Chapter 7 A New Discovery Two days later, the weather cleared.
For the first time, Mary could see the moor in full sunlight.
The sky was unlike any she'd ever seen.
It was a sparkling deep blue.
Small white clouds dotted the sky.
The moor looked softly blue, not the dreary purple-gray that Mary was used to.
Martha explained.
The colors are beautiful this time of year.
The storms go away for a while because spring is on the way.
I thought it was always rainy and dark in England, Mary said.
Not at all.
Martha laughed.
Yorkshire can be the sunniest place in the world.
Just wait till the wildflowers bloom, hundreds of butterflies flutter in the air, the bees hum and the skylarks sing.
You'll want to be on the moor all day, just like Dickon.
I wonder what Dickon would think of you, Martha said, smiling.
He wouldn't like me, Mary replied in her cold tone.
Nobody does.
But do you like yourself?
Martha inquired kindly, as her own mother had asked her when she was in a bad mood.
Mary didn't answer for several moments.
Then she said, Not really, not at all, but I never thought about it before.
After Martha left, Mary felt lonelier than ever.
Mary hurried to the garden and ran around the old fountain ten times.
She counted each lap and felt better when she had finished.
She looked up again at the blue sky and tried to imagine lying on a fluffy white cloud and just floating there.
Then she went into one of the kitchen gardens where Ben Weatherstaff and two other gardeners were working.
Old Ben said to Mary, Springtime's coming.
Can you smell the good, rich earth?
Mary sniffed.
She thought she could smell something fresh and damp.
She thought that the good weather had made Ben warmer, too.
Mary was watching Ben dig when she heard a soft rustling.
The robin alighted on the ground.
He was very lively and hopped all around her feet.
He's never known a little girl before, Ben said.
He wants to find out all about you.
Are things growing where he lives?
In the garden with the old rose trees, Mary asked.
Ask the robin, Ben said.
He's the only one who's been inside it for ten years.
A little later, Mary wandered off.
She was thinking of how she liked the garden and how she'd begun to like the robin and Dickon and Martha's mother and Martha.
She wasn't used to liking people.
She found the path outside the ivy-covered wall.
The robin flew around there, too.
He hopped about the bare flower beds, pecked at the ground, and pretended not to notice Mary.
But she knew that he had followed her.
This excited her.
You are the prettiest bird in the world, she exclaimed, and you remember me.
Mary talked and chirped back to him.
The robin puffed out his chest, flicked his tail, and twittered.
She put her face close to his and tried to make robin sounds, but she knew not to touch him for fear of frightening him away.
The robin hopped over to the flowerbed and began to peck for a worm.
Then Mary noticed something in the dirt.
It looked like a rusty ring of iron or brass.
She waited until the robin flew back to a treetop.
Then she reached down.
But it wasn't a ring.
It was an old key, and it had been buried for a long time.
