Дети железной дороги
The hound in the red jersey.
Theyclimbedthesteepstepsfromwhichtheyhadpickedthewildcherryblossomforthegraveofthelittlewildrabbit,andreachingthetopofthecutting,settheirfacestowardsthehillthroughwhichthetunnelwascut.Itwasstiffwork.
"It’slikeAlps,"saidBobbie,breathlessly.
"OrAndes,"saidPeter.
"It’slikeHimmywhat’sitsnames?"gaspedPhyllis."MountEverlasting.Dolet’sstop."
"Sticktoit,"pantedPeter;"you’llgetyoursecondwindinaminute."
Phyllisconsentedtosticktoit—andontheywent,runningwhentheturfwassmoothandtheslopeeasy,climbingoverstones,helpingthemselvesuprocksbythebranchesoftrees,creepingthroughnarrowopeningsbetweentreetrunksandrocks,andsoonandon,upandup,tillatlasttheystoodontheverytopofthehillwheretheyhadsooftenwishedtobe.
"Halt!"criedPeter,andthrewhimselfflatonthegrass.Fortheverytopofthehillwasasmooth,turfedtable-land,dottedwithmossyrocksandlittlemountain-ashtrees.
Thegirlsalsothrewthemselvesdownflat.
"Plentyoftime,"Peterpanted;"therest’salldownhill."
Whentheywererestedenoughtositupandlookroundthem,Bobbiecried:—
"Oh,look!"
"Whatat?"saidPhyllis.
"Theview,"saidBobbie.
