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!"

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