Діти залізниці
The End.
"
"ThethingIdon’tlike,"saidBobbie,onthisfourthday,whichwasaTuesday,"isourhavingstoppedwavingtothe9.15andsendingourlovetoFatherbyit."
"Let’sbeginagain,"saidPhyllis.Andtheydid.
SomehowthechangeofeverythingthatwasmadebyhavingservantsinthehouseandMothernotdoinganywriting,madethetimeseemextremelylongsincethatstrangemorningatthebeginningofthings,whentheyhadgotupsoearlyandburntthebottomoutofthekettleandhadapplepieforbreakfastandfirstseentheRailway.
ItwasSeptembernow,andtheturfontheslopetotheRailwaywasdryandcrisp.Littlelonggrassspikesstooduplikebitsofgoldwire,frailblueharebellstrembledontheirtough,slenderstalks,Gipsyrosesopenedwideandflattheirlilac-coloureddiscs,andthegoldenstarsofSt.John’sWortshoneattheedgesofthepoolthatlayhalfwaytotheRailway.Bobbiegatheredageneroushandfuloftheflowersandthoughthowprettytheywouldlooklyingonthegreen-and-pinkblanketofsilk-wastethatnowcoveredJim’spoorbrokenleg.
"Hurryup,"saidPeter,"orweshallmissthe9.15!"
"Ican’thurrymorethanIamdoing,"saidPhyllis.
