neater and smaller packages with a picture of a
flower on each one.

"There's a lot o' mignonette an' poppies," he
said. "Mignonette's th' sweetest smellin' thing
as grows, an' it'll grow wherever you cast it, same
as poppies will. Them as'll come up an' bloom
if you just whistle to 'em, them's th' nicest of all."

He stopped and turned his head quickly, his
poppy-cheeked face lighting up.

"Where's that robin as is callin' us?" he said.

The chirp came from a thick holly bush, bright
with scarlet berries, and Mary thought she knew
whose it was.

"Is it really calling us?" she asked.

"Aye," said Dickon, as if it was the most natural
thing in the world, "he's callin' some one he's
friends with. That's same as sayin' 'Here I
am. Look at me. I wants a bit of a chat.'
There he is in the bush. Whose is he?"

"He's Ben Weatherstaff's, but I think he knows
me a little," answered Mary.

"Aye, he knows thee," said Dickon in his low
voice again. "An' he likes thee. He's took thee
on. He'll tell me all about thee in a minute."

He moved quite close to the bush with the slow
movement Mary had noticed before, and then he
made a sound almost like the robin's own twitter.
The robin listened a few seconds, intently, and

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