Діти залізниці
The hound in the red jersey.
Ofcoursethechildrenwereneveroutatnight;butonce,atdusk,whenPeterhadgotoutofhisbedroomskylightontotheroof,hehadseentheredlampshiningfarawayattheedgeofthecutting.Thechildrenhadoftenbeendowntowatchthework,andthisdaytheinterestofpicksandspades,andbarrowsbeingwheeledalongplanks,completelyputthepaperchaseoutoftheirheads,sothattheyquitejumpedwhenavoicejustbehindthempanted,"Letmepass,please."Itwasthehare—abig-boned,loose-limbedboy,withdarkhairlyingflatonaverydampforehead.Thebagoftornpaperunderhisarmwasfastenedacrossoneshoulderbyastrap.Thechildrenstoodback.Thehareranalongtheline,andtheworkmenleanedontheirpickstowatchhim.Heranonsteadilyanddisappearedintothemouthofthetunnel.
"That’sagainsttheby-laws,"saidtheforeman.
"Whyworry?"saidtheoldestworkman;"liveandletlive’swhatIalwayssay.Ain’tyouneverbeenyoungyourself,Mr.Bates?"
"Ioughttoreporthim,"saidtheforeman.
"Whyspoilsport’swhatIalwayssay."
"Passengersareforbiddentocrossthelineonanypretence,"murmuredtheforeman,doubtfully.
"Heain’tnopassenger,"saidoneoftheworkmen.
"Nor‘eain’tcrossedtheline,notwherewecouldsee’imdoit,"saidanother.
"Noryet‘eain’tmadenopretences,"saidathird.
