Белые люди
Chapter IX
“Perhapsitisabirdwhistling.”
“Itisfaraway,”Ianswered,“butitisnotabird.It’sthepipes,andplayingsuchastrangetune.There!Ithasstopped!”
Butitwasnotsilentlong;Iheardthetunebeginagainmuchnearer,andthepiperwasplainlycomingtowardus.Iturnedmyhead.
Themistwasclearing,andfloatedaboutlikeathinveilthroughwhichonecouldseeobjects.AtashortdistanceaboveusonthemoorIsawsomethingmoving.Itwasamanwhowasplayingthepipes.Itwasthepiper,andalmostatonceIknewhim,becauseitwasactuallymyownFeargus,steppingproudlythroughtheheatherwithhissteplikeastagonthehills.Hisheadwasheldhigh,andhisfacehadasortofelateddelightinitasifhewereenjoyinghimselfandthemorningandthemusicinanewway.IwassosurprisedthatIrosetomyfeetandcalledtohim.
“Feargus!”Icried.“What—”
Iknewheheardme,becauseheturnedandlookedatmewiththemostextraordinarysmile.Hewasusuallyarathergrave-facedman,butthissmilehadakindofstartlingtriumphinit.Hecertainlyheardme,forhewhippedoffhisbonnetinasalutewhichwasastriumphantasthesmile.Buthedidnotanswer,andactuallypassedinandoutofsightinthemist.
WhenIroseMr.MacNairnhadrisen,too.WhenIturnedtospeakinmysurprise,hehadfixedonmehiswatchfullook.
“ImagineitsbeingFeargusatthishour!”Iexclaimed.“Andwhydidhepassbyinsuchahurrywithoutanswering?Hemusthavebeentoaweddingandhavebeenupallnight.Helooked—”Istoppedasecondandlaughed.
