Діти залізниці
Saviours of the train.
AndtheywerealmostatthegatewhenBobbiesaid:—
"Hush.Stop!What’sthat?"
"That"wasaveryoddnoiseindeed—asoftnoise,butquiteplainlytobeheardthroughthesoundofthewindintreebranches,andthehumandwhirofthetelegraphwires.Itwasasortofrustling,whisperingsound.Astheylisteneditstopped,andthenitbeganagain.
Andthistimeitdidnotstop,butitgrewlouderandmorerustlingandrumbling.
"Look"—criedPeter,suddenly—"thetreeoverthere!"
Thetreehepointedatwasoneofthosethathaveroughgreyleavesandwhiteflowers.Theberries,whentheycome,arebrightscarlet,butifyoupickthem,theydisappointyoubyturningblackbeforeyougetthemhome.And,asPeterpointed,thetreewasmoving—notjustthewaytreesoughttomovewhenthewindblowsthroughthem,butallinonepiece,asthoughitwerealivecreatureandwerewalkingdownthesideofthecutting.
"It’smoving!"criedBobbie."Oh,look!andsoaretheothers.It’slikethewoodsinMacbeth."
"It’smagic,"saidPhyllis,breathlessly."Ialwaysknewthisrailwaywasenchanted."
Itreallydidseemalittlelikemagic.Forallthetreesforabouttwentyyardsoftheoppositebankseemedtobeslowlywalkingdowntowardstherailwayline,thetreewiththegreyleavesbringinguptherearlikesomeoldshepherddrivingaflockofgreensheep.
