I m glad it s wick! she cried out in her whisper. I want them all to
be wick. Let us go round the garden and count how many wick ones there
are.
She quite panted with eagerness, and Dickon was as eager as she was.
They went from tree to tree and from bush to bush. Dickon carried his
knife in his hand and showed her things which she thought wonderful.
They ve run wild, he said, but th strongest ones has fair thrived
on it. The delicatest ones has died out, but th others has growed an
growed, an spread an spread, till they s a wonder. See here! and he
pulled down a thick gray, dry-looking branch. A body might think this
was dead wood, but I don t believe it is down to th root. I ll cut it
low down an see.
He knelt and with his knife cut the lifeless-looking branch through,
not far above the earth.
There! he said exultantly. I told thee so. There s green in that
wood yet. Look at it.
Mary was down on her knees before he spoke, gazing with all her might.
When it looks a bit greenish an juicy like that, it s wick, he
explained. When th inside is dry an breaks easy, like this here
piece I ve cut off, it s done for. There s a big root here as all this
live wood sprung out of, an if th old wood s cut off an it s dug
round, and took care of there ll be he stopped and lifted his face to
look up at the climbing and hanging sprays above him there ll be a
fountain o roses here this summer.
They went from bush to bush and from tree to tree. He was very strong
and clever with his knife and knew how to cut the dry and dead wood
away, and could tell when an unpromising bough or twig had still green
life in it. In the course of half an hour Mary thought she could tell
too, and when he cut through a lifeless-looking branch she would cry
out joyfully under her breath when she caught sight of the least shade
of moist green. The spade, and hoe, and fork were very useful. He
showed her how to use the fork while he dug about roots with the spade
and stirred the earth and let the air in.
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