Aunt Erin’s Fisherman’s Cottage. Двухъязычная книга English / Russia читать онлайн

«The truest miracle is a heart that is ready to care for others.»

On the distant Isle of Man, belonging to the cold, grey reaches of Ireland, on the very top of a wind-lashed hill, stood Aunt Erin’s little fisherman’s cottage. Its roof was thatched; here and there strawe ends poked through, and the walls, carved by time and storms, had been patched in places with boards. Cold gusts would slip through the cracks, toy with the curtains and sigh. Inside, the cottage was simple and warm. The wooden floorboards creaked underfoot; the hearth had not been lit for some time, but the scent of spun yarn and wool lent the room a homely comfort. At the foot of Erin’s bed, her little sheep Nolli always slept. The old woman often smiled when she looked at her, for the sheep had become more than a pet – she was a true friend and a member of the family.

Once her hair had been a fiery chestnut, but age had silvered it, and sometimes when she stood before a mirror she scarcely recognised her reflection – it seemed as if a dusting of snow had fallen into her hair. She would shake her head, as if to brush the flakes away, hoping for a glimpse of the old chestnut, but her hair flowed instead like a silver waterfall; not a single strand caught the light with a red gleam.

Her eyes, which had once shone with mischievous sparks, had grown dim and could see poorly. Her hands, once strong and deft, trembled more often. Her legs were worse still – sometimes they refused to lift her from the bed. But more than anything Erin fretted for the fate of her only companion, the sheep Nolli. If anything were to happen to her, who would care for Nolli? And if Nolli set off to seek her, wolves might take her.

Aunt Erin had no children and no close kin; she lived alone in the house left by her fisherman father, who had long since passed. All her life Erin had worked with yarn – knitting socks, shawls, hats and mittens which she would now and then take to the town to sell. Were it not for Nolli, she would have had neither wool nor an evening companion by the fire – Nolli lived with her like kin and slept at the foot of her bed.

But old age crept closer each day, and Erin feared that one day Nolli might be left alone. At last she decided to go to the village and find someone kind who could look after the sheep. But who could that be? Apart from the shopkeeper who bought her knitted goods for mere pennies, she knew nobody. And the shopkeeper was a mean man; if she brought Nolli to him, he might well roast and eat her.