Читать книгу The Boy in the Bush онлайн

16 страница из 75

Thought speaks! Mr. Swallow, identified as the gentleman with the long, lean ruddy face and large nose and vague brown eye, leaned forward and jerked his pipe stem towards the open window.

"See that beautiful road running through the sand, sir? That road extends to Perth and over the Causeway and away up country, branching in all directions, like the arteries of the human body. Built by the sappers and miners with convict labour, sir. Yes with convict labour. Also the bridge over which we are crossing."

Jack looked out at the road, but was much more enchanted by the full, soft river of heavenly blue water, on whose surface he looked eagerly for the black swans. He didn't see any.

"Oh yes! Oh yes! You'll find 'em wild in their native state a little way up," said Mr. Swallow.

Beyond the river were sheets of sand again, white sand, stretching around on every side.

"It must have been here that the Carpenter wept—" Jack said in his unexpected young voice that was still slightly hoarse, as he poked his face out of the window.