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- Стр. 7/81
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'
I
see
the
lady
writing
.
I
see
the
gardeners
sweeping
,
'
said
Susan
.
'
If
we
died
here
,
nobody
would
bury
us
.
'
'
Run
!
'
said
Bernard
.
'
Run
!
The
gardener
with
the
black
beard
has
seen
us
!
We
shall
be
shot
!
We
shall
be
shot
like
jays
and
pinned
to
the
wall
!
We
are
in
a
hostile
country
.
We
must
escape
to
the
beech
wood
.
We
must
hide
under
the
trees
.
I
turned
a
twig
as
we
came
.
There
is
a
secret
path
.
Bend
as
low
as
you
can
.
Follow
without
looking
back
.
They
will
think
we
are
foxes
.
Run
!
'N
ow
we
are
safe
.
Now
we
can
stand
upright
again
.
Now
we
can
stretch
our
arms
in
this
high
canopy
,
in
this
vast
wood
.
I
hear
nothing
.
That
is
only
the
murmur
of
the
waves
in
the
air
.
That
is
a
wood-pigeon
breaking
cover
in
the
tops
of
the
beech
trees
.
The
pigeon
beats
the
air
;
the
pigeon
beats
the
air
with
wooden
wings
.
'
'N
ow
you
trail
away
,
'
said
Susan
,
'm
aking
phrases
.
Now
you
mount
like
an
air-ball
's
string
,
higher
and
higher
through
the
layers
of
the
leaves
,
out
of
reach
.
Now
you
lag
.
Now
you
tug
at
my
skirts
,
looking
back
,
making
phrases
.
You
have
escaped
me
.
Here
is
the
garden
.
Here
is
the
hedge
.
Here
is
Rhoda
on
the
path
rocking
petals
to
and
fro
in
her
brown
basin
.
'
'
All
my
ships
are
white
,
'
said
Rhoda
.
'
I
do
not
want
red
petals
of
hollyhocks
or
geranium
.
I
want
white
petals
that
float
when
I
tip
the
basin
up
.
I
have
a
fleet
now
swimming
from
shore
to
shore
.
I
will
drop
a
twig
in
as
a
raft
for
a
drowning
sailor
.
I
will
drop
a
stone
in
and
see
bubbles
rise
from
the
depths
of
the
sea
.
Neville
has
gone
and
Susan
has
gone
;
Jinny
is
in
the
kitchen
garden
picking
currants
with
Louis
perhaps
.
I
have
a
short
time
alone
,
while
Miss
Hudson
spreads
our
copy-books
on
the
schoolroom
table
.
I
have
a
short
space
of
freedom
.
I
have
picked
all
the
fallen
petals
and
made
them
swim
.
I
have
put
raindrops
in
some
.
I
will
plant
a
lighthouse
here
,
a
head
of
Sweet
Alice
.
And
I
will
now
rock
the
brown
basin
from
side
to
side
so
that
my
ships
may
ride
the
waves
.
Some
will
founder
.
Some
will
dash
themselves
against
the
cliffs
.
One
sails
alone
.
That
is
my
ship
.
It
sails
into
icy
caverns
where
the
sea-bear
barks
and
stalactites
swing
green
chains
.
The
waves
rise
;
their
crests
curl
;
look
at
the
lights
on
the
mastheads
.
They
have
scattered
,
they
have
foundered
,
all
except
my
ship
,
which
mounts
the
wave
and
sweeps
before
the
gale
and
reaches
the
islands
where
the
parrots
chatter
and
the
creepers
...
'
'
Where
is
Bernard
?
'
said
Neville
.
'
He
has
my
knife
.
We
were
in
the
tool-shed
making
boats
,
and
Susan
came
past
the
door
.
And
Bernard
dropped
his
boat
and
went
after
her
taking
my
knife
,
the
sharp
one
that
cuts
the
keel
.
He
is
like
a
dangling
wire
,
a
broken
bell-pull
,
always
twangling
.
He
is
like
the
seaweed
hung
outside
the
window
,
damp
now
,
now
dry
.
He
leaves
me
in
the
lurch
;
he
follows
Susan
;
and
if
Susan
cries
he
will
take
my
knife
and
tell
her
stories
.
The
big
blade
is
an
emperor
;
the
broken
blade
a
Negro
.
I
hate
dangling
things
;
I
hate
dampish
things
.
I
hate
wandering
and
mixing
things
together
.
Now
the
bell
rings
and
we
shall
be
late
.
Now
we
must
drop
our
toys
.
Now
we
must
go
in
together
.
The
copy-books
are
laid
out
side
by
side
on
the
green
baize
table
.
'
'
I
will
not
conjugate
the
verb
,
'
said
Louis
,
'
until
Bernard
has
said
it
.
My
father
is
a
banker
in
Brisbane
and
I
speak
with
an
Australian
accent
.
I
will
wait
and
copy
Bernard
.
He
is
English
.
They
are
all
English
.
Susan
's
father
is
a
clergyman
.
Rhoda
has
no
father
.
Bernard
and
Neville
are
the
sons
of
gentlemen
.
Jinny
lives
with
her
grandmother
in
London
.
Now
they
suck
their
pens
.
Now
they
twist
their
copy-books
,
and
,
looking
sideways
at
Miss
Hudson
,
count
the
purple
buttons
on
her
bodice
.
Bernard
has
a
chip
in
his
hair
.
Susan
has
a
red
look
in
her
eyes
.
Both
are
flushed
.
But
I
am
pale
;
I
am
neat
,
and
my
knickerbockers
are
drawn
together
by
a
belt
with
a
brass
snake
.
I
know
the
lesson
by
heart
.
I
know
more
than
they
will
ever
know
.
I
knew
my
cases
and
my
genders
;
I
could
know
everything
in
the
world
if
I
wished
.
But
I
do
not
wish
to
come
to
the
top
and
say
my
lesson
.
My
roots
are
threaded
,
like
fibres
in
a
flower-pot
,
round
and
round
about
the
world
.
I
do
not
wish
to
come
to
the
top
and
live
in
the
light
of
this
great
clock
,
yellow-faced
,
which
ticks
and
ticks
.
Jinny
and
Susan
,
Bernard
and
Neville
bind
themselves
into
a
thong
with
which
to
lash
me
.
They
laugh
at
my
neatness
,
at
my
Australian
accent
.
I
will
now
try
to
imitate
Bernard
softly
lisping
Latin
.
'
'
Those
are
white
words
,
'
said
Susan
,
'
like
stones
one
picks
up
by
the
seashore
.
'
