Біла пташка

William Paterson

           Imaywalkontheothersideunknowntothem,buttheyhavenoneedofme,foratsuchtimesnothingwouldinducePorthostodepartfromthecareofDavid.Ifanyoneaddressesthemhegrowlssoftlyandshowstheteeththatcrunchbonesasiftheywerebiscuits.ThusamicablythetwopassontoMary’shouse,wherePorthosbarkshisknock-and-ringbarktillthedoorisopened.SometimeshegoesinwithDavid,butonthisoccasionhesaidgood-byeonthestep.Nothingremarkableinthis,buthedidnotreturntome,notthatdaynornextdaynorinweeksandmonths.Iwasamandistraught;andDavidworehisknucklesinhiseyes.Conceiveit,wehadlostourdearPorthosatleastwellsomethingdisquietinghappened.Idon’tquiteknowwhattothinkofitevennow.IknowwhatDavidthinks.However,youshallthinkasyouchoose.

           MyfirsthopewasthatPorthoshadstrolledtotheGardensandgotlockedinforthenight,andalmostassoonasLock-outwasoverIwastheretomakeinquiries.ButtherewasnonewsofPorthos,thoughIlearnedthatsomeonewasbelievedtohavespentthenightintheGardens,ayounggentlemanwhowalkedouthastilythemomentthegateswereopened.Hehadsaidnothing,however,ofhavingseenadog.Ifearedanaccidentnow,forIknewnothiefcouldstealhim,yetevenanaccidentseemedincredible,hewasalwayssocautiousatcrossings;alsotherecouldnotpossiblyhavebeenanaccidenttoPorthoswithouttherebeinganaccidenttosomethingelse.

           Davidinthemiddleofhisgameswouldsuddenlyrememberthegreatblankandstepasidetocry.

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