The path took them all the way through the trees to the clearing with the stream. Dickon strode toward the glittering, running water with the dog in his arms. Shrugging off his bag, he knelt on the bank, and holding the dog near the water, he washed out the wound. The dog whimpered, but seemed to sense that the boy was helping him and didn’t try to escape.

“There,” said Dickon at last.

Mary had been watching, fascinated.

“In me bag, you’ll find a cloth. A knife too. Cut the cloth into pieces so I can bind this up and keep the muck out. Quickly now.”

For a moment, Mary bristled at being bossed around, but then she told herself not to be silly. Dickon was only trying to help, and he knew more than she did about animals and their wounds. She hurried to his bag and found the sheathed knife and the cloth. It was wrapped around a hunk of rough brown bread and crumbly cheese. She put the food on the grass beside his bag.

“I’ve never used a knife like this before,” she said, pulling it from its sheath.

“Then go careful with it,” said Dickon. “Or I’ll be fixing you up too.”

Frowning with concentration, Mary cut the cloth into strips and handed them to him. “That’s really good, that,” said Dickon, looking impressed.

Mary felt a warm glow spread through her. She watched as he wound the strips around the dog’s leg, bandaging up the nasty wound. When it was finished, the dog licked Dickon’s hands and chin gratefully. Dickon chuckled.

“Feel better does it, sir? Now that’s enough with you thanking me,” he said, gently pushing the dog away. “Let’s see you walk, lad.”

The dog hobbled a step and then tried to run, but collapsed in the grass with a howl.

“Dickon! You haven’t fixed anything! You’ve made it worse!” cried Mary. She jumped up to go to the dog, but Dickon held her back.

“No. Wait, lass.”

The grass shivered, and as they watched, it seemed to grow around the still form of the dog, wrapping him up, covering him like a protective green blanket. The dog fell asleep.

“Just give it time,” Dickon said softly. “Both of you. We’ve done all we can for now.”

Mary gazed at the dog. “We’re hoping the garden will magic him well?” she said softly.

Dickon nodded. “Come the morning, we’ll have an answer.” He looked grave. “Let’s hope it’s the one we want.”

“The garden will help,” Mary said firmly.

“We’ll see,” said Dickon.

Getting to his feet, he fetched his bread and cheese. “Now, no point in letting this go to waste,” he said. “Do you want some?”

“I have my own sandwiches,” said Mary, opening the bag. “I get them from Cook and share them with Jem—the dog.”