Free Miss Buncle Married by D. E. Stevenson Page B

suddenly realized that she had better go and see who it was.
    Barbara found a small girl standing on the doorstep, a child with tangled brown hair and a small thin face covered with freckles. She was clad in a bright-blue overall, very short and shapeless, and stained with earth. Her hands and her bare legs were dirty and scarred with scratches. Barbara was amazed when she saw the child; she had expected something much larger—the noise had been so tremendous.
    â€œOh!” she said feebly. “I couldn’t think who it was.”
    â€œThey’re digging up the flags,” said the child, without the usual preliminaries of convention. “You can’t mean them to.”
    â€œFlags!” echoed Barbara in bewilderment.
    â€œP’raps you call them irises,” said the child impatiently. “Some people do. But you can’t mean them to be dug up and thrown away. They’re so lovely in the spring—all yellow and mauve with spiky gray-green leaves—”
    â€œYou had better come in, and tell me about it,” Barbara said.
    The child followed her into the house and they sat down together on the stairs.
    â€œI don’t mind about the rest of the garden so much,” the child explained. “After all you’ve bought it, so it’s yours now, and I suppose you can spoil it if you want to. But the flags are down near the stream—miles away from the house. You haven’t ever been down there, have you?”
    â€œOnly once,” Barbara admitted. “I’ve been so busy, you see.”
    â€œDo you want them dug up and thrown away?” continued the child with some exasperation. “I mean it seems so silly, that’s why I came. I simply had to come. Lanky said it wouldn’t be any good, but I had to try.”
    Barbara was beginning to understand. “Of course I’ll tell them not to,” she said quickly. “I don’t want to spoil anything. You see I just told the men to tidy up the garden.”
    â€œI suppose you want the garden tidy?”
    â€œYes,” replied Barbara in some surprise.
    â€œWe think it’s nicer as it is.”
    â€œWell, I’m afraid I don’t,” Barbara admitted. “I’m afraid I want the garden tidy, but, of course, I don’t want to take away anything that’s really nice. Men are so stupid,” she added with conviction, “unless you can be after them all the time—and I’ve been so busy with the house.”
    â€œOh, the house ,” said the child scornfully. “You can do what you like with the house. I hate houses. It’s the garden that matters. We live next door, you see, and we like this garden much better than ours—it’s ever so much nicer for playing in. Of course, if you’re going to have it tidied up it will spoil it frightfully.” She clasped her hands round her dirty bare knees and rocked herself backward, lifting her chin, and shaking back her hair from her forehead. It was an elfin face, pointed and delicate in profile. The eyes were dark and very brilliant beneath the small, but definitely arched, eyebrows.
    â€œWho are you?” inquired Barbara with interest.
    â€œTrivona Marvell,” replied the child. “Most people call me Trivvie— you can if you like. I don’t think you’re bad,” she added frankly. “Lanky says you’re a vandal, but I don’t think you’re bad at all. You’ll remember about the flags, won’t you?”
    Barbara said she would. She decided to go down to the stream tomorrow and see what the men were doing. The last thing she wanted was to alter the place—it must remain exactly as it had always been.
    â€œI suppose we shan’t be able to play here once you’ve really come?” Trivvie inquired hopefully. “I mean you won’t want children in your garden—p’raps you’ve got children of your