A Story for Christmas

𐐜 𐐘𐐮𐑁𐐻 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐐣𐐩𐐾𐐴

𐐺𐐴 𐐄. 𐐐𐐯𐑌𐑉𐐨

𐐎𐐲𐑌 𐐼𐐫𐑊𐐲𐑉 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐩𐐻𐐨-𐑅𐐯𐑂𐐲𐑌 𐑅𐐯𐑌𐐻𐑅. 𐐜𐐰𐐻 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐫𐑊. 𐐈𐑌𐐼 𐑅𐐮𐐿𐑅𐐻𐐨 𐑅𐐯𐑌𐐻𐑅 𐐲𐑂 𐐮𐐻 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐮𐑌 𐐹𐐯𐑌𐐨𐑆. 𐐑𐐯𐑌𐐨𐑆 𐑅𐐩𐑂𐐼 𐐶𐐲𐑌 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐻𐐭 𐐰𐐻 𐐪 𐐻𐐴𐑋 𐐺𐐴 𐐺𐐳𐑊𐐼𐐬𐑆𐐮𐑍 𐑄 𐑀𐑉𐐬𐑅𐐲𐑉 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑄 𐑂𐐯𐐾𐐻𐐲𐐺𐐲𐑊 𐑋𐐰𐑌 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑄 𐐺𐐳𐐽𐐲𐑉 𐐲𐑌𐐻𐐮𐑊 𐐶𐐲𐑌’𐑆 𐐽𐐨𐐿𐑅 𐐺𐐲𐑉𐑌𐐼 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐑄 𐑅𐐴𐑊𐐲𐑌𐐻 𐐮𐑋𐐹𐐷𐐭𐐻𐐩𐑇𐐲𐑌 𐐲𐑂 𐐹𐐪𐑉𐑅𐐮𐑋𐐬𐑌𐐨 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐑅𐐲𐐽 𐐿𐑊𐐬𐑅 𐐼𐐨𐑊𐐮𐑍 𐐮𐑋𐐹𐑊𐐴𐐼. 𐐛𐑉𐐨 𐐻𐐴𐑋𐑆 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲 𐐿𐐵𐑌𐐻𐐲𐐼 𐐮𐐻. 𐐎𐐲𐑌 𐐼𐐫𐑊𐐲𐑉 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐩𐐻𐐨-𐑅𐐯𐑂𐐲𐑌 𐑅𐐯𐑌𐐻𐑅. 𐐈𐑌𐐼 𐑄 𐑌𐐯𐐿𐑅𐐻 𐐼𐐩 𐐶𐐳𐐼 𐐺 𐐗𐑉𐐮𐑅𐑋𐐲𐑅.

𐐜𐐯𐑉 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐿𐑊𐐮𐑉𐑊𐐨 𐑌𐐲𐑃𐐮𐑍 𐐻𐐭 𐐼𐐭 𐐺𐐲𐐻 𐑁𐑊𐐪𐐹 𐐼𐐵𐑌 𐐫𐑌 𐑄 𐑇𐐰𐐺𐐨 𐑊𐐮𐐻𐐲𐑊 𐐿𐐵𐐽 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐸𐐵𐑊. 𐐝𐐬 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲 𐐼𐐮𐐼 𐐮𐐻. 𐐐𐐶𐐮𐐽 𐐮𐑌𐑅𐐻𐐮𐑀𐐩𐐻𐑅 𐑄 𐑋𐐫𐑉𐐲𐑊 𐑉𐐲𐑁𐑊𐐯𐐿𐑇𐐲𐑌 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐑊𐐴𐑁 𐐮𐑆 𐑋𐐩𐐼 𐐲𐐹 𐐲𐑂 𐑅𐐪𐐺𐑆, 𐑅𐑌𐐮𐑁𐐲𐑊𐑆, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑅𐑋𐐴𐑊𐑆, 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐑅𐑌𐐮𐑁𐐲𐑊𐑆 𐐹𐑉𐐲𐐼𐐪𐑋𐐮𐑌𐐩𐐻𐐮𐑍.

𐐐𐐶𐐴𐑊 𐑄 𐑋𐐮𐑅𐐻𐑉𐐲𐑅 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐐸𐐬𐑋 𐐮𐑆 𐑀𐑉𐐰𐐾𐐭𐐲𐑊𐐨 𐑅𐐲𐐺𐑅𐐴𐐼𐐮𐑍 𐑁𐑉𐐲𐑋 𐑄 𐑁𐐲𐑉𐑅𐐻 𐑅𐐻𐐩𐐾 𐐻𐐭 𐑄 𐑅𐐯𐐿𐐲𐑌𐐼, 𐐻𐐩𐐿 𐐪 𐑊𐐳𐐿 𐐰𐐻 𐑄 𐐸𐐬𐑋. 𐐂 𐑁𐐲𐑉𐑌𐐮𐑇𐐻 𐑁𐑊𐐰𐐻 𐐰𐐻 $8 𐐹𐐲𐑉 𐐶𐐨𐐿. 𐐆𐐻 𐐼𐐮𐐼 𐑌𐐪𐐻 𐐮𐑀𐑆𐐰𐐿𐐻𐑊𐐨 𐐺𐐯𐑀𐐲𐑉 𐐼𐐲𐑅𐐿𐑉𐐮𐐹𐑇𐐲𐑌, 𐐺𐐲𐐻 𐐮𐐻 𐑅𐐲𐑉𐐻𐐲𐑌𐑊𐐨 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐶𐐲𐑉𐐼 𐐫𐑌 𐑄 𐑊𐐳𐐿𐐵𐐻 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐑄 𐑋𐐯𐑌𐐼𐐮𐐿𐐲𐑌𐑅𐐨 𐑅𐐿𐐶𐐪𐐼.

𐐆𐑌 𐑄 𐑂𐐯𐑅𐐻𐐮𐐺𐐷𐐭𐑊 𐐺𐐲𐑊𐐬 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐪 𐑊𐐯𐐻𐐲𐑉-𐐺𐐪𐐿𐑅 𐐮𐑌𐐻𐐭 𐐸𐐶𐐮𐐽 𐑌𐐬 𐑊𐐯𐐻𐐲𐑉 𐐶𐐳𐐼 𐑀𐐬, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐰𐑌 𐐮𐑊𐐯𐐿𐐻𐑉𐐮𐐿 𐐺𐐲𐐻𐐲𐑌 𐑁𐑉𐐲𐑋 𐐸𐐶𐐮𐐽 𐑌𐐬 𐑋𐐫𐑉𐐻𐐲𐑊 𐑁𐐮𐑍𐑀𐐲𐑉 𐐿𐐳𐐼 𐐿𐐬𐐿𐑅 𐐪 𐑉𐐮𐑍. 𐐃𐑊𐑅𐐬 𐐰𐐹𐐲𐑉𐐻𐐩𐑌𐐮𐑍 𐑄𐐯𐑉𐐲𐑌𐐻𐐭 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐪 𐐿𐐪𐑉𐐼 𐐺𐐯𐑉𐐮𐑍 𐑄 𐑌𐐩𐑋 “𐐣𐑉. 𐐖𐐩𐑋𐑆 𐐔𐐮𐑊𐐮𐑍𐐸𐐰𐑋 𐐏𐐲𐑍.”

𐐜 “𐐔𐐮𐑊𐐮𐑍𐐸𐐰𐑋” 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐐺𐐮𐑌 𐑁𐑊𐐲𐑍 𐐻𐐭 𐑄 𐐺𐑉𐐨𐑆 𐐼𐐳𐑉𐐮𐑍 𐐪 𐑁𐐫𐑉𐑋𐐲𐑉 𐐹𐐮𐑉𐐨𐐲𐐼 𐐲𐑂 𐐹𐑉𐐪𐑅𐐹𐐯𐑉𐐮𐐻𐐨 𐐸𐐶𐐯𐑌 𐐮𐐻𐑅 𐐹𐐲𐑆𐐯𐑅𐐲𐑉 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐺𐐨𐐮𐑍 𐐹𐐩𐐼 $30 𐐹𐐲𐑉 𐐶𐐨𐐿. 𐐤𐐵, 𐐸𐐶𐐯𐑌 𐑄 𐐮𐑌𐐿𐐲𐑋 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐑇𐑉𐐲𐑍𐐿 𐐻𐐭 $20, 𐑄 𐑊𐐯𐐻𐐲𐑉𐑆 𐐲𐑂 “𐐔𐐮𐑊𐐮𐑍𐐸𐐰𐑋” 𐑊𐐳𐐿𐐻 𐐺𐑊𐐲𐑉𐐼, 𐐰𐑆 𐑄𐐬 𐑄𐐩 𐐶𐐲𐑉 𐑃𐐮𐑍𐐿𐐮𐑍 𐑅𐐮𐑉𐐨𐐲𐑅𐑊𐐨 𐐲𐑂 𐐿𐐪𐑌𐐻𐑉𐐰𐐿𐐻𐐮𐑍 𐐻𐐭 𐐪 𐑋𐐪𐐼𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐲𐑌𐐲𐑅𐐭𐑋𐐮𐑍 𐐔. 𐐒𐐲𐐻 𐐸𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐯𐑂𐐲𐑉 𐐣𐑉. 𐐖𐐩𐑋𐑆 𐐔𐐮𐑊𐐮𐑍𐐸𐐰𐑋 𐐏𐐲𐑍 𐐿𐐩𐑋 𐐸𐐬𐑋 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑉𐐨𐐽𐐻 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐑁𐑊𐐰𐐻 𐐲𐐺𐐲𐑂 𐐸𐐨 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐿𐐫𐑊𐐼 “𐐖𐐮𐑋” 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑀𐑉𐐩𐐻𐑊𐐨 𐐸𐐲𐑀𐐼 𐐺𐐴 𐐣𐑉𐑅. 𐐖𐐩𐑋𐑆 𐐔𐐮𐑊𐐮𐑍𐐸𐐰𐑋 𐐏𐐲𐑍, 𐐫𐑊𐑉𐐯𐐼𐐨 𐐮𐑌𐐻𐑉𐐲𐐼𐐭𐑅𐐻 𐐻𐐭 𐐷𐐭 𐐰𐑆 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲. 𐐐𐐶𐐮𐐽 𐐮𐑆 𐐫𐑊 𐑂𐐯𐑉𐐨 𐑀𐐳𐐼.

𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲 𐑁𐐮𐑌𐐮𐑇𐐻 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐿𐑉𐐴 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐲𐐻𐐯𐑌𐐼𐐲𐐼 𐐻𐐭 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐽𐐨𐐿𐑅 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐑄 𐐹𐐵𐐼𐐲𐑉 𐑉𐐰𐑀. 𐐟𐐨 𐑅𐐻𐐳𐐼 𐐺𐐴 𐑄 𐐶𐐮𐑌𐐼𐐬 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑊𐐳𐐿𐐻 𐐵𐐻 𐐼𐐲𐑊𐐨 𐐰𐐻 𐐪 𐑀𐑉𐐩 𐐿𐐰𐐻 𐐶𐐫𐐿𐐮𐑍 𐐪 𐑀𐑉𐐩 𐑁𐐯𐑌𐑅 𐐮𐑌 𐐪 𐑀𐑉𐐩 𐐺𐐰𐐿𐐷𐐪𐑉𐐼. 𐐓𐐲𐑋𐐪𐑉𐐬 𐐶𐐳𐐼 𐐺 𐐗𐑉𐐮𐑅𐑋𐐲𐑅 𐐔𐐩, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑇𐐨 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐐬𐑌𐑊𐐨 $1.87 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐐸𐐶𐐮𐐽 𐐻𐐭 𐐺𐐴 𐐖𐐮𐑋 𐐪 𐐹𐑉𐐯𐑆𐐲𐑌𐐻. 𐐟𐐨 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐐺𐐮𐑌 𐑅𐐩𐑂𐐮𐑍 𐐯𐑂𐑉𐐨 𐐹𐐯𐑌𐐨 𐑇𐐨 𐐿𐐳𐐼 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐑋𐐲𐑌𐑃𐑅, 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐑄𐐮𐑅 𐑉𐐲𐑆𐐲𐑊𐐻. 𐐓𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐻𐐨 𐐼𐐫𐑊𐐲𐑉𐑆 𐐪 𐐶𐐨𐐿 𐐼𐐲𐑆𐑌’𐐻 𐑀𐐬 𐑁𐐪𐑉. 𐐆𐐿𐑅𐐹𐐯𐑌𐑅𐐲𐑆 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐐺𐐮𐑌 𐑀𐑉𐐩𐐻𐐲𐑉 𐑄𐐰𐑌 𐑇𐐨 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐐿𐐰𐑊𐐿𐐷𐐲𐑊𐐩𐐻𐐲𐐼. 𐐜𐐩 𐐫𐑊𐐶𐐩𐑆 𐐪𐑉. 𐐄𐑌𐑊𐐨 $1.87 𐐻𐐭 𐐺𐐴 𐐪 𐐹𐑉𐐯𐑆𐐲𐑌𐐻 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐖𐐮𐑋. 𐐐𐐲𐑉 𐐖𐐮𐑋. 𐐣𐐯𐑌𐐨 𐐪 𐐸𐐰𐐹𐐨 𐐵𐑉 𐑇𐐨 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐑅𐐹𐐯𐑌𐐻 𐐹𐑊𐐰𐑌𐐮𐑍 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐑅𐐲𐑋𐑃𐐮𐑍 𐑌𐐴𐑅 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐸𐐮𐑋. 𐐝𐐲𐑋𐑃𐐮𐑍 𐑁𐐴𐑌 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑉𐐯𐑉 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑅𐐻𐐲𐑉𐑊𐐮𐑍—𐑅𐐲𐑋𐑃𐐮𐑍 𐐾𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐐪 𐑊𐐮𐐻𐐲𐑊 𐐺𐐮𐐻 𐑌𐐮𐑉 𐐻𐐭 𐐺𐐨𐐮𐑍 𐐶𐐲𐑉𐑄𐐨 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐐪𐑌𐐲𐑉 𐐲𐑂 𐐺𐐨𐐮𐑍 𐐬𐑌𐐼 𐐺𐐴 𐐖𐐮𐑋.

𐐜𐐯𐑉 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐪 𐐹𐐮𐑉-𐑀𐑊𐐰𐑅 𐐺𐐲𐐻𐐶𐐨𐑌 𐑄 𐐶𐐮𐑌𐐼𐐬𐑆 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐑉𐐭𐑋. 𐐑𐐲𐑉𐐸𐐰𐐹𐑅 𐐷𐐭 𐐸𐐰𐑂 𐑅𐐨𐑌 𐐪 𐐹𐐮𐑉-𐑀𐑊𐐰𐑅 𐐮𐑌 𐐰𐑌 $8 𐑁𐑊𐐰𐐻. 𐐂 𐑂𐐯𐑉𐐨 𐑃𐐮𐑌 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑂𐐯𐑉𐐨 𐐰𐐾𐐮𐑊 𐐹𐐲𐑉𐑅𐐲𐑌 𐑋𐐩, 𐐺𐐴 𐐲𐐺𐑆𐐲𐑉𐑂𐐮𐑍 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐑉𐐲𐑁𐑊𐐯𐐿𐑇𐐲𐑌 𐐮𐑌 𐐪 𐑉𐐰𐐹𐐮𐐼 𐑅𐐨𐐿𐐶𐐲𐑌𐑅 𐐲𐑂 𐑊𐐪𐑌𐐾𐐮𐐻𐐭𐐼𐐮𐑌𐐲𐑊 𐑅𐐻𐑉𐐮𐐹𐑅, 𐐲𐐺𐐻𐐩𐑌 𐐪 𐑁𐐯𐑉𐑊𐐨 𐐰𐐿𐐷𐐲𐑉𐐲𐐻 𐐿𐐲𐑌𐑅𐐯𐐹𐑇𐐲𐑌 𐐲𐑂 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐑊𐐳𐐿𐑅. 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲, 𐐺𐐨𐐮𐑍 𐑅𐑊𐐯𐑌𐐼𐐲𐑉, 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐑋𐐰𐑅𐐻𐐲𐑉𐐼 𐑄 𐐪𐑉𐐻.

𐐝𐐲𐐼𐐲𐑌𐑊𐐨 𐑇𐐨 𐐸𐐶𐐲𐑉𐑊𐐼 𐑁𐑉𐐲𐑋 𐑄 𐐶𐐮𐑌𐐼𐐬 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑅𐐻𐐳𐐼 𐐺𐐲𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐑄 𐑀𐑊𐐰𐑅. 𐐐𐐲𐑉 𐐴𐑆 𐐶𐐲𐑉 𐑇𐐴𐑌𐐮𐑍 𐐺𐑉𐐮𐑊𐐷𐐲𐑌𐐻𐑊𐐨, 𐐺𐐲𐐻 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐑁𐐩𐑅 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐑊𐐫𐑅𐐻 𐐮𐐻𐑅 𐐿𐐲𐑊𐐲𐑉 𐐶𐐮𐑃𐐮𐑌 𐐻𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐻𐐨 𐑅𐐯𐐿𐐲𐑌𐐼𐑆. 𐐡𐐰𐐹𐐮𐐼𐑊𐐨 𐑇𐐨 𐐹𐐳𐑊𐐼 𐐼𐐵𐑌 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐸𐐯𐑉 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑊𐐯𐐻 𐐮𐐻 𐑁𐐫𐑊 𐐻𐐭 𐐮𐐻𐑅 𐑁𐐳𐑊 𐑊𐐯𐑍𐑃.

𐐤𐐵, 𐑄𐐯𐑉 𐐶𐐲𐑉 𐐻𐐭 𐐹𐐲𐑆𐐯𐑇𐐲𐑌𐑆 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐐖𐐩𐑋𐑆 𐐔𐐮𐑊𐐮𐑍𐐸𐐰𐑋 𐐏𐐲𐑍𐑆 𐐮𐑌 𐐸𐐶𐐮𐐽 𐑄𐐩 𐐺𐐬𐑃 𐐻𐐳𐐿 𐐪 𐑋𐐴𐐻𐐨 𐐹𐑉𐐴𐐼. 𐐎𐐲𐑌 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐖𐐮𐑋’𐑆 𐑀𐐬𐑊𐐼 𐐶𐐫𐐽 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐐺𐐮𐑌 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐑁𐐪𐑄𐐲𐑉’𐑆 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐑀𐑉𐐰𐑌𐐼𐑁𐐪𐑄𐐲𐑉’𐑆. 𐐜 𐐲𐑄𐐲𐑉 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲’𐑆 𐐸𐐯𐑉. 𐐐𐐰𐐼 𐑄 𐐗𐐶𐐨𐑌 𐐲𐑂 𐐟𐐨𐐺𐐲 𐑊𐐮𐑂𐐼 𐐮𐑌 𐑄 𐑁𐑊𐐰𐐻 𐐲𐐿𐑉𐐫𐑅 𐑄 𐐯𐑉𐑇𐐰𐑁𐐻, 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲 𐐶𐐳𐐼 𐐸𐐰𐑂 𐑊𐐯𐐻 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐸𐐯𐑉 𐐸𐐰𐑍 𐐵𐐻 𐑄 𐐶𐐮𐑌𐐼𐐬 𐑅𐐲𐑋 𐐼𐐩 𐐻𐐭 𐐼𐑉𐐴 𐐾𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐐻𐐭 𐐼𐐲𐐹𐑉𐐨𐑇𐐨𐐩𐐻 𐐐𐐲𐑉 𐐣𐐰𐐾𐐲𐑅𐐻𐐨’𐑆 𐐾𐐭𐐲𐑊𐑆 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑀𐐮𐑁𐐻𐑅. 𐐐𐐰𐐼 𐐗𐐮𐑍 𐐝𐐪𐑊𐐲𐑋𐐲𐑌 𐐺𐐮𐑌 𐑄 𐐾𐐰𐑌𐐲𐐻𐐲𐑉, 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐐫𐑊 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐐻𐑉𐐯𐑈𐐲𐑉𐑆 𐐹𐐴𐑊𐐼 𐐲𐐹 𐐮𐑌 𐑄 𐐺𐐩𐑅𐑋𐐲𐑌𐐻, 𐐖𐐮𐑋 𐐶𐐳𐐼 𐐸𐐰𐑂 𐐹𐐳𐑊𐐼 𐐵𐐻 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐐶𐐫𐐽 𐐯𐑂𐑉𐐨 𐐻𐐴𐑋 𐐸𐐨 𐐹𐐰𐑅𐐻, 𐐾𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐐻𐐭 𐑅𐐨 𐐸𐐮𐑋 𐐹𐑊𐐲𐐿 𐐰𐐻 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐐺𐐮𐑉𐐼 𐑁𐑉𐐲𐑋 𐐯𐑌𐑂𐐨.

𐐝𐐬 𐑌𐐵 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲’𐑆 𐐺𐐷𐐭𐐻𐐮𐑁𐐲𐑊 𐐸𐐯𐑉 𐑁𐐯𐑊 𐐲𐐺𐐵𐐻 𐐸𐐲𐑉, 𐑉𐐮𐐹𐑊𐐮𐑍 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑇𐐴𐑌𐐮𐑍 𐑊𐐴𐐿 𐐪 𐐿𐐰𐑅𐐿𐐩𐐼 𐐲𐑂 𐐺𐑉𐐵𐑌 𐐶𐐫𐐻𐐲𐑉𐑆. 𐐆𐐻 𐑉𐐨𐐽𐐻 𐐺𐐲𐑊𐐬 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐑌𐐨 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑋𐐩𐐼 𐐮𐐻𐑅𐐯𐑊𐑁 𐐫𐑊𐑋𐐬𐑅𐐻 𐐪 𐑀𐐪𐑉𐑋𐐲𐑌𐐻 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐸𐐲𐑉. 𐐈𐑌𐐼 𐑄𐐯𐑌 𐑇𐐨 𐐼𐐮𐐼 𐐮𐐻 𐐲𐐹 𐐲𐑀𐐯𐑌 𐑌𐐲𐑉𐑂𐐲𐑅𐑊𐐨 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐿𐐶𐐮𐐿𐑊𐐨. 𐐎𐐲𐑌𐑅 𐑇𐐨 𐑁𐐪𐑊𐐻𐐲𐑉𐐼 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐪 𐑋𐐮𐑌𐐲𐐻 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑅𐐻𐐳𐐼 𐑅𐐻𐐮𐑊 𐐸𐐶𐐴𐑊 𐐪 𐐻𐐮𐑉 𐐫𐑉 𐐻𐐭 𐑅𐐹𐑊𐐰𐑇𐐻 𐐫𐑌 𐑄 𐐶𐐫𐑉𐑌 𐑉𐐯𐐼 𐐿𐐪𐑉𐐹𐐲𐐻.

𐐃𐑌 𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐻 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐬𐑊𐐼 𐐺𐑉𐐵𐑌 𐐾𐐰𐐿𐐲𐐻; 𐐫𐑌 𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐻 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐬𐑊𐐼 𐐺𐑉𐐵𐑌 𐐸𐐰𐐻. 𐐎𐐮𐑄 𐐪 𐐸𐐶𐐲𐑉𐑊 𐐲𐑂 𐑅𐐿𐐲𐑉𐐻𐑅 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐑄 𐐺𐑉𐐮𐑊𐐷𐐲𐑌𐐻 𐑅𐐹𐐪𐑉𐐿𐐲𐑊 𐑅𐐻𐐮𐑊 𐐮𐑌 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐴𐑆, 𐑇𐐨 𐑁𐑊𐐲𐐻𐐲𐑉𐐼 𐐵𐐻 𐑄 𐐼𐐫𐑉 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐼𐐵𐑌 𐑄 𐑅𐐻𐐯𐑉𐑆 𐐻𐐭 𐑄 𐑅𐐻𐑉𐐨𐐻.

𐐐𐐶𐐯𐑉 𐑇𐐨 𐑅𐐻𐐪𐐹𐐻 𐑄 𐑅𐐴𐑌 𐑉𐐯𐐼: “Mme. 𐐝𐐬𐑁𐑉𐐬𐑌𐐨. 𐐐𐐯𐑉 𐐘𐐳𐐼𐑆 𐐲𐑂 𐐃𐑊 𐐗𐐴𐑌𐐼𐑆.” 𐐎𐐲𐑌 𐑁𐑊𐐴𐐻 𐐲𐐹 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲 𐑉𐐰𐑌, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐿𐐲𐑊𐐯𐐿𐐻𐐲𐐼 𐐸𐐲𐑉𐑅𐐯𐑊𐑁, 𐐹𐐰𐑌𐐻𐐮𐑍. Madame, 𐑊𐐪𐑉𐐾, 𐐻𐐭 𐐸𐐶𐐴𐐻, 𐐽𐐮𐑊𐐨, 𐐸𐐪𐑉𐐼𐑊𐐨 𐑊𐐳𐐿𐐻 𐑄 “𐐝𐐬𐑁𐑉𐐬𐑌𐐨.”

“𐐎𐐮𐑊 𐐷𐐭 𐐺𐐴 𐑋𐐴 𐐸𐐯𐑉?” 𐐰𐑅𐐿𐐻 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲.

“𐐌 𐐺𐐴 𐐸𐐯𐑉,” 𐑅𐐯𐐼 Madame. “𐐓𐐩𐐿 𐐷𐐲𐑉 𐐸𐐰𐐻 𐐫𐑁 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑊𐐯𐐻’𐑅 𐐸𐐰𐑂 𐐪 𐑅𐐴𐐻 𐐰𐐻 𐑄 𐑊𐐳𐐿𐑅 𐐲𐑂 𐐮𐐻.”

𐐔𐐵𐑌 𐑉𐐮𐐹𐐲𐑊𐐼 𐑄 𐐺𐑉𐐵𐑌 𐐿𐐰𐑅𐐿𐐩𐐼. “𐐓𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐻𐐨 𐐼𐐫𐑊𐐲𐑉𐑆,” 𐑅𐐯𐐼 Madame, 𐑊𐐮𐑁𐐻𐐮𐑍 𐑄 𐑋𐐰𐑅 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐐪 𐐹𐑉𐐰𐐿𐐻𐐮𐑅𐐻 𐐸𐐰𐑌𐐼.

“𐐘𐐮𐑂 𐐮𐐻 𐐻𐐭 𐑋𐐨 𐐿𐐶𐐮𐐿,” 𐑅𐐯𐐼 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲.

𐐄, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑄 𐑌𐐯𐐿𐑅𐐻 𐐻𐐭 𐐵𐑉𐑆 𐐻𐑉𐐮𐐹𐐻 𐐺𐐴 𐐫𐑌 𐑉𐐬𐑆𐐨 𐐶𐐮𐑍𐑆. 𐐙𐐲𐑉𐑀𐐯𐐻 𐑄 𐐸𐐰𐑇𐐻 𐑋𐐯𐐻𐐲𐑁𐐫𐑉. 𐐟𐐨 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐑉𐐰𐑌𐑅𐐰𐐿𐐮𐑍 𐑄 𐑅𐐻𐐫𐑉𐑆 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐖𐐮𐑋’𐑆 𐐹𐑉𐐯𐑆𐐲𐑌𐐻.

𐐟𐐨 𐑁𐐵𐑌𐐼 𐐮𐐻 𐐰𐐻 𐑊𐐰𐑅𐐻. 𐐆𐐻 𐑇𐐳𐑉𐑊𐐨 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐐺𐐮𐑌 𐑋𐐩𐐼 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐖𐐮𐑋 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑌𐐬 𐐶𐐲𐑌 𐐯𐑊𐑅. 𐐜𐐯𐑉 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐑌𐐬 𐐲𐑄𐐲𐑉 𐑊𐐴𐐿 𐐮𐐻 𐐮𐑌 𐐯𐑌𐐨 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐑅𐐻𐐫𐑉𐑆, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑇𐐨 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐐻𐐲𐑉𐑌𐐼 𐐫𐑊 𐐲𐑂 𐑄𐐯𐑋 𐐮𐑌𐑅𐐴𐐼 𐐵𐐻. 𐐆𐐻 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐪 𐐹𐑊𐐰𐐻𐐮𐑌𐐲𐑋 𐑁𐐫𐐺 𐐽𐐩𐑌 𐑅𐐮𐑋𐐹𐐲𐑊 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐽𐐩𐑅𐐻 𐐮𐑌 𐐼𐐲𐑆𐐴𐑌, 𐐹𐑉𐐪𐐹𐐲𐑉𐑊𐐨 𐐹𐑉𐐲𐐿𐑊𐐩𐑋𐐮𐑍 𐐮𐐻𐑅 𐑂𐐰𐑊𐐷𐐭 𐐺𐐴 𐑅𐐲𐐺𐑅𐐻𐐲𐑌𐑅 𐐲𐑊𐐬𐑌 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑌𐐪𐐻 𐐺𐐴 𐑋𐐯𐑉𐐲𐐻𐑉𐐮𐑇𐐲𐑅 𐐫𐑉𐑌𐐲𐑋𐐯𐑌𐐻𐐩𐑇𐐲𐑌—𐐰𐑆 𐐫𐑊 𐑀𐐳𐐼 𐑃𐐮𐑍𐑆 𐑇𐐳𐐼 𐐼𐐭. 𐐆𐐻 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐨𐑂𐐲𐑌 𐐶𐐲𐑉𐑄𐐨 𐐲𐑂 𐐜 𐐎𐐫𐐽. 𐐈𐑆 𐑅𐐭𐑌 𐐰𐑆 𐑇𐐨 𐑅𐐫 𐐮𐐻 𐑇𐐨 𐑌𐐭 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐮𐐻 𐑋𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐐺 𐐖𐐮𐑋’𐑆. 𐐆𐐻 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐑊𐐴𐐿 𐐸𐐮𐑋. 𐐗𐐶𐐴𐐲𐐻𐑌𐐲𐑅 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑂𐐰𐑊𐐷𐐭—𐑄 𐐼𐐲𐑅𐐿𐑉𐐮𐐹𐑇𐐲𐑌 𐐲𐐹𐑊𐐴𐐼 𐐻𐐭 𐐺𐐬𐑃. 𐐓𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐻𐐨-𐐶𐐲𐑌 𐐼𐐫𐑊𐐲𐑉𐑆 𐑄𐐩 𐐻𐐳𐐿 𐑁𐑉𐐲𐑋 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐮𐐻, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑇𐐨 𐐸𐐲𐑉𐐨𐐼 𐐸𐐬𐑋 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐑄 87 𐑅𐐯𐑌𐐻𐑅. 𐐎𐐮𐑄 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐽𐐩𐑌 𐐫𐑌 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐐶𐐫𐐽 𐐖𐐮𐑋 𐑋𐐴𐐻 𐐺 𐐹𐑉𐐪𐐹𐐲𐑉𐑊𐐨 𐐰𐑍𐐿𐑇𐐲𐑅 𐐲𐐺𐐵𐐻 𐑄 𐐻𐐴𐑋 𐐮𐑌 𐐯𐑌𐐨 𐐿𐐲𐑋𐐹𐐲𐑌𐐨. 𐐘𐑉𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐰𐑆 𐑄 𐐶𐐫𐐽 𐐶𐐲𐑆, 𐐸𐐨 𐑅𐐲𐑋𐐻𐐴𐑋𐑆 𐑊𐐳𐐿𐐻 𐐰𐐻 𐐮𐐻 𐐫𐑌 𐑄 𐑅𐑊𐐴 𐐫𐑌 𐐲𐐿𐐵𐑌𐐻 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐐬𐑊𐐼 𐑊𐐯𐑄𐐲𐑉 𐑅𐐻𐑉𐐰𐐹 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐸𐐨 𐐷𐐭𐑆𐐼 𐐮𐑌 𐐹𐑊𐐩𐑅 𐐲𐑂 𐐪 𐐽𐐩𐑌.

𐐐𐐶𐐯𐑌 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲 𐑉𐐨𐐽𐐻 𐐸𐐬𐑋 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐮𐑌𐐻𐐪𐐿𐑅𐐮𐐿𐐩𐑇𐐲𐑌 𐑀𐐩𐑂 𐐶𐐩 𐐪 𐑊𐐮𐐻𐐲𐑊 𐐻𐐭 𐐹𐑉𐐭𐐼𐐲𐑌𐑅 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑉𐐨𐑆𐐲𐑌. 𐐟𐐨 𐑀𐐪𐐻 𐐵𐐻 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐿𐐲𐑉𐑊𐐮𐑍 𐐴𐐲𐑉𐑌𐑆 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑊𐐴𐐻𐐲𐐼 𐑄 𐑀𐐰𐑅 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐻 𐐻𐐭 𐐶𐐲𐑉𐐿 𐑉𐐲𐐹𐐯𐑉𐐮𐑍 𐑄 𐑉𐐰𐑂𐐲𐐾𐐲𐑆 𐑋𐐩𐐼 𐐺𐐴 𐐾𐐯𐑌𐐲𐑉𐐪𐑅𐐮𐐻𐐨 𐐰𐐼𐐲𐐼 𐐻𐐭 𐑊𐐲𐑂. 𐐐𐐶𐐮𐐽 𐐮𐑆 𐐫𐑊𐐶𐐩𐑆 𐐪 𐐻𐑉𐐲𐑋𐐯𐑌𐐼𐐲𐑅 𐐻𐐰𐑅𐐿, 𐐼𐐮𐑉 𐑁𐑉𐐯𐑌𐐼𐑆—𐐪 𐑋𐐰𐑋𐐲𐑃 𐐻𐐰𐑅𐐿.

𐐎𐐮𐑃𐐮𐑌 𐑁𐐫𐑉𐐻𐐨 𐑋𐐮𐑌𐐲𐐻𐑅 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐸𐐯𐐼 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐿𐐲𐑂𐐲𐑉𐐼 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐐻𐐴𐑌𐐨, 𐐿𐑊𐐬𐑅-𐑊𐐴𐐮𐑍 𐐿𐐲𐑉𐑊𐑆 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐑋𐐩𐐼 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐑊𐐳𐐿 𐐶𐐲𐑌𐐼𐐲𐑉𐑁𐐲𐑊𐐨 𐑊𐐴𐐿 𐐪 𐐻𐑉𐐭𐐲𐑌𐐻 𐑅𐐿𐐭𐑊𐐺𐐫𐐮. 𐐟𐐨 𐑊𐐳𐐿𐐻 𐐰𐐻 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐑉𐐲𐑁𐑊𐐯𐐿𐑇𐐲𐑌 𐐮𐑌 𐑄 𐑋𐐮𐑉𐐲𐑉 𐑊𐐫𐑍, 𐐿𐐯𐑉𐑁𐐲𐑊𐐨, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐿𐑉𐐮𐐻𐐮𐐿𐐲𐑊𐐨.

“𐐆𐑁 𐐖𐐮𐑋 𐐼𐐲𐑆𐑌’𐐻 𐐿𐐮𐑊 𐑋𐐨,” 𐑇𐐨 𐑅𐐯𐐼 𐐻𐐭 𐐸𐐲𐑉𐑅𐐯𐑊𐑁, “𐐺𐐲𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐸𐐨 𐐻𐐩𐐿𐑅 𐐪 𐑅𐐯𐐿𐐲𐑌𐐼 𐑊𐐳𐐿 𐐰𐐻 𐑋𐐨, 𐐸𐐨’𐑊 𐑅𐐩 𐐌 𐑊𐐳𐐿 𐑊𐐴𐐿 𐐪 𐐗𐐬𐑌𐐨 𐐌𐑊𐐲𐑌𐐼 𐐿𐐫𐑉𐐲𐑅 𐑀𐐲𐑉𐑊. 𐐒𐐲𐐻 𐐸𐐶𐐲𐐻 𐐿𐐳𐐼 𐐌 𐐼𐐭—𐐬! 𐐸𐐶𐐲𐐻 𐐿𐐳𐐼 𐐌 𐐼𐐭 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐐪 𐐼𐐫𐑊𐐲𐑉 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐩𐐻𐐨-𐑅𐐯𐑂𐐲𐑌 𐑅𐐯𐑌𐐻𐑅?”

𐐈𐐻 7 𐐲’𐐿𐑊𐐪𐐿 𐑄 𐐿𐐫𐑁𐐨 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐑋𐐩𐐼 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑄 𐑁𐑉𐐴𐐮𐑍-𐐹𐐰𐑌 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐫𐑌 𐑄 𐐺𐐰𐐿 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐑅𐐻𐐬𐑂 𐐸𐐪𐐻 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑉𐐯𐐼𐐨 𐐻𐐭 𐐿𐐳𐐿 𐑄 𐐽𐐪𐐹𐑅.

𐐖𐐮𐑋 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐑌𐐯𐑂𐐲𐑉 𐑊𐐩𐐻. 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲 𐐼𐐲𐐺𐐲𐑊𐐼 𐑄 𐑁𐐫𐐺 𐐽𐐩𐑌 𐐮𐑌 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐸𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑅𐐰𐐻 𐐫𐑌 𐑄 𐐿𐐫𐑉𐑌𐐲𐑉 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐐻𐐩𐐺𐐲𐑊 𐑌𐐮𐑉 𐑄 𐐼𐐫𐑉 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐸𐐨 𐐫𐑊𐐶𐐩𐑆 𐐯𐑌𐐻𐐲𐑉𐐼. 𐐜𐐯𐑌 𐑇𐐨 𐐸𐐲𐑉𐐼 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐑅𐐻𐐯𐐹 𐐫𐑌 𐑄 𐑅𐐻𐐯𐑉 𐐲𐐶𐐩 𐐼𐐵𐑌 𐐫𐑌 𐑄 𐑁𐐲𐑉𐑅𐐻 𐑁𐑊𐐴𐐻, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑇𐐨 𐐻𐐲𐑉𐑌𐐼 𐐸𐐶𐐴𐐻 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐾𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐐪 𐑋𐐬𐑋𐐲𐑌𐐻. 𐐟𐐨 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐐪 𐐸𐐰𐐺𐐮𐐻 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐑅𐐩𐐮𐑍 𐑊𐐮𐐻𐐲𐑊 𐑅𐐴𐑊𐐲𐑌𐐻 𐐹𐑉𐐯𐑉𐑆 𐐲𐐺𐐵𐐻 𐑄 𐑅𐐮𐑋𐐹𐑊𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐐯𐑂𐑉𐐨𐐼𐐩 𐑃𐐮𐑍𐑆, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑌𐐵 𐑇𐐨 𐐸𐐶𐐮𐑅𐐹𐐲𐑉𐐼: “𐐑𐑊𐐨𐑆 𐐘𐐪𐐼, 𐑋𐐩𐐿 𐐸𐐮𐑋 𐑃𐐮𐑍𐐿 𐐌 𐐰𐑋 𐑅𐐻𐐮𐑊 𐐹𐑉𐐮𐐻𐐨.”

𐐜 𐐼𐐫𐑉 𐐬𐐹𐐲𐑌𐐼 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐖𐐮𐑋 𐑅𐐻𐐯𐐹𐐻 𐐮𐑌 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐿𐑊𐐬𐑆𐐼 𐐮𐐻. 𐐐𐐨 𐑊𐐳𐐿𐐻 𐑃𐐮𐑌 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑂𐐯𐑉𐐨 𐑅𐐮𐑉𐐨𐐲𐑅. 𐐑𐐳𐑉 𐑁𐐯𐑊𐐬, 𐐸𐐨 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐬𐑌𐑊𐐨 𐐻𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐻𐐨-𐐻𐐭—𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐻𐐭 𐐺 𐐺𐐲𐑉𐐼𐐲𐑌𐐼 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐐪 𐑁𐐰𐑋𐐮𐑊𐐨! 𐐐𐐨 𐑌𐐨𐐼𐐲𐐼 𐐪 𐑌𐐭 𐐬𐑂𐐲𐑉𐐿𐐬𐐻 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐸𐐨 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐶𐐮𐑃𐐵𐐻 𐑀𐑊𐐲𐑂𐑆.

𐐖𐐮𐑋 𐑅𐐻𐐪𐐹𐐻 𐐮𐑌𐑅𐐴𐐼 𐑄 𐐼𐐫𐑉, 𐐰𐑆 𐐮𐑋𐐭𐑂𐐲𐐺𐐲𐑊 𐐰𐑆 𐐪 𐑅𐐯𐐻𐐲𐑉 𐐰𐐻 𐑄 𐑅𐐯𐑌𐐻 𐐲𐑂 𐐿𐐶𐐩𐑊. 𐐐𐐮𐑆 𐐴𐑆 𐐶𐐲𐑉 𐑁𐐮𐐿𐑅𐐻 𐐲𐐹𐐪𐑌 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑄𐐯𐑉 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐰𐑌 𐐮𐐿𐑅𐐹𐑉𐐯𐑇𐐲𐑌 𐐮𐑌 𐑄𐐯𐑋 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐑇𐐨 𐐿𐐳𐐼 𐑌𐐪𐐻 𐑉𐐨𐐼, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐮𐐻 𐐻𐐯𐑉𐐮𐑁𐐴𐐼 𐐸𐐲𐑉. 𐐆𐐻 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐑌𐐪𐐻 𐐩𐑍𐑀𐐲𐑉, 𐑌𐐫𐑉 𐑅𐐲𐑉𐐹𐑉𐐴𐑆, 𐑌𐐫𐑉 𐐼𐐮𐑅𐐲𐐹𐑉𐐭𐑂𐐲𐑊, 𐑌𐐫𐑉 𐐸𐐫𐑉𐐲𐑉, 𐑌𐐫𐑉 𐐯𐑌𐐨 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐑅𐐯𐑌𐐻𐐮𐑋𐐲𐑌𐐻𐑅 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐑇𐐨 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐐺𐐮𐑌 𐐹𐑉𐐲𐐹𐐯𐑉𐐼 𐑁𐐫𐑉. 𐐐𐐨 𐑅𐐮𐑋𐐹𐑊𐐨 𐑅𐐻𐐯𐑉𐐼 𐐰𐐻 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐑁𐐮𐐿𐑅𐐲𐐼𐑊𐐨 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐹𐐲𐐿𐐷𐐭𐑊𐐷𐐲𐑉 𐐮𐐿𐑅𐐹𐑉𐐯𐑇𐐲𐑌 𐐫𐑌 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐑁𐐩𐑅.

𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲 𐑉𐐮𐑀𐐲𐑊𐐼 𐐫𐑁 𐑄 𐐻𐐩𐐺𐐲𐑊 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐻 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐸𐐮𐑋.

“𐐖𐐮𐑋, 𐐼𐐪𐑉𐑊𐐮𐑍,” 𐑇𐐨 𐐿𐑉𐐴𐐼, “𐐼𐐬𐑌’𐐻 𐑊𐐳𐐿 𐐰𐐻 𐑋𐐨 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐶𐐩. 𐐌 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐑋𐐴 𐐸𐐯𐑉 𐐿𐐲𐐻 𐐫𐑁 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑅𐐬𐑊𐐼 𐐺𐐲𐐿𐐲𐑆 𐐌 𐐿𐐳𐐼𐑌’𐐻 𐐸𐐰𐑂 𐑊𐐮𐑂𐐼 𐑃𐑉𐐭 𐐗𐑉𐐮𐑅𐑋𐐲𐑅 𐐶𐐮𐑃𐐵𐐻 𐑀𐐮𐑂𐐮𐑍 𐐷𐐭 𐐪 𐐹𐑉𐐯𐑆𐐲𐑌𐐻. 𐐆𐐻’𐑊 𐑀𐑉𐐬 𐐵𐐻 𐐲𐑀𐐯𐑌—𐐷𐐭 𐐶𐐬𐑌’𐐻 𐑋𐐴𐑌𐐼, 𐐶𐐮𐑊 𐐷𐐭? 𐐌 𐐾𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐐻𐐭 𐐼𐐭 𐐮𐐻. 𐐣𐐴 𐐸𐐯𐑉 𐑀𐑉𐐬𐑆 𐐫𐑁𐐲𐑊𐐨 𐑁𐐰𐑅𐐻. 𐐝𐐩 ‘𐐣𐐯𐑉𐐨 𐐗𐑉𐐮𐑅𐑋𐐲𐑅!’ 𐐖𐐮𐑋, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑊𐐯𐐻’𐑅 𐐺 𐐸𐐰𐐹𐐨. 𐐏𐐭 𐐼𐐬𐑌’𐐻 𐑌𐐬 𐐸𐐶𐐲𐐻 𐐪 𐑌𐐴𐑅—𐐸𐐶𐐲𐐻 𐐪 𐐺𐐷𐐭𐐻𐐮𐑁𐐲𐑊, 𐑌𐐴𐑅 𐑀𐐮𐑁𐐻 𐐌’𐑂 𐑀𐐪𐐻 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐷𐐭.”

“𐐏𐐭’𐑂 𐐿𐐲𐐻 𐐫𐑁 𐐷𐐫𐑉 𐐸𐐯𐑉?” 𐐰𐑅𐐿𐐻 𐐖𐐮𐑋, 𐑊𐐲𐐺𐐫𐑉𐐨𐐲𐑅𐑊𐐨, 𐐰𐑆 𐐮𐑁 𐐸𐐨 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐑌𐐪𐐻 𐐲𐑉𐐴𐑂𐐼 𐐰𐐻 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐹𐐩𐐻𐐲𐑌𐐻 𐑁𐐰𐐿𐐻 𐐷𐐯𐐻 𐐨𐑂𐐲𐑌 𐐰𐑁𐐻𐐲𐑉 𐑄 𐐸𐐪𐑉𐐼𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐑋𐐯𐑌𐐻𐐲𐑊 𐑊𐐩𐐺𐐲𐑉.

“𐐗𐐲𐐻 𐐮𐐻 𐐫𐑁 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑅𐐬𐑊𐐼 𐐮𐐻,” 𐑅𐐯𐐼 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲. “𐐔𐐬𐑌’𐐻 𐐷𐐭 𐑊𐐴𐐿 𐑋𐐨 𐐾𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐐰𐑆 𐐶𐐯𐑊, 𐐯𐑌𐐨𐐸𐐵? 𐐌’𐑋 𐑋𐐨 𐐶𐐮𐑃𐐵𐐻 𐑋𐐴 𐐸𐐯𐑉, 𐐩𐑌’𐐻 𐐌?”

𐐖𐐮𐑋 𐑊𐐳𐐿𐐻 𐐲𐐺𐐵𐐻 𐑄 𐑉𐐭𐑋 𐐿𐐷𐐳𐑉𐐨𐐲𐑅𐑊𐐨.

“𐐏𐐭 𐑅𐐩 𐐷𐐫𐑉 𐐸𐐯𐑉 𐐮𐑆 𐑀𐐫𐑌?” 𐐸𐐨 𐑅𐐯𐐼, 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐐰𐑌 𐐯𐑉 𐐫𐑊𐑋𐐬𐑅𐐻 𐐲𐑂 𐐮𐐼𐐨𐐲𐑅𐐨.

“𐐏𐐭 𐑌𐐨𐐼𐑌’𐐻 𐑊𐐳𐐿 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐮𐐻,” 𐑅𐐯𐐼 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲. “𐐆𐐻’𐑅 𐑅𐐬𐑊𐐼, 𐐌 𐐻𐐯𐑊 𐐷𐐭—𐑅𐐬𐑊𐐼 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑀𐐫𐑌, 𐐻𐐭. 𐐆𐐻’𐑅 𐐗𐑉𐐮𐑅𐑋𐐲𐑅 𐐀𐑂, 𐐺𐐫𐐮. 𐐒 𐑀𐐳𐐼 𐐻𐐭 𐑋𐐨, 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐮𐐻 𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐻 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐷𐐭. 𐐣𐐩𐐺𐐨 𐑄 𐐸𐐯𐑉𐑆 𐐲𐑂 𐑋𐐴 𐐸𐐯𐐼 𐐶𐐲𐑉 𐑌𐐲𐑋𐐺𐐲𐑉𐐼,” 𐑇𐐨 𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐻 𐐫𐑌 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐑅𐐲𐐼𐐲𐑌 𐑅𐐮𐑉𐐨𐐲𐑅 𐑅𐐶𐐨𐐻𐑌𐐲𐑅, “𐐺𐐲𐐻 𐑌𐐬𐐺𐐲𐐼𐐨 𐐿𐐳𐐼 𐐯𐑂𐐲𐑉 𐐿𐐵𐑌𐐻 𐑋𐐴 𐑊𐐲𐑂 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐷𐐭. 𐐟𐐰𐑊 𐐌 𐐹𐐳𐐻 𐑄 𐐽𐐪𐐹𐑅 𐐫𐑌, 𐐖𐐮𐑋?”

𐐍𐐻 𐐲𐑂 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐐻𐑉𐐰𐑌𐑅 𐐖𐐮𐑋 𐑅𐐨𐑋𐐼 𐐿𐐶𐐮𐐿𐑊𐐨 𐐻𐐭 𐐶𐐩𐐿. 𐐐𐐨 𐐮𐑌𐑁𐐬𐑊𐐼𐐲𐐼 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲. 𐐙𐐫𐑉 𐐻𐐯𐑌 𐑅𐐯𐐿𐐲𐑌𐐼𐑆 𐑊𐐯𐐻 𐐲𐑅 𐑉𐐲𐑀𐐪𐑉𐐼 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐐼𐐮𐑅𐐿𐑉𐐨𐐻 𐑅𐐿𐑉𐐭𐐻𐐮𐑌𐐨 𐑅𐐲𐑋 𐐮𐑍𐐿𐐪𐑌𐑅𐐲𐐿𐐶𐐯𐑌𐐽𐐲𐑊 𐐪𐐺𐐾𐐯𐐿𐐻 𐐮𐑌 𐑄 𐐲𐑄𐐲𐑉 𐐼𐐲𐑉𐐯𐐿𐑇𐐲𐑌. 𐐁𐐻 𐐼𐐫𐑊𐐲𐑉𐑆 𐐪 𐐶𐐨𐐿 𐐫𐑉 𐐪 𐑋𐐮𐑊𐐷𐐲𐑌 𐐪 𐐷𐐮𐑉—𐐸𐐶𐐲𐐻 𐐮𐑆 𐑄 𐐼𐐮𐑁𐐲𐑉𐐲𐑌𐑅? 𐐂 𐑋𐐰𐑃𐐲𐑋𐐲𐐻𐐮𐑇𐐲𐑌 𐐫𐑉 𐐪 𐐶𐐮𐐻 𐐶𐐳𐐼 𐑀𐐮𐑂 𐐷𐐭 𐑄 𐑉𐐫𐑍 𐐰𐑌𐑅𐐲𐑉. 𐐜 𐑋𐐩𐐾𐐴 𐐺𐑉𐐫𐐻 𐑂𐐰𐑊𐐷𐐲𐐶𐐲𐐺𐐲𐑊 𐑀𐐮𐑁𐐻𐑅, 𐐺𐐲𐐻 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐑌𐐪𐐻 𐐲𐑋𐐲𐑍 𐑄𐐯𐑋. 𐐜𐐮𐑅 𐐼𐐪𐑉𐐿 𐐲𐑅𐐲𐑉𐑇𐐲𐑌 𐐶𐐮𐑊 𐐺 𐐮𐑊𐐭𐑋𐐮𐑌𐐩𐐻𐐲𐐼 𐑊𐐩𐐻𐐲𐑉 𐐫𐑌.

𐐖𐐮𐑋 𐐼𐑉𐐭 𐐪 𐐹𐐰𐐿𐐲𐐾 𐑁𐑉𐐲𐑋 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐐬𐑂𐐲𐑉𐐿𐐬𐐻 𐐹𐐪𐐿𐐲𐐻 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑃𐑉𐐭 𐐮𐐻 𐐲𐐹𐐪𐑌 𐑄 𐐻𐐩𐐺𐐲𐑊.

“𐐔𐐬𐑌’𐐻 𐑋𐐩𐐿 𐐯𐑌𐐨 𐑋𐐮𐑅𐐻𐐩𐐿, 𐐔𐐯𐑊,” 𐐸𐐨 𐑅𐐯𐐼, “𐐲𐐺𐐵𐐻 𐑋𐐨. 𐐌 𐐼𐐬𐑌’𐐻 𐑃𐐮𐑍𐐿 𐑄𐐯𐑉’𐑆 𐐯𐑌𐐨𐑃𐐮𐑍 𐐮𐑌 𐑄 𐐶𐐩 𐐲𐑂 𐐪 𐐸𐐯𐑉𐐿𐐲𐐻 𐐫𐑉 𐐪 𐑇𐐩𐑂 𐐫𐑉 𐐪 𐑇𐐰𐑋𐐹𐐭 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐿𐐳𐐼 𐑋𐐩𐐿 𐑋𐐨 𐑊𐐴𐐿 𐑋𐐴 𐑀𐐲𐑉𐑊 𐐯𐑌𐐨 𐑊𐐯𐑅. 𐐒𐐲𐐻 𐐮𐑁 𐐷𐐭’𐑊 𐐲𐑌𐑉𐐰𐐹 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐹𐐰𐐿𐐲𐐾 𐐷𐐭 𐑋𐐩 𐑅𐐨 𐐸𐐶𐐴 𐐷𐐭 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐑋𐐨 𐑀𐐬𐐮̈𐑍 𐐪 𐐸𐐶𐐴𐑊 𐐰𐐻 𐑁𐐲𐑉𐑅𐐻.”

𐐐𐐶𐐴𐐻 𐑁𐐮𐑍𐑀𐐲𐑉𐑆 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑌𐐮𐑋𐐺𐐲𐑊 𐐻𐐫𐑉 𐐰𐐻 𐑄 𐑅𐐻𐑉𐐮𐑍 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐹𐐩𐐹𐐲𐑉. 𐐈𐑌𐐼 𐑄𐐯𐑌 𐐰𐑌 𐐯𐐿𐑅𐐻𐐰𐐻𐐮𐐿 𐑅𐐿𐑉𐐨𐑋 𐐲𐑂 𐐾𐐫𐐮; 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑄𐐯𐑌, 𐐲𐑊𐐰𐑅! 𐐪 𐐿𐐶𐐮𐐿 𐑁𐐯𐑋𐐮𐑌𐐮𐑌 𐐽𐐩𐑌𐐾 𐐻𐐭 𐐸𐐮𐑅𐐻𐐯𐑉𐐮𐐿𐐲𐑊 𐐻𐐮𐑉𐑆 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐶𐐩𐑊𐑆, 𐑌𐐲𐑅𐐯𐑅𐐮𐐻𐐩𐐻𐐮𐑍 𐑄 𐐮𐑋𐐨𐐼𐐨𐐲𐐻 𐐮𐑋𐐹𐑊𐐫𐐮𐑋𐐲𐑌𐐻 𐐲𐑂 𐐫𐑊 𐑄 𐐿𐐲𐑋𐑁𐐲𐑉𐐻𐐮𐑍 𐐹𐐵𐐲𐑉𐑆 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐑊𐐫𐑉𐐼 𐐲𐑂 𐑄 𐑁𐑊𐐰𐐻.

𐐙𐐫𐑉 𐑄𐐯𐑉 𐑊𐐩 𐐜 𐐗𐐬𐑋𐑆—𐑄 𐑅𐐯𐐻 𐐲𐑂 𐐿𐐬𐑋𐑆, 𐑅𐐴𐐼 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐺𐐰𐐿, 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐐶𐐲𐑉𐑇𐐮𐐹𐐻 𐑊𐐫𐑍 𐐮𐑌 𐐪 𐐒𐑉𐐫𐐼𐐶𐐩 𐐶𐐮𐑌𐐼𐐬. 𐐒𐐷𐐭𐐻𐐮𐑁𐐲𐑊 𐐿𐐬𐑋𐑆, 𐐹𐐷𐐳𐑉 𐐻𐐫𐑉𐐻𐐲𐑅 𐑇𐐯𐑊, 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐐾𐐭𐐲𐑊𐐼 𐑉𐐮𐑋𐑆—𐐾𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐑄 𐑇𐐩𐐼 𐐻𐐭 𐐶𐐯𐑉 𐐮𐑌 𐑄 𐐺𐐷𐐭𐐻𐐮𐑁𐐲𐑊 𐑂𐐰𐑌𐐮𐑇𐐻 𐐸𐐯𐑉. 𐐜𐐩 𐐶𐐲𐑉 𐐮𐐿𐑅𐐹𐐯𐑌𐑅𐐮𐑂 𐐿𐐬𐑋𐑆, 𐑇𐐨 𐑌𐐭, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐸𐐪𐑉𐐻 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐑅𐐮𐑋𐐹𐑊𐐨 𐐿𐑉𐐩𐑂𐐼 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐷𐐲𐑉𐑌𐐼 𐐬𐑂𐐲𐑉 𐑄𐐯𐑋 𐐶𐐮𐑃𐐵𐐻 𐑄 𐑊𐐨𐑅𐐻 𐐸𐐬𐐹 𐐲𐑂 𐐹𐐲𐑆𐐯𐑇𐐲𐑌. 𐐈𐑌𐐼 𐑌𐐵, 𐑄𐐩 𐐶𐐲𐑉 𐐸𐐲𐑉𐑆, 𐐺𐐲𐐻 𐑄 𐐻𐑉𐐯𐑅𐐲𐑆 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐑇𐐳𐐼 𐐸𐐰𐑂 𐐲𐐼𐐫𐑉𐑌𐐼 𐑄 𐐿𐐲𐑂𐐲𐐻𐐲𐐼 𐐲𐐼𐐫𐑉𐑌𐑋𐐲𐑌𐐻𐑅 𐐶𐐲𐑉 𐑀𐐫𐑌.

𐐒𐐲𐐻 𐑇𐐨 𐐸𐐲𐑀𐐼 𐑄𐐯𐑋 𐐻𐐭 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐺𐐳𐑆𐐲𐑋, 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐰𐐻 𐑊𐐯𐑍𐑃 𐑇𐐨 𐐶𐐲𐑆 𐐩𐐺𐐲𐑊 𐐻𐐭 𐑊𐐳𐐿 𐐲𐐹 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐐼𐐮𐑋 𐐴𐑆 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐪 𐑅𐑋𐐴𐑊 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑅𐐩: “𐐣𐐴 𐐸𐐯𐑉 𐑀𐑉𐐬𐑆 𐑅𐐬 𐑁𐐰𐑅𐐻, 𐐖𐐮𐑋!”

𐐈𐑌𐐼 𐑄𐐯𐑌 𐐔𐐯𐑊𐐲 𐑊𐐨𐐹𐐻 𐐲𐐹 𐑊𐐴𐐿 𐐪 𐑊𐐮𐐻𐐲𐑊 𐑅𐐮𐑌𐐾𐐼 𐐿𐐰𐐻 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐿𐑉𐐴𐐼, “𐐄, 𐐬!”

𐐖𐐮𐑋 𐐸𐐰𐐼 𐑌𐐪𐐻 𐐷𐐯𐐻 𐑅𐐨𐑌 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐐺𐐷𐐭𐐻𐐮𐑁𐐲𐑊 𐐹𐑉𐐯𐑆𐐲𐑌𐐻. 𐐟𐐨 𐐸𐐯𐑊𐐼 𐐮𐐻 𐐵𐐻 𐐻𐐭 𐐸𐐮𐑋 𐐨𐑀𐐲𐑉𐑊𐐨 𐐲𐐹𐐪𐑌 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐬𐐹𐐲𐑌 𐐹𐐪𐑊𐑋. 𐐜 𐐼𐐲𐑊 𐐹𐑉𐐯𐑇𐐲𐑅 𐑋𐐯𐐻𐐲𐑊 𐑅𐐨𐑋𐐼 𐐻𐐭 𐑁𐑊𐐰𐑇 𐐶𐐮𐑄 𐐪 𐑉𐐲𐑁𐑊𐐯𐐿𐑇𐐲𐑌 𐐲𐑂 𐐸𐐲𐑉 𐐺𐑉𐐴𐐻 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐪𐑉𐐼𐐲𐑌𐐻 𐑅𐐹𐐮𐑉𐐮𐐻.

“𐐆𐑆𐑌’𐐻 𐐮𐐻 𐐪 𐐼𐐰𐑌𐐼𐐨, 𐐖𐐮𐑋? 𐐌 𐐸𐐲𐑌𐐻𐐲𐐼 𐐫𐑊 𐐬𐑂𐐲𐑉 𐐻𐐵𐑌 𐐻𐐭 𐑁𐐴𐑌𐐼 𐐮𐐻. 𐐏𐐭’𐑊 𐐸𐐰𐑂 𐐻𐐭 𐑊𐐳𐐿 𐐰𐐻 𐑄 𐐻𐐴𐑋 𐐪 𐐸𐐲𐑌𐐼𐑉𐐲𐐼 𐐻𐐴𐑋𐑆 𐐪 𐐼𐐩 𐑌𐐵. 𐐘𐐮𐑂 𐑋𐐨 𐐷𐐫𐑉 𐐶𐐫𐐽. 𐐌 𐐶𐐫𐑌𐐻 𐐻𐐭 𐑅𐐨 𐐸𐐵 𐐮𐐻 𐑊𐐳𐐿𐑅 𐐫𐑌 𐐮𐐻.”

𐐆𐑌𐑅𐐻𐐯𐐼 𐐲𐑂 𐐬𐐺𐐩𐐮𐑍, 𐐖𐐮𐑋 𐐻𐐲𐑋𐐺𐐲𐑊𐐼 𐐼𐐵𐑌 𐐫𐑌 𐑄 𐐿𐐵𐐽 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐹𐐳𐐻 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐐸𐐰𐑌𐐼𐑆 𐐲𐑌𐐼𐐲𐑉 𐑄 𐐺𐐰𐐿 𐐲𐑂 𐐸𐐮𐑆 𐐸𐐯𐐼 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑅𐑋𐐴𐑊𐐼.

“𐐔𐐯𐑊,” 𐑅𐐯𐐼 𐐸𐐨, “𐑊𐐯𐐻’𐑅 𐐹𐐳𐐻 𐐵𐑉 𐐗𐑉𐐮𐑅𐑋𐐲𐑅 𐐹𐑉𐐯𐑆𐐲𐑌𐐻𐑅 𐐲𐐶𐐩 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐐿𐐨𐐹 ’𐐲𐑋 𐐪 𐐸𐐶𐐴𐑊. 𐐜𐐩’𐑉 𐐻𐐭 𐑌𐐴𐑅 𐐻𐐭 𐐷𐐭𐑆 𐐾𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐐰𐐻 𐐹𐑉𐐯𐑆𐐲𐑌𐐻. 𐐌 𐑅𐐬𐑊𐐼 𐑄 𐐶𐐫𐐽 𐐻𐐭 𐑀𐐯𐐻 𐑄 𐑋𐐲𐑌𐐨 𐐻𐐭 𐐺𐐴 𐐷𐐫𐑉 𐐿𐐬𐑋𐑆. 𐐈𐑌𐐼 𐑌𐐵 𐑅𐐲𐐹𐐬𐑆 𐐷𐐭 𐐹𐐳𐐻 𐑄 𐐽𐐪𐐹𐑅 𐐫𐑌.”

𐐜 𐑋𐐩𐐾𐐴, 𐐰𐑆 𐐷𐐭 𐑌𐐬, 𐐶𐐲𐑉 𐐶𐐴𐑆 𐑋𐐯𐑌—𐐶𐐲𐑌𐐼𐐲𐑉𐑁𐐲𐑊𐐨 𐐶𐐴𐑆 𐑋𐐯𐑌—𐐸𐐭 𐐺𐑉𐐫𐐻 𐑀𐐮𐑁𐐻𐑅 𐐻𐐭 𐑄 𐐒𐐩𐐺 𐐮𐑌 𐑄 𐑋𐐩𐑌𐐾𐐲𐑉. 𐐜𐐩 𐐮𐑌𐑂𐐯𐑌𐐻𐐲𐐼 𐑄 𐐪𐑉𐐻 𐐲𐑂 𐑀𐐮𐑂𐐮𐑍 𐐗𐑉𐐮𐑅𐑋𐐲𐑅 𐐹𐑉𐐯𐑆𐐲𐑌𐐻𐑅. 𐐒𐐨𐐮𐑍 𐐶𐐴𐑆, 𐑄𐐯𐑉 𐑀𐐮𐑁𐐻𐑅 𐐶𐐲𐑉 𐑌𐐬 𐐼𐐵𐐻 𐐶𐐴𐑆 𐐶𐐲𐑌𐑆, 𐐹𐐪𐑅𐐮𐐺𐑊𐐨 𐐺𐐯𐑉𐐮𐑍 𐑄 𐐹𐑉𐐮𐑂𐐮𐑊𐐲𐐾 𐐲𐑂 𐐮𐐿𐑅𐐽𐐩𐑌𐐾 𐐮𐑌 𐐿𐐩𐑅 𐐲𐑂 𐐼𐐭𐐹𐑊𐐮𐐿𐐩𐑇𐐲𐑌. 𐐈𐑌𐐼 𐐸𐐮𐑉 𐐌 𐐸𐐰𐑂 𐑊𐐩𐑋𐑊𐐨 𐑉𐐲𐑊𐐩𐐻𐐲𐐼 𐐻𐐭 𐐷𐐭 𐑄 𐐲𐑌𐐮𐑂𐐯𐑌𐐻𐑁𐐲𐑊 𐐿𐑉𐐪𐑌𐐮𐐿𐐲𐑊 𐐲𐑂 𐐻𐐭 𐑁𐐭𐑊𐐮𐑇 𐐽𐐮𐑊𐐼𐑉𐐲𐑌 𐐮𐑌 𐐪 𐑁𐑊𐐰𐐻 𐐸𐐭 𐑋𐐬𐑅𐐻 𐐲𐑌𐐶𐐴𐑆𐑊𐐨 𐑅𐐰𐐿𐑉𐐮𐑁𐐴𐑅𐐻 𐑁𐐫𐑉 𐐨𐐽 𐐲𐑄𐐲𐑉 𐑄 𐑀𐑉𐐩𐐻𐐲𐑅𐐻 𐐻𐑉𐐯𐑈𐐲𐑉𐑆 𐐲𐑂 𐑄𐐯𐑉 𐐸𐐵𐑅. 𐐒𐐲𐐻 𐐮𐑌 𐐪 𐑊𐐰𐑅𐐻 𐐶𐐲𐑉𐐼 𐐻𐐭 𐑄 𐐶𐐴𐑆 𐐲𐑂 𐑄𐐨𐑆 𐐼𐐩𐑆 𐑊𐐯𐐻 𐐮𐐻 𐐺 𐑅𐐯𐐼 𐑄𐐰𐐻 𐐲𐑂 𐐫𐑊 𐐸𐐭 𐑀𐐮𐑂 𐑀𐐮𐑁𐐻𐑅 𐑄𐐨𐑆 𐐻𐐭 𐐶𐐲𐑉 𐑄 𐐶𐐴𐑆𐐲𐑅𐐻. 𐐊𐑂 𐐫𐑊 𐐸𐐭 𐑀𐐮𐑂 𐐰𐑌𐐼 𐑉𐐲𐑅𐐨𐑂 𐑀𐐮𐑁𐐻𐑅, 𐑅𐐲𐐽 𐐰𐑆 𐑄𐐩 𐐪𐑉 𐐶𐐴𐑆𐐲𐑅𐐻. 𐐇𐑂𐑉𐐨𐐸𐐶𐐯𐑉 𐑄𐐩 𐐪𐑉 𐐶𐐴𐑆𐐲𐑅𐐻. 𐐜𐐩 𐐪𐑉 𐑄 𐑋𐐩𐐾𐐴.

Blessèd are the Bless’d, for They Shall Receive Blessings

Long, long ago, back before the Deseret Alphabet was even a gleam in Brigham Young’s eye, before the United States was born, before the Pilgrims landed on Cape Cod—even before Canada was discovered—the English language was a very different animal that went by the name of “Middle English” and spent most of its time contemplating what Aprill with its shoures soote had done to the droghte of March. The rules were different in those days. Æ, Ð, Þ, and Ƿ were still part of the alphabet. Vowels were real vowels, and consonants were real consonants. Nobody had time for any of this sissy silent letter crap. If a word was spelled “knight,” then it started with a k-sound and had a guttural gurgling in the middle, by Wōdan. If a word looked like it had two syllables, then it had two syllables, like the sturdy yeoman that it was.

Case in point—

English verbs, then and now, fall into two categories: strong verbs, and weak verbs. Like Indo-European languages generally, English is a synthetic language and retains bits and pieces of its older, conjugation-heavy heritage. Verbs still change to indicate tense. If they change by altering their vowels, they are strong verbs. If they change by adding a suffix, they are weak verbs. Sing and bite are strong verbs. Love and hate are weak verbs.

English weak verbs form their past tense by adding -ed. Back in the Middle English days, this was, in fact, pronounced as a separate syllable. As Middle English morphed into modern English, the tendency was to elide the vowel as much as possible, so that today, loved is pronounced with only one syllable; however, because pronouncing two successive dentals without an intervening vowel is difficult in English, hated remains disyllabic.

Naturally, there was a transition period. Even as late as Shakespeare, a weak verb’s -ed might or might not be pronounced as an extra syllable, with (for the Bard) the meter often the determining factor. In modern editions of Shakespeare, you’ll frequently see this indicated by putting a grave accent over the e if the syllable is to be pronounced, and by replacing the e with an apostrophe if it is not. (This is a useful convention which I will be adhering to below.) Thus, in The Merchant of Venice, Act iv scene 1, Portia tells Shylock, “The quality of mercy is not strain’d," whereas in King John iv.2, the Earl of Salisbury warns the titular monarch, “To gild refinèd gold, to paint the lily,…is wasteful and ridiculous excess.” Note that in each case, you get a perfect line of iambic pentameter by pronouncing the “-ed” endings as explicitly marked.

(Whether or not a particular edition of Shakespeare adheres to this convention depends on a number of factors. In particular, Project Gutenberg tends not to use -èd, because in its early days it was restricted to plain ASCII and had no reliable way to add the accent.)

In the 21st century, though, the rule is that the “-ed” is pronounced only when it is phonetically necessary to do so. But what would a rule be without exceptions? (A good rule, that’s what.)

First, a bit more grammar. Indo-European languages generally make clear distinctions between the various parts of speech. A verb, therefore, can’t just behave like an adjective; it has to be turned into one. A verb-turned-into-an-adjective is called a participle. English has two kinds forms for the participle: the present participle (as in “the flying nun”) and the past participle (“the frozen pond”). For weak verbs, the simple past verb conjugation and the past participle are both formed by adding -ed to the verb stem. (“I salted the meat myself.” “The salted meat is too salty.”)

The English language adores participles, because we use them in the compound forms of verbs, and we use compound forms a lot. With compound verbs, we use a helper verb (to be or to have) with a participle. We have the simple present (“I read Dante’s Divine Comedy every few years.”), the present progressive (“Right now I am reading Kirkpatrick’s translation.”), the present perfect (“I have read Ciardi’s translation several times.”), and the simple past (“I read three cantos yesterday.”), among others. One of our more spectacular constructions is the present perfect progressive (“It has been snowing all morning.”) Of these, only the simple present and simple past are not compound forms, and this is hardly an exhaustive list.

Now comes the kicker. Some past participles, a long time ago, basically became fixed expressions and turned into adjectives in their own right, and these adjectives preserved their pronunciation when the past participle proper changed its. That is, their -ed ending continued to be pronounced as a distinct syllable.

As an example, consider “learned.” If I am using it as a standard past participle, I pronounce it with one syllable: “I have learn’d my verb conjugations well.” As an actual adjective, however, it is now a separate word meaning “having much knowledge acquired by learning,” and as such is pronounced learnèd. You would have to be an unlearnèd man like Homer Simpson to pronounce the adjective “learn’d."

Other adjectives have followed a similar trajectory. Another common one is “aged” (“The president has aged decades since he took office.” “I saw an agèd, agèd man, /A-sitting on a gate.” Note, however, “middle-ag’d," which we never pronounce “middle-agèd.”) I’ve seen “cursèd” used as a distinct adjective on occasion. There are more.
None of these adjectives, however—none—has caused me as much grief as “blessed,” because it has to do with God-ish things, and so tends to occur a lot in religious texts. Like the Bible. Like the King James Bible. Like the one Bible translation of which I have converted everything except about the last third of the Old Testament into the Deseret Alphabet.

Precisely because of its association with the King James Bible, and particularly with the Beatitudes in Matthew 5, “blessed” is not only the past participle and simple past of “bless,” but an adjective in its own right meaning “having a sacred nature, associated with God.” As an adjective—and especially in conjunction with the archaic, exalted style we associate with the Authorised Version—there is a strong tendency to pronounce it as “blessèd.” The various dictionaries I’ve consulted, by the way, are not consistent here. Some say the preferred pronunciation of the adjective is “blessèd,” and some say that it’s “bless’d.” (Everybody allows both pronunciations.)

What makes this more difficult than other verbs is that it is a transitive verb that can take thing with volition as both subject and object, and commonly does. Thus, Matthew 5:9, “Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God.” The sentence makes sense whether you parse it as meaning “God blesses peacemakers” or “Peacemakers are holy.” (And if anybody starts talking about manufacturers of dairy products, I will have no idea to what they are referring.) If I say, “Aged indeed are my parents’ surviving siblings,” I’m very clearly not implying that some cheesemaker has come by and stuffed them in storage while they ripen; so it’s “agèd.” “Anyone who is genuinely learned will understand that anthropogenic climate change is a real problem” does not imply that people have gone around learning other people; so it’s “learnèd.”

For the New Testament, there is something that can help, and that is I know sufficient Greek to tell what the original sense is. In the case of Matthew 5:9, the original word is μακάριοι which is an adjective and means “happy, fortunate.” It’s not a conjugated verb. On the other hand, in Matthew 14:19, we have “He…took the five loaves, and the two fishes, and looking up to heaven, he blessed, and break, and gave the loaves to his disciples.” Outside of the fact that the English sense is pretty clear, the Greek here is εὐλόγησεν, the third person singular aorist active indicative of the verb εὐλογέω, which means, well, “to bless.” (Literally, it means “to speak well of.”)

That’s actually a workable solution to distinguish blessed-qua-verb and blessed-qua-adjective, and I adhered to it sporadically through the New Testament. Unfortunately, I don’t know Hebrew well enough to do the same in the Old Testament.

Now, the whole rigamarole is actually unnecessary, because there is a simple, sensible solution to the dilemma. As I say, all the dictionaries I’ve consulted say that “bless’d” is an acceptable pronunciation for blessed-qua-adjective and some of them give “bless’d” as the preferred pronunciation. So just use “bless’d” all the time.

Unfortunately, simple though I may be, I am not sensible. I just could not get myself to put “Bless’d are the merciful” into Jesus’ mouth. Instead, I’m doing what is probably the worst possible thing under the circumstances and simply going by euphony if semantics will not guide me. If the English sense is very clear, I go by that. Otherwise, if “blessèd” sounds better than “bless’d,” I use “blessèd.” If “bless’d” sounds better, use it instead. The result is a linguistic abomination and wrecks havoc with my principle of “one word-one spelling,” but at least it lets me sleep at night in blessèd, blessèd slumber.