Белая птичка
Sporting Reflections
Iamsureshefeltherselfsoiled.
Butmenareofacoarserclay.AtleastIam,andnearlytwentyyearshadelapsed,andherewasIburdenedunderaloadofaffection,likeasackofreturnedlove-letters,withnolapintowhichtodumpthem.
“Theywereallwrittentoanotherwoman,ma’am,andyetIaminhopesthatyouwillfindsomethinginthemaboutyourself.”ItwouldhavesoundedoddlytoMary,butlifeisgraytofriendlessgirls,andsomethingmighthavecomeofit.
Ontheotherhand,itwouldhavebroughtherforeveroutofthewoodofthelittlehut,andIhadbuttodropthelettertosendthembothbackthere.Theeasinessofittemptedme.
Besides,shewouldtireofmewhenIwasreallyknowntoher.Theyalldo,yousee.
And,afterall,whyshouldhelosehislaughbecauseIhadlostmysmile?
Andthen,again,thewholethingwasmerelyawhimsicalidea.
Idroppedtheletter,andshoulderedmyburden.
