Фрэнсис Элиза Ходжсон Бёрнетт - A Little Princess / Маленькая принцесса. Книга для чтения на английском языке

“But I has to eat ’em careful, miss,” she said once; “’cos [129] ’cos = because if I leaves crumbs the rats come out to get ’em.”

“Rats!” exclaimed Sara, in horror. “Are there RATS there?”

“Lots of ’em, miss,” Becky answered in quite a matter-of-fact manner [130] Becky answered in quite a matter-of-fact manner – сказала Бекки как нечто само собой разумеющееся . “There mostly is rats an’ mice in attics. You gets used to the noise they makes scuttling about. I’ve got so I don’t mind ’em s’ long as they don’t run over my piller [131] piller = pillow .”

“Ugh!” said Sara.

“You gets used to anythin’ after a bit,” said Becky. “You have to, miss, if you’re born a scullery maid. I’d rather have rats than cockroaches [132] I’d rather have rats than cockroaches. – Уж лучше пусть будут крысы, чем тараканы. .”

“So would I,” said Sara; “I suppose you might make friends with a rat in time, but I don’t believe I should like to make friends with a cockroach.”

Sometimes Becky did not dare to spend more than a few minutes in the bright, warm room, and when this was the case perhaps only a few words could be exchanged, and a small purchase slipped into the old-fashioned pocket Becky carried under her dress skirt, tied round her waist with a band of tape. The search for and discovery of satisfying things to eat which could be packed into small compass, added a new interest to Sara’s existence. When she drove or walked out, she used to look into shop windows eagerly. The first time it occurred to her to bring home two or three little meat pies, she felt that she had hit upon a discovery. When she exhibited them, Becky’s eyes quite sparkled.

“Oh, miss!” she murmured. “Them will be nice an’ fillin’. It’s fillin’ness that’s best. Sponge cake’s a ’evenly thing, but it melts away like – if you understand, miss. These’ll just STAY in yer stummick [133] in yer stummick = in your stomach .”

“Well,” hesitated Sara, “I don’t think it would be good if they stayed always, but I do believe they will be satisfying.”

They were satisfying – and so were beef sandwiches, bought at a cook-shop – and so were rolls and Bologna sausage. In time, Becky began to lose her hungry, tired feeling, and the coal box did not seem so unbearably heavy.

However heavy it was, and whatsoever the temper of the cook [134] whatsoever the temper of the cook – каким бы ни было настроение кухарки , and the hardness of the work heaped upon her shoulders, she had always the chance of the afternoon to look forward to – the chance that Miss Sara would be able to be in her sitting room. In fact, the mere seeing of Miss Sara would have been enough without meat pies. If there was time only for a few words, they were always friendly, merry words that put heart into one [135] merry words that put heart into one – добрые слова, сказанные от всего сердца ; and if there was time for more, then there was an installment of a story to be told, or some other thing one remembered afterward and sometimes lay awake in one’s bed in the attic to think over. Sara – who was only doing what she unconsciously liked better than anything else, Nature having made her for a giver [136] Nature having made her for a giver – от природы она больше любила давать, чем брать – had not the least idea what she meant to poor Becky, and how wonderful a benefactor she seemed. If Nature has made you for a giver, your hands are born open, and so is your heart; and though there may be times when your hands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can give things out of that – warm things, kind things, sweet things – help and comfort and laughter – and sometimes gay, kind laughter is the best help of all.

Becky had scarcely known what laughter was through all her poor, little hard-driven life. Sara made her laugh, and laughed with her; and, though neither of them quite knew it, the laughter was as “fillin’” as the meat pies [137] the laughter was as “fillin’” as the meat pies – смех был не менее «питательным», чем пироги с мясом .

A few weeks before Sara’s eleventh birthday a letter came to her from her father, which did not seem to be written in such boyish high spirits as usual. He was not very well, and was evidently overweighted by the business connected with the diamond mines.

“You see, little Sara,” he wrote, “your daddy is not a businessman at all, and figures and documents bother him. He does not really understand them, and all this seems so enormous. Perhaps, if I was not feverish [138] if I was not feverish – если бы у меня не было лихорадки I should not be awake, tossing about, one half of the night and spend the other half in troublesome dreams. If my little missus [139] Missus – хозяюшка were here, I dare say she would give me some solemn, good advice. You would, wouldn’t you, Little Missus?”

One of his many jokes had been to call her his “little missus” because she had such an old-fashioned air.

He had made wonderful preparations for her birthday. Among other things, a new doll had been ordered in Paris, and her wardrobe was to be, indeed, a marvel of splendid perfection. When she had replied to the letter asking her if the doll would be an acceptable present, Sara had been very quaint.

“I am getting very old,” she wrote; “you see, I shall never live to have another doll given me. This will be my last doll. There is something solemn about it. If I could write poetry, I am sure a poem about ‘A Last Doll’ would be very nice. But I cannot write poetry. I have tried, and it made me laugh. It did not sound like Watts or Coleridge [140] Watts – Исаак Уотс, английский поэт XVI–XVII веков, автор около 750 христианских гимнов; Coleridge – Сэмюэл Тэйлор Кольридж – английский поэт-романтик XVIIXVIII веков or Shakespeare at all. No one could ever take Emily’s place, but I should respect the Last Doll very much; and I am sure the school would love it. They all like dolls, though some of the big ones – the almost fifteen ones – pretend they are too grown up.”

Captain Crewe had a splitting headache when he read this letter in his bungalow in India. The table before him was heaped with papers and letters which were alarming him and filling him with anxious dread, but he laughed as he had not laughed for weeks.

“Oh,” he said, “she’s better fun every year she lives [141] she’s better fun every year she lives – с каждым годом она становится все забавнее . God grant this business may right itself and leave me free to run home and see her. What wouldn’t I give to have her little arms round my neck this minute! What WOULDN’T I give!”

The birthday was to be celebrated by great festivities. The schoolroom was to be decorated, and there was to be a party. The boxes containing the presents were to be opened with great ceremony, and there was to be a glittering feast spread in Miss Minchin’s sacred room. When the day arrived the whole house was in a whirl of excitement. How the morning passed nobody quite knew, because there seemed such preparations to be made. The schoolroom was being decked with garlands of holly; the desks had been moved away, and red covers had been put on the forms which were arrayed round the room against the wall.