婉妹抬头看看天边,低头看看艇边。过了会儿,见那落在艇边水里的月儿,还是一个劲儿的闪动、晃碎、拉长。她又把头抬起,月儿只慢慢地往上移动了一点,弯弯的一勾淡黄。堤岸下,七八条有篷的小艇在等候着。该点灯啦。阿婆是最后摸出火柴的。划了一根,熄了;又划一根,亮着方挡住风,刚凑近灯捻边儿,手却颤动了一下,风一吹,又熄灭了。“阿婆,让我来吧。”孙女婉妹说着,从艇舷边走了过去。阿婆坐在一边:“唉!人老了,老了。” Wan sister looked up at the horizon, look down at the boat. A moment later, I saw the moon that lay in the water beside the boat, with a twinkling, shattered, elongated look. She lifted her head again, and Moore moved only slowly upwards, curling a yellowish hook. Embankment, seven or eight canvases are waiting. The lights up. Grandma is the last touch out of matches. Zoned one, put out; and draw a root, light the square block the wind, just near the light twisting children, hands, but trembling a bit, the wind blows, and extinguished. “Grandma, let me come. ” Grandma Wan sister said, walked over from the side of the boat. Granny sitting on the side: “Oh! Old man, old. ”