"You are, really! I didn't know you were so
nice. I know I can print letters if I try. Let's
ask Mrs. Medlock for a pen and ink and some
paper."

"I've got some of my own," said Martha. "I
bought 'em so I could print a bit of a letter to
mother of a Sunday. I'll go and get it."

She ran out of the room, and Mary stood by the
fire and twisted her thin little hands together with
sheer pleasure.

"If I have a spade," she whispered, "I can
make the earth nice and soft and dig up weeds. If
I have seeds and can make flowers grow the garden
won't be dead at all -- it will come alive."

She did not go out again that afternoon because
when Martha returned with her pen and ink and
paper she was obliged to clear the table and carry
the plates and dishes down-stairs and when she got
into the kitchen Mrs. Medlock was there and told
her to do something, so Mary waited for what
seemed to her a long time before she came back.
Then it was a serious piece of work to write to
Dickon. Mary had been taught very little because
her governesses had disliked her too much to
stay with her. She could not spell particularly
well but she found that she could print letters
when she tried. This was the letter Martha dictated
to her:

[[107]]

p106 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p107w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p108

v?