I cannot find your pretty, ARGH. It was Meg (big surprise) and dancing and leg breaking and--actually pretty mean. But I owe you a pretty. So. I shall write you a pretty here.
Mary does not notice when Dickon has a growth spurt, until the day she's tired from weeding all day and realizes she cannot rest her head on his shoulder easily any longer.
This surprises her, because Dick is solid, like the earth, and the earth never changes.
And part of her is still Mistress Mary quite contrary, so she scowls, and ignores the perplexed look on his face when she does so, and viciously pulls at weeds.
Dickon is not supposed to change.
Mary does not want things to change, any more than she wanted them to change when she was sent to school, or when Colin was sent, or--
Any time, really. Mary does not like change, when she's comfortable.
"Why's tha so fashed, Miss Mary?"
"You are taller," she says coldly
"Aye," he agrees, and waits, because pressing Mary when she's in a mood is never really useful.
She opens her mouth, and shuts it again, because really, that's all there is to it. He is taller, and his face that's always been so round has lost, she notices, some of the fat, and--he's
(growing-up)
just different.
"I cannot," she says finally, sulking a bit as she carefully sets an earthworm back down among the green, "reach to put my head on your shoulder."
Dickon stares at her, and then grins a bit at her back.
The next thing Mary knows, she's scooped up, dirt flying, and a face that's freckled and smeared with dirt and still more round than not is grinning at her.
"Now tha can."
She scowls at him for another moment, but he's right. She can reach easily, this way.
And so Mary sniffs, primly, and rests her head on Dickon's shoulder.
Just for a moment.
And his shoulder, she notes, is firm and warm and hasn't changed at all.
no subject
I cannot find your pretty, ARGH. It was Meg (big surprise) and dancing and leg breaking and--actually pretty mean. But I owe you a pretty. So. I shall write you a pretty here.
Mary does not notice when Dickon has a growth spurt, until the day she's tired from weeding all day and realizes she cannot rest her head on his shoulder easily any longer.
This surprises her, because Dick is solid, like the earth, and the earth never changes.
And part of her is still Mistress Mary quite contrary, so she scowls, and ignores the perplexed look on his face when she does so, and viciously pulls at weeds.
Dickon is not supposed to change.
Mary does not want things to change, any more than she wanted them to change when she was sent to school, or when Colin was sent, or--
Any time, really. Mary does not like change, when she's comfortable.
"Why's tha so fashed, Miss Mary?"
"You are taller," she says coldly
"Aye," he agrees, and waits, because pressing Mary when she's in a mood is never really useful.
She opens her mouth, and shuts it again, because really, that's all there is to it. He is taller, and his face that's always been so round has lost, she notices, some of the fat, and--he's
(growing-up)
just different.
"I cannot," she says finally, sulking a bit as she carefully sets an earthworm back down among the green, "reach to put my head on your shoulder."
Dickon stares at her, and then grins a bit at her back.
The next thing Mary knows, she's scooped up, dirt flying, and a face that's freckled and smeared with dirt and still more round than not is grinning at her.
"Now tha can."
She scowls at him for another moment, but he's right. She can reach easily, this way.
And so Mary sniffs, primly, and rests her head on Dickon's shoulder.
Just for a moment.
And his shoulder, she notes, is firm and warm and hasn't changed at all.
Just like the earth.