Мэри Поппинс
The Dancing Cow
Shelivedinthebestfieldinthewholedistrict—alargeonefullofbuttercupsthesizeofsaucersanddandelionsratherlargerthanbrooms.Thefieldwasallprimrose-colourandgoldwiththebuttercupsanddandelionsstandingupinitlikesoldiers.Everytimesheatetheheadoffonesoldier,anothergrewupinitsplace,withagreenmilitarycoatandayellowbusby.
Shehadlivedtherealways—sheoftentoldmyMotherthatshecouldn’trememberthetimewhenshehadn’tlivedinthatfield.Herworldwasboundedbygreenhedgesandtheskyandsheknewnothingofwhatlaybeyondthese.
TheRedCowwasveryrespectable,shealwaysbehavedlikeaperfectladyandsheknewWhatwasWhat.Toherathingwaseitherblackorwhite—therewasnoquestionofitbeinggreyorperhapspink.Peopleweregoodortheywerebad—therewasnothinginbetween.Dandelionswereeithersweetorsour—therewereneveranymoderatelyniceones.
Sheledaverybusylife.HermorningsweretakenupingivinglessonstotheRedCalf,herdaughter,andintheafternoonshetaughtthelittleonedeportmentandmooingandallthethingsareallywellbroughtupcalfshouldknow.Thentheyhadtheirsupper,andtheRedCowshowedtheRedCalfhowtoselectagoodbladeofgrassfromabadone;andwhenherchildhadgonetosleepatnightshewouldgointoacornerofthefieldandchewthecudandthinkherownquietthoughts.
Allherdayswereexactlythesame.OneRedCalfgrewupandwentawayandanothercameinitsplace.
