Вітер у вербах

           Rowsofspotlessplateswinkedfromtheshelvesofthedresseratthefarendoftheroom,andfromtheraftersoverheadhunghams,bundlesofdriedherbs,netsofonions,andbasketsofeggs.Itseemedaplacewhereheroescouldfitlyfeastaftervictory,wherewearyharvesterscouldlineupinscoresalongthetableandkeeptheirHarvestHomewithmirthandsong,orwheretwoorthreefriendsofsimpletastescouldsitaboutastheypleasedandeatandsmokeandtalkincomfortandcontentment.Theruddybrickfloorsmiledupatthesmokyceiling;theoakensettles,shinywithlongwear,exchangedcheerfulglanceswitheachother;platesonthedressergrinnedatpotsontheshelf,andthemerryfirelightflickeredandplayedovereverythingwithoutdistinction.

           ThekindlyBadgerthrustthemdownonasettletotoastthemselvesatthefire,andbadethemremovetheirwetcoatsandboots.Thenhefetchedthemdressing-gownsandslippers,andhimselfbathedtheMole’sshinwithwarmwaterandmendedthecutwithsticking-plaster,tillthewholethingwasjustasgoodasnew,ifnotbetter.Intheembracinglightandwarmth,warmanddryatlast,withwearylegsproppedupinfrontofthem,andasuggestiveclinkofplatesbeingarrangedonthetablebehind,itseemedtothestorm-drivenanimals,nowinsafeanchorage,thatthecoldandtracklessWildWoodjustleftoutsidewasmilesandmilesaway,andallthattheyhadsufferedinitahalf-forgottendream.