Dickon nodded, and they climbed down, using the creepers. Mary was careful to hang on tight to the leaves so she didn’t fall like the day before. When she reached the bottom, she raced away with a whoop. “This way!”

Dickon followed her. They charged through the trees together until they burst into a clearing, and Mary stopped to grab a breath.

“Look at this place,” said Dickon, turning around in delight. “There’s a badger’s sett.” He pointed to a bank with a large hole in it. “And when the spring comes there’ll be rabbits and squirrels, hedgehogs, stoats, and voles. Foxes too!”

His eyes shone, and Mary loved seeing the excitement on his face. She couldn’t wait to show him the rest of the garden, but first she had to find the dog.

“Jemima!” she called. She gave Dickon a slightly rueful look. “I suppose I’ll have to change his name.”

“Let’s get him mended first,” said Dickon.

“Jemima!” Mary called again. She sat down and took a piece of Spam out of one of her sandwiches and threw it on the ground.

There was a sudden rustle, and the dog appeared on three legs from a nearby bush. He grabbed the Spam and looked warily at Dickon.

“Hello, fella,” said Dickon.

Mary took out some more Spam, and the dog limped toward her.

“How did you get here? Owner not come back from the war?” Dickon said softly.

The dog stared at him, still wary.

“I’ll do you no harm,” said Dickon. He glanced at Mary. “Can you get him to come to you?”

She waved the Spam, and the dog approached her. As he passed Dickon, he grabbed him and turned him upside down.

“What are you doing?” Mary gasped as the dog howled. “Let go of him!”

“Shush now.” Dickon started to whisper in the dog’s ear. Mary couldn’t hear what he said, but the dog slowly relaxed and Dickon investigated the wounded leg. As he touched it with careful fingers, the dog whimpered softly.

“You tricked me!” hissed Mary angrily.

The dog whined.

Dickon’s eyes met Mary’s. “He trusts you. Will you hold his head?”

Mary crept closer and stroked the dog. “How is he?” she said. “How’s his leg?”

“Nothing broken, but it’s going rotten and if we don’t see to it he’ll lose his leg—and, chances are, his life,” said Dickon, checking the wound again.

“What can you do?” said Mary anxiously.

“Is there running water near here?”

“Yes, there’s a stream,” said Mary. “If I can remember how to find it.” As she looked around doubtfully, the trees seemed to part slightly and the sun shone down, lighting up a path. Mary blinked. Had that really just happened?

Yes, she thought with absolute certainty. This garden is magic.

“It’s this way,” she said, pointing down the path. “I’m sure.”