Chapter X: 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.