Мхи старой усадьбы
The Artist of the Beautiful
"Isitalive?Isitalive?"
"Alive?Tobesureitis,"answeredherhusband."Doyousupposeanymortalhasskillenoughtomakeabutterfly,orwouldputhimselftothetroubleofmakingone,whenanychildmaycatchascoreoftheminasummer’safternoon?Alive?Certainly!ButthisprettyboxisundoubtedlyofourfriendOwen’smanufacture;andreallyitdoeshimcredit."
Atthismomentthebutterflywaveditswingsanew,withamotionsoabsolutelylifelikethatAnniewasstartled,andevenawestricken;for,inspiteofherhusband’sopinion,shecouldnotsatisfyherselfwhetheritwasindeedalivingcreatureorapieceofwondrousmechanism.
"Isitalive?"sherepeated,moreearnestlythanbefore.
"Judgeforyourself,"saidOwenWarland,whostoodgazinginherfacewithfixedattention.
Thebutterflynowflungitselfupontheair,flutteredroundAnnie’shead,andsoaredintoadistantregionoftheparlor,stillmakingitselfperceptibletosightbythestarrygleaminwhichthemotionofitswingsenvelopedit.Theinfantonthefloorfolloweditscoursewithhissagaciouslittleeyes.Afterflyingabouttheroom,itreturnedinaspiralcurveandsettledagainonAnnie’sfinger.
"Butisitalive?"exclaimedsheagain;andthefingeronwhichthegorgeousmysteryhadalightedwassotremulousthatthebutterflywasforcedtobalancehimselfwithhiswings."Tellmeifitbealive,orwhetheryoucreatedit."
"Whereforeaskwhocreatedit,soitbebeautiful?"repliedOwenWarland.
