Біла пташка
Lock-Out Time
Thewaytheygavehimpowertoflywasthis:Theyalltickledhimontheshoulder,andsoonhefeltafunnyitchinginthatpartandthenupherosehigherandhigherandflewawayoutoftheGardensandoverthehouse-tops.
ItwassodeliciousthatinsteadofflyingstraighttohisoldhomeheskimmedawayoverSt.Paul’stotheCrystalPalaceandbackbytheriverandRegent’sPark,andbythetimehereachedhismother’swindowhehadquitemadeuphismindthathissecondwishshouldbetobecomeabird.
Thewindowwaswideopen,justasheknewitwouldbe,andinhefluttered,andtherewashismotherlyingasleep.Peteralightedsoftlyonthewoodenrailatthefootofthebedandhadagoodlookather.Shelaywithherheadonherhand,andthehollowinthepillowwaslikeanestlinedwithherbrownwavyhair.Heremembered,thoughhehadlongforgottenit,thatshealwaysgaveherhairaholidayatnight.Howsweetthefrillsofhernight-gownwere.Hewasverygladshewassuchaprettymother.
Butshelookedsad,andheknewwhyshelookedsad.Oneofherarmsmovedasifitwantedtogoroundsomething,andheknewwhatitwantedtogoround.
“Oh,mother,”saidPetertohimself,“ifyoujustknewwhoissittingontherailatthefootofthebed.”
Verygentlyhepattedthelittlemoundthatherfeetmade,andhecouldseebyherfacethatshelikedit.Heknewhehadbuttosay“Mother”eversosoftly,andshewouldwakeup.Theyalwayswakeupatonceifitisyouthatsaystheirname.Thenshewouldgivesuchajoyouscryandsqueezehimtight.
