That afternoon the whole world seemed to devote itself to being perfect and radiantly beautiful and kind to one boy.

Perhaps out of pure heavenly goodness the spring came and crowned everything it possibly could into that one place.

More than once Dickon paused in what he was doing and stood still with a sort of growing wonder in his eyes, shaking his head softly.
"Eh! it is graidely," he said.

"I'm twelve goin' on thirteen an' there's a lot o' afternoons in thirteen years, but seems to me like I never seed one as graidely as this 'ere." "Aye, it is a graidely one," said Mary, and she sighed for mere joy.
"I'll warrant it's the graidelest one as ever was in this world." "Does tha' think," said Colin with dreamy carefulness, "as happen it was made loike this 'ere all o' purpose for me ?" "My word!" cried Mary admiringly, "that there is a bit o' good Yorkshire.

Tha'rt shapin' first-rate--that tha' art." And delight reigned.