Белая птичка
The Little House
ShewaspleasedwhenherbrotherTony,whowasamagnificentfellowofsix,tooknoticeofher,andshelookeduptohimintherightway,andtriedinvaintoimitatehimandwasflatteredratherthanannoyedwhenheshovedherabout.Also,whenshewasbattingshewouldpausethoughtheballwasintheairtopointouttoyouthatshewaswearingnewshoes.Shewasquitetheordinarykindinthedaytime.
Butastheshadesofnightfell,Tony,theswaggerer,losthiscontemptforMaimieandeyedherfearfully,andnowonder,forwithdarktherecameintoherfacealookthatIcandescribeonlyasalearylook.ItwasalsoaserenelookthatcontrastedgrandlywithTony’suneasyglances.Thenhewouldmakeherpresentsofhisfavouritetoys(whichhealwaystookawayfromhernextmorning)andsheacceptedthemwithadisturbingsmile.Thereasonhewasnowbecomesowheedlingandshesomysteriouswas(inbrief)thattheyknewtheywereabouttobesenttobed.ItwasthenthatMaimiewasterrible.Tonyentreatedhernottodoitto-night,andthemotherandtheircolourednursethreatenedher,butMaimiemerelysmiledheragitatingsmile.Andby-and-bywhentheywerealonewiththeirnight-lightshewouldstartupinbedcrying“Hsh!whatwasthat?”Tonybeseechesher!“Itwasnothing—don’t,Maimie,don’t!”andpullsthesheetoverhishead.“Itiscomingnearer!”shecries;“Oh,lookatit,Tony!Itisfeelingyourbedwithitshorns—itisboringforyou,oh,Tony,oh!”andshedesistsnotuntilherushesdownstairsinhiscombinations,screeching.
