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- Фрэнсис Бёрнетт
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- Стр. 233/235
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He
said
it
all
so
like
a
healthy
boy
—
his
face
flushed
,
his
words
tumbling
over
each
other
in
his
eagerness
—
that
Mr
.
Craven
’
s
soul
shook
with
unbelieving
joy
.
Colin
put
out
his
hand
and
laid
it
on
his
father
’
s
arm
.
“
Aren
’
t
you
glad
,
Father
?
”
he
ended
.
“
Aren
’
t
you
glad
?
I
’
m
going
to
live
forever
and
ever
and
ever
!
”
Mr
.
Craven
put
his
hands
on
both
the
boy
’
s
shoulders
and
held
him
still
.
He
knew
he
dared
not
even
try
to
speak
for
a
moment
.
“
Take
me
into
the
garden
,
my
boy
,
”
he
said
at
last
.
“
And
tell
me
all
about
it
.
”
And
so
they
led
him
in
.
The
place
was
a
wilderness
of
autumn
gold
and
purple
and
violet
blue
and
flaming
scarlet
and
on
every
side
were
sheaves
of
late
lilies
standing
together
—
lilies
which
were
white
or
white
and
ruby
.
He
remembered
well
when
the
first
of
them
had
been
planted
that
just
at
this
season
of
the
year
their
late
glories
should
reveal
themselves
.
Late
roses
climbed
and
hung
and
clustered
and
the
sunshine
deepening
the
hue
of
the
yellowing
trees
made
one
feel
that
one
,
stood
in
an
embowered
temple
of
gold
.
The
newcomer
stood
silent
just
as
the
children
had
done
when
they
came
into
its
grayness
.
He
looked
round
and
round
.
“
I
thought
it
would
be
dead
,
”
he
said
.
“
Mary
thought
so
at
first
,
”
said
Colin
.
“
But
it
came
alive
.
”
Then
they
sat
down
under
their
tree
—
all
but
Colin
,
who
wanted
to
stand
while
he
told
the
story
.
