"Alexander Green - Crimson Sails" - читать интересную книгу автора (Green Alexander)

again.
Never before had Assol ventured so far into the woods. Being completely
absorbed by an impatient desire to catch up with the toy, she paid no
attention to her surroundings; there were more than enough obstacles on
the bank to claim her attention as she scurried along. Mossy trunks of
fallen trees, pits, tall-standing ferns, briar roses, jasmine and hazel bushes
blocked her every step; in overcoming them she gradually tired, stopping
ever more often to catch her breath or brush a wisp of clinging cobweb
from her face. When, in the wider stretches, there appeared thickets of
sedge and reeds, Assol nearly lost sight of the crimson-gleaming sails, but
hurrying round a bend she would catch sight of them again, running with
the wind so majestically and steadfastly. Once she looked back, and the
great mass of the forest with its many hues, changing from the hazy
columns of light in the leaves to the dark slashes of dense gloom,
astounded her. For a moment she became frightened, but then recalled
the toy and, letting out several deep "phew's", ran on as fast as she could.
Nearly an hour passed in this futile and frantic chase, and then Assol
was surprised and relieved to see the trees part widely up ahead, letting in
a blue expanse of sea, clouds and the edge of a sandy yellow bluff onto
which she came running, nearly dropping from exhaustion. This was the
mouth of the little river; spreading here, not broadly, and shallowly, so
that the streaming blue of the rocks on the bottom could be seen, it
disappeared into the oncoming waves of the sea. Standing at the edge of
the low, root-gnarled bluff, Assol saw a man sitting on a large, flat stone by
the stream with his back to her, holding the runaway yacht and turning it
in his hands with the curiosity of an elephant that had caught a butterfly.
Somewhat calmed by the sight of the rescued toy, Assol slid down the
slope, came up beside the stranger and studied him closely while waiting
for him to raise his head. However, the stranger was so absorbed in
examining the forest's surprise that the child had a chance to inspect him
from head to toe, deciding that never before had she ever seen anyone like
him.
The man was in fact Egle, the well-known collector of songs, legends and
fairy-tales, who was on a walking tour. His grey locks fell in waves from
under his straw hat; his grey blouse tucked into his blue trousers and his
high boots made him look like a hunter; his white collar, tie,
silver-studded belt, walking stick and leather pouch with the shiny,
nickel-plated buckle showed him to be a city-dweller. His face, if one can
call a face a nose, lips and eyes that peep out of a bushy, spiked beard and
luxuriant, fiercely twirled moustache, would have seemed flabbily
translucent, if not for the eyes that were as grey as sand and as shiny as
pure steel, with a gaze that was bold and powerful.
"Now give it back," the little girl said timidly. "You've played with it
long enough. How did you catch it?"
 Egle looked up and dropped the yacht, for Assol's excited voice had
broken the stillness so unexpectedly. For a moment the old man gazed at
her, smiling and slowly running his beard through his large, curled hand.
An oft-washed little cotton dress just barely covered the girl's skinny,
sunburned knees. Her thick dark hair tied up in a lace kerchief had got
undone and fell to her shoulders. Every one of Assol's features was