Вітер у вербах
Wayfarers All
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"Youwon’tbe‘free’asyoucallit,muchthissideofChristmas,Icanseethat,"retortedtheRatgrumpily,ashepickedhiswayoutofthefield.
Hereturnedsomewhatdespondentlytohisriveragain—hisfaithful,steady-goingoldriver,whichneverpackedup,flitted,orwentintowinterquarters.
Intheosierswhichfringedthebankhespiedaswallowsitting.Presentlyitwasjoinedbyanother,andthenbyathird;andthebirds,fidgetingrestlesslyontheirbough,talkedtogetherearnestlyandlow.
"What,already,"saidtheRat,strollinguptothem."What’sthehurry?Icallitsimplyridiculous."
"O,we’renotoffyet,ifthat’swhatyoumean,"repliedthefirstswallow."We’reonlymakingplansandarrangingthings.Talkingitover,youknow—whatroutewe’retakingthisyear,andwherewe’llstop,andsoon.That’shalfthefun!"
"Fun?"saidtheRat;"nowthat’sjustwhatIdon’tunderstand.Ifyou’vegottoleavethispleasantplace,andyourfriendswhowillmissyou,andyoursnughomesthatyou’vejustsettledinto,why,whenthehourstrikesI’venodoubtyou’llgobravely,andfaceallthetroubleanddiscomfortandchangeandnewness,andmakebelievethatyou’renotveryunhappy.Buttowanttotalkaboutit,oreventhinkaboutit,tillyoureallyneed—"
"No,youdon’tunderstand,naturally,"saidthesecondswallow.
