When dear old Mrs. Hay went back to

When dear old Mrs. Hay went back to town after staying with the Burnells she sent the children a doll's house. It was so big that the carter and Pat carried it into the courtyard, and there it stayed, propped up on two wooden boxes beside the feed-room door. No harm could come of it; it was summer. And perhaps the smell of paint would have gone off by the time it had to be taken in. For, really, the smell of paint coming from that doll's house ("Sweet of old Mrs. Hay, of course; most sweet and generous!") -- but the smell of paint was quite enough to make any one seriously ill, in Aunt Beryl's opinion. Even before the sacking was taken off. And when it was . . .
There stood the doll's house, a dark, oily, spinach green, picked out with bright yellow. Its two solid little chimneys, glued on to the roof, were painted red and white, and the door, gleaming with yellow varnish, was like a little slab of toffee. Four windows, real windows, were divided into panes by a broad streak of green. There was actually a tiny porch, too, painted yellow, with big lumps of congealed paint hanging along the edge.
But perfect, perfect little house! Who could possibly mind the smell? It was part of the joy, part of the newness.
"Open it quickly, some one!"
The hook at the side was stuck fast. Pat pried it open with his pen- knife, and the whole house-front swung back, and-there you were, gazing at one and the same moment into the drawing-room and dining-room, the kitchen and two bedrooms. That is the way for a house to open! Why don't all houses open like that? How much more exciting than peering through the slit of a door into a mean little hall with a hat-stand and two umbrellas! That is-isn't it? -- what you long to know about a house when you put your hand on the knocker. Perhaps it is the way God opens houses at dead of night when He is taking a quiet turn with an angel. . . .
"Oh-oh!" The Burnell children sounded as though they were in despair. It was too marvellous; it was too much for them. They had never seen anything like it in their lives. All the rooms were papered. There were pictures on the walls, painted on the paper, with gold frames complete. Red carpet covered all the floors except the kitchen; red plush chairs in the drawing-room, green in the dining-room; tables, beds with real bedclothes, a cradle, a stove, a dresser with tiny plates and one big jug. But what Kezia liked more than anything, what she liked frightfully, was the lamp. It stood in the middle of the dining-room table, an exquisite little amber lamp with a white globe. It was even filled all ready for lighting, though, of course, you couldn't light it. But there was something inside that looked like oil, and that moved when you shook it.
The father and mother dolls, who sprawled very stiff as though they had fainted in the drawing-room, and their two little children asleep upstairs, were really too big for the doll's house. They didn't look as though they belonged. But the lamp was perfect. It seemed to smile to Kezia, to say, "I live here." The lamp was real.
The Burnell children could hardly walk to school fast enough the next morning. They burned to tell everybody, to describe, to-well-to boast about their doll's house before the school-bell rang.
"I'm to tell," said Isabel, "because I'm the eldest. And you two can join in after. But I'm to tell first."
There was nothing to answer. Isabel was bossy, but she was always right, and Lottie and Kezia knew too well the powers that went with being eldest. They brushed through the thick buttercups at the road edge and said nothing.
"And I'm to choose who's to come and see it first. Mother said I might."
For it had been arranged that while the doll's house stood in the courtyard they might ask the girls at school, two at a time, to come and look. Not to stay to tea, of course, or to come traipsing through the house. But just to stand quietly in the courtyard while Isabel pointed out the beauties, and Lottie and Kezia looked pleased. . . .
But hurry as they might, by the time they had reached the tarred palings of the boys' playground the bell had begun to jangle. They only just had time to whip off their hats and fall into line before the roll was called. Never mind. Isabel tried to make up for it by looking very important and mysterious and by whispering behind her hand to the girls near her, "Got something to tell you at playtime."
Playtime came and Isabel was surrounded. The girls of her class nearly fought to put their arms round her, to walk away with her, to beam flatteringly, to be her special friend. She held quite a court under the huge pine trees at the side of the playground. Nudging, giggling together, the little girls pressed up close. And the only two who stayed outside the ring were the two who were always outside, the little Kelveys. They knew better than to come anywhere near the Burnells.
For the fact was, the school the Burnell children went to was not at all the kind of place their parents would have chosen if there had been any choice. But there was none. It was the only school for miles. And the consequence was all the children in the neighborhood, the judge's little girls, the doctor's daughters, the store-keeper's children, the milkman's, were forced to mix together. Not to speak of there being an equal number of rude, rough little boys as well. But the line had to be drawn somewhere. It was drawn at the Kelveys. Many of the children, including the Burnells, were not allowed even to speak to them. They walked past the Kelveys with their heads in the air, and as they set the fashion in all matters of behaviour, the Kelveys were shunned by everybody. Even the teacher had a special voice for them, and a special smile for the other children when Lil Kelvey came up to her desk with a bunch of dreadfully common-looking flowers.
They were the daughters of a spry, hardworking little washerwoman, who went about from house to house by the day. This was awful enough. But where was Mr. Kelvey? Nobody knew for certain. But everybody said he was in prison. So they were the daughters of a washerwoman and a gaolbird. Very nice company for other people's children! And they looked it. Why Mrs. Kelvey made them so conspicuous was hard to understand. The truth was they were dressed in "bits" given to her by the people for whom she worked. Lil, for instance, who was a stout, plain child, with big freckles, came to school in a dress made from a green art-serge table-cloth of the Burnells', with red plush sleeves from the Logans' curtains. Her hat, perched on top of her high forehead, was a grown-up woman's hat, once the property of Miss Lecky, the postmistress. It was turned up at the back and trimmed with a large scarlet quill. What a little guy she looked! It was impossible not to laugh. And her little sister, our Else, wore a long white dress, rather like a nightgown, and a pair of little boy's boots. But whatever our Else wore she would have looked strange. She was a tiny wishbone of a child, with cropped hair and enormous solemn eyes-a little white owl. Nobody had ever seen her smile; she scarcely ever spoke. She went through life holding on to Lil, with a piece of Lil's skirt screwed up in her hand. Where Lil went our Else followed. In the playground, on the road going to and from school, there was Lil marching in front and our Else holding on behind. Only when she wanted anything, or when she was out of breath, our Else gave Lil a tug, a twitch, and Lil stopped and turned round. The Kelveys never failed to understand each other.
Now they hovered at the edge; you couldn't stop them listening. When the little girls turned round and sneered, Lil, as usual, gave her silly, shamefaced smile, but our Else only looked.
And Isabel's voice, so very proud, went on telling. The carpet made a great sensation, but so did the beds with real bedclothes, and the stove with an oven door.
When she finished Kezia broke in. "You've forgotten the lamp, Isabel."
"Oh, yes," said Isabel, "and there's a teeny little lamp, all made of yellow glass, with a white globe that stands on the dining-room table. You couldn't tell it from a real one."
"The lamp's best of all," cried Kezia. She thought Isabel wasn't making half enough of the little lamp. But nobody paid any attention. Isabel was choosing the two who were to come back with them that afternoon and see it. She chose Emmie Cole and Lena Logan. But when the others knew they were all to have a chance, they couldn't be nice enough to Isabel. One by one they put their arms round Isabel's waist and walked her off. They had something to whisper to her, a secret. "Isabel's my friend."
Only the little Kelveys moved away forgotten; there was nothing more for them to hear.
Days passed, and as more children saw the doll's house, the fame of it spread. It became the one subject, the rage. The one question was, "Have you seen Burnells' doll's house?" "Oh, ain't it lovely!" "Haven't you seen it? Oh, I say!"
Even the dinner hour was given up to talking about it. The little girls sat under the pines eating their thick mutton sandwiches and big slabs of johnny cake spread with butter. While always, as near as they could get, sat the Kelveys, our Else holding on to Lil, listening too, while they chewed their jam sandwiches out of a newspaper soaked with large red blobs.
"Mother," said Kezia, "can't I ask the Kelveys just once?"
"Certainly not, Kezia."
"But why not?"
"Run away, Kezia; you know quite well why not."

At last everybody had seen it except them. On that day the subject rather flagged. It was the dinner hour. The children stood together under the pine trees, and suddenly, as they looked at the Kelveys eating out of their paper, always by themselves, always listening, they wanted to be horrid to them. Emmie Cole started the whisper.
"Lil Kelvey's going to be a servant when she grows up."
"O-oh, how awful!" said Isabel Burnell, and she made eyes at Emmie.
Emmie swallowed in a

Результаты (русский) 1:

Когда дорогая старая миссис Хэй вернулся в город после пребывания с Burnells она направила детям Кукольный дом. Это было настолько большой, что Картер и ПЭТ носил его во двор, и там он остался, подпирали на двух деревянных ящиках рядом с канал-дверь. Без вреда может не принесло его; Это было лето. И возможно запах краски пошел бы к времени, когда оно должно быть принято. На самом деле, запах краски, исходя из этого Кукольный дом («сладкий старой миссис Сена, конечно; самый сладкий и щедрым!») - но запах краски было вполне достаточно, чтобы сделать какой-либо серьезно болен, по мнению тетя Beryl. Еще до Мешковина была снята с. И когда он был... Там стоял Кукольный дом, темный, жирной, шпинат зеленый, выбрал с ярко-желтым. Его два твердых мало дымоходы, приклеенный на крышу, были окрашены красным и белым, и дверь, блестящие с желтым лаком, как Маленькая плита ириса. Четыре окна, реальные были разделены в области широкой полосы зеленого. Существовал на самом деле крошечные крыльцо, тоже, окрашенные желтые, большие куски застывшего краски, висит вдоль края.Но идеальный, совершенный домик! Возможно, кто мог бы прочь запах? Это была часть радости, часть новизны.«Открыть его быстро, кто-то!»Крюк на стороне застрял быстро. ПЭТ разжал его открыть с его ручка нож и весь дом фронт качнулся назад, и там, вы глядя на один и тот же момент в гостиной и столовая, кухня и две спальни. Это путь для дома, чтобы открыть! Почему не все дома как это открыть? Как гораздо более захватывающим, чем вглядываясь через щель двери в среднем маленький зал с хет стенд и два зонтики! Это-разве это не? -что вы долго, чтобы знать о доме, когда вы кладете руку на knocker. Возможно, это путь, Бог открывает дома в глубокой ночью, когда он берет тихий поворот с ангелом....«Ой ой!» Бёрнелл детей звучало, как если бы они были в отчаянии. Это было слишком чудесный; Это было слишком много для них. Они никогда не видели ничего подобного в своей жизни. Все номера были оклеивали. Там были фотографии на стенах, написанные на бумаге, с золотой рамы полностью. Красный ковер охватывает все полы, кроме кухни; красные плюшевые кресла в гостиной, зеленый в столовой; столы, кровати с реальным постельным бельем, комод с крошечных пластин и один большой кувшин, колыбель, плита. Но что Кезия понравилось больше, чем что-нибудь, что она любила ужасно, лампа. Он стоял посреди столовой стол, изысканный маленький янтаря лампа с белым глобусом. Он даже был заполнен все готово для освещения, хотя, конечно, вы не свет. Но было что-то внутри, что посмотрел, как нефть, и что переехал, когда вы потрясли его.Отец и мать куклы, которые развалился очень жесткой, как будто они в обморок в гостиной и их двух маленьких детей спит наверху, действительно были слишком большой для дома куклы. Они не выглядят, как будто они принадлежали. Но лампа была идеальной. Она, как представляется, улыбаться Кезия, чтобы сказать, «Я живу здесь.» Лампа была реальной.Бёрнелл дети могли едва ходить в школу быстро достаточно следующее утро. Они сожгли рассказать всем, чтобы описать, к-наилучшим образом чтобы похвастаться о их Кукольный дом до школы-раздался звонок.«Хочу сказать,» сказал Изабель, «потому что я старший. И вы двое можете присоединиться после. Но чтобы сказать сначала.»Не было ничего ответить. Изабель был командовать, но она всегда была права, и Лотти и Кезия знал слишком хорошо полномочия, которые пошли с бытием старшим. Они щеткой через толстые лютики на краю дороги и ничего не сказал.«И я должен выбрать, кто будет прийти и увидеть его в первую очередь. Мать сказала, что я мог бы.»Для этого было организовано что в то время как кукольный дом стоял во дворе они могут спросить девочек в школе, два в то время, чтобы прийти и посмотреть. Чтобы не остаться на чай, конечно, или прийти тащась через дом. Но только стоять спокойно во внутреннем дворике, в то время как Isabel указал красавицы и Лотти и Кезия выглядел приятно....Но спешить, как они, возможно, к тому времени, когда они достигли заархивированной балясин мальчиков площадка, которую колокол начали пререкания. Они только имели время, чтобы сбросить их шляпы и попадают в линии прежде, чем был вызван рулон. Ничего. Изабель попытался сделать для нее, глядя очень важные и таинственный и по шёпот за руку девушки рядом с ней, «есть что-то сказать вам на время игры».Playtime пришли и окружили Isabel. Девушки ее класса, почти боролись, чтобы положить руки вокруг ее, чтобы уйти с ней, пучком лестно, чтобы быть ее особого друга. Она провела суд под огромными соснами на стороне площадки. Подталкивая, хихикая вместе, девочки нажата вверх близко. И только два, кто остался за пределами кольца были два, которые всегда были снаружи, мало Kelveys. Они знали лучше, чем чтобы прийти в любом месте рядом с Burnells.Для того, школы, которую Бёрнелл дети пошли вовсе не то место, их родители выбрали бы если было выбора. Но не было. Это была единственная школа для миль. И следствие все дети в окрестности, судьи маленькие девочки, дочери доктора, Хранитель магазина детей, молочник, были вынуждены смешать вместе. Не для того, чтобы говорить там быть равное количество грубый, грубый маленьких мальчиков, а также. Однако линия должна быть выписанным где-то. Оно было обращено на Kelveys. Многие из детей, в том числе Burnells, не разрешалось даже говорить с ними. Они шли мимо Kelveys с их руководителями в воздухе, и как они устанавливают моды во всех вопросах поведения, Kelveys были избегал всех. Даже учитель был Специальный голос для них, и специальная улыбка для других детей, когда Lil Kelvey подошел к ее стол с кучей ужасно общего вида цветов.They were the daughters of a spry, hardworking little washerwoman, who went about from house to house by the day. This was awful enough. But where was Mr. Kelvey? Nobody knew for certain. But everybody said he was in prison. So they were the daughters of a washerwoman and a gaolbird. Very nice company for other people's children! And they looked it. Why Mrs. Kelvey made them so conspicuous was hard to understand. The truth was they were dressed in "bits" given to her by the people for whom she worked. Lil, for instance, who was a stout, plain child, with big freckles, came to school in a dress made from a green art-serge table-cloth of the Burnells', with red plush sleeves from the Logans' curtains. Her hat, perched on top of her high forehead, was a grown-up woman's hat, once the property of Miss Lecky, the postmistress. It was turned up at the back and trimmed with a large scarlet quill. What a little guy she looked! It was impossible not to laugh. And her little sister, our Else, wore a long white dress, rather like a nightgown, and a pair of little boy's boots. But whatever our Else wore she would have looked strange. She was a tiny wishbone of a child, with cropped hair and enormous solemn eyes-a little white owl. Nobody had ever seen her smile; she scarcely ever spoke. She went through life holding on to Lil, with a piece of Lil's skirt screwed up in her hand. Where Lil went our Else followed. In the playground, on the road going to and from school, there was Lil marching in front and our Else holding on behind. Only when she wanted anything, or when she was out of breath, our Else gave Lil a tug, a twitch, and Lil stopped and turned round. The Kelveys never failed to understand each other.Now they hovered at the edge; you couldn't stop them listening. When the little girls turned round and sneered, Lil, as usual, gave her silly, shamefaced smile, but our Else only looked.And Isabel's voice, so very proud, went on telling. The carpet made a great sensation, but so did the beds with real bedclothes, and the stove with an oven door.When she finished Kezia broke in. "You've forgotten the lamp, Isabel.""Oh, yes," said Isabel, "and there's a teeny little lamp, all made of yellow glass, with a white globe that stands on the dining-room table. You couldn't tell it from a real one.""The lamp's best of all," cried Kezia. She thought Isabel wasn't making half enough of the little lamp. But nobody paid any attention. Isabel was choosing the two who were to come back with them that afternoon and see it. She chose Emmie Cole and Lena Logan. But when the others knew they were all to have a chance, they couldn't be nice enough to Isabel. One by one they put their arms round Isabel's waist and walked her off. They had something to whisper to her, a secret. "Isabel's my friend."Only the little Kelveys moved away forgotten; there was nothing more for them to hear.Days passed, and as more children saw the doll's house, the fame of it spread. It became the one subject, the rage. The one question was, "Have you seen Burnells' doll's house?" "Oh, ain't it lovely!" "Haven't you seen it? Oh, I say!"Even the dinner hour was given up to talking about it. The little girls sat under the pines eating their thick mutton sandwiches and big slabs of johnny cake spread with butter. While always, as near as they could get, sat the Kelveys, our Else holding on to Lil, listening too, while they chewed their jam sandwiches out of a newspaper soaked with large red blobs."Mother," said Kezia, "can't I ask the Kelveys just once?""Certainly not, Kezia.""But why not?""Run away, Kezia; you know quite well why not."At last everybody had seen it except them. On that day the subject rather flagged. It was the dinner hour. The children stood together under the pine trees, and suddenly, as they looked at the Kelveys eating out of their paper, always by themselves, always listening, they wanted to be horrid to them. Emmie Cole started the whisper."Lil Kelvey's going to be a servant when she grows up.""O-oh, how awful!" said Isabel Burnell, and she made eyes at Emmie.Emmie swallowed in a