lot o' room in that big place, why don't
they give her a bit for herself, even if she doesn't plant nothin' but
parsley an' radishes? She'd dig an' rake away an' be right down happy
over it.' Them was the very words she said."

"Were they?" said Mary. "How many things she knows, doesn't she?"

"Eh!" said Martha. "It's like she says: 'A woman as brings up twelve
children learns something besides her A B C. Children's as good as
'rithmetic to set you findin' out things.'"

"How much would a spade cost--a little one?" Mary asked.

"Well," was Martha's reflective answer, "at Thwaite village there's a
shop or so an' I saw little garden sets with a spade an' a rake an' a
fork all tied together for two shillings. An' they was stout enough to
work with, too."

"I've got more than that in my purse," said Mary. "Mrs. Morrison gave
me five shillings and Mrs. Medlock gave me some money from Mr. Craven."

"Did he remember thee that much?" exclaimed Martha.

"Mrs. Medlock said I was to have a shilling a week to spend. She gives
me one every Saturday. I didn't know what to spend it on."

"My word! that's riches," said Martha. "Tha' can buy anything in th'
world tha' wants. Th' rent of our cottage is only one an' threepence an'
it's like pullin' eye-teeth to get it. Now I've just thought of
somethin'," putting her hands on her hips.

"What?" said Mary eagerly.

"In the shop at Thwaite they sell packages o' flower-seeds for a penny
each, and our Dickon he knows which is th' prettiest ones an' how to
make 'em grow. He walks over to Thwaite many a day just for th' fun of
it. Does tha' know how to print letters?" suddenly.

"I know how to write," Mary answered.

Martha shook her head.

"Our Dickon can only read printin'. If tha' could print we could write a
letter to him an' ask him to go an' buy th' garden tools an' th' seeds
at th' same time."

"Oh! you're a good girl!" Mary cried. "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'