Дні мрій
The Twenty-first Of October
Andassheproddedshemurmuredatintervals,“IKNEWtherewassomethingwecoulddo!Itisn’tmuch—butstillit’sSOMETHING!”
Thegardenerhadgonehometohistea.AuntElizahaddrivenoutforhersalongwayoff,andwasnotexpectedbacktillquitelate;andthisfarendofthegardenwasnotoverlookedbyanywindows.SotheTributeblazedonmerrilyunchecked.Villagersfaraway,catchingsightoftheflare,mutteredsomethingabout“themyoungdevilsattheirtricksagain,”andtrudgedonbeer-wards.Neverathoughtofwhatdayitwas,neverathoughtforNelson,whopreservedtheirhonestpint-pots,tobepaidforinhonestpence,andsavedthemfromlitresanddecimalcoinage.Nearerathand,frightenedrabbitspoppedupandvanishedwithaflickofwhitetails;scaredbirdsflutteredamongthebranches,orspedacrossthegladetoquietersleeping-quarters;butneverabirdnorabeastgaveathoughttotheherotowhomtheyoweditthateachyeartheirlittlehomesofhorsehair,wool,ormoss,weresafestablished’neaththeflapoftheBritishflag;andthatGameLaws,quietlypermanent,madelachasseaterroronlytotheirbetters.Nooneseemedtoknow,nortocare,nortosympathise.Inalltheecstasyofherburnt-offeringandsacrifice,Selinastoodalone.
Andyet—notquitealone!For,asthefirewasroaringatitsbest,certainstarssteppeddelicatelyforthonthesurfaceoftheimmensityabove,andpeereddowndoubtfully—withwonderatfirst,thenwithinterest,thenwithrecognition,withastartofgladsurprise.THEYatleastknewallaboutit,THEYunderstood.
