Вітер у вербах

           Peepingout,hesawhistraingetupspeedagainanddisappearatagreatpace.Thenoutofthetunnelburstthepursuingengine,roaringandwhistling,hermotleycrewwavingtheirvariousweaponsandshouting,"Stop!stop!stop!"Whentheywerepast,theToadhadaheartylaugh—forthefirsttimesincehewasthrownintoprison.

           Buthesoonstoppedlaughingwhenhecametoconsiderthatitwasnowverylateanddarkandcold,andhewasinanunknownwood,withnomoneyandnochanceofsupper,andstillfarfromfriendsandhome;andthedeadsilenceofeverything,aftertheroarandrattleofthetrain,wassomethingofashock.Hedarednotleavetheshelterofthetrees,sohestruckintothewood,withtheideaofleavingtherailwayasfaraspossiblebehindhim.

           Aftersomanyweekswithinwalls,hefoundthewoodstrangeandunfriendlyandinclined,hethought,tomakefunofhim.Night-jars,soundingtheirmechanicalrattle,madehimthinkthatthewoodwasfullofsearchingwarders,closinginonhim.Anowl,swoopingnoiselesslytowardshim,brushedhisshoulderwithitswing,makinghimjumpwiththehorridcertaintythatitwasahand;thenflittedoff,moth-like,laughingitslowho!ho!ho!whichToadthoughtinverypoortaste.Oncehemetafox,whostopped,lookedhimupanddowninasarcasticsortofway,andsaid,"Hullo,washerwoman!Halfapairofsocksandapillow-caseshortthisweek!Minditdoesn’toccuragain!"andswaggeredoff,sniggering