when I tell her what th' skippin'-rope's done for
thee."

In the course of her digging with her pointed
stick Mistress Mary had found herself digging
up a sort of white root rather like an onion. She
had put it back in its place and patted the earth
carefully down on it and just now she wondered if
Martha could tell her what it was.

"Martha," she said, "what are those white
roots that look like onions?"

"They're bulbs," answered Martha. "Lots
o' spring flowers grow from 'em. Th' very little
ones are snowdrops an' crocuses an' th' big ones
are narcissusis an' jonquils an' daffydowndillys.
Th' biggest of all is lilies an' purple flags. Eh!
they are nice. Dickon's got a whole lot of 'em
planted in our bit o' garden."

"Does Dickon know all about them?" asked
Mary, a new idea taking possession of her.

"Our Dickon can make a flower grow out of a
brick walk. Mother says he just whispers things
out o' th' ground."

"Do bulbs live a long time? Would they live
years and years if no one helped them?" inquired
Mary anxiously.

"They're things as helps themselves," said
Martha. "That's why poor folk can afford to
have 'em. If you don't trouble 'em, most of 'em'll

[[103]]

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v?