In its happy days flowers had been tucked away into every inch and hole and corner.

Ben Weatherstaff had seen it done and had himself scraped out mortar from between the bricks of the wall and made pockets of earth for lovely clinging things to grow on.

Iris and white lilies rose out of the grass in sheaves, and the green alcoves filled themselves with amazing armies of the blue and white flower lances of tall delphiniums or columbines or campanulas.
"She was main fond o' them--she was," Ben Weatherstaff said.

"She liked them things as was allus pointin' up to th' blue sky, she used to tell.

Not as she was one o' them as looked down on th' earth--not her.
She just loved it but she said as th' blue sky allus looked so joyful." The seeds Dickon and Mary had planted grew as if fairies had tended them.