Вітер у вербах

           Mole’sfacebeamedatthesightofalltheseobjectssodeartohim,andhehurriedRatthroughthedoor,litalampinthehall,andtookoneglanceroundhisoldhome.Hesawthedustlyingthickoneverything,sawthecheerless,desertedlookofthelong-neglectedhouse,anditsnarrow,meagredimensions,itswornandshabbycontents—andcollapsedagainonahall-chair,hisnosetohispaws."ORatty!"hecrieddismally,"whyeverdidIdoit?WhydidIbringyoutothispoor,coldlittleplace,onanightlikethis,whenyoumighthavebeenatRiverBankbythistime,toastingyourtoesbeforeablazingfire,withallyourownnicethingsaboutyou!"

           TheRatpaidnoheedtohisdolefulself-reproaches.Hewasrunninghereandthere,openingdoors,inspectingroomsandcupboards,andlightinglampsandcandlesandstickingthemupeverywhere."Whatacapitallittlehousethisis!"hecalledoutcheerily."Socompact!Sowellplanned!Everythinghereandeverythinginitsplace!We’llmakeajollynightofit.Thefirstthingwewantisagoodfire;I’llseetothat—Ialwaysknowwheretofindthings.Sothisistheparlour?Splendid!Yourownidea,thoselittlesleeping-bunksinthewall?Capital!Now,I’llfetchthewoodandthecoals,andyougetaduster,Mole—you’llfindoneinthedrawerofthekitchentable—andtryandsmartenthingsupabit.