Таинственный сад

X. Dickon

           

           Itwasaverystrangethingindeed.Shequitecaughtherbreathasshestoppedtolookatit.Aboywassittingunderatree,withhisbackagainstit,playingonaroughwoodenpipe.Hewasafunnylookingboyabouttwelve.HelookedverycleanandhisnoseturnedupandhischeekswereasredaspoppiesandneverhadMistressMaryseensuchroundandsuchblueeyesinanyboy’sface.Andonthetrunkofthetreeheleanedagainst,abrownsquirrelwasclingingandwatchinghim,andfrombehindabushnearbyacockpheasantwasdelicatelystretchinghisnecktopeepout,andquitenearhimweretworabbitssittingupandsniffingwithtremulousnoses—andactuallyitappearedasiftheywerealldrawingneartowatchhimandlistentothestrangelowlittlecallhispipeseemedtomake.

           WhenhesawMaryhehelduphishandandspoketoherinavoicealmostaslowasandratherlikehispiping.

           “Don’ttha’move,”hesaid.“It’dflight’em.”

           Maryremainedmotionless.Hestoppedplayinghispipeandbegantorisefromtheground.Hemovedsoslowlythatitscarcelyseemedasthoughheweremovingatall,butatlasthestoodonhisfeetandthenthesquirrelscamperedbackupintothebranchesofhistree,thepheasantwithdrewhisheadandtherabbitsdroppedonallfoursandbegantohopaway,thoughnotatallasiftheywerefrightened.

           “I’mDickon,”theboysaid.“Iknowtha’rtMissMary.”

           ThenMaryrealizedthatsomehowshehadknownatfirstthathewasDickon.

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