was still a long clear twilight to work in and
that was her quiet time. She could sit upon the
low rough wall and look on and hear stories of
the day. She loved this time. There were not
only vegetables in this garden. Dickon had
bought penny packages of flower seeds now and
then and sown bright sweet-scented things among
gooseberry bushes and even cabbages and he grew
borders of mignonette and pinks and pansies and
things whose seeds he could save year after year or
whose roots would bloom each spring and spread
in time into fine clumps. The low wall was one
of the prettiest things in Yorkshire because he had
tucked moorland foxglove and ferns and rock-cress
and hedgerow flowers into every crevice
until only here and there glimpses of the stones
were to be seen.

"All a chap's got to do to make 'em thrive,
mother," he would say, "is to be friends with 'em
for sure. They're just like th' 'creatures.' If
they're thirsty give 'em a drink and if they're
hungry give 'em a bit o' food. They want to
live same as we do. If they died I should feel as
if I'd been a bad lad and somehow treated them
heartless."

It was in these twilight hours that Mrs. Sowerby
heard of all that happened at Misselthwaite
Manor. At first she was only told that "Mester

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p310 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p311w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p312

v?