make em grow. He walks over to Thwaite many a day just for th fun of
it. Does tha know how to print letters? suddenly.
I know how to write, Mary answered.
Martha shook her head.
Our Dickon can only read printin . If tha could print we could write
a letter to him an ask him to go an buy th garden tools an th
seeds at th same time.
Oh! you re a good girl! Mary cried. You are, really! I didn t know
you were so nice. I know I can print letters if I try. Let s ask Mrs.
Medlock for a pen and ink and some paper.
I ve got some of my own, said Martha. I bought em so I could print
a bit of a letter to mother of a Sunday. I ll go and get it.
She ran out of the room, and Mary stood by the fire and twisted her
thin little hands together with sheer pleasure.
If I have a spade, she whispered, I can make the earth nice and soft
and dig up weeds. If I have seeds and can make flowers grow the garden
won t be dead at all it will come alive.
She did not go out again that afternoon because when Martha returned
with her pen and ink and paper she was obliged to clear the table and
carry the plates and dishes downstairs and when she got into the
kitchen Mrs. Medlock was there and told her to do something, so Mary
waited for what seemed to her a long time before she came back. Then it
was a serious piece of work to write to Dickon. Mary had been taught
very little because her governesses had disliked her too much to stay
with her. She could not spell particularly well but she found that she
could print letters when she tried. This was the letter Martha dictated
to her:
_My Dear Dickon:_
This comes hoping to find you well as it leaves me at present. Miss
66