“If tha’ was a missel thrush an’
showed me where thy nest was, does tha’ think
I’d tell any one? Not me,” he said.
“Tha’ art as safe as a missel thrush.”
And she was quite sure she was.
“MIGHT I HAVE A BIT OF EARTH?”
Mary ran so fast that she was rather out of breath
when she reached her room. Her hair was ruffled
on her forehead and her cheeks were bright pink.
Her dinner was waiting on the table, and Martha was
waiting near it.
“Tha’s a bit late,” she said.
“Where has tha’ been?”
“I’ve seen Dickon!” said Mary.
“I’ve seen Dickon!”
“I knew he’d come,” said Martha
exultantly. “How does tha’ like him?”
“I think—I think he’s beautiful!”
said Mary in a determined voice.
Martha looked rather taken aback but she looked pleased,
too.
“Well,” she said, “he’s th’
best lad as ever was born, but us never thought he
was handsome. His nose turns up too much.”
“I like it to turn up,” said Mary.
“An’ his eyes is so round,” said
Martha, a trifle doubtful. “Though they’re
a nice color.”
“I like them round,” said Mary. “And
they are exactly the color of the sky over the moor.”
Martha beamed with satisfaction.
“Mother says he made ’em that color with
always lookin’ up at th’ birds an’
th’ clouds. But he has got a big mouth,
hasn’t he, now?”
“I love his big mouth,” said Mary obstinately.
“I wish mine were just like it.”
Martha chuckled delightedly.
“It’d look rare an’ funny in thy
bit of a face,” she said. “But I knowed
it would be that way when tha’ saw him.
How did tha’ like th’ seeds an’
th’ garden tools?”
“How did you know he brought them?” asked
Mary.
“Eh! I never thought of him not bringin’
’em. He’d be sure to bring ’em
if they was in Yorkshire. He’s such a trusty
lad.”
Mary was afraid that she might begin to ask difficult
questions, but she did not. She was very much
interested in the seeds and gardening tools, and there
was only one moment when Mary was frightened.
This was when she began to ask where the flowers were
to be planted.
“Who did tha’ ask about it?” she
inquired.
“I haven’t asked anybody yet,” said
Mary, hesitating.
“Well, I wouldn’t ask th’ head gardener.
He’s too grand, Mr. Roach is.”
“I’ve never seen him,” said Mary.
“I’ve only seen under-gardeners and Ben
Weatherstaff.”
“If I was you, I’d ask Ben Weatherstaff,”
advised Martha. “He’s not half as
bad as he looks, for all he’s so crabbed.
Mr. Craven lets him do what he likes because he was
here when Mrs. Craven was alive, an’ he used
to make her laugh. She liked him. Perhaps
he’d find you a corner somewhere out o’
the way.”
“If it was out of the way and no one wanted
it, no one could mind my having it, could they?”
Mary said anxiously.
