Дети железной дороги
The engine-burglar.
Bobbiefeltexactlyasthoughsheweregoingtocry—youknowthatoddfeelinginthebridgeofyournoseandtheprickinginyoureyelids?Butbeforeshehadtimetobegintheywereallkissingandhuggingher.
"Now,"saidMother,"lookatyourpresents."
Theywereverynicepresents.Therewasagreenandredneedle-bookthatPhyllishadmadeherselfinsecretmoments.TherewasadarlinglittlesilverbroochofMother’sshapedlikeabuttercup,whichBobbiehadknownandlovedforyears,butwhichshehadnever,neverthoughtwouldcometobeherveryown.TherewasalsoapairofblueglassvasesfromMrs.Viney.Robertahadseenandadmiredtheminthevillageshop.Andtherewerethreebirthdaycardswithprettypicturesandwishes.
Motherfittedtheforget-me-notcrownonBobbie’sbrownhead.
"Andnowlookatthetable,"shesaid.
Therewasacakeonthetablecoveredwithwhitesugar,with‘DearBobbie’onitinpinksweets,andtherewerebunsandjam;butthenicestthingwasthatthebigtablewasalmostcoveredwithflowers--wallflowerswerelaidallroundthetea-tray—therewasaringofforget-me-notsroundeachplate.Thecakehadawreathofwhitelilacroundit,andinthemiddlewassomethingthatlookedlikeapatternalldonewithsinglebloomsoflilacorwallflowerorlaburnum.
"It’samap—amapoftherailway!"criedPeter.