When th' sun did jump up, th' moor went mad for joy, an' I was in the midst of th' heather, an' I run like mad myself, shoutin' an' singin'.

An' I come straight here.

I couldn't have stayed away.

Why, th' garden was lyin' here waitin'!" Mary put her hands on her chest, panting, as if she had been running herself.
"Oh, Dickon! Dickon!" she said.

"I'm so happy I can scarcely breathe!" Seeing him talking to a stranger, the little bushy-tailed animal rose from its place under the tree and came to him, and the rook, cawing once, flew down from its branch and settled quietly on his shoulder.
"This is th' little fox cub," he said, rubbing the little reddish animal's head.