Дети железной дороги
The hound in the red jersey.
Phyllissawagleamofred,andshuthereyestight.There,bythecurved,pebblydownline,wasthered-jerseyedhound.Hisbackwasagainstthewall,hisarmshunglimplybyhissides,andhiseyeswereshut.
"Wasthered,blood?Isheallkilled?"askedPhyllis,screwinghereyelidsmoretightlytogether.
"Killed?Nonsense!"saidPeter."There’snothingredabouthimexcepthisjersey.He’sonlyfainted.Whatoneartharewetodo?"
"Canwemovehim?"askedBobbie.
"Idon’tknow;he’sabigchap."
"Supposewebathehisforeheadwithwater.No,Iknowwehaven’tany,butmilk’sjustaswet.There’sawholebottle."
"Yes,"saidPeter,"andtheyrubpeople’shands,Ibelieve."
"Theyburnfeathers,Iknow,"saidPhyllis.
"What’sthegoodofsayingthatwhenwehaven’tanyfeathers?"
"Asithappens,"saidPhyllis,inatoneofexasperatedtriumph,"I’vegotashuttlecockinmypocket.Sothere!"
AndnowPeterrubbedthehandsofthered-jerseyedone.Bobbieburnedthefeathersoftheshuttlecockonebyoneunderhisnose,Phyllissplashedwarmishmilkonhisforehead,andallthreekeptonsayingasfastandasearnestlyastheycould:—
"Oh,lookup,speaktome!Formysake,speak!"
