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.
