"'THE SECRET GARDEN\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nTHERE IS NO ONE LEFT\n\n\nWhen Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle\neverybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It\nwas true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin\nlight hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was\nyellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one\nway or another. Her father had held a position under the English\nGovernment and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had\nbeen a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herself\nwith gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary\nwas born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to\nunderstand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the\nchild out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly,\nfretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she\nbecame a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way\nalso. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces\nof her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always obeyed her\nand gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be\nangry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years\nold she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The\nyoung English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked\nher so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other\ngovernesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter\ntime than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to\nknow how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all.\n\nOne frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she\nawakened feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she saw\nthat the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah.\n\n\"Why did you come?\" she said to the strange woman. \"I will not let you\nstay. Send my Ayah to me.\"\n\nThe woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah could\nnot come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat and kicked\nher, she looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not\npossible for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib.\n\nThere was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was done\nin its regular order and several of the native servants seemed missing,\nwhile those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared\nfaces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She\nwas actually left alone as the morning went on, and at last she wandered\nout into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near the\nveranda. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuck\nbig scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth, all the time\ngrowing more and more angry and muttering to herself the things she\nwould say and the names she would call Saidie when she returned.\n\n\"Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!\" she said, because to call a native a pig\nis the worst insult of all.\n\nShe was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she\nheard her mother come out on the veranda with some one. She was with a\nfair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices.\nMary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy. She had heard that\nhe was a very young officer who had just come from England. The child\nstared at him, but she stared most at her mother. She always did this\nwhen she had a chance to see her, because the Mem Sahib--Mary used to\ncall her that oftener than anything else--was such a tall, slim, pretty\nperson and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk and\nshe had a delicate little nose which seemed to be disdaining things, and\nshe had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin and floating, and\nMary said they were \"full of lace.\" They looked fuller of lace than ever\nthis morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all. They were large and\nscared and lifted imploringly to the fair boy officer\'s face.\n\n\"Is it so very bad? Oh, is it?\" Mary heard her say.\n\n\"Awfully,\" the young man answered in a trembling voice. \"Awfully, Mrs.\nLennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago.\"\n\nThe Mem Sahib wrung her hands.\n\n\"Oh, I know I ought!\" she cried. \"I only stayed to go to that silly\ndinner party. What a fool I was!\"\n\nAt that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from the\nservants\' quarters that she clutched the young man\'s arm, and Mary stood\nshivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder.\n\n\"What is it? What is it?\" Mrs. Lennox gasped.\n\n\"Some one has died,\" answered the boy officer. \"You did not say it had\nbroken out among your servants.\"\n\n\"I did not know!\" the Mem Sahib cried. \"Come with me! Come with me!\" and\nshe turned and ran into the house.\n\nAfter that appalling things happened, and the mysteriousness of the\nmorning was explained to Mary. The cholera had broken out in its most\nfatal form and people were dying like flies. The Ayah had been taken ill\nin the night, and it was because she had just died that the servants had\nwailed in the huts. Before the next day three other servants were dead\nand others had run away in terror. There was panic on every side, and\ndying people in all the bungalows.\n\nDuring the confusion and bewilderment of the second day Mary hid herself\nin the nursery and was forgotten by every one. Nobody thought of her,\nnobody wanted her, and strange things happened of which she knew\nnothing. Mary alternately cried and slept through the hours. She only\nknew that people were ill and that she heard mysterious and frightening\nsounds. Once she crept into the dining-room and found it empty, though a\npartly finished meal was on the table and chairs and plates looked as\nif they had been hastily pushed back when the diners rose suddenly for\nsome reason. The child ate some fruit and biscuits, and being thirsty\nshe drank a glass of wine which stood nearly filled. It was sweet, and\nshe did not know how strong it was. Very soon it made her intensely\ndrowsy, and she went back to her nursery and shut herself in again,\nfrightened by cries she heard in the huts and by the hurrying sound of\nfeet. The wine made her so sleepy that she could scarcely keep her eyes\nopen and she lay down on her bed and knew nothing more for a long time.\n\nMany things happened during the hours in which she slept so heavily, but\nshe was not disturbed by the wails and the sound of things being carried\nin and out of the bungalow.\n\nWhen she awakened she lay and stared at the wall. The house was\nperfectly still. She had never known it to be so silent before. She\nheard neither voices nor footsteps, and wondered if everybody had got\nwell of the cholera and all the trouble was over. She wondered also who\nwould take care of her now her Ayah was dead. There would be a new Ayah,\nand perhaps she would know some new stories. Mary had been rather tired\nof the old ones. She did not cry because her nurse had died. She was not\nan affectionate child and had never cared much for any one. The noise\nand hurrying about and wailing over the cholera had frightened her, and\nshe had been angry because no one seemed to remember that she was alive.\nEvery one was too panic-stricken to think of a little girl no one was\nfond of. When people had the cholera it seemed that they remembered\nnothing but themselves. But if every one had got well again, surely some\none would remember and come to look for her.\n\nBut no one came, and as she lay waiting the house seemed to grow more\nand more silent. She heard something rustling on the matting and when\nshe looked down she saw a little snake gliding along and watching her\nwith eyes like jewels. She was not frightened, because he was a harmless\nlittle thing who would not hurt her and he seemed in a hurry to get out\nof the room. He slipped under the door as she watched him.\n\n\"How queer and quiet it is,\" she said. \"It sounds as if there was no one\nin the bungalow but me and the snake.\"\n\nAlmost the next minute she heard footsteps in the compound, and then on\nthe veranda. They were men\'s footsteps, and the men entered the bungalow\nand talked in low voices. No one went to meet or speak to them and they\nseemed to open doors and look into rooms.\n\n\"What desolation!\" she heard one voice say. \"That pretty, pretty woman!\nI suppose the child, too. I heard there was a child, though no one ever\nsaw her.\"\n\nMary was standing in the middle of the nursery when they opened the door\na few minutes later. She looked an ugly, cross little thing and was\nfrowning because she was beginning to be hungry and feel disgracefully\nneglected. The first man who came in was a large officer she had once\nseen talking to her father. He looked tired and troubled, but when he\nsaw her he was so startled that he almost jumped back.\n\n\"Barney!\" he cried out. \"There is a child here! A child alone! In a\nplace like this! Mercy on us, who is she!\"\n\n\"I am Mary Lennox,\" the little girl said, drawing herself up stiffly.\nShe thought the man was very rude to call her father\'s bungalow \"A place\nlike this!\" \"I fell asleep when every one had the cholera and I have\nonly just wakened up. Why does nobody come?\"\n\n\"It is the child no one ever saw!\" exclaimed the man, turning to his\ncompanions. \"She has actually been forgotten!\"\n\n\"Why was I forgotten?\" Mary said, stamping her foot. \"Why does nobody\ncome?\"\n\nThe young man whose name was Barney looked at her very sadly. Mary even\nthought she saw him wink his eyes as if to wink tears away.\n\n\"Poor little kid!\" he said. \"There is nobody left to come.\"\n\nIt was in that strange and sudden way that Mary found out that she had\nneither father nor mother left; that they had died and been carried away\nin the night, and that the few native servants who had not died also had\nleft the house as quickly as they could get out of it, none of them even\nremembering that there was a Missie Sahib. That was why the place was so\nquiet. It was true that there was no one in the bungalow but herself and\nthe little rustling snake.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nMISTRESS MARY QUITE CONTRARY\n\n\nMary had liked to look at her mother from a distance and she had thought\nher very pretty, but as she knew very little of her she could scarcely\nhave been expected to love her or to miss her very much when she was\ngone. She did not miss her at all, in fact, and as she was a\nself-absorbed child she gave her entire thought to herself, as she had\nalways done. If she had been older she would no doubt have been very\nanxious at being left alone in the world, but she was very young, and as\nshe had always been taken care of, she supposed she always would be.\nWhat she thought was that she would like to know if she was going to\nnice people, who would be polite to her and give her her own way as her\nAyah and the other native servants had done.\n\nShe knew that she was not going to stay at the English clergyman\'s house\nwhere she was taken at first. She did not want to stay. The English\nclergyman was poor and he had five children nearly all the same age and\nthey wore shabby clothes and were always quarreling and snatching toys\nfrom each other. Mary hated their untidy bungalow and was so\ndisagreeable to them that after the first day or two nobody would play\nwith her. By the second day they had given her a nickname which made her\nfurious.\n\nIt was Basil who thought of it first. Basil was a little boy with\nimpudent blue eyes and a turned-up nose and Mary hated him. She was\nplaying by herself under a tree, just as she had been playing the day\nthe cholera broke out. She was making heaps of earth and paths for a\ngarden and Basil came and stood near to watch her. Presently he got\nrather interested and suddenly made a suggestion.\n\n\"Why don\'t you put a heap of stones there and pretend it is a rockery?\"\nhe said. \"There in the middle,\" and he leaned over her to point.\n\n\"Go away!\" cried Mary. \"I don\'t want boys. Go away!\"\n\nFor a moment Basil looked angry, and then he began to tease. He was\nalways teasing his sisters. He danced round and round her and made faces\nand sang and laughed.\n\n \"Mistress Mary, quite contrary,\n How does your garden grow?\n With silver bells, and cockle shells,\n And marigolds all in a row.\"\n\nHe sang it until the other children heard and laughed, too; and the\ncrosser Mary got, the more they sang \"Mistress Mary, quite contrary\";\nand after that as long as she stayed with them they called her \"Mistress\nMary Quite Contrary\" when they spoke of her to each other, and often\nwhen they spoke to her.\n\n\"You are going to be sent home,\" Basil said to her, \"at the end of the\nweek. And we\'re glad of it.\"\n\n\"I am glad of it, too,\" answered Mary. \"Where is home?\"\n\n\"She doesn\'t know where home is!\" said Basil, with seven-year-old scorn.\n\"It\'s England, of course. Our grandmama lives there and our sister Mabel\nwas sent to her last year. You are not going to your grandmama. You have\nnone. You are going to your uncle. His name is Mr. Archibald Craven.\"\n\n\"I don\'t know anything about him,\" snapped Mary.\n\n\"I know you don\'t,\" Basil answered. \"You don\'t know anything. Girls\nnever do. I heard father and mother talking about him. He lives in a\ngreat, big, desolate old house in the country and no one goes near him.\nHe\'s so cross he won\'t let them, and they wouldn\'t come if he would let\nthem. He\'s a hunchback, and he\'s horrid.\"\n\n\"I don\'t believe you,\" said Mary; and she turned her back and stuck her\nfingers in her ears, because she would not listen any more.\n\nBut she thought over it a great deal afterward; and when Mrs. Crawford\ntold her that night that she was going to sail away to England in a few\ndays and go to her uncle, Mr. Archibald Craven, who lived at\nMisselthwaite Manor, she looked so stony and stubbornly uninterested\nthat they did not know what to think about her. They tried to be kind to\nher, but she only turned her face away when Mrs. Crawford attempted to\nkiss her, and held herself stiffly when Mr. Crawford patted her\nshoulder.\n\n\"She is such a plain child,\" Mrs. Crawford said pityingly, afterward.\n\"And her mother was such a pretty creature. She had a very pretty\nmanner, too, and Mary has the most unattractive ways I ever saw in a\nchild. The children call her \'Mistress Mary Quite Contrary,\' and though\nit\'s naughty of them, one can\'t help understanding it.\"\n\n\"Perhaps if her mother had carried her pretty face and her pretty\nmanners oftener into the nursery Mary might have learned some pretty\nways too. It is very sad, now the poor beautiful thing is gone, to\nremember that many people never even knew that she had a child at all.\"\n\n\"I believe she scarcely ever looked at her,\" sighed Mrs. Crawford.\n\"When her Ayah was dead there was no one to give a thought to the little\nthing. Think of the servants running away and leaving her all alone in\nthat deserted bungalow. Colonel McGrew said he nearly jumped out of his\nskin when he opened the door and found her standing by herself in the\nmiddle of the room.\"\n\nMary made the long voyage to England under the care of an officer\'s\nwife, who was taking her children to leave them in a boarding-school.\nShe was very much absorbed in her own little boy and girl, and was\nrather glad to hand the child over to the woman Mr. Archibald Craven\nsent to meet her, in London. The woman was his housekeeper at\nMisselthwaite Manor, and her name was Mrs. Medlock. She was a stout\nwoman, with very red cheeks and sharp black eyes. She wore a very purple\ndress, a black silk mantle with jet fringe on it and a black bonnet with\npurple velvet flowers which stuck up and trembled when she moved her\nhead. Mary did not like her at all, but as she very seldom liked people\nthere was nothing remarkable in that; besides which it was very evident\nMrs. Medlock did not think much of her.\n\n\"My word! she\'s a plain little piece of goods!\" she said. \"And we\'d\nheard that her mother was a beauty. She hasn\'t handed much of it down,\nhas she, ma\'am?\"\n\n\"Perhaps she will improve as she grows older,\" the officer\'s wife said\ngood-naturedly. \"If she were not so sallow and had a nicer expression,\nher features are rather good. Children alter so much.\"\n\n\"She\'ll have to alter a good deal,\" answered Mrs. Medlock. \"And there\'s\nnothing likely to improve children at Misselthwaite--if you ask me!\"\n\nThey thought Mary was not listening because she was standing a little\napart from them at the window of the private hotel they had gone to. She\nwas watching the passing buses and cabs, and people, but she heard quite\nwell and was made very curious about her uncle and the place he lived\nin. What sort of a place was it, and what would he be like? What was a\nhunchback? She had never seen one. Perhaps there were none in India.\n\nSince she had been living in other people\'s houses and had had no Ayah,\nshe had begun to feel lonely and to think queer thoughts which were new\nto her. She had begun to wonder why she had never seemed to belong to\nany one even when her father and mother had been alive. Other children\nseemed to belong to their fathers and mothers, but she had never seemed\nto really be any one\'s little girl. She had had servants, and food and\nclothes, but no one had taken any notice of her. She did not know that\nthis was because she was a disagreeable child; but then, of course, she\ndid not know she was disagreeable. She often thought that other people\nwere, but she did not know that she was so herself.\n\nShe thought Mrs. Medlock the most disagreeable person she had ever seen,\nwith her common, highly colored face and her common fine bonnet. When\nthe next day they set out on their journey to Yorkshire, she walked\nthrough the station to the railway carriage with her head up and trying\nto keep as far away from her as she could, because she did not want to\nseem to belong to her. It would have made her very angry to think people\nimagined she was her little girl.\n\nBut Mrs. Medlock was not in the least disturbed by her and her thoughts.\nShe was the kind of woman who would \"stand no nonsense from young ones.\"\nAt least, that is what she would have said if she had been asked. She\nhad not wanted to go to London just when her sister Maria\'s daughter was\ngoing to be married, but she had a comfortable, well paid place as\nhousekeeper at Misselthwaite Manor and the only way in which she could\nkeep it was to do at once what Mr. Archibald Craven told her to do. She\nnever dared even to ask a question.\n\n\"Captain Lennox and his wife died of the cholera,\" Mr. Craven had said\nin his short, cold way. \"Captain Lennox was my wife\'s brother and I am\ntheir daughter\'s guardian. The child is to be brought here. You must go\nto London and bring her yourself.\"\n\nSo she packed her small trunk and made the journey.\n\nMary sat in her corner of the railway carriage and looked plain and\nfretful. She had nothing to read or to look at, and she had folded her\nthin little black-gloved hands in her lap. Her black dress made her look\nyellower than ever, and her limp light hair straggled from under her\nblack crêpe hat.\n\n\"A more marred-looking young one I never saw in my life,\" Mrs. Medlock\nthought. (Marred is a Yorkshire word and means spoiled and pettish.) She\nhad never seen a child who sat so still without doing anything; and at\nlast she got tired of watching her and began to talk in a brisk, hard\nvoice.\n\n\"I suppose I may as well tell you something about where you are going\nto,\" she said. \"Do you know anything about your uncle?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mary.\n\n\"Never heard your father and mother talk about him?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Mary frowning. She frowned because she remembered that her\nfather and mother had never talked to her about anything in particular.\nCertainly they had never told her things.\n\n\"Humph,\" muttered Mrs. Medlock, staring at her queer, unresponsive\nlittle face. She did not say any more for a few moments and then she\nbegan again.\n\n\"I suppose you might as well be told something--to prepare you. You are\ngoing to a queer place.\"\n\nMary said nothing at all, and Mrs. Medlock looked rather discomfited by\nher apparent indifference, but, after taking a breath, she went on.\n\n\"Not but that it\'s a grand big place in a gloomy way, and Mr. Craven\'s\nproud of it in his way--and that\'s gloomy enough, too. The house is six\nhundred years old and it\'s on the edge of the moor, and there\'s near a\nhundred rooms in it, though most of them\'s shut up and locked. And\nthere\'s pictures and fine old furniture and things that\'s been there for\nages, and there\'s a big park round it and gardens and trees with\nbranches trailing to the ground--some of them.\" She paused and took\nanother breath. \"But there\'s nothing else,\" she ended suddenly.\n\nMary had begun to listen in spite of herself. It all sounded so unlike\nIndia, and anything new rather attracted her. But she did not intend to\nlook as if she were interested. That was one of her unhappy,\ndisagreeable ways. So she sat still.\n\n\"Well,\" said Mrs. Medlock. \"What do you think of it?\"\n\n\"Nothing,\" she answered. \"I know nothing about such places.\"\n\nThat made Mrs. Medlock laugh a short sort of laugh.\n\n\"Eh!\" she said, \"but you are like an old woman. Don\'t you care?\"\n\n\"It doesn\'t matter,\" said Mary, \"whether I care or not.\"\n\n\"You are right enough there,\" said Mrs. Medlock. \"It doesn\'t. What\nyou\'re to be kept at Misselthwaite Manor for I don\'t know, unless\nbecause it\'s the easiest way. _He\'s_ not going to trouble himself about\nyou, that\'s sure and certain. He never troubles himself about no one.\"\n\nShe stopped herself as if she had just remembered something in time.\n\n\"He\'s got a crooked back,\" she said. \"That set him wrong. He was a sour\nyoung man and got no good of all his money and big place till he was\nmarried.\"\n\nMary\'s eyes turned toward her in spite of her intention not to seem to\ncare. She had never thought of the hunchback\'s being married and she was\na trifle surprised. Mrs. Medlock saw this, and as she was a talkative\nwoman she continued with more interest. This was one way of passing some\nof the time, at any rate.\n\n\"She was a sweet, pretty thing and he\'d have walked the world over to\nget her a blade o\' grass she wanted. Nobody thought she\'d marry him, but\nshe did, and people said she married him for his money. But she\ndidn\'t--she didn\'t,\" positively. \"When she died--\"\n\nMary gave a little involuntary jump.\n\n\"Oh! did she die!\" she exclaimed, quite without meaning to. She had just\nremembered a French fairy story she had once read called \"Riquet à la\nHouppe.\" It had been about a poor hunchback and a beautiful princess and\nit had made her suddenly sorry for Mr. Archibald Craven.\n\n\"Yes, she died,\" Mrs. Medlock answered. \"And it made him queerer than\never. He cares about nobody. He won\'t see people. Most of the time he\ngoes away, and when he is at Misselthwaite he shuts himself up in the\nWest Wing and won\'t let any one but Pitcher see him. Pitcher\'s an old\nfellow, but he took care of him when he was a child and he knows his\nways.\"\n\nIt sounded like something in a book and it did not make Mary feel\ncheerful. A house with a hundred rooms, nearly all shut up and with\ntheir doors locked--a house on the edge of a moor--whatsoever a moor\nwas--sounded dreary. A man with a crooked back who shut himself up also!\nShe stared out of the window with her lips pinched together, and it\nseemed quite natural that the rain should have begun to pour down in\ngray slanting lines and splash and stream down the window-panes. If the\npretty wife had been alive she might have made things cheerful by being\nsomething like her own mother and by running in and out and going to\nparties as she had done in frocks \"full of lace.\" But she was not there\nany more.\n\n\"You needn\'t expect to see him, because ten to one you won\'t,\" said Mrs.\nMedlock. \"And you mustn\'t expect that there will be people to talk to\nyou. You\'ll have to play about and look after yourself. You\'ll be told\nwhat rooms you can go into and what rooms you\'re to keep out of. There\'s\ngardens enough. But when you\'re in the house don\'t go wandering and\npoking about. Mr. Craven won\'t have it.\"\n\n\"I shall not want to go poking about,\" said sour little Mary; and just\nas suddenly as she had begun to be rather sorry for Mr. Archibald Craven\nshe began to cease to be sorry and to think he was unpleasant enough to\ndeserve all that had happened to him.\n\nAnd she turned her face toward the streaming panes of the window of the\nrailway carriage and gazed out at the gray rain-storm which looked as if\nit would go on forever and ever. She watched it so long and steadily\nthat the grayness grew heavier and heavier before her eyes and she fell\nasleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nACROSS THE MOOR\n\n\nShe slept a long time, and when she awakened Mrs. Medlock had bought a\nlunchbasket at one of the stations and they had some chicken and cold\nbeef and bread and butter and some hot tea. The rain seemed to be\nstreaming down more heavily than ever and everybody in the station wore\nwet and glistening waterproofs. The guard lighted the lamps in the\ncarriage, and Mrs. Medlock cheered up very much over her tea and chicken\nand beef. She ate a great deal and afterward fell asleep herself, and\nMary sat and stared at her and watched her fine bonnet slip on one side\nuntil she herself fell asleep once more in the corner of the carriage,\nlulled by the splashing of the rain against the windows. It was quite\ndark when she awakened again. The train had stopped at a station and\nMrs. Medlock was shaking her.\n\n\"You have had a sleep!\" she said. \"It\'s time to open your eyes! We\'re at\nThwaite Station and we\'ve got a long drive before us.\"\n\nMary stood up and tried to keep her eyes open while Mrs. Medlock\ncollected her parcels. The little girl did not offer to help her,\nbecause in India native servants always picked up or carried things and\nit seemed quite proper that other people should wait on one.\n\nThe station was a small one and nobody but themselves seemed to be\ngetting out of the train. The station-master spoke to Mrs. Medlock in a\nrough, good-natured way, pronouncing his words in a queer broad fashion\nwhich Mary found out afterward was Yorkshire.\n\n\"I see tha\'s got back,\" he said. \"An\' tha\'s browt th\' young \'un with\nthee.\"\n\n\"Aye, that\'s her,\" answered Mrs. Medlock, speaking with a Yorkshire\naccent herself and jerking her head over her shoulder toward Mary.\n\"How\'s thy Missus?\"\n\n\"Well enow. Th\' carriage is waitin\' outside for thee.\"\n\nA brougham stood on the road before the little outside platform. Mary\nsaw that it was a smart carriage and that it was a smart footman who\nhelped her in. His long waterproof coat and the waterproof covering of\nhis hat were shining and dripping with rain as everything was, the burly\nstation-master included.\n\nWhen he shut the door, mounted the box with the coachman, and they drove\noff, the little girl found herself seated in a comfortably cushioned\ncorner, but she was not inclined to go to sleep again. She sat and\nlooked out of the window, curious to see something of the road over\nwhich she was being driven to the queer place Mrs. Medlock had spoken\nof. She was not at all a timid child and she was not exactly frightened,\nbut she felt that there was no knowing what might happen in a house with\na hundred rooms nearly all shut up--a house standing on the edge of a\nmoor.\n\n\"What is a moor?\" she said suddenly to Mrs. Medlock.\n\n\"Look out of the window in about ten minutes and you\'ll see,\" the woman\nanswered. \"We\'ve got to drive five miles across Missel Moor before we\nget to the Manor. You won\'t see much because it\'s a dark night, but you\ncan see something.\"\n\nMary asked no more questions but waited in the darkness of her corner,\nkeeping her eyes on the window. The carriage lamps cast rays of light a\nlittle distance ahead of them and she caught glimpses of the things they\npassed. After they had left the station they had driven through a tiny\nvillage and she had seen whitewashed cottages and the lights of a public\nhouse. Then they had passed a church and a vicarage and a little\nshop-window or so in a cottage with toys and sweets and odd things set\nout for sale. Then they were on the highroad and she saw hedges and\ntrees. After that there seemed nothing different for a long time--or at\nleast it seemed a long time to her.\n\nAt last the horses began to go more slowly, as if they were climbing\nup-hill, and presently there seemed to be no more hedges and no more\ntrees. She could see nothing, in fact, but a dense darkness on either\nside. She leaned forward and pressed her face against the window just as\nthe carriage gave a big jolt.\n\n\"Eh! We\'re on the moor now sure enough,\" said Mrs. Medlock.\n\nThe carriage lamps shed a yellow light on a rough-looking road which\nseemed to be cut through bushes and low growing things which ended in\nthe great expanse of dark apparently spread out before and around them.\nA wind was rising and making a singular, wild, low, rushing sound.\n\n\"It\'s--it\'s not the sea, is it?\" said Mary, looking round at her\ncompanion.\n\n\"No, not it,\" answered Mrs. Medlock. \"Nor it isn\'t fields nor mountains,\nit\'s just miles and miles and miles of wild land that nothing grows on\nbut heather and gorse and broom, and nothing lives on but wild ponies\nand sheep.\"\n\n\"I feel as if it might be the sea, if there were water on it,\" said\nMary. \"It sounds like the sea just now.\"\n\n\"That\'s the wind blowing through the bushes,\" Mrs. Medlock said. \"It\'s a\nwild, dreary enough place to my mind, though there\'s plenty that likes\nit--particularly when the heather\'s in bloom.\"\n\nOn and on they drove through the darkness, and though the rain stopped,\nthe wind rushed by and whistled and made strange sounds. The road went\nup and down, and several times the carriage passed over a little bridge\nbeneath which water rushed very fast with a great deal of noise. Mary\nfelt as if the drive would never come to an end and that the wide, bleak\nmoor was a wide expanse of black ocean through which she was passing on\na strip of dry land.\n\n\"I don\'t like it,\" she said to herself. \"I don\'t like it,\" and she\npinched her thin lips more tightly together.\n\nThe horses were climbing up a hilly piece of road when she first caught\nsight of a light. Mrs. Medlock saw it as soon as she did and drew a long\nsigh of relief.\n\n\"Eh, I am glad to see that bit o\' light twinkling,\" she exclaimed. \"It\'s\nthe light in the lodge window. We shall get a good cup of tea after a\nbit, at all events.\"\n\nIt was \"after a bit,\" as she said, for when the carriage passed through\nthe park gates there was still two miles of avenue to drive through and\nthe trees (which nearly met overhead) made it seem as if they were\ndriving through a long dark vault.\n\nThey drove out of the vault into a clear space and stopped before an\nimmensely long but low-built house which seemed to ramble round a stone\ncourt. At first Mary thought that there were no lights at all in the\nwindows, but as she got out of the carriage she saw that one room in a\ncorner up-stairs showed a dull glow.\n\nThe entrance door was a huge one made of massive, curiously shaped\npanels of oak studded with big iron nails and bound with great iron\nbars. It opened into an enormous hall, which was so dimly lighted that\nthe faces in the portraits on the walls and the figures in the suits of\narmor made Mary feel that she did not want to look at them. As she stood\non the stone floor she looked a very small, odd little black figure, and\nshe felt as small and lost and odd as she looked.\n\nA neat, thin old man stood near the manservant who opened the door for\nthem.\n\n\"You are to take her to her room,\" he said in a husky voice. \"He doesn\'t\nwant to see her. He\'s going to London in the morning.\"\n\n\"Very well, Mr. Pitcher,\" Mrs. Medlock answered. \"So long as I know\nwhat\'s expected of me, I can manage.\"\n\n\"What\'s expected of you, Mrs. Medlock,\" Mr. Pitcher said, \"is that you\nmake sure that he\'s not disturbed and that he doesn\'t see what he\ndoesn\'t want to see.\"\n\nAnd then Mary Lennox was led up a broad staircase and down a long\ncorridor and up a short flight of steps and through another corridor and\nanother, until a door opened in a wall and she found herself in a room\nwith a fire in it and a supper on a table.\n\nMrs. Medlock said unceremoniously:\n\n\"Well, here you are! This room and the next are where you\'ll live--and\nyou must keep to them. Don\'t you forget that!\"\n\nIt was in this way Mistress Mary arrived at Misselthwaite Manor and she\nhad perhaps never felt quite so contrary in all her life.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nMARTHA\n\n\nWhen she opened her eyes in the morning it was because a young housemaid\nhad come into her room to light the fire and was kneeling on the\nhearth-rug raking out the cinders noisily. Mary lay and watched her for\na few moments and then began to look about the room. She had never seen\na room at all like it and thought it curious and gloomy. The walls were\ncovered with tapestry with a forest scene embroidered on it. There were\nfantastically dressed people under the trees and in the distance there\nwas a glimpse of the turrets of a castle. There were hunters and horses\nand dogs and ladies. Mary felt as if she were in the forest with them.\nOut of a deep window she could see a great climbing stretch of land\nwhich seemed to have no trees on it, and to look rather like an endless,\ndull, purplish sea.\n\n\"What is that?\" she said, pointing out of the window.\n\nMartha, the young housemaid, who had just risen to her feet, looked and\npointed also.\n\n\"That there?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"That\'s th\' moor,\" with a good-natured grin. \"Does tha\' like it?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Mary. \"I hate it.\"\n\n\"That\'s because tha\'rt not used to it,\" Martha said, going back to her\nhearth. \"Tha\' thinks it\'s too big an\' bare now. But tha\' will like it.\"\n\n\"Do you?\" inquired Mary.\n\n\"Aye, that I do,\" answered Martha, cheerfully polishing away at the\ngrate. \"I just love it. It\'s none bare. It\'s covered wi\' growin\' things\nas smells sweet. It\'s fair lovely in spring an\' summer when th\' gorse\nan\' broom an\' heather\'s in flower. It smells o\' honey an\' there\'s such a\nlot o\' fresh air--an\' th\' sky looks so high an\' th\' bees an\' skylarks\nmakes such a nice noise hummin\' an\' singin\'. Eh! I wouldn\'t live away\nfrom th\' moor for anythin\'.\"\n\nMary listened to her with a grave, puzzled expression. The native\nservants she had been used to in India were not in the least like this.\nThey were obsequious and servile and did not presume to talk to their\nmasters as if they were their equals. They made salaams and called them\n\"protector of the poor\" and names of that sort. Indian servants were\ncommanded to do things, not asked. It was not the custom to say\n\"please\" and \"thank you\" and Mary had always slapped her Ayah in the\nface when she was angry. She wondered a little what this girl would do\nif one slapped her in the face. She was a round, rosy, good-natured\nlooking creature, but she had a sturdy way which made Mistress Mary\nwonder if she might not even slap back--if the person who slapped her\nwas only a little girl.\n\n\"You are a strange servant,\" she said from her pillows, rather\nhaughtily.\n\nMartha sat up on her heels, with her blacking-brush in her hand, and\nlaughed, without seeming the least out of temper.\n\n\"Eh! I know that,\" she said. \"If there was a grand Missus at\nMisselthwaite I should never have been even one of th\' under housemaids.\nI might have been let to be scullery-maid but I\'d never have been let\nup-stairs. I\'m too common an\' I talk too much Yorkshire. But this is a\nfunny house for all it\'s so grand. Seems like there\'s neither Master nor\nMistress except Mr. Pitcher an\' Mrs. Medlock. Mr. Craven, he won\'t be\ntroubled about anythin\' when he\'s here, an\' he\'s nearly always away.\nMrs. Medlock gave me th\' place out o\' kindness. She told me she could\nnever have done it if Misselthwaite had been like other big houses.\"\n\n\"Are you going to be my servant?\" Mary asked, still in her imperious\nlittle Indian way.\n\nMartha began to rub her grate again.\n\n\"I\'m Mrs. Medlock\'s servant,\" she said stoutly. \"An\' she\'s Mr.\nCraven\'s--but I\'m to do the housemaid\'s work up here an\' wait on you a\nbit. But you won\'t need much waitin\' on.\"\n\n\"Who is going to dress me?\" demanded Mary.\n\nMartha sat up on her heels again and stared. She spoke in broad\nYorkshire in her amazement.\n\n\"Canna\' tha\' dress thysen!\" she said.\n\n\"What do you mean? I don\'t understand your language,\" said Mary.\n\n\"Eh! I forgot,\" Martha said. \"Mrs. Medlock told me I\'d have to be\ncareful or you wouldn\'t know what I was sayin\'. I mean can\'t you put on\nyour own clothes?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Mary, quite indignantly. \"I never did in my life. My Ayah\ndressed me, of course.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Martha, evidently not in the least aware that she was\nimpudent, \"it\'s time tha\' should learn. Tha\' cannot begin younger. It\'ll\ndo thee good to wait on thysen a bit. My mother always said she couldn\'t\nsee why grand people\'s children didn\'t turn out fair fools--what with\nnurses an\' bein\' washed an\' dressed an\' took out to walk as if they was\npuppies!\"\n\n\"It is different in India,\" said Mistress Mary disdainfully. She could\nscarcely stand this.\n\nBut Martha was not at all crushed.\n\n\"Eh! I can see it\'s different,\" she answered almost sympathetically. \"I\ndare say it\'s because there\'s such a lot o\' blacks there instead o\'\nrespectable white people. When I heard you was comin\' from India I\nthought you was a black too.\"\n\nMary sat up in bed furious.\n\n\"What!\" she said. \"What! You thought I was a native. You--you daughter\nof a pig!\"\n\nMartha stared and looked hot.\n\n\"Who are you callin\' names?\" she said. \"You needn\'t be so vexed. That\'s\nnot th\' way for a young lady to talk. I\'ve nothin\' against th\' blacks.\nWhen you read about \'em in tracts they\'re always very religious. You\nalways read as a black\'s a man an\' a brother. I\'ve never seen a black\nan\' I was fair pleased to think I was goin\' to see one close. When I\ncome in to light your fire this mornin\' I crep\' up to your bed an\'\npulled th\' cover back careful to look at you. An\' there you was,\"\ndisappointedly, \"no more black than me--for all you\'re so yeller.\"\n\nMary did not even try to control her rage and humiliation.\n\n\"You thought I was a native! You dared! You don\'t know anything about\nnatives! They are not people--they\'re servants who must salaam to you.\nYou know nothing about India. You know nothing about anything!\"\n\nShe was in such a rage and felt so helpless before the girl\'s simple\nstare, and somehow she suddenly felt so horribly lonely and far away\nfrom everything she understood and which understood her, that she threw\nherself face downward on the pillows and burst into passionate sobbing.\nShe sobbed so unrestrainedly that good-natured Yorkshire Martha was a\nlittle frightened and quite sorry for her. She went to the bed and bent\nover her.\n\n\"Eh! you mustn\'t cry like that there!\" she begged. \"You mustn\'t for\nsure. I didn\'t know you\'d be vexed. I don\'t know anythin\' about\nanythin\'--just like you said. I beg your pardon, Miss. Do stop cryin\'.\"\n\nThere was something comforting and really friendly in her queer\nYorkshire speech and sturdy way which had a good effect on Mary. She\ngradually ceased crying and became quiet. Martha looked relieved.\n\n\"It\'s time for thee to get up now,\" she said. \"Mrs. Medlock said I was\nto carry tha\' breakfast an\' tea an\' dinner into th\' room next to this.\nIt\'s been made into a nursery for thee. I\'ll help thee on with thy\nclothes if tha\'ll get out o\' bed. If th\' buttons are at th\' back tha\'\ncannot button them up tha\'self.\"\n\nWhen Mary at last decided to get up, the clothes Martha took from the\nwardrobe were not the ones she had worn when she arrived the night\nbefore with Mrs. Medlock.\n\n\"Those are not mine,\" she said. \"Mine are black.\"\n\nShe looked the thick white wool coat and dress over, and added with cool\napproval:\n\n\"Those are nicer than mine.\"\n\n\"These are th\' ones tha\' must put on,\" Martha answered. \"Mr. Craven\nordered Mrs. Medlock to get \'em in London. He said \'I won\'t have a child\ndressed in black wanderin\' about like a lost soul,\' he said. \'It\'d make\nthe place sadder than it is. Put color on her.\' Mother she said she knew\nwhat he meant. Mother always knows what a body means. She doesn\'t hold\nwith black hersel\'.\"\n\n\"I hate black things,\" said Mary.\n\nThe dressing process was one which taught them both something. Martha\nhad \"buttoned up\" her little sisters and brothers but she had never seen\na child who stood still and waited for another person to do things for\nher as if she had neither hands nor feet of her own.\n\n\"Why doesn\'t tha\' put on tha\' own shoes?\" she said when Mary quietly\nheld out her foot.\n\n\"My Ayah did it,\" answered Mary, staring. \"It was the custom.\"\n\nShe said that very often--\"It was the custom.\" The native servants were\nalways saying it. If one told them to do a thing their ancestors had not\ndone for a thousand years they gazed at one mildly and said, \"It is not\nthe custom\" and one knew that was the end of the matter.\n\nIt had not been the custom that Mistress Mary should do anything but\nstand and allow herself to be dressed like a doll, but before she was\nready for breakfast she began to suspect that her life at Misselthwaite\nManor would end by teaching her a number of things quite new to\nher--things such as putting on her own shoes and stockings, and picking\nup things she let fall. If Martha had been a well-trained fine young\nlady\'s maid she would have been more subservient and respectful and\nwould have known that it was her business to brush hair, and button\nboots, and pick things up and lay them away. She was, however, only an\nuntrained Yorkshire rustic who had been brought up in a moorland cottage\nwith a swarm of little brothers and sisters who had never dreamed of\ndoing anything but waiting on themselves and on the younger ones who\nwere either babies in arms or just learning to totter about and tumble\nover things.\n\nIf Mary Lennox had been a child who was ready to be amused she would\nperhaps have laughed at Martha\'s readiness to talk, but Mary only\nlistened to her coldly and wondered at her freedom of manner. At first\nshe was not at all interested, but gradually, as the girl rattled on in\nher good-tempered, homely way, Mary began to notice what she was saying.\n\n\"Eh! you should see \'em all,\" she said. \"There\'s twelve of us an\' my\nfather only gets sixteen shilling a week. I can tell you my mother\'s put\nto it to get porridge for \'em all. They tumble about on th\' moor an\'\nplay there all day an\' mother says th\' air of th\' moor fattens \'em. She\nsays she believes they eat th\' grass same as th\' wild ponies do. Our\nDickon, he\'s twelve years old and he\'s got a young pony he calls his\nown.\"\n\n\"Where did he get it?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"He found it on th\' moor with its mother when it was a little one an\' he\nbegan to make friends with it an\' give it bits o\' bread an\' pluck young\ngrass for it. And it got to like him so it follows him about an\' it\nlets him get on its back. Dickon\'s a kind lad an\' animals likes him.\"\n\nMary had never possessed an animal pet of her own and had always thought\nshe should like one. So she began to feel a slight interest in Dickon,\nand as she had never before been interested in any one but herself, it\nwas the dawning of a healthy sentiment. When she went into the room\nwhich had been made into a nursery for her, she found that it was rather\nlike the one she had slept in. It was not a child\'s room, but a grown-up\nperson\'s room, with gloomy old pictures on the walls and heavy old oak\nchairs. A table in the center was set with a good substantial breakfast.\nBut she had always had a very small appetite, and she looked with\nsomething more than indifference at the first plate Martha set before\nher.\n\n\"I don\'t want it,\" she said.\n\n\"Tha\' doesn\'t want thy porridge!\" Martha exclaimed incredulously.\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Tha\' doesn\'t know how good it is. Put a bit o\' treacle on it or a bit\no\' sugar.\"\n\n\"I don\'t want it,\" repeated Mary.\n\n\"Eh!\" said Martha. \"I can\'t abide to see good victuals go to waste. If\nour children was at this table they\'d clean it bare in five minutes.\"\n\n\"Why?\" said Mary coldly.\n\n\"Why!\" echoed Martha. \"Because they scarce ever had their stomachs full\nin their lives. They\'re as hungry as young hawks an\' foxes.\"\n\n\"I don\'t know what it is to be hungry,\" said Mary, with the indifference\nof ignorance.\n\nMartha looked indignant.\n\n\"Well, it would do thee good to try it. I can see that plain enough,\"\nshe said outspokenly. \"I\'ve no patience with folk as sits an\' just\nstares at good bread an\' meat. My word! don\'t I wish Dickon and Phil an\'\nJane an\' th\' rest of \'em had what\'s here under their pinafores.\"\n\n\"Why don\'t you take it to them?\" suggested Mary.\n\n\"It\'s not mine,\" answered Martha stoutly. \"An\' this isn\'t my day out. I\nget my day out once a month same as th\' rest. Then I go home an\' clean\nup for mother an\' give her a day\'s rest.\"\n\nMary drank some tea and ate a little toast and some marmalade.\n\n\"You wrap up warm an\' run out an\' play you,\" said Martha. \"It\'ll do you\ngood and give you some stomach for your meat.\"\n\nMary went to the window. There were gardens and paths and big trees, but\neverything looked dull and wintry.\n\n\"Out? Why should I go out on a day like this?\"\n\n\"Well, if tha\' doesn\'t go out tha\'lt have to stay in, an\' what has tha\'\ngot to do?\"\n\nMary glanced about her. There was nothing to do. When Mrs. Medlock had\nprepared the nursery she had not thought of amusement. Perhaps it would\nbe better to go and see what the gardens were like.\n\n\"Who will go with me?\" she inquired.\n\nMartha stared.\n\n\"You\'ll go by yourself,\" she answered. \"You\'ll have to learn to play\nlike other children does when they haven\'t got sisters and brothers. Our\nDickon goes off on th\' moor by himself an\' plays for hours. That\'s how\nhe made friends with th\' pony. He\'s got sheep on th\' moor that knows\nhim, an\' birds as comes an\' eats out of his hand. However little there\nis to eat, he always saves a bit o\' his bread to coax his pets.\"\n\nIt was really this mention of Dickon which made Mary decide to go out,\nthough she was not aware of it. There would be birds outside though\nthere would not be ponies or sheep. They would be different from the\nbirds in India and it might amuse her to look at them.\n\nMartha found her coat and hat for her and a pair of stout little boots\nand she showed her her way down-stairs.\n\n\"If tha\' goes round that way tha\'ll come to th\' gardens,\" she said,\npointing to a gate in a wall of shrubbery. \"There\'s lots o\' flowers in\nsummer-time, but there\'s nothin\' bloomin\' now.\" She seemed to hesitate a\nsecond before she added, \"One of th\' gardens is locked up. No one has\nbeen in it for ten years.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Mary in spite of herself. Here was another locked door\nadded to the hundred in the strange house.\n\n\"Mr. Craven had it shut when his wife died so sudden. He won\'t let no\none go inside. It was her garden. He locked th\' door an\' dug a hole and\nburied th\' key. There\'s Mrs. Medlock\'s bell ringing--I must run.\"\n\nAfter she was gone Mary turned down the walk which led to the door in\nthe shrubbery. She could not help thinking about the garden which no one\nhad been into for ten years. She wondered what it would look like and\nwhether there were any flowers still alive in it. When she had passed\nthrough the shrubbery gate she found herself in great gardens, with wide\nlawns and winding walks with clipped borders. There were trees, and\nflower-beds, and evergreens clipped into strange shapes, and a large\npool with an old gray fountain in its midst. But the flower-beds were\nbare and wintry and the fountain was not playing. This was not the\ngarden which was shut up. How could a garden be shut up? You could\nalways walk into a garden.\n\nShe was just thinking this when she saw that, at the end of the path she\nwas following, there seemed to be a long wall, with ivy growing over it.\nShe was not familiar enough with England to know that she was coming\nupon the kitchen-gardens where the vegetables and fruit were growing.\nShe went toward the wall and found that there was a green door in the\nivy, and that it stood open. This was not the closed garden, evidently,\nand she could go into it.\n\nShe went through the door and found that it was a garden with walls all\nround it and that it was only one of several walled gardens which seemed\nto open into one another. She saw another open green door, revealing\nbushes and pathways between beds containing winter vegetables.\nFruit-trees were trained flat against the wall, and over some of the\nbeds there were glass frames. The place was bare and ugly enough, Mary\nthought, as she stood and stared about her. It might be nicer in summer\nwhen things were green, but there was nothing pretty about it now.\n\nPresently an old man with a spade over his shoulder walked through the\ndoor leading from the second garden. He looked startled when he saw\nMary, and then touched his cap. He had a surly old face, and did not\nseem at all pleased to see her--but then she was displeased with his\ngarden and wore her \"quite contrary\" expression, and certainly did not\nseem at all pleased to see him.\n\n\"What is this place?\" she asked.\n\n\"One o\' th\' kitchen-gardens,\" he answered.\n\n\"What is that?\" said Mary, pointing through the other green door.\n\n\"Another of \'em,\" shortly. \"There\'s another on t\'other side o\' th\' wall\nan\' there\'s th\' orchard t\'other side o\' that.\"\n\n\"Can I go in them?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"If tha\' likes. But there\'s nowt to see.\"\n\nMary made no response. She went down the path and through the second\ngreen door. There she found more walls and winter vegetables and glass\nframes, but in the second wall there was another green door and it was\nnot open. Perhaps it led into the garden which no one had seen for ten\nyears. As she was not at all a timid child and always did what she\nwanted to do, Mary went to the green door and turned the handle. She\nhoped the door would not open because she wanted to be sure she had\nfound the mysterious garden--but it did open quite easily and she walked\nthrough it and found herself in an orchard. There were walls all round\nit also and trees trained against them, and there were bare fruit-trees\ngrowing in the winter-browned grass--but there was no green door to be\nseen anywhere. Mary looked for it, and yet when she had entered the\nupper end of the garden she had noticed that the wall did not seem to\nend with the orchard but to extend beyond it as if it enclosed a place\nat the other side. She could see the tops of trees above the wall, and\nwhen she stood still she saw a bird with a bright red breast sitting on\nthe topmost branch of one of them, and suddenly he burst into his winter\nsong--almost as if he had caught sight of her and was calling to her.\n\nShe stopped and listened to him and somehow his cheerful, friendly\nlittle whistle gave her a pleased feeling--even a disagreeable little\ngirl may be lonely, and the big closed house and big bare moor and big\nbare gardens had made this one feel as if there was no one left in the\nworld but herself. If she had been an affectionate child, who had been\nused to being loved, she would have broken her heart, but even though\nshe was \"Mistress Mary Quite Contrary\" she was desolate, and the\nbright-breasted little bird brought a look into her sour little face\nwhich was almost a smile. She listened to him until he flew away. He was\nnot like an Indian bird and she liked him and wondered if she should\never see him again. Perhaps he lived in the mysterious garden and knew\nall about it.\n\nPerhaps it was because she had nothing whatever to do that she thought\nso much of the deserted garden. She was curious about it and wanted to\nsee what it was like. Why had Mr. Archibald Craven buried the key? If he\nhad liked his wife so much why did he hate her garden? She wondered if\nshe should ever see him, but she knew that if she did she should not\nlike him, and he would not like her, and that she should only stand and\nstare at him and say nothing, though she should be wanting dreadfully to\nask him why he had done such a queer thing.\n\n\"People never like me and I never like people,\" she thought. \"And I\nnever can talk as the Crawford children could. They were always talking\nand laughing and making noises.\"\n\nShe thought of the robin and of the way he seemed to sing his song at\nher, and as she remembered the tree-top he perched on she stopped rather\nsuddenly on the path.\n\n\"I believe that tree was in the secret garden--I feel sure it was,\" she\nsaid. \"There was a wall round the place and there was no door.\"\n\nShe walked back into the first kitchen-garden she had entered and found\nthe old man digging there. She went and stood beside him and watched\nhim a few moments in her cold little way. He took no notice of her and\nso at last she spoke to him.\n\n\"I have been into the other gardens,\" she said.\n\n\"There was nothin\' to prevent thee,\" he answered crustily.\n\n\"I went into the orchard.\"\n\n\"There was no dog at th\' door to bite thee,\" he answered.\n\n\"There was no door there into the other garden,\" said Mary.\n\n\"What garden?\" he said in a rough voice, stopping his digging for a\nmoment.\n\n\"The one on the other side of the wall,\" answered Mistress Mary. \"There\nare trees there--I saw the tops of them. A bird with a red breast was\nsitting on one of them and he sang.\"\n\nTo her surprise the surly old weather-beaten face actually changed its\nexpression. A slow smile spread over it and the gardener looked quite\ndifferent. It made her think that it was curious how much nicer a person\nlooked when he smiled. She had not thought of it before.\n\nHe turned about to the orchard side of his garden and began to\nwhistle--a low soft whistle. She could not understand how such a surly\nman could make such a coaxing sound.\n\nAlmost the next moment a wonderful thing happened. She heard a soft\nlittle rushing flight through the air--and it was the bird with the red\nbreast flying to them, and he actually alighted on the big clod of earth\nquite near to the gardener\'s foot.\n\n\"Here he is,\" chuckled the old man, and then he spoke to the bird as if\nhe were speaking to a child.\n\n\"Where has tha\' been, tha\' cheeky little beggar?\" he said. \"I\'ve not\nseen thee before to-day. Has tha\' begun tha\' courtin\' this early in th\'\nseason? Tha\'rt too forrad.\"\n\nThe bird put his tiny head on one side and looked up at him with his\nsoft bright eye which was like a black dewdrop. He seemed quite familiar\nand not the least afraid. He hopped about and pecked the earth briskly,\nlooking for seeds and insects. It actually gave Mary a queer feeling in\nher heart, because he was so pretty and cheerful and seemed so like a\nperson. He had a tiny plump body and a delicate beak, and slender\ndelicate legs.\n\n\"Will he always come when you call him?\" she asked almost in a whisper.\n\n\"Aye, that he will. I\'ve knowed him ever since he was a fledgling. He\ncome out of th\' nest in th\' other garden an\' when first he flew over\nth\' wall he was too weak to fly back for a few days an\' we got\nfriendly. When he went over th\' wall again th\' rest of th\' brood was\ngone an\' he was lonely an\' he come back to me.\"\n\n\"What kind of a bird is he?\" Mary asked.\n\n\"Doesn\'t tha\' know? He\'s a robin redbreast an\' they\'re th\' friendliest,\ncuriousest birds alive. They\'re almost as friendly as dogs--if you know\nhow to get on with \'em. Watch him peckin\' about there an\' lookin\' round\nat us now an\' again. He knows we\'re talkin\' about him.\"\n\nIt was the queerest thing in the world to see the old fellow. He looked\nat the plump little scarlet-waistcoated bird as if he were both proud\nand fond of him.\n\n\"He\'s a conceited one,\" he chuckled. \"He likes to hear folk talk about\nhim. An\' curious--bless me, there never was his like for curiosity an\'\nmeddlin\'. He\'s always comin\' to see what I\'m plantin\'. He knows all th\'\nthings Mester Craven never troubles hissel\' to find out. He\'s th\' head\ngardener, he is.\"\n\nThe robin hopped about busily pecking the soil and now and then stopped\nand looked at them a little. Mary thought his black dewdrop eyes gazed\nat her with great curiosity. It really seemed as if he were finding out\nall about her. The queer feeling in her heart increased.\n\n\"Where did the rest of the brood fly to?\" she asked.\n\n\"There\'s no knowin\'. The old ones turn \'em out o\' their nest an\' make\n\'em fly an\' they\'re scattered before you know it. This one was a knowin\'\none an\' he knew he was lonely.\"\n\nMistress Mary went a step nearer to the robin and looked at him very\nhard.\n\n\"I\'m lonely,\" she said.\n\nShe had not known before that this was one of the things which made her\nfeel sour and cross. She seemed to find it out when the robin looked at\nher and she looked at the robin.\n\nThe old gardener pushed his cap back on his bald head and stared at her\na minute.\n\n\"Art tha\' th\' little wench from India?\" he asked.\n\nMary nodded.\n\n\"Then no wonder tha\'rt lonely. Tha\'lt be lonelier before tha\'s done,\" he\nsaid.\n\nHe began to dig again, driving his spade deep into the rich black garden\nsoil while the robin hopped about very busily employed.\n\n\"What is your name?\" Mary inquired.\n\nHe stood up to answer her.\n\n\"Ben Weatherstaff,\" he answered, and then he added with a surly chuckle,\n\"I\'m lonely mysel\' except when he\'s with me,\" and he jerked his thumb\ntoward the robin. \"He\'s th\' only friend I\'ve got.\"\n\n\"I have no friends at all,\" said Mary. \"I never had. My Ayah didn\'t like\nme and I never played with any one.\"\n\nIt is a Yorkshire habit to say what you think with blunt frankness, and\nold Ben Weatherstaff was a Yorkshire moor man.\n\n\"Tha\' an\' me are a good bit alike,\" he said. \"We was wove out of th\'\nsame cloth. We\'re neither of us good lookin\' an\' we\'re both of us as\nsour as we look. We\'ve got the same nasty tempers, both of us, I\'ll\nwarrant.\"\n\nThis was plain speaking, and Mary Lennox had never heard the truth about\nherself in her life. Native servants always salaamed and submitted to\nyou, whatever you did. She had never thought much about her looks, but\nshe wondered if she was as unattractive as Ben Weatherstaff and she also\nwondered if she looked as sour as he had looked before the robin came.\nShe actually began to wonder also if she was \"nasty tempered.\" She felt\nuncomfortable.\n\nSuddenly a clear rippling little sound broke out near her and she turned\nround. She was standing a few feet from a young apple-tree and the robin\nhad flown on to one of its branches and had burst out into a scrap of a\nsong. Ben Weatherstaff laughed outright.\n\n\"What did he do that for?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"He\'s made up his mind to make friends with thee,\" replied Ben. \"Dang me\nif he hasn\'t took a fancy to thee.\"\n\n\"To me?\" said Mary, and she moved toward the little tree softly and\nlooked up.\n\n\"Would you make friends with me?\" she said to the robin just as if she\nwas speaking to a person. \"Would you?\" And she did not say it either in\nher hard little voice or in her imperious Indian voice, but in a tone so\nsoft and eager and coaxing that Ben Weatherstaff was as surprised as she\nhad been when she heard him whistle.\n\n\"Why,\" he cried out, \"tha\' said that as nice an\' human as if tha\' was a\nreal child instead of a sharp old woman. Tha\' said it almost like Dickon\ntalks to his wild things on th\' moor.\"\n\n\"Do you know Dickon?\" Mary asked, turning round rather in a hurry.\n\n\"Everybody knows him. Dickon\'s wanderin\' about everywhere. Th\' very\nblackberries an\' heather-bells knows him. I warrant th\' foxes shows him\nwhere their cubs lies an\' th\' skylarks doesn\'t hide their nests from\nhim.\"\n\nMary would have liked to ask some more questions. She was almost as\ncurious about Dickon as she was about the deserted garden. But just that\nmoment the robin, who had ended his song, gave a little shake of his\nwings, spread them and flew away. He had made his visit and had other\nthings to do.\n\n\"He has flown over the wall!\" Mary cried out, watching him. \"He has\nflown into the orchard--he has flown across the other wall--into the\ngarden where there is no door!\"\n\n\"He lives there,\" said old Ben. \"He came out o\' th\' egg there. If he\'s\ncourtin\', he\'s makin\' up to some young madam of a robin that lives among\nth\' old rose-trees there.\"\n\n\"Rose-trees,\" said Mary. \"Are there rose-trees?\"\n\nBen Weatherstaff took up his spade again and began to dig.\n\n\"There was ten year\' ago,\" he mumbled.\n\n\"I should like to see them,\" said Mary. \"Where is the green door? There\nmust be a door somewhere.\"\n\nBen drove his spade deep and looked as uncompanionable as he had looked\nwhen she first saw him.\n\n\"There was ten year\' ago, but there isn\'t now,\" he said.\n\n\"No door!\" cried Mary. \"There must be.\"\n\n\"None as any one can find, an\' none as is any one\'s business. Don\'t you\nbe a meddlesome wench an\' poke your nose where it\'s no cause to go.\nHere, I must go on with my work. Get you gone an\' play you. I\'ve no more\ntime.\"\n\nAnd he actually stopped digging, threw his spade over his shoulder and\nwalked off, without even glancing at her or saying good-by.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nTHE CRY IN THE CORRIDOR\n\n\nAt first each day which passed by for Mary Lennox was exactly like the\nothers. Every morning she awoke in her tapestried room and found Martha\nkneeling upon the hearth building her fire; every morning she ate her\nbreakfast in the nursery which had nothing amusing in it; and after each\nbreakfast she gazed out of the window across to the huge moor which\nseemed to spread out on all sides and climb up to the sky, and after she\nhad stared for a while she realized that if she did not go out she would\nhave to stay in and do nothing--and so she went out. She did not know\nthat this was the best thing she could have done, and she did not know\nthat, when she began to walk quickly or even run along the paths and\ndown the avenue, she was stirring her slow blood and making herself\nstronger by fighting with the wind which swept down from the moor. She\nran only to make herself warm, and she hated the wind which rushed at\nher face and roared and held her back as if it were some giant she could\nnot see. But the big breaths of rough fresh air blown over the heather\nfilled her lungs with something which was good for her whole thin body\nand whipped some red color into her cheeks and brightened her dull eyes\nwhen she did not know anything about it.\n\nBut after a few days spent almost entirely out of doors she wakened one\nmorning knowing what it was to be hungry, and when she sat down to her\nbreakfast she did not glance disdainfully at her porridge and push it\naway, but took up her spoon and began to eat it and went on eating it\nuntil her bowl was empty.\n\n\"Tha\' got on well enough with that this mornin\', didn\'t tha\'?\" said\nMartha.\n\n\"It tastes nice to-day,\" said Mary, feeling a little surprised herself.\n\n\"It\'s th\' air of th\' moor that\'s givin\' thee stomach for tha\' victuals,\"\nanswered Martha. \"It\'s lucky for thee that tha\'s got victuals as well as\nappetite. There\'s been twelve in our cottage as had th\' stomach an\'\nnothin\' to put in it. You go on playin\' you out o\' doors every day an\'\nyou\'ll get some flesh on your bones an\' you won\'t be so yeller.\"\n\n\"I don\'t play,\" said Mary. \"I have nothing to play with.\"\n\n\"Nothin\' to play with!\" exclaimed Martha. \"Our children plays with\nsticks and stones. They just runs about an\' shouts an\' looks at things.\"\n\nMary did not shout, but she looked at things. There was nothing else to\ndo. She walked round and round the gardens and wandered about the paths\nin the park. Sometimes she looked for Ben Weatherstaff, but though\nseveral times she saw him at work he was too busy to look at her or was\ntoo surly. Once when she was walking toward him he picked up his spade\nand turned away as if he did it on purpose.\n\nOne place she went to oftener than to any other. It was the long walk\noutside the gardens with the walls round them. There were bare\nflower-beds on either side of it and against the walls ivy grew thickly.\nThere was one part of the wall where the creeping dark green leaves were\nmore bushy than elsewhere. It seemed as if for a long time that part had\nbeen neglected. The rest of it had been clipped and made to look neat,\nbut at this lower end of the walk it had not been trimmed at all.\n\nA few days after she had talked to Ben Weatherstaff Mary stopped to\nnotice this and wondered why it was so. She had just paused and was\nlooking up at a long spray of ivy swinging in the wind when she saw a\ngleam of scarlet and heard a brilliant chirp, and there, on the top of\nthe wall, perched Ben Weatherstaff\'s robin redbreast, tilting forward\nto look at her with his small head on one side.\n\n\"Oh!\" she cried out, \"is it you--is it you?\" And it did not seem at all\nqueer to her that she spoke to him as if she was sure that he would\nunderstand and answer her.\n\nHe did answer. He twittered and chirped and hopped along the wall as if\nhe were telling her all sorts of things. It seemed to Mistress Mary as\nif she understood him, too, though he was not speaking in words. It was\nas if he said:\n\n\"Good morning! Isn\'t the wind nice? Isn\'t the sun nice? Isn\'t everything\nnice? Let us both chirp and hop and twitter. Come on! Come on!\"\n\nMary began to laugh, and as he hopped and took little flights along the\nwall she ran after him. Poor little thin, sallow, ugly Mary--she\nactually looked almost pretty for a moment.\n\n\"I like you! I like you!\" she cried out, pattering down the walk; and\nshe chirped and tried to whistle, which last she did not know how to do\nin the least. But the robin seemed to be quite satisfied and chirped and\nwhistled back at her. At last he spread his wings and made a darting\nflight to the top of a tree, where he perched and sang loudly.\n\nThat reminded Mary of the first time she had seen him. He had been\nswinging on a tree-top then and she had been standing in the orchard.\nNow she was on the other side of the orchard and standing in the path\noutside a wall--much lower down--and there was the same tree inside.\n\n\"It\'s in the garden no one can go into,\" she said to herself. \"It\'s the\ngarden without a door. He lives in there. How I wish I could see what it\nis like!\"\n\nShe ran up the walk to the green door she had entered the first morning.\nThen she ran down the path through the other door and then into the\norchard, and when she stood and looked up there was the tree on the\nother side of the wall, and there was the robin just finishing his song\nand beginning to preen his feathers with his beak.\n\n\"It is the garden,\" she said. \"I am sure it is.\"\n\nShe walked round and looked closely at that side of the orchard wall,\nbut she only found what she had found before--that there was no door in\nit. Then she ran through the kitchen-gardens again and out into the walk\noutside the long ivy-covered wall, and she walked to the end of it and\nlooked at it, but there was no door; and then she walked to the other\nend, looking again, but there was no door.\n\n\"It\'s very queer,\" she said. \"Ben Weatherstaff said there was no door\nand there is no door. But there must have been one ten years ago,\nbecause Mr. Craven buried the key.\"\n\nThis gave her so much to think of that she began to be quite interested\nand feel that she was not sorry that she had come to Misselthwaite\nManor. In India she had always felt hot and too languid to care much\nabout anything. The fact was that the fresh wind from the moor had begun\nto blow the cobwebs out of her young brain and to waken her up a little.\n\nShe stayed out of doors nearly all day, and when she sat down to her\nsupper at night she felt hungry and drowsy and comfortable. She did not\nfeel cross when Martha chattered away. She felt as if she rather liked\nto hear her, and at last she thought she would ask her a question. She\nasked it after she had finished her supper and had sat down on the\nhearth-rug before the fire.\n\n\"Why did Mr. Craven hate the garden?\" she said.\n\nShe had made Martha stay with her and Martha had not objected at all.\nShe was very young, and used to a crowded cottage full of brothers and\nsisters, and she found it dull in the great servants\' hall down-stairs\nwhere the footman and upper-housemaids made fun of her Yorkshire speech\nand looked upon her as a common little thing, and sat and whispered\namong themselves. Martha liked to talk, and the strange child who had\nlived in India, and been waited upon by \"blacks,\" was novelty enough to\nattract her.\n\nShe sat down on the hearth herself without waiting to be asked.\n\n\"Art tha\' thinkin\' about that garden yet?\" she said. \"I knew tha\' would.\nThat was just the way with me when I first heard about it.\"\n\n\"Why did he hate it?\" Mary persisted.\n\nMartha tucked her feet under her and made herself quite comfortable.\n\n\"Listen to th\' wind wutherin\' round the house,\" she said. \"You could\nbare stand up on the moor if you was out on it to-night.\"\n\nMary did not know what \"wutherin\'\" meant until she listened, and then\nshe understood. It must mean that hollow shuddering sort of roar which\nrushed round and round the house as if the giant no one could see were\nbuffeting it and beating at the walls and windows to try to break in.\nBut one knew he could not get in, and somehow it made one feel very safe\nand warm inside a room with a red coal fire.\n\n\"But why did he hate it so?\" she asked, after she had listened. She\nintended to know if Martha did.\n\nThen Martha gave up her store of knowledge.\n\n\"Mind,\" she said, \"Mrs. Medlock said it\'s not to be talked about.\nThere\'s lots o\' things in this place that\'s not to be talked over.\nThat\'s Mr. Craven\'s orders. His troubles are none servants\' business, he\nsays. But for th\' garden he wouldn\'t be like he is. It was Mrs. Craven\'s\ngarden that she had made when first they were married an\' she just loved\nit, an\' they used to \'tend the flowers themselves. An\' none o\' th\'\ngardeners was ever let to go in. Him an\' her used to go in an\' shut th\'\ndoor an\' stay there hours an\' hours, readin\' an\' talkin\'. An\' she was\njust a bit of a girl an\' there was an old tree with a branch bent like a\nseat on it. An\' she made roses grow over it an\' she used to sit there.\nBut one day when she was sittin\' there th\' branch broke an\' she fell on\nth\' ground an\' was hurt so bad that next day she died. Th\' doctors\nthought he\'d go out o\' his mind an\' die, too. That\'s why he hates it. No\none\'s never gone in since, an\' he won\'t let any one talk about it.\"\n\nMary did not ask any more questions. She looked at the red fire and\nlistened to the wind \"wutherin\'.\" It seemed to be \"wutherin\'\" louder\nthan ever.\n\nAt that moment a very good thing was happening to her. Four good things\nhad happened to her, in fact, since she came to Misselthwaite Manor. She\nhad felt as if she had understood a robin and that he had understood\nher; she had run in the wind until her blood had grown warm; she had\nbeen healthily hungry for the first time in her life; and she had found\nout what it was to be sorry for some one. She was getting on.\n\nBut as she was listening to the wind she began to listen to something\nelse. She did not know what it was, because at first she could scarcely\ndistinguish it from the wind itself. It was a curious sound--it seemed\nalmost as if a child were crying somewhere. Sometimes the wind sounded\nrather like a child crying, but presently Mistress Mary felt quite sure\nthat this sound was inside the house, not outside it. It was far away,\nbut it was inside. She turned round and looked at Martha.\n\n\"Do you hear any one crying?\" she said.\n\nMartha suddenly looked confused.\n\n\"No,\" she answered. \"It\'s th\' wind. Sometimes it sounds like as if some\none was lost on th\' moor an\' wailin\'. It\'s got all sorts o\' sounds.\"\n\n\"But listen,\" said Mary. \"It\'s in the house--down one of those long\ncorridors.\"\n\nAnd at that very moment a door must have been opened somewhere\ndown-stairs; for a great rushing draft blew along the passage and the\ndoor of the room they sat in was blown open with a crash, and as they\nboth jumped to their feet the light was blown out and the crying sound\nwas swept down the far corridor so that it was to be heard more plainly\nthan ever.\n\n\"There!\" said Mary. \"I told you so! It is some one crying--and it isn\'t a\ngrown-up person.\"\n\nMartha ran and shut the door and turned the key, but before she did it\nthey both heard the sound of a door in some far passage shutting with a\nbang, and then everything was quiet, for even the wind ceased\n\"wutherin\'\" for a few moments.\n\n\"It was th\' wind,\" said Martha stubbornly. \"An\' if it wasn\'t, it was\nlittle Betty Butterworth, th\' scullery-maid. She\'s had th\' toothache all\nday.\"\n\nBut something troubled and awkward in her manner made Mistress Mary\nstare very hard at her. She did not believe she was speaking the truth.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\"THERE WAS SOME ONE CRYING--THERE WAS!\"\n\n\nThe next day the rain poured down in torrents again, and when Mary\nlooked out of her window the moor was almost hidden by gray mist and\ncloud. There could be no going out to-day.\n\n\"What do you do in your cottage when it rains like this?\" she asked\nMartha.\n\n\"Try to keep from under each other\'s feet mostly,\" Martha answered. \"Eh!\nthere does seem a lot of us then. Mother\'s a good-tempered woman but she\ngets fair moithered. The biggest ones goes out in th\' cow-shed and plays\nthere. Dickon he doesn\'t mind th\' wet. He goes out just th\' same as if\nth\' sun was shinin\'. He says he sees things on rainy days as doesn\'t\nshow when it\'s fair weather. He once found a little fox cub half drowned\nin its hole and he brought it home in th\' bosom of his shirt to keep it\nwarm. Its mother had been killed nearby an\' th\' hole was swum out an\'\nth\' rest o\' th\' litter was dead. He\'s got it at home now. He found a\nhalf-drowned young crow another time an\' he brought it home, too, an\'\ntamed it. It\'s named Soot because it\'s so black, an\' it hops an\' flies\nabout with him everywhere.\"\n\nThe time had come when Mary had forgotten to resent Martha\'s familiar\ntalk. She had even begun to find it interesting and to be sorry when she\nstopped or went away. The stories she had been told by her Ayah when she\nlived in India had been quite unlike those Martha had to tell about the\nmoorland cottage which held fourteen people who lived in four little\nrooms and never had quite enough to eat. The children seemed to tumble\nabout and amuse themselves like a litter of rough, good-natured collie\npuppies. Mary was most attracted by the mother and Dickon. When Martha\ntold stories of what \"mother\" said or did they always sounded\ncomfortable.\n\n\"If I had a raven or a fox cub I could play with it,\" said Mary. \"But I\nhave nothing.\"\n\nMartha looked perplexed.\n\n\"Can tha\' knit?\" she asked.\n\n\"No,\" answered Mary.\n\n\"Can tha\' sew?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Can tha\' read?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"Then why doesn\'t tha\' read somethin\', or learn a bit o\' spellin\'?\nTha\'st old enough to be learnin\' thy book a good bit now.\"\n\n\"I haven\'t any books,\" said Mary. \"Those I had were left in India.\"\n\n\"That\'s a pity,\" said Martha. \"If Mrs. Medlock\'d let thee go into th\'\nlibrary, there\'s thousands o\' books there.\"\n\nMary did not ask where the library was, because she was suddenly\ninspired by a new idea. She made up her mind to go and find it herself.\nShe was not troubled about Mrs. Medlock. Mrs. Medlock seemed always to\nbe in her comfortable housekeeper\'s sitting-room down-stairs. In this\nqueer place one scarcely ever saw any one at all. In fact, there was no\none to see but the servants, and when their master was away they lived a\nluxurious life below stairs, where there was a huge kitchen hung about\nwith shining brass and pewter, and a large servants\' hall where there\nwere four or five abundant meals eaten every day, and where a great deal\nof lively romping went on when Mrs. Medlock was out of the way.\n\nMary\'s meals were served regularly, and Martha waited on her, but no one\ntroubled themselves about her in the least. Mrs. Medlock came and looked\nat her every day or two, but no one inquired what she did or told her\nwhat to do. She supposed that perhaps this was the English way of\ntreating children. In India she had always been attended by her Ayah,\nwho had followed her about and waited on her, hand and foot. She had\noften been tired of her company. Now she was followed by nobody and was\nlearning to dress herself because Martha looked as though she thought\nshe was silly and stupid when she wanted to have things handed to her\nand put on.\n\n\"Hasn\'t tha\' got good sense?\" she said once, when Mary had stood waiting\nfor her to put on her gloves for her. \"Our Susan Ann is twice as sharp\nas thee an\' she\'s only four year\' old. Sometimes tha\' looks fair soft in\nth\' head.\"\n\nMary had worn her contrary scowl for an hour after that, but it made her\nthink several entirely new things.\n\nShe stood at the window for about ten minutes this morning after Martha\nhad swept up the hearth for the last time and gone down-stairs. She was\nthinking over the new idea which had come to her when she heard of the\nlibrary. She did not care very much about the library itself, because\nshe had read very few books; but to hear of it brought back to her mind\nthe hundred rooms with closed doors. She wondered if they were all\nreally locked and what she would find if she could get into any of them.\nWere there a hundred really? Why shouldn\'t she go and see how many doors\nshe could count? It would be something to do on this morning when she\ncould not go out. She had never been taught to ask permission to do\nthings, and she knew nothing at all about authority, so she would not\nhave thought it necessary to ask Mrs. Medlock if she might walk about\nthe house, even if she had seen her.\n\nShe opened the door of the room and went into the corridor, and then she\nbegan her wanderings. It was a long corridor and it branched into other\ncorridors and it led her up short flights of steps which mounted to\nothers again. There were doors and doors, and there were pictures on the\nwalls. Sometimes they were pictures of dark, curious landscapes, but\noftenest they were portraits of men and women in queer, grand costumes\nmade of satin and velvet. She found herself in one long gallery whose\nwalls were covered with these portraits. She had never thought there\ncould be so many in any house. She walked slowly down this place and\nstared at the faces which also seemed to stare at her. She felt as if\nthey were wondering what a little girl from India was doing in their\nhouse. Some were pictures of children--little girls in thick satin\nfrocks which reached to their feet and stood out about them, and boys\nwith puffed sleeves and lace collars and long hair, or with big ruffs\naround their necks. She always stopped to look at the children, and\nwonder what their names were, and where they had gone, and why they wore\nsuch odd clothes. There was a stiff, plain little girl rather like\nherself. She wore a green brocade dress and held a green parrot on her\nfinger. Her eyes had a sharp, curious look.\n\n\"Where do you live now?\" said Mary aloud to her. \"I wish you were here.\"\n\nSurely no other little girl ever spent such a queer morning. It seemed\nas if there was no one in all the huge rambling house but her own small\nself, wandering about up-stairs and down, through narrow passages and\nwide ones, where it seemed to her that no one but herself had ever\nwalked. Since so many rooms had been built, people must have lived in\nthem, but it all seemed so empty that she could not quite believe it\ntrue.\n\nIt was not until she climbed to the second floor that she thought of\nturning the handle of a door. All the doors were shut, as Mrs. Medlock\nhad said they were, but at last she put her hand on the handle of one of\nthem and turned it. She was almost frightened for a moment when she felt\nthat it turned without difficulty and that when she pushed upon the door\nitself it slowly and heavily opened. It was a massive door and opened\ninto a big bedroom. There were embroidered hangings on the wall, and\ninlaid furniture such as she had seen in India stood about the room. A\nbroad window with leaded panes looked out upon the moor; and over the\nmantel was another portrait of the stiff, plain little girl who seemed\nto stare at her more curiously than ever.\n\n\"Perhaps she slept here once,\" said Mary. \"She stares at me so that she\nmakes me feel queer.\"\n\nAfter that she opened more doors and more. She saw so many rooms that\nshe became quite tired and began to think that there must be a hundred,\nthough she had not counted them. In all of them there were old pictures\nor old tapestries with strange scenes worked on them. There were curious\npieces of furniture and curious ornaments in nearly all of them.\n\nIn one room, which looked like a lady\'s sitting-room, the hangings were\nall embroidered velvet, and in a cabinet were about a hundred little\nelephants made of ivory. They were of different sizes, and some had\ntheir mahouts or palanquins on their backs. Some were much bigger than\nthe others and some were so tiny that they seemed only babies. Mary had\nseen carved ivory in India and she knew all about elephants. She opened\nthe door of the cabinet and stood on a footstool and played with these\nfor quite a long time. When she got tired she set the elephants in\norder and shut the door of the cabinet.\n\nIn all her wanderings through the long corridors and the empty rooms,\nshe had seen nothing alive; but in this room she saw something. Just\nafter she had closed the cabinet door she heard a tiny rustling sound.\nIt made her jump and look around at the sofa by the fireplace, from\nwhich it seemed to come. In the corner of the sofa there was a cushion,\nand in the velvet which covered it there was a hole, and out of the hole\npeeped a tiny head with a pair of frightened eyes in it.\n\nMary crept softly across the room to look. The bright eyes belonged to a\nlittle gray mouse, and the mouse had eaten a hole into the cushion and\nmade a comfortable nest there. Six baby mice were cuddled up asleep near\nher. If there was no one else alive in the hundred rooms there were\nseven mice who did not look lonely at all.\n\n\"If they wouldn\'t be so frightened I would take them back with me,\" said\nMary.\n\nShe had wandered about long enough to feel too tired to wander any\nfarther, and she turned back. Two or three times she lost her way by\nturning down the wrong corridor and was obliged to ramble up and down\nuntil she found the right one; but at last she reached her own floor\nagain, though she was some distance from her own room and did not know\nexactly where she was.\n\n\"I believe I have taken a wrong turning again,\" she said, standing still\nat what seemed the end of a short passage with tapestry on the wall. \"I\ndon\'t know which way to go. How still everything is!\"\n\nIt was while she was standing here and just after she had said this that\nthe stillness was broken by a sound. It was another cry, but not quite\nlike the one she had heard last night; it was only a short one, a\nfretful, childish whine muffled by passing through walls.\n\n\"It\'s nearer than it was,\" said Mary, her heart beating rather faster.\n\"And it _is_ crying.\"\n\nShe put her hand accidentally upon the tapestry near her, and then\nsprang back, feeling quite startled. The tapestry was the covering of a\ndoor which fell open and showed her that there was another part of the\ncorridor behind it, and Mrs. Medlock was coming up it with her bunch of\nkeys in her hand and a very cross look on her face.\n\n\"What are you doing here?\" she said, and she took Mary by the arm and\npulled her away. \"What did I tell you?\"\n\n\"I turned round the wrong corner,\" explained Mary. \"I didn\'t know which\nway to go and I heard some one crying.\"\n\nShe quite hated Mrs. Medlock at the moment, but she hated her more the\nnext.\n\n\"You didn\'t hear anything of the sort,\" said the housekeeper. \"You come\nalong back to your own nursery or I\'ll box your ears.\"\n\nAnd she took her by the arm and half pushed, half pulled her up one\npassage and down another until she pushed her in at the door of her own\nroom.\n\n\"Now,\" she said, \"you stay where you\'re told to stay or you\'ll find\nyourself locked up. The master had better get you a governess, same as\nhe said he would. You\'re one that needs some one to look sharp after\nyou. I\'ve got enough to do.\"\n\nShe went out of the room and slammed the door after her, and Mary went\nand sat on the hearth-rug, pale with rage. She did not cry, but ground\nher teeth.\n\n\"There _was_ some one crying--there _was_--there _was_!\" she said to\nherself.\n\nShe had heard it twice now, and sometime she would find out. She had\nfound out a great deal this morning. She felt as if she had been on a\nlong journey, and at any rate she had had something to amuse her all the\ntime, and she had played with the ivory elephants and had seen the gray\nmouse and its babies in their nest in the velvet cushion.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nTHE KEY OF THE GARDEN\n\n\nTwo days after this, when Mary opened her eyes she sat upright in bed\nimmediately, and called to Martha.\n\n\"Look at the moor! Look at the moor!\"\n\nThe rain-storm had ended and the gray mist and clouds had been swept\naway in the night by the wind. The wind itself had ceased and a\nbrilliant, deep blue sky arched high over the moorland. Never, never had\nMary dreamed of a sky so blue. In India skies were hot and blazing; this\nwas of a deep cool blue which almost seemed to sparkle like the waters\nof some lovely bottomless lake, and here and there, high, high in the\narched blueness floated small clouds of snow-white fleece. The\nfar-reaching world of the moor itself looked softly blue instead of\ngloomy purple-black or awful dreary gray.\n\n\"Aye,\" said Martha with a cheerful grin. \"Th\' storm\'s over for a bit. It\ndoes like this at this time o\' th\' year. It goes off in a night like it\nwas pretendin\' it had never been here an\' never meant to come again.\nThat\'s because th\' springtime\'s on its way. It\'s a long way off yet, but\nit\'s comin\'.\"\n\n\"I thought perhaps it always rained or looked dark in England,\" Mary\nsaid.\n\n\"Eh! no!\" said Martha, sitting up on her heels among her black lead\nbrushes. \"Nowt o\' th\' soart!\"\n\n\"What does that mean?\" asked Mary seriously. In India the natives spoke\ndifferent dialects which only a few people understood, so she was not\nsurprised when Martha used words she did not know.\n\nMartha laughed as she had done the first morning.\n\n\"There now,\" she said. \"I\'ve talked broad Yorkshire again like Mrs. Medlock\nsaid I mustn\'t. \'Nowt o\' th\' soart\' means \'nothin\'-of-the-sort,\'\" slowly\nand carefully, \"but it takes so long to say it. Yorkshire\'s th\' sunniest\nplace on earth when it is sunny. I told thee tha\'d like th\' moor after a\nbit. Just you wait till you see th\' gold-colored gorse blossoms an\' th\'\nblossoms o\' th\' broom, an\' th\' heather flowerin\', all purple bells, an\'\nhundreds o\' butterflies flutterin\' an\' bees hummin\' an\' skylarks soarin\'\nup an\' singin\'. You\'ll want to get out on it at sunrise an\' live out on\nit all day like Dickon does.\"\n\n\"Could I ever get there?\" asked Mary wistfully, looking through her\nwindow at the far-off blue. It was so new and big and wonderful and such\na heavenly color.\n\n\"I don\'t know,\" answered Martha. \"Tha\'s never used tha\' legs since tha\'\nwas born, it seems to me. Tha\' couldn\'t walk five mile. It\'s five mile\nto our cottage.\"\n\n\"I should like to see your cottage.\"\n\nMartha stared at her a moment curiously before she took up her polishing\nbrush and began to rub the grate again. She was thinking that the small\nplain face did not look quite as sour at this moment as it had done the\nfirst morning she saw it. It looked just a trifle like little Susan\nAnn\'s when she wanted something very much.\n\n\"I\'ll ask my mother about it,\" she said. \"She\'s one o\' them that nearly\nalways sees a way to do things. It\'s my day out to-day an\' I\'m goin\'\nhome. Eh! I am glad. Mrs. Medlock thinks a lot o\' mother. Perhaps she\ncould talk to her.\"\n\n\"I like your mother,\" said Mary.\n\n\"I should think tha\' did,\" agreed Martha, polishing away.\n\n\"I\'ve never seen her,\" said Mary.\n\n\"No, tha\' hasn\'t,\" replied Martha.\n\nShe sat up on her heels again and rubbed the end of her nose with the\nback of her hand as if puzzled for a moment, but she ended quite\npositively.\n\n\"Well, she\'s that sensible an\' hard workin\' an\' good-natured an\' clean\nthat no one could help likin\' her whether they\'d seen her or not. When\nI\'m goin\' home to her on my day out I just jump for joy when I\'m\ncrossin\' th\' moor.\"\n\n\"I like Dickon,\" added Mary. \"And I\'ve never seen him.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Martha stoutly, \"I\'ve told thee that th\' very birds likes\nhim an\' th\' rabbits an\' wild sheep an\' ponies, an\' th\' foxes themselves.\nI wonder,\" staring at her reflectively, \"what Dickon would think of\nthee?\"\n\n\"He wouldn\'t like me,\" said Mary in her stiff, cold little way. \"No one\ndoes.\"\n\nMartha looked reflective again.\n\n\"How does tha\' like thysel\'?\" she inquired, really quite as if she were\ncurious to know.\n\nMary hesitated a moment and thought it over.\n\n\"Not at all--really,\" she answered. \"But I never thought of that\nbefore.\"\n\nMartha grinned a little as if at some homely recollection.\n\n\"Mother said that to me once,\" she said. \"She was at her wash-tub an\' I\nwas in a bad temper an\' talkin\' ill of folk, an\' she turns round on me\nan\' says: \'Tha\' young vixon, tha\'! There tha\' stands sayin\' tha\'\ndoesn\'t like this one an\' tha\' doesn\'t like that one. How does tha\' like\nthysel\'?\' It made me laugh an\' it brought me to my senses in a minute.\"\n\nShe went away in high spirits as soon as she had given Mary her\nbreakfast. She was going to walk five miles across the moor to the\ncottage, and she was going to help her mother with the washing and do\nthe week\'s baking and enjoy herself thoroughly.\n\nMary felt lonelier than ever when she knew she was no longer in the\nhouse. She went out into the garden as quickly as possible, and the\nfirst thing she did was to run round and round the fountain flower\ngarden ten times. She counted the times carefully and when she had\nfinished she felt in better spirits. The sunshine made the whole place\nlook different. The high, deep, blue sky arched over Misselthwaite as\nwell as over the moor, and she kept lifting her face and looking up into\nit, trying to imagine what it would be like to lie down on one of the\nlittle snow-white clouds and float about. She went into the first\nkitchen-garden and found Ben Weatherstaff working there with two other\ngardeners. The change in the weather seemed to have done him good. He\nspoke to her of his own accord.\n\n\"Springtime\'s comin\',\" he said. \"Cannot tha\' smell it?\"\n\nMary sniffed and thought she could.\n\n\"I smell something nice and fresh and damp,\" she said.\n\n\"That\'s th\' good rich earth,\" he answered, digging away. \"It\'s in a good\nhumor makin\' ready to grow things. It\'s glad when plantin\' time comes.\nIt\'s dull in th\' winter when it\'s got nowt to do. In th\' flower gardens\nout there things will be stirrin\' down below in th\' dark. Th\' sun\'s\nwarmin\' \'em. You\'ll see bits o\' green spikes stickin\' out o\' th\' black\nearth after a bit.\"\n\n\"What will they be?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"Crocuses an\' snowdrops an\' daffydowndillys. Has tha\' never seen them?\"\n\n\"No. Everything is hot, and wet, and green after the rains in India,\"\nsaid Mary. \"And I think things grow up in a night.\"\n\n\"These won\'t grow up in a night,\" said Weatherstaff. \"Tha\'ll have to\nwait for \'em. They\'ll poke up a bit higher here, an\' push out a spike\nmore there, an\' uncurl a leaf this day an\' another that. You watch \'em.\"\n\n\"I am going to,\" answered Mary.\n\nVery soon she heard the soft rustling flight of wings again and she knew\nat once that the robin had come again. He was very pert and lively, and\nhopped about so close to her feet, and put his head on one side and\nlooked at her so slyly that she asked Ben Weatherstaff a question.\n\n\"Do you think he remembers me?\" she said.\n\n\"Remembers thee!\" said Weatherstaff indignantly. \"He knows every cabbage\nstump in th\' gardens, let alone th\' people. He\'s never seen a little\nwench here before, an\' he\'s bent on findin\' out all about thee. Tha\'s no\nneed to try to hide anything from _him_.\"\n\n\"Are things stirring down below in the dark in that garden where he\nlives?\" Mary inquired.\n\n\"What garden?\" grunted Weatherstaff, becoming surly again.\n\n\"The one where the old rose-trees are.\" She could not help asking,\nbecause she wanted so much to know. \"Are all the flowers dead, or do\nsome of them come again in the summer? Are there ever any roses?\"\n\n\"Ask him,\" said Ben Weatherstaff, hunching his shoulders toward the\nrobin. \"He\'s the only one as knows. No one else has seen inside it for\nten year\'.\"\n\nTen years was a long time, Mary thought. She had been born ten years\nago.\n\nShe walked away, slowly thinking. She had begun to like the garden just\nas she had begun to like the robin and Dickon and Martha\'s mother. She\nwas beginning to like Martha, too. That seemed a good many people to\nlike--when you were not used to liking. She thought of the robin as one\nof the people. She went to her walk outside the long, ivy-covered wall\nover which she could see the tree-tops; and the second time she walked\nup and down the most interesting and exciting thing happened to her, and\nit was all through Ben Weatherstaff\'s robin.\n\nShe heard a chirp and a twitter, and when she looked at the bare\nflower-bed at her left side there he was hopping about and pretending to\npeck things out of the earth to persuade her that he had not followed\nher. But she knew he had followed her and the surprise so filled her\nwith delight that she almost trembled a little.\n\n\"You do remember me!\" she cried out. \"You do! You are prettier than\nanything else in the world!\"\n\nShe chirped, and talked, and coaxed and he hopped, and flirted his tail\nand twittered. It was as if he were talking. His red waistcoat was like\nsatin and he puffed his tiny breast out and was so fine and so grand and\nso pretty that it was really as if he were showing her how important and\nlike a human person a robin could be. Mistress Mary forgot that she had\never been contrary in her life when he allowed her to draw closer and\ncloser to him, and bend down and talk and try to make something like\nrobin sounds.\n\nOh! to think that he should actually let her come as near to him as\nthat! He knew nothing in the world would make her put out her hand\ntoward him or startle him in the least tiniest way. He knew it because\nhe was a real person--only nicer than any other person in the world. She\nwas so happy that she scarcely dared to breathe.\n\nThe flower-bed was not quite bare. It was bare of flowers because the\nperennial plants had been cut down for their winter rest, but there were\ntall shrubs and low ones which grew together at the back of the bed, and\nas the robin hopped about under them she saw him hop over a small pile\nof freshly turned up earth. He stopped on it to look for a worm. The\nearth had been turned up because a dog had been trying to dig up a mole\nand he had scratched quite a deep hole.\n\nMary looked at it, not really knowing why the hole was there, and as she\nlooked she saw something almost buried in the newly-turned soil. It was\nsomething like a ring of rusty iron or brass and when the robin flew up\ninto a tree nearby she put out her hand and picked the ring up. It was\nmore than a ring, however; it was an old key which looked as if it had\nbeen buried a long time.\n\nMistress Mary stood up and looked at it with an almost frightened face\nas it hung from her finger.\n\n\"Perhaps it has been buried for ten years,\" she said in a whisper.\n\"Perhaps it is the key to the garden!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nTHE ROBIN WHO SHOWED THE WAY\n\n\nShe looked at the key quite a long time. She turned it over and over,\nand thought about it. As I have said before, she was not a child who had\nbeen trained to ask permission or consult her elders about things. All\nshe thought about the key was that if it was the key to the closed\ngarden, and she could find out where the door was, she could perhaps\nopen it and see what was inside the walls, and what had happened to the\nold rose-trees. It was because it had been shut up so long that she\nwanted to see it. It seemed as if it must be different from other places\nand that something strange must have happened to it during ten years.\nBesides that, if she liked it she could go into it every day and shut\nthe door behind her, and she could make up some play of her own and play\nit quite alone, because nobody would ever know where she was, but would\nthink the door was still locked and the key buried in the earth. The\nthought of that pleased her very much.\n\nLiving as it were, all by herself in a house with a hundred\nmysteriously closed rooms and having nothing whatever to do to amuse\nherself, had set her inactive brain to working and was actually\nawakening her imagination. There is no doubt that the fresh, strong,\npure air from the moor had a great deal to do with it. Just as it had\ngiven her an appetite, and fighting with the wind had stirred her blood,\nso the same things had stirred her mind. In India she had always been\ntoo hot and languid and weak to care much about anything, but in this\nplace she was beginning to care and to want to do new things. Already\nshe felt less \"contrary,\" though she did not know why.\n\nShe put the key in her pocket and walked up and down her walk. No one\nbut herself ever seemed to come there, so she could walk slowly and look\nat the wall, or, rather, at the ivy growing on it. The ivy was the\nbaffling thing. Howsoever carefully she looked she could see nothing but\nthickly-growing, glossy, dark green leaves. She was very much\ndisappointed. Something of her contrariness came back to her as she\npaced the walk and looked over it at the tree-tops inside. It seemed so\nsilly, she said to herself, to be near it and not be able to get in. She\ntook the key in her pocket when she went back to the house, and she made\nup her mind that she would always carry it with her when she went out,\nso that if she ever should find the hidden door she would be ready.\n\nMrs. Medlock had allowed Martha to sleep all night at the cottage, but\nshe was back at her work in the morning with cheeks redder than ever and\nin the best of spirits.\n\n\"I got up at four o\'clock,\" she said. \"Eh! it was pretty on th\' moor\nwith th\' birds gettin\' up an\' th\' rabbits scamperin\' about an\' th\' sun\nrisin\'. I didn\'t walk all th\' way. A man gave me a ride in his cart an\'\nI can tell you I did enjoy myself.\"\n\nShe was full of stories of the delights of her day out. Her mother had\nbeen glad to see her and they had got the baking and washing all out of\nthe way. She had even made each of the children a dough-cake with a bit\nof brown sugar in it.\n\n\"I had \'em all pipin\' hot when they came in from playin\' on th\' moor.\nAn\' th\' cottage all smelt o\' nice, clean hot bakin\' an\' there was a good\nfire, an\' they just shouted for joy. Our Dickon he said our cottage was\ngood enough for a king to live in.\"\n\nIn the evening they had all sat round the fire, and Martha and her\nmother had sewed patches on torn clothes and mended stockings and Martha\nhad told them about the little girl who had come from India and who had\nbeen waited on all her life by what Martha called \"blacks\" until she\ndidn\'t know how to put on her own stockings.\n\n\"Eh! they did like to hear about you,\" said Martha. \"They wanted to know\nall about th\' blacks an\' about th\' ship you came in. I couldn\'t tell \'em\nenough.\"\n\nMary reflected a little.\n\n\"I\'ll tell you a great deal more before your next day out,\" she said,\n\"so that you will have more to talk about. I dare say they would like to\nhear about riding on elephants and camels, and about the officers going\nto hunt tigers.\"\n\n\"My word!\" cried delighted Martha. \"It would set \'em clean off their\nheads. Would tha\' really do that, Miss? It would be same as a wild beast\nshow like we heard they had in York once.\"\n\n\"India is quite different from Yorkshire,\" Mary said slowly, as she\nthought the matter over. \"I never thought of that. Did Dickon and your\nmother like to hear you talk about me?\"\n\n\"Why, our Dickon\'s eyes nearly started out o\' his head, they got that\nround,\" answered Martha. \"But mother, she was put out about your seemin\'\nto be all by yourself like. She said, \'Hasn\'t Mr. Craven got no\ngoverness for her, nor no nurse?\' and I said, \'No, he hasn\'t, though\nMrs. Medlock says he will when he thinks of it, but she says he mayn\'t\nthink of it for two or three years.\'\"\n\n\"I don\'t want a governess,\" said Mary sharply.\n\n\"But mother says you ought to be learnin\' your book by this time an\' you\nought to have a woman to look after you, an\' she says: \'Now, Martha, you\njust think how you\'d feel yourself, in a big place like that, wanderin\'\nabout all alone, an\' no mother. You do your best to cheer her up,\' she\nsays, an\' I said I would.\"\n\nMary gave her a long, steady look.\n\n\"You do cheer me up,\" she said. \"I like to hear you talk.\"\n\nPresently Martha went out of the room and came back with something held\nin her hands under her apron.\n\n\"What does tha\' think,\" she said, with a cheerful grin. \"I\'ve brought\nthee a present.\"\n\n\"A present!\" exclaimed Mistress Mary. How could a cottage full of\nfourteen hungry people give any one a present!\n\n\"A man was drivin\' across the moor peddlin\',\" Martha explained. \"An\' he\nstopped his cart at our door. He had pots an\' pans an\' odds an\' ends,\nbut mother had no money to buy anythin\'. Just as he was goin\' away our\n\'Lizabeth Ellen called out, \'Mother, he\'s got skippin\'-ropes with red\nan\' blue handles.\' An\' mother she calls out quite sudden, \'Here, stop,\nmister! How much are they?\' An\' he says \'Tuppence,\' an\' mother she\nbegan fumblin\' in her pocket an\' she says to me, \'Martha, tha\'s brought\nme thy wages like a good lass, an\' I\'ve got four places to put every\npenny, but I\'m just goin\' to take tuppence out of it to buy that child a\nskippin\'-rope,\' an\' she bought one an\' here it is.\"\n\nShe brought it out from under her apron and exhibited it quite proudly.\nIt was a strong, slender rope with a striped red and blue handle at each\nend, but Mary Lennox had never seen a skipping-rope before. She gazed at\nit with a mystified expression.\n\n\"What is it for?\" she asked curiously.\n\n\"For!\" cried out Martha. \"Does tha\' mean that they\'ve not got\nskippin\'-ropes in India, for all they\'ve got elephants and tigers and\ncamels! No wonder most of \'em\'s black. This is what it\'s for; just watch\nme.\"\n\nAnd she ran into the middle of the room and, taking a handle in each\nhand, began to skip, and skip, and skip, while Mary turned in her chair\nto stare at her, and the queer faces in the old portraits seemed to\nstare at her, too, and wonder what on earth this common little cottager\nhad the impudence to be doing under their very noses. But Martha did not\neven see them. The interest and curiosity in Mistress Mary\'s face\ndelighted her, and she went on skipping and counted as she skipped\nuntil she had reached a hundred.\n\n\"I could skip longer than that,\" she said when she stopped. \"I\'ve\nskipped as much as five hundred when I was twelve, but I wasn\'t as fat\nthen as I am now, an\' I was in practice.\"\n\nMary got up from her chair beginning to feel excited herself.\n\n\"It looks nice,\" she said. \"Your mother is a kind woman. Do you think I\ncould ever skip like that?\"\n\n\"You just try it,\" urged Martha, handing her the skipping-rope. \"You\ncan\'t skip a hundred at first, but if you practise you\'ll mount up.\nThat\'s what mother said. She says, \'Nothin\' will do her more good than\nskippin\' rope. It\'s th\' sensiblest toy a child can have. Let her play\nout in th\' fresh air skippin\' an\' it\'ll stretch her legs an\' arms an\'\ngive her some strength in \'em.\'\"\n\nIt was plain that there was not a great deal of strength in Mistress\nMary\'s arms and legs when she first began to skip. She was not very\nclever at it, but she liked it so much that she did not want to stop.\n\n\"Put on tha\' things and run an\' skip out o\' doors,\" said Martha. \"Mother\nsaid I must tell you to keep out o\' doors as much as you could, even\nwhen it rains a bit, so as tha\' wrap up warm.\"\n\nMary put on her coat and hat and took her skipping-rope over her arm.\nShe opened the door to go out, and then suddenly thought of something\nand turned back rather slowly.\n\n\"Martha,\" she said, \"they were your wages. It was your twopence really.\nThank you.\" She said it stiffly because she was not used to thanking\npeople or noticing that they did things for her. \"Thank you,\" she said,\nand held out her hand because she did not know what else to do.\n\nMartha gave her hand a clumsy little shake, as if she was not accustomed\nto this sort of thing either. Then she laughed.\n\n\"Eh! tha\' art a queer, old-womanish thing,\" she said. \"If tha\'d been our\n\'Lizabeth Ellen tha\'d have give me a kiss.\"\n\nMary looked stiffer than ever.\n\n\"Do you want me to kiss you?\"\n\nMartha laughed again.\n\n\"Nay, not me,\" she answered. \"If tha\' was different, p\'raps tha\'d want\nto thysel\'. But tha\' isn\'t. Run off outside an\' play with thy rope.\"\n\nMistress Mary felt a little awkward as she went out of the room.\nYorkshire people seemed strange, and Martha was always rather a puzzle\nto her. At first she had disliked her very much, but now she did not.\n\nThe skipping-rope was a wonderful thing. She counted and skipped, and\nskipped and counted, until her cheeks were quite red, and she was more\ninterested than she had ever been since she was born. The sun was\nshining and a little wind was blowing--not a rough wind, but one which\ncame in delightful little gusts and brought a fresh scent of newly\nturned earth with it. She skipped round the fountain garden, and up one\nwalk and down another. She skipped at last into the kitchen-garden and\nsaw Ben Weatherstaff digging and talking to his robin, which was hopping\nabout him. She skipped down the walk toward him and he lifted his head\nand looked at her with a curious expression. She had wondered if he\nwould notice her. She really wanted him to see her skip.\n\n\"Well!\" he exclaimed. \"Upon my word! P\'raps tha\' art a young \'un, after\nall, an\' p\'raps tha\'s got child\'s blood in thy veins instead of sour\nbuttermilk. Tha\'s skipped red into thy cheeks as sure as my name\'s Ben\nWeatherstaff. I wouldn\'t have believed tha\' could do it.\"\n\n\"I never skipped before,\" Mary said. \"I\'m just beginning. I can only go\nup to twenty.\"\n\n\"Tha\' keep on,\" said Ben. \"Tha\' shapes well enough at it for a young \'un\nthat\'s lived with heathen. Just see how he\'s watchin\' thee,\" jerking his\nhead toward the robin. \"He followed after thee yesterday. He\'ll be at\nit again to-day. He\'ll be bound to find out what th\' skippin\'-rope is.\nHe\'s never seen one. Eh!\" shaking his head at the bird, \"tha\' curosity\nwill be th\' death of thee sometime if tha\' doesn\'t look sharp.\"\n\nMary skipped round all the gardens and round the orchard, resting every\nfew minutes. At length she went to her own special walk and made up her\nmind to try if she could skip the whole length of it. It was a good long\nskip and she began slowly, but before she had gone half-way down the\npath she was so hot and breathless that she was obliged to stop. She did\nnot mind much, because she had already counted up to thirty. She stopped\nwith a little laugh of pleasure, and there, lo and behold, was the robin\nswaying on a long branch of ivy. He had followed her and he greeted her\nwith a chirp. As Mary had skipped toward him she felt something heavy in\nher pocket strike against her at each jump, and when she saw the robin\nshe laughed again.\n\n\"You showed me where the key was yesterday,\" she said. \"You ought to\nshow me the door to-day; but I don\'t believe you know!\"\n\nThe robin flew from his swinging spray of ivy on to the top of the wall\nand he opened his beak and sang a loud, lovely trill, merely to show\noff. Nothing in the world is quite as adorably lovely as a robin when\nhe shows off--and they are nearly always doing it.\n\nMary Lennox had heard a great deal about Magic in her Ayah\'s stories,\nand she always said that what happened almost at that moment was Magic.\n\nOne of the nice little gusts of wind rushed down the walk, and it was a\nstronger one than the rest. It was strong enough to wave the branches of\nthe trees, and it was more than strong enough to sway the trailing\nsprays of untrimmed ivy hanging from the wall. Mary had stepped close to\nthe robin, and suddenly the gust of wind swung aside some loose ivy\ntrails, and more suddenly still she jumped toward it and caught it in\nher hand. This she did because she had seen something under it--a round\nknob which had been covered by the leaves hanging over it. It was the\nknob of a door.\n\nShe put her hands under the leaves and began to pull and push them\naside. Thick as the ivy hung, it nearly all was a loose and swinging\ncurtain, though some had crept over wood and iron. Mary\'s heart began to\nthump and her hands to shake a little in her delight and excitement. The\nrobin kept singing and twittering away and tilting his head on one side,\nas if he were as excited as she was. What was this under her hands which\nwas square and made of iron and which her fingers found a hole in?\n\nIt was the lock of the door which had been closed ten years and she put\nher hand in her pocket, drew out the key and found it fitted the\nkeyhole. She put the key in and turned it. It took two hands to do it,\nbut it did turn.\n\nAnd then she took a long breath and looked behind her up the long walk\nto see if any one was coming. No one was coming. No one ever did come,\nit seemed, and she took another long breath, because she could not help\nit, and she held back the swinging curtain of ivy and pushed back the\ndoor which opened slowly--slowly.\n\nThen she slipped through it, and shut it behind her, and stood with her\nback against it, looking about her and breathing quite fast with\nexcitement, and wonder, and delight.\n\nShe was standing _inside_ the secret garden.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nTHE STRANGEST HOUSE ANY ONE EVER LIVED IN\n\n\nIt was the sweetest, most mysterious-looking place any one could\nimagine. The high walls which shut it in were covered with the leafless\nstems of climbing roses which were so thick that they were matted\ntogether. Mary Lennox knew they were roses because she had seen a great\nmany roses in India. All the ground was covered with grass of a wintry\nbrown and out of it grew clumps of bushes which were surely rose-bushes\nif they were alive. There were numbers of standard roses which had so\nspread their branches that they were like little trees. There were other\ntrees in the garden, and one of the things which made the place look\nstrangest and loveliest was that climbing roses had run all over them\nand swung down long tendrils which made light swaying curtains, and here\nand there they had caught at each other or at a far-reaching branch and\nhad crept from one tree to another and made lovely bridges of\nthemselves. There were neither leaves nor roses on them now and Mary did\nnot know whether they were dead or alive, but their thin gray or brown\nbranches and sprays looked like a sort of hazy mantle spreading over\neverything, walls, and trees, and even brown grass, where they had\nfallen from their fastenings and run along the ground. It was this hazy\ntangle from tree to tree which made it all look so mysterious. Mary had\nthought it must be different from other gardens which had not been left\nall by themselves so long; and indeed it was different from any other\nplace she had ever seen in her life.\n\n\"How still it is!\" she whispered. \"How still!\"\n\nThen she waited a moment and listened at the stillness. The robin, who\nhad flown to his tree-top, was still as all the rest. He did not even\nflutter his wings; he sat without stirring, and looked at Mary.\n\n\"No wonder it is still,\" she whispered again. \"I am the first person who\nhas spoken in here for ten years.\"\n\nShe moved away from the door, stepping as softly as if she were afraid\nof awakening some one. She was glad that there was grass under her feet\nand that her steps made no sounds. She walked under one of the\nfairy-like gray arches between the trees and looked up at the sprays and\ntendrils which formed them.\n\n\"I wonder if they are all quite dead,\" she said. \"Is it all a quite dead\ngarden? I wish it wasn\'t.\"\n\nIf she had been Ben Weatherstaff she could have told whether the wood\nwas alive by looking at it, but she could only see that there were only\ngray or brown sprays and branches and none showed any signs of even a\ntiny leaf-bud anywhere.\n\nBut she was _inside_ the wonderful garden and she could come through the\ndoor under the ivy any time and she felt as if she had found a world all\nher own.\n\nThe sun was shining inside the four walls and the high arch of blue sky\nover this particular piece of Misselthwaite seemed even more brilliant\nand soft than it was over the moor. The robin flew down from his\ntree-top and hopped about or flew after her from one bush to another. He\nchirped a good deal and had a very busy air, as if he were showing her\nthings. Everything was strange and silent and she seemed to be hundreds\nof miles away from any one, but somehow she did not feel lonely at all.\nAll that troubled her was her wish that she knew whether all the roses\nwere dead, or if perhaps some of them had lived and might put out leaves\nand buds as the weather got warmer. She did not want it to be a quite\ndead garden. If it were a quite alive garden, how wonderful it would\nbe, and what thousands of roses would grow on every side!\n\nHer skipping-rope had hung over her arm when she came in and after she\nhad walked about for a while she thought she would skip round the whole\ngarden, stopping when she wanted to look at things. There seemed to have\nbeen grass paths here and there, and in one or two corners there were\nalcoves of evergreen with stone seats or tall moss-covered flower urns\nin them.\n\nAs she came near the second of these alcoves she stopped skipping. There\nhad once been a flower-bed in it, and she thought she saw something\nsticking out of the black earth--some sharp little pale green points.\nShe remembered what Ben Weatherstaff had said and she knelt down to look\nat them.\n\n\"Yes, they are tiny growing things and they _might_ be crocuses or\nsnowdrops or daffodils,\" she whispered.\n\nShe bent very close to them and sniffed the fresh scent of the damp\nearth. She liked it very much.\n\n\"Perhaps there are some other ones coming up in other places,\" she said.\n\"I will go all over the garden and look.\"\n\nShe did not skip, but walked. She went slowly and kept her eyes on the\nground. She looked in the old border beds and among the grass, and after\nshe had gone round, trying to miss nothing, she had found ever so many\nmore sharp, pale green points, and she had become quite excited again.\n\n\"It isn\'t a quite dead garden,\" she cried out softly to herself. \"Even\nif the roses are dead, there are other things alive.\"\n\nShe did not know anything about gardening, but the grass seemed so thick\nin some of the places where the green points were pushing their way\nthrough that she thought they did not seem to have room enough to grow.\nShe searched about until she found a rather sharp piece of wood and\nknelt down and dug and weeded out the weeds and grass until she made\nnice little clear places around them.\n\n\"Now they look as if they could breathe,\" she said, after she had\nfinished with the first ones. \"I am going to do ever so many more. I\'ll\ndo all I can see. If I haven\'t time to-day I can come to-morrow.\"\n\nShe went from place to place, and dug and weeded, and enjoyed herself so\nimmensely that she was led on from bed to bed and into the grass under\nthe trees. The exercise made her so warm that she first threw her coat\noff, and then her hat, and without knowing it she was smiling down on to\nthe grass and the pale green points all the time.\n\nThe robin was tremendously busy. He was very much pleased to see\ngardening begun on his own estate. He had often wondered at Ben\nWeatherstaff. Where gardening is done all sorts of delightful things to\neat are turned up with the soil. Now here was this new kind of creature\nwho was not half Ben\'s size and yet had had the sense to come into his\ngarden and begin at once.\n\nMistress Mary worked in her garden until it was time to go to her midday\ndinner. In fact, she was rather late in remembering, and when she put on\nher coat and hat, and picked up her skipping-rope, she could not believe\nthat she had been working two or three hours. She had been actually\nhappy all the time; and dozens and dozens of the tiny, pale green points\nwere to be seen in cleared places, looking twice as cheerful as they had\nlooked before when the grass and weeds had been smothering them.\n\n\"I shall come back this afternoon,\" she said, looking all round at her\nnew kingdom, and speaking to the trees and the rose-bushes as if they\nheard her.\n\nThen she ran lightly across the grass, pushed open the slow old door and\nslipped through it under the ivy. She had such red cheeks and such\nbright eyes and ate such a dinner that Martha was delighted.\n\n\"Two pieces o\' meat an\' two helps o\' rice puddin\'!\" she said. \"Eh!\nmother will be pleased when I tell her what th\' skippin\'-rope\'s done\nfor thee.\"\n\nIn the course of her digging with her pointed stick Mistress Mary had\nfound herself digging up a sort of white root rather like an onion. She\nhad put it back in its place and patted the earth carefully down on it\nand just now she wondered if Martha could tell her what it was.\n\n\"Martha,\" she said, \"what are those white roots that look like onions?\"\n\n\"They\'re bulbs,\" answered Martha. \"Lots o\' spring flowers grow from \'em.\nTh\' very little ones are snowdrops an\' crocuses an\' th\' big ones are\nnarcissusis an\' jonquils an\' daffydowndillys. Th\' biggest of all is\nlilies an\' purple flags. Eh! they are nice. Dickon\'s got a whole lot of\n\'em planted in our bit o\' garden.\"\n\n\"Does Dickon know all about them?\" asked Mary, a new idea taking\npossession of her.\n\n\"Our Dickon can make a flower grow out of a brick walk. Mother says he\njust whispers things out o\' th\' ground.\"\n\n\"Do bulbs live a long time? Would they live years and years if no one\nhelped them?\" inquired Mary anxiously.\n\n\"They\'re things as helps themselves,\" said Martha. \"That\'s why poor folk\ncan afford to have \'em. If you don\'t trouble \'em, most of \'em\'ll work\naway underground for a lifetime an\' spread out an\' have little \'uns.\nThere\'s a place in th\' park woods here where there\'s snowdrops by\nthousands. They\'re the prettiest sight in Yorkshire when th\' spring\ncomes. No one knows when they was first planted.\"\n\n\"I wish the spring was here now,\" said Mary. \"I want to see all the\nthings that grow in England.\"\n\nShe had finished her dinner and gone to her favorite seat on the\nhearth-rug.\n\n\"I wish--I wish I had a little spade,\" she said.\n\n\"Whatever does tha\' want a spade for?\" asked Martha, laughing. \"Art tha\'\ngoin\' to take to diggin\'? I must tell mother that, too.\"\n\nMary looked at the fire and pondered a little. She must be careful if\nshe meant to keep her secret kingdom. She wasn\'t doing any harm, but if\nMr. Craven found out about the open door he would be fearfully angry and\nget a new key and lock it up forevermore. She really could not bear\nthat.\n\n\"This is such a big lonely place,\" she said slowly, as if she were\nturning matters over in her mind. \"The house is lonely, and the park is\nlonely, and the gardens are lonely. So many places seem shut up. I never\ndid many things in India, but there were more people to look at--natives\nand soldiers marching by--and sometimes bands playing, and my Ayah told\nme stories. There is no one to talk to here except you and Ben\nWeatherstaff. And you have to do your work and Ben Weatherstaff won\'t\nspeak to me often. I thought if I had a little spade I could dig\nsomewhere as he does, and I might make a little garden if he would give\nme some seeds.\"\n\nMartha\'s face quite lighted up.\n\n\"There now!\" she exclaimed, \"if that wasn\'t one of th\' things mother\nsaid. She says, \'There\'s such a lot o\' room in that big place, why don\'t\nthey give her a bit for herself, even if she doesn\'t plant nothin\' but\nparsley an\' radishes? She\'d dig an\' rake away an\' be right down happy\nover it.\' Them was the very words she said.\"\n\n\"Were they?\" said Mary. \"How many things she knows, doesn\'t she?\"\n\n\"Eh!\" said Martha. \"It\'s like she says: \'A woman as brings up twelve\nchildren learns something besides her A B C. Children\'s as good as\n\'rithmetic to set you findin\' out things.\'\"\n\n\"How much would a spade cost--a little one?\" Mary asked.\n\n\"Well,\" was Martha\'s reflective answer, \"at Thwaite village there\'s a\nshop or so an\' I saw little garden sets with a spade an\' a rake an\' a\nfork all tied together for two shillings. An\' they was stout enough to\nwork with, too.\"\n\n\"I\'ve got more than that in my purse,\" said Mary. \"Mrs. Morrison gave\nme five shillings and Mrs. Medlock gave me some money from Mr. Craven.\"\n\n\"Did he remember thee that much?\" exclaimed Martha.\n\n\"Mrs. Medlock said I was to have a shilling a week to spend. She gives\nme one every Saturday. I didn\'t know what to spend it on.\"\n\n\"My word! that\'s riches,\" said Martha. \"Tha\' can buy anything in th\'\nworld tha\' wants. Th\' rent of our cottage is only one an\' threepence an\'\nit\'s like pullin\' eye-teeth to get it. Now I\'ve just thought of\nsomethin\',\" putting her hands on her hips.\n\n\"What?\" said Mary eagerly.\n\n\"In the shop at Thwaite they sell packages o\' flower-seeds for a penny\neach, and our Dickon he knows which is th\' prettiest ones an\' how to\nmake \'em grow. He walks over to Thwaite many a day just for th\' fun of\nit. Does tha\' know how to print letters?\" suddenly.\n\n\"I know how to write,\" Mary answered.\n\nMartha shook her head.\n\n\"Our Dickon can only read printin\'. If tha\' could print we could write a\nletter to him an\' ask him to go an\' buy th\' garden tools an\' th\' seeds\nat th\' same time.\"\n\n\"Oh! you\'re a good girl!\" Mary cried. \"You are, really! I didn\'t know\nyou were so nice. I know I can print letters if I try. Let\'s ask Mrs.\nMedlock for a pen and ink and some paper.\"\n\n\"I\'ve got some of my own,\" said Martha. \"I bought \'em so I could print a\nbit of a letter to mother of a Sunday. I\'ll go and get it.\"\n\nShe ran out of the room, and Mary stood by the fire and twisted her thin\nlittle hands together with sheer pleasure.\n\n\"If I have a spade,\" she whispered, \"I can make the earth nice and soft\nand dig up weeds. If I have seeds and can make flowers grow the garden\nwon\'t be dead at all--it will come alive.\"\n\nShe did not go out again that afternoon because when Martha returned\nwith her pen and ink and paper she was obliged to clear the table and\ncarry the plates and dishes down-stairs and when she got into the\nkitchen Mrs. Medlock was there and told her to do something, so Mary\nwaited for what seemed to her a long time before she came back. Then it\nwas a serious piece of work to write to Dickon. Mary had been taught\nvery little because her governesses had disliked her too much to stay\nwith her. She could not spell particularly well but she found that she\ncould print letters when she tried. This was the letter Martha dictated\nto her:\n\n \"_My Dear Dickon:_\n\n This comes hoping to find you well as it leaves me\n at present. Miss Mary has plenty of money and will\n you go to Thwaite and buy her some flower seeds\n and a set of garden tools to make a flower-bed.\n Pick the prettiest ones and easy to grow because\n she has never done it before and lived in India\n which is different. Give my love to mother and\n every one of you. Miss Mary is going to tell me a\n lot more so that on my next day out you can hear\n about elephants and camels and gentlemen going\n hunting lions and tigers.\n\n \"Your loving sister,\n \"MARTHA PHOEBE SOWERBY.\"\n\n\"We\'ll put the money in th\' envelope an\' I\'ll get th\' butcher\'s boy to\ntake it in his cart. He\'s a great friend o\' Dickon\'s,\" said Martha.\n\n\"How shall I get the things when Dickon buys them?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"He\'ll bring \'em to you himself. He\'ll like to walk over this way.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" exclaimed Mary, \"then I shall see him! I never thought I should\nsee Dickon.\"\n\n\"Does tha\' want to see him?\" asked Martha suddenly, she had looked so\npleased.\n\n\"Yes, I do. I never saw a boy foxes and crows loved. I want to see him\nvery much.\"\n\nMartha gave a little start, as if she suddenly remembered something.\n\n\"Now to think,\" she broke out, \"to think o\' me forgettin\' that there;\nan\' I thought I was goin\' to tell you first thing this mornin\'. I asked\nmother--and she said she\'d ask Mrs. Medlock her own self.\"\n\n\"Do you mean--\" Mary began.\n\n\"What I said Tuesday. Ask her if you might be driven over to our cottage\nsome day and have a bit o\' mother\'s hot oat cake, an\' butter, an\' a\nglass o\' milk.\"\n\nIt seemed as if all the interesting things were happening in one day. To\nthink of going over the moor in the daylight and when the sky was blue!\nTo think of going into the cottage which held twelve children!\n\n\"Does she think Mrs. Medlock would let me go?\" she asked, quite\nanxiously.\n\n\"Aye, she thinks she would. She knows what a tidy woman mother is and\nhow clean she keeps the cottage.\"\n\n\"If I went I should see your mother as well as Dickon,\" said Mary,\nthinking it over and liking the idea very much. \"She doesn\'t seem to be\nlike the mothers in India.\"\n\nHer work in the garden and the excitement of the afternoon ended by\nmaking her feel quiet and thoughtful. Martha stayed with her until\ntea-time, but they sat in comfortable quiet and talked very little. But\njust before Martha went down-stairs for the tea-tray, Mary asked a\nquestion.\n\n\"Martha,\" she said, \"has the scullery-maid had the toothache again\nto-day?\"\n\nMartha certainly started slightly.\n\n\"What makes thee ask that?\" she said.\n\n\"Because when I waited so long for you to come back I opened the door\nand walked down the corridor to see if you were coming. And I heard that\nfar-off crying again, just as we heard it the other night. There isn\'t a\nwind to-day, so you see it couldn\'t have been the wind.\"\n\n\"Eh!\" said Martha restlessly. \"Tha\' mustn\'t go walkin\' about in\ncorridors an\' listenin\'. Mr. Craven would be that there angry there\'s no\nknowin\' what he\'d do.\"\n\n\"I wasn\'t listening,\" said Mary. \"I was just waiting for you--and I\nheard it. That\'s three times.\"\n\n\"My word! There\'s Mrs. Medlock\'s bell,\" said Martha, and she almost ran\nout of the room.\n\n\"It\'s the strangest house any one ever lived in,\" said Mary drowsily, as\nshe dropped her head on the cushioned seat of the armchair near her.\nFresh air, and digging, and skipping-rope had made her feel so\ncomfortably tired that she fell asleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nDICKON\n\n\nThe sun shone down for nearly a week on the secret garden. The Secret\nGarden was what Mary called it when she was thinking of it. She liked\nthe name, and she liked still more the feeling that when its beautiful\nold walls shut her in no one knew where she was. It seemed almost like\nbeing shut out of the world in some fairy place. The few books she had\nread and liked had been fairy-story books, and she had read of secret\ngardens in some of the stories. Sometimes people went to sleep in them\nfor a hundred years, which she had thought must be rather stupid. She\nhad no intention of going to sleep, and, in fact, she was becoming wider\nawake every day which passed at Misselthwaite. She was beginning to like\nto be out of doors; she no longer hated the wind, but enjoyed it. She\ncould run faster, and longer, and she could skip up to a hundred. The\nbulbs in the secret garden must have been much astonished. Such nice\nclear places were made round them that they had all the breathing space\nthey wanted, and really, if Mistress Mary had known it, they began to\ncheer up under the dark earth and work tremendously. The sun could get\nat them and warm them, and when the rain came down it could reach them\nat once, so they began to feel very much alive.\n\nMary was an odd, determined little person, and now she had something\ninteresting to be determined about, she was very much absorbed, indeed.\nShe worked and dug and pulled up weeds steadily, only becoming more\npleased with her work every hour instead of tiring of it. It seemed to\nher like a fascinating sort of play. She found many more of the\nsprouting pale green points than she had ever hoped to find. They seemed\nto be starting up everywhere and each day she was sure she found tiny\nnew ones, some so tiny that they barely peeped above the earth. There\nwere so many that she remembered what Martha had said about the\n\"snowdrops by the thousands,\" and about bulbs spreading and making new\nones. These had been left to themselves for ten years and perhaps they\nhad spread, like the snowdrops, into thousands. She wondered how long it\nwould be before they showed that they were flowers. Sometimes she\nstopped digging to look at the garden and try to imagine what it would\nbe like when it was covered with thousands of lovely things in bloom.\n\nDuring that week of sunshine, she became more intimate with Ben\nWeatherstaff. She surprised him several times by seeming to start up\nbeside him as if she sprang out of the earth. The truth was that she was\nafraid that he would pick up his tools and go away if he saw her coming,\nso she always walked toward him as silently as possible. But, in fact,\nhe did not object to her as strongly as he had at first. Perhaps he was\nsecretly rather flattered by her evident desire for his elderly company.\nThen, also, she was more civil than she had been. He did not know that\nwhen she first saw him she spoke to him as she would have spoken to a\nnative, and had not known that a cross, sturdy old Yorkshire man was not\naccustomed to salaam to his masters, and be merely commanded by them to\ndo things.\n\n\"Tha\'rt like th\' robin,\" he said to her one morning when he lifted his\nhead and saw her standing by him. \"I never knows when I shall see thee\nor which side tha\'ll come from.\"\n\n\"He\'s friends with me now,\" said Mary.\n\n\"That\'s like him,\" snapped Ben Weatherstaff. \"Makin\' up to th\' women\nfolk just for vanity an\' flightiness. There\'s nothin\' he wouldn\'t do for\nth\' sake o\' showin\' off an\' flirtin\' his tail-feathers. He\'s as full o\'\npride as an egg\'s full o\' meat.\"\n\nHe very seldom talked much and sometimes did not even answer Mary\'s\nquestions except by a grunt, but this morning he said more than usual.\nHe stood up and rested one hobnailed boot on the top of his spade while\nhe looked her over.\n\n\"How long has tha\' been here?\" he jerked out.\n\n\"I think it\'s about a month,\" she answered.\n\n\"Tha\'s beginnin\' to do Misselthwaite credit,\" he said. \"Tha\'s a bit\nfatter than tha\' was an\' tha\'s not quite so yeller. Tha\' looked like a\nyoung plucked crow when tha\' first came into this garden. Thinks I to\nmyself I never set eyes on an uglier, sourer faced young \'un.\"\n\nMary was not vain and as she had never thought much of her looks she was\nnot greatly disturbed.\n\n\"I know I\'m fatter,\" she said. \"My stockings are getting tighter. They\nused to make wrinkles. There\'s the robin, Ben Weatherstaff.\"\n\nThere, indeed, was the robin, and she thought he looked nicer than ever.\nHis red waistcoat was as glossy as satin and he flirted his wings and\ntail and tilted his head and hopped about with all sorts of lively\ngraces. He seemed determined to make Ben Weatherstaff admire him. But\nBen was sarcastic.\n\n\"Aye, there tha\' art!\" he said. \"Tha\' can put up with me for a bit\nsometimes when tha\'s got no one better. Tha\'s been reddinin\' up thy\nwaistcoat an\' polishin\' thy feathers this two weeks. I know what tha\'s\nup to. Tha\'s courtin\' some bold young madam somewhere, tellin\' thy lies\nto her about bein\' th\' finest cock robin on Missel Moor an\' ready to\nfight all th\' rest of \'em.\"\n\n\"Oh! look at him!\" exclaimed Mary.\n\nThe robin was evidently in a fascinating, bold mood. He hopped closer\nand closer and looked at Ben Weatherstaff more and more engagingly. He\nflew on to the nearest currant bush and tilted his head and sang a\nlittle song right at him.\n\n\"Tha\' thinks tha\'ll get over me by doin\' that,\" said Ben, wrinkling his\nface up in such a way that Mary felt sure he was trying not to look\npleased. \"Tha\' thinks no one can stand out against thee--that\'s what\ntha\' thinks.\"\n\nThe robin spread his wings--Mary could scarcely believe her eyes. He\nflew right up to the handle of Ben Weatherstaff\'s spade and alighted on\nthe top of it. Then the old man\'s face wrinkled itself slowly into a new\nexpression. He stood still as if he were afraid to breathe--as if he\nwould not have stirred for the world, lest his robin should start away.\nHe spoke quite in a whisper.\n\n\"Well, I\'m danged!\" he said as softly as if he were saying something\nquite different. \"Tha\' does know how to get at a chap--tha\' does! Tha\'s\nfair unearthly, tha\'s so knowin\'.\"\n\nAnd he stood without stirring--almost without drawing his breath--until\nthe robin gave another flirt to his wings and flew away. Then he stood\nlooking at the handle of the spade as if there might be Magic in it, and\nthen he began to dig again and said nothing for several minutes.\n\nBut because he kept breaking into a slow grin now and then, Mary was not\nafraid to talk to him.\n\n\"Have you a garden of your own?\" she asked.\n\n\"No. I\'m bachelder an\' lodge with Martin at th\' gate.\"\n\n\"If you had one,\" said Mary, \"what would you plant?\"\n\n\"Cabbages an\' \'taters an\' onions.\"\n\n\"But if you wanted to make a flower garden,\" persisted Mary, \"what would\nyou plant?\"\n\n\"Bulbs an\' sweet-smellin\' things--but mostly roses.\"\n\nMary\'s face lighted up.\n\n\"Do you like roses?\" she said.\n\nBen Weatherstaff rooted up a weed and threw it aside before he answered.\n\n\"Well, yes, I do. I was learned that by a young lady I was gardener to.\nShe had a lot in a place she was fond of, an\' she loved \'em like they\nwas children--or robins. I\'ve seen her bend over an\' kiss \'em.\" He\ndragged out another weed and scowled at it. \"That were as much as ten\nyear\' ago.\"\n\n\"Where is she now?\" asked Mary, much interested.\n\n\"Heaven,\" he answered, and drove his spade deep into the soil, \"\'cording\nto what parson says.\"\n\n\"What happened to the roses?\" Mary asked again, more interested than\never.\n\n\"They was left to themselves.\"\n\nMary was becoming quite excited.\n\n\"Did they quite die? Do roses quite die when they are left to\nthemselves?\" she ventured.\n\n\"Well, I\'d got to like \'em--an\' I liked her--an\' she liked \'em,\" Ben\nWeatherstaff admitted reluctantly. \"Once or twice a year I\'d go an\' work\nat \'em a bit--prune \'em an\' dig about th\' roots. They run wild, but they\nwas in rich soil, so some of \'em lived.\"\n\n\"When they have no leaves and look gray and brown and dry, how can you\ntell whether they are dead or alive?\" inquired Mary.\n\n\"Wait till th\' spring gets at \'em--wait till th\' sun shines on th\' rain\nan\' th\' rain falls on th\' sunshine an\' then tha\'ll find out.\"\n\n\"How--how?\" cried Mary, forgetting to be careful.\n\n\"Look along th\' twigs an\' branches an\' if tha\' sees a bit of a brown\nlump swelling here an\' there, watch it after th\' warm rain an\' see what\nhappens.\" He stopped suddenly and looked curiously at her eager face.\n\"Why does tha\' care so much about roses an\' such, all of a sudden?\" he\ndemanded.\n\nMistress Mary felt her face grow red. She was almost afraid to answer.\n\n\"I--I want to play that--that I have a garden of my own,\" she stammered.\n\"I--there is nothing for me to do. I have nothing--and no one.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Ben Weatherstaff slowly, as he watched her, \"that\'s true.\nTha\' hasn\'t.\"\n\nHe said it in such an odd way that Mary wondered if he was actually a\nlittle sorry for her. She had never felt sorry for herself; she had only\nfelt tired and cross, because she disliked people and things so much.\nBut now the world seemed to be changing and getting nicer. If no one\nfound out about the secret garden, she should enjoy herself always.\n\nShe stayed with him for ten or fifteen minutes longer and asked him as\nmany questions as she dared. He answered every one of them in his queer\ngrunting way and he did not seem really cross and did not pick up his\nspade and leave her. He said something about roses just as she was\ngoing away and it reminded her of the ones he had said he had been fond\nof.\n\n\"Do you go and see those other roses now?\" she asked.\n\n\"Not been this year. My rheumatics has made me too stiff in th\' joints.\"\n\nHe said it in his grumbling voice, and then quite suddenly he seemed to\nget angry with her, though she did not see why he should.\n\n\"Now look here!\" he said sharply. \"Don\'t tha\' ask so many questions.\nTha\'rt th\' worst wench for askin\' questions I\'ve ever come across. Get\nthee gone an\' play thee. I\'ve done talkin\' for to-day.\"\n\nAnd he said it so crossly that she knew there was not the least use in\nstaying another minute. She went skipping slowly down the outside walk,\nthinking him over and saying to herself that, queer as it was, here was\nanother person whom she liked in spite of his crossness. She liked old\nBen Weatherstaff. Yes, she did like him. She always wanted to try to\nmake him talk to her. Also she began to believe that he knew everything\nin the world about flowers.\n\nThere was a laurel-hedged walk which curved round the secret garden and\nended at a gate which opened into a wood, in the park. She thought she\nwould skip round this walk and look into the wood and see if there were\nany rabbits hopping about. She enjoyed the skipping very much and when\nshe reached the little gate she opened it and went through because she\nheard a low, peculiar whistling sound and wanted to find out what it\nwas.\n\nIt was a very strange thing indeed. She quite caught her breath as she\nstopped to look at it. A boy was sitting under a tree, with his back\nagainst it, playing on a rough wooden pipe. He was a funny looking boy\nabout twelve. He looked very clean and his nose turned up and his cheeks\nwere as red as poppies and never had Mistress Mary seen such round and\nsuch blue eyes in any boy\'s face. And on the trunk of the tree he leaned\nagainst, a brown squirrel was clinging and watching him, and from behind\na bush nearby a cock pheasant was delicately stretching his neck to peep\nout, and quite near him were two rabbits sitting up and sniffing with\ntremulous noses--and actually it appeared as if they were all drawing\nnear to watch him and listen to the strange low little call his pipe\nseemed to make.\n\nWhen he saw Mary he held up his hand and spoke to her in a voice almost\nas low as and rather like his piping.\n\n\"Don\'t tha\' move,\" he said. \"It\'d flight \'em.\"\n\nMary remained motionless. He stopped playing his pipe and began to rise\nfrom the ground. He moved so slowly that it scarcely seemed as though he\nwere moving at all, but at last he stood on his feet and then the\nsquirrel scampered back up into the branches of his tree, the pheasant\nwithdrew his head and the rabbits dropped on all fours and began to hop\naway, though not at all as if they were frightened.\n\n\"I\'m Dickon,\" the boy said. \"I know tha\'rt Miss Mary.\"\n\nThen Mary realized that somehow she had known at first that he was\nDickon. Who else could have been charming rabbits and pheasants as the\nnatives charm snakes in India? He had a wide, red, curving mouth and his\nsmile spread all over his face.\n\n\"I got up slow,\" he explained, \"because if tha\' makes a quick move it\nstartles \'em. A body \'as to move gentle an\' speak low when wild things\nis about.\"\n\nHe did not speak to her as if they had never seen each other before but\nas if he knew her quite well. Mary knew nothing about boys and she spoke\nto him a little stiffly because she felt rather shy.\n\n\"Did you get Martha\'s letter?\" she asked.\n\nHe nodded his curly, rust-colored head.\n\n\"That\'s why I come.\"\n\nHe stooped to pick up something which had been lying on the ground\nbeside him when he piped.\n\n\"I\'ve got th\' garden tools. There\'s a little spade an\' rake an\' a fork\nan\' hoe. Eh! they are good \'uns. There\'s a trowel, too. An\' th\' woman in\nth\' shop threw in a packet o\' white poppy an\' one o\' blue larkspur when\nI bought th\' other seeds.\"\n\n\"Will you show the seeds to me?\" Mary said.\n\nShe wished she could talk as he did. His speech was so quick and easy.\nIt sounded as if he liked her and was not the least afraid she would not\nlike him, though he was only a common moor boy, in patched clothes and\nwith a funny face and a rough, rusty-red head. As she came closer to him\nshe noticed that there was a clean fresh scent of heather and grass and\nleaves about him, almost as if he were made of them. She liked it very\nmuch and when she looked into his funny face with the red cheeks and\nround blue eyes she forgot that she had felt shy.\n\n\"Let us sit down on this log and look at them,\" she said.\n\nThey sat down and he took a clumsy little brown paper package out of his\ncoat pocket. He untied the string and inside there were ever so many\nneater and smaller packages with a picture of a flower on each one.\n\n\"There\'s a lot o\' mignonette an\' poppies,\" he said. \"Mignonette\'s th\'\nsweetest smellin\' thing as grows, an\' it\'ll grow wherever you cast it,\nsame as poppies will. Them as\'ll come up an\' bloom if you just whistle\nto \'em, them\'s th\' nicest of all.\"\n\nHe stopped and turned his head quickly, his poppy-cheeked face lighting\nup.\n\n\"Where\'s that robin as is callin\' us?\" he said.\n\nThe chirp came from a thick holly bush, bright with scarlet berries, and\nMary thought she knew whose it was.\n\n\"Is it really calling us?\" she asked.\n\n\"Aye,\" said Dickon, as if it was the most natural thing in the world,\n\"he\'s callin\' some one he\'s friends with. That\'s same as sayin\' \'Here I\nam. Look at me. I wants a bit of a chat.\' There he is in the bush. Whose\nis he?\"\n\n\"He\'s Ben Weatherstaff\'s, but I think he knows me a little,\" answered\nMary.\n\n\"Aye, he knows thee,\" said Dickon in his low voice again. \"An\' he likes\nthee. He\'s took thee on. He\'ll tell me all about thee in a minute.\"\n\nHe moved quite close to the bush with the slow movement Mary had noticed\nbefore, and then he made a sound almost like the robin\'s own twitter.\nThe robin listened a few seconds, intently, and then answered quite as\nif he were replying to a question.\n\n\"Aye, he\'s a friend o\' yours,\" chuckled Dickon.\n\n\"Do you think he is?\" cried Mary eagerly. She did so want to know. \"Do\nyou think he really likes me?\"\n\n\"He wouldn\'t come near thee if he didn\'t,\" answered Dickon. \"Birds is\nrare choosers an\' a robin can flout a body worse than a man. See, he\'s\nmaking up to thee now. \'Cannot tha\' see a chap?\' he\'s sayin\'.\"\n\nAnd it really seemed as if it must be true. He so sidled and twittered\nand tilted as he hopped on his bush.\n\n\"Do you understand everything birds say?\" said Mary.\n\nDickon\'s grin spread until he seemed all wide, red, curving mouth, and\nhe rubbed his rough head.\n\n\"I think I do, and they think I do,\" he said. \"I\'ve lived on th\' moor\nwith \'em so long. I\'ve watched \'em break shell an\' come out an\' fledge\nan\' learn to fly an\' begin to sing, till I think I\'m one of \'em.\nSometimes I think p\'raps I\'m a bird, or a fox, or a rabbit, or a\nsquirrel, or even a beetle, an\' I don\'t know it.\"\n\nHe laughed and came back to the log and began to talk about the flower\nseeds again. He told her what they looked like when they were flowers;\nhe told her how to plant them, and watch them, and feed and water them.\n\n\"See here,\" he said suddenly, turning round to look at her. \"I\'ll plant\nthem for thee myself. Where is tha\' garden?\"\n\nMary\'s thin hands clutched each other as they lay on her lap. She did\nnot know what to say, so for a whole minute she said nothing. She had\nnever thought of this. She felt miserable. And she felt as if she went\nred and then pale.\n\n\"Tha\'s got a bit o\' garden, hasn\'t tha\'?\" Dickon said.\n\nIt was true that she had turned red and then pale. Dickon saw her do it,\nand as she still said nothing, he began to be puzzled.\n\n\"Wouldn\'t they give thee a bit?\" he asked. \"Hasn\'t tha\' got any yet?\"\n\nShe held her hands even tighter and turned her eyes toward him.\n\n\"I don\'t know anything about boys,\" she said slowly. \"Could you keep a\nsecret, if I told you one? It\'s a great secret. I don\'t know what I\nshould do if any one found it out. I believe I should die!\" She said the\nlast sentence quite fiercely.\n\nDickon looked more puzzled than ever and even rubbed his hand over his\nrough head again, but he answered quite good-humoredly.\n\n\"I\'m keepin\' secrets all th\' time,\" he said. \"If I couldn\'t keep secrets\nfrom th\' other lads, secrets about foxes\' cubs, an\' birds\' nests, an\'\nwild things\' holes, there\'d be naught safe on th\' moor. Aye, I can keep\nsecrets.\"\n\nMistress Mary did not mean to put out her hand and clutch his sleeve but\nshe did it.\n\n\"I\'ve stolen a garden,\" she said very fast. \"It isn\'t mine. It isn\'t\nanybody\'s. Nobody wants it, nobody cares for it, nobody ever goes into\nit. Perhaps everything is dead in it already; I don\'t know.\"\n\nShe began to feel hot and as contrary as she had ever felt in her life.\n\n\"I don\'t care, I don\'t care! Nobody has any right to take it from me\nwhen I care about it and they don\'t. They\'re letting it die, all shut in\nby itself,\" she ended passionately, and she threw her arms over her face\nand burst out crying--poor little Mistress Mary.\n\nDickon\'s curious blue eyes grew rounder and rounder.\n\n\"Eh-h-h!\" he said, drawing his exclamation out slowly, and the way he\ndid it meant both wonder and sympathy.\n\n\"I\'ve nothing to do,\" said Mary. \"Nothing belongs to me. I found it\nmyself and I got into it myself. I was only just like the robin, and\nthey wouldn\'t take it from the robin.\"\n\n\"Where is it?\" asked Dickon in a dropped voice.\n\nMistress Mary got up from the log at once. She knew she felt contrary\nagain, and obstinate, and she did not care at all. She was imperious and\nIndian, and at the same time hot and sorrowful.\n\n\"Come with me and I\'ll show you,\" she said.\n\nShe led him round the laurel path and to the walk where the ivy grew so\nthickly. Dickon followed her with a queer, almost pitying, look on his\nface. He felt as if he were being led to look at some strange bird\'s\nnest and must move softly. When she stepped to the wall and lifted the\nhanging ivy he started. There was a door and Mary pushed it slowly open\nand they passed in together, and then Mary stood and waved her hand\nround defiantly.\n\n\"It\'s this,\" she said. \"It\'s a secret garden, and I\'m the only one in\nthe world who wants it to be alive.\"\n\nDickon looked round and round about it, and round and round again.\n\n\"Eh!\" he almost whispered, \"it is a queer, pretty place! It\'s like as if\na body was in a dream.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE NEST OF THE MISSEL THRUSH\n\n\nFor two or three minutes he stood looking round him, while Mary watched\nhim, and then he began to walk about softly, even more lightly than Mary\nhad walked the first time she had found herself inside the four walls.\nHis eyes seemed to be taking in everything--the gray trees with the gray\ncreepers climbing over them and hanging from their branches, the tangle\non the walls and among the grass, the evergreen alcoves with the stone\nseats and tall flower urns standing in them.\n\n\"I never thought I\'d see this place,\" he said at last, in a whisper.\n\n\"Did you know about it?\" asked Mary.\n\nShe had spoken aloud and he made a sign to her.\n\n\"We must talk low,\" he said, \"or some one\'ll hear us an\' wonder what\'s\nto do in here.\"\n\n\"Oh! I forgot!\" said Mary, feeling frightened and putting her hand\nquickly against her mouth. \"Did you know about the garden?\" she asked\nagain when she had recovered herself.\n\nDickon nodded.\n\n\"Martha told me there was one as no one ever went inside,\" he answered.\n\"Us used to wonder what it was like.\"\n\nHe stopped and looked round at the lovely gray tangle about him, and his\nround eyes looked queerly happy.\n\n\"Eh! the nests as\'ll be here come springtime,\" he said. \"It\'d be th\'\nsafest nestin\' place in England. No one never comin\' near an\' tangles o\'\ntrees an\' roses to build in. I wonder all th\' birds on th\' moor don\'t\nbuild here.\"\n\nMistress Mary put her hand on his arm again without knowing it.\n\n\"Will there be roses?\" she whispered. \"Can you tell? I thought perhaps\nthey were all dead.\"\n\n\"Eh! No! Not them--not all of \'em!\" he answered. \"Look here!\"\n\nHe stepped over to the nearest tree--an old, old one with gray lichen\nall over its bark, but upholding a curtain of tangled sprays and\nbranches. He took a thick knife out of his pocket and opened one of its\nblades.\n\n\"There\'s lots o\' dead wood as ought to be cut out,\" he said. \"An\'\nthere\'s a lot o\' old wood, but it made some new last year. This here\'s a\nnew bit,\" and he touched a shoot which looked brownish green instead of\nhard, dry gray.\n\nMary touched it herself in an eager, reverent way.\n\n\"That one?\" she said. \"Is that one quite alive--quite?\"\n\nDickon curved his wide smiling mouth.\n\n\"It\'s as wick as you or me,\" he said; and Mary remembered that Martha\nhad told her that \"wick\" meant \"alive\" or \"lively.\"\n\n\"I\'m glad it\'s wick!\" she cried out in her whisper. \"I want them all to\nbe wick. Let us go round the garden and count how many wick ones there\nare.\"\n\nShe quite panted with eagerness, and Dickon was as eager as she was.\nThey went from tree to tree and from bush to bush. Dickon carried his\nknife in his hand and showed her things which she thought wonderful.\n\n\"They\'ve run wild,\" he said, \"but th\' strongest ones has fair thrived on\nit. The delicatest ones has died out, but th\' others has growed an\'\ngrowed, an\' spread an\' spread, till they\'s a wonder. See here!\" and he\npulled down a thick gray, dry-looking branch. \"A body might think this\nwas dead wood, but I don\'t believe it is--down to th\' root. I\'ll cut it\nlow down an\' see.\"\n\nHe knelt and with his knife cut the lifeless-looking branch through, not\nfar above the earth.\n\n\"There!\" he said exultantly. \"I told thee so. There\'s green in that\nwood yet. Look at it.\"\n\nMary was down on her knees before he spoke, gazing with all her might.\n\n\"When it looks a bit greenish an\' juicy like that, it\'s wick,\" he\nexplained. \"When th\' inside is dry an\' breaks easy, like this here piece\nI\'ve cut off, it\'s done for. There\'s a big root here as all this live\nwood sprung out of, an\' if th\' old wood\'s cut off an\' it\'s dug round,\nan\' took care of there\'ll be--\" he stopped and lifted his face to look\nup at the climbing and hanging sprays above him--\"there\'ll be a fountain\no\' roses here this summer.\"\n\nThey went from bush to bush and from tree to tree. He was very strong\nand clever with his knife and knew how to cut the dry and dead wood\naway, and could tell when an unpromising bough or twig had still green\nlife in it. In the course of half an hour Mary thought she could tell\ntoo, and when he cut through a lifeless-looking branch she would cry out\njoyfully under her breath when she caught sight of the least shade of\nmoist green. The spade, and hoe, and fork were very useful. He showed\nher how to use the fork while he dug about roots with the spade and\nstirred the earth and let the air in.\n\nThey were working industriously round one of the biggest standard roses\nwhen he caught sight of something which made him utter an exclamation of\nsurprise.\n\n\"Why!\" he cried, pointing to the grass a few feet away. \"Who did that\nthere?\"\n\nIt was one of Mary\'s own little clearings round the pale green points.\n\n\"I did it,\" said Mary.\n\n\"Why, I thought tha\' didn\'t know nothin\' about gardenin\',\" he exclaimed.\n\n\"I don\'t,\" she answered, \"but they were so little, and the grass was so\nthick and strong, and they looked as if they had no room to breathe. So\nI made a place for them. I don\'t even know what they are.\"\n\nDickon went and knelt down by them, smiling his wide smile.\n\n\"Tha\' was right,\" he said. \"A gardener couldn\'t have told thee better.\nThey\'ll grow now like Jack\'s bean-stalk. They\'re crocuses an\' snowdrops,\nan\' these here is narcissuses,\" turning to another patch, \"an\' here\'s\ndaffydowndillys. Eh! they will be a sight.\"\n\nHe ran from one clearing to another.\n\n\"Tha\' has done a lot o\' work for such a little wench,\" he said, looking\nher over.\n\n\"I\'m growing fatter,\" said Mary, \"and I\'m growing stronger. I used\nalways to be tired. When I dig I\'m not tired at all. I like to smell\nthe earth when it\'s turned up.\"\n\n\"It\'s rare good for thee,\" he said, nodding his head wisely. \"There\'s\nnaught as nice as th\' smell o\' good clean earth, except th\' smell o\'\nfresh growin\' things when th\' rain falls on \'em. I get out on th\' moor\nmany a day when it\'s rainin\' an\' I lie under a bush an\' listen to th\'\nsoft swish o\' drops on th\' heather an\' I just sniff an\' sniff. My nose\nend fair quivers like a rabbit\'s, mother says.\"\n\n\"Do you never catch cold?\" inquired Mary, gazing at him wonderingly. She\nhad never seen such a funny boy, or such a nice one.\n\n\"Not me,\" he said, grinning. \"I never ketched cold since I was born. I\nwasn\'t brought up nesh enough. I\'ve chased about th\' moor in all\nweathers same as th\' rabbits does. Mother says I\'ve sniffed up too much\nfresh air for twelve year\' to ever get to sniffin\' with cold. I\'m as\ntough as a white-thorn knobstick.\"\n\nHe was working all the time he was talking and Mary was following him\nand helping him with her fork or the trowel.\n\n\"There\'s a lot of work to do here!\" he said once, looking about quite\nexultantly.\n\n\"Will you come again and help me to do it?\" Mary begged. \"I\'m sure I can\nhelp, too. I can dig and pull up weeds, and do whatever you tell me.\nOh! do come, Dickon!\"\n\n\"I\'ll come every day if tha\' wants me, rain or shine,\" he answered\nstoutly. \"It\'s th\' best fun I ever had in my life--shut in here an\'\nwakenin\' up a garden.\"\n\n\"If you will come,\" said Mary, \"if you will help me to make it alive\nI\'ll--I don\'t know what I\'ll do,\" she ended helplessly. What could you\ndo for a boy like that?\n\n\"I\'ll tell thee what tha\'ll do,\" said Dickon, with his happy grin.\n\"Tha\'ll get fat an\' tha\'ll get as hungry as a young fox an\' tha\'ll learn\nhow to talk to th\' robin same as I do. Eh! we\'ll have a lot o\' fun.\"\n\nHe began to walk about, looking up in the trees and at the walls and\nbushes with a thoughtful expression.\n\n\"I wouldn\'t want to make it look like a gardener\'s garden, all clipped\nan\' spick an\' span, would you?\" he said. \"It\'s nicer like this with\nthings runnin\' wild, an\' swingin\' an\' catchin\' hold of each other.\"\n\n\"Don\'t let us make it tidy,\" said Mary anxiously. \"It wouldn\'t seem like\na secret garden if it was tidy.\"\n\nDickon stood rubbing his rusty-red head with a rather puzzled look.\n\n\"It\'s a secret garden sure enough,\" he said, \"but seems like some one\nbesides th\' robin must have been in it since it was shut up ten year\'\nago.\"\n\n\"But the door was locked and the key was buried,\" said Mary. \"No one\ncould get in.\"\n\n\"That\'s true,\" he answered. \"It\'s a queer place. Seems to me as if\nthere\'d been a bit o\' prunin\' done here an\' there, later than ten year\'\nago.\"\n\n\"But how could it have been done?\" said Mary.\n\nHe was examining a branch of a standard rose and he shook his head.\n\n\"Aye! how could it!\" he murmured. \"With th\' door locked an\' th\' key\nburied.\"\n\nMistress Mary always felt that however many years she lived she should\nnever forget that first morning when her garden began to grow. Of\ncourse, it did seem to begin to grow for her that morning. When Dickon\nbegan to clear places to plant seeds, she remembered what Basil had sung\nat her when he wanted to tease her.\n\n\"Are there any flowers that look like bells?\" she inquired.\n\n\"Lilies o\' th\' valley does,\" he answered, digging away with the trowel,\n\"an\' there\'s Canterbury bells, an\' campanulas.\"\n\n\"Let us plant some,\" said Mary.\n\n\"There\'s lilies o\' th\' valley here already; I saw \'em. They\'ll have\ngrowed too close an\' we\'ll have to separate \'em, but there\'s plenty. Th\'\nother ones takes two years to bloom from seed, but I can bring you some\nbits o\' plants from our cottage garden. Why does tha\' want \'em?\"\n\nThen Mary told him about Basil and his brothers and sisters in India and\nof how she had hated them and of their calling her \"Mistress Mary Quite\nContrary.\"\n\n\"They used to dance round and sing at me. They sang--\n\n \'Mistress Mary, quite contrary,\n How does your garden grow?\n With silver bells, and cockle shells,\n And marigolds all in a row.\'\n\nI just remembered it and it made me wonder if there were really flowers\nlike silver bells.\"\n\nShe frowned a little and gave her trowel a rather spiteful dig into the\nearth.\n\n\"I wasn\'t as contrary as they were.\"\n\nBut Dickon laughed.\n\n\"Eh!\" he said, and as he crumbled the rich black soil she saw he was\nsniffing up the scent of it, \"there doesn\'t seem to be no need for no\none to be contrary when there\'s flowers an\' such like, an\' such lots o\'\nfriendly wild things runnin\' about makin\' homes for themselves, or\nbuildin\' nests an\' singin\' an\' whistlin\', does there?\"\n\nMary, kneeling by him holding the seeds, looked at him and stopped\nfrowning.\n\n\"Dickon,\" she said. \"You are as nice as Martha said you were. I like\nyou, and you make the fifth person. I never thought I should like five\npeople.\"\n\nDickon sat up on his heels as Martha did when she was polishing the\ngrate. He did look funny and delightful, Mary thought, with his round\nblue eyes and red cheeks and happy looking turned-up nose.\n\n\"Only five folk as tha\' likes?\" he said. \"Who is th\' other four?\"\n\n\"Your mother and Martha,\" Mary checked them off on her fingers, \"and the\nrobin and Ben Weatherstaff.\"\n\nDickon laughed so that he was obliged to stifle the sound by putting his\narm over his mouth.\n\n\"I know tha\' thinks I\'m a queer lad,\" he said, \"but I think tha\' art th\'\nqueerest little lass I ever saw.\"\n\nThen Mary did a strange thing. She leaned forward and asked him a\nquestion she had never dreamed of asking any one before. And she tried\nto ask it in Yorkshire because that was his language, and in India a\nnative was always pleased if you knew his speech.\n\n\"Does tha\' like me?\" she said.\n\n\"Eh!\" he answered heartily, \"that I does. I likes thee wonderful, an\' so\ndoes th\' robin, I do believe!\"\n\n\"That\'s two, then,\" said Mary. \"That\'s two for me.\"\n\nAnd then they began to work harder than ever and more joyfully. Mary was\nstartled and sorry when she heard the big clock in the courtyard strike\nthe hour of her midday dinner.\n\n\"I shall have to go,\" she said mournfully. \"And you will have to go too,\nwon\'t you?\"\n\nDickon grinned.\n\n\"My dinner\'s easy to carry about with me,\" he said. \"Mother always lets\nme put a bit o\' somethin\' in my pocket.\"\n\nHe picked up his coat from the grass and brought out of a pocket a lumpy\nlittle bundle tied up in a quiet clean, coarse, blue and white\nhandkerchief. It held two thick pieces of bread with a slice of\nsomething laid between them.\n\n\"It\'s oftenest naught but bread,\" he said, \"but I\'ve got a fine slice o\'\nfat bacon with it to-day.\"\n\nMary thought it looked a queer dinner, but he seemed ready to enjoy it.\n\n\"Run on an\' get thy victuals,\" he said. \"I\'ll be done with mine first.\nI\'ll get some more work done before I start back home.\"\n\nHe sat down with his back against a tree.\n\n\"I\'ll call th\' robin up,\" he said, \"and give him th\' rind o\' th\' bacon\nto peck at. They likes a bit o\' fat wonderful.\"\n\nMary could scarcely bear to leave him. Suddenly it seemed as if he might\nbe a sort of wood fairy who might be gone when she came into the garden\nagain. He seemed too good to be true. She went slowly half-way to the\ndoor in the wall and then she stopped and went back.\n\n\"Whatever happens, you--you never would tell?\" she said.\n\nHis poppy-colored cheeks were distended with his first big bite of bread\nand bacon, but he managed to smile encouragingly.\n\n\"If tha\' was a missel thrush an\' showed me where thy nest was, does tha\'\nthink I\'d tell any one? Not me,\" he said. \"Tha\' art as safe as a missel\nthrush.\"\n\nAnd she was quite sure she was.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\n\"MIGHT I HAVE A BIT OF EARTH?\"\n\n\nMary ran so fast that she was rather out of breath when she reached her\nroom. Her hair was ruffled on her forehead and her cheeks were bright\npink. Her dinner was waiting on the table, and Martha was waiting near\nit.\n\n\"Tha\'s a bit late,\" she said. \"Where has tha\' been?\"\n\n\"I\'ve seen Dickon!\" said Mary. \"I\'ve seen Dickon!\"\n\n\"I knew he\'d come,\" said Martha exultantly. \"How does tha\' like him?\"\n\n\"I think--I think he\'s beautiful!\" said Mary in a determined voice.\n\nMartha looked rather taken aback but she looked pleased, too.\n\n\"Well,\" she said, \"he\'s th\' best lad as ever was born, but us never\nthought he was handsome. His nose turns up too much.\"\n\n\"I like it to turn up,\" said Mary.\n\n\"An\' his eyes is so round,\" said Martha, a trifle doubtful. \"Though\nthey\'re a nice color.\"\n\n\"I like them round,\" said Mary. \"And they are exactly the color of the\nsky over the moor.\"\n\nMartha beamed with satisfaction.\n\n\"Mother says he made \'em that color with always lookin\' up at th\' birds\nan\' th\' clouds. But he has got a big mouth, hasn\'t he, now?\"\n\n\"I love his big mouth,\" said Mary obstinately. \"I wish mine were just\nlike it.\"\n\nMartha chuckled delightedly.\n\n\"It\'d look rare an\' funny in thy bit of a face,\" she said. \"But I knowed\nit would be that way when tha\' saw him. How did tha\' like th\' seeds an\'\nth\' garden tools?\"\n\n\"How did you know he brought them?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"Eh! I never thought of him not bringin\' \'em. He\'d be sure to bring \'em\nif they was in Yorkshire. He\'s such a trusty lad.\"\n\nMary was afraid that she might begin to ask difficult questions, but she\ndid not. She was very much interested in the seeds and gardening tools,\nand there was only one moment when Mary was frightened. This was when\nshe began to ask where the flowers were to be planted.\n\n\"Who did tha\' ask about it?\" she inquired.\n\n\"I haven\'t asked anybody yet,\" said Mary, hesitating.\n\n\"Well, I wouldn\'t ask th\' head gardener. He\'s too grand, Mr. Roach is.\"\n\n\"I\'ve never seen him,\" said Mary. \"I\'ve only seen under-gardeners and\nBen Weatherstaff.\"\n\n\"If I was you, I\'d ask Ben Weatherstaff,\" advised Martha. \"He\'s not half\nas bad as he looks, for all he\'s so crabbed. Mr. Craven lets him do what\nhe likes because he was here when Mrs. Craven was alive, an\' he used to\nmake her laugh. She liked him. Perhaps he\'d find you a corner somewhere\nout o\' the way.\"\n\n\"If it was out of the way and no one wanted it, no one _could_ mind my\nhaving it, could they?\" Mary said anxiously.\n\n\"There wouldn\'t be no reason,\" answered Martha. \"You wouldn\'t do no\nharm.\"\n\nMary ate her dinner as quickly as she could and when she rose from the\ntable she was going to run to her room to put on her hat again, but\nMartha stopped her.\n\n\"I\'ve got somethin\' to tell you,\" she said. \"I thought I\'d let you eat\nyour dinner first. Mr. Craven came back this mornin\' and I think he\nwants to see you.\"\n\nMary turned quite pale.\n\n\"Oh!\" she said. \"Why! Why! He didn\'t want to see me when I came. I heard\nPitcher say he didn\'t.\"\n\n\"Well,\" explained Martha, \"Mrs. Medlock says it\'s because o\' mother. She\nwas walkin\' to Thwaite village an\' she met him. She\'d never spoke to him\nbefore, but Mrs. Craven had been to our cottage two or three times. He\'d\nforgot, but mother hadn\'t an\' she made bold to stop him. I don\'t know\nwhat she said to him about you but she said somethin\' as put him in th\'\nmind to see you before he goes away again, to-morrow.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Mary, \"is he going away to-morrow? I am so glad!\"\n\n\"He\'s goin\' for a long time. He mayn\'t come back till autumn or winter.\nHe\'s goin\' to travel in foreign places. He\'s always doin\' it.\"\n\n\"Oh! I\'m so glad--so glad!\" said Mary thankfully.\n\nIf he did not come back until winter, or even autumn, there would be\ntime to watch the secret garden come alive. Even if he found out then\nand took it away from her she would have had that much at least.\n\n\"When do you think he will want to see--\"\n\nShe did not finish the sentence, because the door opened, and Mrs.\nMedlock walked in. She had on her best black dress and cap, and her\ncollar was fastened with a large brooch with a picture of a man\'s face\non it. It was a colored photograph of Mr. Medlock who had died years\nago, and she always wore it when she was dressed up. She looked nervous\nand excited.\n\n\"Your hair\'s rough,\" she said quickly. \"Go and brush it. Martha, help\nher to slip on her best dress. Mr. Craven sent me to bring her to him in\nhis study.\"\n\nAll the pink left Mary\'s cheeks. Her heart began to thump and she felt\nherself changing into a stiff, plain, silent child again. She did not\neven answer Mrs. Medlock, but turned and walked into her bedroom,\nfollowed by Martha. She said nothing while her dress was changed, and\nher hair brushed, and after she was quite tidy she followed Mrs. Medlock\ndown the corridors, in silence. What was there for her to say? She was\nobliged to go and see Mr. Craven and he would not like her, and she\nwould not like him. She knew what he would think of her.\n\nShe was taken to a part of the house she had not been into before. At\nlast Mrs. Medlock knocked at a door, and when some one said, \"Come in,\"\nthey entered the room together. A man was sitting in an armchair before\nthe fire, and Mrs. Medlock spoke to him.\n\n\"This is Miss Mary, sir,\" she said.\n\n\"You can go and leave her here. I will ring for you when I want you to\ntake her away,\" said Mr. Craven.\n\nWhen she went out and closed the door, Mary could only stand waiting, a\nplain little thing, twisting her thin hands together. She could see that\nthe man in the chair was not so much a hunchback as a man with high,\nrather crooked shoulders, and he had black hair streaked with white. He\nturned his head over his high shoulders and spoke to her.\n\n\"Come here!\" he said.\n\nMary went to him.\n\nHe was not ugly. His face would have been handsome if it had not been so\nmiserable. He looked as if the sight of her worried and fretted him and\nas if he did not know what in the world to do with her.\n\n\"Are you well?\" he asked.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Mary.\n\n\"Do they take good care of you?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\nHe rubbed his forehead fretfully as he looked her over.\n\n\"You are very thin,\" he said.\n\n\"I am getting fatter,\" Mary answered in what she knew was her stiffest\nway.\n\nWhat an unhappy face he had! His black eyes seemed as if they scarcely\nsaw her, as if they were seeing something else, and he could hardly keep\nhis thoughts upon her.\n\n\"I forgot you,\" he said. \"How could I remember you? I intended to send\nyou a governess or a nurse, or some one of that sort, but I forgot.\"\n\n\"Please,\" began Mary. \"Please--\" and then the lump in her throat choked\nher.\n\n\"What do you want to say?\" he inquired.\n\n\"I am--I am too big for a nurse,\" said Mary. \"And please--please don\'t\nmake me have a governess yet.\"\n\nHe rubbed his forehead again and stared at her.\n\n\"That was what the Sowerby woman said,\" he muttered absent-mindedly.\n\nThen Mary gathered a scrap of courage.\n\n\"Is she--is she Martha\'s mother?\" she stammered.\n\n\"Yes, I think so,\" he replied.\n\n\"She knows about children,\" said Mary. \"She has twelve. She knows.\"\n\nHe seemed to rouse himself.\n\n\"What do you want to do?\"\n\n\"I want to play out of doors,\" Mary answered, hoping that her voice did\nnot tremble. \"I never liked it in India. It makes me hungry here, and I\nam getting fatter.\"\n\nHe was watching her.\n\n\"Mrs. Sowerby said it would do you good. Perhaps it will,\" he said. \"She\nthought you had better get stronger before you had a governess.\"\n\n\"It makes me feel strong when I play and the wind comes over the moor,\"\nargued Mary.\n\n\"Where do you play?\" he asked next.\n\n\"Everywhere,\" gasped Mary. \"Martha\'s mother sent me a skipping-rope. I\nskip and run--and I look about to see if things are beginning to stick\nup out of the earth. I don\'t do any harm.\"\n\n\"Don\'t look so frightened,\" he said in a worried voice. \"You could not\ndo any harm, a child like you! You may do what you like.\"\n\nMary put her hand up to her throat because she was afraid he might see\nthe excited lump which she felt jump into it. She came a step nearer to\nhim.\n\n\"May I?\" she said tremulously.\n\nHer anxious little face seemed to worry him more than ever.\n\n\"Don\'t look so frightened,\" he exclaimed. \"Of course you may. I am your\nguardian, though I am a poor one for any child. I cannot give you time\nor attention. I am too ill, and wretched and distracted; but I wish you\nto be happy and comfortable. I don\'t know anything about children, but\nMrs. Medlock is to see that you have all you need. I sent for you to-day\nbecause Mrs. Sowerby said I ought to see you. Her daughter had talked\nabout you. She thought you needed fresh air and freedom and running\nabout.\"\n\n\"She knows all about children,\" Mary said again in spite of herself.\n\n\"She ought to,\" said Mr. Craven. \"I thought her rather bold to stop me\non the moor, but she said--Mrs. Craven had been kind to her.\" It seemed\nhard for him to speak his dead wife\'s name. \"She is a respectable woman.\nNow I have seen you I think she said sensible things. Play out of doors\nas much as you like. It\'s a big place and you may go where you like and\namuse yourself as you like. Is there anything you want?\" as if a sudden\nthought had struck him. \"Do you want toys, books, dolls?\"\n\n\"Might I,\" quavered Mary, \"might I have a bit of earth?\"\n\nIn her eagerness she did not realize how queer the words would sound and\nthat they were not the ones she had meant to say. Mr. Craven looked\nquite startled.\n\n\"Earth!\" he repeated. \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"To plant seeds in--to make things grow--to see them come alive,\" Mary\nfaltered.\n\nHe gazed at her a moment and then passed his hand quickly over his\neyes.\n\n\"Do you--care about gardens so much,\" he said slowly.\n\n\"I didn\'t know about them in India,\" said Mary. \"I was always ill and\ntired and it was too hot. I sometimes made little beds in the sand and\nstuck flowers in them. But here it is different.\"\n\nMr. Craven got up and began to walk slowly across the room.\n\n\"A bit of earth,\" he said to himself, and Mary thought that somehow she\nmust have reminded him of something. When he stopped and spoke to her\nhis dark eyes looked almost soft and kind.\n\n\"You can have as much earth as you want,\" he said. \"You remind me of\nsome one else who loved the earth and things that grow. When you see a\nbit of earth you want,\" with something like a smile, \"take it, child,\nand make it come alive.\"\n\n\"May I take it from anywhere--if it\'s not wanted?\"\n\n\"Anywhere,\" he answered. \"There! You must go now, I am tired.\" He\ntouched the bell to call Mrs. Medlock. \"Good-by. I shall be away all\nsummer.\"\n\nMrs. Medlock came so quickly that Mary thought she must have been\nwaiting in the corridor.\n\n\"Mrs. Medlock,\" Mr. Craven said to her, \"now I have seen the child I\nunderstand what Mrs. Sowerby meant. She must be less delicate before she\nbegins lessons. Give her simple, healthy food. Let her run wild in the\ngarden. Don\'t look after her too much. She needs liberty and fresh air\nand romping about. Mrs. Sowerby is to come and see her now and then and\nshe may sometimes go to the cottage.\"\n\nMrs. Medlock looked pleased. She was relieved to hear that she need not\n\"look after\" Mary too much. She had felt her a tiresome charge and had\nindeed seen as little of her as she dared. In addition to this she was\nfond of Martha\'s mother.\n\n\"Thank you, sir,\" she said. \"Susan Sowerby and me went to school\ntogether and she\'s as sensible and good-hearted a woman as you\'d find in\na day\'s walk. I never had any children myself and she\'s had twelve, and\nthere never was healthier or better ones. Miss Mary can get no harm from\nthem. I\'d always take Susan Sowerby\'s advice about children myself.\nShe\'s what you might call healthy-minded--if you understand me.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" Mr. Craven answered. \"Take Miss Mary away now and send\nPitcher to me.\"\n\nWhen Mrs. Medlock left her at the end of her own corridor Mary flew back\nto her room. She found Martha waiting there. Martha had, in fact,\nhurried back after she had removed the dinner service.\n\n\"I can have my garden!\" cried Mary. \"I may have it where I like! I am\nnot going to have a governess for a long time! Your mother is coming to\nsee me and I may go to your cottage! He says a little girl like me could\nnot do any harm and I may do what I like--anywhere!\"\n\n\"Eh!\" said Martha delightedly, \"that was nice of him wasn\'t it?\"\n\n\"Martha,\" said Mary solemnly, \"he is really a nice man, only his face is\nso miserable and his forehead is all drawn together.\"\n\nShe ran as quickly as she could to the garden. She had been away so much\nlonger than she had thought she should and she knew Dickon would have to\nset out early on his five-mile walk. When she slipped through the door\nunder the ivy, she saw he was not working where she had left him. The\ngardening tools were laid together under a tree. She ran to them,\nlooking all round the place, but there was no Dickon to be seen. He had\ngone away and the secret garden was empty--except for the robin who had\njust flown across the wall and sat on a standard rose-bush watching\nher.\n\n\"He\'s gone,\" she said wofully. \"Oh! was he--was he--was he only a wood\nfairy?\"\n\nSomething white fastened to the standard rose-bush caught her eye. It\nwas a piece of paper--in fact, it was a piece of the letter she had\nprinted for Martha to send to Dickon. It was fastened on the bush with a\nlong thorn, and in a minute she knew Dickon had left it there. There\nwere some roughly printed letters on it and a sort of picture. At first\nshe could not tell what it was. Then she saw it was meant for a nest\nwith a bird sitting on it. Underneath were the printed letters and they\nsaid:\n\n\"I will cum bak.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\n\"I AM COLIN\"\n\n\nMary took the picture back to the house when she went to her supper and\nshe showed it to Martha.\n\n\"Eh!\" said Martha with great pride. \"I never knew our Dickon was as\nclever as that. That there\'s a picture of a missel thrush on her nest,\nas large as life an\' twice as natural.\"\n\nThen Mary knew Dickon had meant the picture to be a message. He had\nmeant that she might be sure he would keep her secret. Her garden was\nher nest and she was like a missel thrush. Oh, how she did like that\nqueer, common boy!\n\nShe hoped he would come back the very next day and she fell asleep\nlooking forward to the morning.\n\nBut you never know what the weather will do in Yorkshire, particularly\nin the springtime. She was awakened in the night by the sound of rain\nbeating with heavy drops against her window. It was pouring down in\ntorrents and the wind was \"wuthering\" round the corners and in the\nchimneys of the huge old house. Mary sat up in bed and felt miserable\nand angry.\n\n\"The rain is as contrary as I ever was,\" she said. \"It came because it\nknew I did not want it.\"\n\nShe threw herself back on her pillow and buried her face. She did not\ncry, but she lay and hated the sound of the heavily beating rain, she\nhated the wind and its \"wuthering.\" She could not go to sleep again. The\nmournful sound kept her awake because she felt mournful herself. If she\nhad felt happy it would probably have lulled her to sleep. How it\n\"wuthered\" and how the big rain-drops poured down and beat against the\npane!\n\n\"It sounds just like a person lost on the moor and wandering on and on\ncrying,\" she said.\n\n * * * * *\n\nShe had been lying awake turning from side to side for about an hour,\nwhen suddenly something made her sit up in bed and turn her head toward\nthe door listening. She listened and she listened.\n\n\"It isn\'t the wind now,\" she said in a loud whisper. \"That isn\'t the\nwind. It is different. It is that crying I heard before.\"\n\nThe door of her room was ajar and the sound came down the corridor, a\nfar-off faint sound of fretful crying. She listened for a few minutes\nand each minute she became more and more sure. She felt as if she must\nfind out what it was. It seemed even stranger than the secret garden and\nthe buried key. Perhaps the fact that she was in a rebellious mood made\nher bold. She put her foot out of bed and stood on the floor.\n\n\"I am going to find out what it is,\" she said. \"Everybody is in bed and\nI don\'t care about Mrs. Medlock--I don\'t care!\"\n\nThere was a candle by her bedside and she took it up and went softly out\nof the room. The corridor looked very long and dark, but she was too\nexcited to mind that. She thought she remembered the corners she must\nturn to find the short corridor with the door covered with tapestry--the\none Mrs. Medlock had come through the day she lost herself. The sound\nhad come up that passage. So she went on with her dim light, almost\nfeeling her way, her heart beating so loud that she fancied she could\nhear it. The far-off faint crying went on and led her. Sometimes it\nstopped for a moment or so and then began again. Was this the right\ncorner to turn? She stopped and thought. Yes it was. Down this passage\nand then to the left, and then up two broad steps, and then to the right\nagain. Yes, there was the tapestry door.\n\nShe pushed it open very gently and closed it behind her, and she stood\nin the corridor and could hear the crying quite plainly, though it was\nnot loud. It was on the other side of the wall at her left and a few\nyards farther on there was a door. She could see a glimmer of light\ncoming from beneath it. The Someone was crying in that room, and it was\nquite a young Someone.\n\nSo she walked to the door and pushed it open, and there she was standing\nin the room!\n\nIt was a big room with ancient, handsome furniture in it. There was a\nlow fire glowing faintly on the hearth and a night light burning by the\nside of a carved four-posted bed hung with brocade, and on the bed was\nlying a boy, crying fretfully.\n\nMary wondered if she was in a real place or if she had fallen asleep\nagain and was dreaming without knowing it.\n\nThe boy had a sharp, delicate face the color of ivory and he seemed to\nhave eyes too big for it. He had also a lot of hair which tumbled over\nhis forehead in heavy locks and made his thin face seem smaller. He\nlooked like a boy who had been ill, but he was crying more as if he were\ntired and cross than as if he were in pain.\n\nMary stood near the door with her candle in her hand, holding her\nbreath. Then she crept across the room, and as she drew nearer the\nlight attracted the boy\'s attention and he turned his head on his pillow\nand stared at her, his gray eyes opening so wide that they seemed\nimmense.\n\n[Illustration: \"\'WHO ARE YOU?--ARE YOU A GHOST?\'\"--_Page 157_]\n\n\"Who are you?\" he said at last in a half-frightened whisper. \"Are you a\nghost?\"\n\n\"No, I am not,\" Mary answered, her own whisper sounding half frightened.\n\"Are you one?\"\n\nHe stared and stared and stared. Mary could not help noticing what\nstrange eyes he had. They were agate gray and they looked too big for\nhis face because they had black lashes all round them.\n\n\"No,\" he replied after waiting a moment or so. \"I am Colin.\"\n\n\"Who is Colin?\" she faltered.\n\n\"I am Colin Craven. Who are you?\"\n\n\"I am Mary Lennox. Mr. Craven is my uncle.\"\n\n\"He is my father,\" said the boy.\n\n\"Your father!\" gasped Mary. \"No one ever told me he had a boy! Why\ndidn\'t they?\"\n\n\"Come here,\" he said, still keeping his strange eyes fixed on her with\nan anxious expression.\n\nShe came close to the bed and he put out his hand and touched her.\n\n\"You are real, aren\'t you?\" he said. \"I have such real dreams very\noften. You might be one of them.\"\n\nMary had slipped on a woolen wrapper before she left her room and she\nput a piece of it between his fingers.\n\n\"Rub that and see how thick and warm it is,\" she said. \"I will pinch you\na little if you like, to show you how real I am. For a minute I thought\nyou might be a dream too.\"\n\n\"Where did you come from?\" he asked.\n\n\"From my own room. The wind wuthered so I couldn\'t go to sleep and I\nheard some one crying and wanted to find out who it was. What were you\ncrying for?\"\n\n\"Because I couldn\'t go to sleep either and my head ached. Tell me your\nname again.\"\n\n\"Mary Lennox. Did no one ever tell you I had come to live here?\"\n\nHe was still fingering the fold of her wrapper, but he began to look a\nlittle more as if he believed in her reality.\n\n\"No,\" he answered. \"They daren\'t.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"Because I should have been afraid you would see me. I won\'t let people\nsee me and talk me over.\"\n\n\"Why?\" Mary asked again, feeling more mystified every moment.\n\n\"Because I am like this always, ill and having to lie down. My father\nwon\'t let people talk me over either. The servants are not allowed to\nspeak about me. If I live I may be a hunchback, but I shan\'t live. My\nfather hates to think I may be like him.\"\n\n\"Oh, what a queer house this is!\" Mary said. \"What a queer house!\nEverything is a kind of secret. Rooms are locked up and gardens are\nlocked up--and you! Have you been locked up?\"\n\n\"No. I stay in this room because I don\'t want to be moved out of it. It\ntires me too much.\"\n\n\"Does your father come and see you?\" Mary ventured.\n\n\"Sometimes. Generally when I am asleep. He doesn\'t want to see me.\"\n\n\"Why?\" Mary could not help asking again.\n\nA sort of angry shadow passed over the boy\'s face.\n\n\"My mother died when I was born and it makes him wretched to look at me.\nHe thinks I don\'t know, but I\'ve heard people talking. He almost hates\nme.\"\n\n\"He hates the garden, because she died,\" said Mary half speaking to\nherself.\n\n\"What garden?\" the boy asked.\n\n\"Oh! just--just a garden she used to like,\" Mary stammered. \"Have you\nbeen here always?\"\n\n\"Nearly always. Sometimes I have been taken to places at the seaside,\nbut I won\'t stay because people stare at me. I used to wear an iron\nthing to keep my back straight, but a grand doctor came from London to\nsee me and said it was stupid. He told them to take it off and keep me\nout in the fresh air. I hate fresh air and I don\'t want to go out.\"\n\n\"I didn\'t when first I came here,\" said Mary. \"Why do you keep looking\nat me like that?\"\n\n\"Because of the dreams that are so real,\" he answered rather fretfully.\n\"Sometimes when I open my eyes I don\'t believe I\'m awake.\"\n\n\"We\'re both awake,\" said Mary. She glanced round the room with its high\nceiling and shadowy corners and dim firelight. \"It looks quite like a\ndream, and it\'s the middle of the night, and everybody in the house is\nasleep--everybody but us. We are wide awake.\"\n\n\"I don\'t want it to be a dream,\" the boy said restlessly.\n\nMary thought of something all at once.\n\n\"If you don\'t like people to see you,\" she began, \"do you want me to go\naway?\"\n\nHe still held the fold of her wrapper and he gave it a little pull.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"I should be sure you were a dream if you went. If you\nare real, sit down on that big footstool and talk. I want to hear about\nyou.\"\n\nMary put down her candle on the table near the bed and sat down on the\ncushioned stool. She did not want to go away at all. She wanted to stay\nin the mysterious hidden-away room and talk to the mysterious boy.\n\n\"What do you want me to tell you?\" she said.\n\nHe wanted to know how long she had been at Misselthwaite; he wanted to\nknow which corridor her room was on; he wanted to know what she had been\ndoing; if she disliked the moor as he disliked it; where she had lived\nbefore she came to Yorkshire. She answered all these questions and many\nmore and he lay back on his pillow and listened. He made her tell him a\ngreat deal about India and about her voyage across the ocean. She found\nout that because he had been an invalid he had not learned things as\nother children had. One of his nurses had taught him to read when he was\nquite little and he was always reading and looking at pictures in\nsplendid books.\n\nThough his father rarely saw him when he was awake, he was given all\nsorts of wonderful things to amuse himself with. He never seemed to have\nbeen amused, however. He could have anything he asked for and was never\nmade to do anything he did not like to do.\n\n\"Every one is obliged to do what pleases me,\" he said indifferently. \"It\nmakes me ill to be angry. No one believes I shall live to grow up.\"\n\nHe said it as if he was so accustomed to the idea that it had ceased to\nmatter to him at all. He seemed to like the sound of Mary\'s voice. As\nshe went on talking he listened in a drowsy, interested way. Once or\ntwice she wondered if he were not gradually falling into a doze. But at\nlast he asked a question which opened up a new subject.\n\n\"How old are you?\" he asked.\n\n\"I am ten,\" answered Mary, forgetting herself for the moment, \"and so\nare you.\"\n\n\"How do you know that?\" he demanded in a surprised voice.\n\n\"Because when you were born the garden door was locked and the key was\nburied. And it has been locked for ten years.\"\n\nColin half sat up, turning toward her, leaning on his elbows.\n\n\"What garden door was locked? Who did it? Where was the key buried?\" he\nexclaimed as if he were suddenly very much interested.\n\n\"It--it was the garden Mr. Craven hates,\" said Mary nervously. \"He\nlocked the door. No one--no one knew where he buried the key.\"\n\n\"What sort of a garden is it?\" Colin persisted eagerly.\n\n\"No one has been allowed to go into it for ten years,\" was Mary\'s\ncareful answer.\n\nBut it was too late to be careful. He was too much like herself. He too\nhad had nothing to think about and the idea of a hidden garden attracted\nhim as it had attracted her. He asked question after question. Where was\nit? Had she never looked for the door? Had she never asked the\ngardeners?\n\n\"They won\'t talk about it,\" said Mary. \"I think they have been told not\nto answer questions.\"\n\n\"I would make them,\" said Colin.\n\n\"Could you?\" Mary faltered, beginning to feel frightened. If he could\nmake people answer questions, who knew what might happen!\n\n\"Every one is obliged to please me. I told you that,\" he said. \"If I\nwere to live, this place would sometime belong to me. They all know\nthat. I would make them tell me.\"\n\nMary had not known that she herself had been spoiled, but she could see\nquite plainly that this mysterious boy had been. He thought that the\nwhole world belonged to him. How peculiar he was and how coolly he spoke\nof not living.\n\n\"Do you think you won\'t live?\" she asked, partly because she was\ncurious and partly in hope of making him forget the garden.\n\n\"I don\'t suppose I shall,\" he answered as indifferently as he had spoken\nbefore. \"Ever since I remember anything I have heard people say I\nshan\'t. At first they thought I was too little to understand and now\nthey think I don\'t hear. But I do. My doctor is my father\'s cousin. He\nis quite poor and if I die he will have all Misselthwaite when my father\nis dead. I should think he wouldn\'t want me to live.\"\n\n\"Do you want to live?\" inquired Mary.\n\n\"No,\" he answered, in a cross, tired fashion. \"But I don\'t want to die.\nWhen I feel ill I lie here and think about it until I cry and cry.\"\n\n\"I have heard you crying three times,\" Mary said, \"but I did not know\nwho it was. Were you crying about that?\" She did so want him to forget\nthe garden.\n\n\"I dare say,\" he answered. \"Let us talk about something else. Talk about\nthat garden. Don\'t you want to see it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Mary, in quite a low voice.\n\n\"I do,\" he went on persistently. \"I don\'t think I ever really wanted to\nsee anything before, but I want to see that garden. I want the key dug\nup. I want the door unlocked. I would let them take me there in my\nchair. That would be getting fresh air. I am going to make them open\nthe door.\"\n\nHe had become quite excited and his strange eyes began to shine like\nstars and looked more immense than ever.\n\n\"They have to please me,\" he said. \"I will make them take me there and I\nwill let you go, too.\"\n\nMary\'s hands clutched each other. Everything would be\nspoiled--everything! Dickon would never come back. She would never again\nfeel like a missel thrush with a safe-hidden nest.\n\n\"Oh, don\'t--don\'t--don\'t--don\'t do that!\" she cried out.\n\nHe stared as if he thought she had gone crazy!\n\n\"Why?\" he exclaimed. \"You said you wanted to see it.\"\n\n\"I do,\" she answered almost with a sob in her throat, \"but if you make\nthem open the door and take you in like that it will never be a secret\nagain.\"\n\nHe leaned still farther forward.\n\n\"A secret,\" he said. \"What do you mean? Tell me.\"\n\nMary\'s words almost tumbled over one another.\n\n\"You see--you see,\" she panted, \"if no one knows but ourselves--if there\nwas a door, hidden somewhere under the ivy--if there was--and we could\nfind it; and if we could slip through it together and shut it behind\nus, and no one knew any one was inside and we called it our garden and\npretended that--that we were missel thrushes and it was our nest, and if\nwe played there almost every day and dug and planted seeds and made it\nall come alive--\"\n\n\"Is it dead?\" he interrupted her.\n\n\"It soon will be if no one cares for it,\" she went on. \"The bulbs will\nlive but the roses--\"\n\nHe stopped her again as excited as she was herself.\n\n\"What are bulbs?\" he put in quickly.\n\n\"They are daffodils and lilies and snowdrops. They are working in the\nearth now--pushing up pale green points because the spring is coming.\"\n\n\"Is the spring coming?\" he said. \"What is it like? You don\'t see it in\nrooms if you are ill.\"\n\n\"It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine,\nand things pushing up and working under the earth,\" said Mary. \"If the\ngarden was a secret and we could get into it we could watch the things\ngrow bigger every day, and see how many roses are alive. Don\'t you see?\nOh, don\'t you see how much nicer it would be if it was a secret?\"\n\nHe dropped back on his pillow and lay there with an odd expression on\nhis face.\n\n\"I never had a secret,\" he said, \"except that one about not living to\ngrow up. They don\'t know I know that, so it is a sort of secret. But I\nlike this kind better.\"\n\n\"If you won\'t make them take you to the garden,\" pleaded Mary,\n\"perhaps--I feel almost sure I can find out how to get in sometime. And\nthen--if the doctor wants you to go out in your chair, and if you can\nalways do what you want to do, perhaps--perhaps we might find some boy\nwho would push you, and we could go alone and it would always be a\nsecret garden.\"\n\n\"I should--like--that,\" he said very slowly, his eyes looking dreamy. \"I\nshould like that. I should not mind fresh air in a secret garden.\"\n\nMary began to recover her breath and feel safer because the idea of\nkeeping the secret seemed to please him. She felt almost sure that if\nshe kept on talking and could make him see the garden in his mind as she\nhad seen it he would like it so much that he could not bear to think\nthat everybody might tramp into it when they chose.\n\n\"I\'ll tell you what I _think_ it would be like, if we could go into it,\"\nshe said. \"It has been shut up so long things have grown into a tangle\nperhaps.\"\n\nHe lay quite still and listened while she went on talking about the\nroses which _might_ have clambered from tree to tree and hung\ndown--about the many birds which _might_ have built their nests there\nbecause it was so safe. And then she told him about the robin and Ben\nWeatherstaff, and there was so much to tell about the robin and it was\nso easy and safe to talk about it that she ceased to feel afraid. The\nrobin pleased him so much that he smiled until he looked almost\nbeautiful, and at first Mary had thought that he was even plainer than\nherself, with his big eyes and heavy locks of hair.\n\n\"I did not know birds could be like that,\" he said. \"But if you stay in\na room you never see things. What a lot of things you know. I feel as if\nyou had been inside that garden.\"\n\nShe did not know what to say, so she did not say anything. He evidently\ndid not expect an answer and the next moment he gave her a surprise.\n\n\"I am going to let you look at something,\" he said. \"Do you see that\nrose-colored silk curtain hanging on the wall over the mantel-piece?\"\n\nMary had not noticed it before, but she looked up and saw it. It was a\ncurtain of soft silk hanging over what seemed to be some picture.\n\n\"Yes,\" she answered.\n\n\"There is a cord hanging from it,\" said Colin. \"Go and pull it.\"\n\nMary got up, much mystified, and found the cord. When she pulled it the\nsilk curtain ran back on rings and when it ran back it uncovered a\npicture. It was the picture of a girl with a laughing face. She had\nbright hair tied up with a blue ribbon and her gay, lovely eyes were\nexactly like Colin\'s unhappy ones, agate gray and looking twice as big\nas they really were because of the black lashes all round them.\n\n\"She is my mother,\" said Colin complainingly. \"I don\'t see why she died.\nSometimes I hate her for doing it.\"\n\n\"How queer!\" said Mary.\n\n\"If she had lived I believe I should not have been ill always,\" he\ngrumbled. \"I dare say I should have lived, too. And my father would not\nhave hated to look at me. I dare say I should have had a strong back.\nDraw the curtain again.\"\n\nMary did as she was told and returned to her footstool.\n\n\"She is much prettier than you,\" she said, \"but her eyes are just like\nyours--at least they are the same shape and color. Why is the curtain\ndrawn over her?\"\n\nHe moved uncomfortably.\n\n\"I made them do it,\" he said. \"Sometimes I don\'t like to see her looking\nat me. She smiles too much when I am ill and miserable. Besides, she is\nmine and I don\'t want every one to see her.\"\n\nThere were a few moments of silence and then Mary spoke.\n\n\"What would Mrs. Medlock do if she found out that I had been here?\" she\ninquired.\n\n\"She would do as I told her to do,\" he answered. \"And I should tell her\nthat I wanted you to come here and talk to me every day. I am glad you\ncame.\"\n\n\"So am I,\" said Mary. \"I will come as often as I can, but\"--she\nhesitated--\"I shall have to look every day for the garden door.\"\n\n\"Yes, you must,\" said Colin, \"and you can tell me about it afterward.\"\n\nHe lay thinking a few minutes, as he had done before, and then he spoke\nagain.\n\n\"I think you shall be a secret, too,\" he said. \"I will not tell them\nuntil they find out. I can always send the nurse out of the room and say\nthat I want to be by myself. Do you know Martha?\"\n\n\"Yes, I know her very well,\" said Mary. \"She waits on me.\"\n\nHe nodded his head toward the outer corridor.\n\n\"She is the one who is asleep in the other room. The nurse went away\nyesterday to stay all night with her sister and she always makes Martha\nattend to me when she wants to go out. Martha shall tell you when to\ncome here.\"\n\nThen Mary understood Martha\'s troubled look when she had asked\nquestions about the crying.\n\n\"Martha knew about you all the time?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes; she often attends to me. The nurse likes to get away from me and\nthen Martha comes.\"\n\n\"I have been here a long time,\" said Mary. \"Shall I go away now? Your\neyes look sleepy.\"\n\n\"I wish I could go to sleep before you leave me,\" he said rather shyly.\n\n\"Shut your eyes,\" said Mary, drawing her footstool closer, \"and I will\ndo what my Ayah used to do in India. I will pat your hand and stroke it\nand sing something quite low.\"\n\n\"I should like that perhaps,\" he said drowsily.\n\nSomehow she was sorry for him and did not want him to lie awake, so she\nleaned against the bed and began to stroke and pat his hand and sing a\nvery low little chanting song in Hindustani.\n\n\"That is nice,\" he said more drowsily still, and she went on chanting\nand stroking, but when she looked at him again his black lashes were\nlying close against his cheeks, for his eyes were shut and he was fast\nasleep. So she got up softly, took her candle and crept away without\nmaking a sound.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nA YOUNG RAJAH\n\n\nThe moor was hidden in mist when the morning came and the rain had not\nstopped pouring down. There could be no going out of doors. Martha was\nso busy that Mary had no opportunity of talking to her, but in the\nafternoon she asked her to come and sit with her in the nursery. She\ncame bringing the stocking she was always knitting when she was doing\nnothing else.\n\n\"What\'s the matter with thee?\" she asked as soon as they sat down. \"Tha\'\nlooks as if tha\'d somethin\' to say.\"\n\n\"I have. I have found out what the crying was,\" said Mary.\n\nMartha let her knitting drop on her knee and gazed at her with startled\neyes.\n\n\"Tha\' hasn\'t!\" she exclaimed. \"Never!\"\n\n\"I heard it in the night,\" Mary went on. \"And I got up and went to see\nwhere it came from. It was Colin. I found him.\"\n\nMartha\'s face became red with fright.\n\n\"Eh! Miss Mary!\" she said half crying. \"Tha\' shouldn\'t have done\nit--tha\' shouldn\'t! Tha\'ll get me in trouble. I never told thee nothin\'\nabout him--but tha\'ll get me in trouble. I shall lose my place and\nwhat\'ll mother do!\"\n\n\"You won\'t lose your place,\" said Mary. \"He was glad I came. We talked\nand talked and he said he was glad I came.\"\n\n\"Was he?\" cried Martha. \"Art tha\' sure? Tha\' doesn\'t know what he\'s like\nwhen anything vexes him. He\'s a big lad to cry like a baby, but when\nhe\'s in a passion he\'ll fair scream just to frighten us. He knows us\ndaren\'t call our souls our own.\"\n\n\"He wasn\'t vexed,\" said Mary. \"I asked him if I should go away and he\nmade me stay. He asked me questions and I sat on a big footstool and\ntalked to him about India and about the robin and gardens. He wouldn\'t\nlet me go. He let me see his mother\'s picture. Before I left him I sang\nhim to sleep.\"\n\nMartha fairly gasped with amazement.\n\n\"I can scarcely believe thee!\" she protested. \"It\'s as if tha\'d walked\nstraight into a lion\'s den. If he\'d been like he is most times he\'d have\nthrowed himself into one of his tantrums and roused th\' house. He won\'t\nlet strangers look at him.\"\n\n\"He let me look at him. I looked at him all the time and he looked at\nme. We stared!\" said Mary.\n\n\"I don\'t know what to do!\" cried agitated Martha. \"If Mrs. Medlock finds\nout, she\'ll think I broke orders and told thee and I shall be packed\nback to mother.\"\n\n\"He is not going to tell Mrs. Medlock anything about it yet. It\'s to be\na sort of secret just at first,\" said Mary firmly. \"And he says\neverybody is obliged to do as he pleases.\"\n\n\"Aye, that\'s true enough--th\' bad lad!\" sighed Martha, wiping her\nforehead with her apron.\n\n\"He says Mrs. Medlock must. And he wants me to come and talk to him\nevery day. And you are to tell me when he wants me.\"\n\n\"Me!\" said Martha; \"I shall lose my place--I shall for sure!\"\n\n\"You can\'t if you are doing what he wants you to do and everybody is\nordered to obey him,\" Mary argued.\n\n\"Does tha\' mean to say,\" cried Martha with wide open eyes, \"that he was\nnice to thee!\"\n\n\"I think he almost liked me,\" Mary answered.\n\n\"Then tha\' must have bewitched him!\" decided Martha, drawing a long\nbreath.\n\n\"Do you mean Magic?\" inquired Mary. \"I\'ve heard about Magic in India,\nbut I can\'t make it. I just went into his room and I was so surprised\nto see him I stood and stared. And then he turned round and stared at\nme. And he thought I was a ghost or a dream and I thought perhaps he\nwas. And it was so queer being there alone together in the middle of the\nnight and not knowing about each other. And we began to ask each other\nquestions. And when I asked him if I must go away he said I must not.\"\n\n\"Th\' world\'s comin\' to a end!\" gasped Martha.\n\n\"What is the matter with him?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"Nobody knows for sure and certain,\" said Martha. \"Mr. Craven went off\nhis head like when he was born. Th\' doctors thought he\'d have to be put\nin a \'sylum. It was because Mrs. Craven died like I told you. He\nwouldn\'t set eyes on th\' baby. He just raved and said it\'d be another\nhunchback like him and it\'d better die.\"\n\n\"Is Colin a hunchback?\" Mary asked. \"He didn\'t look like one.\"\n\n\"He isn\'t yet,\" said Martha. \"But he began all wrong. Mother said that\nthere was enough trouble and raging in th\' house to set any child wrong.\nThey was afraid his back was weak an\' they\'ve always been takin\' care of\nit--keepin\' him lyin\' down and not lettin\' him walk. Once they made him\nwear a brace but he fretted so he was downright ill. Then a big doctor\ncame to see him an\' made them take it off. He talked to th\' other doctor\nquite rough--in a polite way. He said there\'d been too much medicine and\ntoo much lettin\' him have his own way.\"\n\n\"I think he\'s a very spoiled boy,\" said Mary.\n\n\"He\'s th\' worst young nowt as ever was!\" said Martha. \"I won\'t say as he\nhasn\'t been ill a good bit. He\'s had coughs an\' colds that\'s nearly\nkilled him two or three times. Once he had rheumatic fever an\' once he\nhad typhoid. Eh! Mrs. Medlock did get a fright then. He\'d been out of\nhis head an\' she was talkin\' to th\' nurse, thinkin\' he didn\'t know\nnothin\', an\' she said, \'He\'ll die this time sure enough, an\' best thing\nfor him an\' for everybody.\' An\' she looked at him an\' there he was with\nhis big eyes open, starin\' at her as sensible as she was herself. She\ndidn\'t know what\'d happen but he just stared at her an\' says, \'You give\nme some water an\' stop talkin\'.\'\"\n\n\"Do you think he will die?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"Mother says there\'s no reason why any child should live that gets no\nfresh air an\' doesn\'t do nothin\' but lie on his back an\' read\npicture-books an\' take medicine. He\'s weak and hates th\' trouble o\'\nbein\' taken out o\' doors, an\' he gets cold so easy he says it makes him\nill.\"\n\nMary sat and looked at the fire.\n\n\"I wonder,\" she said slowly, \"if it would not do him good to go out into\na garden and watch things growing. It did me good.\"\n\n\"One of th\' worst fits he ever had,\" said Martha, \"was one time they\ntook him out where the roses is by the fountain. He\'d been readin\' in a\npaper about people gettin\' somethin\' he called \'rose cold\' an\' he began\nto sneeze an\' said he\'d got it an\' then a new gardener as didn\'t know\nth\' rules passed by an\' looked at him curious. He threw himself into a\npassion an\' he said he\'d looked at him because he was going to be a\nhunchback. He cried himself into a fever an\' was ill all night.\"\n\n\"If he ever gets angry at me, I\'ll never go and see him again,\" said\nMary.\n\n\"He\'ll have thee if he wants thee,\" said Martha. \"Tha\' may as well know\nthat at th\' start.\"\n\nVery soon afterward a bell rang and she rolled up her knitting.\n\n\"I dare say th\' nurse wants me to stay with him a bit,\" she said. \"I\nhope he\'s in a good temper.\"\n\nShe was out of the room about ten minutes and then she came back with a\npuzzled expression.\n\n\"Well, tha\' has bewitched him,\" she said. \"He\'s up on his sofa with his\npicture-books. He\'s told the nurse to stay away until six o\'clock. I\'m\nto wait in the next room. Th\' minute she was gone he called me to him\nan\' says, \'I want Mary Lennox to come and talk to me, and remember\nyou\'re not to tell any one.\' You\'d better go as quick as you can.\"\n\nMary was quite willing to go quickly. She did not want to see Colin as\nmuch as she wanted to see Dickon, but she wanted to see him very much.\n\nThere was a bright fire on the hearth when she entered his room, and in\nthe daylight she saw it was a very beautiful room indeed. There were\nrich colors in the rugs and hangings and pictures and books on the walls\nwhich made it look glowing and comfortable even in spite of the gray sky\nand falling rain. Colin looked rather like a picture himself. He was\nwrapped in a velvet dressing-gown and sat against a big brocaded\ncushion. He had a red spot on each cheek.\n\n\"Come in,\" he said. \"I\'ve been thinking about you all morning.\"\n\n\"I\'ve been thinking about you, too,\" answered Mary. \"You don\'t know how\nfrightened Martha is. She says Mrs. Medlock will think she told me about\nyou and then she will be sent away.\"\n\nHe frowned.\n\n\"Go and tell her to come here,\" he said. \"She is in the next room.\"\n\nMary went and brought her back. Poor Martha was shaking in her shoes.\nColin was still frowning.\n\n\"Have you to do what I please or have you not?\" he demanded.\n\n\"I have to do what you please, sir,\" Martha faltered, turning quite red.\n\n\"Has Medlock to do what I please?\"\n\n\"Everybody has, sir,\" said Martha.\n\n\"Well, then, if I order you to bring Miss Mary to me, how can Medlock\nsend you away if she finds it out?\"\n\n\"Please don\'t let her, sir,\" pleaded Martha.\n\n\"I\'ll send _her_ away if she dares to say a word about such a thing,\"\nsaid Master Craven grandly. \"She wouldn\'t like that, I can tell you.\"\n\n\"Thank you, sir,\" bobbing a curtsy, \"I want to do my duty, sir.\"\n\n\"What I want is your duty,\" said Colin more grandly still. \"I\'ll take\ncare of you. Now go away.\"\n\nWhen the door closed behind Martha, Colin found Mistress Mary gazing at\nhim as if he had set her wondering.\n\n\"Why do you look at me like that?\" he asked her. \"What are you thinking\nabout?\"\n\n\"I am thinking about two things.\"\n\n\"What are they? Sit down and tell me.\"\n\n\"This is the first one,\" said Mary, seating herself on the big stool.\n\"Once in India I saw a boy who was a Rajah. He had rubies and emeralds\nand diamonds stuck all over him. He spoke to his people just as you\nspoke to Martha. Everybody had to do everything he told them--in a\nminute. I think they would have been killed if they hadn\'t.\"\n\n\"I shall make you tell me about Rajahs presently,\" he said, \"but first\ntell me what the second thing was.\"\n\n\"I was thinking,\" said Mary, \"how different you are from Dickon.\"\n\n\"Who is Dickon?\" he said. \"What a queer name!\"\n\nShe might as well tell him, she thought. She could talk about Dickon\nwithout mentioning the secret garden. She had liked to hear Martha talk\nabout him. Besides, she longed to talk about him. It would seem to bring\nhim nearer.\n\n\"He is Martha\'s brother. He is twelve years old,\" she explained. \"He is\nnot like any one else in the world. He can charm foxes and squirrels and\nbirds just as the natives in India charm snakes. He plays a very soft\ntune on a pipe and they come and listen.\"\n\nThere were some big books on a table at his side and he dragged one\nsuddenly toward him.\n\n\"There is a picture of a snake-charmer in this,\" he exclaimed. \"Come and\nlook at it.\"\n\nThe book was a beautiful one with superb colored illustrations and he\nturned to one of them.\n\n\"Can he do that?\" he asked eagerly.\n\n\"He played on his pipe and they listened,\" Mary explained. \"But he\ndoesn\'t call it Magic. He says it\'s because he lives on the moor so much\nand he knows their ways. He says he feels sometimes as if he was a bird\nor a rabbit himself, he likes them so. I think he asked the robin\nquestions. It seemed as if they talked to each other in soft chirps.\"\n\nColin lay back on his cushion and his eyes grew larger and larger and\nthe spots on his cheeks burned.\n\n\"Tell me some more about him,\" he said.\n\n\"He knows all about eggs and nests,\" Mary went on. \"And he knows where\nfoxes and badgers and otters live. He keeps them secret so that other\nboys won\'t find their holes and frighten them. He knows about everything\nthat grows or lives on the moor.\"\n\n\"Does he like the moor?\" said Colin. \"How can he when it\'s such a great,\nbare, dreary place?\"\n\n\"It\'s the most beautiful place,\" protested Mary. \"Thousands of lovely\nthings grow on it and there are thousands of little creatures all busy\nbuilding nests and making holes and burrows and chippering or singing\nor squeaking to each other. They are so busy and having such fun under\nthe earth or in the trees or heather. It\'s their world.\"\n\n\"How do you know all that?\" said Colin, turning on his elbow to look at\nher.\n\n\"I have never been there once, really,\" said Mary suddenly remembering.\n\"I only drove over it in the dark. I thought it was hideous. Martha told\nme about it first and then Dickon. When Dickon talks about it you feel\nas if you saw things and heard them and as if you were standing in the\nheather with the sun shining and the gorse smelling like honey--and all\nfull of bees and butterflies.\"\n\n\"You never see anything if you are ill,\" said Colin restlessly. He\nlooked like a person listening to a new sound in the distance and\nwondering what it was.\n\n\"You can\'t if you stay in a room,\" said Mary.\n\n\"I couldn\'t go on the moor,\" he said in a resentful tone.\n\nMary was silent for a minute and then she said something bold.\n\n\"You might--sometime.\"\n\nHe moved as if he were startled.\n\n\"Go on the moor! How could I? I am going to die.\"\n\n\"How do you know?\" said Mary unsympathetically. She didn\'t like the way\nhe had of talking about dying. She did not feel very sympathetic. She\nfelt rather as if he almost boasted about it.\n\n\"Oh, I\'ve heard it ever since I remember,\" he answered crossly. \"They\nare always whispering about it and thinking I don\'t notice. They wish I\nwould, too.\"\n\nMistress Mary felt quite contrary. She pinched her lips together.\n\n\"If they wished I would,\" she said, \"I wouldn\'t. Who wishes you would?\"\n\n\"The servants--and of course Dr. Craven because he would get\nMisselthwaite and be rich instead of poor. He daren\'t say so, but he\nalways looks cheerful when I am worse. When I had typhoid fever his face\ngot quite fat. I think my father wishes it, too.\"\n\n\"I don\'t believe he does,\" said Mary quite obstinately.\n\nThat made Colin turn and look at her again.\n\n\"Don\'t you?\" he said.\n\nAnd then he lay back on his cushion and was still, as if he were\nthinking. And there was quite a long silence. Perhaps they were both of\nthem thinking strange things children do not usually think of.\n\n\"I like the grand doctor from London, because he made them take the iron\nthing off,\" said Mary at last. \"Did he say you were going to die?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"What did he say?\"\n\n\"He didn\'t whisper,\" Colin answered. \"Perhaps he knew I hated\nwhispering. I heard him say one thing quite aloud. He said, \'The lad\nmight live if he would make up his mind to it. Put him in the humor.\' It\nsounded as if he was in a temper.\"\n\n\"I\'ll tell you who would put you in the humor, perhaps,\" said Mary\nreflecting. She felt as if she would like this thing to be settled one\nway or the other. \"I believe Dickon would. He\'s always talking about\nlive things. He never talks about dead things or things that are ill.\nHe\'s always looking up in the sky to watch birds flying--or looking down\nat the earth to see something growing. He has such round blue eyes and\nthey are so wide open with looking about. And he laughs such a big laugh\nwith his wide mouth--and his cheeks are as red--as red as cherries.\"\n\nShe pulled her stool nearer to the sofa and her expression quite changed\nat the remembrance of the wide curving mouth and wide open eyes.\n\n\"See here,\" she said. \"Don\'t let us talk about dying; I don\'t like it.\nLet us talk about living. Let us talk and talk about Dickon. And then we\nwill look at your pictures.\"\n\nIt was the best thing she could have said. To talk about Dickon meant to\ntalk about the moor and about the cottage and the fourteen people who\nlived in it on sixteen shillings a week--and the children who got fat on\nthe moor grass like the wild ponies. And about Dickon\'s mother--and the\nskipping-rope--and the moor with the sun on it--and about pale green\npoints sticking up out of the black sod. And it was all so alive that\nMary talked more than she had ever talked before--and Colin both talked\nand listened as he had never done either before. And they both began to\nlaugh over nothings as children will when they are happy together. And\nthey laughed so that in the end they were making as much noise as if\nthey had been two ordinary healthy natural ten-year-old\ncreatures--instead of a hard, little, unloving girl and a sickly boy who\nbelieved that he was going to die.\n\nThey enjoyed themselves so much that they forgot the pictures and they\nforgot about the time. They had been laughing quite loudly over Ben\nWeatherstaff and his robin and Colin was actually sitting up as if he\nhad forgotten about his weak back when he suddenly remembered\nsomething.\n\n\"Do you know there is one thing we have never once thought of,\" he said.\n\"We are cousins.\"\n\nIt seemed so queer that they had talked so much and never remembered\nthis simple thing that they laughed more than ever, because they had got\ninto the humor to laugh at anything. And in the midst of the fun the\ndoor opened and in walked Dr. Craven and Mrs. Medlock.\n\nDr. Craven started in actual alarm and Mrs. Medlock almost fell back\nbecause he had accidentally bumped against her.\n\n\"Good Lord!\" exclaimed poor Mrs. Medlock, with her eyes almost starting\nout of her head. \"Good Lord!\"\n\n\"What is this?\" said Dr. Craven, coming forward. \"What does it mean?\"\n\nThen Mary was reminded of the boy Rajah again. Colin answered as if\nneither the doctor\'s alarm nor Mrs. Medlock\'s terror were of the\nslightest consequence. He was as little disturbed or frightened as if an\nelderly cat and dog had walked into the room.\n\n\"This is my cousin, Mary Lennox,\" he said. \"I asked her to come and talk\nto me. I like her. She must come and talk to me whenever I send for\nher.\"\n\nDr. Craven turned reproachfully to Mrs. Medlock.\n\n\"Oh, sir,\" she panted. \"I don\'t know how it\'s happened. There\'s not a\nservant on the place that\'d dare to talk--they all have their orders.\"\n\n\"Nobody told her anything,\" said Colin, \"she heard me crying and found\nme herself. I am glad she came. Don\'t be silly, Medlock.\"\n\nMary saw that Dr. Craven did not look pleased, but it was quite plain\nthat he dare not oppose his patient. He sat down by Colin and felt his\npulse.\n\n\"I am afraid there has been too much excitement. Excitement is not good\nfor you, my boy,\" he said.\n\n\"I should be excited if she kept away,\" answered Colin, his eyes\nbeginning to look dangerously sparkling. \"I am better. She makes me\nbetter. The nurse must bring up her tea with mine. We will have tea\ntogether.\"\n\nMrs. Medlock and Dr. Craven looked at each other in a troubled way, but\nthere was evidently nothing to be done.\n\n\"He does look rather better, sir,\" ventured Mrs. Medlock.\n\"But\"--thinking the matter over--\"he looked better this morning before\nshe came into the room.\"\n\n\"She came into the room last night. She stayed with me a long time. She\nsang a Hindustani song to me and it made me go to sleep,\" said Colin. \"I\nwas better when I wakened up. I wanted my breakfast. I want my tea now.\nTell nurse, Medlock.\"\n\nDr. Craven did not stay very long. He talked to the nurse for a few\nminutes when she came into the room and said a few words of warning to\nColin. He must not talk too much; he must not forget that he was ill; he\nmust not forget that he was very easily tired. Mary thought that there\nseemed to be a number of uncomfortable things he was not to forget.\n\nColin looked fretful and kept his strange black-lashed eyes fixed on Dr.\nCraven\'s face.\n\n\"I _want_ to forget it,\" he said at last. \"She makes me forget it. That\nis why I want her.\"\n\nDr. Craven did not look happy when he left the room. He gave a puzzled\nglance at the little girl sitting on the large stool. She had become a\nstiff, silent child again as soon as he entered and he could not see\nwhat the attraction was. The boy actually did look brighter,\nhowever--and he sighed rather heavily as he went down the corridor.\n\n\"They are always wanting me to eat things when I don\'t want to,\" said\nColin, as the nurse brought in the tea and put it on the table by the\nsofa. \"Now, if you\'ll eat I will. Those muffins look so nice and hot.\nTell me about Rajahs.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nNEST BUILDING\n\n\nAfter another week of rain the high arch of blue sky appeared again and\nthe sun which poured down was quite hot. Though there had been no chance\nto see either the secret garden or Dickon, Mistress Mary had enjoyed\nherself very much. The week had not seemed long. She had spent hours of\nevery day with Colin in his room, talking about Rajahs or gardens or\nDickon and the cottage on the moor. They had looked at the splendid\nbooks and pictures and sometimes Mary had read things to Colin, and\nsometimes he had read a little to her. When he was amused and interested\nshe thought he scarcely looked like an invalid at all, except that his\nface was so colorless and he was always on the sofa.\n\n\"You are a sly young one to listen and get out of your bed to go\nfollowing things up like you did that night,\" Mrs. Medlock said once.\n\"But there\'s no saying it\'s not been a sort of blessing to the lot of\nus. He\'s not had a tantrum or a whining fit since you made friends. The\nnurse was just going to give up the case because she was so sick of\nhim, but she says she doesn\'t mind staying now you\'ve gone on duty with\nher,\" laughing a little.\n\nIn her talks with Colin, Mary had tried to be very cautious about the\nsecret garden. There were certain things she wanted to find out from\nhim, but she felt that she must find them out without asking him direct\nquestions. In the first place, as she began to like to be with him, she\nwanted to discover whether he was the kind of boy you could tell a\nsecret to. He was not in the least like Dickon, but he was evidently so\npleased with the idea of a garden no one knew anything about that she\nthought perhaps he could be trusted. But she had not known him long\nenough to be sure. The second thing she wanted to find out was this: If\nhe could be trusted--if he really could--wouldn\'t it be possible to take\nhim to the garden without having any one find it out? The grand doctor\nhad said that he must have fresh air and Colin had said that he would\nnot mind fresh air in a secret garden. Perhaps if he had a great deal of\nfresh air and knew Dickon and the robin and saw things growing he might\nnot think so much about dying. Mary had seen herself in the glass\nsometimes lately when she had realized that she looked quite a different\ncreature from the child she had seen when she arrived from India. This\nchild looked nicer. Even Martha had seen a change in her.\n\n\"Th\' air from th\' moor has done thee good already,\" she had said.\n\"Tha\'rt not nigh so yeller and tha\'rt not nigh so scrawny. Even tha\'\nhair doesn\'t slamp down on tha\' head so flat. It\'s got some life in it\nso as it sticks out a bit.\"\n\n\"It\'s like me,\" said Mary. \"It\'s growing stronger and fatter. I\'m sure\nthere\'s more of it.\"\n\n\"It looks it, for sure,\" said Martha, ruffling it up a little round her\nface. \"Tha\'rt not half so ugly when it\'s that way an\' there\'s a bit o\'\nred in tha\' cheeks.\"\n\nIf gardens and fresh air had been good for her perhaps they would be\ngood for Colin. But then, if he hated people to look at him, perhaps he\nwould not like to see Dickon.\n\n\"Why does it make you angry when you are looked at?\" she inquired one\nday.\n\n\"I always hated it,\" he answered, \"even when I was very little. Then\nwhen they took me to the seaside and I used to lie in my carriage\neverybody used to stare and ladies would stop and talk to my nurse and\nthen they would begin to whisper and I knew then they were saying I\nshouldn\'t live to grow up. Then sometimes the ladies would pat my\ncheeks and say \'Poor child!\' Once when a lady did that I screamed out\nloud and bit her hand. She was so frightened she ran away.\"\n\n\"She thought you had gone mad like a dog,\" said Mary, not at all\nadmiringly.\n\n\"I don\'t care what she thought,\" said Colin, frowning.\n\n\"I wonder why you didn\'t scream and bite me when I came into your room?\"\nsaid Mary. Then she began to smile slowly.\n\n\"I thought you were a ghost or a dream,\" he said. \"You can\'t bite a\nghost or a dream, and if you scream they don\'t care.\"\n\n\"Would you hate it if--if a boy looked at you?\" Mary asked uncertainly.\n\nHe lay back on his cushion and paused thoughtfully.\n\n\"There\'s one boy,\" he said quite slowly, as if he were thinking over\nevery word, \"there\'s one boy I believe I shouldn\'t mind. It\'s that boy\nwho knows where the foxes live--Dickon.\"\n\n\"I\'m sure you wouldn\'t mind him,\" said Mary.\n\n\"The birds don\'t and other animals,\" he said, still thinking it over,\n\"perhaps that\'s why I shouldn\'t. He\'s a sort of animal charmer and I am\na boy animal.\"\n\nThen he laughed and she laughed too; in fact it ended in their both\nlaughing a great deal and finding the idea of a boy animal hiding in\nhis hole very funny indeed.\n\nWhat Mary felt afterward was that she need not fear about Dickon.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOn that first morning when the sky was blue again Mary wakened very\nearly. The sun was pouring in slanting rays through the blinds and there\nwas something so joyous in the sight of it that she jumped out of bed\nand ran to the window. She drew up the blinds and opened the window\nitself and a great waft of fresh, scented air blew in upon her. The moor\nwas blue and the whole world looked as if something Magic had happened\nto it. There were tender little fluting sounds here and there and\neverywhere, as if scores of birds were beginning to tune up for a\nconcert. Mary put her hand out of the window and held it in the sun.\n\n\"It\'s warm--warm!\" she said. \"It will make the green points push up and\nup and up, and it will make the bulbs and roots work and struggle with\nall their might under the earth.\"\n\nShe kneeled down and leaned out of the window as far as she could,\nbreathing big breaths and sniffing the air until she laughed because she\nremembered what Dickon\'s mother had said about the end of his nose\nquivering like a rabbit\'s.\n\n\"It must be very early,\" she said. \"The little clouds are all pink and\nI\'ve never seen the sky look like this. No one is up. I don\'t even hear\nthe stable boys.\"\n\nA sudden thought made her scramble to her feet.\n\n\"I can\'t wait! I am going to see the garden!\"\n\nShe had learned to dress herself by this time and she put on her clothes\nin five minutes. She knew a small side door which she could unbolt\nherself and she flew down-stairs in her stocking feet and put on her\nshoes in the hall. She unchained and unbolted and unlocked and when the\ndoor was open she sprang across the step with one bound, and there she\nwas standing on the grass, which seemed to have turned green, and with\nthe sun pouring down on her and warm sweet wafts about her and the\nfluting and twittering and singing coming from every bush and tree. She\nclasped her hands for pure joy and looked up in the sky and it was so\nblue and pink and pearly and white and flooded with springtime light\nthat she felt as if she must flute and sing aloud herself and knew that\nthrushes and robins and skylarks could not possibly help it. She ran\naround the shrubs and paths toward the secret garden.\n\n\"It is all different already,\" she said. \"The grass is greener and\nthings are sticking up everywhere and things are uncurling and green\nbuds of leaves are showing. This afternoon I am sure Dickon will come.\"\n\nThe long warm rain had done strange things to the herbaceous beds which\nbordered the walk by the lower wall. There were things sprouting and\npushing out from the roots of clumps of plants and there were actually\nhere and there glimpses of royal purple and yellow unfurling among the\nstems of crocuses. Six months before Mistress Mary would not have seen\nhow the world was waking up, but now she missed nothing.\n\nWhen she had reached the place where the door hid itself under the ivy,\nshe was startled by a curious loud sound. It was the caw--caw of a crow\nand it came from the top of the wall, and when she looked up, there sat\na big glossy-plumaged blue-black bird, looking down at her very wisely\nindeed. She had never seen a crow so close before and he made her a\nlittle nervous, but the next moment he spread his wings and flapped away\nacross the garden. She hoped he was not going to stay inside and she\npushed the door open wondering if he would. When she got fairly into the\ngarden she saw that he probably did intend to stay because he had\nalighted on a dwarf apple-tree, and under the apple-tree was lying a\nlittle reddish animal with a bushy tail, and both of them were watching\nthe stooping body and rust-red head of Dickon, who was kneeling on the\ngrass working hard.\n\nMary flew across the grass to him.\n\n\"Oh, Dickon! Dickon!\" she cried out. \"How could you get here so early!\nHow could you! The sun has only just got up!\"\n\nHe got up himself, laughing and glowing, and tousled; his eyes like a\nbit of the sky.\n\n\"Eh!\" he said. \"I was up long before him. How could I have stayed abed!\nTh\' world\'s all fair begun again this mornin\', it has. An\' it\'s workin\'\nan\' hummin\' an\' scratchin\' an\' pipin\' an\' nest-buildin\' an\' breathin\'\nout scents, till you\'ve got to be out on it \'stead o\' lyin\' on your\nback. When th\' sun did jump up, th\' moor went mad for joy, an\' I was in\nthe midst of th\' heather, an\' I run like mad myself, shoutin\' an\'\nsingin\'. An\' I come straight here. I couldn\'t have stayed away. Why, th\'\ngarden was lyin\' here waitin\'!\"\n\nMary put her hands on her chest, panting, as if she had been running\nherself.\n\n\"Oh, Dickon! Dickon!\" she said. \"I\'m so happy I can scarcely breathe!\"\n\nSeeing him talking to a stranger, the little bushy-tailed animal rose\nfrom its place under the tree and came to him, and the rook, cawing\nonce, flew down from its branch and settled quietly on his shoulder.\n\n\"This is th\' little fox cub,\" he said, rubbing the little reddish\nanimal\'s head. \"It\'s named Captain. An\' this here\'s Soot. Soot he flew\nacross th\' moor with me an\' Captain he run same as if th\' hounds had\nbeen after him. They both felt same as I did.\"\n\nNeither of the creatures looked as if he were the least afraid of Mary.\nWhen Dickon began to walk about, Soot stayed on his shoulder and Captain\ntrotted quietly close to his side.\n\n\"See here!\" said Dickon. \"See how these has pushed up, an\' these an\'\nthese! An\' Eh! look at these here!\"\n\nHe threw himself upon his knees and Mary went down beside him. They had\ncome upon a whole clump of crocuses burst into purple and orange and\ngold. Mary bent her face down and kissed and kissed them.\n\n\"You never kiss a person in that way,\" she said when she lifted her\nhead. \"Flowers are so different.\"\n\nHe looked puzzled but smiled.\n\n\"Eh!\" he said, \"I\'ve kissed mother many a time that way when I come in\nfrom th\' moor after a day\'s roamin\' an\' she stood there at th\' door in\nth\' sun, lookin\' so glad an\' comfortable.\"\n\nThey ran from one part of the garden to another and found so many\nwonders that they were obliged to remind themselves that they must\nwhisper or speak low. He showed her swelling leaf-buds on rose branches\nwhich had seemed dead. He showed her ten thousand new green points\npushing through the mould. They put their eager young noses close to the\nearth and sniffed its warmed springtime breathing; they dug and pulled\nand laughed low with rapture until Mistress Mary\'s hair was as tumbled\nas Dickon\'s and her cheeks were almost as poppy red as his.\n\nThere was every joy on earth in the secret garden that morning, and in\nthe midst of them came a delight more delightful than all, because it\nwas more wonderful. Swiftly something flew across the wall and darted\nthrough the trees to a close grown corner, a little flare of\nred-breasted bird with something hanging from its beak. Dickon stood\nquite still and put his hand on Mary almost as if they had suddenly\nfound themselves laughing in a church.\n\n\"We munnot stir,\" he whispered in broad Yorkshire. \"We munnot scarce\nbreathe. I knowed he was mate-huntin\' when I seed him last. It\'s Ben\nWeatherstaff\'s robin. He\'s buildin\' his nest. He\'ll stay here if us\ndon\'t flight him.\"\n\nThey settled down softly upon the grass and sat there without moving.\n\n\"Us mustn\'t seem as if us was watchin\' him too close,\" said Dickon.\n\"He\'d be out with us for good if he got th\' notion us was interferin\'\nnow. He\'ll be a good bit different till all this is over. He\'s settin\'\nup housekeepin\'. He\'ll be shyer an\' readier to take things ill. He\'s got\nno time for visitin\' an\' gossipin\'. Us must keep still a bit an\' try to\nlook as if us was grass an\' trees an\' bushes. Then when he\'s got used to\nseein\' us I\'ll chirp a bit an\' he\'ll know us\'ll not be in his way.\"\n\nMistress Mary was not at all sure that she knew, as Dickon seemed to,\nhow to try to look like grass and trees and bushes. But he had said the\nqueer thing as if it were the simplest and most natural thing in the\nworld, and she felt it must be quite easy to him, and indeed she watched\nhim for a few minutes carefully, wondering if it was possible for him to\nquietly turn green and put out branches and leaves. But he only sat\nwonderfully still, and when he spoke dropped his voice to such a\nsoftness that it was curious that she could hear him, but she could.\n\n\"It\'s part o\' th\' springtime, this nest-buildin\' is,\" he said. \"I\nwarrant it\'s been goin\' on in th\' same way every year since th\' world\nwas begun. They\'ve got their way o\' thinkin\' and doin\' things an\' a\nbody had better not meddle. You can lose a friend in springtime easier\nthan any other season if you\'re too curious.\"\n\n\"If we talk about him I can\'t help looking at him,\" Mary said as softly\nas possible. \"We must talk of something else. There is something I want\nto tell you.\"\n\n\"He\'ll like it better if us talks o\' somethin\' else,\" said Dickon. \"What\nis it tha\'s got to tell me?\"\n\n\"Well--do you know about Colin?\" she whispered.\n\nHe turned his head to look at her.\n\n\"What does tha\' know about him?\" he asked.\n\n\"I\'ve seen him. I have been to talk to him every day this week. He wants\nme to come. He says I\'m making him forget about being ill and dying,\"\nanswered Mary.\n\nDickon looked actually relieved as soon as the surprise died away from\nhis round face.\n\n\"I am glad o\' that,\" he exclaimed. \"I\'m right down glad. It makes me\neasier. I knowed I must say nothin\' about him an\' I don\'t like havin\' to\nhide things.\"\n\n\"Don\'t you like hiding the garden?\" said Mary.\n\n\"I\'ll never tell about it,\" he answered. \"But I says to mother,\n\'Mother,\' I says, \'I got a secret to keep. It\'s not a bad \'un, tha\'\nknows that. It\'s no worse than hidin\' where a bird\'s nest is. Tha\'\ndoesn\'t mind it, does tha\'?\'\"\n\nMary always wanted to hear about mother.\n\n\"What did she say?\" she asked, not at all afraid to hear.\n\nDickon grinned sweet-temperedly.\n\n\"It was just like her, what she said,\" he answered. \"She give my head a\nbit of a rub an\' laughed an\' she says, \'Eh, lad, tha\' can have all th\'\nsecrets tha\' likes. I\'ve knowed thee twelve year\'.\'\"\n\n\"How did you know about Colin?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"Everybody as knowed about Mester Craven knowed there was a little lad\nas was like to be a cripple, an\' they knowed Mester Craven didn\'t like\nhim to be talked about. Folks is sorry for Mester Craven because Mrs.\nCraven was such a pretty young lady an\' they was so fond of each other.\nMrs. Medlock stops in our cottage whenever she goes to Thwaite an\' she\ndoesn\'t mind talkin\' to mother before us children, because she knows us\nhas been brought up to be trusty. How did tha\' find out about him?\nMartha was in fine trouble th\' last time she came home. She said tha\'d\nheard him frettin\' an\' tha\' was askin\' questions an\' she didn\'t know\nwhat to say.\"\n\nMary told him her story about the midnight wuthering of the wind which\nhad wakened her and about the faint far-off sounds of the complaining\nvoice which had led her down the dark corridors with her candle and had\nended with her opening of the door of the dimly lighted room with the\ncarven four-posted bed in the corner. When she described the small\nivory-white face and the strange black-rimmed eyes Dickon shook his\nhead.\n\n\"Them\'s just like his mother\'s eyes, only hers was always laughin\', they\nsay,\" he said. \"They say as Mr. Craven can\'t bear to see him when he\'s\nawake an\' it\'s because his eyes is so like his mother\'s an\' yet looks so\ndifferent in his miserable bit of a face.\"\n\n\"Do you think he wants him to die?\" whispered Mary.\n\n\"No, but he wishes he\'d never been born. Mother she says that\'s th\'\nworst thing on earth for a child. Them as is not wanted scarce ever\nthrives. Mester Craven he\'d buy anythin\' as money could buy for th\' poor\nlad but he\'d like to forget as he\'s on earth. For one thing, he\'s afraid\nhe\'ll look at him some day and find he\'s growed hunchback.\"\n\n\"Colin\'s so afraid of it himself that he won\'t sit up,\" said Mary. \"He\nsays he\'s always thinking that if he should feel a lump coming he\nshould go crazy and scream himself to death.\"\n\n\"Eh! he oughtn\'t to lie there thinkin\' things like that,\" said Dickon.\n\"No lad could get well as thought them sort o\' things.\"\n\nThe fox was lying on the grass close by him looking up to ask for a pat\nnow and then, and Dickon bent down and rubbed his neck softly and\nthought a few minutes in silence. Presently he lifted his head and\nlooked round the garden.\n\n\"When first we got in here,\" he said, \"it seemed like everything was\ngray. Look round now and tell me if tha\' doesn\'t see a difference.\"\n\nMary looked and caught her breath a little.\n\n\"Why!\" she cried, \"the gray wall is changing. It is as if a green mist\nwere creeping over it. It\'s almost like a green gauze veil.\"\n\n\"Aye,\" said Dickon. \"An\' it\'ll be greener and greener till th\' gray\'s\nall gone. Can tha\' guess what I was thinkin\'?\"\n\n\"I know it was something nice,\" said Mary eagerly. \"I believe it was\nsomething about Colin.\"\n\n\"I was thinkin\' that if he was out here he wouldn\'t be watchin\' for\nlumps to grow on his back; he\'d be watchin\' for buds to break on th\'\nrose-bushes, an\' he\'d likely be healthier,\" explained Dickon. \"I was\nwonderin\' if us could ever get him in th\' humor to come out here an\'\nlie under th\' trees in his carriage.\"\n\n\"I\'ve been wondering that myself. I\'ve thought of it almost every time\nI\'ve talked to him,\" said Mary. \"I\'ve wondered if he could keep a secret\nand I\'ve wondered if we could bring him here without any one seeing us.\nI thought perhaps you could push his carriage. The doctor said he must\nhave fresh air and if he wants us to take him out no one dare disobey\nhim. He won\'t go out for other people and perhaps they will be glad if\nhe will go out with us. He could order the gardeners to keep away so\nthey wouldn\'t find out.\"\n\nDickon was thinking very hard as he scratched Captain\'s back.\n\n\"It\'d be good for him, I\'ll warrant,\" he said. \"Us\'d not be thinkin\'\nhe\'d better never been born. Us\'d be just two children watchin\' a garden\ngrow, an\' he\'d be another. Two lads an\' a little lass just lookin\' on at\nth\' springtime. I warrant it\'d be better than doctor\'s stuff.\"\n\n\"He\'s been lying in his room so long and he\'s always been so afraid of\nhis back that it has made him queer,\" said Mary. \"He knows a good many\nthings out of books but he doesn\'t know anything else. He says he has\nbeen too ill to notice things and he hates going out of doors and hates\ngardens and gardeners. But he likes to hear about this garden because\nit is a secret. I daren\'t tell him much but he said he wanted to see\nit.\"\n\n\"Us\'ll have him out here sometime for sure,\" said Dickon. \"I could push\nhis carriage well enough. Has tha\' noticed how th\' robin an\' his mate\nhas been workin\' while we\'ve been sittin\' here? Look at him perched on\nthat branch wonderin\' where it\'d be best to put that twig he\'s got in\nhis beak.\"\n\nHe made one of his low whistling calls and the robin turned his head and\nlooked at him inquiringly, still holding his twig. Dickon spoke to him\nas Ben Weatherstaff did, but Dickon\'s tone was one of friendly advice.\n\n\"Wheres\'ever tha\' puts it,\" he said, \"it\'ll be all right. Tha\' knew how\nto build tha\' nest before tha\' came out o\' th\' egg. Get on with thee,\nlad. Tha\'st got no time to lose.\"\n\n\"Oh, I do like to hear you talk to him!\" Mary said, laughing\ndelightedly. \"Ben Weatherstaff scolds him and makes fun of him, and he\nhops about and looks as if he understood every word, and I know he likes\nit. Ben Weatherstaff says he is so conceited he would rather have stones\nthrown at him than not be noticed.\"\n\nDickon laughed too and went on talking.\n\n\"Tha\' knows us won\'t trouble thee,\" he said to the robin. \"Us is near\nbein\' wild things ourselves. Us is nest-buildin\' too, bless thee. Look\nout tha\' doesn\'t tell on us.\"\n\nAnd though the robin did not answer, because his beak was occupied, Mary\nknew that when he flew away with his twig to his own corner of the\ngarden the darkness of his dew-bright eye meant that he would not tell\ntheir secret for the world.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\n\"I WON\'T!\" SAID MARY\n\n\nThey found a great deal to do that morning and Mary was late in\nreturning to the house and was also in such a hurry to get back to her\nwork that she quite forgot Colin until the last moment.\n\n\"Tell Colin that I can\'t come and see him yet,\" she said to Martha. \"I\'m\nvery busy in the garden.\"\n\nMartha looked rather frightened.\n\n\"Eh! Miss Mary,\" she said, \"it may put him all out of humor when I tell\nhim that.\"\n\nBut Mary was not as afraid of him as other people were and she was not a\nself-sacrificing person.\n\n\"I can\'t stay,\" she answered. \"Dickon\'s waiting for me;\" and she ran\naway.\n\nThe afternoon was even lovelier and busier than the morning had been.\nAlready nearly all the weeds were cleared out of the garden and most of\nthe roses and trees had been pruned or dug about. Dickon had brought a\nspade of his own and he had taught Mary to use all her tools, so that\nby this time it was plain that though the lovely wild place was not\nlikely to become a \"gardener\'s garden\" it would be a wilderness of\ngrowing things before the springtime was over.\n\n\"There\'ll be apple blossoms an\' cherry blossoms overhead,\" Dickon said,\nworking away with all his might. \"An\' there\'ll be peach an\' plum trees\nin bloom against th\' walls, an\' th\' grass\'ll be a carpet o\' flowers.\"\n\nThe little fox and the rook were as happy and busy as they were, and the\nrobin and his mate flew backward and forward like tiny streaks of\nlightning. Sometimes the rook flapped his black wings and soared away\nover the tree-tops in the park. Each time he came back and perched near\nDickon and cawed several times as if he were relating his adventures,\nand Dickon talked to him just as he had talked to the robin. Once when\nDickon was so busy that he did not answer him at first, Soot flew on to\nhis shoulders and gently tweaked his ear with his large beak. When Mary\nwanted to rest a little Dickon sat down with her under a tree and once\nhe took his pipe out of his pocket and played the soft strange little\nnotes and two squirrels appeared on the wall and looked and listened.\n\n\"Tha\'s a good bit stronger than tha\' was,\" Dickon said, looking at her\nas she was digging. \"Tha\'s beginning to look different, for sure.\"\n\nMary was glowing with exercise and good spirits.\n\n\"I\'m getting fatter and fatter every day,\" she said quite exultantly.\n\"Mrs. Medlock will have to get me some bigger dresses. Martha says my\nhair is growing thicker. It isn\'t so flat and stringy.\"\n\nThe sun was beginning to set and sending deep gold-colored rays slanting\nunder the trees when they parted.\n\n\"It\'ll be fine to-morrow,\" said Dickon. \"I\'ll be at work by sunrise.\"\n\n\"So will I,\" said Mary.\n\n * * * * *\n\nShe ran back to the house as quickly as her feet would carry her. She\nwanted to tell Colin about Dickon\'s fox cub and the rook and about what\nthe springtime had been doing. She felt sure he would like to hear. So\nit was not very pleasant when she opened the door of her room, to see\nMartha standing waiting for her with a doleful face.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" she asked. \"What did Colin say when you told him I\ncouldn\'t come?\"\n\n\"Eh!\" said Martha, \"I wish tha\'d gone. He was nigh goin\' into one o\'\nhis tantrums. There\'s been a nice to do all afternoon to keep him quiet.\nHe would watch the clock all th\' time.\"\n\nMary\'s lips pinched themselves together. She was no more used to\nconsidering other people than Colin was and she saw no reason why an\nill-tempered boy should interfere with the thing she liked best. She\nknew nothing about the pitifulness of people who had been ill and\nnervous and who did not know that they could control their tempers and\nneed not make other people ill and nervous, too. When she had had a\nheadache in India she had done her best to see that everybody else also\nhad a headache or something quite as bad. And she felt she was quite\nright; but of course now she felt that Colin was quite wrong.\n\nHe was not on his sofa when she went into his room. He was lying flat on\nhis back in bed and he did not turn his head toward her as she came in.\nThis was a bad beginning and Mary marched up to him with her stiff\nmanner.\n\n\"Why didn\'t you get up?\" she said.\n\n\"I did get up this morning when I thought you were coming,\" he answered,\nwithout looking at her. \"I made them put me back in bed this afternoon.\nMy back ached and my head ached and I was tired. Why didn\'t you come?\"\n\n\"I was working in the garden with Dickon,\" said Mary.\n\nColin frowned and condescended to look at her.\n\n\"I won\'t let that boy come here if you go and stay with him instead of\ncoming to talk to me,\" he said.\n\nMary flew into a fine passion. She could fly into a passion without\nmaking a noise. She just grew sour and obstinate and did not care what\nhappened.\n\n\"If you send Dickon away, I\'ll never come into this room again!\" she\nretorted.\n\n\"You\'ll have to if I want you,\" said Colin.\n\n\"I won\'t!\" said Mary.\n\n\"I\'ll make you,\" said Colin, \"They shall drag you in.\"\n\n\"Shall they, Mr. Rajah!\" said Mary fiercely. \"They may drag me in but\nthey can\'t make me talk when they get me here. I\'ll sit and clench my\nteeth and never tell you one thing. I won\'t even look at you. I\'ll stare\nat the floor!\"\n\nThey were a nice agreeable pair as they glared at each other. If they\nhad been two little street boys they would have sprung at each other and\nhad a rough-and-tumble fight. As it was, they did the next thing to it.\n\n\"You are a selfish thing!\" cried Colin.\n\n\"What are you?\" said Mary. \"Selfish people always say that. Any one is\nselfish who doesn\'t do what they want. You\'re more selfish than I am.\nYou\'re the most selfish boy I ever saw.\"\n\n\"I\'m not!\" snapped Colin. \"I\'m not as selfish as your fine Dickon is! He\nkeeps you playing in the dirt when he knows I am all by myself. He\'s\nselfish, if you like!\"\n\nMary\'s eyes flashed fire.\n\n\"He\'s nicer than any other boy that ever lived!\" she said. \"He\'s--he\'s\nlike an angel!\" It might sound rather silly to say that but she did not\ncare.\n\n\"A nice angel!\" Colin sneered ferociously. \"He\'s a common cottage boy\noff the moor!\"\n\n\"He\'s better than a common Rajah!\" retorted Mary. \"He\'s a thousand times\nbetter!\"\n\nBecause she was the stronger of the two she was beginning to get the\nbetter of him. The truth was that he had never had a fight with any one\nlike himself in his life and, upon the whole, it was rather good for\nhim, though neither he nor Mary knew anything about that. He turned his\nhead on his pillow and shut his eyes and a big tear was squeezed out and\nran down his cheek. He was beginning to feel pathetic and sorry for\nhimself--not for any one else.\n\n\"I\'m not as selfish as you, because I\'m always ill, and I\'m sure there\nis a lump coming on my back,\" he said. \"And I am going to die besides.\"\n\n\"You\'re not!\" contradicted Mary unsympathetically.\n\nHe opened his eyes quite wide with indignation. He had never heard such\na thing said before. He was at once furious and slightly pleased, if a\nperson could be both at the same time.\n\n\"I\'m not?\" he cried. \"I am! You know I am! Everybody says so.\"\n\n\"I don\'t believe it!\" said Mary sourly. \"You just say that to make\npeople sorry. I believe you\'re proud of it. I don\'t believe it! If you\nwere a nice boy it might be true--but you\'re too nasty!\"\n\nIn spite of his invalid back Colin sat up in bed in quite a healthy\nrage.\n\n\"Get out of the room!\" he shouted and he caught hold of his pillow and\nthrew it at her. He was not strong enough to throw it far and it only\nfell at her feet, but Mary\'s face looked as pinched as a nutcracker.\n\n\"I\'m going,\" she said. \"And I won\'t come back!\"\n\nShe walked to the door and when she reached it she turned round and\nspoke again.\n\n\"I was going to tell you all sorts of nice things,\" she said. \"Dickon\nbrought his fox and his rook and I was going to tell you all about\nthem. Now I won\'t tell you a single thing!\"\n\nShe marched out of the door and closed it behind her, and there to her\ngreat astonishment she found the trained nurse standing as if she had\nbeen listening and, more amazing still--she was laughing. She was a big\nhandsome young woman who ought not to have been a trained nurse at all,\nas she could not bear invalids and she was always making excuses to\nleave Colin to Martha or any one else who would take her place. Mary had\nnever liked her, and she simply stood and gazed up at her as she stood\ngiggling into her handkerchief.\n\n\"What are you laughing at?\" she asked her.\n\n\"At you two young ones,\" said the nurse. \"It\'s the best thing that could\nhappen to the sickly pampered thing to have some one to stand up to him\nthat\'s as spoiled as himself;\" and she laughed into her handkerchief\nagain. \"If he\'d had a young vixen of a sister to fight with it would\nhave been the saving of him.\"\n\n\"Is he going to die?\"\n\n\"I don\'t know and I don\'t care,\" said the nurse. \"Hysterics and temper\nare half what ails him.\"\n\n\"What are hysterics?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"You\'ll find out if you work him into a tantrum after this--but at any\nrate you\'ve given him something to have hysterics about, and I\'m glad\nof it.\"\n\nMary went back to her room not feeling at all as she had felt when she\nhad come in from the garden. She was cross and disappointed but not at\nall sorry for Colin. She had looked forward to telling him a great many\nthings and she had meant to try to make up her mind whether it would be\nsafe to trust him with the great secret. She had been beginning to think\nit would be, but now she had changed her mind entirely. She would never\ntell him and he could stay in his room and never get any fresh air and\ndie if he liked! It would serve him right! She felt so sour and\nunrelenting that for a few minutes she almost forgot about Dickon and\nthe green veil creeping over the world and the soft wind blowing down\nfrom the moor.\n\nMartha was waiting for her and the trouble in her face had been\ntemporarily replaced by interest and curiosity. There was a wooden box\non the table and its cover had been removed and revealed that it was\nfull of neat packages.\n\n\"Mr. Craven sent it to you,\" said Martha. \"It looks as if it had\npicture-books in it.\"\n\nMary remembered what he had asked her the day she had gone to his room.\n\"Do you want anything--dolls--toys--books?\" She opened the package\nwondering if he had sent a doll, and also wondering what she should do\nwith it if he had. But he had not sent one. There were several beautiful\nbooks such as Colin had, and two of them were about gardens and were\nfull of pictures. There were two or three games and there was a\nbeautiful little writing-case with a gold monogram on it and a gold pen\nand inkstand.\n\nEverything was so nice that her pleasure began to crowd her anger out of\nher mind. She had not expected him to remember her at all and her hard\nlittle heart grew quite warm.\n\n\"I can write better than I can print,\" she said, \"and the first thing I\nshall write with that pen will be a letter to tell him I am much\nobliged.\"\n\nIf she had been friends with Colin she would have run to show him her\npresents at once, and they would have looked at the pictures and read\nsome of the gardening books and perhaps tried playing the games, and he\nwould have enjoyed himself so much he would never once have thought he\nwas going to die or have put his hand on his spine to see if there was a\nlump coming. He had a way of doing that which she could not bear. It\ngave her an uncomfortable frightened feeling because he always looked so\nfrightened himself. He said that if he felt even quite a little lump\nsome day he should know his hunch had begun to grow. Something he had\nheard Mrs. Medlock whispering to the nurse had given him the idea and he\nhad thought over it in secret until it was quite firmly fixed in his\nmind. Mrs. Medlock had said his father\'s back had begun to show its\ncrookedness in that way when he was a child. He had never told any one\nbut Mary that most of his \"tantrums\" as they called them grew out of his\nhysterical hidden fear. Mary had been sorry for him when he had told\nher.\n\n\"He always began to think about it when he was cross or tired,\" she said\nto herself. \"And he has been cross to-day. Perhaps--perhaps he has been\nthinking about it all afternoon.\"\n\nShe stood still, looking down at the carpet and thinking.\n\n\"I said I would never go back again--\" she hesitated, knitting her\nbrows--\"but perhaps, just perhaps, I will go and see--if he wants me--in\nthe morning. Perhaps he\'ll try to throw his pillow at me again, but--I\nthink--I\'ll go.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nA TANTRUM\n\n\nShe had got up very early in the morning and had worked hard in the\ngarden and she was tired and sleepy, so as soon as Martha had brought\nher supper and she had eaten it, she was glad to go to bed. As she laid\nher head on the pillow she murmured to herself:\n\n\"I\'ll go out before breakfast and work with Dickon and then afterward--I\nbelieve--I\'ll go to see him.\"\n\nShe thought it was the middle of the night when she was wakened by such\ndreadful sounds that she jumped out of bed in an instant. What was\nit--what was it? The next minute she felt quite sure she knew. Doors\nwere opened and shut and there were hurrying feet in the corridors and\nsome one was crying and screaming at the same time, screaming and crying\nin a horrible way.\n\n\"It\'s Colin,\" she said. \"He\'s having one of those tantrums the nurse\ncalled hysterics. How awful it sounds.\"\n\nAs she listened to the sobbing screams she did not wonder that people\nwere so frightened that they gave him his own way in everything rather\nthan hear them. She put her hands over her ears and felt sick and\nshivering.\n\n\"I don\'t know what to do. I don\'t know what to do,\" she kept saying. \"I\ncan\'t bear it.\"\n\nOnce she wondered if he would stop if she dared go to him and then she\nremembered how he had driven her out of the room and thought that\nperhaps the sight of her might make him worse. Even when she pressed her\nhands more tightly over her ears she could not keep the awful sounds\nout. She hated them so and was so terrified by them that suddenly they\nbegan to make her angry and she felt as if she should like to fly into a\ntantrum herself and frighten him as he was frightening her. She was not\nused to any one\'s tempers but her own. She took her hands from her ears\nand sprang up and stamped her foot.\n\n\"He ought to be stopped! Somebody ought to make him stop! Somebody ought\nto beat him!\" she cried out.\n\nJust then she heard feet almost running down the corridor and her door\nopened and the nurse came in. She was not laughing now by any means. She\neven looked rather pale.\n\n\"He\'s worked himself into hysterics,\" she said in a great hurry. \"He\'ll\ndo himself harm. No one can do anything with him. You come and try,\nlike a good child. He likes you.\"\n\n\"He turned me out of the room this morning,\" said Mary, stamping her\nfoot with excitement.\n\nThe stamp rather pleased the nurse. The truth was that she had been\nafraid she might find Mary crying and hiding her head under the\nbed-clothes.\n\n\"That\'s right,\" she said. \"You\'re in the right humor. You go and scold\nhim. Give him something new to think of. Do go, child, as quick as ever\nyou can.\"\n\nIt was not until afterward that Mary realized that the thing had been\nfunny as well as dreadful--that it was funny that all the grown-up\npeople were so frightened that they came to a little girl just because\nthey guessed she was almost as bad as Colin himself.\n\nShe flew along the corridor and the nearer she got to the screams the\nhigher her temper mounted. She felt quite wicked by the time she reached\nthe door. She slapped it open with her hand and ran across the room to\nthe four-posted bed.\n\n\"You stop!\" she almost shouted. \"You stop! I hate you! Everybody hates\nyou! I wish everybody would run out of the house and let you scream\nyourself to death! You _will_ scream yourself to death in a minute, and\nI wish you would!\"\n\nA nice sympathetic child could neither have thought nor said such\nthings, but it just happened that the shock of hearing them was the best\npossible thing for this hysterical boy whom no one had ever dared to\nrestrain or contradict.\n\nHe had been lying on his face beating his pillow with his hands and he\nactually almost jumped around, he turned so quickly at the sound of the\nfurious little voice. His face looked dreadful, white and red and\nswollen, and he was gasping and choking; but savage little Mary did not\ncare an atom.\n\n\"If you scream another scream,\" she said, \"I\'ll scream too--and I can\nscream louder than you can and I\'ll frighten you, I\'ll frighten you!\"\n\nHe actually had stopped screaming because she had startled him so. The\nscream which had been coming almost choked him. The tears were streaming\ndown his face and he shook all over.\n\n\"I can\'t stop!\" he gasped and sobbed. \"I can\'t--I can\'t!\"\n\n\"You can!\" shouted Mary. \"Half that ails you is hysterics and\ntemper--just hysterics--hysterics--hysterics!\" and she stamped each time\nshe said it.\n\n\"I felt the lump--I felt it,\" choked out Colin. \"I knew I should. I\nshall have a hunch on my back and then I shall die,\" and he began to\nwrithe again and turned on his face and sobbed and wailed but he didn\'t\nscream.\n\n\"You didn\'t feel a lump!\" contradicted Mary fiercely. \"If you did it was\nonly a hysterical lump. Hysterics makes lumps. There\'s nothing the\nmatter with your horrid back--nothing but hysterics! Turn over and let\nme look at it!\"\n\nShe liked the word \"hysterics\" and felt somehow as if it had an effect\non him. He was probably like herself and had never heard it before.\n\n\"Nurse,\" she commanded, \"come here and show me his back this minute!\"\n\nThe nurse, Mrs. Medlock and Martha had been standing huddled together\nnear the door staring at her, their mouths half open. All three had\ngasped with fright more than once. The nurse came forward as if she were\nhalf afraid. Colin was heaving with great breathless sobs.\n\n\"Perhaps he--he won\'t let me,\" she hesitated in a low voice.\n\nColin heard her, however, and he gasped out between two sobs:\n\n\"Sh--show her! She--she\'ll see then!\"\n\nIt was a poor thin back to look at when it was bared. Every rib could be\ncounted and every joint of the spine, though Mistress Mary did not count\nthem as she bent over and examined them with a solemn savage little\nface. She looked so sour and old-fashioned that the nurse turned her\nhead aside to hide the twitching of her mouth. There was just a minute\'s\nsilence, for even Colin tried to hold his breath while Mary looked up\nand down his spine, and down and up, as intently as if she had been the\ngreat doctor from London.\n\n\"There\'s not a single lump there!\" she said at last. \"There\'s not a lump\nas big as a pin--except backbone lumps, and you can only feel them\nbecause you\'re thin. I\'ve got backbone lumps myself, and they used to\nstick out as much as yours do, until I began to get fatter, and I am not\nfat enough yet to hide them. There\'s not a lump as big as a pin! If you\never say there is again, I shall laugh!\"\n\nNo one but Colin himself knew what effect those crossly spoken childish\nwords had on him. If he had ever had any one to talk to about his secret\nterrors--if he had ever dared to let himself ask questions--if he had\nhad childish companions and had not lain on his back in the huge closed\nhouse, breathing an atmosphere heavy with the fears of people who were\nmost of them ignorant and tired of him, he would have found out that\nmost of his fright and illness was created by himself. But he had lain\nand thought of himself and his aches and weariness for hours and days\nand months and years. And now that an angry unsympathetic little girl\ninsisted obstinately that he was not as ill as he thought he was he\nactually felt as if she might be speaking the truth.\n\n\"I didn\'t know,\" ventured the nurse, \"that he thought he had a lump on\nhis spine. His back is weak because he won\'t try to sit up. I could have\ntold him there was no lump there.\"\n\nColin gulped and turned his face a little to look at her.\n\n\"C-could you?\" he said pathetically.\n\n\"Yes, sir.\"\n\n\"There!\" said Mary, and she gulped too.\n\nColin turned on his face again and but for his long-drawn broken\nbreaths, which were the dying down of his storm of sobbing, he lay still\nfor a minute, though great tears streamed down his face and wet the\npillow. Actually the tears meant that a curious great relief had come to\nhim. Presently he turned and looked at the nurse again and strangely\nenough he was not like a Rajah at all as he spoke to her.\n\n\"Do you think--I could--live to grow up?\" he said.\n\nThe nurse was neither clever nor soft-hearted but she could repeat some\nof the London doctor\'s words.\n\n\"You probably will if you will do what you are told to do and not give\nway to your temper, and stay out a great deal in the fresh air.\"\n\nColin\'s tantrum had passed and he was weak and worn out with crying and\nthis perhaps made him feel gentle. He put out his hand a little toward\nMary, and I am glad to say that, her own tantrum having passed, she was\nsoftened too and met him half-way with her hand, so that it was a sort\nof making up.\n\n\"I\'ll--I\'ll go out with you, Mary,\" he said. \"I shan\'t hate fresh air if\nwe can find--\" He remembered just in time to stop himself from saying\n\"if we can find the secret garden\" and he ended, \"I shall like to go out\nwith you if Dickon will come and push my chair. I do so want to see\nDickon and the fox and the crow.\"\n\nThe nurse remade the tumbled bed and shook and straightened the pillows.\nThen she made Colin a cup of beef tea and gave a cup to Mary, who really\nwas very glad to get it after her excitement. Mrs. Medlock and Martha\ngladly slipped away, and after everything was neat and calm and in order\nthe nurse looked as if she would very gladly slip away also. She was a\nhealthy young woman who resented being robbed of her sleep and she\nyawned quite openly as she looked at Mary, who had pushed her big\nfootstool close to the four-posted bed and was holding Colin\'s hand.\n\n\"You must go back and get your sleep out,\" she said. \"He\'ll drop off\nafter a while--if he\'s not too upset. Then I\'ll lie down myself in the\nnext room.\"\n\n\"Would you like me to sing you that song I learned from my Ayah?\" Mary\nwhispered to Colin.\n\nHis hand pulled hers gently and he turned his tired eyes on her\nappealingly.\n\n\"Oh, yes!\" he answered. \"It\'s such a soft song. I shall go to sleep in a\nminute.\"\n\n\"I will put him to sleep,\" Mary said to the yawning nurse. \"You can go\nif you like.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the nurse, with an attempt at reluctance. \"If he doesn\'t go\nto sleep in half an hour you must call me.\"\n\n\"Very well,\" answered Mary.\n\nThe nurse was out of the room in a minute and as soon as she was gone\nColin pulled Mary\'s hand again.\n\n\"I almost told,\" he said; \"but I stopped myself in time. I won\'t talk\nand I\'ll go to sleep, but you said you had a whole lot of nice things to\ntell me. Have you--do you think you have found out anything at all about\nthe way into the secret garden?\"\n\nMary looked at his poor little tired face and swollen eyes and her heart\nrelented.\n\n\"Ye-es,\" she answered, \"I think I have. And if you will go to sleep I\nwill tell you to-morrow.\"\n\nHis hand quite trembled.\n\n\"Oh, Mary!\" he said. \"Oh, Mary! If I could get into it I think I should\nlive to grow up! Do you suppose that instead of singing the Ayah\nsong--you could just tell me softly as you did that first day what you\nimagine it looks like inside? I am sure it will make me go to sleep.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Mary. \"Shut your eyes.\"\n\nHe closed his eyes and lay quite still and she held his hand and began\nto speak very slowly and in a very low voice.\n\n\"I think it has been left alone so long--that it has grown all into a\nlovely tangle. I think the roses have climbed and climbed and climbed\nuntil they hang from the branches and walls and creep over the\nground--almost like a strange gray mist. Some of them have died but\nmany--are alive and when the summer comes there will be curtains and\nfountains of roses. I think the ground is full of daffodils and\nsnowdrops and lilies and iris working their way out of the dark. Now the\nspring has begun--perhaps--perhaps--\"\n\nThe soft drone of her voice was making him stiller and stiller and she\nsaw it and went on.\n\n\"Perhaps they are coming up through the grass--perhaps there are\nclusters of purple crocuses and gold ones--even now. Perhaps the leaves\nare beginning to break out and uncurl--and perhaps--the gray is changing\nand a green gauze veil is creeping--and creeping over--everything. And\nthe birds are coming to look at it--because it is--so safe and still.\nAnd perhaps--perhaps--perhaps--\" very softly and slowly indeed, \"the\nrobin has found a mate--and is building a nest.\"\n\nAnd Colin was asleep.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\n\"THA\' MUNNOT WASTE NO TIME\"\n\n\nOf course Mary did not waken early the next morning. She slept late\nbecause she was tired, and when Martha brought her breakfast she told\nher that though Colin was quite quiet he was ill and feverish as he\nalways was after he had worn himself out with a fit of crying. Mary ate\nher breakfast slowly as she listened.\n\n\"He says he wishes tha\' would please go and see him as soon as tha\'\ncan,\" Martha said. \"It\'s queer what a fancy he\'s took to thee. Tha\' did\ngive it him last night for sure--didn\'t tha\'? Nobody else would have\ndared to do it. Eh! poor lad! He\'s been spoiled till salt won\'t save\nhim. Mother says as th\' two worst things as can happen to a child is\nnever to have his own way--or always to have it. She doesn\'t know which\nis th\' worst. Tha\' was in a fine temper tha\'self, too. But he says to me\nwhen I went into his room, \'Please ask Miss Mary if she\'ll please come\nan\' talk to me?\' Think o\' him saying please! Will you go, Miss?\"\n\n\"I\'ll run and see Dickon first,\" said Mary. \"No, I\'ll go and see Colin\nfirst and tell him--I know what I\'ll tell him,\" with a sudden\ninspiration.\n\nShe had her hat on when she appeared in Colin\'s room and for a second he\nlooked disappointed. He was in bed and his face was pitifully white and\nthere were dark circles round his eyes.\n\n\"I\'m glad you came,\" he said. \"My head aches and I ache all over because\nI\'m so tired. Are you going somewhere?\"\n\nMary went and leaned against his bed.\n\n\"I won\'t be long,\" she said. \"I\'m going to Dickon, but I\'ll come back.\nColin, it\'s--it\'s something about the secret garden.\"\n\nHis whole face brightened and a little color came into it.\n\n\"Oh! is it!\" he cried out. \"I dreamed about it all night. I heard you\nsay something about gray changing into green, and I dreamed I was\nstanding in a place all filled with trembling little green leaves--and\nthere were birds on nests everywhere and they looked so soft and still.\nI\'ll lie and think about it until you come back.\"\n\nIn five minutes Mary was with Dickon in their garden. The fox and the\ncrow were with him again and this time he had brought two tame\nsquirrels.\n\n\"I came over on the pony this mornin\',\" he said. \"Eh! he is a good\nlittle chap--Jump is! I brought these two in my pockets. This here one\nhe\'s called Nut an\' this here other one\'s called Shell.\"\n\nWhen he said \"Nut\" one squirrel leaped on to his right shoulder and when\nhe said \"Shell\" the other one leaped on to his left shoulder.\n\nWhen they sat down on the grass with Captain curled at their feet, Soot\nsolemnly listening on a tree and Nut and Shell nosing about close to\nthem, it seemed to Mary that it would be scarcely bearable to leave such\ndelightfulness, but when she began to tell her story somehow the look in\nDickon\'s funny face gradually changed her mind. She could see he felt\nsorrier for Colin than she did. He looked up at the sky and all about\nhim.\n\n\"Just listen to them birds--th\' world seems full of \'em--all whistlin\'\nan\' pipin\',\" he said. \"Look at \'em dartin\' about, an\' hearken at \'em\ncallin\' to each other. Come springtime seems like as if all th\' world\'s\ncallin\'. The leaves is uncurlin\' so you can see \'em--an\', my word, th\'\nnice smells there is about!\" sniffing with his happy turned-up nose.\n\"An\' that poor lad lyin\' shut up an\' seein\' so little that he gets to\nthinkin\' o\' things as sets him screamin\'. Eh! my! we mun get him out\nhere--we mun get him watchin\' an\' listenin\' an\' sniffin\' up th\' air an\'\nget him just soaked through wi\' sunshine. An\' we munnot lose no time\nabout it.\"\n\nWhen he was very much interested he often spoke quite broad Yorkshire\nthough at other times he tried to modify his dialect so that Mary could\nbetter understand. But she loved his broad Yorkshire and had in fact\nbeen trying to learn to speak it herself. So she spoke a little now.\n\n\"Aye, that we mun,\" she said (which meant \"Yes, indeed, we must\"). \"I\'ll\ntell thee what us\'ll do first,\" she proceeded, and Dickon grinned,\nbecause when the little wench tried to twist her tongue into speaking\nYorkshire it amused him very much. \"He\'s took a graidely fancy to thee.\nHe wants to see thee and he wants to see Soot an\' Captain. When I go\nback to the house to talk to him I\'ll ax him if tha\' canna\' come an\' see\nhim to-morrow mornin\'--an\' bring tha\' creatures wi\' thee--an\' then--in a\nbit, when there\'s more leaves out, an\' happen a bud or two, we\'ll get\nhim to come out an\' tha\' shall push him in his chair an\' we\'ll bring him\nhere an\' show him everything.\"\n\nWhen she stopped she was quite proud of herself. She had never made a\nlong speech in Yorkshire before and she had remembered very well.\n\n\"Tha\' mun talk a bit o\' Yorkshire like that to Mester Colin,\" Dickon\nchuckled. \"Tha\'ll make him laugh an\' there\'s nowt as good for ill folk\nas laughin\' is. Mother says she believes as half a hour\'s good laugh\nevery mornin\' \'ud cure a chap as was makin\' ready for typhus fever.\"\n\n\"I\'m going to talk Yorkshire to him this very day,\" said Mary, chuckling\nherself.\n\nThe garden had reached the time when every day and every night it seemed\nas if Magicians were passing through it drawing loveliness out of the\nearth and the boughs with wands. It was hard to go away and leave it\nall, particularly as Nut had actually crept on to her dress and Shell\nhad scrambled down the trunk of the apple-tree they sat under and stayed\nthere looking at her with inquiring eyes. But she went back to the house\nand when she sat down close to Colin\'s bed he began to sniff as Dickon\ndid though not in such an experienced way.\n\n\"You smell like flowers and--and fresh things,\" he cried out quite\njoyously. \"What is it you smell of? It\'s cool and warm and sweet all at\nthe same time.\"\n\n\"It\'s th\' wind from th\' moor,\" said Mary. \"It comes o\' sittin\' on th\'\ngrass under a tree wi\' Dickon an\' wi\' Captain an\' Soot an\' Nut an\'\nShell. It\'s th\' springtime an\' out o\' doors an\' sunshine as smells so\ngraidely.\"\n\nShe said it as broadly as she could, and you do not know how broadly\nYorkshire sounds until you have heard some one speak it. Colin began to\nlaugh.\n\n\"What are you doing?\" he said. \"I never heard you talk like that before.\nHow funny it sounds.\"\n\n\"I\'m givin\' thee a bit o\' Yorkshire,\" answered Mary triumphantly. \"I\ncanna\' talk as graidely as Dickon an\' Martha can but tha\' sees I can\nshape a bit. Doesn\'t tha\' understand a bit o\' Yorkshire when tha\' hears\nit? An\' tha\' a Yorkshire lad thysel\' bred an\' born! Eh! I wonder tha\'rt\nnot ashamed o\' thy face.\"\n\nAnd then she began to laugh too and they both laughed until they could\nnot stop themselves and they laughed until the room echoed and Mrs.\nMedlock opening the door to come in drew back into the corridor and\nstood listening amazed.\n\n\"Well, upon my word!\" she said, speaking rather broad Yorkshire herself\nbecause there was no one to hear her and she was so astonished. \"Whoever\nheard th\' like! Whoever on earth would ha\' thought it!\"\n\nThere was so much to talk about. It seemed as if Colin could never hear\nenough of Dickon and Captain and Soot and Nut and Shell and the pony\nwhose name was Jump. Mary had run round into the wood with Dickon to see\nJump. He was a tiny little shaggy moor pony with thick locks hanging\nover his eyes and with a pretty face and a nuzzling velvet nose. He was\nrather thin with living on moor grass but he was as tough and wiry as if\nthe muscle in his little legs had been made of steel springs. He had\nlifted his head and whinnied softly the moment he saw Dickon and he had\ntrotted up to him and put his head across his shoulder and then Dickon\nhad talked into his ear and Jump had talked back in odd little whinnies\nand puffs and snorts. Dickon had made him give Mary his small front hoof\nand kiss her on her cheek with his velvet muzzle.\n\n\"Does he really understand everything Dickon says?\" Colin asked.\n\n\"It seems as if he does,\" answered Mary. \"Dickon says anything will\nunderstand if you\'re friends with it for sure, but you have to be\nfriends for sure.\"\n\nColin lay quiet a little while and his strange gray eyes seemed to be\nstaring at the wall, but Mary saw he was thinking.\n\n\"I wish I was friends with things,\" he said at last, \"but I\'m not. I\nnever had anything to be friends with, and I can\'t bear people.\"\n\n\"Can\'t you bear me?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"Yes, I can,\" he answered. \"It\'s very funny but I even like you.\"\n\n\"Ben Weatherstaff said I was like him,\" said Mary. \"He said he\'d warrant\nwe\'d both got the same nasty tempers. I think you are like him too. We\nare all three alike--you and I and Ben Weatherstaff. He said we were\nneither of us much to look at and we were as sour as we looked. But I\ndon\'t feel as sour as I used to before I knew the robin and Dickon.\"\n\n\"Did you feel as if you hated people?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Mary without any affectation. \"I should have detested\nyou if I had seen you before I saw the robin and Dickon.\"\n\nColin put out his thin hand and touched her.\n\n\"Mary,\" he said, \"I wish I hadn\'t said what I did about sending Dickon\naway. I hated you when you said he was like an angel and I laughed at\nyou but--but perhaps he is.\"\n\n\"Well, it was rather funny to say it,\" she admitted frankly, \"because\nhis nose does turn up and he has a big mouth and his clothes have\npatches all over them and he talks broad Yorkshire, but--but if an angel\ndid come to Yorkshire and live on the moor--if there was a Yorkshire\nangel--I believe he\'d understand the green things and know how to make\nthem grow and he would know how to talk to the wild creatures as Dickon\ndoes and they\'d know he was friends for sure.\"\n\n\"I shouldn\'t mind Dickon looking at me,\" said Colin; \"I want to see\nhim.\"\n\n\"I\'m glad you said that,\" answered Mary, \"because--because--\"\n\nQuite suddenly it came into her mind that this was the minute to tell\nhim. Colin knew something new was coming.\n\n\"Because what?\" he cried eagerly.\n\nMary was so anxious that she got up from her stool and came to him and\ncaught hold of both his hands.\n\n\"Can I trust you? I trusted Dickon because birds trusted him. Can I\ntrust you--for sure--_for sure_?\" she implored.\n\nHer face was so solemn that he almost whispered his answer.\n\n\"Yes--yes!\"\n\n\"Well, Dickon will come to see you to-morrow morning, and he\'ll bring\nhis creatures with him.\"\n\n\"Oh! Oh!\" Colin cried out in delight.\n\n\"But that\'s not all,\" Mary went on, almost pale with solemn excitement.\n\"The rest is better. There is a door into the garden. I found it. It is\nunder the ivy on the wall.\"\n\nIf he had been a strong healthy boy Colin would probably have shouted\n\"Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!\" but he was weak and rather hysterical; his\neyes grew bigger and bigger and he gasped for breath.\n\n\"Oh! Mary!\" he cried out with a half sob. \"Shall I see it? Shall I get\ninto it? Shall I _live_ to get into it?\" and he clutched her hands and\ndragged her toward him.\n\n\"Of course you\'ll see it!\" snapped Mary indignantly. \"Of course you\'ll\nlive to get into it! Don\'t be silly!\"\n\nAnd she was so un-hysterical and natural and childish that she brought\nhim to his senses and he began to laugh at himself and a few minutes\nafterward she was sitting on her stool again telling him not what she\nimagined the secret garden to be like but what it really was, and\nColin\'s aches and tiredness were forgotten and he was listening\nenraptured.\n\n\"It is just what you thought it would be,\" he said at last. \"It sounds\njust as if you had really seen it. You know I said that when you told me\nfirst.\"\n\nMary hesitated about two minutes and then boldly spoke the truth.\n\n\"I had seen it--and I had been in,\" she said. \"I found the key and got\nin weeks ago. But I daren\'t tell you--I daren\'t because I was so afraid\nI couldn\'t trust you--_for sure_!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\n\"IT HAS COME!\"\n\n\nOf course Dr. Craven had been sent for the morning after Colin had had\nhis tantrum. He was always sent for at once when such a thing occurred\nand he always found, when he arrived, a white shaken boy lying on his\nbed, sulky and still so hysterical that he was ready to break into fresh\nsobbing at the least word. In fact, Dr. Craven dreaded and detested the\ndifficulties of these visits. On this occasion he was away from\nMisselthwaite Manor until afternoon.\n\n\"How is he?\" he asked Mrs. Medlock rather irritably when he arrived. \"He\nwill break a blood-vessel in one of those fits some day. The boy is half\ninsane with hysteria and self-indulgence.\"\n\n\"Well, sir,\" answered Mrs. Medlock, \"you\'ll scarcely believe your eyes\nwhen you see him. That plain sour-faced child that\'s almost as bad as\nhimself has just bewitched him. How she\'s done it there\'s no telling.\nThe Lord knows she\'s nothing to look at and you scarcely ever hear her\nspeak, but she did what none of us dare do. She just flew at him like a\nlittle cat last night, and stamped her feet and ordered him to stop\nscreaming, and somehow she startled him so that he actually did stop,\nand this afternoon--well just come up and see, sir. It\'s past\ncrediting.\"\n\nThe scene which Dr. Craven beheld when he entered his patient\'s room was\nindeed rather astonishing to him. As Mrs. Medlock opened the door he\nheard laughing and chattering. Colin was on his sofa in his\ndressing-gown and he was sitting up quite straight looking at a picture\nin one of the garden books and talking to the plain child who at that\nmoment could scarcely be called plain at all because her face was so\nglowing with enjoyment.\n\n\"Those long spires of blue ones--we\'ll have a lot of those,\" Colin was\nannouncing. \"They\'re called Del-phin-iums.\"\n\n\"Dickon says they\'re larkspurs made big and grand,\" cried Mistress Mary.\n\"There are clumps there already.\"\n\nThen they saw Dr. Craven and stopped. Mary became quite still and Colin\nlooked fretful.\n\n\"I am sorry to hear you were ill last night, my boy,\" Dr. Craven said a\ntrifle nervously. He was rather a nervous man.\n\n\"I\'m better now--much better,\" Colin answered, rather like a Rajah.\n\"I\'m going out in my chair in a day or two if it is fine. I want some\nfresh air.\"\n\nDr. Craven sat down by him and felt his pulse and looked at him\ncuriously.\n\n\"It must be a very fine day,\" he said, \"and you must be very careful not\nto tire yourself.\"\n\n\"Fresh air won\'t tire me,\" said the young Rajah.\n\nAs there had been occasions when this same young gentleman had shrieked\naloud with rage and had insisted that fresh air would give him cold and\nkill him, it is not to be wondered at that his doctor felt somewhat\nstartled.\n\n\"I thought you did not like fresh air,\" he said.\n\n\"I don\'t when I am by myself,\" replied the Rajah; \"but my cousin is\ngoing out with me.\"\n\n\"And the nurse, of course?\" suggested Dr. Craven.\n\n\"No, I will not have the nurse,\" so magnificently that Mary could not\nhelp remembering how the young native Prince had looked with his\ndiamonds and emeralds and pearls stuck all over him and the great rubies\non the small dark hand he had waved to command his servants to approach\nwith salaams and receive his orders.\n\n\"My cousin knows how to take care of me. I am always better when she is\nwith me. She made me better last night. A very strong boy I know will\npush my carriage.\"\n\nDr. Craven felt rather alarmed. If this tiresome hysterical boy should\nchance to get well he himself would lose all chance of inheriting\nMisselthwaite; but he was not an unscrupulous man, though he was a weak\none, and he did not intend to let him run into actual danger.\n\n\"He must be a strong boy and a steady boy,\" he said. \"And I must know\nsomething about him. Who is he? What is his name?\"\n\n\"It\'s Dickon,\" Mary spoke up suddenly. She felt somehow that everybody\nwho knew the moor must know Dickon. And she was right, too. She saw that\nin a moment Dr. Craven\'s serious face relaxed into a relieved smile.\n\n\"Oh, Dickon,\" he said. \"If it is Dickon you will be safe enough. He\'s as\nstrong as a moor pony, is Dickon.\"\n\n\"And he\'s trusty,\" said Mary. \"He\'s th\' trustiest lad i\' Yorkshire.\" She\nhad been talking Yorkshire to Colin and she forgot herself.\n\n\"Did Dickon teach you that?\" asked Dr. Craven, laughing outright.\n\n\"I\'m learning it as if it was French,\" said Mary rather coldly. \"It\'s\nlike a native dialect in India. Very clever people try to learn them. I\nlike it and so does Colin.\"\n\n\"Well, well,\" he said. \"If it amuses you perhaps it won\'t do you any\nharm. Did you take your bromide last night, Colin?\"\n\n\"No,\" Colin answered. \"I wouldn\'t take it at first and after Mary made\nme quiet she talked me to sleep--in a low voice--about the spring\ncreeping into a garden.\"\n\n\"That sounds soothing,\" said Dr. Craven, more perplexed than ever and\nglancing sideways at Mistress Mary sitting on her stool and looking down\nsilently at the carpet. \"You are evidently better, but you must\nremember--\"\n\n\"I don\'t want to remember,\" interrupted the Rajah, appearing again.\n\"When I lie by myself and remember I begin to have pains everywhere and\nI think of things that make me begin to scream because I hate them so.\nIf there was a doctor anywhere who could make you forget you were ill\ninstead of remembering it I would have him brought here.\" And he waved a\nthin hand which ought really to have been covered with royal signet\nrings made of rubies. \"It is because my cousin makes me forget that she\nmakes me better.\"\n\nDr. Craven had never made such a short stay after a \"tantrum\"; usually\nhe was obliged to remain a very long time and do a great many things.\nThis afternoon he did not give any medicine or leave any new orders and\nhe was spared any disagreeable scenes. When he went down-stairs he\nlooked very thoughtful and when he talked to Mrs. Medlock in the library\nshe felt that he was a much puzzled man.\n\n\"Well, sir,\" she ventured, \"could you have believed it?\"\n\n\"It is certainly a new state of affairs,\" said the doctor. \"And there\'s\nno denying it is better than the old one.\"\n\n\"I believe Susan Sowerby\'s right--I do that,\" said Mrs. Medlock. \"I\nstopped in her cottage on my way to Thwaite yesterday and had a bit of\ntalk with her. And she says to me, \'Well, Sarah Ann, she mayn\'t be a\ngood child, an\' she mayn\'t be a pretty one, but she\'s a child, an\'\nchildren needs children.\' We went to school together, Susan Sowerby and\nme.\"\n\n\"She\'s the best sick nurse I know,\" said Dr. Craven. \"When I find her in\na cottage I know the chances are that I shall save my patient.\"\n\nMrs. Medlock smiled. She was fond of Susan Sowerby.\n\n\"She\'s got a way with her, has Susan,\" she went on quite volubly. \"I\'ve\nbeen thinking all morning of one thing she said yesterday. She says,\n\'Once when I was givin\' th\' children a bit of a preach after they\'d been\nfightin\' I ses to \'em all, \"When I was at school my jography told as\nth\' world was shaped like a orange an\' I found out before I was ten\nthat th\' whole orange doesn\'t belong to nobody. No one owns more than\nhis bit of a quarter an\' there\'s times it seems like there\'s not enow\nquarters to go round. But don\'t you--none o\' you--think as you own th\'\nwhole orange or you\'ll find out you\'re mistaken, an\' you won\'t find it\nout without hard knocks.\" What children learns from children,\' she says,\n\'is that there\'s no sense in grabbin\' at th\' whole orange--peel an\' all.\nIf you do you\'ll likely not get even th\' pips, an\' them\'s too bitter to\neat.\'\"\n\n\"She\'s a shrewd woman,\" said Dr. Craven, putting on his coat.\n\n\"Well, she\'s got a way of saying things,\" ended Mrs. Medlock, much\npleased. \"Sometimes I\'ve said to her, \'Eh! Susan, if you was a different\nwoman an\' didn\'t talk such broad Yorkshire I\'ve seen the times when I\nshould have said you was clever.\'\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nThat night Colin slept without once awakening and when he opened his\neyes in the morning he lay still and smiled without knowing it--smiled\nbecause he felt so curiously comfortable. It was actually nice to be\nawake, and he turned over and stretched his limbs luxuriously. He felt\nas if tight strings which had held him had loosened themselves and let\nhim go. He did not know that Dr. Craven would have said that his nerves\nhad relaxed and rested themselves. Instead of lying and staring at the\nwall and wishing he had not awakened, his mind was full of the plans he\nand Mary had made yesterday, of pictures of the garden and of Dickon and\nhis wild creatures. It was so nice to have things to think about. And he\nhad not been awake more than ten minutes when he heard feet running\nalong the corridor and Mary was at the door. The next minute she was in\nthe room and had run across to his bed, bringing with her a waft of\nfresh air full of the scent of the morning.\n\n\"You\'ve been out! You\'ve been out! There\'s that nice smell of leaves!\"\nhe cried.\n\nShe had been running and her hair was loose and blown and she was bright\nwith the air and pink-cheeked, though he could not see it.\n\n\"It\'s so beautiful!\" she said, a little breathless with her speed. \"You\nnever saw anything so beautiful! It has _come_! I thought it had come\nthat other morning, but it was only coming. It is here now! It has come,\nthe Spring! Dickon says so!\"\n\n\"Has it?\" cried Colin, and though he really knew nothing about it he\nfelt his heart beat. He actually sat up in bed.\n\n\"Open the window!\" he added, laughing half with joyful excitement and\nhalf at his own fancy. \"Perhaps we may hear golden trumpets!\"\n\nAnd though he laughed, Mary was at the window in a moment and in a\nmoment more it was opened wide and freshness and softness and scents and\nbirds\' songs were pouring through.\n\n\"That\'s fresh air,\" she said. \"Lie on your back and draw in long breaths\nof it. That\'s what Dickon does when he\'s lying on the moor. He says he\nfeels it in his veins and it makes him strong and he feels as if he\ncould live forever and ever. Breathe it and breathe it.\"\n\nShe was only repeating what Dickon had told her, but she caught Colin\'s\nfancy.\n\n\"\'Forever and ever\'! Does it make him feel like that?\" he said, and he\ndid as she told him, drawing in long deep breaths over and over again\nuntil he felt that something quite new and delightful was happening to\nhim.\n\nMary was at his bedside again.\n\n\"Things are crowding up out of the earth,\" she ran on in a hurry. \"And\nthere are flowers uncurling and buds on everything and the green veil\nhas covered nearly all the gray and the birds are in such a hurry about\ntheir nests for fear they may be too late that some of them are even\nfighting for places in the secret garden. And the rose-bushes look as\nwick as wick can be, and there are primroses in the lanes and woods, and\nthe seeds we planted are up, and Dickon has brought the fox and the crow\nand the squirrels and a new-born lamb.\"\n\nAnd then she paused for breath. The new-born lamb Dickon had found three\ndays before lying by its dead mother among the gorse bushes on the moor.\nIt was not the first motherless lamb he had found and he knew what to do\nwith it. He had taken it to the cottage wrapped in his jacket and he had\nlet it lie near the fire and had fed it with warm milk. It was a soft\nthing with a darling silly baby face and legs rather long for its body.\nDickon had carried it over the moor in his arms and its feeding bottle\nwas in his pocket with a squirrel, and when Mary had sat under a tree\nwith its limp warmness huddled on her lap she had felt as if she were\ntoo full of strange joy to speak. A lamb--a lamb! A living lamb who lay\non your lap like a baby!\n\nShe was describing it with great joy and Colin was listening and drawing\nin long breaths of air when the nurse entered. She started a little at\nthe sight of the open window. She had sat stifling in the room many a\nwarm day because her patient was sure that open windows gave people\ncold.\n\n\"Are you sure you are not chilly, Master Colin?\" she inquired.\n\n\"No,\" was the answer. \"I am breathing long breaths of fresh air. It\nmakes you strong. I am going to get up to the sofa for breakfast and my\ncousin will have breakfast with me.\"\n\nThe nurse went away, concealing a smile, to give the order for two\nbreakfasts. She found the servants\' hall a more amusing place than the\ninvalid\'s chamber and just now everybody wanted to hear the news from\nup-stairs. There was a great deal of joking about the unpopular young\nrecluse who, as the cook said, \"had found his master, and good for him.\"\nThe servants\' hall had been very tired of the tantrums, and the butler,\nwho was a man with a family, had more than once expressed his opinion\nthat the invalid would be all the better \"for a good hiding.\"\n\nWhen Colin was on his sofa and the breakfast for two was put upon the\ntable he made an announcement to the nurse in his most Rajah-like\nmanner.\n\n\"A boy, and a fox, and a crow, and two squirrels, and a new-born lamb,\nare coming to see me this morning. I want them brought up-stairs as soon\nas they come,\" he said. \"You are not to begin playing with the animals\nin the servants\' hall and keep them there. I want them here.\"\n\nThe nurse gave a slight gasp and tried to conceal it with a cough.\n\n\"Yes, sir,\" she answered.\n\n\"I\'ll tell you what you can do,\" added Colin, waving his hand. \"You can\ntell Martha to bring them here. The boy is Martha\'s brother. His name is\nDickon and he is an animal charmer.\"\n\n\"I hope the animals won\'t bite, Master Colin,\" said the nurse.\n\n\"I told you he was a charmer,\" said Colin austerely. \"Charmers\' animals\nnever bite.\"\n\n\"There are snake-charmers in India,\" said Mary; \"and they can put their\nsnakes\' heads in their mouths.\"\n\n\"Goodness!\" shuddered the nurse.\n\nThey ate their breakfast with the morning air pouring in upon them.\nColin\'s breakfast was a very good one and Mary watched him with serious\ninterest.\n\n\"You will begin to get fatter just as I did,\" she said. \"I never wanted\nmy breakfast when I was in India and now I always want it.\"\n\n\"I wanted mine this morning,\" said Colin. \"Perhaps it was the fresh air.\nWhen do you think Dickon will come?\"\n\nHe was not long in coming. In about ten minutes Mary held up her hand.\n\n\"Listen!\" she said. \"Did you hear a caw?\"\n\nColin listened and heard it, the oddest sound in the world to hear\ninside a house, a hoarse \"caw-caw.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he answered.\n\n\"That\'s Soot,\" said Mary. \"Listen again! Do you hear a bleat--a tiny\none?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes!\" cried Colin, quite flushing.\n\n\"That\'s the new-born lamb,\" said Mary. \"He\'s coming.\"\n\nDickon\'s moorland boots were thick and clumsy and though he tried to\nwalk quietly they made a clumping sound as he walked through the long\ncorridors. Mary and Colin heard him marching--marching, until he passed\nthrough the tapestry door on to the soft carpet of Colin\'s own passage.\n\n\"If you please, sir,\" announced Martha, opening the door, \"if you\nplease, sir, here\'s Dickon an\' his creatures.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"DICKON CAME IN SMILING HIS NICEST WIDE SMILE.\"--_Page\n251_]\n\nDickon came in smiling his nicest wide smile. The new-born lamb was in\nhis arms and the little red fox trotted by his side. Nut sat on his left\nshoulder and Soot on his right and Shell\'s head and paws peeped out of\nhis coat pocket.\n\nColin slowly sat up and stared and stared--as he had stared when he\nfirst saw Mary; but this was a stare of wonder and delight. The truth\nwas that in spite of all he had heard he had not in the least understood\nwhat this boy would be like and that his fox and his crow and his\nsquirrels and his lamb were so near to him and his friendliness that\nthey seemed almost to be part of himself. Colin had never talked to a\nboy in his life and he was so overwhelmed by his own pleasure and\ncuriosity that he did not even think of speaking.\n\nBut Dickon did not feel the least shy or awkward. He had not felt\nembarrassed because the crow had not known his language and had only\nstared and had not spoken to him the first time they met. Creatures were\nalways like that until they found out about you. He walked over to\nColin\'s sofa and put the new-born lamb quietly on his lap, and\nimmediately the little creature turned to the warm velvet dressing-gown\nand began to nuzzle and nuzzle into its folds and butt its tight-curled\nhead with soft impatience against his side. Of course no boy could have\nhelped speaking then.\n\n\"What is it doing?\" cried Colin. \"What does it want?\"\n\n\"It wants its mother,\" said Dickon, smiling more and more. \"I brought it\nto thee a bit hungry because I knowed tha\'d like to see it feed.\"\n\nHe knelt down by the sofa and took a feeding-bottle from his pocket.\n\n\"Come on, little \'un,\" he said, turning the small woolly white head with\na gentle brown hand. \"This is what tha\'s after. Tha\'ll get more out o\'\nthis than tha\' will out o\' silk velvet coats. There now,\" and he pushed\nthe rubber tip of the bottle into the nuzzling mouth and the lamb began\nto suck it with ravenous ecstasy.\n\nAfter that there was no wondering what to say. By the time the lamb fell\nasleep questions poured forth and Dickon answered them all. He told them\nhow he had found the lamb just as the sun was rising three mornings ago.\nHe had been standing on the moor listening to a skylark and watching him\nswing higher and higher into the sky until he was only a speck in the\nheights of blue.\n\n\"I\'d almost lost him but for his song an\' I was wonderin\' how a chap\ncould hear it when it seemed as if he\'d get out o\' th\' world in a\nminute--an\' just then I heard somethin\' else far off among th\' gorse\nbushes. It was a weak bleatin\' an\' I knowed it was a new lamb as was\nhungry an\' I knowed it wouldn\'t be hungry if it hadn\'t lost its mother\nsomehow, so I set off searchin\'. Eh! I did have a look for it. I went in\nan\' out among th\' gorse bushes an\' round an\' round an\' I always seemed\nto take th\' wrong turnin\'. But at last I seed a bit o\' white by a rock\non top o\' th\' moor an\' I climbed up an\' found th\' little \'un half dead\nwi\' cold an\' clemmin\'.\"\n\nWhile he talked, Soot flew solemnly in and out of the open window and\ncawed remarks about the scenery while Nut and Shell made excursions into\nthe big trees outside and ran up and down trunks and explored branches.\nCaptain curled up near Dickon, who sat on the hearth-rug from\npreference.\n\nThey looked at the pictures in the gardening books and Dickon knew all\nthe flowers by their country names and knew exactly which ones were\nalready growing in the secret garden.\n\n\"I couldna\' say that there name,\" he said, pointing to one under which\nwas written \"Aquilegia,\" \"but us calls that a columbine, an\' that there\none it\'s a snapdragon and they both grow wild in hedges, but these is\ngarden ones an\' they\'re bigger an\' grander. There\'s some big clumps o\'\ncolumbine in th\' garden. They\'ll look like a bed o\' blue an\' white\nbutterflies flutterin\' when they\'re out.\"\n\n\"I\'m going to see them,\" cried Colin. \"I am going to see them!\"\n\n\"Aye, that tha\' mun,\" said Mary quite seriously. \"An tha\' munnot lose no\ntime about it.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\n\"I SHALL LIVE FOREVER--AND EVER--AND EVER!\"\n\n\nBut they were obliged to wait more than a week because first there came\nsome very windy days and then Colin was threatened with a cold, which\ntwo things happening one after the other would no doubt have thrown him\ninto a rage but that there was so much careful and mysterious planning\nto do and almost every day Dickon came in, if only for a few minutes, to\ntalk about what was happening on the moor and in the lanes and hedges\nand on the borders of streams. The things he had to tell about otters\'\nand badgers\' and water-rats\' houses, not to mention birds\' nests and\nfield-mice and their burrows, were enough to make you almost tremble\nwith excitement when you heard all the intimate details from an animal\ncharmer and realized with what thrilling eagerness and anxiety the whole\nbusy underworld was working.\n\n\"They\'re same as us,\" said Dickon, \"only they have to build their homes\nevery year. An\' it keeps \'em so busy they fair scuffle to get \'em\ndone.\"\n\nThe most absorbing thing, however, was the preparations to be made\nbefore Colin could be transported with sufficient secrecy to the garden.\nNo one must see the chair-carriage and Dickon and Mary after they turned\na certain corner of the shrubbery and entered upon the walk outside the\nivied walls. As each day passed, Colin had become more and more fixed in\nhis feeling that the mystery surrounding the garden was one of its\ngreatest charms. Nothing must spoil that. No one must ever suspect that\nthey had a secret. People must think that he was simply going out with\nMary and Dickon because he liked them and did not object to their\nlooking at him. They had long and quite delightful talks about their\nroute. They would go up this path and down that one and cross the other\nand go round among the fountain flower-beds as if they were looking at\nthe \"bedding-out plants\" the head gardener, Mr. Roach, had been having\narranged. That would seem such a rational thing to do that no one would\nthink it at all mysterious. They would turn into the shrubbery walks and\nlose themselves until they came to the long walls. It was almost as\nserious and elaborately thought out as the plans of march made by great\ngenerals in time of war.\n\nRumors of the new and curious things which were occurring in the\ninvalid\'s apartments had of course filtered through the servants\' hall\ninto the stable yards and out among the gardeners, but notwithstanding\nthis, Mr. Roach was startled one day when he received orders from Master\nColin\'s room to the effect that he must report himself in the apartment\nno outsider had ever seen, as the invalid himself desired to speak to\nhim.\n\n\"Well, well,\" he said to himself as he hurriedly changed his coat,\n\"what\'s to do now? His Royal Highness that wasn\'t to be looked at\ncalling up a man he\'s never set eyes on.\"\n\nMr. Roach was not without curiosity. He had never caught even a glimpse\nof the boy and had heard a dozen exaggerated stories about his uncanny\nlooks and ways and his insane tempers. The thing he had heard oftenest\nwas that he might die at any moment and there had been numerous fanciful\ndescriptions of a humped back and helpless limbs, given by people who\nhad never seen him.\n\n\"Things are changing in this house, Mr. Roach,\" said Mrs. Medlock, as\nshe led him up the back staircase to the corridor on to which opened the\nhitherto mysterious chamber.\n\n\"Let\'s hope they\'re changing for the better, Mrs. Medlock,\" he\nanswered.\n\n\"They couldn\'t well change for the worse,\" she continued; \"and queer as\nit all is there\'s them as finds their duties made a lot easier to stand\nup under. Don\'t you be surprised, Mr. Roach, if you find yourself in the\nmiddle of a menagerie and Martha Sowerby\'s Dickon more at home than you\nor me could ever be.\"\n\nThere really was a sort of Magic about Dickon, as Mary always privately\nbelieved. When Mr. Roach heard his name he smiled quite leniently.\n\n\"He\'d be at home in Buckingham Palace or at the bottom of a coal mine,\"\nhe said. \"And yet it\'s not impudence, either. He\'s just fine, is that\nlad.\"\n\nIt was perhaps well he had been prepared or he might have been startled.\nWhen the bedroom door was opened a large crow, which seemed quite at\nhome perched on the high back of a carven chair, announced the entrance\nof a visitor by saying \"Caw--Caw\" quite loudly. In spite of Mrs.\nMedlock\'s warning, Mr. Roach only just escaped being sufficiently\nundignified to jump backward.\n\nThe young Rajah was neither in bed nor on his sofa. He was sitting in an\narmchair and a young lamb was standing by him shaking its tail in\nfeeding-lamb fashion as Dickon knelt giving it milk from its bottle. A\nsquirrel was perched on Dickon\'s bent back attentively nibbling a nut.\nThe little girl from India was sitting on a big footstool looking on.\n\n\"Here is Mr. Roach, Master Colin,\" said Mrs. Medlock.\n\nThe young Rajah turned and looked his servitor over--at least that was\nwhat the head gardener felt happened.\n\n\"Oh, you are Roach, are you?\" he said. \"I sent for you to give you some\nvery important orders.\"\n\n\"Very good, sir,\" answered Roach, wondering if he was to receive\ninstructions to fell all the oaks in the park or to transform the\norchards into water-gardens.\n\n\"I am going out in my chair this afternoon,\" said Colin. \"If the fresh\nair agrees with me I may go out every day. When I go, none of the\ngardeners are to be anywhere near the Long Walk by the garden walls. No\none is to be there. I shall go out about two o\'clock and every one must\nkeep away until I send word that they may go back to their work.\"\n\n\"Very good, sir,\" replied Mr. Roach, much relieved to hear that the oaks\nmight remain and that the orchards were safe.\n\n\"Mary,\" said Colin, turning to her, \"what is that thing you say in India\nwhen you have finished talking and want people to go?\"\n\n\"You say, \'You have my permission to go,\'\" answered Mary.\n\nThe Rajah waved his hand.\n\n\"You have my permission to go, Roach,\" he said. \"But, remember, this is\nvery important.\"\n\n\"Caw--Caw!\" remarked the crow hoarsely but not impolitely.\n\n\"Very good, sir. Thank you, sir,\" said Mr. Roach, and Mrs. Medlock took\nhim out of the room.\n\nOutside in the corridor, being a rather good-natured man, he smiled\nuntil he almost laughed.\n\n\"My word!\" he said, \"he\'s got a fine lordly way with him, hasn\'t he?\nYou\'d think he was a whole Royal Family rolled into one--Prince Consort\nand all.\"\n\n\"Eh!\" protested Mrs. Medlock, \"we\'ve had to let him trample all over\nevery one of us ever since he had feet and he thinks that\'s what folks\nwas born for.\"\n\n\"Perhaps he\'ll grow out of it, if he lives,\" suggested Mr. Roach.\n\n\"Well, there\'s one thing pretty sure,\" said Mrs. Medlock. \"If he does\nlive and that Indian child stays here I\'ll warrant she teaches him that\nthe whole orange does not belong to him, as Susan Sowerby says. And\nhe\'ll be likely to find out the size of his own quarter.\"\n\nInside the room Colin was leaning back on his cushions.\n\n\"It\'s all safe now,\" he said. \"And this afternoon I shall see it--this\nafternoon I shall be in it!\"\n\nDickon went back to the garden with his creatures and Mary stayed with\nColin. She did not think he looked tired but he was very quiet before\ntheir lunch came and he was quiet while they were eating it. She\nwondered why and asked him about it.\n\n\"What big eyes you\'ve got, Colin,\" she said. \"When you are thinking they\nget as big as saucers. What are you thinking about now?\"\n\n\"I can\'t help thinking about what it will look like,\" he answered.\n\n\"The garden?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"The springtime,\" he said. \"I was thinking that I\'ve really never seen\nit before. I scarcely ever went out and when I did go I never looked at\nit. I didn\'t even think about it.\"\n\n\"I never saw it in India because there wasn\'t any,\" said Mary.\n\nShut in and morbid as his life had been, Colin had more imagination than\nshe had and at least he had spent a good deal of time looking at\nwonderful books and pictures.\n\n\"That morning when you ran in and said \'It\'s come! It\'s come!\' you made\nme feel quite queer. It sounded as if things were coming with a great\nprocession and big bursts and wafts of music. I\'ve a picture like it in\none of my books--crowds of lovely people and children with garlands and\nbranches with blossoms on them, every one laughing and dancing and\ncrowding and playing on pipes. That was why I said, \'Perhaps we shall\nhear golden trumpets\' and told you to throw open the window.\"\n\n\"How funny!\" said Mary. \"That\'s really just what it feels like. And if\nall the flowers and leaves and green things and birds and wild creatures\ndanced past at once, what a crowd it would be! I\'m sure they\'d dance and\nsing and flute and that would be the wafts of music.\"\n\nThey both laughed but it was not because the idea was laughable but\nbecause they both so liked it.\n\nA little later the nurse made Colin ready. She noticed that instead of\nlying like a log while his clothes were put on he sat up and made some\nefforts to help himself, and he talked and laughed with Mary all the\ntime.\n\n\"This is one of his good days, sir,\" she said to Dr. Craven, who\ndropped in to inspect him. \"He\'s in such good spirits that it makes him\nstronger.\"\n\n\"I\'ll call in again later in the afternoon, after he has come in,\" said\nDr. Craven. \"I must see how the going out agrees with him. I wish,\" in a\nvery low voice, \"that he would let you go with him.\"\n\n\"I\'d rather give up the case this moment, sir, than even stay here while\nit\'s suggested,\" answered the nurse with sudden firmness.\n\n\"I hadn\'t really decided to suggest it,\" said the doctor, with his\nslight nervousness. \"We\'ll try the experiment. Dickon\'s a lad I\'d trust\nwith a new-born child.\"\n\nThe strongest footman in the house carried Colin down-stairs and put him\nin his wheeled chair near which Dickon waited outside. After the\nmanservant had arranged his rugs and cushions the Rajah waved his hand\nto him and to the nurse.\n\n\"You have my permission to go,\" he said, and they both disappeared\nquickly and it must be confessed giggled when they were safely inside\nthe house.\n\nDickon began to push the wheeled chair slowly and steadily. Mistress\nMary walked beside it and Colin leaned back and lifted his face to the\nsky. The arch of it looked very high and the small snowy clouds seemed\nlike white birds floating on outspread wings below its crystal blueness.\nThe wind swept in soft big breaths down from the moor and was strange\nwith a wild clear scented sweetness. Colin kept lifting his thin chest\nto draw it in, and his big eyes looked as if it were they which were\nlistening--listening, instead of his ears.\n\n\"There are so many sounds of singing and humming and calling out,\" he\nsaid. \"What is that scent the puffs of wind bring?\"\n\n\"It\'s gorse on th\' moor that\'s openin\' out,\" answered Dickon. \"Eh! th\'\nbees are at it wonderful to-day.\"\n\nNot a human creature was to be caught sight of in the paths they took.\nIn fact every gardener or gardener\'s lad had been witched away. But they\nwound in and out among the shrubbery and out and round the fountain\nbeds, following their carefully planned route for the mere mysterious\npleasure of it. But when at last they turned into the Long Walk by the\nivied walls the excited sense of an approaching thrill made them, for\nsome curious reason they could not have explained, begin to speak in\nwhispers.\n\n\"This is it,\" breathed Mary. \"This is where I used to walk up and down\nand wonder and wonder.\"\n\n\"Is it?\" cried Colin, and his eyes began to search the ivy with eager\ncuriousness. \"But I can see nothing,\" he whispered. \"There is no door.\"\n\n\"That\'s what I thought,\" said Mary.\n\nThen there was a lovely breathless silence and the chair wheeled on.\n\n\"That is the garden where Ben Weatherstaff works,\" said Mary.\n\n\"Is it?\" said Colin.\n\nA few yards more and Mary whispered again.\n\n\"This is where the robin flew over the wall,\" she said.\n\n\"Is it?\" cried Colin. \"Oh! I wish he\'d come again!\"\n\n\"And that,\" said Mary with solemn delight, pointing under a big lilac\nbush, \"is where he perched on the little heap of earth and showed me the\nkey.\"\n\nThen Colin sat up.\n\n\"Where? Where? There?\" he cried, and his eyes were as big as the wolf\'s\nin Red Riding-Hood, when Red Riding-Hood felt called upon to remark on\nthem. Dickon stood still and the wheeled chair stopped.\n\n\"And this,\" said Mary, stepping on to the bed close to the ivy, \"is\nwhere I went to talk to him when he chirped at me from the top of the\nwall. And this is the ivy the wind blew back,\" and she took hold of the\nhanging green curtain.\n\n\"Oh! is it--is it!\" gasped Colin.\n\n\"And here is the handle, and here is the door. Dickon push him in--push\nhim in quickly!\"\n\nAnd Dickon did it with one strong, steady, splendid push.\n\nBut Colin had actually dropped back against his cushions, even though he\ngasped with delight, and he had covered his eyes with his hands and held\nthem there shutting out everything until they were inside and the chair\nstopped as if by magic and the door was closed. Not till then did he\ntake them away and look round and round and round as Dickon and Mary had\ndone. And over walls and earth and trees and swinging sprays and\ntendrils the fair green veil of tender little leaves had crept, and in\nthe grass under the trees and the gray urns in the alcoves and here and\nthere everywhere were touches or splashes of gold and purple and white\nand the trees were showing pink and snow above his head and there were\nfluttering of wings and faint sweet pipes and humming and scents and\nscents. And the sun fell warm upon his face like a hand with a lovely\ntouch. And in wonder Mary and Dickon stood and stared at him. He looked\nso strange and different because a pink glow of color had actually\ncrept all over him--ivory face and neck and hands and all.\n\n\"I shall get well! I shall get well!\" he cried out. \"Mary! Dickon! I\nshall get well! And I shall live forever and ever and ever!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXI\n\nBEN WEATHERSTAFF\n\n\nOne of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only\nnow and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and\never. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn\ndawn-time and goes out and stands alone and throws one\'s head far back\nand looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and\nflushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost\nmakes one cry out and one\'s heart stands still at the strange unchanging\nmajesty of the rising of the sun--which has been happening every morning\nfor thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then\nfor a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by\noneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness\nslanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again\nand again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then\nsometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with millions of\nstars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of\nfar-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in some one\'s eyes.\n\nAnd it was like that with Colin when he first saw and heard and felt the\nSpringtime inside the four high walls of a hidden garden. That afternoon\nthe whole world seemed to devote itself to being perfect and radiantly\nbeautiful and kind to one boy. Perhaps out of pure heavenly goodness the\nspring came and crowded everything it possibly could into that one\nplace. More than once Dickon paused in what he was doing and stood still\nwith a sort of growing wonder in his eyes, shaking his head softly.\n\n\"Eh! it is graidely,\" he said. \"I\'m twelve goin\' on thirteen an\' there\'s\na lot o\' afternoons in thirteen years, but seems to me like I never seed\none as graidely as this \'ere.\"\n\n\"Aye, it is a graidely one,\" said Mary, and she sighed for mere joy.\n\"I\'ll warrant it\'s th\' graidelest one as ever was in this world.\"\n\n\"Does tha\' think,\" said Colin with dreamy carefulness, \"as happen it was\nmade loike this \'ere all o\' purpose for me?\"\n\n\"My word!\" cried Mary admiringly, \"that there is a bit o\' good\nYorkshire. Tha\'rt shapin\' first-rate--that tha\' art.\"\n\nAnd delight reigned.\n\nThey drew the chair under the plum-tree, which was snow-white with\nblossoms and musical with bees. It was like a king\'s canopy, a fairy\nking\'s. There were flowering cherry-trees near and apple-trees whose\nbuds were pink and white, and here and there one had burst open wide.\nBetween the blossoming branches of the canopy bits of blue sky looked\ndown like wonderful eyes.\n\nMary and Dickon worked a little here and there and Colin watched them.\nThey brought him things to look at--buds which were opening, buds which\nwere tight closed, bits of twig whose leaves were just showing green,\nthe feather of a woodpecker which had dropped on the grass, the empty\nshell of some bird early hatched. Dickon pushed the chair slowly round\nand round the garden, stopping every other moment to let him look at\nwonders springing out of the earth or trailing down from trees. It was\nlike being taken in state round the country of a magic king and queen\nand shown all the mysterious riches it contained.\n\n\"I wonder if we shall see the robin?\" said Colin.\n\n\"Tha\'ll see him often enow after a bit,\" answered Dickon. \"When th\' eggs\nhatches out th\' little chap he\'ll be kep\' so busy it\'ll make his head\nswim. Tha\'ll see him flyin\' backward an\' for\'ard carryin\' worms nigh as\nbig as himsel\' an\' that much noise goin\' on in th\' nest when he gets\nthere as fair flusters him so as he scarce knows which big mouth to drop\nth\' first piece in. An\' gapin\' beaks an\' squawks on every side. Mother\nsays as when she sees th\' work a robin has to keep them gapin\' beaks\nfilled, she feels like she was a lady with nothin\' to do. She says she\'s\nseen th\' little chaps when it seemed like th\' sweat must be droppin\' off\n\'em, though folk can\'t see it.\"\n\nThis made them giggle so delightedly that they were obliged to cover\ntheir mouths with their hands, remembering that they must not be heard.\nColin had been instructed as to the law of whispers and low voices\nseveral days before. He liked the mysteriousness of it and did his best,\nbut in the midst of excited enjoyment it is rather difficult never to\nlaugh above a whisper.\n\nEvery moment of the afternoon was full of new things and every hour the\nsunshine grew more golden. The wheeled chair had been drawn back under\nthe canopy and Dickon had sat down on the grass and had just drawn out\nhis pipe when Colin saw something he had not had time to notice before.\n\n\"That\'s a very old tree over there, isn\'t it?\" he said.\n\nDickon looked across the grass at the tree and Mary looked and there was\na brief moment of stillness.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Dickon, after it, and his low voice had a very gentle\nsound.\n\nMary gazed at the tree and thought.\n\n\"The branches are quite gray and there\'s not a single leaf anywhere,\"\nColin went on. \"It\'s quite dead, isn\'t it?\"\n\n\"Aye,\" admitted Dickon. \"But them roses as has climbed all over it will\nnear hide every bit o\' th\' dead wood when they\'re full o\' leaves an\'\nflowers. It won\'t look dead then. It\'ll be th\' prettiest of all.\"\n\nMary still gazed at the tree and thought.\n\n\"It looks as if a big branch had been broken off,\" said Colin. \"I wonder\nhow it was done.\"\n\n\"It\'s been done many a year,\" answered Dickon. \"Eh!\" with a sudden\nrelieved start and laying his hand on Colin. \"Look at that robin! There\nhe is! He\'s been foragin\' for his mate.\"\n\nColin was almost too late but he just caught sight of him, the flash of\nred-breasted bird with something in his beak. He darted through the\ngreenness and into the close-grown corner and was out of sight. Colin\nleaned back on his cushion again, laughing a little.\n\n\"He\'s taking her tea to her. Perhaps it\'s five o\'clock. I think I\'d like\nsome tea myself.\"\n\nAnd so they were safe.\n\n\"It was Magic which sent the robin,\" said Mary secretly to Dickon\nafterward. \"I know it was Magic.\" For both she and Dickon had been\nafraid Colin might ask something about the tree whose branch had broken\noff ten years ago and they had talked it over together and Dickon had\nstood and rubbed his head in a troubled way.\n\n\"We mun look as if it wasn\'t no different from th\' other trees,\" he had\nsaid. \"We couldn\'t never tell him how it broke, poor lad. If he says\nanything about it we mun--we mun try to look cheerful.\"\n\n\"Aye, that we mun,\" had answered Mary.\n\nBut she had not felt as if she looked cheerful when she gazed at the\ntree. She wondered and wondered in those few moments if there was any\nreality in that other thing Dickon had said. He had gone on rubbing his\nrust-red hair in a puzzled way, but a nice comforted look had begun to\ngrow in his blue eyes.\n\n\"Mrs. Craven was a very lovely young lady,\" he had gone on rather\nhesitatingly. \"An\' mother she thinks maybe she\'s about Misselthwaite\nmany a time lookin\' after Mester Colin, same as all mothers do when\nthey\'re took out o\' th\' world. They have to come back, tha\' sees. Happen\nshe\'s been in the garden an\' happen it was her set us to work, an\' told\nus to bring him here.\"\n\nMary had thought he meant something about Magic. She was a great\nbeliever in Magic. Secretly she quite believed that Dickon worked Magic,\nof course good Magic, on everything near him and that was why people\nliked him so much and wild creatures knew he was their friend. She\nwondered, indeed, if it were not possible that his gift had brought the\nrobin just at the right moment when Colin asked that dangerous question.\nShe felt that his Magic was working all the afternoon and making Colin\nlook like an entirely different boy. It did not seem possible that he\ncould be the crazy creature who had screamed and beaten and bitten his\npillow. Even his ivory whiteness seemed to change. The faint glow of\ncolor which had shown on his face and neck and hands when he first got\ninside the garden really never quite died away. He looked as if he were\nmade of flesh instead of ivory or wax.\n\nThey saw the robin carry food to his mate two or three times, and it was\nso suggestive of afternoon tea that Colin felt they must have some.\n\n\"Go and make one of the men servants bring some in a basket to the\nrhododendron walk,\" he said. \"And then you and Dickon can bring it\nhere.\"\n\nIt was an agreeable idea, easily carried out, and when the white cloth\nwas spread upon the grass, with hot tea and buttered toast and crumpets,\na delightfully hungry meal was eaten, and several birds on domestic\nerrands paused to inquire what was going on and were led into\ninvestigating crumbs with great activity. Nut and Shell whisked up trees\nwith pieces of cake and Soot took the entire half of a buttered crumpet\ninto a corner and pecked at and examined and turned it over and made\nhoarse remarks about it until he decided to swallow it all joyfully in\none gulp.\n\nThe afternoon was dragging toward its mellow hour. The sun was deepening\nthe gold of its lances, the bees were going home and the birds were\nflying past less often. Dickon and Mary were sitting on the grass, the\ntea-basket was re-packed ready to be taken back to the house, and Colin\nwas lying against his cushions with his heavy locks pushed back from his\nforehead and his face looking quite a natural color.\n\n\"I don\'t want this afternoon to go,\" he said; \"but I shall come back\nto-morrow, and the day after, and the day after, and the day after.\"\n\n\"You\'ll get plenty of fresh air, won\'t you?\" said Mary.\n\n\"I\'m going to get nothing else,\" he answered. \"I\'ve seen the spring now\nand I\'m going to see the summer. I\'m going to see everything grow here.\nI\'m going to grow here myself.\"\n\n\"That tha\' will,\" said Dickon. \"Us\'ll have thee walkin\' about here an\'\ndiggin\' same as other folk afore long.\"\n\nColin flushed tremendously.\n\n\"Walk!\" he said. \"Dig! Shall I?\"\n\nDickon\'s glance at him was delicately cautious. Neither he nor Mary had\never asked if anything was the matter with his legs.\n\n\"For sure tha\' will,\" he said stoutly. \"Tha\'--tha\'s got legs o\' thine\nown, same as other folks!\"\n\nMary was rather frightened until she heard Colin\'s answer.\n\n\"Nothing really ails them,\" he said, \"but they are so thin and weak.\nThey shake so that I\'m afraid to try to stand on them.\"\n\nBoth Mary and Dickon drew a relieved breath.\n\n\"When tha\' stops bein\' afraid tha\'lt stand on \'em,\" Dickon said with\nrenewed cheer. \"An\' tha\'lt stop bein\' afraid in a bit.\"\n\n\"I shall?\" said Colin, and he lay still as if he were wondering about\nthings.\n\nThey were really very quiet for a little while. The sun was dropping\nlower. It was that hour when everything stills itself, and they really\nhad had a busy and exciting afternoon. Colin looked as if he were\nresting luxuriously. Even the creatures had ceased moving about and had\ndrawn together and were resting near them. Soot had perched on a low\nbranch and drawn up one leg and dropped the gray film drowsily over his\neyes. Mary privately thought he looked as if he might snore in a minute.\n\nIn the midst of this stillness it was rather startling when Colin half\nlifted his head and exclaimed in a loud suddenly alarmed whisper:\n\n\"Who is that man?\"\n\nDickon and Mary scrambled to their feet.\n\n\"Man!\" they both cried in low quick voices.\n\nColin pointed to the high wall.\n\n\"Look!\" he whispered excitedly. \"Just look!\"\n\nMary and Dickon wheeled about and looked. There was Ben Weatherstaff\'s\nindignant face glaring at them over the wall from the top of a ladder!\nHe actually shook his fist at Mary.\n\n\"If I wasn\'t a bachelder, an\' tha\' was a wench o\' mine,\" he cried, \"I\'d\ngive thee a hidin\'!\"\n\nHe mounted another step threateningly as if it were his energetic\nintention to jump down and deal with her; but as she came toward him he\nevidently thought better of it and stood on the top step of his ladder\nshaking his fist down at her.\n\n\"I never thowt much o\' thee!\" he harangued. \"I couldna\' abide thee th\'\nfirst time I set eyes on thee. A scrawny buttermilk-faced young besom,\nallus askin\' questions an\' pokin\' tha\' nose where it wasna\' wanted. I\nnever knowed how tha\' got so thick wi\' me. If it hadna\' been for th\'\nrobin--Drat him--\"\n\n\"Ben Weatherstaff,\" called out Mary, finding her breath. She stood below\nhim and called up to him with a sort of gasp. \"Ben Weatherstaff, it was\nthe robin who showed me the way!\"\n\nThen it did seem as if Ben really would scramble down on her side of the\nwall, he was so outraged.\n\n\"Tha\' young bad \'un!\" he called down at her. \"Layin\' tha\' badness on a\nrobin,--not but what he\'s impidint enow for anythin\'. Him showin\' thee\nth\' way! Him! Eh! tha\' young nowt,\"--she could see his next words burst\nout because he was overpowered by curiosity--\"however i\' this world did\ntha\' get in?\"\n\n\"It was the robin who showed me the way,\" she protested obstinately. \"He\ndidn\'t know he was doing it but he did. And I can\'t tell you from here\nwhile you\'re shaking your fist at me.\"\n\nHe stopped shaking his fist very suddenly at that very moment and his\njaw actually dropped as he stared over her head at something he saw\ncoming over the grass toward him.\n\nAt the first sound of his torrent of words Colin had been so surprised\nthat he had only sat up and listened as if he were spellbound. But in\nthe midst of it he had recovered himself and beckoned imperiously to\nDickon.\n\n\"Wheel me over there!\" he commanded. \"Wheel me quite close and stop\nright in front of him!\"\n\nAnd this, if you please, this is what Ben Weatherstaff beheld and which\nmade his jaw drop. A wheeled chair with luxurious cushions and robes\nwhich came toward him looking rather like some sort of State Coach\nbecause a young Rajah leaned back in it with royal command in his great\nblack-rimmed eyes and a thin white hand extended haughtily toward him.\nAnd it stopped right under Ben Weatherstaff\'s nose. It was really no\nwonder his mouth dropped open.\n\n\"Do you know who I am?\" demanded the Rajah.\n\nHow Ben Weatherstaff stared! His red old eyes fixed themselves on what\nwas before him as if he were seeing a ghost. He gazed and gazed and\ngulped a lump down his throat and did not say a word.\n\n\"Do you know who I am?\" demanded Colin still more imperiously. \"Answer!\"\n\nBen Weatherstaff put his gnarled hand up and passed it over his eyes and\nover his forehead and then he did answer in a queer shaky voice.\n\n\"Who tha\' art?\" he said. \"Aye, that I do--wi\' tha\' mother\'s eyes starin\'\nat me out o\' tha\' face. Lord knows how tha\' come here. But tha\'rt th\'\npoor cripple.\"\n\nColin forgot that he had ever had a back. His face flushed scarlet and\nhe sat bolt upright.\n\n\"I\'m not a cripple!\" he cried out furiously. \"I\'m not!\"\n\n\"He\'s not!\" cried Mary, almost shouting up the wall in her fierce\nindignation. \"He\'s not got a lump as big as a pin! I looked and there\nwas none there--not one!\"\n\nBen Weatherstaff passed his hand over his forehead again and gazed as if\nhe could never gaze enough. His hand shook and his mouth shook and his\nvoice shook. He was an ignorant old man and a tactless old man and he\ncould only remember the things he had heard.\n\n\"Tha\'--tha\' hasn\'t got a crooked back?\" he said hoarsely.\n\n\"No!\" shouted Colin.\n\n\"Tha\'--tha\' hasn\'t got crooked legs?\" quavered Ben more hoarsely yet.\n\nIt was too much. The strength which Colin usually threw into his\ntantrums rushed through him now in a new way. Never yet had he been\naccused of crooked legs--even in whispers--and the perfectly simple\nbelief in their existence which was revealed by Ben Weatherstaff\'s voice\nwas more than Rajah flesh and blood could endure. His anger and insulted\npride made him forget everything but this one moment and filled him with\na power he had never known before, an almost unnatural strength.\n\n\"Come here!\" he shouted to Dickon, and he actually began to tear the\ncoverings off his lower limbs and disentangle himself. \"Come here! Come\nhere! This minute!\"\n\nDickon was by his side in a second. Mary caught her breath in a short\ngasp and felt herself turn pale.\n\n\"He can do it! He can do it! He can do it! He can!\" she gabbled over to\nherself under her breath as fast as ever she could.\n\nThere was a brief fierce scramble, the rugs were tossed on to the\nground, Dickon held Colin\'s arm, the thin legs were out, the thin feet\nwere on the grass. Colin was standing upright--upright--as straight as\nan arrow and looking strangely tall--his head thrown back and his\nstrange eyes flashing lightning.\n\n\"Look at me!\" he flung up at Ben Weatherstaff. \"Just look at me--you!\nJust look at me!\"\n\n\"He\'s as straight as I am!\" cried Dickon. \"He\'s as straight as any lad\ni\' Yorkshire!\"\n\nWhat Ben Weatherstaff did Mary thought queer beyond measure. He choked\nand gulped and suddenly tears ran down his weather-wrinkled cheeks as he\nstruck his old hands together.\n\n\"Eh!\" he burst forth, \"th\' lies folk tells! Tha\'rt as thin as a lath an\'\nas white as a wraith, but there\'s not a knob on thee. Tha\'lt make a mon\nyet. God bless thee!\"\n\nDickon held Colin\'s arm strongly but the boy had not begun to falter. He\nstood straighter and straighter and looked Ben Weatherstaff in the face.\n\n\"I\'m your master,\" he said, \"when my father is away. And you are to obey\nme. This is my garden. Don\'t dare to say a word about it! You get down\nfrom that ladder and go out to the Long Walk and Miss Mary will meet you\nand bring you here. I want to talk to you. We did not want you, but now\nyou will have to be in the secret. Be quick!\"\n\nBen Weatherstaff\'s crabbed old face was still wet with that one queer\nrush of tears. It seemed as if he could not take his eyes from thin\nstraight Colin standing on his feet with his head thrown back.\n\n\"Eh! lad,\" he almost whispered. \"Eh! my lad!\" And then remembering\nhimself he suddenly touched his hat gardener fashion and said, \"Yes,\nsir! Yes, sir!\" and obediently disappeared as he descended the ladder.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXII\n\nWHEN THE SUN WENT DOWN\n\n\nWhen his head was out of sight Colin turned to Mary.\n\n\"Go and meet him,\" he said; and Mary flew across the grass to the door\nunder the ivy.\n\nDickon was watching him with sharp eyes. There were scarlet spots on his\ncheeks and he looked amazing, but he showed no signs of falling.\n\n\"I can stand,\" he said, and his head was still held up and he said it\nquite grandly.\n\n\"I told thee tha\' could as soon as tha\' stopped bein\' afraid,\" answered\nDickon. \"An\' tha\'s stopped.\"\n\n\"Yes, I\'ve stopped,\" said Colin.\n\nThen suddenly he remembered something Mary had said.\n\n\"Are you making Magic?\" he asked sharply.\n\nDickon\'s curly mouth spread in a cheerful grin.\n\n\"Tha\'s doin\' Magic thysel\',\" he said. \"It\'s same Magic as made these\n\'ere work out o\' th\' earth,\" and he touched with his thick boot a clump\nof crocuses in the grass.\n\nColin looked down at them.\n\n\"Aye,\" he said slowly, \"there couldna\' be bigger Magic then that\nthere--there couldna\' be.\"\n\nHe drew himself up straighter than ever.\n\n\"I\'m going to walk to that tree,\" he said, pointing to one a few feet\naway from him. \"I\'m going to be standing when Weatherstaff comes here. I\ncan rest against the tree if I like. When I want to sit down I will sit\ndown, but not before. Bring a rug from the chair.\"\n\nHe walked to the tree and though Dickon held his arm he was wonderfully\nsteady. When he stood against the tree trunk it was not too plain that\nhe supported himself against it, and he still held himself so straight\nthat he looked tall.\n\nWhen Ben Weatherstaff came through the door in the wall he saw him\nstanding there and he heard Mary muttering something under her breath.\n\n\"What art sayin\'?\" he asked rather testily because he did not want his\nattention distracted from the long thin straight boy figure and proud\nface.\n\nBut she did not tell him. What she was saying was this:\n\n\"You can do it! You can do it! I told you you could! You can do it! You\ncan do it! You _can_!\"\n\nShe was saying it to Colin because she wanted to make Magic and keep him\non his feet looking like that. She could not bear that he should give in\nbefore Ben Weatherstaff. He did not give in. She was uplifted by a\nsudden feeling that he looked quite beautiful in spite of his thinness.\nHe fixed his eyes on Ben Weatherstaff in his funny imperious way.\n\n\"Look at me!\" he commanded. \"Look at me all over! Am I a hunchback? Have\nI got crooked legs?\"\n\nBen Weatherstaff had not quite got over his emotion, but he had\nrecovered a little and answered almost in his usual way.\n\n\"Not tha\',\" he said. \"Nowt o\' th\' sort. What\'s tha\' been doin\' with\nthysel\'--? hidin\' out o\' sight an\' lettin\' folk think tha\' was cripple\nan\' half-witted?\"\n\n\"Half-witted!\" said Colin angrily. \"Who thought that?\"\n\n\"Lots o\' fools,\" said Ben. \"Th\' world\'s full o\' jackasses brayin\' an\'\nthey never bray nowt but lies. What did tha\' shut thysel\' up for?\"\n\n\"Every one thought I was going to die,\" said Colin shortly. \"I\'m not!\"\n\nAnd he said it with such decision Ben Weatherstaff looked him over, up\nand down, down and up.\n\n\"Tha\' die!\" he said with dry exultation. \"Nowt o\' th\' sort! Tha\'s got\ntoo much pluck in thee. When I seed thee put tha\' legs on th\' ground in\nsuch a hurry I knowed tha\' was all right. Sit thee down on th\' rug a bit\nyoung Mester an\' give me thy orders.\"\n\nThere was a queer mixture of crabbed tenderness and shrewd understanding\nin his manner. Mary had poured out speech as rapidly as she could as\nthey had come down the Long Walk. The chief thing to be remembered, she\nhad told him, was that Colin was getting well--getting well. The garden\nwas doing it. No one must let him remember about having humps and dying.\n\nThe Rajah condescended to seat himself on a rug under the tree.\n\n\"What work do you do in the gardens, Weatherstaff?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Anythin\' I\'m told to do,\" answered old Ben. \"I\'m kep\' on by\nfavor--because she liked me.\"\n\n\"She?\" said Colin.\n\n\"Tha\' mother,\" answered Ben Weatherstaff.\n\n\"My mother?\" said Colin, and he looked about him quietly. \"This was her\ngarden, wasn\'t it?\"\n\n\"Aye, it was that!\" and Ben Weatherstaff looked about him too. \"She were\nmain fond of it.\"\n\n\"It is my garden now, I am fond of it. I shall come here every day,\"\nannounced Colin. \"But it is to be a secret. My orders are that no one is\nto know that we come here. Dickon and my cousin have worked and made it\ncome alive. I shall send for you sometimes to help--but you must come\nwhen no one can see you.\"\n\nBen Weatherstaff\'s face twisted itself in a dry old smile.\n\n\"I\'ve come here before when no one saw me,\" he said.\n\n\"What!\" exclaimed Colin. \"When?\"\n\n\"Th\' last time I was here,\" rubbing his chin and looking round, \"was\nabout two year\' ago.\"\n\n\"But no one has been in it for ten years!\" cried Colin. \"There was no\ndoor!\"\n\n\"I\'m no one,\" said old Ben dryly. \"An\' I didn\'t come through th\' door. I\ncome over th\' wall. Th\' rheumatics held me back th\' last two year\'.\"\n\n\"Tha\' come an\' did a bit o\' prunin\'!\" cried Dickon. \"I couldn\'t make out\nhow it had been done.\"\n\n\"She was so fond of it--she was!\" said Ben Weatherstaff slowly. \"An\' she\nwas such a pretty young thing. She says to me once, \'Ben,\' says she\nlaughin\', \'if ever I\'m ill or if I go away you must take care of my\nroses.\' When she did go away th\' orders was no one was ever to come\nnigh. But I come,\" with grumpy obstinacy. \"Over th\' wall I come--until\nth\' rheumatics stopped me--an\' I did a bit o\' work once a year. She\'d\ngave her order first.\"\n\n\"It wouldn\'t have been as wick as it is if tha\' hadn\'t done it,\" said\nDickon. \"I did wonder.\"\n\n\"I\'m glad you did it, Weatherstaff,\" said Colin. \"You\'ll know how to\nkeep the secret.\"\n\n\"Aye, I\'ll know, sir,\" answered Ben. \"An\' it\'ll be easier for a man wi\'\nrheumatics to come in at th\' door.\"\n\nOn the grass near the tree Mary had dropped her trowel. Colin stretched\nout his hand and took it up. An odd expression came into his face and he\nbegan to scratch at the earth. His thin hand was weak enough but\npresently as they watched him--Mary with quite breathless interest--he\ndrove the end of the trowel into the soil and turned some over.\n\n\"You can do it! You can do it!\" said Mary to herself. \"I tell you, you\ncan!\"\n\nDickon\'s round eyes were full of eager curiousness but he said not a\nword. Ben Weatherstaff looked on with interested face.\n\nColin persevered. After he had turned a few trowelfuls of soil he spoke\nexultantly to Dickon in his best Yorkshire.\n\n\"Tha\' said as tha\'d have me walkin\' about here same as other folk--an\'\ntha\' said tha\'d have me diggin\'. I thowt tha\' was just leein\' to please\nme. This is only th\' first day an\' I\'ve walked--an\' here I am diggin\'.\"\n\nBen Weatherstaff\'s mouth fell open again when he heard him, but he ended\nby chuckling.\n\n\"Eh!\" he said, \"that sounds as if tha\'d got wits enow. Tha\'rt a\nYorkshire lad for sure. An\' tha\'rt diggin\', too. How\'d tha\' like to\nplant a bit o\' somethin\'? I can get thee a rose in a pot.\"\n\n\"Go and get it!\" said Colin, digging excitedly. \"Quick! Quick!\"\n\nIt was done quickly enough indeed. Ben Weatherstaff went his way\nforgetting rheumatics. Dickon took his spade and dug the hole deeper and\nwider than a new digger with thin white hands could make it. Mary\nslipped out to run and bring back a watering-can. When Dickon had\ndeepened the hole Colin went on turning the soft earth over and over. He\nlooked up at the sky, flushed and glowing with the strangely new\nexercise, slight as it was.\n\n\"I want to do it before the sun goes quite--quite down,\" he said.\n\nMary thought that perhaps the sun held back a few minutes just on\npurpose. Ben Weatherstaff brought the rose in its pot from the\ngreenhouse. He hobbled over the grass as fast as he could. He had begun\nto be excited, too. He knelt down by the hole and broke the pot from the\nmould.\n\n\"Here, lad,\" he said, handing the plant to Colin. \"Set it in the earth\nthysel\' same as th\' king does when he goes to a new place.\"\n\nThe thin white hands shook a little and Colin\'s flush grew deeper as he\nset the rose in the mould and held it while old Ben made firm the earth.\nIt was filled in and pressed down and made steady. Mary was leaning\nforward on her hands and knees. Soot had flown down and marched forward\nto see what was being done. Nut and Shell chattered about it from a\ncherry-tree.\n\n\"It\'s planted!\" said Colin at last. \"And the sun is only slipping over\nthe edge. Help me up, Dickon. I want to be standing when it goes. That\'s\npart of the Magic.\"\n\nAnd Dickon helped him, and the Magic--or whatever it was--so gave him\nstrength that when the sun did slip over the edge and end the strange\nlovely afternoon for them there he actually stood on his two\nfeet--laughing.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIII\n\nMAGIC\n\n\nDr. Craven had been waiting some time at the house when they returned to\nit. He had indeed begun to wonder if it might not be wise to send some\none out to explore the garden paths. When Colin was brought back to his\nroom the poor man looked him over seriously.\n\n\"You should not have stayed so long,\" he said. \"You must not overexert\nyourself.\"\n\n\"I am not tired at all,\" said Colin. \"It has made me well. To-morrow I\nam going out in the morning as well as in the afternoon.\"\n\n\"I am not sure that I can allow it,\" answered Dr. Craven. \"I am afraid\nit would not be wise.\"\n\n\"It would not be wise to try to stop me,\" said Colin quite seriously. \"I\nam going.\"\n\nEven Mary had found out that one of Colin\'s chief peculiarities was that\nhe did not know in the least what a rude little brute he was with his\nway of ordering people about. He had lived on a sort of desert island\nall his life and as he had been the king of it he had made his own\nmanners and had had no one to compare himself with. Mary had indeed\nbeen rather like him herself and since she had been at Misselthwaite had\ngradually discovered that her own manners had not been of the kind which\nis usual or popular. Having made this discovery she naturally thought it\nof enough interest to communicate to Colin. So she sat and looked at him\ncuriously for a few minutes after Dr. Craven had gone. She wanted to\nmake him ask her why she was doing it and of course she did.\n\n\"What are you looking at me for?\" he said.\n\n\"I\'m thinking that I am rather sorry for Dr. Craven.\"\n\n\"So am I,\" said Colin calmly, but not without an air of some\nsatisfaction. \"He won\'t get Misselthwaite at all now I\'m not going to\ndie.\"\n\n\"I\'m sorry for him because of that, of course,\" said Mary, \"but I was\nthinking just then that it must have been very horrid to have had to be\npolite for ten years to a boy who was always rude. I would never have\ndone it.\"\n\n\"Am I rude?\" Colin inquired undisturbedly.\n\n\"If you had been his own boy and he had been a slapping sort of man,\"\nsaid Mary, \"he would have slapped you.\"\n\n\"But he daren\'t,\" said Colin.\n\n\"No, he daren\'t,\" answered Mistress Mary, thinking the thing out quite\nwithout prejudice. \"Nobody ever dared to do anything you didn\'t\nlike--because you were going to die and things like that. You were such\na poor thing.\"\n\n\"But,\" announced Colin stubbornly, \"I am not going to be a poor thing. I\nwon\'t let people think I\'m one. I stood on my feet this afternoon.\"\n\n\"It is always having your own way that has made you so queer,\" Mary went\non, thinking aloud.\n\nColin turned his head, frowning.\n\n\"Am I queer?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Mary, \"very. But you needn\'t be cross,\" she added\nimpartially, \"because so am I queer--and so is Ben Weatherstaff. But I\nam not as queer as I was before I began to like people and before I\nfound the garden.\"\n\n\"I don\'t want to be queer,\" said Colin. \"I am not going to be,\" and he\nfrowned again with determination.\n\nHe was a very proud boy. He lay thinking for a while and then Mary saw\nhis beautiful smile begin and gradually change his whole face.\n\n\"I shall stop being queer,\" he said, \"if I go every day to the garden.\nThere is Magic in there--good Magic, you know, Mary. I am sure there\nis.\"\n\n\"So am I,\" said Mary.\n\n\"Even if it isn\'t real Magic,\" Colin said, \"we can pretend it is.\n_Something_ is there--_something_!\"\n\n\"It\'s Magic,\" said Mary, \"but not black. It\'s as white as snow.\"\n\nThey always called it Magic and indeed it seemed like it in the months\nthat followed--the wonderful months--the radiant months--the amazing\nones. Oh! the things which happened in that garden! If you have never\nhad a garden, you cannot understand, and if you have had a garden you\nwill know that it would take a whole book to describe all that came to\npass there. At first it seemed that green things would never cease\npushing their way through the earth, in the grass, in the beds, even in\nthe crevices of the walls. Then the green things began to show buds and\nthe buds began to unfurl and show color, every shade of blue, every\nshade of purple, every tint and hue of crimson. In its happy days\nflowers had been tucked away into every inch and hole and corner. Ben\nWeatherstaff had seen it done and had himself scraped out mortar from\nbetween the bricks of the wall and made pockets of earth for lovely\nclinging things to grow on. Iris and white lilies rose out of the grass\nin sheaves, and the green alcoves filled themselves with amazing armies\nof the blue and white flower lances of tall delphiniums or columbines\nor campanulas.\n\n\"She was main fond o\' them--she was,\" Ben Weatherstaff said. \"She liked\nthem things as was allus pointin\' up to th\' blue sky, she used to tell.\nNot as she was one o\' them as looked down on th\' earth--not her. She\njust loved it but she said as th\' blue sky allus looked so joyful.\"\n\nThe seeds Dickon and Mary had planted grew as if fairies had tended\nthem. Satiny poppies of all tints danced in the breeze by the score,\ngaily defying flowers which had lived in the garden for years and which\nit might be confessed seemed rather to wonder how such new people had\ngot there. And the roses--the roses! Rising out of the grass, tangled\nround the sun-dial, wreathing the tree trunks and hanging from their\nbranches, climbing up the walls and spreading over them with long\ngarlands falling in cascades--they came alive day by day, hour by hour.\nFair fresh leaves, and buds--and buds--tiny at first but swelling and\nworking Magic until they burst and uncurled into cups of scent\ndelicately spilling themselves over their brims and filling the garden\nair.\n\nColin saw it all, watching each change as it took place. Every morning\nhe was brought out and every hour of each day when it didn\'t rain he\nspent in the garden. Even gray days pleased him. He would lie on the\ngrass \"watching things growing,\" he said. If you watched long enough, he\ndeclared, you could see buds unsheath themselves. Also you could make\nthe acquaintance of strange busy insect things running about on various\nunknown but evidently serious errands, sometimes carrying tiny scraps of\nstraw or feather or food, or climbing blades of grass as if they were\ntrees from whose tops one could look out to explore the country. A mole\nthrowing up its mound at the end of its burrow and making its way out at\nlast with the long-nailed paws which looked so like elfish hands, had\nabsorbed him one whole morning. Ants\' ways, beetles\' ways, bees\' ways,\nfrogs\' ways, birds\' ways, plants\' ways, gave him a new world to explore\nand when Dickon revealed them all and added foxes\' ways, otters\' ways,\nferrets\' ways, squirrels\' ways, and trout\'s and water-rats\' and badgers\'\nways, there was no end to the things to talk about and think over.\n\nAnd this was not the half of the Magic. The fact that he had really once\nstood on his feet had set Colin thinking tremendously and when Mary told\nhim of the spell she had worked he was excited and approved of it\ngreatly. He talked of it constantly.\n\n\"Of course there must be lots of Magic in the world,\" he said wisely\none day, \"but people don\'t know what it is like or how to make it.\nPerhaps the beginning is just to say nice things are going to happen\nuntil you make them happen. I am going to try and experiment.\"\n\nThe next morning when they went to the secret garden he sent at once for\nBen Weatherstaff. Ben came as quickly as he could and found the Rajah\nstanding on his feet under a tree and looking very grand but also very\nbeautifully smiling.\n\n\"Good morning, Ben Weatherstaff,\" he said. \"I want you and Dickon and\nMiss Mary to stand in a row and listen to me because I am going to tell\nyou something very important.\"\n\n\"Aye, aye, sir!\" answered Ben Weatherstaff, touching his forehead. (One\nof the long concealed charms of Ben Weatherstaff was that in his boyhood\nhe had once run away to sea and had made voyages. So he could reply like\na sailor.)\n\n\"I am going to try a scientific experiment,\" explained the Rajah. \"When\nI grow up I am going to make great scientific discoveries and I am going\nto begin now with this experiment.\"\n\n\"Aye, aye, sir!\" said Ben Weatherstaff promptly, though this was the\nfirst time he had heard of great scientific discoveries.\n\nIt was the first time Mary had heard of them, either, but even at this\nstage she had begun to realize that, queer as he was, Colin had read\nabout a great many singular things and was somehow a very convincing\nsort of boy. When he held up his head and fixed his strange eyes on you\nit seemed as if you believed him almost in spite of yourself though he\nwas only ten years old--going on eleven. At this moment he was\nespecially convincing because he suddenly felt the fascination of\nactually making a sort of speech like a grown-up person.\n\n\"The great scientific discoveries I am going to make,\" he went on, \"will\nbe about Magic. Magic is a great thing and scarcely any one knows\nanything about it except a few people in old books--and Mary a little,\nbecause she was born in India where there are fakirs. I believe Dickon\nknows some Magic, but perhaps he doesn\'t know he knows it. He charms\nanimals and people. I would never have let him come to see me if he had\nnot been an animal charmer--which is a boy charmer, too, because a boy\nis an animal. I am sure there is Magic in everything, only we have not\nsense enough to get hold of it and make it do things for us--like\nelectricity and horses and steam.\"\n\nThis sounded so imposing that Ben Weatherstaff became quite excited and\nreally could not keep still.\n\n\"Aye, aye, sir,\" he said and he began to stand up quite straight.\n\n\"When Mary found this garden it looked quite dead,\" the orator\nproceeded. \"Then something began pushing things up out of the soil and\nmaking things out of nothing. One day things weren\'t there and another\nthey were. I had never watched things before and it made me feel very\ncurious. Scientific people are always curious and I am going to be\nscientific. I keep saying to myself, \'What is it? What is it?\' It\'s\nsomething. It can\'t be nothing! I don\'t know its name so I call it\nMagic. I have never seen the sun rise but Mary and Dickon have and from\nwhat they tell me I am sure that is Magic too. Something pushes it up\nand draws it. Sometimes since I\'ve been in the garden I\'ve looked up\nthrough the trees at the sky and I have had a strange feeling of being\nhappy as if something were pushing and drawing in my chest and making me\nbreathe fast. Magic is always pushing and drawing and making things out\nof nothing. Everything is made out of Magic, leaves and trees, flowers\nand birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people. So it must be all\naround us. In this garden--in all the places. The Magic in this garden\nhas made me stand up and know I am going to live to be a man. I am going\nto make the scientific experiment of trying to get some and put it in\nmyself and make it push and draw me and make me strong. I don\'t know how\nto do it but I think that if you keep thinking about it and calling it\nperhaps it will come. Perhaps that is the first baby way to get it. When\nI was going to try to stand that first time Mary kept saying to herself\nas fast as she could, \'You can do it! You can do it!\' and I did. I had\nto try myself at the same time, of course, but her Magic helped me--and\nso did Dickon\'s. Every morning and evening and as often in the daytime\nas I can remember I am going to say, \'Magic is in me! Magic is making me\nwell! I am going to be as strong as Dickon, as strong as Dickon!\' And\nyou must all do it, too. That is my experiment. Will you help, Ben\nWeatherstaff?\"\n\n\"Aye, aye, sir!\" said Ben Weatherstaff. \"Aye, aye!\"\n\n\"If you keep doing it every day as regularly as soldiers go through\ndrill we shall see what will happen and find out if the experiment\nsucceeds. You learn things by saying them over and over and thinking\nabout them until they stay in your mind forever and I think it will be\nthe same with Magic. If you keep calling it to come to you and help you\nit will get to be part of you and it will stay and do things.\"\n\n\"I once heard an officer in India tell my mother that there were fakirs\nwho said words over and over thousands of times,\" said Mary.\n\n\"I\'ve heard Jem Fettleworth\'s wife say th\' same thing over thousands o\'\ntimes--callin\' Jem a drunken brute,\" said Ben Weatherstaff dryly.\n\"Summat allus come o\' that, sure enough. He gave her a good hidin\' an\'\nwent to th\' Blue Lion an\' got as drunk as a lord.\"\n\nColin drew his brows together and thought a few minutes. Then he cheered\nup.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"you see something did come of it. She used the wrong\nMagic until she made him beat her. If she\'d used the right Magic and had\nsaid something nice perhaps he wouldn\'t have got as drunk as a lord and\nperhaps--perhaps he might have bought her a new bonnet.\"\n\nBen Weatherstaff chuckled and there was shrewd admiration in his little\nold eyes.\n\n\"Tha\'rt a clever lad as well as a straight-legged one, Mester Colin,\" he\nsaid. \"Next time I see Bess Fettleworth I\'ll give her a bit of a hint o\'\nwhat Magic will do for her. She\'d be rare an\' pleased if th\' sinetifik\n\'speriment worked--an\' so \'ud Jem.\"\n\nDickon had stood listening to the lecture, his round eyes shining with\ncurious delight. Nut and Shell were on his shoulders and he held a\nlong-eared white rabbit in his arm and stroked and stroked it softly\nwhile it laid its ears along its back and enjoyed itself.\n\n\"Do you think the experiment will work?\" Colin asked him, wondering what\nhe was thinking. He so often wondered what Dickon was thinking when he\nsaw him looking at him or at one of his \"creatures\" with his happy wide\nsmile.\n\nHe smiled now and his smile was wider than usual.\n\n\"Aye,\" he answered, \"that I do. It\'ll work same as th\' seeds do when th\'\nsun shines on \'em. It\'ll work for sure. Shall us begin it now?\"\n\nColin was delighted and so was Mary. Fired by recollections of fakirs\nand devotees in illustrations Colin suggested that they should all sit\ncross-legged under the tree which made a canopy.\n\n\"It will be like sitting in a sort of temple,\" said Colin. \"I\'m rather\ntired and I want to sit down.\"\n\n\"Eh!\" said Dickon, \"tha\' musn\'t begin by sayin\' tha\'rt tired. Tha\' might\nspoil th\' Magic.\"\n\nColin turned and looked at him--into his innocent round eyes.\n\n\"That\'s true,\" he said slowly. \"I must only think of the Magic.\"\n\nIt all seemed most majestic and mysterious when they sat down in their\ncircle. Ben Weatherstaff felt as if he had somehow been led into\nappearing at a prayer-meeting. Ordinarily he was very fixed in being\nwhat he called \"agen\' prayer-meetin\'s\" but this being the Rajah\'s affair\nhe did not resent it and was indeed inclined to be gratified at being\ncalled upon to assist. Mistress Mary felt solemnly enraptured. Dickon\nheld his rabbit in his arm, and perhaps he made some charmer\'s signal no\none heard, for when he sat down, cross-legged like the rest, the crow,\nthe fox, the squirrels and the lamb slowly drew near and made part of\nthe circle, settling each into a place of rest as if of their own\ndesire.\n\n\"The \'creatures\' have come,\" said Colin gravely. \"They want to help us.\"\n\nColin really looked quite beautiful, Mary thought. He held his head high\nas if he felt like a sort of priest and his strange eyes had a wonderful\nlook in them. The light shone on him through the tree canopy.\n\n\"Now we will begin,\" he said. \"Shall we sway backward and forward, Mary,\nas if we were dervishes?\"\n\n\"I canna\' do no swayin\' back\'ard and for\'ard,\" said Ben Weatherstaff.\n\"I\'ve got th\' rheumatics.\"\n\n\"The Magic will take them away,\" said Colin in a High Priest tone, \"but\nwe won\'t sway until it has done it. We will only chant.\"\n\n\"I canna\' do no chantin\',\" said Ben Weatherstaff a trifle testily. \"They\nturned me out o\' th\' church choir th\' only time I ever tried it.\"\n\nNo one smiled. They were all too much in earnest. Colin\'s face was not\neven crossed by a shadow. He was thinking only of the Magic.\n\n\"Then I will chant,\" he said. And he began, looking like a strange boy\nspirit. \"The sun is shining--the sun is shining. That is the Magic. The\nflowers are growing--the roots are stirring. That is the Magic. Being\nalive is the Magic--being strong is the Magic. The Magic is in me--the\nMagic is in me. It is in me--it is in me. It\'s in every one of us. It\'s\nin Ben Weatherstaff\'s back. Magic! Magic! Come and help!\"\n\nHe said it a great many times--not a thousand times but quite a goodly\nnumber. Mary listened entranced. She felt as if it were at once queer\nand beautiful and she wanted him to go on and on. Ben Weatherstaff began\nto feel soothed into a sort of dream which was quite agreeable. The\nhumming of the bees in the blossoms mingled with the chanting voice and\ndrowsily melted into a doze. Dickon sat cross-legged with his rabbit\nasleep on his arm and a hand resting on the lamb\'s back. Soot had\npushed away a squirrel and huddled close to him on his shoulder, the\ngray film dropped over his eyes. At last Colin stopped.\n\n\"Now I am going to walk round the garden,\" he announced.\n\nBen Weatherstaff\'s head had just dropped forward and he lifted it with a\njerk.\n\n\"You have been asleep,\" said Colin.\n\n\"Nowt o\' th\' sort,\" mumbled Ben. \"Th\' sermon was good enow--but I\'m\nbound to get out afore th\' collection.\"\n\nHe was not quite awake yet.\n\n\"You\'re not in church,\" said Colin.\n\n\"Not me,\" said Ben, straightening himself. \"Who said I were? I heard\nevery bit of it. You said th\' Magic was in my back. Th\' doctor calls it\nrheumatics.\"\n\nThe Rajah waved his hand.\n\n\"That was the wrong Magic,\" he said. \"You will get better. You have my\npermission to go to your work. But come back to-morrow.\"\n\n\"I\'d like to see thee walk round the garden,\" grunted Ben.\n\nIt was not an unfriendly grunt, but it was a grunt. In fact, being a\nstubborn old party and not having entire faith in Magic he had made up\nhis mind that if he were sent away he would climb his ladder and look\nover the wall so that he might be ready to hobble back if there were any\nstumbling.\n\nThe Rajah did not object to his staying and so the procession was\nformed. It really did look like a procession. Colin was at its head with\nDickon on one side and Mary on the other. Ben Weatherstaff walked\nbehind, and the \"creatures\" trailed after them, the lamb and the fox cub\nkeeping close to Dickon, the white rabbit hopping along or stopping to\nnibble and Soot following with the solemnity of a person who felt\nhimself in charge.\n\nIt was a procession which moved slowly but with dignity. Every few yards\nit stopped to rest. Colin leaned on Dickon\'s arm and privately Ben\nWeatherstaff kept a sharp lookout, but now and then Colin took his hand\nfrom its support and walked a few steps alone. His head was held up all\nthe time and he looked very grand.\n\n\"The Magic is in me!\" he kept saying. \"The Magic is making me strong! I\ncan feel it! I can feel it!\"\n\nIt seemed very certain that something was upholding and uplifting him.\nHe sat on the seats in the alcoves, and once or twice he sat down on the\ngrass and several times he paused in the path and leaned on Dickon, but\nhe would not give up until he had gone all round the garden. When he\nreturned to the canopy tree his cheeks were flushed and he looked\ntriumphant.\n\n\"I did it! The Magic worked!\" he cried. \"That is my first scientific\ndiscovery.\"\n\n\"What will Dr. Craven say?\" broke out Mary.\n\n\"He won\'t say anything,\" Colin answered, \"because he will not be told.\nThis is to be the biggest secret of all. No one is to know anything\nabout it until I have grown so strong that I can walk and run like any\nother boy. I shall come here every day in my chair and I shall be taken\nback in it. I won\'t have people whispering and asking questions and I\nwon\'t let my father hear about it until the experiment has quite\nsucceeded. Then sometime when he comes back to Misselthwaite I shall\njust walk into his study and say \'Here I am; I am like any other boy. I\nam quite well and I shall live to be a man. It has been done by a\nscientific experiment.\'\"\n\n\"He will think he is in a dream,\" cried Mary. \"He won\'t believe his\neyes.\"\n\nColin flushed triumphantly. He had made himself believe that he was\ngoing to get well, which was really more than half the battle, if he had\nbeen aware of it. And the thought which stimulated him more than any\nother was this imagining what his father would look like when he saw\nthat he had a son who was as straight and strong as other fathers\'\nsons. One of his darkest miseries in the unhealthy morbid past days had\nbeen his hatred of being a sickly weak-backed boy whose father was\nafraid to look at him.\n\n\"He\'ll be obliged to believe them,\" he said. \"One of the things I am\ngoing to do, after the Magic works and before I begin to make scientific\ndiscoveries, is to be an athlete.\"\n\n\"We shall have thee takin\' to boxin\' in a week or so,\" said Ben\nWeatherstaff. \"Tha\'lt end wi\' winnin\' th\' Belt an\' bein\' champion\nprize-fighter of all England.\"\n\nColin fixed his eyes on him sternly.\n\n\"Weatherstaff,\" he said, \"that is disrespectful. You must not take\nliberties because you are in the secret. However much the Magic works I\nshall not be a prize-fighter. I shall be a Scientific Discoverer.\"\n\n\"Ax pardon--ax pardon, sir,\" answered Ben, touching his forehead in\nsalute. \"I ought to have seed it wasn\'t a jokin\' matter,\" but his eyes\ntwinkled and secretly he was immensely pleased. He really did not mind\nbeing snubbed since the snubbing meant that the lad was gaining strength\nand spirit.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXIV\n\n\"LET THEM LAUGH\"\n\n\nThe secret garden was not the only one Dickon worked in. Round the\ncottage on the moor there was a piece of ground enclosed by a low wall\nof rough stones. Early in the morning and late in the fading twilight\nand on all the days Colin and Mary did not see him, Dickon worked there\nplanting or tending potatoes and cabbages, turnips and carrots and herbs\nfor his mother. In the company of his \"creatures\" he did wonders there\nand was never tired of doing them, it seemed. While he dug or weeded he\nwhistled or sang bits of Yorkshire moor songs or talked to Soot or\nCaptain or the brothers and sisters he had taught to help him.\n\n\"We\'d never get on as comfortable as we do,\" Mrs. Sowerby said, \"if it\nwasn\'t for Dickon\'s garden. Anything\'ll grow for him. His \'taters and\ncabbages is twice th\' size of any one else\'s an\' they\'ve got a flavor\nwith \'em as nobody\'s has.\"\n\nWhen she found a moment to spare she liked to go out and talk to him.\nAfter supper there was still a long clear twilight to work in and that\nwas her quiet time. She could sit upon the low rough wall and look on\nand hear stories of the day. She loved this time. There were not only\nvegetables in this garden. Dickon had bought penny packages of flower\nseeds now and then and sown bright sweet-scented things among gooseberry\nbushes and even cabbages and he grew borders of mignonette and pinks and\npansies and things whose seeds he could save year after year or whose\nroots would bloom each spring and spread in time into fine clumps. The\nlow wall was one of the prettiest things in Yorkshire because he had\ntucked moorland foxglove and ferns and rock-cress and hedgerow flowers\ninto every crevice until only here and there glimpses of the stones were\nto be seen.\n\n\"All a chap\'s got to do to make \'em thrive, mother,\" he would say, \"is\nto be friends with \'em for sure. They\'re just like th\' \'creatures.\' If\nthey\'re thirsty give \'em a drink and if they\'re hungry give \'em a bit o\'\nfood. They want to live same as we do. If they died I should feel as if\nI\'d been a bad lad and somehow treated them heartless.\"\n\nIt was in these twilight hours that Mrs. Sowerby heard of all that\nhappened at Misselthwaite Manor. At first she was only told that\n\"Mester Colin\" had taken a fancy to going out into the grounds with\nMiss Mary and that it was doing him good. But it was not long before it\nwas agreed between the two children that Dickon\'s mother might \"come\ninto the secret.\" Somehow it was not doubted that she was \"safe for\nsure.\"\n\nSo one beautiful still evening Dickon told the whole story, with all the\nthrilling details of the buried key and the robin and the gray haze\nwhich had seemed like deadness and the secret Mistress Mary had planned\nnever to reveal. The coming of Dickon and how it had been told to him,\nthe doubt of Mester Colin and the final drama of his introduction to the\nhidden domain, combined with the incident of Ben Weatherstaff\'s angry\nface peering over the wall and Mester Colin\'s sudden indignant strength,\nmade Mrs. Sowerby\'s nice-looking face quite change color several times.\n\n\"My word!\" she said. \"It was a good thing that little lass came to th\'\nManor. It\'s been th\' makin\' o\' her an\' th\' savin\' o\' him. Standin\' on\nhis feet! An\' us all thinkin\' he was a poor half-witted lad with not a\nstraight bone in him.\"\n\nShe asked a great many questions and her blue eyes were full of deep\nthinking.\n\n\"What do they make of it at th\' Manor--him being so well an\' cheerful\nan\' never complainin\'?\" she inquired.\n\n\"They don\'t know what to make of it,\" answered Dickon. \"Every day as\ncomes round his face looks different. It\'s fillin\' out and doesn\'t look\nso sharp an\' th\' waxy color is goin\'. But he has to do his bit o\'\ncomplainin\',\" with a highly entertained grin.\n\n\"What for, i\' Mercy\'s name?\" asked Mrs. Sowerby.\n\nDickon chuckled.\n\n\"He does it to keep them from guessin\' what\'s happened. If the doctor\nknew he\'d found out he could stand on his feet he\'d likely write and\ntell Mester Craven. Mester Colin\'s savin\' th\' secret to tell himself.\nHe\'s goin\' to practise his Magic on his legs every day till his father\ncomes back an\' then he\'s goin\' to march into his room an\' show him he\'s\nas straight as other lads. But him an\' Miss Mary thinks it\'s best plan\nto do a bit o\' groanin\' an\' frettin\' now an\' then to throw folk off th\'\nscent.\"\n\nMrs. Sowerby was laughing a low comfortable laugh long before he had\nfinished his last sentence.\n\n\"Eh!\" she said, \"that pair\'s enjoyin\' theirselves, I\'ll warrant. They\'ll\nget a good bit o\' play actin\' out of it an\' there\'s nothin\' children\nlikes as much as play actin\'. Let\'s hear what they do, Dickon lad.\"\n\nDickon stopped weeding and sat up on his heels to tell her. His eyes\nwere twinkling with fun.\n\n\"Mester Colin is carried down to his chair every time he goes out,\" he\nexplained. \"An\' he flies out at John, th\' footman, for not carryin\' him\ncareful enough. He makes himself as helpless lookin\' as he can an\' never\nlifts his head until we\'re out o\' sight o\' th\' house. An\' he grunts an\'\nfrets a good bit when he\'s bein\' settled into his chair. Him an\' Miss\nMary\'s both got to enjoyin\' it an\' when he groans an\' complains she\'ll\nsay, \'Poor Colin! Does it hurt you so much? Are you so weak as that,\npoor Colin?\'--but th\' trouble is that sometimes they can scarce keep\nfrom burstin\' out laughin\'. When we get safe into the garden they laugh\ntill they\'ve no breath left to laugh with. An\' they have to stuff their\nfaces into Mester Colin\'s cushions to keep the gardeners from hearin\',\nif any of \'em\'s about.\"\n\n\"Th\' more they laugh th\' better for \'em!\" said Mrs. Sowerby, still\nlaughing herself. \"Good healthy child laughin\'s better than pills any\nday o\' th\' year. That pair\'ll plump up for sure.\"\n\n\"They are plumpin\' up,\" said Dickon. \"They\'re that hungry they don\'t\nknow how to get enough to eat without makin\' talk. Mester Colin says if\nhe keeps sendin\' for more food they won\'t believe he\'s an invalid at\nall. Miss Mary says she\'ll let him eat her share, but he says that if\nshe goes hungry she\'ll get thin an\' they mun both get fat at once.\"\n\nMrs. Sowerby laughed so heartily at the revelation of this difficulty,\nthat she quite rocked backward and forward in her blue cloak, and Dickon\nlaughed with her.\n\n\"I\'ll tell thee what, lad,\" Mrs. Sowerby said when she could speak.\n\"I\'ve thought of a way to help \'em. When tha\' goes to \'em in th\'\nmornin\'s tha\' shall take a pail o\' good new milk an\' I\'ll bake \'em a\ncrusty cottage loaf or some buns wi\' currants in \'em, same as you\nchildren like. Nothin\'s so good as fresh milk an\' bread. Then they could\ntake off th\' edge o\' their hunger while they were in their garden an\'\nth\' fine food they get indoors \'ud polish off th\' corners.\"\n\n\"Eh! mother!\" said Dickon admiringly, \"what a wonder tha\' art! Tha\'\nalways sees a way out o\' things. They was quite in a pother yesterday.\nThey didn\'t see how they was to manage without orderin\' up more\nfood--they felt that empty inside.\"\n\n\"They\'re two young \'uns growin\' fast, an\' health\'s comin\' back to both of\n\'em. Children like that feels like young wolves an\' food\'s flesh an\'\nblood to \'em,\" said Mrs. Sowerby. Then she smiled Dickon\'s own curving\nsmile. \"Eh! but they\'re enjoyin\' theirselves for sure,\" she said.\n\nShe was quite right, the comfortable wonderful mother creature--and she\nhad never been more so than when she said their \"play actin\'\" would be\ntheir joy. Colin and Mary found it one of their most thrilling sources\nof entertainment. The idea of protecting themselves from suspicion had\nbeen unconsciously suggested to them first by the puzzled nurse and then\nby Dr. Craven himself.\n\n\"Your appetite is improving very much, Master Colin,\" the nurse had said\none day. \"You used to eat nothing, and so many things disagreed with\nyou.\"\n\n\"Nothing disagrees with me now,\" replied Colin, and then seeing the\nnurse looking at him curiously he suddenly remembered that perhaps he\nought not to appear too well just yet. \"At least things don\'t so often\ndisagree with me. It\'s the fresh air.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it is,\" said the nurse, still looking at him with a mystified\nexpression. \"But I must talk to Dr. Craven about it.\"\n\n\"How she stared at you!\" said Mary when she went away. \"As if she\nthought there must be something to find out.\"\n\n\"I won\'t have her finding out things,\" said Colin. \"No one must begin to\nfind out yet.\" When Dr. Craven came that morning he seemed puzzled,\nalso. He asked a number of questions, to Colin\'s great annoyance.\n\n\"You stay out in the garden a great deal,\" he suggested. \"Where do you\ngo?\"\n\nColin put on his favorite air of dignified indifference to opinion.\n\n\"I will not let any one know where I go,\" he answered. \"I go to a place\nI like. Every one has orders to keep out of the way. I won\'t be watched\nand stared at. You know that!\"\n\n\"You seem to be out all day but I do not think it has done you harm--I\ndo not think so. The nurse says that you eat much more than you have\never done before.\"\n\n\"Perhaps,\" said Colin, prompted by a sudden inspiration, \"perhaps it is\nan unnatural appetite.\"\n\n\"I do not think so, as your food seems to agree with you,\" said Dr.\nCraven. \"You are gaining flesh rapidly and your color is better.\"\n\n\"Perhaps--perhaps I am bloated and feverish,\" said Colin, assuming a\ndiscouraging air of gloom. \"People who are not going to live are\noften--different.\"\n\nDr. Craven shook his head. He was holding Colin\'s wrist and he pushed up\nhis sleeve and felt his arm.\n\n\"You are not feverish,\" he said thoughtfully, \"and such flesh as you\nhave gained is healthy. If we can keep this up, my boy, we need not talk\nof dying. Your father will be very happy to hear of this remarkable\nimprovement.\"\n\n\"I won\'t have him told!\" Colin broke forth fiercely. \"It will only\ndisappoint him if I get worse again--and I may get worse this very\nnight. I might have a raging fever. I feel as if I might be beginning to\nhave one now. I won\'t have letters written to my father--I won\'t--I\nwon\'t! You are making me angry and you know that is bad for me. I feel\nhot already. I hate being written about and being talked over as much as\nI hate being stared at!\"\n\n\"Hush-h! my boy,\" Dr. Craven soothed him. \"Nothing shall be written\nwithout your permission. You are too sensitive about things. You must\nnot undo the good which has been done.\"\n\nHe said no more about writing to Mr. Craven and when he saw the nurse he\nprivately warned her that such a possibility must not be mentioned to\nthe patient.\n\n\"The boy is extraordinarily better,\" he said. \"His advance seems almost\nabnormal. But of course he is doing now of his own free will what we\ncould not make him do before. Still, he excites himself very easily and\nnothing must be said to irritate him.\"\n\nMary and Colin were much alarmed and talked together anxiously. From\nthis time dated their plan of \"play actin\'.\"\n\n\"I may be obliged to have a tantrum,\" said Colin regretfully. \"I don\'t\nwant to have one and I\'m not miserable enough now to work myself into a\nbig one. Perhaps I couldn\'t have one at all. That lump doesn\'t come in\nmy throat now and I keep thinking of nice things instead of horrible\nones. But if they talk about writing to my father I shall have to do\nsomething.\"\n\nHe made up his mind to eat less, but unfortunately it was not possible\nto carry out this brilliant idea when he wakened each morning with an\namazing appetite and the table near his sofa was set with a breakfast of\nhome-made bread and fresh butter, snow-white eggs, raspberry jam and\nclotted cream. Mary always breakfasted with him and when they found\nthemselves at the table--particularly if there were delicate slices of\nsizzling ham sending forth tempting odors from under a hot silver\ncover--they would look into each other\'s eyes in desperation.\n\n\"I think we shall have to eat it all this morning, Mary,\" Colin always\nended by saying. \"We can send away some of the lunch and a great deal of\nthe dinner.\"\n\nBut they never found they could send away anything and the highly\npolished condition of the empty plates returned to the pantry awakened\nmuch comment.\n\n\"I do wish,\" Colin would say also, \"I do wish the slices of ham were\nthicker, and one muffin each is not enough for any one.\"\n\n\"It\'s enough for a person who is going to die,\" answered Mary when first\nshe heard this, \"but it\'s not enough for a person who is going to live.\nI sometimes feel as if I could eat three when those nice fresh heather\nand gorse smells from the moor come pouring in at the open window.\"\n\nThe morning that Dickon--after they had been enjoying themselves in the\ngarden for about two hours--went behind a big rose-bush and brought\nforth two tin pails and revealed that one was full of rich new milk with\ncream on the top of it, and that the other held cottage-made currant\nbuns folded in a clean blue and white napkin, buns so carefully tucked\nin that they were still hot, there was a riot of surprised joyfulness.\nWhat a wonderful thing for Mrs. Sowerby to think of! What a kind, clever\nwoman she must be! How good the buns were! And what delicious fresh\nmilk!\n\n\"Magic is in her just as it is in Dickon,\" said Colin. \"It makes her\nthink of ways to do things--nice things. She is a Magic person. Tell her\nwe are grateful, Dickon--extremely grateful.\"\n\nHe was given to using rather grown-up phrases at times. He enjoyed them.\nHe liked this so much that he improved upon it.\n\n\"Tell her she has been most bounteous and our gratitude is extreme.\"\n\nAnd then forgetting his grandeur he fell to and stuffed himself with\nbuns and drank milk out of the pail in copious draughts in the manner of\nany hungry little boy who had been taking unusual exercise and breathing\nin moorland air and whose breakfast was more than two hours behind him.\n\nThis was the beginning of many agreeable incidents of the same kind.\nThey actually awoke to the fact that as Mrs. Sowerby had fourteen people\nto provide food for she might not have enough to satisfy two extra\nappetites every day. So they asked her to let them send some of their\nshillings to buy things.\n\nDickon made the stimulating discovery that in the wood in the park\noutside the garden where Mary had first found him piping to the wild\ncreatures there was a deep little hollow where you could build a sort of\ntiny oven with stones and roast potatoes and eggs in it. Roasted eggs\nwere a previously unknown luxury and very hot potatoes with salt and\nfresh butter in them were fit for a woodland king--besides being\ndeliciously satisfying. You could buy both potatoes and eggs and eat as\nmany as you liked without feeling as if you were taking food out of the\nmouths of fourteen people.\n\nEvery beautiful morning the Magic was worked by the mystic circle under\nthe plum-tree which provided a canopy of thickening green leaves after\nits brief blossom-time was ended. After the ceremony Colin always took\nhis walking exercise and throughout the day he exercised his newly found\npower at intervals. Each day he grew stronger and could walk more\nsteadily and cover more ground. And each day his belief in the Magic\ngrew stronger--as well it might. He tried one experiment after another\nas he felt himself gaining strength and it was Dickon who showed him the\nbest things of all.\n\n\"Yesterday,\" he said one morning after an absence, \"I went to Thwaite\nfor mother an\' near th\' Blue Cow Inn I seed Bob Haworth. He\'s the\nstrongest chap on th\' moor. He\'s the champion wrestler an\' he can jump\nhigher than any other chap an\' throw th\' hammer farther. He\'s gone all\nth\' way to Scotland for th\' sports some years. He\'s knowed me ever since\nI was a little \'un an\' he\'s a friendly sort an\' I axed him some\nquestions. Th\' gentry calls him a athlete and I thought o\' thee, Mester\nColin, and I says, \'How did tha\' make tha\' muscles stick out that way,\nBob? Did tha\' do anythin\' extra to make thysel\' so strong?\' An\' he says\n\'Well, yes, lad, I did. A strong man in a show that came to Thwaite once\nshowed me how to exercise my arms an\' legs an\' every muscle in my body.\'\nAn\' I says, \'Could a delicate chap make himself stronger with \'em, Bob?\'\nan\' he laughed an\' says, \'Art tha\' th\' delicate chap?\' an\' I says, \'No,\nbut I knows a young gentleman that\'s gettin\' well of a long illness an\'\nI wish I knowed some o\' them tricks to tell him about.\' I didn\'t say no\nnames an\' he didn\'t ask none. He\'s friendly same as I said an\' he stood\nup an\' showed me good-natured like, an\' I imitated what he did till I\nknowed it by heart.\"\n\nColin had been listening excitedly.\n\n\"Can you show me?\" he cried. \"Will you?\"\n\n\"Aye, to be sure,\" Dickon answered, getting up. \"But he says tha\' mun do\n\'em gentle at first an\' be careful not to tire thysel\'. Rest in between\ntimes an\' take deep breaths an\' don\'t overdo.\"\n\n\"I\'ll be careful,\" said Colin. \"Show me! Show me! Dickon, you are the\nmost Magic boy in the world!\"\n\nDickon stood up on the grass and slowly went through a carefully\npractical but simple series of muscle exercises. Colin watched them with\nwidening eyes. He could do a few while he was sitting down. Presently he\ndid a few gently while he stood upon his already steadied feet. Mary\nbegan to do them also. Soot, who was watching the performance, became\nmuch disturbed and left his branch and hopped about restlessly because\nhe could not do them too.\n\nFrom that time the exercises were part of the day\'s duties as much as\nthe Magic was. It became possible for both Colin and Mary to do more of\nthem each time they tried, and such appetites were the results that but\nfor the basket Dickon put down behind the bush each morning when he\narrived they would have been lost. But the little oven in the hollow and\nMrs. Sowerby\'s bounties were so satisfying that Mrs. Medlock and the\nnurse and Dr. Craven became mystified again. You can trifle with your\nbreakfast and seem to disdain your dinner if you are full to the brim\nwith roasted eggs and potatoes and richly frothed new milk and oat-cakes\nand buns and heather honey and clotted cream.\n\n\"They are eating next to nothing,\" said the nurse. \"They\'ll die of\nstarvation if they can\'t be persuaded to take some nourishment. And yet\nsee how they look.\"\n\n\"Look!\" exclaimed Mrs. Medlock indignantly. \"Eh! I\'m moithered to death\nwith them. They\'re a pair of young Satans. Bursting their jackets one\nday and the next turning up their noses at the best meals Cook can\ntempt them with. Not a mouthful of that lovely young fowl and bread\nsauce did they set a fork into yesterday--and the poor woman fair\n_invented_ a pudding for them--and back it\'s sent. She almost cried.\nShe\'s afraid she\'ll be blamed if they starve themselves into their\ngraves.\"\n\nDr. Craven came and looked at Colin long and carefully. He wore an\nextremely worried expression when the nurse talked with him and showed\nhim the almost untouched tray of breakfast she had saved for him to look\nat--but it was even more worried when he sat down by Colin\'s sofa and\nexamined him. He had been called to London on business and had not seen\nthe boy for nearly two weeks. When young things begin to gain health\nthey gain it rapidly. The waxen tinge had left Colin\'s skin and a warm\nrose showed through it; his beautiful eyes were clear and the hollows\nunder them and in his cheeks and temples had filled out. His once dark,\nheavy locks had begun to look as if they sprang healthily from his\nforehead and were soft and warm with life. His lips were fuller and of a\nnormal color. In fact as an imitation of a boy who was a confirmed\ninvalid he was a disgraceful sight. Dr. Craven held his chin in his hand\nand thought him over.\n\n\"I am sorry to hear that you do not eat anything,\" he said. \"That will\nnot do. You will lose all you have gained--and you have gained\namazingly. You ate so well a short time ago.\"\n\n\"I told you it was an unnatural appetite,\" answered Colin.\n\nMary was sitting on her stool nearby and she suddenly made a very queer\nsound which she tried so violently to repress that she ended by almost\nchoking.\n\n\"What is the matter?\" said Dr. Craven, turning to look at her.\n\nMary became quite severe in her manner.\n\n\"It was something between a sneeze and a cough,\" she replied with\nreproachful dignity, \"and it got into my throat.\"\n\n\"But\" she said afterward to Colin, \"I couldn\'t stop myself. It just\nburst out because all at once I couldn\'t help remembering that last big\npotato you ate and the way your mouth stretched when you bit through\nthat thick lovely crust with jam and clotted cream on it.\"\n\n\"Is there any way in which those children can get food secretly?\" Dr.\nCraven inquired of Mrs. Medlock.\n\n\"There\'s no way unless they dig it out of the earth or pick it off the\ntrees,\" Mrs. Medlock answered. \"They stay out in the grounds all day and\nsee no one but each other. And if they want anything different to eat\nfrom what\'s sent up to them they need only ask for it.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Dr. Craven, \"so long as going without food agrees with them\nwe need not disturb ourselves. The boy is a new creature.\"\n\n\"So is the girl,\" said Mrs. Medlock. \"She\'s begun to be downright pretty\nsince she\'s filled out and lost her ugly little sour look. Her hair\'s\ngrown thick and healthy looking and she\'s got a bright color. The\nglummest, ill-natured little thing she used to be and now her and Master\nColin laugh together like a pair of crazy young ones. Perhaps they\'re\ngrowing fat on that.\"\n\n\"Perhaps they are,\" said Dr. Craven. \"Let them laugh.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXV\n\nTHE CURTAIN\n\n\nAnd the secret garden bloomed and bloomed and every morning revealed\nnew miracles. In the robin\'s nest there were Eggs and the robin\'s\nmate sat upon them keeping them warm with her feathery little breast\nand careful wings. At first she was very nervous and the robin himself\nwas indignantly watchful. Even Dickon did not go near the close-grown\ncorner in those days, but waited until by the quiet working of some\nmysterious spell he seemed to have conveyed to the soul of the little\npair that in the garden there was nothing which was not quite like\nthemselves--nothing which did not understand the wonderfulness of what\nwas happening to them--the immense, tender, terrible, heart-breaking\nbeauty and solemnity of Eggs. If there had been one person in that\ngarden who had not known through all his or her innermost being that if\nan Egg were taken away or hurt the whole world would whirl round and\ncrash through space and come to an end--if there had been even one who\ndid not feel it and act accordingly there could have been no happiness\neven in that golden springtime air. But they all knew it and felt it and\nthe robin and his mate knew they knew it.\n\nAt first the robin watched Mary and Colin with sharp anxiety. For some\nmysterious reason he knew he need not watch Dickon. The first moment he\nset his dew-bright black eye on Dickon he knew he was not a stranger but\na sort of robin without beak or feathers. He could speak robin (which is\na quite distinct language not to be mistaken for any other). To speak\nrobin to a robin is like speaking French to a Frenchman. Dickon always\nspoke it to the robin himself, so the queer gibberish he used when he\nspoke to humans did not matter in the least. The robin thought he spoke\nthis gibberish to them because they were not intelligent enough to\nunderstand feathered speech. His movements also were robin. They never\nstartled one by being sudden enough to seem dangerous or threatening.\nAny robin could understand Dickon, so his presence was not even\ndisturbing.\n\nBut at the outset it seemed necessary to be on guard against the other\ntwo. In the first place the boy creature did not come into the garden on\nhis legs. He was pushed in on a thing with wheels and the skins of wild\nanimals were thrown over him. That in itself was doubtful. Then when he\nbegan to stand up and move about he did it in a queer unaccustomed way\nand the others seemed to have to help him. The robin used to secrete\nhimself in a bush and watch this anxiously, his head tilted first on one\nside and then on the other. He thought that the slow movements might\nmean that he was preparing to pounce, as cats do. When cats are\npreparing to pounce they creep over the ground very slowly. The robin\ntalked this over with his mate a great deal for a few days but after\nthat he decided not to speak of the subject because her terror was so\ngreat that he was afraid it might be injurious to the Eggs.\n\nWhen the boy began to walk by himself and even to move more quickly it\nwas an immense relief. But for a long time--or it seemed a long time to\nthe robin--he was a source of some anxiety. He did not act as the other\nhumans did. He seemed very fond of walking but he had a way of sitting\nor lying down for a while and then getting up in a disconcerting manner\nto begin again.\n\nOne day the robin remembered that when he himself had been made to learn\nto fly by his parents he had done much the same sort of thing. He had\ntaken short flights of a few yards and then had been obliged to rest. So\nit occurred to him that this boy was learning to fly--or rather to\nwalk. He mentioned this to his mate and when he told her that the Eggs\nwould probably conduct themselves in the same way after they were\nfledged she was quite comforted and even became eagerly interested and\nderived great pleasure from watching the boy over the edge of her\nnest--though she always thought that the Eggs would be much cleverer and\nlearn more quickly. But then she said indulgently that humans were\nalways more clumsy and slow than Eggs and most of them never seemed\nreally to learn to fly at all. You never met them in the air or on\ntree-tops.\n\nAfter a while the boy began to move about as the others did, but all\nthree of the children at times did unusual things. They would stand\nunder the trees and move their arms and legs and heads about in a way\nwhich was neither walking nor running nor sitting down. They went\nthrough these movements at intervals every day and the robin was never\nable to explain to his mate what they were doing or trying to do. He\ncould only say that he was sure that the Eggs would never flap about in\nsuch a manner; but as the boy who could speak robin so fluently was\ndoing the thing with them, birds could be quite sure that the actions\nwere not of a dangerous nature. Of course neither the robin nor his mate\nhad ever heard of the champion wrestler, Bob Haworth, and his exercises\nfor making the muscles stand out like lumps. Robins are not like human\nbeings; their muscles are always exercised from the first and so they\ndevelop themselves in a natural manner. If you have to fly about to find\nevery meal you eat, your muscles do not become atrophied (atrophied\nmeans wasted away through want of use).\n\nWhen the boy was walking and running about and digging and weeding like\nthe others, the nest in the corner was brooded over by a great peace and\ncontent. Fears for the Eggs became things of the past. Knowing that your\nEggs were as safe as if they were locked in a bank vault and the fact\nthat you could watch so many curious things going on made setting a most\nentertaining occupation. On wet days the Eggs\' mother sometimes felt\neven a little dull because the children did not come into the garden.\n\nBut even on wet days it could not be said that Mary and Colin were dull.\nOne morning when the rain streamed down unceasingly and Colin was\nbeginning to feel a little restive, as he was obliged to remain on his\nsofa because it was not safe to get up and walk about, Mary had an\ninspiration.\n\n\"Now that I am a real boy,\" Colin had said, \"my legs and arms and all my\nbody are so full of Magic that I can\'t keep them still. They want to be\ndoing things all the time. Do you know that when I waken in the\nmorning, Mary, when it\'s quite early and the birds are just shouting\noutside and everything seems just shouting for joy--even the trees and\nthings we can\'t really hear--I feel as if I must jump out of bed and\nshout myself. And if I did it, just think what would happen!\"\n\nMary giggled inordinately.\n\n\"The nurse would come running and Mrs. Medlock would come running and\nthey would be sure you had gone crazy and they\'d send for the doctor,\"\nshe said.\n\nColin giggled himself. He could see how they would all look--how\nhorrified by his outbreak and how amazed to see him standing upright.\n\n\"I wish my father would come home,\" he said. \"I want to tell him myself.\nI\'m always thinking about it--but we couldn\'t go on like this much\nlonger. I can\'t stand lying still and pretending, and besides I look too\ndifferent. I wish it wasn\'t raining to-day.\"\n\nIt was then Mistress Mary had her inspiration.\n\n\"Colin,\" she began mysteriously, \"do you know how many rooms there are\nin this house?\"\n\n\"About a thousand, I suppose,\" he answered.\n\n\"There\'s about a hundred no one ever goes into,\" said Mary. \"And one\nrainy day I went and looked into ever so many of them. No one ever\nknew, though Mrs. Medlock nearly found me out. I lost my way when I was\ncoming back and I stopped at the end of your corridor. That was the\nsecond time I heard you crying.\"\n\nColin started up on his sofa.\n\n\"A hundred rooms no one goes into,\" he said. \"It sounds almost like a\nsecret garden. Suppose we go and look at them. You could wheel me in my\nchair and nobody would know where we went.\"\n\n\"That\'s what I was thinking,\" said Mary. \"No one would dare to follow\nus. There are galleries where you could run. We could do our exercises.\nThere is a little Indian room where there is a cabinet full of ivory\nelephants. There are all sorts of rooms.\"\n\n\"Ring the bell,\" said Colin.\n\nWhen the nurse came in he gave his orders.\n\n\"I want my chair,\" he said. \"Miss Mary and I are going to look at the\npart of the house which is not used. John can push me as far as the\npicture-gallery because there are some stairs. Then he must go away and\nleave us alone until I send for him again.\"\n\nRainy days lost their terrors that morning. When the footman had wheeled\nthe chair into the picture-gallery and left the two together in\nobedience to orders, Colin and Mary looked at each other delighted. As\nsoon as Mary had made sure that John was really on his way back to his\nown quarters below stairs, Colin got out of his chair.\n\n\"I am going to run from one end of the gallery to the other,\" he said,\n\"and then I am going to jump and then we will do Bob Haworth\'s\nexercises.\"\n\nAnd they did all these things and many others. They looked at the\nportraits and found the plain little girl dressed in green brocade and\nholding the parrot on her finger.\n\n\"All these,\" said Colin, \"must be my relations. They lived a long time\nago. That parrot one, I believe, is one of my great, great, great, great\naunts. She looks rather like you, Mary--not as you look now but as you\nlooked when you came here. Now you are a great deal fatter and better\nlooking.\"\n\n\"So are you,\" said Mary, and they both laughed.\n\nThey went to the Indian room and amused themselves with the ivory\nelephants. They found the rose-colored brocade boudoir and the hole in\nthe cushion the mouse had left but the mice had grown up and run away\nand the hole was empty. They saw more rooms and made more discoveries\nthan Mary had made on her first pilgrimage. They found new corridors\nand corners and flights of steps and new old pictures they liked and\nweird old things they did not know the use of. It was a curiously\nentertaining morning and the feeling of wandering about in the same\nhouse with other people but at the same time feeling as if one were\nmiles away from them was a fascinating thing.\n\n\"I\'m glad we came,\" Colin said. \"I never knew I lived in such a big\nqueer old place. I like it. We will ramble about every rainy day. We\nshall always be finding new queer corners and things.\"\n\nThat morning they had found among other things such good appetites that\nwhen they returned to Colin\'s room it was not possible to send the\nluncheon away untouched.\n\nWhen the nurse carried the tray down-stairs she slapped it down on the\nkitchen dresser so that Mrs. Loomis, the cook, could see the highly\npolished dishes and plates.\n\n\"Look at that!\" she said. \"This is a house of mystery, and those two\nchildren are the greatest mysteries in it.\"\n\n\"If they keep that up every day,\" said the strong young footman John,\n\"there\'d be small wonder that he weighs twice as much to-day as he did a\nmonth ago. I should have to give up my place in time, for fear of doing\nmy muscles an injury.\"\n\nThat afternoon Mary noticed that something new had happened in Colin\'s\nroom. She had noticed it the day before but had said nothing because she\nthought the change might have been made by chance. She said nothing\nto-day but she sat and looked fixedly at the picture over the mantel.\nShe could look at it because the curtain had been drawn aside. That was\nthe change she noticed.\n\n\"I know what you want me to tell you,\" said Colin, after she had stared\na few minutes. \"I always know when you want me to tell you something.\nYou are wondering why the curtain is drawn back. I am going to keep it\nlike that.\"\n\n\"Why?\" asked Mary.\n\n\"Because it doesn\'t make me angry any more to see her laughing. I\nwakened when it was bright moonlight two nights ago and felt as if the\nMagic was filling the room and making everything so splendid that I\ncouldn\'t lie still. I got up and looked out of the window. The room was\nquite light and there was a patch of moonlight on the curtain and\nsomehow that made me go and pull the cord. She looked right down at me\nas if she were laughing because she was glad I was standing there. It\nmade me like to look at her. I want to see her laughing like that all\nthe time. I think she must have been a sort of Magic person perhaps.\"\n\n\"You are so like her now,\" said Mary, \"that sometimes I think perhaps\nyou are her ghost made into a boy.\"\n\nThat idea seemed to impress Colin. He thought it over and then answered\nher slowly.\n\n\"If I were her ghost--my father would be fond of me,\" he said.\n\n\"Do you want him to be fond of you?\" inquired Mary.\n\n\"I used to hate it because he was not fond of me. If he grew fond of me\nI think I should tell him about the Magic. It might make him more\ncheerful.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVI\n\n\"IT\'S MOTHER!\"\n\n\nTheir belief in the Magic was an abiding thing. After the morning\'s\nincantations Colin sometimes gave them Magic lectures.\n\n\"I like to do it,\" he explained, \"because when I grow up and make great\nscientific discoveries I shall be obliged to lecture about them and so\nthis is practise. I can only give short lectures now because I am very\nyoung, and besides Ben Weatherstaff would feel as if he was in church\nand he would go to sleep.\"\n\n\"Th\' best thing about lecturin\',\" said Ben, \"is that a chap can get up\nan\' say aught he pleases an\' no other chap can answer him back. I\nwouldn\'t be agen\' lecturin\' a bit mysel\' sometimes.\"\n\nBut when Colin held forth under his tree old Ben fixed devouring eyes on\nhim and kept them there. He looked him over with critical affection. It\nwas not so much the lecture which interested him as the legs which\nlooked straighter and stronger each day, the boyish head which held\nitself up so well, the once sharp chin and hollow cheeks which had\nfilled and rounded out and the eyes which had begun to hold the light he\nremembered in another pair. Sometimes when Colin felt Ben\'s earnest gaze\nmeant that he was much impressed he wondered what he was reflecting on\nand once when he had seemed quite entranced he questioned him.\n\n\"What are you thinking about, Ben Weatherstaff?\" he asked.\n\n\"I was thinkin\',\" answered Ben, \"as I\'d warrant tha\'s gone up three or\nfour pound this week. I was lookin\' at tha\' calves an\' tha\' shoulders.\nI\'d like to get thee on a pair o\' scales.\"\n\n\"It\'s the Magic and--and Mrs. Sowerby\'s buns and milk and things,\" said\nColin. \"You see the scientific experiment has succeeded.\"\n\nThat morning Dickon was too late to hear the lecture. When he came he\nwas ruddy with running and his funny face looked more twinkling than\nusual. As they had a good deal of weeding to do after the rains they\nfell to work. They always had plenty to do after a warm deep sinking\nrain. The moisture which was good for the flowers was also good for the\nweeds which thrust up tiny blades of grass and points of leaves which\nmust be pulled up before their roots took too firm hold. Colin was as\ngood at weeding as any one in these days and he could lecture while he\nwas doing it.\n\n\"The Magic works best when you work yourself,\" he said this morning.\n\"You can feel it in your bones and muscles. I am going to read books\nabout bones and muscles, but I am going to write a book about Magic. I\nam making it up now. I keep finding out things.\"\n\nIt was not very long after he had said this that he laid down his trowel\nand stood up on his feet. He had been silent for several minutes and\nthey had seen that he was thinking out lectures, as he often did. When\nhe dropped his trowel and stood upright it seemed to Mary and Dickon as\nif a sudden strong thought had made him do it. He stretched himself out\nto his tallest height and he threw out his arms exultantly. Color glowed\nin his face and his strange eyes widened with joyfulness. All at once he\nhad realized something to the full.\n\n\"Mary! Dickon!\" he cried. \"Just look at me!\"\n\nThey stopped their weeding and looked at him.\n\n\"Do you remember that first morning you brought me in here?\" he\ndemanded.\n\nDickon was looking at him very hard. Being an animal charmer he could\nsee more things than most people could and many of them were things he\nnever talked about. He saw some of them now in this boy.\n\n\"Aye, that we do,\" he answered.\n\nMary looked hard too, but she said nothing.\n\n\"Just this minute,\" said Colin, \"all at once I remembered it\nmyself--when I looked at my hand digging with the trowel--and I had to\nstand up on my feet to see if it was real. And it _is_ real! I\'m\n_well_--I\'m _well_!\"\n\n\"Aye, that tha\' art!\" said Dickon.\n\n\"I\'m well! I\'m well!\" said Colin again, and his face went quite red all\nover.\n\nHe had known it before in a way, he had hoped it and felt it and thought\nabout it, but just at that minute something had rushed all through\nhim--a sort of rapturous belief and realization and it had been so\nstrong that he could not help calling out.\n\n\"I shall live forever and ever and ever!\" he cried grandly. \"I shall\nfind out thousands and thousands of things. I shall find out about\npeople and creatures and everything that grows--like Dickon--and I shall\nnever stop making Magic. I\'m well! I\'m well! I feel--I feel as if I want\nto shout out something--something thankful, joyful!\"\n\nBen Weatherstaff, who had been working near a rose-bush, glanced round\nat him.\n\n\"Tha\' might sing th\' Doxology,\" he suggested in his dryest grunt. He had\nno opinion of the Doxology and he did not make the suggestion with any\nparticular reverence.\n\nBut Colin was of an exploring mind and he knew nothing about the\nDoxology.\n\n\"What is that?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Dickon can sing it for thee, I\'ll warrant,\" replied Ben Weatherstaff.\n\nDickon answered with his all-perceiving animal charmer\'s smile.\n\n\"They sing it i\' church,\" he said. \"Mother says she believes th\'\nskylarks sings it when they gets up i\' th\' mornin\'.\"\n\n\"If she says that, it must be a nice song,\" Colin answered. \"I\'ve never\nbeen in a church myself. I was always too ill. Sing it, Dickon. I want\nto hear it.\"\n\nDickon was quite simple and unaffected about it. He understood what\nColin felt better than Colin did himself. He understood by a sort of\ninstinct so natural that he did not know it was understanding. He pulled\noff his cap and looked round still smiling.\n\n\"Tha\' must take off tha\' cap,\" he said to Colin, \"an\' so mun tha\',\nBen--an\' tha\' mun stand up, tha\' knows.\"\n\nColin took off his cap and the sun shone on and warmed his thick hair as\nhe watched Dickon intently. Ben Weatherstaff scrambled up from his\nknees and bared his head too with a sort of puzzled half-resentful look\non his old face as if he didn\'t know exactly why he was doing this\nremarkable thing.\n\nDickon stood out among the trees and rose-bushes and began to sing in\nquite a simple matter-of-fact way and in a nice strong boy voice:\n\n \"Praise God from whom all blessings flow,\n Praise Him all creatures here below,\n Praise Him above ye Heavenly Host,\n Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.\n Amen.\"\n\nWhen he had finished, Ben Weatherstaff was standing quite still with his\njaws set obstinately but with a disturbed look in his eyes fixed on\nColin. Colin\'s face was thoughtful and appreciative.\n\n\"It is a very nice song,\" he said. \"I like it. Perhaps it means just\nwhat I mean when I want to shout out that I am thankful to the Magic.\"\nHe stopped and thought in a puzzled way. \"Perhaps they are both the same\nthing. How can we know the exact names of everything? Sing it again,\nDickon. Let us try, Mary. I want to sing it, too. It\'s my song. How does\nit begin? \'Praise God from whom all blessings flow\'?\"\n\n[Illustration: \"\'PRAISE GOD FROM WHOM ALL BLESSINGS FLOW\'\"--_Page 344_]\n\nAnd they sang it again, and Mary and Colin lifted their voices as\nmusically as they could and Dickon\'s swelled quite loud and\nbeautiful--and at the second line Ben Weatherstaff raspingly cleared his\nthroat and at the third he joined in with such vigor that it seemed\nalmost savage and when the \"Amen\" came to an end Mary observed that the\nvery same thing had happened to him which had happened when he found out\nthat Colin was not a cripple--his chin was twitching and he was staring\nand winking and his leathery old cheeks were wet.\n\n\"I never seed no sense in th\' Doxology afore,\" he said hoarsely, \"but I\nmay change my mind i\' time. I should say tha\'d gone up five pound this\nweek, Mester Colin--five on \'em!\"\n\nColin was looking across the garden at something attracting his\nattention and his expression had become a startled one.\n\n\"Who is coming in here?\" he said quickly. \"Who is it?\"\n\nThe door in the ivied wall had been pushed gently open and a woman had\nentered. She had come in with the last line of their song and she had\nstood still listening and looking at them. With the ivy behind her, the\nsunlight drifting through the trees and dappling her long blue cloak,\nand her nice fresh face smiling across the greenery she was rather like\na softly colored illustration in one of Colin\'s books. She had wonderful\naffectionate eyes which seemed to take everything in--all of them, even\nBen Weatherstaff and the \"creatures\" and every flower that was in bloom.\nUnexpectedly as she had appeared, not one of them felt that she was an\nintruder at all. Dickon\'s eyes lighted like lamps.\n\n\"It\'s Mother--that\'s who it is!\" he cried and he went across the grass\nat a run.\n\nColin began to move toward her, too, and Mary went with him. They both\nfelt their pulses beat faster.\n\n\"It\'s Mother!\" Dickon said again when they met half-way. \"I knowed tha\'\nwanted to see her an\' I told her where th\' door was hid.\"\n\nColin held out his hand with a sort of flushed royal shyness but his\neyes quite devoured her face.\n\n\"Even when I was ill I wanted to see you,\" he said, \"you and Dickon and\nthe secret garden. I\'d never wanted to see any one or anything before.\"\n\nThe sight of his uplifted face brought about a sudden change in her own.\nShe flushed and the corners of her mouth shook and a mist seemed to\nsweep over her eyes.\n\n\"Eh! dear lad!\" she broke out tremulously. \"Eh! dear lad!\" as if she had\nnot known she were going to say it. She did not say, \"Mester Colin,\"\nbut just \"dear lad\" quite suddenly. She might have said it to Dickon in\nthe same way if she had seen something in his face which touched her.\nColin liked it.\n\n\"Are you surprised because I am so well?\" he asked.\n\nShe put her hand on his shoulder and smiled the mist out of her eyes.\n\n\"Aye, that I am!\" she said; \"but tha\'rt so like thy mother tha\' made my\nheart jump.\"\n\n\"Do you think,\" said Colin a little awkwardly, \"that will make my father\nlike me?\"\n\n\"Aye, for sure, dear lad,\" she answered and she gave his shoulder a soft\nquick pat. \"He mun come home--he mun come home.\"\n\n\"Susan Sowerby,\" said Ben Weatherstaff, getting close to her. \"Look at\nth\' lad\'s legs, wilt tha\'? They was like drumsticks i\' stockin\' two\nmonth\' ago--an\' I heard folk tell as they was bandy an\' knock-kneed both\nat th\' same time. Look at \'em now!\"\n\nSusan Sowerby laughed a comfortable laugh.\n\n\"They\'re goin\' to be fine strong lad\'s legs in a bit,\" she said. \"Let\nhim go on playin\' an\' workin\' in th\' garden an\' eatin\' hearty an\'\ndrinkin\' plenty o\' good sweet milk an\' there\'ll not be a finer pair i\'\nYorkshire, thank God for it.\"\n\nShe put both hands on Mistress Mary\'s shoulders and looked her little\nface over in a motherly fashion.\n\n\"An\' thee, too!\" she said. \"Tha\'rt grown near as hearty as our \'Lizabeth\nEllen. I\'ll warrant tha\'rt like thy mother too. Our Martha told me as\nMrs. Medlock heard she was a pretty woman. Tha\'lt be like a blush rose\nwhen tha\' grows up, my little lass, bless thee.\"\n\nShe did not mention that when Martha came home on her \"day out\" and\ndescribed the plain sallow child she had said that she had no confidence\nwhatever in what Mrs. Medlock had heard. \"It doesn\'t stand to reason\nthat a pretty woman could be th\' mother o\' such a fou\' little lass,\" she\nhad added obstinately.\n\nMary had not had time to pay much attention to her changing face. She\nhad only known that she looked \"different\" and seemed to have a great\ndeal more hair and that it was growing very fast. But remembering her\npleasure in looking at the Mem Sahib in the past she was glad to hear\nthat she might some day look like her.\n\nSusan Sowerby went round their garden with them and was told the whole\nstory of it and shown every bush and tree which had come alive. Colin\nwalked on one side of her and Mary on the other. Each of them kept\nlooking up at her comfortable rosy face, secretly curious about the\ndelightful feeling she gave them--a sort of warm, supported feeling. It\nseemed as if she understood them as Dickon understood his \"creatures.\"\nShe stooped over the flowers and talked about them as if they were\nchildren. Soot followed her and once or twice cawed at her and flew upon\nher shoulder as if it were Dickon\'s. When they told her about the robin\nand the first flight of the young ones she laughed a motherly little\nmellow laugh in her throat.\n\n\"I suppose learnin\' \'em to fly is like learnin\' children to walk, but\nI\'m feared I should be all in a worrit if mine had wings instead o\'\nlegs,\" she said.\n\nIt was because she seemed such a wonderful woman in her nice moorland\ncottage way that at last she was told about the Magic.\n\n\"Do you believe in Magic?\" asked Colin after he had explained about\nIndian fakirs. \"I do hope you do.\"\n\n\"That I do, lad,\" she answered. \"I never knowed it by that name but what\ndoes th\' name matter? I warrant they call it a different name i\' France\nan\' a different one i\' Germany. Th\' same thing as set th\' seeds swellin\'\nan\' th\' sun shinin\' made thee a well lad an\' it\'s th\' Good Thing. It\nisn\'t like us poor fools as think it matters if us is called out of our\nnames. Th\' Big Good Thing doesn\'t stop to worrit, bless thee. It goes\non makin\' worlds by th\' million--worlds like us. Never thee stop\nbelievin\' in th\' Big Good Thing an\' knowin\' th\' world\'s full of it--an\'\ncall it what tha\' likes. Tha\' wert singin\' to it when I come into th\'\ngarden.\"\n\n\"I felt so joyful,\" said Colin, opening his beautiful strange eyes at\nher. \"Suddenly I felt how different I was--how strong my arms and legs\nwere, you know--and how I could dig and stand--and I jumped up and\nwanted to shout out something to anything that would listen.\"\n\n\"Th\' Magic listened when tha\' sung th\' Doxology. It would ha\' listened\nto anything tha\'d sung. It was th\' joy that mattered. Eh! lad,\nlad--what\'s names to th\' Joy Maker,\" and she gave his shoulders a quick\nsoft pat again.\n\nShe had packed a basket which held a regular feast this morning, and\nwhen the hungry hour came and Dickon brought it out from its hiding\nplace, she sat down with them under their tree and watched them devour\ntheir food, laughing and quite gloating over their appetites. She was\nfull of fun and made them laugh at all sorts of odd things. She told\nthem stories in broad Yorkshire and taught them new words. She laughed\nas if she could not help it when they told her of the increasing\ndifficulty there was in pretending that Colin was still a fretful\ninvalid.\n\n\"You see we can\'t help laughing nearly all the time when we are\ntogether,\" explained Colin. \"And it doesn\'t sound ill at all. We try to\nchoke it back but it will burst out and that sounds worse than ever.\"\n\n\"There\'s one thing that comes into my mind so often,\" said Mary, \"and I\ncan scarcely ever hold in when I think of it suddenly. I keep thinking\nsuppose Colin\'s face should get to look like a full moon. It isn\'t like\none yet but he gets a tiny bit fatter every day--and suppose some\nmorning it should look like one--what should we do!\"\n\n\"Bless us all, I can see tha\' has a good bit o\' play actin\' to do,\" said\nSusan Sowerby. \"But tha\' won\'t have to keep it up much longer. Mester\nCraven\'ll come home.\"\n\n\"Do you think he will?\" asked Colin. \"Why?\"\n\nSusan Sowerby chuckled softly.\n\n\"I suppose it \'ud nigh break thy heart if he found out before tha\' told\nhim in tha\' own way,\" she said. \"Tha\'s laid awake nights plannin\' it.\"\n\n\"I couldn\'t bear any one else to tell him,\" said Colin. \"I think about\ndifferent ways every day. I think now I just want to run into his\nroom.\"\n\n\"That\'d be a fine start for him,\" said Susan Sowerby. \"I\'d like to see\nhis face, lad. I would that! He mun come back--that he mun.\"\n\nOne of the things they talked of was the visit they were to make to her\ncottage. They planned it all. They were to drive over the moor and lunch\nout of doors among the heather. They would see all the twelve children\nand Dickon\'s garden and would not come back until they were tired.\n\nSusan Sowerby got up at last to return to the house and Mrs. Medlock. It\nwas time for Colin to be wheeled back also. But before he got into his\nchair he stood quite close to Susan and fixed his eyes on her with a\nkind of bewildered adoration and he suddenly caught hold of the fold of\nher blue cloak and held it fast.\n\n\"You are just what I--what I wanted,\" he said. \"I wish you were my\nmother--as well as Dickon\'s!\"\n\nAll at once Susan Sowerby bent down and drew him with her warm arms\nclose against the bosom under the blue cloak--as if he had been Dickon\'s\nbrother. The quick mist swept over her eyes.\n\n\"Eh! dear lad!\" she said. \"Thy own mother\'s in this \'ere very garden, I\ndo believe. She couldna\' keep out of it. Thy father mun come back to\nthee--he mun!\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XXVII\n\nIN THE GARDEN\n\n\nIn each century since the beginning of the world wonderful things have\nbeen discovered. In the last century more amazing things were found out\nthan in any century before. In this new century hundreds of things still\nmore astounding will be brought to light. At first people refuse to\nbelieve that a strange new thing can be done, then they begin to hope it\ncan be done, then they see it can be done--then it is done and all the\nworld wonders why it was not done centuries ago. One of the new things\npeople began to find out in the last century was that thoughts--just\nmere thoughts--are as powerful as electric batteries--as good for one as\nsunlight is, or as bad for one as poison. To let a sad thought or a bad\none get into your mind is as dangerous as letting a scarlet fever germ\nget into your body. If you let it stay there after it has got in you may\nnever get over it as long as you live.\n\nSo long as Mistress Mary\'s mind was full of disagreeable thoughts about\nher dislikes and sour opinions of people and her determination not to\nbe pleased by or interested in anything, she was a yellow-faced, sickly,\nbored and wretched child. Circumstances, however, were very kind to her,\nthough she was not at all aware of it. They began to push her about for\nher own good. When her mind gradually filled itself with robins, and\nmoorland cottages crowded with children, with queer crabbed old\ngardeners and common little Yorkshire housemaids, with springtime and\nwith secret gardens coming alive day by day, and also with a moor boy\nand his \"creatures,\" there was no room left for the disagreeable\nthoughts which affected her liver and her digestion and made her yellow\nand tired.\n\nSo long as Colin shut himself up in his room and thought only of his\nfears and weakness and his detestation of people who looked at him and\nreflected hourly on humps and early death, he was a hysterical\nhalf-crazy little hypochondriac who knew nothing of the sunshine and the\nspring and also did not know that he could get well and could stand upon\nhis feet if he tried to do it. When new beautiful thoughts began to push\nout the old hideous ones, life began to come back to him, his blood ran\nhealthily through his veins and strength poured into him like a flood.\nHis scientific experiment was quite practical and simple and there was\nnothing weird about it at all. Much more surprising things can happen to\nany one who, when a disagreeable or discouraged thought comes into his\nmind, just has the sense to remember in time and push it out by putting\nin an agreeable determinedly courageous one. Two things cannot be in one\nplace.\n\n \"Where you tend a rose, my lad,\n A thistle cannot grow.\"\n\nWhile the secret garden was coming alive and two children were coming\nalive with it, there was a man wandering about certain far-away\nbeautiful places in the Norwegian fiords and the valleys and mountains\nof Switzerland and he was a man who for ten years had kept his mind\nfilled with dark and heart-broken thinking. He had not been courageous;\nhe had never tried to put any other thoughts in the place of the dark\nones. He had wandered by blue lakes and thought them; he had lain on\nmountain-sides with sheets of deep blue gentians blooming all about him\nand flower breaths filling all the air and he had thought them. A\nterrible sorrow had fallen upon him when he had been happy and he had\nlet his soul fill itself with blackness and had refused obstinately to\nallow any rift of light to pierce through. He had forgotten and deserted\nhis home and his duties. When he traveled about, darkness so brooded\nover him that the sight of him was a wrong done to other people because\nit was as if he poisoned the air about him with gloom. Most strangers\nthought he must be either half mad or a man with some hidden crime on\nhis soul. He was a tall man with a drawn face and crooked shoulders and\nthe name he always entered on hotel registers was, \"Archibald Craven,\nMisselthwaite Manor, Yorkshire, England.\"\n\nHe had traveled far and wide since the day he saw Mistress Mary in his\nstudy and told her she might have her \"bit of earth.\" He had been in the\nmost beautiful places in Europe, though he had remained nowhere more\nthan a few days. He had chosen the quietest and remotest spots. He had\nbeen on the tops of mountains whose heads were in the clouds and had\nlooked down on other mountains when the sun rose and touched them with\nsuch light as made it seem as if the world were just being born.\n\nBut the light had never seemed to touch himself until one day when he\nrealized that for the first time in ten years a strange thing had\nhappened. He was in a wonderful valley in the Austrian Tyrol and he had\nbeen walking alone through such beauty as might have lifted any man\'s\nsoul out of shadow. He had walked a long way and it had not lifted his.\nBut at last he had felt tired and had thrown himself down to rest on a\ncarpet of moss by a stream. It was a clear little stream which ran quite\nmerrily along on its narrow way through the luscious damp greenness.\nSometimes it made a sound rather like very low laughter as it bubbled\nover and round stones. He saw birds come and dip their heads to drink in\nit and then flick their wings and fly away. It seemed like a thing alive\nand yet its tiny voice made the stillness seem deeper. The valley was\nvery, very still.\n\nAs he sat gazing into the clear running of the water, Archibald Craven\ngradually felt his mind and body both grow quiet, as quiet as the valley\nitself. He wondered if he were going to sleep, but he was not. He sat\nand gazed at the sunlit water and his eyes began to see things growing\nat its edge. There was one lovely mass of blue forget-me-nots growing so\nclose to the stream that its leaves were wet and at these he found\nhimself looking as he remembered he had looked at such things years ago.\nHe was actually thinking tenderly how lovely it was and what wonders of\nblue its hundreds of little blossoms were. He did not know that just\nthat simple thought was slowly filling his mind--filling and filling it\nuntil other things were softly pushed aside. It was as if a sweet clear\nspring had begun to rise in a stagnant pool and had risen and risen\nuntil at last it swept the dark water away. But of course he did not\nthink of this himself. He only knew that the valley seemed to grow\nquieter and quieter as he sat and stared at the bright delicate\nblueness. He did not know how long he sat there or what was happening to\nhim, but at last he moved as if he were awakening and he got up slowly\nand stood on the moss carpet, drawing a long, deep, soft breath and\nwondering at himself. Something seemed to have been unbound and released\nin him, very quietly.\n\n\"What is it?\" he said, almost in a whisper, and he passed his hand over\nhis forehead. \"I almost feel as if--I were alive!\"\n\nI do not know enough about the wonderfulness of undiscovered things to\nbe able to explain how this had happened to him. Neither does any one\nelse yet. He did not understand at all himself--but he remembered this\nstrange hour months afterward when he was at Misselthwaite again and he\nfound out quite by accident that on this very day Colin had cried out as\nhe went into the secret garden:\n\n\"I am going to live forever and ever and ever!\"\n\nThe singular calmness remained with him the rest of the evening and he\nslept a new reposeful sleep; but it was not with him very long. He did\nnot know that it could be kept. By the next night he had opened the\ndoors wide to his dark thoughts and they had come trooping and rushing\nback. He left the valley and went on his wandering way again. But,\nstrange as it seemed to him, there were minutes--sometimes\nhalf-hours--when, without his knowing why, the black burden seemed to\nlift itself again and he knew he was a living man and not a dead one.\nSlowly--slowly--for no reason that he knew of--he was \"coming alive\"\nwith the garden.\n\nAs the golden summer changed into the deeper golden autumn he went to\nthe Lake of Como. There he found the loveliness of a dream. He spent his\ndays upon the crystal blueness of the lake or he walked back into the\nsoft thick verdure of the hills and tramped until he was tired so that\nhe might sleep. But by this time he had begun to sleep better, he knew,\nand his dreams had ceased to be a terror to him.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" he thought, \"my body is growing stronger.\"\n\nIt was growing stronger but--because of the rare peaceful hours when his\nthoughts were changed--his soul was slowly growing stronger, too. He\nbegan to think of Misselthwaite and wonder if he should not go home. Now\nand then he wondered vaguely about his boy and asked himself what he\nshould feel when he went and stood by the carved four-posted bed again\nand looked down at the sharply chiseled ivory-white face while it slept\nand the black lashes rimmed so startlingly the close-shut eyes. He\nshrank from it.\n\nOne marvel of a day he had walked so far that when he returned the moon\nwas high and full and all the world was purple shadow and silver. The\nstillness of lake and shore and wood was so wonderful that he did not go\ninto the villa he lived in. He walked down to a little bowered terrace\nat the water\'s edge and sat upon a seat and breathed in all the heavenly\nscents of the night. He felt the strange calmness stealing over him and\nit grew deeper and deeper until he fell asleep.\n\nHe did not know when he fell asleep and when he began to dream; his\ndream was so real that he did not feel as if he were dreaming. He\nremembered afterward how intensely wide awake and alert he had thought\nhe was. He thought that as he sat and breathed in the scent of the late\nroses and listened to the lapping of the water at his feet he heard a\nvoice calling. It was sweet and clear and happy and far away. It seemed\nvery far, but he heard it as distinctly as if it had been at his very\nside.\n\n\"Archie! Archie! Archie!\" it said, and then again, sweeter and clearer\nthan before, \"Archie! Archie!\"\n\nHe thought he sprang to his feet not even startled. It was such a real\nvoice and it seemed so natural that he should hear it.\n\n\"Lilias! Lilias!\" he answered. \"Lilias! where are you?\"\n\n\"In the garden,\" it came back like a sound from a golden flute. \"In the\ngarden!\"\n\nAnd then the dream ended. But he did not awaken. He slept soundly and\nsweetly all through the lovely night. When he did awake at last it was\nbrilliant morning and a servant was standing staring at him. He was an\nItalian servant and was accustomed, as all the servants of the villa\nwere, to accepting without question any strange thing his foreign master\nmight do. No one ever knew when he would go out or come in or where he\nwould choose to sleep or if he would roam about the garden or lie in the\nboat on the lake all night. The man held a salver with some letters on\nit and he waited quietly until Mr. Craven took them. When he had gone\naway Mr. Craven sat a few moments holding them in his hand and looking\nat the lake. His strange calm was still upon him and something more--a\nlightness as if the cruel thing which had been done had not happened as\nhe thought--as if something had changed. He was remembering the\ndream--the real--real dream.\n\n\"In the garden!\" he said, wondering at himself. \"In the garden! But the\ndoor is locked and the key is buried deep.\"\n\nWhen he glanced at the letters a few minutes later he saw that the one\nlying at the top of the rest was an English letter and came from\nYorkshire. It was directed in a plain woman\'s hand but it was not a hand\nhe knew. He opened it, scarcely thinking of the writer, but the first\nwords attracted his attention at once.\n\n \"_Dear Sir:_\n\n \"I am Susan Sowerby that made bold to speak to you\n once on the moor. It was about Miss Mary I spoke.\n I will make bold to speak again. Please, sir, I\n would come home if I was you. I think you would be\n glad to come and--if you will excuse me, sir--I\n think your lady would ask you to come if she was\n here.\n\n \"Your obedient servant,\n \"SUSAN SOWERBY.\"\n\nMr. Craven read the letter twice before he put it back in its envelope.\nHe kept thinking about the dream.\n\n\"I will go back to Misselthwaite,\" he said. \"Yes, I\'ll go at once.\"\n\nAnd he went through the garden to the villa and ordered Pitcher to\nprepare for his return to England.\n\n * * * * *\n\nIn a few days he was in Yorkshire again, and on his long railroad\njourney he found himself thinking of his boy as he had never thought in\nall the ten years past. During those years he had only wished to forget\nhim. Now, though he did not intend to think about him, memories of him\nconstantly drifted into his mind. He remembered the black days when he\nhad raved like a madman because the child was alive and the mother was\ndead. He had refused to see it, and when he had gone to look at it at\nlast it had been such a weak wretched thing that every one had been sure\nit would die in a few days. But to the surprise of those who took care\nof it the days passed and it lived and then every one believed it would\nbe a deformed and crippled creature.\n\nHe had not meant to be a bad father, but he had not felt like a father\nat all. He had supplied doctors and nurses and luxuries, but he had\nshrunk from the mere thought of the boy and had buried himself in his\nown misery. The first time after a year\'s absence he returned to\nMisselthwaite and the small miserable looking thing languidly and\nindifferently lifted to his face the great gray eyes with black lashes\nround them, so like and yet so horribly unlike the happy eyes he had\nadored, he could not bear the sight of them and turned away pale as\ndeath. After that he scarcely ever saw him except when he was asleep,\nand all he knew of him was that he was a confirmed invalid, with a\nvicious, hysterical, half-insane temper. He could only be kept from\nfuries dangerous to himself by being given his own way in every detail.\n\nAll this was not an uplifting thing to recall, but as the train whirled\nhim through mountain passes and golden plains the man who was \"coming\nalive\" began to think in a new way and he thought long and steadily and\ndeeply.\n\n\"Perhaps I have been all wrong for ten years,\" he said to himself. \"Ten\nyears is a long time. It may be too late to do anything--quite too late.\nWhat have I been thinking of!\"\n\nOf course this was the wrong Magic--to begin by saying \"too late.\" Even\nColin could have told him that. But he knew nothing of Magic--either\nblack or white. This he had yet to learn. He wondered if Susan Sowerby\nhad taken courage and written to him only because the motherly creature\nhad realized that the boy was much worse--was fatally ill. If he had not\nbeen under the spell of the curious calmness which had taken possession\nof him he would have been more wretched than ever. But the calm had\nbrought a sort of courage and hope with it. Instead of giving way to\nthoughts of the worst he actually found he was trying to believe in\nbetter things.\n\n\"Could it be possible that she sees that I may be able to do him good\nand control him?\" he thought. \"I will go and see her on my way to\nMisselthwaite.\"\n\nBut when on his way across the moor he stopped the carriage at the\ncottage, seven or eight children who were playing about gathered in a\ngroup and bobbing seven or eight friendly and polite curtsies told him\nthat their mother had gone to the other side of the moor early in the\nmorning to help a woman who had a new baby. \"Our Dickon,\" they\nvolunteered, was over at the Manor working in one of the gardens where\nhe went several days each week.\n\nMr. Craven looked over the collection of sturdy little bodies and round\nred-cheeked faces, each one grinning in its own particular way, and he\nawoke to the fact that they were a healthy likable lot. He smiled at\ntheir friendly grins and took a golden sovereign from his pocket and\ngave it to \"our \'Lizabeth Ellen\" who was the oldest.\n\n\"If you divide that into eight parts there will be half a crown for each\nof you,\" he said.\n\nThen amid grins and chuckles and bobbing of curtsies he drove away,\nleaving ecstasy and nudging elbows and little jumps of joy behind.\n\nThe drive across the wonderfulness of the moor was a soothing thing.\nWhy did it seem to give him a sense of home-coming which he had been\nsure he could never feel again--that sense of the beauty of land and sky\nand purple bloom of distance and a warming of the heart at drawing\nnearer to the great old house which had held those of his blood for six\nhundred years? How he had driven away from it the last time, shuddering\nto think of its closed rooms and the boy lying in the four-posted bed\nwith the brocaded hangings. Was it possible that perhaps he might find\nhim changed a little for the better and that he might overcome his\nshrinking from him? How real that dream had been--how wonderful and\nclear the voice which called back to him, \"In the garden--In the\ngarden!\"\n\n\"I will try to find the key,\" he said. \"I will try to open the door. I\nmust--though I don\'t know why.\"\n\nWhen he arrived at the Manor the servants who received him with the\nusual ceremony noticed that he looked better and that he did not go to\nthe remote rooms where he usually lived attended by Pitcher. He went\ninto the library and sent for Mrs. Medlock. She came to him somewhat\nexcited and curious and flustered.\n\n\"How is Master Colin, Medlock?\" he inquired.\n\n\"Well, sir,\" Mrs. Medlock answered, \"he\'s--he\'s different, in a manner\nof speaking.\"\n\n\"Worse?\" he suggested.\n\nMrs. Medlock really was flushed.\n\n\"Well, you see, sir,\" she tried to explain, \"neither Dr. Craven, nor the\nnurse, nor me can exactly make him out.\"\n\n\"Why is that?\"\n\n\"To tell the truth, sir, Master Colin might be better and he might be\nchanging for the worse. His appetite, sir, is past understanding--and\nhis ways--\"\n\n\"Has he become more--more peculiar?\" her master asked, knitting his\nbrows anxiously.\n\n\"That\'s it, sir. He\'s growing very peculiar--when you compare him with\nwhat he used to be. He used to eat nothing and then suddenly he began to\neat something enormous--and then he stopped again all at once and the\nmeals were sent back just as they used to be. You never knew, sir,\nperhaps, that out of doors he never would let himself be taken. The\nthings we\'ve gone through to get him to go out in his chair would leave\na body trembling like a leaf. He\'d throw himself into such a state that\nDr. Craven said he couldn\'t be responsible for forcing him. Well, sir,\njust without warning--not long after one of his worst tantrums he\nsuddenly insisted on being taken out every day by Miss Mary and Susan\nSowerby\'s boy Dickon that could push his chair. He took a fancy to both\nMiss Mary and Dickon, and Dickon brought his tame animals, and, if\nyou\'ll credit it, sir, out of doors he will stay from morning until\nnight.\"\n\n\"How does he look?\" was the next question.\n\n\"If he took his food natural, sir, you\'d think he was putting on\nflesh--but we\'re afraid it may be a sort of bloat. He laughs sometimes\nin a queer way when he\'s alone with Miss Mary. He never used to laugh at\nall. Dr. Craven is coming to see you at once, if you\'ll allow him. He\nnever was as puzzled in his life.\"\n\n\"Where is Master Colin now?\" Mr. Craven asked.\n\n\"In the garden, sir. He\'s always in the garden--though not a human\ncreature is allowed to go near for fear they\'ll look at him.\"\n\nMr. Craven scarcely heard her last words.\n\n\"In the garden,\" he said, and after he had sent Mrs. Medlock away he\nstood and repeated it again and again. \"In the garden!\"\n\nHe had to make an effort to bring himself back to the place he was\nstanding in and when he felt he was on earth again he turned and went\nout of the room. He took his way, as Mary had done, through the door in\nthe shrubbery and among the laurels and the fountain beds. The fountain\nwas playing now and was encircled by beds of brilliant autumn flowers.\nHe crossed the lawn and turned into the Long Walk by the ivied walls. He\ndid not walk quickly, but slowly, and his eyes were on the path. He felt\nas if he were being drawn back to the place he had so long forsaken, and\nhe did not know why. As he drew near to it his step became still more\nslow. He knew where the door was even though the ivy hung thick over\nit--but he did not know exactly where it lay--that buried key.\n\nSo he stopped and stood still, looking about him, and almost the moment\nafter he had paused he started and listened--asking himself if he were\nwalking in a dream.\n\nThe ivy hung thick over the door, the key was buried under the shrubs,\nno human being had passed that portal for ten lonely years--and yet\ninside the garden there were sounds. They were the sounds of running\nscuffling feet seeming to chase round and round under the trees, they\nwere strange sounds of lowered suppressed voices--exclamations and\nsmothered joyous cries. It seemed actually like the laughter of young\nthings, the uncontrollable laughter of children who were trying not to\nbe heard but who in a moment or so--as their excitement mounted--would\nburst forth. What in heaven\'s name was he dreaming of--what in heaven\'s\nname did he hear? Was he losing his reason and thinking he heard things\nwhich were not for human ears? Was it that the far clear voice had\nmeant?\n\nAnd then the moment came, the uncontrollable moment when the sounds\nforgot to hush themselves. The feet ran faster and faster--they were\nnearing the garden door--there was quick strong young breathing and a\nwild outbreak of laughing shouts which could not be contained--and the\ndoor in the wall was flung wide open, the sheet of ivy swinging back,\nand a boy burst through it at full speed and, without seeing the\noutsider, dashed almost into his arms.\n\nMr. Craven had extended them just in time to save him from falling as a\nresult of his unseeing dash against him, and when he held him away to\nlook at him in amazement at his being there he truly gasped for breath.\n\nHe was a tall boy and a handsome one. He was glowing with life and his\nrunning had sent splendid color leaping to his face. He threw the thick\nhair back from his forehead and lifted a pair of strange gray eyes--eyes\nfull of boyish laughter and rimmed with black lashes like a fringe. It\nwas the eyes which made Mr. Craven gasp for breath.\n\n\"Who--What? Who!\" he stammered.\n\nThis was not what Colin had expected--this was not what he had planned.\nHe had never thought of such a meeting. And yet to come dashing\nout--winning a race--perhaps it was even better. He drew himself up to\nhis very tallest. Mary, who had been running with him and had dashed\nthrough the door too, believed that he managed to make himself look\ntaller than he had ever looked before--inches taller.\n\n\"Father,\" he said, \"I\'m Colin. You can\'t believe it. I scarcely can\nmyself. I\'m Colin.\"\n\nLike Mrs. Medlock, he did not understand what his father meant when he\nsaid hurriedly:\n\n\"In the garden! In the garden!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" hurried on Colin. \"It was the garden that did it--and Mary and\nDickon and the creatures--and the Magic. No one knows. We kept it to\ntell you when you came. I\'m well, I can beat Mary in a race. I\'m going\nto be an athlete.\"\n\nHe said it all so like a healthy boy--his face flushed, his words\ntumbling over each other in his eagerness--that Mr. Craven\'s soul shook\nwith unbelieving joy.\n\nColin put out his hand and laid it on his father\'s arm.\n\n\"Aren\'t you glad, Father?\" he ended.\n\n\"Aren\'t you glad? I\'m going to live forever and ever and ever!\"\n\nMr. Craven put his hands on both the boy\'s shoulders and held him still.\nHe knew he dared not even try to speak for a moment.\n\n\"Take me into the garden, my boy,\" he said at last. \"And tell me all\nabout it.\"\n\nAnd so they led him in.\n\nThe place was a wilderness of autumn gold and purple and violet blue and\nflaming scarlet and on every side were sheaves of late lilies standing\ntogether--lilies which were white or white and ruby. He remembered well\nwhen the first of them had been planted that just at this season of the\nyear their late glories should reveal themselves. Late roses climbed and\nhung and clustered and the sunshine deepening the hue of the yellowing\ntrees made one feel that one stood in an embowered temple of gold. The\nnewcomer stood silent just as the children had done when they came into\nits grayness. He looked round and round.\n\n\"I thought it would be dead,\" he said.\n\n\"Mary thought so at first,\" said Colin. \"But it came alive.\"\n\nThen they sat down under their tree--all but Colin, who wanted to stand\nwhile he told the story.\n\nIt was the strangest thing he had ever heard, Archibald Craven thought,\nas it was poured forth in headlong boy fashion. Mystery and Magic and\nwild creatures, the weird midnight meeting--the coming of the\nspring--the passion of insulted pride which had dragged the young Rajah\nto his feet to defy old Ben Weatherstaff to his face. The odd\ncompanionship, the play acting, the great secret so carefully kept. The\nlistener laughed until tears came into his eyes and sometimes tears came\ninto his eyes when he was not laughing. The Athlete, the Lecturer, the\nScientific Discoverer was a laughable, lovable, healthy young human\nthing.\n\n\"Now,\" he said at the end of the story, \"it need not be a secret any\nmore. I dare say it will frighten them nearly into fits when they see\nme--but I am never going to get into the chair again. I shall walk back\nwith you, Father--to the house.\"\n\n * * * * *\n\nBen Weatherstaff\'s duties rarely took him away from the gardens, but on\nthis occasion he made an excuse to carry some vegetables to the kitchen\nand being invited into the servants\' hall by Mrs. Medlock to drink a\nglass of beer he was on the spot--as he had hoped to be--when the most\ndramatic event Misselthwaite Manor had seen during the present\ngeneration actually took place.\n\nOne of the windows looking upon the courtyard gave also a glimpse of the\nlawn. Mrs. Medlock, knowing Ben had come from the gardens, hoped that he\nmight have caught sight of his master and even by chance of his meeting\nwith Master Colin.\n\n\"Did you see either of them, Weatherstaff?\" she asked.\n\nBen took his beer-mug from his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of\nhis hand.\n\n\"Aye, that I did,\" he answered with a shrewdly significant air.\n\n\"Both of them?\" suggested Mrs. Medlock.\n\n\"Both of \'em,\" returned Ben Weatherstaff. \"Thank ye kindly, ma\'am, I\ncould sup up another mug of it.\"\n\n\"Together?\" said Mrs. Medlock, hastily overfilling his beer-mug in her\nexcitement.\n\n\"Together, ma\'am,\" and Ben gulped down half of his new mug at one gulp.\n\n\"Where was Master Colin? How did he look? What did they say to each\nother?\"\n\n\"I didna\' hear that,\" said Ben, \"along o\' only bein\' on th\' step-ladder\nlookin\' over th\' wall. But I\'ll tell thee this. There\'s been things\ngoin\' on outside as you house people knows nowt about. An\' what tha\'ll\nfind out tha\'ll find out soon.\"\n\nAnd it was not two minutes before he swallowed the last of his beer and\nwaved his mug solemnly toward the window which took in through the\nshrubbery a piece of the lawn.\n\n\"Look there,\" he said, \"if tha\'s curious. Look what\'s comin\' across th\'\ngrass.\"\n\nWhen Mrs. Medlock looked she threw up her hands and gave a little shriek\nand every man and woman servant within hearing bolted across the\nservants\' hall and stood looking through the window with their eyes\nalmost starting out of their heads.\n\nAcross the lawn came the Master of Misselthwaite and he looked as many\nof them had never seen him. And by his side with his head up in the air\nand his eyes full of laughter walked as strongly and steadily as any boy\nin Yorkshire--Master Colin!\n\n\nTHE END'"