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.

See here!" and he pulled down a thick gray, dry-looking branch.

"A body might think this was dead wood, but I don't believe it is--down to th' root.