Springtime s comin, he said. Cannot tha smell it?
Mary sniffed and thought she could.
I smell something nice and fresh and damp, she said.
That s th good rich earth, he answered, digging away. It s in a
good humor makin ready to grow things. It s glad when plantin time
comes. It s dull in th winter when it s got nowt to do. In th flower
gardens out there things will be stirrin down below in th dark. Th
sun s warmin em. You ll see bits o green spikes stickin out o th
black earth after a bit.
What will they be? asked Mary.
Crocuses an snowdrops an daffydowndillys. Has tha never seen them?
No. Everything is hot, and wet, and green after the rains in India,
said Mary. And I think things grow up in a night.
These won t grow up in a night, said Weatherstaff. Tha ll have to
wait for em. They ll poke up a bit higher here, an push out a spike
more there, an uncurl a leaf this day an another that. You watch
em.
I am going to, answered Mary.
Very soon she heard the soft rustling flight of wings again and she
knew at once that the robin had come again. He was very pert and
lively, and hopped about so close to her feet, and put his head on one
side and looked at her so slyly that she asked Ben Weatherstaff a
question.
Do you think he remembers me? she said.
Remembers thee! said Weatherstaff indignantly. He knows every
cabbage stump in th gardens, let alone th people. He s never seen a
little wench here before, an he s bent on findin out all about thee.
Tha s no need to try to hide anything from _him_.
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