“When Dr. Johnson undertook to compile his dictionary, he resolved to leave no word unexamined.” Dr. Murray paused to make sure we were all listening. “This resolve was soon eroded when he realised that one enquiry only gave occasion to another, that book referred to book, that to scratch was not always to find, and to find was not always to be informed.”

I tugged on Da’s sleeve. “Who is Dr. Johnson?”

“The editor of a previous dictionary,” he whispered.

“If there’s already a dictionary, why are you making a new one?”

“The old one wasn’t quite good enough.”

“Will Dr. Murray’s be good enough?” Da put a finger to his lips and turned back to listen to what Dr. Murray was saying.

“If I have been more successful than Dr. Johnson, it has been owing to the goodwill and helpful co-operation of many scholars and specialists, most of them men whose time is much occupied but whose interest in this undertaking has led them willingly to place some of it at the Editor’s service, and freely to contribute of their knowledge to the perfection of the work.” Dr. Murray began to thank all the people who had helped compile the words for A and B. The list was so long my legs began to ache from standing. I sat down on the grass and started pulling up blades, peeling back the layers to reveal the tenderest green shoots and nibbling on them. It was only when I heard Ditte’s name that I looked up, and soon after that I heard Da’s and those of the other men who worked in the Scriptorium.

When the speech was over and Dr. Murray was being congratulated, Da walked over to the volume of words and lifted it from where it rested.

He called me over and made me sit with my back against the rough trunk of the ash. Then he put the heavy volume in my lap.

“Are my birthday words in it?”

“They certainly are.” He opened the cover and turned the pages until he reached the first word.

A.

Then he turned a few more pages.

Aard-vark.

Then a few more.

My words, I thought, all bound in leather, the pages trimmed in gold. I thought the weight of them would hold me to that place forever.

Da put A and B back on the table, and the crowd swallowed it up. I feared for the words. “Be careful,” I said. But no one heard.

“Here comes Ditte,” said Da.

I ran towards her as she came through the gates.

“You missed the cake,” I said.

“I would call that perfect timing,” she said, bending down and kissing me on the head. “The only cake I eat is Madeira. It’s a rule and it helps keep me trim.”

Aunty Ditte was as wide as Mrs. Ballard and a little bit shorter. “What is trim?” I asked.