d wondered
if he would notice her. She wanted him to see her skip.

"Well!" he exclaimed. "Upon my word. P'raps tha' art a young 'un,
after all, an' p'raps tha's got child's blood in thy veins instead of
sour buttermilk. Tha's skipped red into thy cheeks as sure as my
name's Ben Weatherstaff. I wouldn't have believed tha' could do it."

"I never skipped before," Mary said. "I'm just beginning. I can only
go up to twenty."

"Tha' keep on," said Ben. "Tha' shapes well enough at it for a young
'un that's lived with heathen. Just see how he's watchin' thee,"
jerking his head toward the robin. "He followed after thee yesterday.
He'll be at it again today. He'll be bound to find out what th'
skippin'-rope is. He's never seen one. Eh!" shaking his head at the
bird, "tha' curiosity will be th' death of thee sometime if tha'
doesn't look sharp."

Mary skipped round all the gardens and round the orchard, resting every
few minutes. At length she went to her own special walk and made up
her mind to try if she could skip the whole length of it. It was a
good long skip and she began slowly, but before she had gone half-way
down the path she was so hot and breathless that she was obliged to
stop. She did not mind much, because she had already counted up to
thirty. She stopped with a little laugh of pleasure, and there, lo and
behold, was the robin swaying on a long branch of ivy. He had followed
her and he greeted her with a chirp. As Mary had skipped toward him
she felt something heavy in her pocket strike against her at each jump,
and when she saw the robin she laughed again.

"You showed me where the key was yesterday," she said. "You ought to
show me the door today; but I don't believe you know!"

The robin flew from his swinging spray of ivy on to the top of the wall
and he opened his beak and sang a loud, lovely trill, merely to show
off. Nothing in the world is quite as adorably lovely as a robin when
he shows off--and they are nearly always doing it.

Mary Lennox had heard a great deal about Magic in her Ayah's stories,
and she always said that what happened almost at that moment was Magic.

One of the nice little gusts of wind rushed down the walk, and it was a
stronger one than the rest. It was strong enough to wave the branches
of the trees, and it was more than strong enough to sway the trailing
sprays of untrimmed ivy hanging from the wall. Mary had stepped close
to the robin, and suddenly