Our Dickon, he's twelve years old and he's got a young pony he calls his own." "Where did he get it ?" asked Mary.
"He found it on th' moor with its mother when it was a little one an' he began to make friends with it an' give it bits o' bread an' pluck young grass for it.

And it got to like him so it follows him about an' it lets him get on its back.

Dickon's a kind lad an' animals likes him." Mary had never possessed an animal pet of her own and had always thought she should like one.

So she began to feel a slight interest in Dickon, and as she had never before been interested in any one but herself, it was the dawning of a healthy sentiment.

When she went into the room which had been made into a nursery for her, she found that it was rather like the one she had slept in.