“What garden?” he said in a rough voice, stopping his digging for a moment.

“The one on the other side of the wall,” answered Mistress Mary. “There are trees there⁠—I saw the tops of them. A bird with a red breast was sitting on one of them and he sang.”

To her surprise the surly old weather-beaten face actually changed its expression. A slow smile spread over it and the gardener looked quite different. It made her think that it was curious how much nicer a person looked when he smiled. She had not thought of it before.

He turned about to the orchard side of his garden and began to whistle⁠—a low soft whistle. She could not understand how such a surly man could make such a coaxing sound.

Almost the next moment a wonderful thing happened. She heard a soft little rushing flight through the air⁠—and it was the bird with the red breast flying to them, and he actually alighted on the big clod of earth quite near to the gardener’s foot.