I like to smell the earth when it's turned up." "It's rare good for thee," he said, nodding his head wisely.

"There's naught as nice as th' smell o' good clean earth, except th' smell o' fresh growin' things when th' rain falls on 'em.

I get out on th' moor many a day when it's rainin' an' I lie under a bush an' listen to th' soft swish o' drops on th' heather an' I just sniff an' sniff.

My nose end fair quivers like a rabbit's, mother says." "Do you never catch cold ?" inquired Mary, gazing at him wonderingly.

She had never seen such a funny boy, or such a nice one.
"Not me," he said, grinning.