The Nest of the Missel Thrush Ch XI

For two or three minutes he stood looking round him, while Mary watchedhim, and then he began to walk about softly, even more lightly than Maryhad walked the first time she had found herself inside the four walls.His eyes seemed to be taking in everything--the gray trees with the graycreepers climbing over them and hanging from their branches, the tangleon the walls and among the grass, the evergreen alcoves with the stoneseats and tall flower urns standing in them."I never thought I'd see this place," he said at last, in a whisper."Did you know about it?" asked Mary.She had spoken aloud and he made a sign to her."We must talk low," he said, "or some one'll hear us an' wonder what'sto do in here.""Oh! I forgot!" said Mary, feeling frightened and putting her handquickly against her mouth. "Did you know about the garden?" she askedagain when she had recovered herself.Dickon nodded."Martha told me there was one as no one ever went inside," he answered."Us used to wonder what it was like."He stopped and looked round at the lovely gray tangle about him, and hisround eyes looked queerly happy."Eh! the nests as'll be here come springtime," he said. "It'd be th'safest nestin' place in England. No one never comin' near an' tangles o'trees an' roses to build in. I wonder all th' birds on th' moor don'tbuild here."Mistress Mary put her hand on his arm again without knowing it."Will there be roses?" she whispered. "Can you tell? I thought perhapsthey were all dead.""Eh! No! Not them--not all of 'em!" he answered. "Look here!"He stepped over to the nearest tree--an old, old one with gray lichenall over its bark, but upholding a curtain of tangled sprays andbranches. He took a thick knife out of his pocket and opened one of itsblades."There's lots o' dead wood as ought to be cut out," he said. "An'there's a lot o' old wood, but it made some new last year. This here's anew bit," and he touched a shoot which looked brownish green instead ofhard, dry gray.Mary touched it herself in an eager, reverent way."That one?" she said. "Is that one quite alive--quite?"Dickon curved his wide smiling mouth."It's as wick as you or me," he said; and Mary remembered that Marthahad told her that "wick" meant "alive" or "lively.""I'm glad it's wick!" she cried out in her whisper. "I want them all tobe wick. Let us go round the garden and count how many wick ones thereare."She quite panted with eagerness, and Dickon was as eager as she was.They went from tree to tree and from bush to bush. Dickon carried hisknife in his hand and showed her things which she thought wonderful."They've run wild," he said, "but th' strongest ones has fair thrived onit. The delicatest ones has died out, but th' others has growed an'growed, an' spread an' spread, till they's a wonder. See here!" and hepulled down a thick gray, dry-looking branch. "A body might think thiswas dead wood, but I don't believe it is--down to th' root. I'll cut itlow down an' see."He knelt and with his knife cut the lifeless-looking branch through, notfar above the earth."There!" he said exultantly. "I told thee so. There's green in thatwood yet. Look at it."Mary was down on her knees before he spoke, gazing with all her might."When it looks a bit greenish an' juicy like that, it's wick," heexplained. "When th' inside is dry an' breaks easy, like this here pieceI've cut off, it's done for. There's a big root here as all this livewood sprung out of, an' if th' old wood's cut off an' it's dug round,an' took care of there'll be--" he stopped and lifted his face to lookup at the climbing and hanging sprays above him--"there'll be a fountaino' roses here this summer."They went from bush to bush and from tree to tree. He was very strongand clever with his knife and knew how to cut the dry and dead woodaway, and could tell when an unpromising bough or twig had still greenlife in it. In the course of half an hour Mary thought she could telltoo, and when he cut through a lifeless-looking branch she would cry outjoyfully under her breath when she caught sight of the least shade ofmoist green. The spade, and hoe, and fork were very useful. He showedher how to use the fork while he dug about roots with the spade andstirred the earth and let the air in.They were working industriously round one of the biggest standard roseswhen he caught sight of something which made him utter an exclamation ofsurprise."Why!" he cried, pointing to the grass a few feet away. "Who did thatthere?"It was one of Mary's own little clearings round the pale green points."I did it," said Mary."Why, I thought tha' didn't know nothin' about gardenin'," he exclaimed."I don't," she answered, "but they were so little, and the grass was sothick and strong, and they looked as if they had no room to breathe. SoI made a place for them. I don't even know what they are."Dickon went and knelt down by them, smiling his wide smile."Tha' was right," he said. "A gardener couldn't have told thee better.They'll grow now like Jack's bean-stalk. They're crocuses an' snowdrops,an' these here is narcissuses," turning to another patch, "an' here'sdaffydowndillys. Eh! they will be a sight."He ran from one clearing to another."Tha' has done a lot o' work for such a little wench," he said, lookingher over."I'm growing fatter," said Mary, "and I'm growing stronger. I usedalways to be tired. When I dig I'm not tired at all. I like to smellthe earth when it's turned up.""It's rare good for thee," he said, nodding his head wisely. "There'snaught as nice as th' smell o' good clean earth, except th' smell o'fresh growin' things when th' rain falls on 'em. I get out on th' moormany a day when it's rainin' an' I lie under a bush an' listen to th'soft swish o' drops on th' heather an' I just sniff an' sniff. My noseend fair quivers like a rabbit's, mother says.""Do you never catch cold?" inquired Mary, gazing at him wonderingly. Shehad never seen such a funny boy, or such a nice one."Not me," he said, grinning. "I never ketched cold since I was born. Iwasn't brought up nesh enough. I've chased about th' moor in allweathers same as th' rabbits does. Mother says I've sniffed up too muchfresh air for twelve year' to ever get to sniffin' with cold. I'm astough as a white-thorn knobstick."He was working all the time he was talking and Mary was following himand helping him with her fork or the trowel."There's a lot of work to do here!" he said once, looking about quiteexultantly."Will you come again and help me to do it?" Mary begged. "I'm sure I canhelp, too. I can dig and pull up weeds, and do whatever you tell me.Oh! do come, Dickon!""I'll come every day if tha' wants me, rain or shine," he answeredstoutly. "It's th' best fun I ever had in my life--shut in here an'wakenin' up a garden.""If you will come," said Mary, "if you will help me to make it aliveI'll--I don't know what I'll do," she ended helplessly. What could youdo for a boy like that?"I'll tell thee what tha'll do," said Dickon, with his happy grin."Tha'll get fat an' tha'll get as hungry as a young fox an' tha'll learnhow to talk to th' robin same as I do. Eh! we'll have a lot o' fun."He began to walk about, looking up in the trees and at the walls andbushes with a thoughtful expression."I wouldn't want to make it look like a gardener's garden, all clippedan' spick an' span, would you?" he said. "It's nicer like this withthings runnin' wild, an' swingin' an' catchin' hold of each other.""Don't let us make it tidy," said Mary anxiously. "It wouldn't seem likea secret garden if it was tidy."Dickon stood rubbing his rusty-red head with a rather puzzled look."It's a secret garden sure enough," he said, "but seems like some onebesides th' robin must have been in it since it was shut up ten year'ago.""But the door was locked and the key was buried," said Mary. "No onecould get in.""That's true," he answered. "It's a queer place. Seems to me as ifthere'd been a bit o' prunin' done here an' there, later than ten year'ago.""But how could it have been done?" said Mary.He was examining a branch of a standard rose and he shook his head."Aye! how could it!" he murmured. "With th' door locked an' th' keyburied."Mistress Mary always felt that however many years she lived she shouldnever forget that first morning when her garden began to grow. Ofcourse, it did seem to begin to grow for her that morning. When Dickonbegan to clear places to plant seeds, she remembered what Basil had sungat her when he wanted to tease her."Are there any flowers that look like bells?" she inquired."Lilies o' th' valley does," he answered, digging away with the trowel,"an' there's Canterbury bells, an' campanulas.""Let us plant some," said Mary."There's lilies o' th' valley here already; I saw 'em. They'll havegrowed too close an' we'll have to separate 'em, but there's plenty. Th'other ones takes two years to bloom from seed, but I can bring you somebits o' plants from our cottage garden. Why does tha' want 'em?"Then Mary told him about Basil and his brothers and sisters in India andof how she had hated them and of their calling her "Mistress Mary QuiteContrary.""They used to dance round and sing at me. They sang-- 'Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With silver bells, and cockle shells, And marigolds all in a row.'I just remembered it and it made me wonder if there were really flowerslike silver bells."She frowned a little and gave her trowel a rather spiteful dig into theearth."I wasn't as contrary as they were."But Dickon laughed."Eh!" he said, and as he crumbled the rich black soil she saw he wassniffing up the scent of it, "there doesn't seem to be no need for noone to be contrary when there's flowers an' such like, an' such lots o'friendly wild things runnin' about makin' homes for themselves, orbuildin' nests an' singin' an' whistlin', does there?"Mary, kneeling by him holding the seeds, looked at him and stoppedfrowning."Dickon," she said. "You are as nice as Martha said you were. I likeyou, and you make the fifth person. I never thought I should like fivepeople."Dickon sat up on his heels as Martha did when she was polishing thegrate. He did look funny and delightful, Mary thought, with his roundblue eyes and red cheeks and happy looking turned-up nose."Only five folk as tha' likes?" he said. "Who is th' other four?""Your mother and Martha," Mary checked them off on her fingers, "and therobin and Ben Weatherstaff."Dickon laughed so that he was obliged to stifle the sound by putting hisarm over his mouth."I know tha' thinks I'm a queer lad," he said, "but I think tha' art th'queerest little lass I ever saw."Then Mary did a strange thing. She leaned forward and asked him aquestion she had never dreamed of asking any one before. And she triedto ask it in Yorkshire because that was his language, and in India anative was always pleased if you knew his speech."Does tha' like me?" she said."Eh!" he answered heartily, "that I does. I likes thee wonderful, an' sodoes th' robin, I do believe!""That's two, then," said Mary. "That's two for me."And then they began to work harder than ever and more joyfully. Mary wasstartled and sorry when she heard the big clock in the courtyard strikethe hour of her midday dinner."I shall have to go," she said mournfully. "And you will have to go too,won't you?"Dickon grinned."My dinner's easy to carry about with me," he said. "Mother always letsme put a bit o' somethin' in my pocket."He picked up his coat from the grass and brought out of a pocket a lumpylittle bundle tied up in a quiet clean, coarse, blue and whitehandkerchief. It held two thick pieces of bread with a slice ofsomething laid between them."It's oftenest naught but bread," he said, "but I've got a fine slice o'fat bacon with it to-day."Mary thought it looked a queer dinner, but he seemed ready to enjoy it."Run on an' get thy victuals," he said. "I'll be done with mine first.I'll get some more work done before I start back home."He sat down with his back against a tree."I'll call th' robin up," he said, "and give him th' rind o' th' baconto peck at. They likes a bit o' fat wonderful."Mary could scarcely bear to leave him. Suddenly it seemed as if he mightbe a sort of wood fairy who might be gone when she came into the gardenagain. He seemed too good to be true. She went slowly half-way to thedoor in the wall and then she stopped and went back."Whatever happens, you--you never would tell?" she said.His poppy-colored cheeks were distended with his first big bite of breadand bacon, but he managed to smile encouragingly."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 misselthrush."And she was quite sure she was.