E. Nesbit
Five Children and It
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Table of contents
The Psammead
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI (AND LAST)
The Psammead
My Lamb,
you are so very small,You
have not learned to read at all;Yet
never a printed book withstandsThe
urgence of your dimpled hands.So,
though this book is for yourself,Let
mother keep it on the shelfTill
you can read. O days that pass,That
day will come too soon, alas!
CHAPTER I
BEAUTIFUL
AS THE DAYThe
house was three miles from the station, but, before the dusty hired
hack had rattled along for five minutes, the children began to put
their heads out of the carriage window and say, "Aren't we
nearly there?" And every time they passed a house, which was not
very often, they all said, "Oh,
is this it?"
But it never was, till they reached the very top of the hill, just
past the chalk-quarry and before you come to the gravel-pit. And then
there was a white house with a green garden and an orchard beyond,
and mother said, "Here we are!""How
white the house is," said Robert."And
look at the roses," said Anthea."And
the plums," said Jane."It
is rather decent," Cyril admitted.The
Baby said, "Wanty go walky;" and the hack stopped with a
last rattle and jolt.Everyone
got its legs kicked or its feet trodden on in the scramble to get out
of the carriage that very minute, but no one seemed to mind. Mother,
curiously enough, was in no hurry to get out; and even when she had
come down slowly and by the step, and with no jump at all, she seemed
to wish to see the boxes carried in, and even to pay the driver,
instead of joining in that first glorious rush round the garden and
orchard and the thorny, thistly, briery, brambly wilderness beyond
the broken gate and the dry fountain at the side of the house. But
the children were wiser, for once. It was not really a pretty house
at all; it was quite ordinary, and mother thought it was rather
inconvenient, and was quite annoyed at there being no shelves, to
speak of, and hardly a cupboard in the place. Father used to say that
the iron-work on the roof and coping was like an architect's
nightmare. But the house was deep in the country, with no other house
in sight, and the children had been in London for two years, without
so much as once going to the seaside even for a day by an excursion
train, and so the White House seemed to them a sort of Fairy Palace
set down in an Earthly Paradise. For London is like prison for
children, especially if their relations are not rich.
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!
Lesen Sie weiter in der vollständigen Ausgabe!