Белая птичка
The Grand Tour of the Gardens
Thatwaswhatwecalledhim,becausehealwaystalkedtousofalovelyplacecalledSalfordwherehehadbeenborn.Hewasacrab-appleofanoldgentlemanwhowanderedalldayintheGardensfromseattoseattryingtofallinwithsomebodywhowasacquaintedwiththetownofSalford,andwhenwehadknownhimforayearormoreweactuallydidmeetanotheragedsolitarywhohadoncespentSaturdaytoMondayinSalford.Hewasmeekandtimidandcarriedhisaddressinsidehishat,andwhateverpartofLondonhewasinsearchofhealwayswenttotheGeneralPost-officefirstasastarting-point.Himwecarriedintriumphtoourotherfriend,withthestoryofthatSaturdaytoMonday,andnevershallIforgetthegloatingjoywithwhichMr.Salfordleaptathim.Theyhavebeencronieseversince,andInoticethatMr.Salford,whonaturallydoesmostofthetalking,keepstightgripoftheotheroldman’scoat.
ThetwolastplacesbeforeyoucometoourgatearetheDog’sCemeteryandthechaffinch’snest,butwepretendnottoknowwhattheDog’sCemeteryis,asPorthosisalwayswithus.Thenestisverysad.Itisquitewhite,andthewaywefounditwaswonderful.WewerehavinganotherlookamongthebushesforDavid’slostworstedball,andinsteadoftheballwefoundalovelynestmadeoftheworsted,andcontainingfoureggs,withscratchesonthemverylikeDavid’shandwriting,sowethinktheymusthavebeenthemother’slove-letterstothelittleonesinside
