Біла пташка
The Last of Timothy
Ihaddoneitwithaheavyfoot,andbythistimewasinaragewithbothhimandmyself,butIalwayswasabungler,and,havingadoptedthismeansinahurry,Icouldatthetimeseenoothereasywayout.Timothy’sholdonlife,asyoumayhaveapprehended,waseveroftheslightest,andIsupposeIalwaysknewthathemustsoonreverttotheobscure.Hecouldneverhavepenetratedintotheopen.Itwasnolifeforaboy.
Yetnow,thathistimehadcome,Iwasloathtoseehimgo.Iseemtoremembercarryinghimthateveningtothewindowwithuncommontenderness(followingthesettingsunthatwastotakehimaway),andtellinghimwithnotunnaturalbitternessthathehadgottoleavemebecauseanotherchildwasinneedofallhisprettythings;andasthesun,histruefather,lapthiminitsdancingarms,hesenthislovetoaladyoflongagowhomhecalledbythesweetestofnames,notknowinginhisinnocencethatthelittlewhitebirdsarethebirdsthatneverhaveamother.
