Do you understand everything birds say? said Mary.
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.
Sometimes I think p raps I m a bird, or a fox, or a rabbit, or a
squirrel, or even a beetle, an I don t know it.
He laughed and came back to the log and began to talk about the flower
seeds again. He told her what they looked like when they were flowers;
he told her how to plant them, and watch them, and feed and water them.
See here, he said suddenly, turning round to look at her. I ll plant
them for thee myself. Where is tha garden?
Mary s thin hands clutched each other as they lay on her lap. She did
not know what to say, so for a whole minute she said nothing. She had
never thought of this. She felt miserable. And she felt as if she went
red and then pale.
Tha s got a bit o garden, hasn t tha ? Dickon said.
It was true that she had turned red and then pale. Dickon saw her do
it, and as she still said nothing, he began to be puzzled.
Wouldn t they give thee a bit? he asked. Hasn t tha got any yet?
She held her hands tighter and turned her eyes toward him.
I don t know anything about boys, she said slowly. Could you keep a
secret, if I told you one? It s a great secret. I don t know what I
should do if anyone found it out. I believe I should die! She said the
last sentence quite fiercely.
Dickon looked more puzzled than ever and even rubbed his hand over his
rough head again, but he answered quite good-humoredly.
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