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"I shouldn't mind Dickon looking at me," said Colin; "I want to see him." "I'm glad you said that," answered Mary, "because because " Quite suddenly it came into her mind that this was the minute to tell him. Colin knew something new was coming. "Because what?" he cried eagerly. Mary was so anxious that she got up from her stool and came to him and caught hold of both his hands. "Can I trust you?
Roach only just escaped being sufficiently undignified to jump backward. The young Rajah was neither in bed nor on his sofa. He was sitting in an armchair and a young lamb was standing by him shaking its tail in feeding-lamb fashion as Dickon knelt giving it milk from its bottle. A squirrel was perched on Dickon's bent back attentively nibbling a nut.
The grand doctor had said that he must have fresh air and Colin had said that he would not mind fresh air in a secret garden. Perhaps if he had a great deal of fresh air and knew Dickon and the robin and saw things growing he might not think so much about dying.
It was really this mention of Dickon which made Mary decide to go out, though she was not aware of it. There would be birds outside though there would not be ponies or sheep. They would be different from the birds in India and it might amuse her to look at them. Martha found her coat and hat for her and a pair of stout little boots and she showed her her way down-stairs.
As the Prior rose from the pallet of his dead son, one bade him come quickly, for a dying man had need of him. It was Dickon. The Prior, bearing with him the Body of the Lord, made haste to the hovel where he lay, and shrived him though he scarce could hear his muttered words; but lo! when he would place the Host he could not, for a gold piece lay on the man's tongue.
There?" he cried, and his eyes were as big as the wolf's in Red Riding-Hood, when Red Riding-Hood felt called upon to remark on them. Dickon stood still and the wheeled chair stopped. "And this," said Mary, stepping on to the bed close to the ivy, "is where I went to talk to him when he chirped at me from the top of the wall.
If gardens and fresh air had been good for her perhaps they would be good for Colin. But then, if he hated people to look at him, perhaps he would not like to see Dickon. "Why does it make you angry when you are looked at?" she inquired one day. "I always hated it," he answered, "even when I was very little.
"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 learn how 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 and bushes with a thoughtful expression.
That lad hasn’t slept once in a house this twenty year, and never will while grass grows.” “Is he mad?” I asked. “Something that way, sir; he’s an idiot, an awpy; we call him ‘Dickon the devil,’ because the devil’s almost the only word that’s ever in his mouth.” It struck me that this idiot was in some way connected with the story of old Squire Bowes.
Mary had run round into the wood with Dickon to see Jump. He was a tiny little shaggy moor pony with thick locks hanging over his eyes and with a pretty face and a nuzzling velvet nose. He was rather thin with living on moor grass but he was as tough and wiry as if the muscle in his little legs had been made of steel springs.
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