SPRING.
THE bird picture book proved indeed a great joy to May, as Billy had
thought it would, and many were the hours she spent poring over it
during the long winter days when bad weather kept her indoors. She was
quick to learn the names of the pictured birds she did not already know
by sight, and eager to find out all about them. The Vicar could give
her more information than anyone else. All she learnt from him she
repeated to Billy.
After Christmas Billy attended the village school. He was in better
health now, and far less nervous in every way. The distressing dreams
which had haunted his sleep for so many weeks disturbed him no longer.
"'Thou shalt not be afraid of the terror by night,'" he reminded
himself if he awoke in the darkness; whilst morning and evening he
prayed Tom Turpin's prayer, "'Be not Thou far from me, O Lord,'" and
felt it was answered.
It was a dragging winter, and a cold spring. With the lengthening days
came a spell of severe frost which lasted for weeks, when no work could
be done on the land. Mrs. Brown fussed because her husband was obliged
to be idle, but he was not in the least disturbed.
"It'll be all right, Maria," he assured her cheerfully. "By-and-by
spring will come with a rush."
Such was indeed the case. Within one week there was a great
transformation scene. The wind changed from north-east to south-west,
a gentle rain fell on the frost-dried earth; then the rain ceased,
sunshine came, and the soft stir of awakening life.
There was plenty of work to be done out-of-doors now. William Brown
had the assistance of a couple of old men from the village, and with
them he laboured from dawn till dark. On Saturdays Billy worked in the
garden too. He helped his grandfather prepare the beds for the small
seeds, making the earth as fine as possible, and learnt the different
depths the various seeds had to be sown, and not to sow them too
thickly.
"You'll make a rare good gardener one of these days," his grandfather
told him approvingly; "your heart's in the work, I see."
At last all the seeds were in the ground. The garden at Rowley Cottage,
with its trim, smooth beds, was a picture of neatness. The gardens in
the allotment field were in a like condition. And now there was a lull
in the gardening.
Billy thought the seeds were slow in growing, but his grandfather
assured him that they were doing all right.
"But how can you tell, Grandfer?" the little boy inquired. "You can't
see them."
"No, Billy," William Brown answered; "I can't see them, but I've faith
as to what's going on underground. I've seen too many springtimes to
doubt that."
"And what's going on underground, Grandfer?" asked Billy.
"Why," his grandfather said gravely, "a miracle—the miracle of the
resurrection. It's too wonderful for us to understand. We don't
see the stir of life in the spring, but we see the effect of it in
everything—in the budding trees, the flowers, the fresh green grass.
It's God's life-giving spirit wakening the world from its winter sleep.
We must have patience. We sowed good seeds; bought them from a reliable
firm, and they're all right."
And all right they were. One morning William Brown announced, at
breakfast, that the turnips and parsnips were showing above the ground.
Before going to school Billy had a look at them. What tiny plants they
were! After that, other vegetables, such as carrots, beets, and onions,
were not long in appearing, and, once above ground, they grew apace.
One afternoon Billy arrived home to tea, carefully carrying a small pot
containing a marrow plant, a gift from the postmaster. After tea, under
the directions of his grandfather, he tilled the marrow plant out.
"Uncle John has given Harold one, too, Grandfer," he said; "so we're
going to see which of us can grow the biggest marrow. The plants are as
alike as two plants can possibly be."
"John Dingle took the prize for marrows at the vegetable show last
year," William Brown remarked.
"Yes, he told me," Billy answered, adding; "He says he should like one
of us boys to win the prize this year. We both mean to try."
Accordingly he gave his plant every care and attention, shielding it
from the too fierce rays of the sun before it had properly rooted,
and watering it regularly. He was delighted with the quickness of its
growth. When it came into flower his grandfather advised him which
flowers to take off and which to let remain. He often called at the
post office to tell John Dingle how well the plant was doing. On one of
these occasions, hearing that May and Harold had gone to the allotment
field, he followed them there.
Harold was weeding in his father's garden when Billy arrived at the
allotment field Billy examined his marrow plant, which seemed in just
the same flourishing condition as his own, and then went in search of
May, who had wandered off to the river. He found her on the river's
bank. She turned a bright, happy face to him as he approached, and,
with her finger on her lip, whispered—
"Hush! There's a dip-chick's nest! I'm watching the baby dip-chicks!"
She pointed to a clump of grasses growing beneath the overhanging bank
opposite. Close by three baby dip-chicks were disporting themselves in
the water, whilst their mother swam around them, keeping guard.
"Aren't they sweet little things?" whispered May. "Oh, look, there's
their father! What a hurry he's in!"
Sure enough there he was, running along the bank towards his family.
Suddenly he dived off into the river. There was a great flutter for
a moment or two, then father, mother, and baby dip-chicks had all
disappeared under the overhanging bank.
"They saw us," said May regretfully. "Now they'll hide till we're gone."
"Better come away from the water," advised Billy; "you might fall in."
"Oh, I'm ever so careful!" the little girl assured him. "I do love the
river; don't you? And it's so happy to-day! Listen how it laughs and
sings! That's because it's fine weather and the sun shines. Back in
the winter it was different—so dark and deep. Billy, it must be very
wise, mustn't it? for it's come such a long, long way, from up in the
Dartmoor hills. It's going right on to the sea. Mr. Singleton told me.
He comes here sometimes, and we listen to the river together. Oh, look,
look! What's that? There, up in the sky! And what a funny noise, Billy!"
Billy's eyes followed the direction of the little girl's pointing
finger, and saw an aeroplane coming towards them, high in the sky.
It looked like a great bird in the distance, but he recognised it as
an aeroplane at a glance, for he had frequently seen them pass over
London. Though he knew there was little likelihood of this one being
an enemy, his heart throbbed fast at the sight of it. He explained to
May what it was; then Harold rushed up to them in a great state of
excitement.
"An aeroplane! An aeroplane!" he cried. "The first I've seen! Oh, I
hope father and mother and every one in the village will see it, too!
The men say it's most likely going to Plymouth."
He referred to several allotment holders who had been busy in their
gardens a few minutes before; they were now standing with heads thrown
back watching the strange sight. Nearer and nearer it came, then passed
right over the gardens.
"It's a biplane," said Billy, rather proud of his knowledge. "I've
seen several like it before. How fast it's going! And can't we hear
its engines working plainly! That's the funny noise you spoke of, May.
Buzz-z-z-z!"
May drew a deep sigh. She was watching the aeroplane with breathless
interest, her colour coming and going fitfully. It was momentarily
growing more and more like a bird as it sailed away. When at last it
was lost to view the children left the allotment field and hurried back
to the village. Every one had been out to watch. The aeroplane was the
talk of the place, and indeed of the neighbourhood, for days.