Белая птичка
David and I Set Forth Upon a Journey
Ifthemouthhasfallensourlyyourstheblame:allthemeannessesyouryouthconcealedhavebeengatheringinyourface.Buttheprettythoughtsandsweetwaysanddear,forgottenkindnesseslingertherealso,tobloominyourtwilightlikeeveningprimroses.
Isitnotstrangethat,thoughItalkthusplainlytoDavidabouthismother,hestillseemstothinkmefondofher?Hownow,Ireflect,whatsortofbumpkinisthis,andperhapsIsaytohimcruelly:“Boy,youareuncommonlylikeyourmother.”
TowhichDavid:“Isthatwhyyouaresokindtome?”
IsupposeIamkindtohim,butifsoitisnotforloveofhismother,butbecausehesometimescallsmefather.Onmyhonourasasoldier,thereisnothingmoreinitthanthat.Imustnotlethimknowthis,foritwouldmakehimconscious,andsobreakthespellthatbindshimandmetogether.OftenestIambutCaptainW——tohim,andforthebestofreasons.Headdressesmeasfatherwhenheisinahurryonly,andneverhaveIdaredaskhimtousethename.Hesays,“Come,father,”withanaccursedbeautifulcarelessness.Soletitbe,David,foralittlewhilelonger.
Iliketohearhimsayitbeforeothers,asinshops.Wheninshopsheasksthesalesmanhowmuchmoneyhemakesinaday,andwhichdrawerhekeepsitin,andwhyhishairisred,anddoeshelikeAchilles,ofwhomDavidhaslatelyheard,andissoenamouredthathewantstodietomeethim.Atsuchtimestheshopkeepersacceptmeashisfather,andIcannotexplainthepeculiarpleasurethisgivesme.
