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Miss Mary," she said, "it may put him all out of humor when I tell him that." But Mary was not as afraid of him as other people were and she was not a self-sacrificing person. "I can't stay," she answered. "Dickon's waiting for me;" and she ran away. The afternoon was even lovelier and busier than the morning had been.
Unexpectedly as she had appeared, not one of them felt that she was an intruder at all. Dickon's eyes lighted like lamps. "It's mother that's who it is!" he cried and went across the grass at a run. Colin began to move toward her, too, and Mary went with him. They both felt their pulses beat faster. "It's mother!" Dickon said again when they met halfway.
Dickon spoke to him as Ben Weatherstaff did, but Dickon's tone was one of friendly advice. "Wheres'ever tha' puts it," he said, "it'll be all right. Tha' knew how to build tha' nest before tha' came out o' th' egg. Get on with thee, lad. Tha'st got no time to lose." "Oh, I do like to hear you talk to him!" Mary said, laughing delightedly.
Dickon's grin spread until he seemed all wide, red, curving mouth, and he rubbed his rough head. "I think I do, and they think I do," he said. "I've lived on th' moor with 'em so long. I've watched 'em break shell an' come out an' fledge an' learn to fly an' begin to sing, till I think I'm one of 'em.
"That tha' will," said Dickon. "Us'll have thee walkin' about here an' diggin' same as other folk afore long." Colin flushed tremendously. "Walk!" he said. "Dig! Shall I?" Dickon's glance at him was delicately cautious. Neither he nor Mary had ever asked if anything was the matter with his legs. "For sure tha' will," he said stoutly. "Tha' tha's got legs o' thine own, same as other folks!"
"Do you know Dickon?" Mary asked, turning round rather in a hurry. "Everybody knows him. Dickon's wanderin' about everywhere. Th' very blackberries an' heather-bells knows him. I warrant th' foxes shows him where their cubs lies an' th' skylarks doesn't hide their nests from him." Mary would have liked to ask some more questions.
He mun come back that he mun." One of the things they talked of was the visit they were to make to her cottage. They planned it all. They were to drive over the moor and lunch out of doors among the heather. They would see all the twelve children and Dickon's garden and would not come back until they were tired. Susan Sowerby got up at last to return to the house and Mrs. Medlock.
"Lots o' spring flowers grow from 'em. Th' very little ones are snowdrops an' crocuses an' th' big ones are narcissusis an' jonquils an' daffydowndillys. Th' biggest of all is lilies an' purple flags. Eh! they are nice. Dickon's got a whole lot of 'em planted in our bit o' garden." "Does Dickon know all about them?" asked Mary, a new idea taking possession of her.
Dickon's grin spread until he seemed all wide, red, curving mouth, and he rubbed his rough head. "I think I do, and they think I do," he said. "I've lived on th' moor with 'em so long. I've watched 'em break shell an' come out an' fledge an' learn to fly an' begin to sing, till I think I'm one of 'em.
She kneeled down and leaned out of the window as far as she could, breathing big breaths and sniffing the air until she laughed because she remembered what Dickon's mother had said about the end of his nose quivering like a rabbit's. "It must be very early," she said. "The little clouds are all pink and I've never seen the sky look like this. No one is up. I don't even hear the stable boys."
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