The Greatest Works of E. Nesbit (220+ Titles in One Illustrated Edition). Эдит Несбит

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      As he spoke it the charm grew tall and broad, and he saw that Jane was just holding on to the edge of a great red arch of very curious shape. The opening of the arch was small, but Cyril saw that he could go through it. All round and beyond the arch were the faded trees and trampled grass of Regent’s Park, where the little ragged children were playing Ring o’ Roses. But through the opening of it shone a blaze of blue and yellow and red. Cyril drew a long breath and stiffened his legs so that the others should not see that his knees were trembling and almost knocking together. ‘Here goes!’ he said, and, stepping up through the arch, disappeared. Then followed Anthea. Robert, coming next, held fast, at Anthea’s suggestion, to the sleeve of Jane, who was thus dragged safely through the arch. And as soon as they were on the other side of the arch there was no more arch at all and no more Regent’s Park either, only the charm in Jane’s hand, and it was its proper size again. They were now in a light so bright that they winked and blinked and rubbed their eyes. During this dazzling interval Anthea felt for the charm and pushed it inside Jane’s frock, so that it might be quite safe. When their eyes got used to the new wonderful light the children looked around them. The sky was very, very blue, and it sparkled and glittered and dazzled like the sea at home when the sun shines on it.

      They were standing on a little clearing in a thick, low forest; there were trees and shrubs and a close, thorny, tangly undergrowth. In front of them stretched a bank of strange black mud, then came the browny-yellowy shining ribbon of a river. Then more dry, caked mud and more greeny-browny jungle. The only things that told that human people had been there were the clearing, a path that led to it, and an odd arrangement of cut reeds in the river.

      They looked at each other.

      ‘Well!’ said Robert, ‘this is a change of air!’

      It was. The air was hotter than they could have imagined, even in London in August.

      ‘I wish I knew where we were,’ said Cyril. ‘Here’s a river, now – I wonder whether it’s the Amazon or the Tiber, or what.’

      ‘It’s the Nile,’ said the Psammead, looking out of the fish-bag.

      ‘Then this is Egypt,’ said Robert, who had once taken a geography prize.

      ‘I don’t see any crocodiles,’ Cyril objected. His prize had been for natural history.

      The Psammead reached out a hairy arm from its basket and pointed to a heap of mud at the edge of the water.

      ‘What do you call that?’ it said; and as it spoke the heap of mud slid into the river just as a slab of badly mixed mortar will slip from a bricklayer’s trowel.

      ‘Oh!’ said everybody.

      There was a crashing among the reeds on the other side of the water.

      ‘And there’s a river-horse!’ said the Psammead, as a great beast like an enormous slaty-blue slug showed itself against the black bank on the far side of the stream.

      ‘It’s a hippopotamus,’ said Cyril; ‘it seems much more real somehow than the one at the Zoo, doesn’t it?’

      ‘I’m glad it’s being real on the other side of the river,’ said Jane.

      And now there was a crackling of reeds and twigs behind them. This was horrible. Of course it might be another hippopotamus, or a crocodile, or a lion – or, in fact, almost anything.

      ‘Keep your hand on the charm, Jane,’ said Robert hastily. ‘We ought to have a means of escape handy. I’m dead certain this is the sort of place where simply anything might happen to us.’

      ‘I believe a hippopotamus is going to happen to us,’ said Jane – ‘a very, very big one.’

      They had all turned to face the danger.

      ‘Don’t be silly little duffers,’ said the Psammead in its friendly, informal way; ‘it’s not a river-horse. It’s a human.’

      It was. It was a girl – of about Anthea’s age. Her hair was short and fair, and though her skin was tanned by the sun, you could see that it would have been fair too if it had had a chance. She had every chance of being tanned, for she had no clothes to speak of, and the four English children, carefully dressed in frocks, hats, shoes, stockings, coats, collars, and all the rest of it, envied her more than any words of theirs or of mine could possibly say. There was no doubt that hers was the right costume for that climate.

      She carried a pot on her head, of red and black earthenware. She did not see the children, who shrank back against the edge of the jungle, and she went forward to the brink СКАЧАТЬ