When I dig I'm not tired at all. I like to smell
the earth when it's turned up."

"It's rare good for thee," he said, nodding his
head wisely. "There's naught as nice as th' smell
o' good clean earth, except th' smell o' fresh
growin' things when th' rain falls on 'em. I get
out on th' moor many a day when it's rainin' an'
I lie under a bush an' listen to th' soft swish o'
drops on th' heather an' I just sniff an' sniff.
My nose end fair quivers like a rabbit's, mother
says."

"Do you never catch cold?" inquired Mary,
gazing at him wonderingly. She had never seen
such a funny boy, or such a nice one.

"Not me," he said, grinning. "I never
ketched cold since I was born. I wasn't brought
up nesh enough. I've chased about th' moor in
all weathers same as th' rabbits does. Mother
says I've sniffed up too much fresh air for twelve
year' to ever get to sniffin' with cold. I'm as
tough as a white-thorn knobstick."

He was working all the time he was talking and
Mary was following him and helping him with her
fork or the trowel.

"There's a lot of work to do here!" he said
once, looking about quite exultantly.

"Will you come again and help me to do it?"
Mary begged. "I'm sure I can help, too. I can

[[133]]

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v?