Вино из одуванчиков

           Bentleycriedafterthem,buttheyweregone.

           MrsBentleyspenttherestofthedayslammingteakettlesabout,loudlypreparingameagerlunch,andfromtimetotimegoingtothefrontdoor,hopingtocatchthoseinsolentfiendsontheirlaughingexcursionsthroughthelateday.Butiftheyhadappeared,whatcouldshesaytothem,whyshouldsheworryaboutthem?

           "Theidea!"saidMrs.Bentleytoherdainty,rose-clusteredteacup."NooneeverdoubtedIwasagirlbefore.Whatasilly,horriblethingtodo.Idon’tmindbeingold—notreally—butIdoresenthavingmychildhoodtakenawayfromme."

           Shecouldseethechildrenracingoffunderthecavernoustreeswithheryouthintheirfrostyfingers,invisibleasair.

           Aftersupper,fornoreasonatall,withasenselesscertaintyofmotion,shewatchedherownhands,likeapairofghostlyglovesataseance,gathertogethercertainitemsinaperfumedkerchief.Thenshewenttoherfrontporchandstoodtherestifflyforhalfanhour.

           Assuddenlyasnightbirdsthechildrenflewby,andMrs.Bentley’svoicebroughtthemtoaflutteringrest.

           "Yes,Mrs.Bentley?"

           "Comeuponthisporch!"shecommandedthem,andthegirlsclimbedthesteps,Tomtrailingafter.

           "Yes,Mrs.Bentley?"Theythumpedthe"Mrs."likeabasspianochord,extraheavily,asifthatwereherfirstname.

           "I’vesometreasurestoshowyou."Sheopenedtheperfumedkerchiefandpeeredintoitasifsheherselfmightbesurprised.Shedrewforthahaircomb,verysmallanddelicate,itsrimtwinklingwithrhinestones.