"Everybody knows him. Dickon's wanderin' about everywhere. Th' very
blackberries an' heather-bells knows him. I warrant th' foxes shows him
where their cubs lies an' th' skylarks doesn't hide their nests from
him."

Mary would have liked to ask some more questions. She was almost as
curious about Dickon as she was about the deserted garden. But just that
moment the robin, who had ended his song, gave a little shake of his
wings, spread them and flew away. He had made his visit and had other
things to do.

"He has flown over the wall!" Mary cried out, watching him. "He has
flown into the orchard--he has flown across the other wall--into the
garden where there is no door!"

"He lives there," said old Ben. "He came out o' th' egg there. If he's
courtin', he's makin' up to some young madam of a robin that lives among
th' old rose-trees there."

"Rose-trees," said Mary. "Are there rose-trees?"

Ben Weatherstaff took up his spade again and began to dig.

"There was ten year' ago," he mumbled.

"I should like to see them," said Mary. "Where is the green door? There
must be a door somewhere."

Ben drove his spade deep and looked as uncompanionable as he had looked