Белые люди
Chapter IV
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“Itwasnotsixyearsold,poormite,”Ianswered.“Itwasoneofthoseveryfairchildrenoneseesnowandthen.Itwasnotlikeitsmother.ShewasnotoneoftheWhitePeople.”
“TheWhitePeople?”herepeatedquiteslowlyafterme.“Youdon’tmeanthatshewasnotaCaucasian?PerhapsIdon’tunderstand.”
Thatmademefeelatrifleshyagain.OfcoursehecouldnotknowwhatImeant.Howsillyofmetotakeitforgrantedthathewould!
“Ibegpardon.Iforgot,”Ievenstammeredalittle.“Itisonlymywayofthinkingofthosefairpeopleonesees,thoseveryfairones,youknow—theoneswhosefairnesslooksalmosttransparent.Therearenotmanyofthem,ofcourse;butonecan’thelpnoticingthemwhentheypassinthestreetorcomeintoaroom.Youmusthavenoticedthem,too.Ialwayscallthem,tomyself,theWhitePeople,becausetheyaredifferentfromtherestofus.Thepoormotherwasn’tone,butthechildwas.PerhapsthatwaswhyIlookedatit,atfirst.Itwassuchalovelylittlething;andthewhitenessmadeitlookdelicate,andIcouldnothelpthinking—”Ihesitated,becauseitseemedalmostunkindtofinish.
“Youthoughtthatifshehadjustlostonechildsheoughttotakemorecareoftheother,”heendedforme.Therewasadeepthoughtfulnessinhislook,asifhewerewatchingme.Iwonderedwhy.
“IwishIhadpaidmoreattentiontothelittlecreature,”hesaid,verygently.“Diditcry?”
“No,”Ianswered.“Itonlyclungtoherandpattedherblacksleeveandkissedit,asifitwantedtocomforther.
