Белая птичка

           Theunmanlychucklealwayscame,Ifound,whenthepoorladydroppedherbabe,butthewholethingentrancedhim;hetriedtokeephisexcitementdownbytakinghugedraughtsofwater;heforgotallhisnicetiesofconduct;hesatinholyrapturewiththetoybetweenhispaws,tookittobedwithhim,ateitinthenight,andsearchedforitsolonginglynextdaythatIhadtogooutandbuyhimthemanwiththescythe.Afterthatwehadeverythingofnote,thebootblackboy,thetoperwithbottle,thewoollyrabbitthatsqueakswhenyouholditinyourmouth;theyallvanishedasinexplicablyasthelady,butIdarednottellhimmysuspicions,forhesuspectedalsoandhisgentleheartwouldhavemournedhadIconfirmedhisfears.

           ThedameinthetempleoftoyswhichwefrequentthinksIwantthemforalittleboyandcallshim“theprecious”and“thelamb,”thewhilePorthosisstandinggravelybymyside.Sheisamotherlysoul,butover-talkative.

           “Andhowisthedearlambto-day?”shebegins,beaming.

           “Well,ma’am,well,”Isay,keepingtightgripofhiscollar.

           “Thisblightyweatherisnotaffectinghisdarlingappetite?”

           “No,ma’am,notatall.”(Shewouldbeconsiderablysurprisedifinformedthathedinedto-dayonasheepshead,aloaf,andthreecabbages,andissuspectedofalegofmutton.)

           “Ihopeheloveshistoys?”

           “Hecarriesthemaboutwithhimeverywhere,ma’am.”(Hastheoneweboughtyesterdaywithhimnow,thoughyoumightnotthinkittolookathim.)

           “Whatdoyousaytoaboxoftoolsthistime?”

           “Ithinknot,ma’am.