Таинственный сад

X. Dickon

           

           “Letussitdownonthislogandlookatthem,”shesaid.

           Theysatdownandhetookaclumsylittlebrownpaperpackageoutofhiscoatpocket.Heuntiedthestringandinsidetherewereeversomanyneaterandsmallerpackageswithapictureofafloweroneachone.

           “There’saloto’mignonettean’poppies,”hesaid.“Mignonette’sth’sweetestsmellin’thingasgrows,an’it’llgrowwhereveryoucastit,sameaspoppieswill.Themas’llcomeupan’bloomifyoujustwhistleto’em,them’sth’nicestofall.”

           Hestoppedandturnedhisheadquickly,hispoppy-cheekedfacelightingup.

           “Where’sthatrobinasiscallin’us?”hesaid.

           Thechirpcamefromathickhollybush,brightwithscarletberries,andMarythoughtsheknewwhoseitwas.

           “Isitreallycallingus?”sheasked.

           “Aye,”saidDickon,asifitwasthemostnaturalthingintheworld,“he’scallin’someonehe’sfriendswith.That’ssameassayin’‘HereIam.Lookatme.Iwantsabitofachat.’Thereheisinthebush.Whoseishe?”

           “He’sBenWeatherstaff’s,butIthinkheknowsmealittle,”answeredMary.

           “Aye,heknowsthee,”saidDickoninhislowvoiceagain.“An’helikesthee.He’stooktheeon.He’lltellmeallabouttheeinaminute.”

           HemovedquiteclosetothebushwiththeslowmovementMaryhadnoticedbefore,andthenhemadeasoundalmostliketherobin’sowntwitter.Therobinlistenedafewseconds,intently,andthenansweredquiteasifhewerereplyingtoaquestion.

           “Aye,he’safriendo’yours,”chuckledDickon.

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