n
had flown on to one of its branches and had burst out into a scrap of a
song. Ben Weatherstaff laughed outright.

"What did he do that for?" asked Mary.

"He's made up his mind to make friends with thee," replied Ben. "Dang me
if he hasn't took a fancy to thee."

"To me?" said Mary, and she moved toward the little tree softly and
looked up.

"Would you make friends with me?" she said to the robin just as if she
was speaking to a person. "Would you?" And she did not say it either in
her hard little voice or in her imperious Indian voice, but in a tone so
soft and eager and coaxing that Ben Weatherstaff was as surprised as she
had been when she heard him whistle.

"Why," he cried out, "tha' said that as nice an' human as if tha' was a
real child instead of a sharp old woman. Tha' said it almost like Dickon
talks to his wild things on th' moor."

"Do you know Dickon?" Mary asked, turning round rather in a hurry.

"Everybody knows him. Dickon's wanderin' about everywhere. Th' very
blackberries an' heather-bells knows him. I warrant th' foxes shows him
where their cubs lies an' th' skylarks doesn't hide their nests from
him."

Mary would have liked to ask some more questions. She was almost as
curious about Dickon as she was about the deserted garden. But just that
moment the robin, who had ended his song, gave a little shake of his
wings, spread them and flew away. He had made his visit and had other
things to do.

"He has flown over the wall!" Mary cried out, watching him. "He has
flown into the orchard--he has flown across the other wall--into the
garden where there is no door!"

"He lives there," said old Ben. "He came out o' th' egg there. If he's
courtin', he's makin' up to some young madam of a robin that lives among
th' old rose-trees there."

"Rose-trees," said Mary. "Are there rose-trees?"

Ben Weatherstaff took up his spade again and began to dig.

"There was ten year' ago," he mumbled.

"I should like to see them," said Mary. "Where is the green door? There
must be a door somewhere."

Ben drove his spade deep and looked as uncompanionable as he had looked
when she first saw him.

"There was ten year' ago, but there isn't now," he said.

"No door!" cried Mary. "There must be."

"None as any one can find, an' none as is any one's business. Don't you
be a meddlesome wench an' poke your nose where it's no cause to go.
Here, I must go on with my work. Get you gone an' play you. I've no more