Діти залізниці
The hound in the red jersey.
"Tothestation,ofcourse,"saidBobbie;"giveusahand,Pete."
Shesetherfootonthelockoftheyarddoor.Peterreacheddownahand.
"Whatonearth?"sheaskedasshereachedthewall-top—forPhyllisandPeterwereverymuddy.Alumpofwetclaylaybetweenthemonthewall,theyhadeachaslipofslateinaverydirtyhand,andbehindPeter,outofthereachofaccidents,wereseveralstrangeroundedobjectsratherlikeveryfatsausages,hollow,butclosedupatoneend.
"It’snests,"saidPeter,"swallows’nests.We’regoingtodrythemintheovenandhangthemupwithstringundertheeavesofthecoach-house."
"Yes,"saidPhyllis;"andthenwe’regoingtosaveupallthewoolandhairwecanget,andinthespringwe’lllinethem,andthenhowpleasedtheswallowswillbe!"
"I’veoftenthoughtpeopledon’tdonearlyenoughfordumbanimals,"saidPeterwithanairofvirtue."Idothinkpeoplemighthavethoughtofmakingnestsforpoorlittleswallowsbeforethis."
"Oh,"saidBobbie,vaguely,"ifeverybodythoughtofeverything,there’dbenothingleftforanybodyelsetothinkabout."
"Lookatthenests—aren’ttheypretty?"saidPhyllis,reachingacrossPetertograspanest.
"Lookout,Phil,yougoat,"saidherbrother.Butitwastoolate;herstronglittlefingershadcrushedthenest.
"Therenow,"saidPeter.
