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- Джеймс Барри
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- Стр. 130/132
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"
Excuse
me
,
ma'am
,
but
that
is
the
only
one
.
"
"
It
was
never
of
my
little
white
bird
I
wanted
to
write
,
"
she
said
.
I
looked
politely
incredulous
,
and
then
indeed
she
overwhelmed
me
.
"
It
was
of
your
little
white
bird
,
"
she
said
,
"
it
was
of
a
little
boy
whose
name
was
Timothy
.
"
She
had
a
very
pretty
way
of
saying
Timothy
,
so
David
and
I
went
into
another
room
to
leave
her
alone
with
the
manuscript
of
this
poor
little
book
,
and
when
we
returned
she
had
the
greatest
surprise
of
the
day
for
me
.
She
was
both
laughing
and
crying
,
which
was
no
surprise
,
for
all
of
us
would
laugh
and
cry
over
a
book
about
such
an
interesting
subject
as
ourselves
,
but
said
she
,
"
How
wrong
you
are
in
thinking
this
book
is
about
me
and
mine
,
it
is
really
all
about
Timothy
.
"
At
first
I
deemed
this
to
be
uncommon
nonsense
,
but
as
I
considered
I
saw
that
she
was
probably
right
again
,
and
I
gazed
crestfallen
at
this
very
clever
woman
.
"
And
so
,
"
said
she
,
clapping
her
hands
after
the
manner
of
David
when
he
makes
a
great
discovery
,
"
it
proves
to
be
my
book
after
all
.
"
"
With
all
your
pretty
thoughts
left
out
,
"
I
answered
,
properly
humbled
.
She
spoke
in
a
lower
voice
as
if
David
must
not
hear
.
"
I
had
only
one
pretty
thought
for
the
book
,
"
she
said
,
"
I
was
to
give
it
a
happy
ending
.
"
She
said
this
so
timidly
that
I
was
about
to
melt
to
her
when
she
added
with
extraordinary
boldness
,
"
The
little
white
bird
was
to
bear
an
olive-leaf
in
its
mouth
.
"
For
a
long
time
she
talked
to
me
earnestly
of
a
grand
scheme
on
which
she
had
set
her
heart
,
and
ever
and
anon
she
tapped
on
me
as
if
to
get
admittance
for
her
ideas
.
