Вітер у вербах
Wayfarers All
AndbecauseI’vejusttriedit—sixmonthsofit—andknowit’sthebest,hereamI,footsoreandhungry,trampingawayfromit,trampingsouthwards,followingtheoldcall,backtotheoldlife,thelifewhichismineandwhichwillnotletmego."
"Isthis,then,yetanotherofthem?"musedtheRat."Andwherehaveyoujustcomefrom?"heasked.Hehardlydaredtoaskwherehewasboundfor;heseemedtoknowtheansweronlytoowell.
"Nicelittlefarm,"repliedthewayfarer,briefly."Upalonginthatdirection—"henoddednorthwards."Nevermindaboutit.IhadeverythingIcouldwant—everythingIhadanyrighttoexpectoflife,andmore;andhereIam!Gladtobehereallthesame,though,gladtobehere!Somanymilesfurtherontheroad,somanyhoursnearertomyheart’sdesire!"
Hisshiningeyesheldfasttothehorizon,andheseemedtobelisteningforsomesoundthatwaswantingfromthatinlandacreage,vocalasitwaswiththecheerfulmusicofpasturageandfarmyard.
"Youarenotoneofus,"saidtheWaterRat,"noryetafarmer;noreven,Ishouldjudge,ofthiscountry."
"Right,"repliedthestranger."I’maseafaringrat,Iam,andtheportIoriginallyhailfromisConstantinople,thoughI’masortofaforeignertheretoo,inamannerofspeaking.YouwillhaveheardofConstantinople,friend?Afaircityandanancientandgloriousone.
