Вітер у вербах
The Wild Wood
Itwasalreadygettingtowardsduskwhenhereachedthefirstfringeoftreesandplungedwithouthesitationintothewood,lookinganxiouslyoneithersideforanysignofhisfriend.Hereandtherewickedlittlefacespoppedoutofholes,butvanishedimmediatelyatsightofthevalorousanimal,hispistols,andthegreatuglycudgelinhisgrasp;andthewhistlingandpattering,whichhehadheardquiteplainlyonhisfirstentry,diedawayandceased,andallwasverystill.Hemadehiswaymanfullythroughthelengthofthewood,toitsfurthestedge;then,forsakingallpaths,hesethimselftotraverseit,laboriouslyworkingoverthewholeground,andallthetimecallingoutcheerfully,"Moly,Moly,Moly!Whereareyou?It’sme—it’soldRat!"
Hehadpatientlyhuntedthroughthewoodforanhourormore,whenatlasttohisjoyheheardalittleansweringcry.Guidinghimselfbythesound,hemadehiswaythroughthegatheringdarknesstothefootofanoldbeechtree,withaholeinit,andfromoutoftheholecameafeeblevoice,saying"Ratty!Isthatreallyyou?"
TheRatcreptintothehollow,andtherehefoundtheMole,exhaustedandstilltrembling."ORat!"hecried,"I’vebeensofrightened,youcan’tthink!"
"O,Iquiteunderstand,"saidtheRatsoothingly."Youshouldn’treallyhavegoneanddoneit,Mole.Ididmybesttokeepyoufromit.Weriver-bankers,wehardlyevercomeherebyourselves.
