Вітер у вербах

           HewastiredofToad,andhissulksandhisairsandhismeanness.Sothatdayshewentonhererrandofmercy,andknockedatthedoorofToad’scell.

           "Now,cheerup,Toad,"shesaid,coaxingly,onentering,"andsitupanddryyoureyesandbeasensibleanimal.Anddotryandeatabitofdinner.See,I’vebroughtyousomeofmine,hotfromtheoven!"

           Itwasbubble-and-squeak,betweentwoplates,anditsfragrancefilledthenarrowcell.ThepenetratingsmellofcabbagereachedthenoseofToadashelayprostrateinhismiseryonthefloor,andgavehimtheideaforamomentthatperhapslifewasnotsuchablankanddesperatethingashehadimagined.Butstillhewailed,andkickedwithhislegs,andrefusedtobecomforted.Sothewisegirlretiredforthetime,but,ofcourse,agooddealofthesmellofhotcabbageremainedbehind,asitwilldo,andToad,betweenhissobs,sniffedandreflected,andgraduallybegantothinknewandinspiringthoughts:ofchivalry,andpoetry,anddeedsstilltobedone;ofbroadmeadows,andcattlebrowsinginthem,rakedbysunandwind;ofkitchen-gardens,andstraightherb-borders,andwarmsnap-dragonbesetbybees;andofthecomfortingclinkofdishessetdownonthetableatToadHall,andthescrapeofchair-legsontheflooraseveryonepulledhimselfcloseuptohiswork.