"Is that one quite alive--quite ?" Dickon curved his wide smiling mouth.
"It's as wick as you or me," he said; and Mary remembered that Martha had told her that "wick" meant "alive" or "lively." "I'm glad it's wick!" she cried out in her whisper.

"I want them all to be wick.

Let us go round the garden and count how many wick ones there are." She quite panted with eagerness, and Dickon was as eager as she was.
They went from tree to tree and from bush to bush.

Dickon carried his knife in his hand and showed her things which she thought wonderful.
"They've run wild," he said, "but th' strongest ones has fair thrived on it.

The delicatest ones has died out, but th' others has growed an' growed, an' spread an' spread, till they's a wonder.