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- Фрэнсис Бёрнетт
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- Стр. 88/182
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Generally
the
skylights
were
closed
;
but
even
if
they
were
propped
open
to
admit
air
,
no
one
seemed
to
come
near
them
.
And
there
Sara
would
stand
,
sometimes
turning
her
face
upward
to
the
blue
which
seemed
so
friendly
and
near
--
just
like
a
lovely
vaulted
ceiling
--
sometimes
watching
the
west
and
all
the
wonderful
things
that
happened
there
:
the
clouds
melting
or
drifting
or
waiting
softly
to
be
changed
pink
or
crimson
or
snow-white
or
purple
or
pale
dove-gray
.
Sometimes
they
made
islands
or
great
mountains
enclosing
lakes
of
deep
turquoise-blue
,
or
liquid
amber
,
or
chrysoprase-green
;
sometimes
dark
headlands
jutted
into
strange
,
lost
seas
;
sometimes
slender
strips
of
wonderful
lands
joined
other
wonderful
lands
together
.
There
were
places
where
it
seemed
that
one
could
run
or
climb
or
stand
and
wait
to
see
what
next
was
coming
--
until
,
perhaps
,
as
it
all
melted
,
one
could
float
away
.
At
least
it
seemed
so
to
Sara
,
and
nothing
had
ever
been
quite
so
beautiful
to
her
as
the
things
she
saw
as
she
stood
on
the
table
--
her
body
half
out
of
the
skylight
--
the
sparrows
twittering
with
sunset
softness
on
the
slates
.
The
sparrows
always
seemed
to
her
to
twitter
with
a
sort
of
subdued
softness
just
when
these
marvels
were
going
on
.
There
was
such
a
sunset
as
this
a
few
days
after
the
Indian
gentleman
was
brought
to
his
new
home
;
and
,
as
it
fortunately
happened
that
the
afternoon
's
work
was
done
in
the
kitchen
and
nobody
had
ordered
her
to
go
anywhere
or
perform
any
task
,
Sara
found
it
easier
than
usual
to
slip
away
and
go
upstairs
.
She
mounted
her
table
and
stood
looking
out
.
It
was
a
wonderful
moment
.
There
were
floods
of
molten
gold
covering
the
west
,
as
if
a
glorious
tide
was
sweeping
over
the
world
.
A
deep
,
rich
yellow
light
filled
the
air
;
the
birds
flying
across
the
tops
of
the
houses
showed
quite
black
against
it
.
"
It
's
a
Splendid
one
,
"
said
Sara
,
softly
,
to
herself
.
"
It
makes
me
feel
almost
afraid
--
as
if
something
strange
was
just
going
to
happen
.
The
Splendid
ones
always
make
me
feel
like
that
.
"
She
suddenly
turned
her
head
because
she
heard
a
sound
a
few
yards
away
from
her
.
It
was
an
odd
sound
like
a
queer
little
squeaky
chattering
.
It
came
from
the
window
of
the
next
attic
.
Someone
had
come
to
look
at
the
sunset
as
she
had
.
There
was
a
head
and
a
part
of
a
body
emerging
from
the
skylight
,
but
it
was
not
the
head
or
body
of
a
little
girl
or
a
housemaid
;
it
was
the
picturesque
white-swathed
form
and
dark-faced
,
gleaming-eyed
,
white-turbaned
head
of
a
native
Indian
man-servant
--
"
a
Lascar
,
"
Sara
said
to
herself
quickly
--
and
the
sound
she
had
heard
came
from
a
small
monkey
he
held
in
his
arms
as
if
he
were
fond
of
it
,
and
which
was
snuggling
and
chattering
against
his
breast
.
As
Sara
looked
toward
him
he
looked
toward
her
.
The
first
thing
she
thought
was
that
his
dark
face
looked
sorrowful
and
homesick
.
She
felt
absolutely
sure
he
had
come
up
to
look
at
the
sun
,
because
he
had
seen
it
so
seldom
in
England
that
he
longed
for
a
sight
of
it
.
She
looked
at
him
interestedly
for
a
second
,
and
then
smiled
across
the
slates
.
She
had
learned
to
know
how
comforting
a
smile
,
even
from
a
stranger
,
may
be
.
Hers
was
evidently
a
pleasure
to
him
.
His
whole
expression
altered
,
and
he
showed
such
gleaming
white
teeth
as
he
smiled
back
that
it
was
as
if
a
light
had
been
illuminated
in
his
dusky
face
.
The
friendly
look
in
Sara
's
eyes
was
always
very
effective
when
people
felt
tired
or
dull
.
It
was
perhaps
in
making
his
salute
to
her
that
he
loosened
his
hold
on
the
monkey
.
He
was
an
impish
monkey
and
always
ready
for
adventure
,
and
it
is
probable
that
the
sight
of
a
little
girl
excited
him
.
He
suddenly
broke
loose
,
jumped
on
to
the
slates
,
ran
across
them
chattering
,
and
actually
leaped
on
to
Sara
's
shoulder
,
and
from
there
down
into
her
attic
room
.
It
made
her
laugh
and
delighted
her
;
but
she
knew
he
must
be
restored
to
his
master
--
if
the
Lascar
was
his
master
--
and
she
wondered
how
this
was
to
be
done
.
Would
he
let
her
catch
him
,
or
would
he
be
naughty
and
refuse
to
be
caught
,
and
perhaps
get
away
and
run
off
over
the
roofs
and
be
lost
?
That
would
not
do
at
all
.
Perhaps
he
belonged
to
the
Indian
gentleman
,
and
the
poor
man
was
fond
of
him
.
She
turned
to
the
Lascar
,
feeling
glad
that
she
remembered
still
some
of
the
Hindustani
she
had
learned
when
she
lived
with
her
father
.
She
could
make
the
man
understand
.
She
spoke
to
him
in
the
language
he
knew
.
