
And the bullet went right through its head, head, head.There was once a little man named Jimson, who had stopped growing when he was a boy, and never started again. So, although he was old enough to be a man he was hardly big enough, and had he not owned a bald head and gray whiskers you would certainly have taken him for a boy whenever you saw him.
      This little man was very sorry he was not bigger, and if you wanted to make him angry you had but to call attention to his size. He dressed just as big men do, and wore a silk hat and a long-tailed coat when he went to church, and a cap and top-boots when he rode horseback. He walked with a little cane and had a little umbrella made to carry when it rained. In fact, whatever other men did this little man was anxious to do also, and so it happened that when the hunting season came around, and all the men began to get their guns ready to hunt for snipe and duck, Mr. Jimson also had a little gun made, and determined to use it as well as any of them.
      When he brought it home and showed it to his wife, who was a very big woman, she said,
      "Jimson, you'd better use bullets made of bread, and then you won't hurt anything."
      "Nonsense, Joan," replied the little man, "I shall have bullets made of lead, just as other men do, and every duck I see I shall shoot and bring home to you."
      "I'm afraid you won't kill many," said Joan.
      But the little man believed he could shoot with the best of them, so the next morning he got up early and took his little gun and started down to the brook to hunt for duck.
      It was scarcely daybreak when he arrived at the brook, and the sun had not yet peeped over the eastern hill-tops, but no duck appeared anywhere in sight, although Mr. Jimson knew this was the right time of day for shooting them. So he sat down beside the brook and begun watching, and before he knew it he had fallen fast asleep.
      By and by he was awakened by a peculiar noise.
      "Quack, quack, quack!" sounded in his ears; and looking up he saw a pretty little duck swimming in the brook and popping its head under the water in search of something to eat. The duck belonged to Johnny Sprigg, who lived a little way down the brook, but the little man did not know this. He thought it was a wild duck, so he stood up and carefully took aim.
      "I'm afraid I can't hit it from here," he thought, "so I'll just step on that big stone in the brook, and shoot from there."
      So he stepped out on the stone, and took aim at the duck again, and fired the gun.
      The next minute the little man had tumbled head over heels into the water, and he nearly drowned before he could scramble out again; for, not being used to shooting, the gun had kicked, or recoiled, and had knocked him off the round stone where he had been standing.
      When he had succeeded in reaching the bank he was overjoyed to see that he had shot the duck, which lay dead on the water a short distance away. The little man got a long stick, and, reaching it out, drew the dead duck to the bank. Then he started joyfully homeward to show the prize to his wife.
      "There, Joan," he said, as he entered the house, "is a nice little duck for our dinner. Do you now think your husband cannot shoot?"
      "But there's only one duck," remarked his wife, "and it's very small. Can't you go and shoot another? Then we shall have enough for dinner."
      "Yes, of course I can shoot another," said the little man, proudly; "you make a fire and get the pot boiling, and I'll go for another duck."
      "You'd better shoot a drake this time," said Joan, "for drakes are bigger."
      She started to make the fire, and the little man took his gun and went to the brook; but not a duck did he see, nor drake neither, and so he was forced to come home without any game.
      "There's no use cooking one duck," said his wife, "so we'll have pork and beans for dinner and I'll hang the little duck in the shed. Perhaps you'll be able to shoot a drake to-morrow, and then we'll cook them both together."
      So they had pork and beans, to the great disappointment of Mr. Jimson, who had expected to eat duck instead; and after dinner the little man lay down to take a nap while his wife went out to tell the neighbors what a great hunter he was.
      The news spread rapidly through the town, and when the evening paper came out the little man was very angry to see this verse printed in it:
There was a little man and he had a little gun,
And the bullets were made of lead, lead, lead.
He went to the brook and shot a little duck,
And the bullet went right through its head, head, head. He carried it home to his good wife Joan,
And bade her a fire to make, make, make,
While he went to the brook where he shot the little duck,
And tried for to shoot the drake, drake, drake.
"There's no use putting it into the paper," exclaimed the little man, much provoked, "and Mr. Brayer, the editor, is probably jealous because he himself cannot shoot a gun. Perhaps people think I cannot shoot a drake, but I 'll show them to-morrow that I can!"
      So the next morning he got up early again, and took his gun, and loaded it with bullets made of lead. Then he said to his wife,
      "What does a drake look like, my love?"
      "Why," she replied, "it's much like a duck, only it has a curl on its tail and red on its wing."
      "All right," he answered, "I'll bring you home a drake in a short time, and to-day we shall have something better for dinner than pork and beans."
      When he got to the brook there was nothing in sight, so he sat down on the bank to watch, and again fell fast asleep.
      Now Johnny Sprigg had missed his little duck, and knew some one had shot it; so he thought this morning he would go the brook and watch for the man who had killed the duck, and make him pay a good price for it. Johnny was a big man, whose head was very bald; therefore he wore a red curly wig to cover his baldness and make him look younger.
      When he got to the brook he saw no one about, and so he hid in a clump of bushes. After a time the little man woke up, and in looking around for the drake he saw Johnny's red wig sticking out of the top of the bushes.
      "That is surely the drake," he thought, "for I can see a curl and something red;" and the next minute "bang!" went the gun, and Johnny Sprigg gave a great yell and jumped out of the bushes. As for his beautiful wig, it was shot right off his head, and fell into the water of the brook a good ten yards away!
      "What are you trying to do?" he cried, shaking his fist at the little man.
      "Why, I was only shooting at the drake," replied Jimson; "and I hit it, too, for there it is in the water.
      "That's my wig, sir!" said Johnny Sprigg, "and you shall pay for it, or I'll have the law on you. Are you the man who shot the duck here yesterday morning?"
      "I am, sir," answered the little man, proud that he had shot something besides a wig.
      "Well, you shall pay for that also," said Mr. Sprigg; "for it belonged to me, and I'll have the money or I 'll put you in jail!"
      The little man did not want to go to jail, so with a heavy heart he paid for the wig and the duck, and then took his way sorrowfully homeward.
      He did not tell Joan of his meeting with Mr. Sprigg; he only said he could not find a drake. But she knew all about it when the paper came out, for this is what it said on the front page:
There was a little man and he had a little gun,
And the bullets were made of lead, lead, lead.
He shot Johnny Sprigg through the middle of his wig,
And knocked it right off from his head, head, head.The little man was so angry at this, and at the laughter of all the men he met, that he traded his gun off for a lawn-mower, and resolved never to go hunting again.
      He had the little duck he had shot made into a pie, and he and Joan ate it; but he did not enjoy it very much.
      "This duck cost me twelve dollars," he said to his loving wife, "for that is the sum Johnny Sprigg made me pay; and it's a very high price for one little duck—don't you think so, Joan?"