Вітер у вербах
The Piper at the Gates of Dawn
"Rat,"saidtheMole,"Isimplycan’tgoandturnin,andgotosleep,anddonothing,eventhoughtheredoesn’tseemtobeanythingtobedone.We’llgettheboatout,andpaddleupstream.Themoonwillbeupinanhourorso,andthenwewillsearchaswellaswecan—anyhow,itwillbebetterthangoingtobedanddoingnothing."
"JustwhatIwasthinkingmyself,"saidtheRat."It’snotthesortofnightforbedanyhow;anddaybreakisnotsoveryfaroff,andthenwemaypickupsomenewsofhimfromearlyrisersaswegoalong."
Theygottheboatout,andtheRattookthesculls,paddlingwithcaution.Outinmid-stream,therewasaclear,narrowtrackthatfaintlyreflectedthesky;butwherevershadowsfellonthewaterfrombank,bush,ortree,theywereassolidtoallappearanceasthebanksthemselves,andtheMolehadtosteerwithjudgmentaccordingly.Darkanddesertedasitwas,thenightwasfullofsmallnoises,songandchatterandrustling,tellingofthebusylittlepopulationwhowereupandabout,plyingtheirtradesandvocationsthroughthenighttillsunshineshouldfallonthematlastandsendthemofftotheirwell-earnedrepose.Thewater’sownnoises,too,weremoreapparentthanbyday,itsgurglingsand"cloops"moreunexpectedandnearathand;andconstantlytheystartedatwhatseemedasuddenclearcallfromanactualarticulatevoice.
