with his happy turned-up nose.  “An’ that poor lad lyin’ shut up an’ seein’ so little that he gets to thinkin’ o’ things as sets him screamin’.  Eh! my! we mun get him out here—­we mun get him watchin’ an’ listenin’ an’ sniffin’ up th’ air an’ get him just soaked through wi’ sunshine.  An’ we munnot lose no time about it.”

When he was very much interested he often spoke quite broad Yorkshire though at other times he tried to modify his dialect so that Mary could better understand.  But she loved his broad Yorkshire and had in fact been trying to learn to speak it herself.  So she spoke a little now.

“Aye, that we mun,” she said (which meant “Yes, indeed, we must").  “I’ll tell thee what us’ll do first,” she proceeded, and Dickon grinned, because when the little wench tried to twist her tongue into speaking Yorkshire it amused him very much.  “He’s took a graidely fancy to thee.  He wants to see thee and he wants to see Soot an’ Captain.  When I go back to the house to talk to him I’ll ax him if tha’ canna’ come an’ see him to-morrow mornin’—­an’ bring tha’ creatures wi’ thee—­an’ then—­in a bit, when there’s more leaves out, an’ happen a bud or two, we’ll get him to come out an’ tha’ shall push him in his chair an’ we’ll bring him here an’ show him everything.”

When she stopped she was quite proud of herself.  She had never made a long speech in Yorkshire before and she had remembered very well.

“Tha’ mun talk a bit o’ Yorkshire like that to Mester Colin,” Dickon chuckled.  “Tha’ll make him laugh an’ there’s nowt as good for ill folk as laughin’ is.  Mother says she believes as half a hour’s good laugh every mornin’ ‘ud cure a chap as was makin’ ready for typhus fever.”

“I’m going to talk Yorkshire to him this very day,” said Mary, chuckling herself.

The garden had reached the time when every day and every night it seemed as if Magicians were passing through it drawing loveliness out of the earth and the boughs with wands.  It was hard to go away and leave it all, particularly as Nut had actually crept on to her dress and Shell had scrambled down the trunk of the apple-tree they sat under and stayed there looking at her with inquiring eyes.  But she went back to the house and when she sat down close to Colin’s bed he began to sniff as Dickon did though not in such an experienced way.

“You smell like flowers and—­and fresh things,” he cried out quite joyously.  “What is it you smell of?  It’s cool and warm and sweet all at the same time.”

“It’s th’ wind from th’ moor,” said Mary.  “It comes o’ sittin’ on th’ grass under a tree wi’ Dickon an’ wi’ Captain an’ Soot an’ Nut an’ Shell.  It’s th’ springtime an’ out o’ doors an’ sunshine as smells so graidely.”

She said it as broadly as she could, and you do not know how broadly Yorkshire sounds until you have heard some one speak it.  Colin began to laugh.

“What are you doing?” he said.  “I never heard you talk like that before.  How funny it sounds.”