Біла пташка

           SodesperatelycumberedwasMarytokeepherlittlehouseoverherhead,andyetthebraveheartwasretainingasmilingfaceforherhusband,whomustnotevenknowwhereherlittletreasuresweregoing.

           Itmustseemmonstrouslycruelofme,butIwasnowquitelight-heartedagain.EvenwhenMaryfledfromtheshopwhereshehadleftherwatch,andIhadpeaceofmindtonotehowthinandwornshehadbecome,asifherbabywasgrowntoobigforherslightarms,eventhenIwaslight-hearted.Withoutattemptingtofollowher,Isaunteredhomewardhummingasnatchofsongwithagreatdealoffal-de-lal-de-riddle-oinit,forIcanneverrememberwords.Isawherenteranothershop,babylinenshoporsomenonsenseofthatsort,soitwasplainforwhatshehadpoppedherwatch;butwhatcaredI?Icontinuedtosingmostbeautifully.Ilungedgaylywithmystickatalamp-postandmissedit,whereatastreet-urchingrinned,andIwinkedathimandslippedtwopencedownhisback.

           IpresumeIwouldhavechosentheeasywayhadtimebeengivenme,butfatewilledthatIshouldmeetthehusbandonhishomewardjourney,andhisfirstremarkinspiredmetoafolly.

           “HowisTimothy?”heasked;andthequestionopenedawaysoattractivethatIthinknoonewhosedulllifecravesforcolourcouldhaveresistedit.

           “Heisnomore,”Irepliedimpulsively