"Werewolf" - читать интересную книгу автора (Housman Clarence)

others, and disarmed her of interference by secretly displaying his
handful with a confiding smile. A dubious nod satisfied him, and
presently he started on the play he had devised. He took a tuft of
the white down, and gently shook it free of his fingers close to the
whirl of the wheel. The wind of the swift motion took it, spun it
round and round in widening circles, till it floated above like a
slow white moth. Little Rol's eyes danced, and the row of his small
teeth shone in a silent laugh of delight. Another and another of the
white tufts was sent whirling round like a winged thing in a
spider's web, and floating clear at last. Presently the handful failed.

Rol sprawled forward to survey the room, and contemplate another
journey under the table. His shoulder, thrusting forward, checked
the wheel for an instant; he shifted hastily. The wheel flew on with
a jerk, and the thread snapped. 'Naughty Rol!' said the girl. The
swiftest wheel stopped also, and the house-mistress, Rol's aunt,
leaned forward, and sighting the low curly head, gave a warning
against mischief, and sent him off to old Trella's corner.

Rol obeyed, and after a discreet period of obedience, sidled out
again down the length of the room farthest from his aunt's eye. As
he slipped in among the men, they looked up to see that their tools
might be, as far as possible, out of reach of Rol's hands, and close
to their own. Nevertheless, before long he managed to secure a
fine chisel and take off its point on the leg of the table. The
carver's strong objections to this disconcerted Rol, who for five
minutes thereafter effaced himself under the table.

During this seclusion he contemplated the many pairs of legs that
surrounded him, and almost shut out the light of the fire. How very
odd some of the legs were: some were curved where they should
be straight, some were straight where they should be curved, and,
as Rol said to himself. 'they all seemed screwed on differently.'
Some were tucked away modestly under the benches, others were
thrust far out under the table, encroaching on Rol's own particular
domain. He stretched out his own short legs and regarded them
critically, and, after comparison, favourably. Why were not all legs
made like his, or like his?

These legs approved by Rol were a little apart from the rest. He
crawled opposite and again made comparison. His face grew quite
solemn as he thought of the innumerably days to come before his
legs could be as long and strong. He hoped they would be just like
those, his models, as straight as to bone, as curved as to muscle.

A few moments later Sweyn of the long legs felt a small hand
caressing his foot, and looking down, met the upturned eyes of his
little cousin Rol. Lying on his back, still softly patting and stroking
the young man's foot, the child was quiet and happy for a good
while. He watched the movement of the strong deft hands, and the