CHAPTER XI 90
" 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 so thick and strong, and they looked as if they had no room to breathe. So I 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 ' s daffydowndillys. 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, looking her over.
" I ' m growing fatter," said Mary, " and I ' m growing stronger. I used always to be tired. When I dig I ' m not tired at all. I like to smell the earth when it ' s turned up."
" It ' s rare good for thee," he said, nodding his head wisely. " There ' s naught 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 ' moor many 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 nose end fair quivers like a rabbit ' s, mother says."
" Do you never catch cold?" inquired Mary, gazing at him wonderingly. She had never seen such a funny boy, or such a nice one.
" Not me," he said, grinning. " I never ketched cold since I was born. I wasn ' t brought up nesh enough. I ' ve chased about th ' moor in all weathers same as