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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:14:21 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:14:21 -0700 |
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diff --git a/113-h/113-h.htm b/113-h/113-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3c1525b --- /dev/null +++ b/113-h/113-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13952 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-right: 20%; + margin-left: 20%; + text-align: justify } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 113 ***</div> + +<table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto" cellpadding="4" border="3"> +<tr> +<td> +THERE IS AN ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF THIS TITLE WHICH MAY VIEWED AT EBOOK <big><b><a href="https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17396"> +[ #17396 ]</a></b></big> +</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<h1> +THE SECRET GARDEN +</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break"> +by Frances Hodgson Burnett +</h2> + +<p class="center"> +<i>Author of +<br /><br /> +“The Shuttle,” “The Making of a Marchioness,” +“The Methods of Lady Walderhurst,” “The Lass o’ +Lowries,” “Through One Administration,” “Little Lord +Fauntleroy,” “A Lady of Quality,” etc.</i> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<h2> +Contents +</h2> + +<table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">I. THERE IS NO ONE LEFT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">II. MISTRESS MARY QUITE CONTRARY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">III. ACROSS THE MOOR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">IV. MARTHA</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">V. THE CRY IN THE CORRIDOR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">VI. “THERE WAS SOMEONE CRYING—THERE WAS!”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">VII. THE KEY TO THE GARDEN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">VIII. THE ROBIN WHO SHOWED THE WAY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">IX. THE STRANGEST HOUSE ANYONE EVER LIVED IN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">X. DICKON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">XI. THE NEST OF THE MISSEL THRUSH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">XII. “MIGHT I HAVE A BIT OF EARTH?”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">XIII. “I AM COLIN”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">XIV. A YOUNG RAJAH</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">XV. NEST BUILDING</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">XVI. “I WON’T!” SAID MARY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">XVII. A TANTRUM</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">XVIII. “THA’ MUNNOT WASTE NO TIME”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">XIX. “IT HAS COME!”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">XX. “I SHALL LIVE FOREVER—AND EVER—AND EVER!”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">XXI. BEN WEATHERSTAFF</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">XXII. WHEN THE SUN WENT DOWN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">XXIII. MAGIC</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">XXIV. “LET THEM LAUGH”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">XXV. THE CURTAIN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">XXVI. “IT’S MOTHER!”</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">XXVII. IN THE GARDEN</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br /> +THERE IS NO ONE LEFT</h2> + +<p> +When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle +everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was +true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair +and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she +had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her +father had held a position under the English Government and had always been +busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to +go to parties and amuse herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little +girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, +who was made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must +keep the child out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly, +fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a +sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She never +remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces of her Ayah and the +other native servants, and as they always obeyed her and gave her her own way +in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be angry if she was disturbed by her +crying, by the time she was six years old she was as tyrannical and selfish a +little pig as ever lived. The young English governess who came to teach her to +read and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three months, +and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a +shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to +know how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all. +</p> + +<p> +One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she awakened +feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she saw that the servant +who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you come?” she said to the strange woman. “I will +not let you stay. Send my Ayah to me.” +</p> + +<p> +The woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah could not +come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat and kicked her, she +looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not possible for the Ayah +to come to Missie Sahib. +</p> + +<p> +There was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was done in its +regular order and several of the native servants seemed missing, while those +whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared faces. But no one +would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She was actually left alone +as the morning went on, and at last she wandered out into the garden and began +to play by herself under a tree near the veranda. She pretended that she was +making a flower-bed, and she stuck big scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little +heaps of earth, all the time growing more and more angry and muttering to +herself the things she would say and the names she would call Saidie when she +returned. +</p> + +<p> +“Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!” she said, because to call a native a +pig is the worst insult of all. +</p> + +<p> +She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she heard +her mother come out on the veranda with someone. She was with a fair young man +and they stood talking together in low strange voices. Mary knew the fair young +man who looked like a boy. She had heard that he was a very young officer who +had just come from England. The child stared at him, but she stared most at her +mother. She always did this when she had a chance to see her, because the Mem +Sahib—Mary used to call her that oftener than anything else—was +such a tall, slim, pretty person and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was +like curly silk and she had a delicate little nose which seemed to be +disdaining things, and she had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin +and floating, and Mary said they were “full of lace.” They looked +fuller of lace than ever this morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all. +They were large and scared and lifted imploringly to the fair boy +officer’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it so very bad? Oh, is it?” Mary heard her say. +</p> + +<p> +“Awfully,” the young man answered in a trembling voice. +“Awfully, Mrs. Lennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks +ago.” +</p> + +<p> +The Mem Sahib wrung her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I know I ought!” she cried. “I only stayed to go to that +silly dinner party. What a fool I was!” +</p> + +<p> +At that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from the +servants’ quarters that she clutched the young man’s arm, and Mary +stood shivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder. +“What is it? What is it?” Mrs. Lennox gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“Someone has died,” answered the boy officer. “You did not +say it had broken out among your servants.” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not know!” the Mem Sahib cried. “Come with me! Come +with me!” and she turned and ran into the house. +</p> + +<p> +After that appalling things happened, and the mysteriousness of the morning +was explained to Mary. The cholera had broken out in its most fatal form and +people were dying like flies. The Ayah had been taken ill in the night, and it +was because she had just died that the servants had wailed in the huts. Before +the next day three other servants were dead and others had run away in terror. +There was panic on every side, and dying people in all the bungalows. +</p> + +<p> +During the confusion and bewilderment of the second day Mary hid herself in the +nursery and was forgotten by everyone. Nobody thought of her, nobody wanted +her, and strange things happened of which she knew nothing. Mary alternately +cried and slept through the hours. She only knew that people were ill and that +she heard mysterious and frightening sounds. Once she crept into the +dining-room and found it empty, though a partly finished meal was on the table +and chairs and plates looked as if they had been hastily pushed back when the +diners rose suddenly for some reason. The child ate some fruit and biscuits, +and being thirsty she drank a glass of wine which stood nearly filled. It was +sweet, and she did not know how strong it was. Very soon it made her intensely +drowsy, and she went back to her nursery and shut herself in again, frightened +by cries she heard in the huts and by the hurrying sound of feet. The wine made +her so sleepy that she could scarcely keep her eyes open and she lay down on +her bed and knew nothing more for a long time. +</p> + +<p> +Many things happened during the hours in which she slept so heavily, but she +was not disturbed by the wails and the sound of things being carried in and out +of the bungalow. +</p> + +<p> +When she awakened she lay and stared at the wall. The house was perfectly +still. She had never known it to be so silent before. She heard neither voices +nor footsteps, and wondered if everybody had got well of the cholera and all +the trouble was over. She wondered also who would take care of her now her Ayah +was dead. There would be a new Ayah, and perhaps she would know some new +stories. Mary had been rather tired of the old ones. She did not cry because +her nurse had died. She was not an affectionate child and had never cared much +for anyone. The noise and hurrying about and wailing over the cholera had +frightened her, and she had been angry because no one seemed to remember that +she was alive. Everyone was too panic-stricken to think of a little girl no one +was fond of. When people had the cholera it seemed that they remembered nothing +but themselves. But if everyone had got well again, surely someone would +remember and come to look for her. +</p> + +<p> +But no one came, and as she lay waiting the house seemed to grow more and more +silent. She heard something rustling on the matting and when she looked down +she saw a little snake gliding along and watching her with eyes like jewels. +She was not frightened, because he was a harmless little thing who would not +hurt her and he seemed in a hurry to get out of the room. He slipped under the +door as she watched him. +</p> + +<p> +“How queer and quiet it is,” she said. “It sounds as if there +were no one in the bungalow but me and the snake.” +</p> + +<p> +Almost the next minute she heard footsteps in the compound, and then on the +veranda. They were men’s footsteps, and the men entered the bungalow and +talked in low voices. No one went to meet or speak to them and they seemed to +open doors and look into rooms. +</p> + +<p> +“What desolation!” she heard one voice say. “That pretty, +pretty woman! I suppose the child, too. I heard there was a child, though no +one ever saw her.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary was standing in the middle of the nursery when they opened the door a few +minutes later. She looked an ugly, cross little thing and was frowning because +she was beginning to be hungry and feel disgracefully neglected. The first man +who came in was a large officer she had once seen talking to her father. He +looked tired and troubled, but when he saw her he was so startled that he +almost jumped back. +</p> + +<p> +“Barney!” he cried out. “There is a child here! A child +alone! In a place like this! Mercy on us, who is she!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Mary Lennox,” the little girl said, drawing herself up +stiffly. She thought the man was very rude to call her father’s bungalow +“A place like this!” “I fell asleep when everyone had the +cholera and I have only just wakened up. Why does nobody come?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the child no one ever saw!” exclaimed the man, turning to +his companions. “She has actually been forgotten!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why was I forgotten?” Mary said, stamping her foot. “Why +does nobody come?” +</p> + +<p> +The young man whose name was Barney looked at her very sadly. Mary even thought +she saw him wink his eyes as if to wink tears away. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor little kid!” he said. “There is nobody left to +come.” +</p> + +<p> +It was in that strange and sudden way that Mary found out that she had neither +father nor mother left; that they had died and been carried away in the night, +and that the few native servants who had not died also had left the house as +quickly as they could get out of it, none of them even remembering that there +was a Missie Sahib. That was why the place was so quiet. It was true that there +was no one in the bungalow but herself and the little rustling snake. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br /> +MISTRESS MARY QUITE CONTRARY</h2> + +<p> +Mary had liked to look at her mother from a distance and she had thought her +very pretty, but as she knew very little of her she could scarcely have been +expected to love her or to miss her very much when she was gone. She did not +miss her at all, in fact, and as she was a self-absorbed child she gave her +entire thought to herself, as she had always done. If she had been older she +would no doubt have been very anxious at being left alone in the world, but she +was very young, and as she had always been taken care of, she supposed she +always would be. What she thought was that she would like to know if she was +going to nice people, who would be polite to her and give her her own way as +her Ayah and the other native servants had done. +</p> + +<p> +She knew that she was not going to stay at the English clergyman’s house +where she was taken at first. She did not want to stay. The English clergyman +was poor and he had five children nearly all the same age and they wore shabby +clothes and were always quarreling and snatching toys from each other. Mary +hated their untidy bungalow and was so disagreeable to them that after the +first day or two nobody would play with her. By the second day they had given +her a nickname which made her furious. +</p> + +<p> +It was Basil who thought of it first. Basil was a little boy with impudent blue +eyes and a turned-up nose, and Mary hated him. She was playing by herself under +a tree, just as she had been playing the day the cholera broke out. She was +making heaps of earth and paths for a garden and Basil came and stood near to +watch her. Presently he got rather interested and suddenly made a suggestion. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you put a heap of stones there and pretend it is a +rockery?” he said. “There in the middle,” and he leaned over +her to point. +</p> + +<p> +“Go away!” cried Mary. “I don’t want boys. Go +away!” +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Basil looked angry, and then he began to tease. He was always +teasing his sisters. He danced round and round her and made faces and sang and +laughed. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Mistress Mary, quite contrary,<br /> + How does your garden grow?<br /> +With silver bells, and cockle shells,<br /> + And marigolds all in a row.”<br /> +</p> + +<p> +He sang it until the other children heard and laughed, too; and the crosser +Mary got, the more they sang “Mistress Mary, quite contrary”; and +after that as long as she stayed with them they called her “Mistress Mary +Quite Contrary” when they spoke of her to each other, and often when they +spoke to her. +</p> + +<p> +“You are going to be sent home,” Basil said to her, “at the +end of the week. And we’re glad of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad of it, too,” answered Mary. “Where is home?” +</p> + +<p> +“She doesn’t know where home is!” said Basil, with +seven-year-old scorn. “It’s England, of course. Our grandmama lives +there and our sister Mabel was sent to her last year. You are not going to your +grandmama. You have none. You are going to your uncle. His name is Mr. +Archibald Craven.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know anything about him,” snapped Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“I know you don’t,” Basil answered. “You don’t +know anything. Girls never do. I heard father and mother talking about him. He +lives in a great, big, desolate old house in the country and no one goes near +him. He’s so cross he won’t let them, and they wouldn’t come +if he would let them. He’s a hunchback, and he’s horrid.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe you,” said Mary; and she turned her back and +stuck her fingers in her ears, because she would not listen any more. +</p> + +<p> +But she thought over it a great deal afterward; and when Mrs. Crawford told her +that night that she was going to sail away to England in a few days and go to +her uncle, Mr. Archibald Craven, who lived at Misselthwaite Manor, she looked +so stony and stubbornly uninterested that they did not know what to think about +her. They tried to be kind to her, but she only turned her face away when Mrs. +Crawford attempted to kiss her, and held herself stiffly when Mr. Crawford +patted her shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“She is such a plain child,” Mrs. Crawford said pityingly, +afterward. “And her mother was such a pretty creature. She had a very +pretty manner, too, and Mary has the most unattractive ways I ever saw in a +child. The children call her ‘Mistress Mary Quite Contrary,’ and +though it’s naughty of them, one can’t help understanding +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps if her mother had carried her pretty face and her pretty manners +oftener into the nursery Mary might have learned some pretty ways too. It is +very sad, now the poor beautiful thing is gone, to remember that many people +never even knew that she had a child at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe she scarcely ever looked at her,” sighed Mrs. Crawford. +“When her Ayah was dead there was no one to give a thought to the little +thing. Think of the servants running away and leaving her all alone in that +deserted bungalow. Colonel McGrew said he nearly jumped out of his skin when he +opened the door and found her standing by herself in the middle of the +room.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary made the long voyage to England under the care of an officer’s wife, +who was taking her children to leave them in a boarding-school. She was very +much absorbed in her own little boy and girl, and was rather glad to hand the +child over to the woman Mr. Archibald Craven sent to meet her, in London. The +woman was his housekeeper at Misselthwaite Manor, and her name was Mrs. +Medlock. She was a stout woman, with very red cheeks and sharp black eyes. She +wore a very purple dress, a black silk mantle with jet fringe on it and a black +bonnet with purple velvet flowers which stuck up and trembled when she moved +her head. Mary did not like her at all, but as she very seldom liked people +there was nothing remarkable in that; besides which it was very evident Mrs. +Medlock did not think much of her. +</p> + +<p> +“My word! she’s a plain little piece of goods!” she said. +“And we’d heard that her mother was a beauty. She hasn’t +handed much of it down, has she, ma’am?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps she will improve as she grows older,” the officer’s +wife said good-naturedly. “If she were not so sallow and had a nicer +expression, her features are rather good. Children alter so much.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’ll have to alter a good deal,” answered Mrs. Medlock. +“And, there’s nothing likely to improve children at +Misselthwaite—if you ask me!” +</p> + +<p> +They thought Mary was not listening because she was standing a little apart +from them at the window of the private hotel they had gone to. She was watching +the passing buses and cabs and people, but she heard quite well and was made +very curious about her uncle and the place he lived in. What sort of a place +was it, and what would he be like? What was a hunchback? She had never seen +one. Perhaps there were none in India. +</p> + +<p> +Since she had been living in other people’s houses and had had no Ayah, +she had begun to feel lonely and to think queer thoughts which were new to her. +She had begun to wonder why she had never seemed to belong to anyone even when +her father and mother had been alive. Other children seemed to belong to their +fathers and mothers, but she had never seemed to really be anyone’s +little girl. She had had servants, and food and clothes, but no one had taken +any notice of her. She did not know that this was because she was a +disagreeable child; but then, of course, she did not know she was disagreeable. +She often thought that other people were, but she did not know that she was so +herself. +</p> + +<p> +She thought Mrs. Medlock the most disagreeable person she had ever seen, with +her common, highly colored face and her common fine bonnet. When the next day +they set out on their journey to Yorkshire, she walked through the station to +the railway carriage with her head up and trying to keep as far away from her +as she could, because she did not want to seem to belong to her. It would have +made her angry to think people imagined she was her little girl. +</p> + +<p> +But Mrs. Medlock was not in the least disturbed by her and her thoughts. She +was the kind of woman who would “stand no nonsense from young +ones.” At least, that is what she would have said if she had been asked. +She had not wanted to go to London just when her sister Maria’s daughter +was going to be married, but she had a comfortable, well paid place as +housekeeper at Misselthwaite Manor and the only way in which she could keep it +was to do at once what Mr. Archibald Craven told her to do. She never dared +even to ask a question. +</p> + +<p> +“Captain Lennox and his wife died of the cholera,” Mr. Craven had +said in his short, cold way. “Captain Lennox was my wife’s brother +and I am their daughter’s guardian. The child is to be brought here. You +must go to London and bring her yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +So she packed her small trunk and made the journey. +</p> + +<p> +Mary sat in her corner of the railway carriage and looked plain and fretful. +She had nothing to read or to look at, and she had folded her thin little +black-gloved hands in her lap. Her black dress made her look yellower than +ever, and her limp light hair straggled from under her black crêpe hat. +</p> + +<p> +“A more marred-looking young one I never saw in my life,” Mrs. +Medlock thought. (Marred is a Yorkshire word and means spoiled and pettish.) +She had never seen a child who sat so still without doing anything; and at last +she got tired of watching her and began to talk in a brisk, hard voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I may as well tell you something about where you are going +to,” she said. “Do you know anything about your uncle?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Never heard your father and mother talk about him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Mary frowning. She frowned because she remembered that +her father and mother had never talked to her about anything in particular. +Certainly they had never told her things. +</p> + +<p> +“Humph,” muttered Mrs. Medlock, staring at her queer, unresponsive +little face. She did not say any more for a few moments and then she began +again. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you might as well be told something—to prepare you. You +are going to a queer place.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary said nothing at all, and Mrs. Medlock looked rather discomfited by her +apparent indifference, but, after taking a breath, she went on. +</p> + +<p> +“Not but that it’s a grand big place in a gloomy way, and Mr. +Craven’s proud of it in his way—and that’s gloomy enough, +too. The house is six hundred years old and it’s on the edge of the moor, +and there’s near a hundred rooms in it, though most of them’s shut +up and locked. And there’s pictures and fine old furniture and things +that’s been there for ages, and there’s a big park round it and +gardens and trees with branches trailing to the ground—some of +them.” She paused and took another breath. “But there’s +nothing else,” she ended suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +Mary had begun to listen in spite of herself. It all sounded so unlike India, +and anything new rather attracted her. But she did not intend to look as if she +were interested. That was one of her unhappy, disagreeable ways. So she sat +still. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Mrs. Medlock. “What do you think of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing,” she answered. “I know nothing about such +places.” +</p> + +<p> +That made Mrs. Medlock laugh a short sort of laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” she said, “but you are like an old woman. Don’t +you care?” +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t matter” said Mary, “whether I care or +not.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are right enough there,” said Mrs. Medlock. “It +doesn’t. What you’re to be kept at Misselthwaite Manor for I +don’t know, unless because it’s the easiest way. <i>He’s</i> +not going to trouble himself about you, that’s sure and certain. He never +troubles himself about no one.” +</p> + +<p> +She stopped herself as if she had just remembered something in time. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s got a crooked back,” she said. “That set him +wrong. He was a sour young man and got no good of all his money and big place +till he was married.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary’s eyes turned toward her in spite of her intention not to seem to +care. She had never thought of the hunchback’s being married and she was +a trifle surprised. Mrs. Medlock saw this, and as she was a talkative woman she +continued with more interest. This was one way of passing some of the time, at +any rate. +</p> + +<p> +“She was a sweet, pretty thing and he’d have walked the world over +to get her a blade o’ grass she wanted. Nobody thought she’d marry +him, but she did, and people said she married him for his money. But she +didn’t—she didn’t,” positively. “When she +died—” +</p> + +<p> +Mary gave a little involuntary jump. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! did she die!” she exclaimed, quite without meaning to. She had +just remembered a French fairy story she had once read called “Riquet à +la Houppe.” It had been about a poor hunchback and a beautiful princess +and it had made her suddenly sorry for Mr. Archibald Craven. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, she died,” Mrs. Medlock answered. “And it made him +queerer than ever. He cares about nobody. He won’t see people. Most of +the time he goes away, and when he is at Misselthwaite he shuts himself up in +the West Wing and won’t let anyone but Pitcher see him. Pitcher’s +an old fellow, but he took care of him when he was a child and he knows his +ways.” +</p> + +<p> +It sounded like something in a book and it did not make Mary feel cheerful. A +house with a hundred rooms, nearly all shut up and with their doors +locked—a house on the edge of a moor—whatsoever a moor +was—sounded dreary. A man with a crooked back who shut himself up also! +She stared out of the window with her lips pinched together, and it seemed +quite natural that the rain should have begun to pour down in gray slanting +lines and splash and stream down the window-panes. If the pretty wife had been +alive she might have made things cheerful by being something like her own +mother and by running in and out and going to parties as she had done in frocks +“full of lace.” But she was not there any more. +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t expect to see him, because ten to one you +won’t,” said Mrs. Medlock. “And you mustn’t expect that +there will be people to talk to you. You’ll have to play about and look +after yourself. You’ll be told what rooms you can go into and what rooms +you’re to keep out of. There’s gardens enough. But when +you’re in the house don’t go wandering and poking about. Mr. Craven +won’t have it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not want to go poking about,” said sour little Mary and +just as suddenly as she had begun to be rather sorry for Mr. Archibald Craven +she began to cease to be sorry and to think he was unpleasant enough to deserve +all that had happened to him. +</p> + +<p> +And she turned her face toward the streaming panes of the window of the railway +carriage and gazed out at the gray rain-storm which looked as if it would go on +forever and ever. She watched it so long and steadily that the grayness grew +heavier and heavier before her eyes and she fell asleep. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br /> +ACROSS THE MOOR</h2> + +<p> +She slept a long time, and when she awakened Mrs. Medlock had bought a +lunchbasket at one of the stations and they had some chicken and cold beef and +bread and butter and some hot tea. The rain seemed to be streaming down more +heavily than ever and everybody in the station wore wet and glistening +waterproofs. The guard lighted the lamps in the carriage, and Mrs. Medlock +cheered up very much over her tea and chicken and beef. She ate a great deal +and afterward fell asleep herself, and Mary sat and stared at her and watched +her fine bonnet slip on one side until she herself fell asleep once more in the +corner of the carriage, lulled by the splashing of the rain against the +windows. It was quite dark when she awakened again. The train had stopped at a +station and Mrs. Medlock was shaking her. +</p> + +<p> +“You have had a sleep!” she said. “It’s time to open +your eyes! We’re at Thwaite Station and we’ve got a long drive +before us.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary stood up and tried to keep her eyes open while Mrs. Medlock collected her +parcels. The little girl did not offer to help her, because in India native +servants always picked up or carried things and it seemed quite proper that +other people should wait on one. +</p> + +<p> +The station was a small one and nobody but themselves seemed to be getting out +of the train. The station-master spoke to Mrs. Medlock in a rough, good-natured +way, pronouncing his words in a queer broad fashion which Mary found out +afterward was Yorkshire. +</p> + +<p> +“I see tha’s got back,” he said. “An’ tha’s +browt th’ young ’un with thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, that’s her,” answered Mrs. Medlock, speaking with a +Yorkshire accent herself and jerking her head over her shoulder toward Mary. +“How’s thy Missus?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well enow. Th’ carriage is waitin’ outside for thee.” +</p> + +<p> +A brougham stood on the road before the little outside platform. Mary saw that +it was a smart carriage and that it was a smart footman who helped her in. His +long waterproof coat and the waterproof covering of his hat were shining and +dripping with rain as everything was, the burly station-master included. +</p> + +<p> +When he shut the door, mounted the box with the coachman, and they drove off, +the little girl found herself seated in a comfortably cushioned corner, but she +was not inclined to go to sleep again. She sat and looked out of the window, +curious to see something of the road over which she was being driven to the +queer place Mrs. Medlock had spoken of. She was not at all a timid child and +she was not exactly frightened, but she felt that there was no knowing what +might happen in a house with a hundred rooms nearly all shut up—a house +standing on the edge of a moor. +</p> + +<p> +“What is a moor?” she said suddenly to Mrs. Medlock. +</p> + +<p> +“Look out of the window in about ten minutes and you’ll see,” +the woman answered. “We’ve got to drive five miles across Missel +Moor before we get to the Manor. You won’t see much because it’s a +dark night, but you can see something.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary asked no more questions but waited in the darkness of her corner, keeping +her eyes on the window. The carriage lamps cast rays of light a little distance +ahead of them and she caught glimpses of the things they passed. After they had +left the station they had driven through a tiny village and she had seen +whitewashed cottages and the lights of a public house. Then they had passed a +church and a vicarage and a little shop-window or so in a cottage with toys and +sweets and odd things set out for sale. Then they were on the highroad and she +saw hedges and trees. After that there seemed nothing different for a long +time—or at least it seemed a long time to her. +</p> + +<p> +At last the horses began to go more slowly, as if they were climbing up-hill, +and presently there seemed to be no more hedges and no more trees. She could +see nothing, in fact, but a dense darkness on either side. She leaned forward +and pressed her face against the window just as the carriage gave a big jolt. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! We’re on the moor now sure enough,” said Mrs. Medlock. +</p> + +<p> +The carriage lamps shed a yellow light on a rough-looking road which seemed to +be cut through bushes and low-growing things which ended in the great expanse +of dark apparently spread out before and around them. A wind was rising and +making a singular, wild, low, rushing sound. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s—it’s not the sea, is it?” said Mary, +looking round at her companion. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not it,” answered Mrs. Medlock. “Nor it isn’t +fields nor mountains, it’s just miles and miles and miles of wild land +that nothing grows on but heather and gorse and broom, and nothing lives on but +wild ponies and sheep.” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel as if it might be the sea, if there were water on it,” said +Mary. “It sounds like the sea just now.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the wind blowing through the bushes,” Mrs. Medlock +said. “It’s a wild, dreary enough place to my mind, though +there’s plenty that likes it—particularly when the heather’s +in bloom.” +</p> + +<p> +On and on they drove through the darkness, and though the rain stopped, the +wind rushed by and whistled and made strange sounds. The road went up and down, +and several times the carriage passed over a little bridge beneath which water +rushed very fast with a great deal of noise. Mary felt as if the drive would +never come to an end and that the wide, bleak moor was a wide expanse of black +ocean through which she was passing on a strip of dry land. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like it,” she said to herself. “I don’t +like it,” and she pinched her thin lips more tightly together. +</p> + +<p> +The horses were climbing up a hilly piece of road when she first caught sight +of a light. Mrs. Medlock saw it as soon as she did and drew a long sigh of +relief. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh, I am glad to see that bit o’ light twinkling,” she +exclaimed. “It’s the light in the lodge window. We shall get a good +cup of tea after a bit, at all events.” +</p> + +<p> +It was “after a bit,” as she said, for when the carriage passed +through the park gates there was still two miles of avenue to drive through and +the trees (which nearly met overhead) made it seem as if they were driving +through a long dark vault. +</p> + +<p> +They drove out of the vault into a clear space and stopped before an immensely +long but low-built house which seemed to ramble round a stone court. At first +Mary thought that there were no lights at all in the windows, but as she got +out of the carriage she saw that one room in a corner upstairs showed a dull +glow. +</p> + +<p> +The entrance door was a huge one made of massive, curiously shaped panels of +oak studded with big iron nails and bound with great iron bars. It opened into +an enormous hall, which was so dimly lighted that the faces in the portraits on +the walls and the figures in the suits of armor made Mary feel that she did not +want to look at them. As she stood on the stone floor she looked a very small, +odd little black figure, and she felt as small and lost and odd as she looked. +</p> + +<p> +A neat, thin old man stood near the manservant who opened the door for them. +</p> + +<p> +“You are to take her to her room,” he said in a husky voice. +“He doesn’t want to see her. He’s going to London in the +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Mr. Pitcher,” Mrs. Medlock answered. “So long as +I know what’s expected of me, I can manage.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s expected of you, Mrs. Medlock,” Mr. Pitcher said, +“is that you make sure that he’s not disturbed and that he +doesn’t see what he doesn’t want to see.” +</p> + +<p> +And then Mary Lennox was led up a broad staircase and down a long corridor and +up a short flight of steps and through another corridor and another, until a +door opened in a wall and she found herself in a room with a fire in it and a +supper on a table. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Medlock said unceremoniously: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, here you are! This room and the next are where you’ll +live—and you must keep to them. Don’t you forget that!” +</p> + +<p> +It was in this way Mistress Mary arrived at Misselthwaite Manor and she had +perhaps never felt quite so contrary in all her life. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br /> +MARTHA</h2> + +<p> +When she opened her eyes in the morning it was because a young housemaid had +come into her room to light the fire and was kneeling on the hearth-rug raking +out the cinders noisily. Mary lay and watched her for a few moments and then +began to look about the room. She had never seen a room at all like it and +thought it curious and gloomy. The walls were covered with tapestry with a +forest scene embroidered on it. There were fantastically dressed people under +the trees and in the distance there was a glimpse of the turrets of a castle. +There were hunters and horses and dogs and ladies. Mary felt as if she were in +the forest with them. Out of a deep window she could see a great climbing +stretch of land which seemed to have no trees on it, and to look rather like an +endless, dull, purplish sea. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” she said, pointing out of the window. +</p> + +<p> +Martha, the young housemaid, who had just risen to her feet, looked and pointed +also. +</p> + +<p> +“That there?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s th’ moor,” with a good-natured grin. +“Does tha’ like it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Mary. “I hate it.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s because tha’rt not used to it,” Martha said, +going back to her hearth. “Tha’ thinks it’s too big an’ +bare now. But tha’ will like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you?” inquired Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, that I do,” answered Martha, cheerfully polishing away at the +grate. “I just love it. It’s none bare. It’s covered +wi’ growin’ things as smells sweet. It’s fair lovely in +spring an’ summer when th’ gorse an’ broom an’ +heather’s in flower. It smells o’ honey an’ there’s +such a lot o’ fresh air—an’ th’ sky looks so high +an’ th’ bees an’ skylarks makes such a nice noise +hummin’ an’ singin’. Eh! I wouldn’t live away from +th’ moor for anythin’.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary listened to her with a grave, puzzled expression. The native servants she +had been used to in India were not in the least like this. They were obsequious +and servile and did not presume to talk to their masters as if they were their +equals. They made salaams and called them “protector of the poor” +and names of that sort. Indian servants were commanded to do things, not asked. +It was not the custom to say “please” and “thank you” +and Mary had always slapped her Ayah in the face when she was angry. She +wondered a little what this girl would do if one slapped her in the face. She +was a round, rosy, good-natured looking creature, but she had a sturdy way +which made Mistress Mary wonder if she might not even slap back—if the +person who slapped her was only a little girl. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a strange servant,” she said from her pillows, rather +haughtily. +</p> + +<p> +Martha sat up on her heels, with her blacking-brush in her hand, and laughed, +without seeming the least out of temper. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! I know that,” she said. “If there was a grand Missus at +Misselthwaite I should never have been even one of th’ under housemaids. +I might have been let to be scullerymaid but I’d never have been let +upstairs. I’m too common an’ I talk too much Yorkshire. But this is +a funny house for all it’s so grand. Seems like there’s neither +Master nor Mistress except Mr. Pitcher an’ Mrs. Medlock. Mr. Craven, he +won’t be troubled about anythin’ when he’s here, an’ +he’s nearly always away. Mrs. Medlock gave me th’ place out +o’ kindness. She told me she could never have done it if Misselthwaite +had been like other big houses.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to be my servant?” Mary asked, still in her +imperious little Indian way. +</p> + +<p> +Martha began to rub her grate again. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m Mrs. Medlock’s servant,” she said stoutly. +“An’ she’s Mr. Craven’s—but I’m to do the +housemaid’s work up here an’ wait on you a bit. But you won’t +need much waitin’ on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is going to dress me?” demanded Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Martha sat up on her heels again and stared. She spoke in broad Yorkshire in +her amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Canna’ tha’ dress thysen!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean? I don’t understand your language,” said +Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! I forgot,” Martha said. “Mrs. Medlock told me I’d +have to be careful or you wouldn’t know what I was sayin’. I mean +can’t you put on your own clothes?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Mary, quite indignantly. “I never did in my +life. My Ayah dressed me, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Martha, evidently not in the least aware that she was +impudent, “it’s time tha’ should learn. Tha’ cannot +begin younger. It’ll do thee good to wait on thysen a bit. My mother +always said she couldn’t see why grand people’s children +didn’t turn out fair fools—what with nurses an’ bein’ +washed an’ dressed an’ took out to walk as if they was +puppies!” +</p> + +<p> +“It is different in India,” said Mistress Mary disdainfully. She +could scarcely stand this. +</p> + +<p> +But Martha was not at all crushed. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! I can see it’s different,” she answered almost +sympathetically. “I dare say it’s because there’s such a lot +o’ blacks there instead o’ respectable white people. When I heard +you was comin’ from India I thought you was a black too.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary sat up in bed furious. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” she said. “What! You thought I was a native. +You—you daughter of a pig!” +</p> + +<p> +Martha stared and looked hot. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you callin’ names?” she said. “You +needn’t be so vexed. That’s not th’ way for a young lady to +talk. I’ve nothin’ against th’ blacks. When you read about +’em in tracts they’re always very religious. You always read as a +black’s a man an’ a brother. I’ve never seen a black +an’ I was fair pleased to think I was goin’ to see one close. When +I come in to light your fire this mornin’ I crep’ up to your bed +an’ pulled th’ cover back careful to look at you. An’ there +you was,” disappointedly, “no more black than me—for all +you’re so yeller.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary did not even try to control her rage and humiliation. +</p> + +<p> +“You thought I was a native! You dared! You don’t know anything +about natives! They are not people—they’re servants who must salaam +to you. You know nothing about India. You know nothing about anything!” +</p> + +<p> +She was in such a rage and felt so helpless before the girl’s simple +stare, and somehow she suddenly felt so horribly lonely and far away from +everything she understood and which understood her, that she threw herself face +downward on the pillows and burst into passionate sobbing. She sobbed so +unrestrainedly that good-natured Yorkshire Martha was a little frightened and +quite sorry for her. She went to the bed and bent over her. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! you mustn’t cry like that there!” she begged. “You +mustn’t for sure. I didn’t know you’d be vexed. I don’t +know anythin’ about anythin’—just like you said. I beg your +pardon, Miss. Do stop cryin’.” +</p> + +<p> +There was something comforting and really friendly in her queer Yorkshire +speech and sturdy way which had a good effect on Mary. She gradually ceased +crying and became quiet. Martha looked relieved. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s time for thee to get up now,” she said. “Mrs. +Medlock said I was to carry tha’ breakfast an’ tea an’ dinner +into th’ room next to this. It’s been made into a nursery for thee. +I’ll help thee on with thy clothes if tha’ll get out o’ bed. +If th’ buttons are at th’ back tha’ cannot button them up +tha’self.” +</p> + +<p> +When Mary at last decided to get up, the clothes Martha took from the wardrobe +were not the ones she had worn when she arrived the night before with Mrs. +Medlock. +</p> + +<p> +“Those are not mine,” she said. “Mine are black.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked the thick white wool coat and dress over, and added with cool +approval: +</p> + +<p> +“Those are nicer than mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“These are th’ ones tha’ must put on,” Martha answered. +“Mr. Craven ordered Mrs. Medlock to get ’em in London. He said +‘I won’t have a child dressed in black wanderin’ about like a +lost soul,’ he said. ‘It’d make the place sadder than it is. +Put color on her.’ Mother she said she knew what he meant. Mother always +knows what a body means. She doesn’t hold with black +hersel’.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hate black things,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +The dressing process was one which taught them both something. Martha had +“buttoned up” her little sisters and brothers but she had never +seen a child who stood still and waited for another person to do things for her +as if she had neither hands nor feet of her own. +</p> + +<p> +“Why doesn’t tha’ put on tha’ own shoes?” she +said when Mary quietly held out her foot. +</p> + +<p> +“My Ayah did it,” answered Mary, staring. “It was the +custom.” +</p> + +<p> +She said that very often—“It was the custom.” The native +servants were always saying it. If one told them to do a thing their ancestors +had not done for a thousand years they gazed at one mildly and said, “It +is not the custom” and one knew that was the end of the matter. +</p> + +<p> +It had not been the custom that Mistress Mary should do anything but stand and +allow herself to be dressed like a doll, but before she was ready for breakfast +she began to suspect that her life at Misselthwaite Manor would end by teaching +her a number of things quite new to her—things such as putting on her own +shoes and stockings, and picking up things she let fall. If Martha had been a +well-trained fine young lady’s maid she would have been more subservient +and respectful and would have known that it was her business to brush hair, and +button boots, and pick things up and lay them away. She was, however, only an +untrained Yorkshire rustic who had been brought up in a moorland cottage with a +swarm of little brothers and sisters who had never dreamed of doing anything +but waiting on themselves and on the younger ones who were either babies in +arms or just learning to totter about and tumble over things. +</p> + +<p> +If Mary Lennox had been a child who was ready to be amused she would perhaps +have laughed at Martha’s readiness to talk, but Mary only listened to her +coldly and wondered at her freedom of manner. At first she was not at all +interested, but gradually, as the girl rattled on in her good-tempered, homely +way, Mary began to notice what she was saying. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! you should see ’em all,” she said. “There’s +twelve of us an’ my father only gets sixteen shilling a week. I can tell +you my mother’s put to it to get porridge for ’em all. They tumble +about on th’ moor an’ play there all day an’ mother says +th’ air of th’ moor fattens ’em. She says she believes they +eat th’ grass same as th’ wild ponies do. Our Dickon, he’s +twelve years old and he’s got a young pony he calls his own.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did he get it?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“He found it on th’ moor with its mother when it was a little one +an’ he began to make friends with it an’ give it bits o’ +bread an’ pluck young grass for it. And it got to like him so it follows +him about an’ it lets him get on its back. Dickon’s a kind lad +an’ animals likes him.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary had never possessed an animal pet of her own and had always thought she +should like one. So she began to feel a slight interest in Dickon, and as she +had never before been interested in anyone but herself, it was the dawning of +a healthy sentiment. When she went into the room which had been made into a +nursery for her, she found that it was rather like the one she had slept in. It +was not a child’s room, but a grown-up person’s room, with gloomy +old pictures on the walls and heavy old oak chairs. A table in the center was +set with a good substantial breakfast. But she had always had a very small +appetite, and she looked with something more than indifference at the first +plate Martha set before her. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want it,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ doesn’t want thy porridge!” Martha exclaimed +incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ doesn’t know how good it is. Put a bit o’ treacle +on it or a bit o’ sugar.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want it,” repeated Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” said Martha. “I can’t abide to see good victuals +go to waste. If our children was at this table they’d clean it bare in +five minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” said Mary coldly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why!” echoed Martha. “Because they scarce ever had their +stomachs full in their lives. They’re as hungry as young hawks an’ +foxes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what it is to be hungry,” said Mary, with the +indifference of ignorance. +</p> + +<p> +Martha looked indignant. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it would do thee good to try it. I can see that plain +enough,” she said outspokenly. “I’ve no patience with folk as +sits an’ just stares at good bread an’ meat. My word! don’t I +wish Dickon and Phil an’ Jane an’ th’ rest of ’em had +what’s here under their pinafores.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you take it to them?” suggested Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not mine,” answered Martha stoutly. “An’ +this isn’t my day out. I get my day out once a month same as th’ +rest. Then I go home an’ clean up for mother an’ give her a +day’s rest.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary drank some tea and ate a little toast and some marmalade. +</p> + +<p> +“You wrap up warm an’ run out an’ play you,” said +Martha. “It’ll do you good and give you some stomach for your +meat.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary went to the window. There were gardens and paths and big trees, but +everything looked dull and wintry. +</p> + +<p> +“Out? Why should I go out on a day like this?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if tha’ doesn’t go out tha’lt have to stay in, +an’ what has tha’ got to do?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary glanced about her. There was nothing to do. When Mrs. Medlock had prepared +the nursery she had not thought of amusement. Perhaps it would be better to go +and see what the gardens were like. +</p> + +<p> +“Who will go with me?” she inquired. +</p> + +<p> +Martha stared. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll go by yourself,” she answered. “You’ll +have to learn to play like other children does when they haven’t got +sisters and brothers. Our Dickon goes off on th’ moor by himself +an’ plays for hours. That’s how he made friends with th’ +pony. He’s got sheep on th’ moor that knows him, an’ birds as +comes an’ eats out of his hand. However little there is to eat, he always +saves a bit o’ his bread to coax his pets.” +</p> + +<p> +It was really this mention of Dickon which made Mary decide to go out, though +she was not aware of it. There would be, birds outside though there would not +be ponies or sheep. They would be different from the birds in India and it +might amuse her to look at them. +</p> + +<p> +Martha found her coat and hat for her and a pair of stout little boots and she +showed her her way downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“If tha’ goes round that way tha’ll come to th’ +gardens,” she said, pointing to a gate in a wall of shrubbery. +“There’s lots o’ flowers in summer-time, but there’s +nothin’ bloomin’ now.” She seemed to hesitate a second before +she added, “One of th’ gardens is locked up. No one has been in it +for ten years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Mary in spite of herself. Here was another locked door +added to the hundred in the strange house. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Craven had it shut when his wife died so sudden. He won’t let +no one go inside. It was her garden. He locked th’ door an’ dug a +hole and buried th’ key. There’s Mrs. Medlock’s bell +ringing—I must run.” +</p> + +<p> +After she was gone Mary turned down the walk which led to the door in the +shrubbery. She could not help thinking about the garden which no one had been +into for ten years. She wondered what it would look like and whether there were +any flowers still alive in it. When she had passed through the shrubbery gate +she found herself in great gardens, with wide lawns and winding walks with +clipped borders. There were trees, and flower-beds, and evergreens clipped into +strange shapes, and a large pool with an old gray fountain in its midst. But +the flower-beds were bare and wintry and the fountain was not playing. This was +not the garden which was shut up. How could a garden be shut up? You could +always walk into a garden. +</p> + +<p> +She was just thinking this when she saw that, at the end of the path she was +following, there seemed to be a long wall, with ivy growing over it. She was +not familiar enough with England to know that she was coming upon the +kitchen-gardens where the vegetables and fruit were growing. She went toward +the wall and found that there was a green door in the ivy, and that it stood +open. This was not the closed garden, evidently, and she could go into it. +</p> + +<p> +She went through the door and found that it was a garden with walls all round +it and that it was only one of several walled gardens which seemed to open into +one another. She saw another open green door, revealing bushes and pathways +between beds containing winter vegetables. Fruit-trees were trained flat +against the wall, and over some of the beds there were glass frames. The place +was bare and ugly enough, Mary thought, as she stood and stared about her. It +might be nicer in summer when things were green, but there was nothing pretty +about it now. +</p> + +<p> +Presently an old man with a spade over his shoulder walked through the door +leading from the second garden. He looked startled when he saw Mary, and then +touched his cap. He had a surly old face, and did not seem at all pleased to +see her—but then she was displeased with his garden and wore her +“quite contrary” expression, and certainly did not seem at all +pleased to see him. +</p> + +<p> +“What is this place?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“One o’ th’ kitchen-gardens,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” said Mary, pointing through the other green door. +</p> + +<p> +“Another of ’em,” shortly. “There’s another on +t’other side o’ th’ wall an’ there’s th’ +orchard t’other side o’ that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can I go in them?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“If tha’ likes. But there’s nowt to see.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary made no response. She went down the path and through the second green +door. There, she found more walls and winter vegetables and glass frames, but +in the second wall there was another green door and it was not open. Perhaps it +led into the garden which no one had seen for ten years. As she was not at all +a timid child and always did what she wanted to do, Mary went to the green door +and turned the handle. She hoped the door would not open because she wanted to +be sure she had found the mysterious garden—but it did open quite easily +and she walked through it and found herself in an orchard. There were walls all +round it also and trees trained against them, and there were bare fruit-trees +growing in the winter-browned grass—but there was no green door to be +seen anywhere. Mary looked for it, and yet when she had entered the upper end +of the garden she had noticed that the wall did not seem to end with the +orchard but to extend beyond it as if it enclosed a place at the other side. +She could see the tops of trees above the wall, and when she stood still she +saw a bird with a bright red breast sitting on the topmost branch of one of +them, and suddenly he burst into his winter song—almost as if he had +caught sight of her and was calling to her. +</p> + +<p> +She stopped and listened to him and somehow his cheerful, friendly little +whistle gave her a pleased feeling—even a disagreeable little girl may be +lonely, and the big closed house and big bare moor and big bare gardens had +made this one feel as if there was no one left in the world but herself. If she +had been an affectionate child, who had been used to being loved, she would +have broken her heart, but even though she was “Mistress Mary Quite +Contrary” she was desolate, and the bright-breasted little bird brought a +look into her sour little face which was almost a smile. She listened to him +until he flew away. He was not like an Indian bird and she liked him and +wondered if she should ever see him again. Perhaps he lived in the mysterious +garden and knew all about it. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps it was because she had nothing whatever to do that she thought so much +of the deserted garden. She was curious about it and wanted to see what it was +like. Why had Mr. Archibald Craven buried the key? If he had liked his wife so +much why did he hate her garden? She wondered if she should ever see him, but +she knew that if she did she should not like him, and he would not like her, +and that she should only stand and stare at him and say nothing, though she +should be wanting dreadfully to ask him why he had done such a queer thing. +</p> + +<p> +“People never like me and I never like people,” she thought. +“And I never can talk as the Crawford children could. They were always +talking and laughing and making noises.” +</p> + +<p> +She thought of the robin and of the way he seemed to sing his song at her, and +as she remembered the tree-top he perched on she stopped rather suddenly on the +path. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe that tree was in the secret garden—I feel sure it +was,” she said. “There was a wall round the place and there was no +door.” +</p> + +<p> +She walked back into the first kitchen-garden she had entered and found the old +man digging there. She went and stood beside him and watched him a few moments +in her cold little way. He took no notice of her and so at last she spoke to +him. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been into the other gardens,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“There was nothin’ to prevent thee,” he answered crustily. +</p> + +<p> +“I went into the orchard.” +</p> + +<p> +“There was no dog at th’ door to bite thee,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“There was no door there into the other garden,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“What garden?” he said in a rough voice, stopping his digging for a +moment. +</p> + +<p> +“The one on the other side of the wall,” answered Mistress Mary. +“There are trees there—I saw the tops of them. A bird with a red +breast was sitting on one of them and he sang.” +</p> + +<p> +To her surprise the surly old weather-beaten face actually changed its +expression. A slow smile spread over it and the gardener looked quite +different. It made her think that it was curious how much nicer a person looked +when he smiled. She had not thought of it before. +</p> + +<p> +He turned about to the orchard side of his garden and began to whistle—a +low soft whistle. She could not understand how such a surly man could make such +a coaxing sound. +</p> + +<p> +Almost the next moment a wonderful thing happened. She heard a soft little +rushing flight through the air—and it was the bird with the red breast +flying to them, and he actually alighted on the big clod of earth quite near to +the gardener’s foot. +</p> + +<p> +“Here he is,” chuckled the old man, and then he spoke to the bird +as if he were speaking to a child. +</p> + +<p> +“Where has tha’ been, tha’ cheeky little beggar?” he +said. “I’ve not seen thee before today. Has tha begun tha’ +courtin’ this early in th’ season? Tha’rt too forrad.” +</p> + +<p> +The bird put his tiny head on one side and looked up at him with his soft +bright eye which was like a black dewdrop. He seemed quite familiar and not the +least afraid. He hopped about and pecked the earth briskly, looking for seeds +and insects. It actually gave Mary a queer feeling in her heart, because he was +so pretty and cheerful and seemed so like a person. He had a tiny plump body +and a delicate beak, and slender delicate legs. +</p> + +<p> +“Will he always come when you call him?” she asked almost in a +whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, that he will. I’ve knowed him ever since he was a fledgling. +He come out of th’ nest in th’ other garden an’ when first he +flew over th’ wall he was too weak to fly back for a few days an’ +we got friendly. When he went over th’ wall again th’ rest of +th’ brood was gone an’ he was lonely an’ he come back to +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“What kind of a bird is he?” Mary asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Doesn’t tha’ know? He’s a robin redbreast an’ +they’re th’ friendliest, curiousest birds alive. They’re +almost as friendly as dogs—if you know how to get on with ’em. +Watch him peckin’ about there an’ lookin’ round at us now +an’ again. He knows we’re talkin’ about him.” +</p> + +<p> +It was the queerest thing in the world to see the old fellow. He looked at the +plump little scarlet-waistcoated bird as if he were both proud and fond of him. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a conceited one,” he chuckled. “He likes to hear +folk talk about him. An’ curious—bless me, there never was his like +for curiosity an’ meddlin’. He’s always comin’ to see +what I’m plantin’. He knows all th’ things Mester Craven +never troubles hissel’ to find out. He’s th’ head gardener, +he is.” +</p> + +<p> +The robin hopped about busily pecking the soil and now and then stopped and +looked at them a little. Mary thought his black dewdrop eyes gazed at her with +great curiosity. It really seemed as if he were finding out all about her. The +queer feeling in her heart increased. +</p> + +<p> +“Where did the rest of the brood fly to?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no knowin’. The old ones turn ’em out o’ +their nest an’ make ’em fly an’ they’re scattered +before you know it. This one was a knowin’ one an’ he knew he was +lonely.” +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Mary went a step nearer to the robin and looked at him very hard. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m lonely,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +She had not known before that this was one of the things which made her feel +sour and cross. She seemed to find it out when the robin looked at her and she +looked at the robin. +</p> + +<p> +The old gardener pushed his cap back on his bald head and stared at her a +minute. +</p> + +<p> +“Art tha’ th’ little wench from India?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Mary nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Then no wonder tha’rt lonely. Tha’lt be lonlier before +tha’s done,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +He began to dig again, driving his spade deep into the rich black garden soil +while the robin hopped about very busily employed. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your name?” Mary inquired. +</p> + +<p> +He stood up to answer her. +</p> + +<p> +“Ben Weatherstaff,” he answered, and then he added with a surly +chuckle, “I’m lonely mysel’ except when he’s with +me,” and he jerked his thumb toward the robin. “He’s +th’ only friend I’ve got.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no friends at all,” said Mary. “I never had. My Ayah +didn’t like me and I never played with anyone.” +</p> + +<p> +It is a Yorkshire habit to say what you think with blunt frankness, and old Ben +Weatherstaff was a Yorkshire moor man. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ an’ me are a good bit alike,” he said. “We +was wove out of th’ same cloth. We’re neither of us good +lookin’ an’ we’re both of us as sour as we look. We’ve +got the same nasty tempers, both of us, I’ll warrant.” +</p> + +<p> +This was plain speaking, and Mary Lennox had never heard the truth about +herself in her life. Native servants always salaamed and submitted to you, +whatever you did. She had never thought much about her looks, but she wondered +if she was as unattractive as Ben Weatherstaff and she also wondered if she +looked as sour as he had looked before the robin came. She actually began to +wonder also if she was “nasty tempered.” She felt uncomfortable. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly a clear rippling little sound broke out near her and she turned round. +She was standing a few feet from a young apple-tree and the robin had flown on +to one of its branches and had burst out into a scrap of a song. Ben +Weatherstaff laughed outright. +</p> + +<p> +“What did he do that for?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s made up his mind to make friends with thee,” replied +Ben. “Dang me if he hasn’t took a fancy to thee.” +</p> + +<p> +“To me?” said Mary, and she moved toward the little tree softly and +looked up. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you make friends with me?” she said to the robin just as if +she was speaking to a person. “Would you?” And she did not say it +either in her hard little voice or in her imperious Indian voice, but in a tone +so soft and eager and coaxing that Ben Weatherstaff was as surprised as she had +been when she heard him whistle. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” he cried out, “tha’ said that as nice an’ +human as if tha’ was a real child instead of a sharp old woman. +Tha’ said it almost like Dickon talks to his wild things on th’ +moor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know Dickon?” Mary asked, turning round rather in a hurry. +</p> + +<p> +“Everybody knows him. Dickon’s wanderin’ about everywhere. +Th’ very blackberries an’ heather-bells knows him. I warrant +th’ foxes shows him where their cubs lies an’ th’ skylarks +doesn’t hide their nests from him.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary would have liked to ask some more questions. She was almost as curious +about Dickon as she was about the deserted garden. But just that moment the +robin, who had ended his song, gave a little shake of his wings, spread them +and flew away. He had made his visit and had other things to do. +</p> + +<p> +“He has flown over the wall!” Mary cried out, watching him. +“He has flown into the orchard—he has flown across the other +wall—into the garden where there is no door!” +</p> + +<p> +“He lives there,” said old Ben. “He came out o’ +th’ egg there. If he’s courtin’, he’s makin’ up +to some young madam of a robin that lives among th’ old rose-trees +there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rose-trees,” said Mary. “Are there rose-trees?” +</p> + +<p> +Ben Weatherstaff took up his spade again and began to dig. +</p> + +<p> +“There was ten year’ ago,” he mumbled. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to see them,” said Mary. “Where is the green +door? There must be a door somewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +Ben drove his spade deep and looked as uncompanionable as he had looked when +she first saw him. +</p> + +<p> +“There was ten year’ ago, but there isn’t now,” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +“No door!” cried Mary. “There must be.” +</p> + +<p> +“None as anyone can find, an’ none as is anyone’s business. +Don’t you be a meddlesome wench an’ poke your nose where it’s +no cause to go. Here, I must go on with my work. Get you gone an’ play +you. I’ve no more time.” +</p> + +<p> +And he actually stopped digging, threw his spade over his shoulder and walked +off, without even glancing at her or saying good-by. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br /> +THE CRY IN THE CORRIDOR</h2> + +<p> +At first each day which passed by for Mary Lennox was exactly like the others. +Every morning she awoke in her tapestried room and found Martha kneeling upon +the hearth building her fire; every morning she ate her breakfast in the +nursery which had nothing amusing in it; and after each breakfast she gazed out +of the window across to the huge moor which seemed to spread out on all sides +and climb up to the sky, and after she had stared for a while she realized that +if she did not go out she would have to stay in and do nothing—and so she +went out. She did not know that this was the best thing she could have done, +and she did not know that, when she began to walk quickly or even run along the +paths and down the avenue, she was stirring her slow blood and making herself +stronger by fighting with the wind which swept down from the moor. She ran only +to make herself warm, and she hated the wind which rushed at her face and +roared and held her back as if it were some giant she could not see. But the +big breaths of rough fresh air blown over the heather filled her lungs with +something which was good for her whole thin body and whipped some red color +into her cheeks and brightened her dull eyes when she did not know anything +about it. +</p> + +<p> +But after a few days spent almost entirely out of doors she wakened one morning +knowing what it was to be hungry, and when she sat down to her breakfast she +did not glance disdainfully at her porridge and push it away, but took up her +spoon and began to eat it and went on eating it until her bowl was empty. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ got on well enough with that this mornin’, didn’t +tha’?” said Martha. +</p> + +<p> +“It tastes nice today,” said Mary, feeling a little surprised +herself. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s th’ air of th’ moor that’s givin’ +thee stomach for tha’ victuals,” answered Martha. “It’s +lucky for thee that tha’s got victuals as well as appetite. There’s +been twelve in our cottage as had th’ stomach an’ nothin’ to +put in it. You go on playin’ you out o’ doors every day an’ +you’ll get some flesh on your bones an’ you won’t be so +yeller.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t play,” said Mary. “I have nothing to play +with.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothin’ to play with!” exclaimed Martha. “Our children +plays with sticks and stones. They just runs about an’ shouts an’ +looks at things.” Mary did not shout, but she looked at things. There was +nothing else to do. She walked round and round the gardens and wandered about +the paths in the park. Sometimes she looked for Ben Weatherstaff, but though +several times she saw him at work he was too busy to look at her or was too +surly. Once when she was walking toward him he picked up his spade and turned +away as if he did it on purpose. +</p> + +<p> +One place she went to oftener than to any other. It was the long walk outside +the gardens with the walls round them. There were bare flower-beds on either +side of it and against the walls ivy grew thickly. There was one part of the +wall where the creeping dark green leaves were more bushy than elsewhere. It +seemed as if for a long time that part had been neglected. The rest of it had +been clipped and made to look neat, but at this lower end of the walk it had +not been trimmed at all. +</p> + +<p> +A few days after she had talked to Ben Weatherstaff, Mary stopped to notice +this and wondered why it was so. She had just paused and was looking up at a +long spray of ivy swinging in the wind when she saw a gleam of scarlet and +heard a brilliant chirp, and there, on the top of the wall, perched Ben +Weatherstaff’s robin redbreast, tilting forward to look at her with his +small head on one side. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she cried out, “is it you—is it you?” And +it did not seem at all queer to her that she spoke to him as if she were sure +that he would understand and answer her. +</p> + +<p> +He did answer. He twittered and chirped and hopped along the wall as if he were +telling her all sorts of things. It seemed to Mistress Mary as if she +understood him, too, though he was not speaking in words. It was as if he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning! Isn’t the wind nice? Isn’t the sun nice? +Isn’t everything nice? Let us both chirp and hop and twitter. Come on! +Come on!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary began to laugh, and as he hopped and took little flights along the wall +she ran after him. Poor little thin, sallow, ugly Mary—she actually +looked almost pretty for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I like you! I like you!” she cried out, pattering down the walk; +and she chirped and tried to whistle, which last she did not know how to do in +the least. But the robin seemed to be quite satisfied and chirped and whistled +back at her. At last he spread his wings and made a darting flight to the top +of a tree, where he perched and sang loudly. +</p> + +<p> +That reminded Mary of the first time she had seen him. He had been swinging on +a tree-top then and she had been standing in the orchard. Now she was on the +other side of the orchard and standing in the path outside a wall—much +lower down—and there was the same tree inside. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s in the garden no one can go into,” she said to herself. +“It’s the garden without a door. He lives in there. How I wish I +could see what it is like!” +</p> + +<p> +She ran up the walk to the green door she had entered the first morning. Then +she ran down the path through the other door and then into the orchard, and +when she stood and looked up there was the tree on the other side of the wall, +and there was the robin just finishing his song and beginning to preen his +feathers with his beak. +</p> + +<p> +“It is the garden,” she said. “I am sure it is.” +</p> + +<p> +She walked round and looked closely at that side of the orchard wall, but she +only found what she had found before—that there was no door in it. Then +she ran through the kitchen-gardens again and out into the walk outside the +long ivy-covered wall, and she walked to the end of it and looked at it, but +there was no door; and then she walked to the other end, looking again, but +there was no door. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very queer,” she said. “Ben Weatherstaff said +there was no door and there is no door. But there must have been one ten years +ago, because Mr. Craven buried the key.” +</p> + +<p> +This gave her so much to think of that she began to be quite interested and +feel that she was not sorry that she had come to Misselthwaite Manor. In India +she had always felt hot and too languid to care much about anything. The fact +was that the fresh wind from the moor had begun to blow the cobwebs out of her +young brain and to waken her up a little. +</p> + +<p> +She stayed out of doors nearly all day, and when she sat down to her supper at +night she felt hungry and drowsy and comfortable. She did not feel cross when +Martha chattered away. She felt as if she rather liked to hear her, and at last +she thought she would ask her a question. She asked it after she had finished +her supper and had sat down on the hearth-rug before the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did Mr. Craven hate the garden?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +She had made Martha stay with her and Martha had not objected at all. She was +very young, and used to a crowded cottage full of brothers and sisters, and she +found it dull in the great servants’ hall downstairs where the footman +and upper-housemaids made fun of her Yorkshire speech and looked upon her as a +common little thing, and sat and whispered among themselves. Martha liked to +talk, and the strange child who had lived in India, and been waited upon by +“blacks,” was novelty enough to attract her. +</p> + +<p> +She sat down on the hearth herself without waiting to be asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Art tha’ thinkin’ about that garden yet?” she said. +“I knew tha’ would. That was just the way with me when I first +heard about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did he hate it?” Mary persisted. +</p> + +<p> +Martha tucked her feet under her and made herself quite comfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to th’ wind wutherin’ round the house,” she +said. “You could bare stand up on the moor if you was out on it +tonight.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary did not know what “wutherin’” meant until she listened, +and then she understood. It must mean that hollow shuddering sort of roar which +rushed round and round the house as if the giant no one could see were +buffeting it and beating at the walls and windows to try to break in. But one +knew he could not get in, and somehow it made one feel very safe and warm +inside a room with a red coal fire. +</p> + +<p> +“But why did he hate it so?” she asked, after she had listened. She +intended to know if Martha did. +</p> + +<p> +Then Martha gave up her store of knowledge. +</p> + +<p> +“Mind,” she said, “Mrs. Medlock said it’s not to be +talked about. There’s lots o’ things in this place that’s not +to be talked over. That’s Mr. Craven’s orders. His troubles are +none servants’ business, he says. But for th’ garden he +wouldn’t be like he is. It was Mrs. Craven’s garden that she had +made when first they were married an’ she just loved it, an’ they +used to ’tend the flowers themselves. An’ none o’ th’ +gardeners was ever let to go in. Him an’ her used to go in an’ shut +th’ door an’ stay there hours an’ hours, readin’ and +talkin’. An’ she was just a bit of a girl an’ there was an +old tree with a branch bent like a seat on it. An’ she made roses grow +over it an’ she used to sit there. But one day when she was sittin’ +there th’ branch broke an’ she fell on th’ ground an’ +was hurt so bad that next day she died. Th’ doctors thought he’d go +out o’ his mind an’ die, too. That’s why he hates it. No +one’s never gone in since, an’ he won’t let anyone talk +about it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary did not ask any more questions. She looked at the red fire and listened to +the wind “wutherin’.” It seemed to be +“wutherin’” louder than ever. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment a very good thing was happening to her. Four good things had +happened to her, in fact, since she came to Misselthwaite Manor. She had felt +as if she had understood a robin and that he had understood her; she had run in +the wind until her blood had grown warm; she had been healthily hungry for the +first time in her life; and she had found out what it was to be sorry for +someone. +</p> + +<p> +But as she was listening to the wind she began to listen to something else. She +did not know what it was, because at first she could scarcely distinguish it +from the wind itself. It was a curious sound—it seemed almost as if a +child were crying somewhere. Sometimes the wind sounded rather like a child +crying, but presently Mistress Mary felt quite sure this sound was inside the +house, not outside it. It was far away, but it was inside. She turned round and +looked at Martha. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hear anyone crying?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Martha suddenly looked confused. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she answered. “It’s th’ wind. Sometimes it +sounds like as if someone was lost on th’ moor an’ wailin’. +It’s got all sorts o’ sounds.” +</p> + +<p> +“But listen,” said Mary. “It’s in the house—down +one of those long corridors.” +</p> + +<p> +And at that very moment a door must have been opened somewhere downstairs; for +a great rushing draft blew along the passage and the door of the room they sat +in was blown open with a crash, and as they both jumped to their feet the light +was blown out and the crying sound was swept down the far corridor so that it +was to be heard more plainly than ever. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” said Mary. “I told you so! It is someone +crying—and it isn’t a grown-up person.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha ran and shut the door and turned the key, but before she did it they +both heard the sound of a door in some far passage shutting with a bang, and +then everything was quiet, for even the wind ceased +“wutherin’” for a few moments. +</p> + +<p> +“It was th’ wind,” said Martha stubbornly. “An’ +if it wasn’t, it was little Betty Butterworth, th’ scullery-maid. +She’s had th’ toothache all day.” +</p> + +<p> +But something troubled and awkward in her manner made Mistress Mary stare very +hard at her. She did not believe she was speaking the truth. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br /> +“THERE WAS SOMEONE CRYING—THERE WAS!”</h2> + +<p> +The next day the rain poured down in torrents again, and when Mary looked out +of her window the moor was almost hidden by gray mist and cloud. There could be +no going out today. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you do in your cottage when it rains like this?” she asked +Martha. +</p> + +<p> +“Try to keep from under each other’s feet mostly,” Martha +answered. “Eh! there does seem a lot of us then. Mother’s a +good-tempered woman but she gets fair moithered. The biggest ones goes out in +th’ cow-shed and plays there. Dickon he doesn’t mind th’ wet. +He goes out just th’ same as if th’ sun was shinin’. He says +he sees things on rainy days as doesn’t show when it’s fair +weather. He once found a little fox cub half drowned in its hole and he brought +it home in th’ bosom of his shirt to keep it warm. Its mother had been +killed nearby an’ th’ hole was swum out an’ th’ rest +o’ th’ litter was dead. He’s got it at home now. He found a +half-drowned young crow another time an’ he brought it home, too, +an’ tamed it. It’s named Soot because it’s so black, +an’ it hops an’ flies about with him everywhere.” +</p> + +<p> +The time had come when Mary had forgotten to resent Martha’s familiar +talk. She had even begun to find it interesting and to be sorry when she +stopped or went away. The stories she had been told by her Ayah when she lived +in India had been quite unlike those Martha had to tell about the moorland +cottage which held fourteen people who lived in four little rooms and never had +quite enough to eat. The children seemed to tumble about and amuse themselves +like a litter of rough, good-natured collie puppies. Mary was most attracted by +the mother and Dickon. When Martha told stories of what “mother” +said or did they always sounded comfortable. +</p> + +<p> +“If I had a raven or a fox cub I could play with it,” said Mary. +“But I have nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha looked perplexed. +</p> + +<p> +“Can tha’ knit?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” answered Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Can tha’ sew?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can tha’ read?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why doesn’t tha read somethin’, or learn a bit o’ +spellin’? Tha’st old enough to be learnin’ thy book a good +bit now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t any books,” said Mary. “Those I had were +left in India.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a pity,” said Martha. “If Mrs. Medlock’d +let thee go into th’ library, there’s thousands o’ books +there.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary did not ask where the library was, because she was suddenly inspired by a +new idea. She made up her mind to go and find it herself. She was not troubled +about Mrs. Medlock. Mrs. Medlock seemed always to be in her comfortable +housekeeper’s sitting-room downstairs. In this queer place one scarcely +ever saw anyone at all. In fact, there was no one to see but the servants, and +when their master was away they lived a luxurious life below stairs, where +there was a huge kitchen hung about with shining brass and pewter, and a large +servants’ hall where there were four or five abundant meals eaten every +day, and where a great deal of lively romping went on when Mrs. Medlock was out +of the way. +</p> + +<p> +Mary’s meals were served regularly, and Martha waited on her, but no one +troubled themselves about her in the least. Mrs. Medlock came and looked at her +every day or two, but no one inquired what she did or told her what to do. She +supposed that perhaps this was the English way of treating children. In India +she had always been attended by her Ayah, who had followed her about and waited +on her, hand and foot. She had often been tired of her company. Now she was +followed by nobody and was learning to dress herself because Martha looked as +though she thought she was silly and stupid when she wanted to have things +handed to her and put on. +</p> + +<p> +“Hasn’t tha’ got good sense?” she said once, when Mary +had stood waiting for her to put on her gloves for her. “Our Susan Ann is +twice as sharp as thee an’ she’s only four year’ old. +Sometimes tha’ looks fair soft in th’ head.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary had worn her contrary scowl for an hour after that, but it made her think +several entirely new things. +</p> + +<p> +She stood at the window for about ten minutes this morning after Martha had +swept up the hearth for the last time and gone downstairs. She was thinking +over the new idea which had come to her when she heard of the library. She did +not care very much about the library itself, because she had read very few +books; but to hear of it brought back to her mind the hundred rooms with closed +doors. She wondered if they were all really locked and what she would find if +she could get into any of them. Were there a hundred really? Why +shouldn’t she go and see how many doors she could count? It would be +something to do on this morning when she could not go out. She had never been +taught to ask permission to do things, and she knew nothing at all about +authority, so she would not have thought it necessary to ask Mrs. Medlock if +she might walk about the house, even if she had seen her. +</p> + +<p> +She opened the door of the room and went into the corridor, and then she began +her wanderings. It was a long corridor and it branched into other corridors and +it led her up short flights of steps which mounted to others again. There were +doors and doors, and there were pictures on the walls. Sometimes they were +pictures of dark, curious landscapes, but oftenest they were portraits of men +and women in queer, grand costumes made of satin and velvet. She found herself +in one long gallery whose walls were covered with these portraits. She had +never thought there could be so many in any house. She walked slowly down this +place and stared at the faces which also seemed to stare at her. She felt as if +they were wondering what a little girl from India was doing in their house. +Some were pictures of children—little girls in thick satin frocks which +reached to their feet and stood out about them, and boys with puffed sleeves +and lace collars and long hair, or with big ruffs around their necks. She +always stopped to look at the children, and wonder what their names were, and +where they had gone, and why they wore such odd clothes. There was a stiff, +plain little girl rather like herself. She wore a green brocade dress and held +a green parrot on her finger. Her eyes had a sharp, curious look. +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you live now?” said Mary aloud to her. “I wish you +were here.” +</p> + +<p> +Surely no other little girl ever spent such a queer morning. It seemed as if +there was no one in all the huge rambling house but her own small self, +wandering about upstairs and down, through narrow passages and wide ones, where +it seemed to her that no one but herself had ever walked. Since so many rooms +had been built, people must have lived in them, but it all seemed so empty that +she could not quite believe it true. +</p> + +<p> +It was not until she climbed to the second floor that she thought of turning +the handle of a door. All the doors were shut, as Mrs. Medlock had said they +were, but at last she put her hand on the handle of one of them and turned it. +She was almost frightened for a moment when she felt that it turned without +difficulty and that when she pushed upon the door itself it slowly and heavily +opened. It was a massive door and opened into a big bedroom. There were +embroidered hangings on the wall, and inlaid furniture such as she had seen in +India stood about the room. A broad window with leaded panes looked out upon +the moor; and over the mantel was another portrait of the stiff, plain little +girl who seemed to stare at her more curiously than ever. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps she slept here once,” said Mary. “She stares at me +so that she makes me feel queer.” +</p> + +<p> +After that she opened more doors and more. She saw so many rooms that she +became quite tired and began to think that there must be a hundred, though she +had not counted them. In all of them there were old pictures or old tapestries +with strange scenes worked on them. There were curious pieces of furniture and +curious ornaments in nearly all of them. +</p> + +<p> +In one room, which looked like a lady’s sitting-room, the hangings were +all embroidered velvet, and in a cabinet were about a hundred little elephants +made of ivory. They were of different sizes, and some had their mahouts or +palanquins on their backs. Some were much bigger than the others and some were +so tiny that they seemed only babies. Mary had seen carved ivory in India and +she knew all about elephants. She opened the door of the cabinet and stood on a +footstool and played with these for quite a long time. When she got tired she +set the elephants in order and shut the door of the cabinet. +</p> + +<p> +In all her wanderings through the long corridors and the empty rooms, she had +seen nothing alive; but in this room she saw something. Just after she had +closed the cabinet door she heard a tiny rustling sound. It made her jump and +look around at the sofa by the fireplace, from which it seemed to come. In the +corner of the sofa there was a cushion, and in the velvet which covered it +there was a hole, and out of the hole peeped a tiny head with a pair of +frightened eyes in it. +</p> + +<p> +Mary crept softly across the room to look. The bright eyes belonged to a little +gray mouse, and the mouse had eaten a hole into the cushion and made a +comfortable nest there. Six baby mice were cuddled up asleep near her. If there +was no one else alive in the hundred rooms there were seven mice who did not +look lonely at all. +</p> + +<p> +“If they wouldn’t be so frightened I would take them back with +me,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +She had wandered about long enough to feel too tired to wander any farther, and +she turned back. Two or three times she lost her way by turning down the wrong +corridor and was obliged to ramble up and down until she found the right one; +but at last she reached her own floor again, though she was some distance from +her own room and did not know exactly where she was. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe I have taken a wrong turning again,” she said, standing +still at what seemed the end of a short passage with tapestry on the wall. +“I don’t know which way to go. How still everything is!” +</p> + +<p> +It was while she was standing here and just after she had said this that the +stillness was broken by a sound. It was another cry, but not quite like the one +she had heard last night; it was only a short one, a fretful childish whine +muffled by passing through walls. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nearer than it was,” said Mary, her heart beating +rather faster. “And it <i>is</i> crying.” +</p> + +<p> +She put her hand accidentally upon the tapestry near her, and then sprang back, +feeling quite startled. The tapestry was the covering of a door which fell open +and showed her that there was another part of the corridor behind it, and Mrs. +Medlock was coming up it with her bunch of keys in her hand and a very cross +look on her face. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing here?” she said, and she took Mary by the arm +and pulled her away. “What did I tell you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I turned round the wrong corner,” explained Mary. “I +didn’t know which way to go and I heard someone crying.” She quite +hated Mrs. Medlock at the moment, but she hated her more the next. +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t hear anything of the sort,” said the housekeeper. +“You come along back to your own nursery or I’ll box your +ears.” +</p> + +<p> +And she took her by the arm and half pushed, half pulled her up one passage and +down another until she pushed her in at the door of her own room. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” she said, “you stay where you’re told to stay or +you’ll find yourself locked up. The master had better get you a +governess, same as he said he would. You’re one that needs someone to +look sharp after you. I’ve got enough to do.” +</p> + +<p> +She went out of the room and slammed the door after her, and Mary went and sat +on the hearth-rug, pale with rage. She did not cry, but ground her teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“There <i>was</i> someone crying—there <i>was</i>—there +<i>was!</i>” she said to herself. +</p> + +<p> +She had heard it twice now, and sometime she would find out. She had found out +a great deal this morning. She felt as if she had been on a long journey, and +at any rate she had had something to amuse her all the time, and she had played +with the ivory elephants and had seen the gray mouse and its babies in their +nest in the velvet cushion. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br /> +THE KEY TO THE GARDEN</h2> + +<p> +Two days after this, when Mary opened her eyes she sat upright in bed +immediately, and called to Martha. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at the moor! Look at the moor!” +</p> + +<p> +The rainstorm had ended and the gray mist and clouds had been swept away in the +night by the wind. The wind itself had ceased and a brilliant, deep blue sky +arched high over the moorland. Never, never had Mary dreamed of a sky so blue. +In India skies were hot and blazing; this was of a deep cool blue which almost +seemed to sparkle like the waters of some lovely bottomless lake, and here and +there, high, high in the arched blueness floated small clouds of snow-white +fleece. The far-reaching world of the moor itself looked softly blue instead of +gloomy purple-black or awful dreary gray. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye,” said Martha with a cheerful grin. “Th’ +storm’s over for a bit. It does like this at this time o’ th’ +year. It goes off in a night like it was pretendin’ it had never been +here an’ never meant to come again. That’s because th’ +springtime’s on its way. It’s a long way off yet, but it’s +comin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought perhaps it always rained or looked dark in England,” +Mary said. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! no!” said Martha, sitting up on her heels among her black lead +brushes. “Nowt o’ th’ soart!” +</p> + +<p> +“What does that mean?” asked Mary seriously. In India the natives +spoke different dialects which only a few people understood, so she was not +surprised when Martha used words she did not know. +</p> + +<p> +Martha laughed as she had done the first morning. +</p> + +<p> +“There now,” she said. “I’ve talked broad Yorkshire +again like Mrs. Medlock said I mustn’t. ‘Nowt o’ th’ +soart’ means ‘nothin’-of-the-sort,’” slowly and +carefully, “but it takes so long to say it. Yorkshire’s th’ +sunniest place on earth when it is sunny. I told thee tha’d like +th’ moor after a bit. Just you wait till you see th’ gold-colored +gorse blossoms an’ th’ blossoms o’ th’ broom, an’ +th’ heather flowerin’, all purple bells, an’ hundreds +o’ butterflies flutterin’ an’ bees hummin’ an’ +skylarks soarin’ up an’ singin’. You’ll want to get out +on it at sunrise an’ live out on it all day like Dickon does.” +</p> + +<p> +“Could I ever get there?” asked Mary wistfully, looking through her +window at the far-off blue. It was so new and big and wonderful and such a +heavenly color. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” answered Martha. “Tha’s never +used tha’ legs since tha’ was born, it seems to me. Tha’ +couldn’t walk five mile. It’s five mile to our cottage.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to see your cottage.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha stared at her a moment curiously before she took up her polishing brush +and began to rub the grate again. She was thinking that the small plain face +did not look quite as sour at this moment as it had done the first morning she +saw it. It looked just a trifle like little Susan Ann’s when she wanted +something very much. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll ask my mother about it,” she said. “She’s +one o’ them that nearly always sees a way to do things. It’s my day +out today an’ I’m goin’ home. Eh! I am glad. Mrs. Medlock +thinks a lot o’ mother. Perhaps she could talk to her.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like your mother,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“I should think tha’ did,” agreed Martha, polishing away. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never seen her,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“No, tha’ hasn’t,” replied Martha. +</p> + +<p> +She sat up on her heels again and rubbed the end of her nose with the back of +her hand as if puzzled for a moment, but she ended quite positively. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she’s that sensible an’ hard workin’ an’ +good-natured an’ clean that no one could help likin’ her whether +they’d seen her or not. When I’m goin’ home to her on my day +out I just jump for joy when I’m crossin’ the moor.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like Dickon,” added Mary. “And I’ve never seen +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Martha stoutly, “I’ve told thee that +th’ very birds likes him an’ th’ rabbits an’ wild sheep +an’ ponies, an’ th’ foxes themselves. I wonder,” +staring at her reflectively, “what Dickon would think of thee?” +</p> + +<p> +“He wouldn’t like me,” said Mary in her stiff, cold little +way. “No one does.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha looked reflective again. +</p> + +<p> +“How does tha’ like thysel’?” she inquired, really +quite as if she were curious to know. +</p> + +<p> +Mary hesitated a moment and thought it over. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all—really,” she answered. “But I never thought +of that before.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha grinned a little as if at some homely recollection. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother said that to me once,” she said. “She was at her +wash-tub an’ I was in a bad temper an’ talkin’ ill of folk, +an’ she turns round on me an’ says: ‘Tha’ young vixen, +tha’! There tha’ stands sayin’ tha’ doesn’t like +this one an’ tha’ doesn’t like that one. How does tha’ +like thysel’?’ It made me laugh an’ it brought me to my +senses in a minute.” +</p> + +<p> +She went away in high spirits as soon as she had given Mary her breakfast. She +was going to walk five miles across the moor to the cottage, and she was going +to help her mother with the washing and do the week’s baking and enjoy +herself thoroughly. +</p> + +<p> +Mary felt lonelier than ever when she knew she was no longer in the house. She +went out into the garden as quickly as possible, and the first thing she did +was to run round and round the fountain flower garden ten times. She counted +the times carefully and when she had finished she felt in better spirits. The +sunshine made the whole place look different. The high, deep, blue sky arched +over Misselthwaite as well as over the moor, and she kept lifting her face and +looking up into it, trying to imagine what it would be like to lie down on one +of the little snow-white clouds and float about. She went into the first +kitchen-garden and found Ben Weatherstaff working there with two other +gardeners. The change in the weather seemed to have done him good. He spoke to +her of his own accord. +</p> + +<p> +“Springtime’s comin,’” he said. “Cannot +tha’ smell it?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary sniffed and thought she could. +</p> + +<p> +“I smell something nice and fresh and damp,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s th’ good rich earth,” he answered, digging +away. “It’s in a good humor makin’ ready to grow things. +It’s glad when plantin’ time comes. It’s dull in th’ +winter when it’s got nowt to do. In th’ flower gardens out there +things will be stirrin’ down below in th’ dark. Th’ +sun’s warmin’ ’em. You’ll see bits o’ green +spikes stickin’ out o’ th’ black earth after a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +“What will they be?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Crocuses an’ snowdrops an’ daffydowndillys. Has tha’ +never seen them?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Everything is hot, and wet, and green after the rains in +India,” said Mary. “And I think things grow up in a night.” +</p> + +<p> +“These won’t grow up in a night,” said Weatherstaff. +“Tha’ll have to wait for ’em. They’ll poke up a bit +higher here, an’ push out a spike more there, an’ uncurl a leaf +this day an’ another that. You watch ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to,” answered Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Very soon she heard the soft rustling flight of wings again and she knew at +once that the robin had come again. He was very pert and lively, and hopped +about so close to her feet, and put his head on one side and looked at her so +slyly that she asked Ben Weatherstaff a question. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think he remembers me?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Remembers thee!” said Weatherstaff indignantly. “He knows +every cabbage stump in th’ gardens, let alone th’ people. +He’s never seen a little wench here before, an’ he’s bent on +findin’ out all about thee. Tha’s no need to try to hide anything +from <i>him</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are things stirring down below in the dark in that garden where he +lives?” Mary inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“What garden?” grunted Weatherstaff, becoming surly again. +</p> + +<p> +“The one where the old rose-trees are.” She could not help asking, +because she wanted so much to know. “Are all the flowers dead, or do some +of them come again in the summer? Are there ever any roses?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ask him,” said Ben Weatherstaff, hunching his shoulders toward the +robin. “He’s the only one as knows. No one else has seen inside it +for ten year’.” +</p> + +<p> +Ten years was a long time, Mary thought. She had been born ten years ago. +</p> + +<p> +She walked away, slowly thinking. She had begun to like the garden just as she +had begun to like the robin and Dickon and Martha’s mother. She was +beginning to like Martha, too. That seemed a good many people to +like—when you were not used to liking. She thought of the robin as one of +the people. She went to her walk outside the long, ivy-covered wall over which +she could see the tree-tops; and the second time she walked up and down the +most interesting and exciting thing happened to her, and it was all through Ben +Weatherstaff’s robin. +</p> + +<p> +She heard a chirp and a twitter, and when she looked at the bare flower-bed at +her left side there he was hopping about and pretending to peck things out of +the earth to persuade her that he had not followed her. But she knew he had +followed her and the surprise so filled her with delight that she almost +trembled a little. +</p> + +<p> +“You do remember me!” she cried out. “You do! You are +prettier than anything else in the world!” +</p> + +<p> +She chirped, and talked, and coaxed and he hopped, and flirted his tail and +twittered. It was as if he were talking. His red waistcoat was like satin and +he puffed his tiny breast out and was so fine and so grand and so pretty that +it was really as if he were showing her how important and like a human person a +robin could be. Mistress Mary forgot that she had ever been contrary in her +life when he allowed her to draw closer and closer to him, and bend down and +talk and try to make something like robin sounds. +</p> + +<p> +Oh! to think that he should actually let her come as near to him as that! He +knew nothing in the world would make her put out her hand toward him or startle +him in the least tiniest way. He knew it because he was a real +person—only nicer than any other person in the world. She was so happy +that she scarcely dared to breathe. +</p> + +<p> +The flower-bed was not quite bare. It was bare of flowers because the perennial +plants had been cut down for their winter rest, but there were tall shrubs and +low ones which grew together at the back of the bed, and as the robin hopped +about under them she saw him hop over a small pile of freshly turned up earth. +He stopped on it to look for a worm. The earth had been turned up because a dog +had been trying to dig up a mole and he had scratched quite a deep hole. +</p> + +<p> +Mary looked at it, not really knowing why the hole was there, and as she looked +she saw something almost buried in the newly-turned soil. It was something like +a ring of rusty iron or brass and when the robin flew up into a tree nearby she +put out her hand and picked the ring up. It was more than a ring, however; it +was an old key which looked as if it had been buried a long time. +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Mary stood up and looked at it with an almost frightened face as it +hung from her finger. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it has been buried for ten years,” she said in a whisper. +“Perhaps it is the key to the garden!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br /> +THE ROBIN WHO SHOWED THE WAY</h2> + +<p> +She looked at the key quite a long time. She turned it over and over, and +thought about it. As I have said before, she was not a child who had been +trained to ask permission or consult her elders about things. All she thought +about the key was that if it was the key to the closed garden, and she could +find out where the door was, she could perhaps open it and see what was inside +the walls, and what had happened to the old rose-trees. It was because it had +been shut up so long that she wanted to see it. It seemed as if it must be +different from other places and that something strange must have happened to it +during ten years. Besides that, if she liked it she could go into it every day +and shut the door behind her, and she could make up some play of her own and +play it quite alone, because nobody would ever know where she was, but would +think the door was still locked and the key buried in the earth. The thought of +that pleased her very much. +</p> + +<p> +Living as it were, all by herself in a house with a hundred mysteriously closed +rooms and having nothing whatever to do to amuse herself, had set her inactive +brain to working and was actually awakening her imagination. There is no doubt +that the fresh, strong, pure air from the moor had a great deal to do with it. +Just as it had given her an appetite, and fighting with the wind had stirred +her blood, so the same things had stirred her mind. In India she had always +been too hot and languid and weak to care much about anything, but in this +place she was beginning to care and to want to do new things. Already she felt +less “contrary,” though she did not know why. +</p> + +<p> +She put the key in her pocket and walked up and down her walk. No one but +herself ever seemed to come there, so she could walk slowly and look at the +wall, or, rather, at the ivy growing on it. The ivy was the baffling thing. +Howsoever carefully she looked she could see nothing but thickly growing, +glossy, dark green leaves. She was very much disappointed. Something of her +contrariness came back to her as she paced the walk and looked over it at the +tree-tops inside. It seemed so silly, she said to herself, to be near it and +not be able to get in. She took the key in her pocket when she went back to the +house, and she made up her mind that she would always carry it with her when +she went out, so that if she ever should find the hidden door she would be +ready. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Medlock had allowed Martha to sleep all night at the cottage, but she was +back at her work in the morning with cheeks redder than ever and in the best of +spirits. +</p> + +<p> +“I got up at four o’clock,” she said. “Eh! it was +pretty on th’ moor with th’ birds gettin’ up an’ +th’ rabbits scamperin’ about an’ th’ sun risin’. +I didn’t walk all th’ way. A man gave me a ride in his cart +an’ I did enjoy myself.” +</p> + +<p> +She was full of stories of the delights of her day out. Her mother had been +glad to see her and they had got the baking and washing all out of the way. She +had even made each of the children a doughcake with a bit of brown sugar in it. +</p> + +<p> +“I had ’em all pipin’ hot when they came in from +playin’ on th’ moor. An’ th’ cottage all smelt o’ +nice, clean hot bakin’ an’ there was a good fire, an’ they +just shouted for joy. Our Dickon he said our cottage was good enough for a +king to live in.” +</p> + +<p> +In the evening they had all sat round the fire, and Martha and her mother had +sewed patches on torn clothes and mended stockings and Martha had told them +about the little girl who had come from India and who had been waited on all +her life by what Martha called “blacks” until she didn’t know +how to put on her own stockings. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! they did like to hear about you,” said Martha. “They +wanted to know all about th’ blacks an’ about th’ ship you +came in. I couldn’t tell ’em enough.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary reflected a little. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you a great deal more before your next day out,” +she said, “so that you will have more to talk about. I dare say they +would like to hear about riding on elephants and camels, and about the officers +going to hunt tigers.” +</p> + +<p> +“My word!” cried delighted Martha. “It would set ’em +clean off their heads. Would tha’ really do that, Miss? It would be same +as a wild beast show like we heard they had in York once.” +</p> + +<p> +“India is quite different from Yorkshire,” Mary said slowly, as she +thought the matter over. “I never thought of that. Did Dickon and your +mother like to hear you talk about me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, our Dickon’s eyes nearly started out o’ his head, they +got that round,” answered Martha. “But mother, she was put out +about your seemin’ to be all by yourself like. She said, +‘Hasn’t Mr. Craven got no governess for her, nor no nurse?’ +and I said, ‘No, he hasn’t, though Mrs. Medlock says he will when +he thinks of it, but she says he mayn’t think of it for two or three +years.’” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want a governess,” said Mary sharply. +</p> + +<p> +“But mother says you ought to be learnin’ your book by this time +an’ you ought to have a woman to look after you, an’ she says: +‘Now, Martha, you just think how you’d feel yourself, in a big +place like that, wanderin’ about all alone, an’ no mother. You do +your best to cheer her up,’ she says, an’ I said I would.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary gave her a long, steady look. +</p> + +<p> +“You do cheer me up,” she said. “I like to hear you +talk.” +</p> + +<p> +Presently Martha went out of the room and came back with something held in her +hands under her apron. +</p> + +<p> +“What does tha’ think,” she said, with a cheerful grin. +“I’ve brought thee a present.” +</p> + +<p> +“A present!” exclaimed Mistress Mary. How could a cottage full of +fourteen hungry people give anyone a present! +</p> + +<p> +“A man was drivin’ across the moor peddlin’,” Martha +explained. “An’ he stopped his cart at our door. He had pots +an’ pans an’ odds an’ ends, but mother had no money to buy +anythin’. Just as he was goin’ away our ’Lizabeth Ellen +called out, ‘Mother, he’s got skippin’-ropes with red +an’ blue handles.’ An’ mother she calls out quite sudden, +‘Here, stop, mister! How much are they?’ An’ he says +‘Tuppence’, an’ mother she began fumblin’ in her pocket +an’ she says to me, ‘Martha, tha’s brought me thy wages like +a good lass, an’ I’ve got four places to put every penny, but +I’m just goin’ to take tuppence out of it to buy that child a +skippin’-rope,’ an’ she bought one an’ here it +is.” +</p> + +<p> +She brought it out from under her apron and exhibited it quite proudly. It was +a strong, slender rope with a striped red and blue handle at each end, but Mary +Lennox had never seen a skipping-rope before. She gazed at it with a mystified +expression. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it for?” she asked curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“For!” cried out Martha. “Does tha’ mean that +they’ve not got skippin’-ropes in India, for all they’ve got +elephants and tigers and camels! No wonder most of ’em’s black. +This is what it’s for; just watch me.” +</p> + +<p> +And she ran into the middle of the room and, taking a handle in each hand, +began to skip, and skip, and skip, while Mary turned in her chair to stare at +her, and the queer faces in the old portraits seemed to stare at her, too, and +wonder what on earth this common little cottager had the impudence to be doing +under their very noses. But Martha did not even see them. The interest and +curiosity in Mistress Mary’s face delighted her, and she went on skipping +and counted as she skipped until she had reached a hundred. +</p> + +<p> +“I could skip longer than that,” she said when she stopped. +“I’ve skipped as much as five hundred when I was twelve, but I +wasn’t as fat then as I am now, an’ I was in practice.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary got up from her chair beginning to feel excited herself. +</p> + +<p> +“It looks nice,” she said. “Your mother is a kind woman. Do +you think I could ever skip like that?” +</p> + +<p> +“You just try it,” urged Martha, handing her the skipping-rope. +“You can’t skip a hundred at first, but if you practice +you’ll mount up. That’s what mother said. She says, +‘Nothin’ will do her more good than skippin’ rope. It’s +th’ sensiblest toy a child can have. Let her play out in th’ fresh +air skippin’ an’ it’ll stretch her legs an’ arms +an’ give her some strength in ’em.’” +</p> + +<p> +It was plain that there was not a great deal of strength in Mistress +Mary’s arms and legs when she first began to skip. She was not very +clever at it, but she liked it so much that she did not want to stop. +</p> + +<p> +“Put on tha’ things and run an’ skip out o’ +doors,” said Martha. “Mother said I must tell you to keep out +o’ doors as much as you could, even when it rains a bit, so as tha’ +wrap up warm.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary put on her coat and hat and took her skipping-rope over her arm. She +opened the door to go out, and then suddenly thought of something and turned +back rather slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“Martha,” she said, “they were your wages. It was your +two-pence really. Thank you.” She said it stiffly because she was not +used to thanking people or noticing that they did things for her. “Thank +you,” she said, and held out her hand because she did not know what else +to do. +</p> + +<p> +Martha gave her hand a clumsy little shake, as if she was not accustomed to +this sort of thing either. Then she laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! th’ art a queer, old-womanish thing,” she said. +“If tha’d been our ’Lizabeth Ellen tha’d have given me +a kiss.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary looked stiffer than ever. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want me to kiss you?” +</p> + +<p> +Martha laughed again. +</p> + +<p> +“Nay, not me,” she answered. “If tha’ was different, +p’raps tha’d want to thysel’. But tha’ isn’t. Run +off outside an’ play with thy rope.” +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Mary felt a little awkward as she went out of the room. Yorkshire +people seemed strange, and Martha was always rather a puzzle to her. At first +she had disliked her very much, but now she did not. The skipping-rope was a +wonderful thing. She counted and skipped, and skipped and counted, until her +cheeks were quite red, and she was more interested than she had ever been since +she was born. The sun was shining and a little wind was blowing—not a +rough wind, but one which came in delightful little gusts and brought a fresh +scent of newly turned earth with it. She skipped round the fountain garden, and +up one walk and down another. She skipped at last into the kitchen-garden and +saw Ben Weatherstaff digging and talking to his robin, which was hopping about +him. She skipped down the walk toward him and he lifted his head and looked at +her with a curious expression. She had wondered if he would notice her. She +wanted him to see her skip. +</p> + +<p> +“Well!” he exclaimed. “Upon my word. P’raps tha’ +art a young ’un, after all, an’ p’raps tha’s got +child’s blood in thy veins instead of sour buttermilk. Tha’s +skipped red into thy cheeks as sure as my name’s Ben Weatherstaff. I +wouldn’t have believed tha’ could do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never skipped before,” Mary said. “I’m just +beginning. I can only go up to twenty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ keep on,” said Ben. “Tha’ shapes well +enough at it for a young ’un that’s lived with heathen. Just see +how he’s watchin’ thee,” jerking his head toward the robin. +“He followed after thee yesterday. He’ll be at it again today. +He’ll be bound to find out what th’ skippin’-rope is. +He’s never seen one. Eh!” shaking his head at the bird, +“tha’ curiosity will be th’ death of thee sometime if +tha’ doesn’t look sharp.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary skipped round all the gardens and round the orchard, resting every few +minutes. At length she went to her own special walk and made up her mind to try +if she could skip the whole length of it. It was a good long skip and she began +slowly, but before she had gone half-way down the path she was so hot and +breathless that she was obliged to stop. She did not mind much, because she had +already counted up to thirty. She stopped with a little laugh of pleasure, and +there, lo and behold, was the robin swaying on a long branch of ivy. He had +followed her and he greeted her with a chirp. As Mary had skipped toward him +she felt something heavy in her pocket strike against her at each jump, and +when she saw the robin she laughed again. +</p> + +<p> +“You showed me where the key was yesterday,” she said. “You +ought to show me the door today; but I don’t believe you know!” +</p> + +<p> +The robin flew from his swinging spray of ivy on to the top of the wall and he +opened his beak and sang a loud, lovely trill, merely to show off. Nothing in +the world is quite as adorably lovely as a robin when he shows off—and +they are nearly always doing it. +</p> + +<p> +Mary Lennox had heard a great deal about Magic in her Ayah’s stories, and +she always said that what happened almost at that moment was Magic. +</p> + +<p> +One of the nice little gusts of wind rushed down the walk, and it was a +stronger one than the rest. It was strong enough to wave the branches of the +trees, and it was more than strong enough to sway the trailing sprays of +untrimmed ivy hanging from the wall. Mary had stepped close to the robin, and +suddenly the gust of wind swung aside some loose ivy trails, and more suddenly +still she jumped toward it and caught it in her hand. This she did because she +had seen something under it—a round knob which had been covered by the +leaves hanging over it. It was the knob of a door. +</p> + +<p> +She put her hands under the leaves and began to pull and push them aside. Thick +as the ivy hung, it nearly all was a loose and swinging curtain, though some +had crept over wood and iron. Mary’s heart began to thump and her hands +to shake a little in her delight and excitement. The robin kept singing and +twittering away and tilting his head on one side, as if he were as excited as +she was. What was this under her hands which was square and made of iron and +which her fingers found a hole in? +</p> + +<p> +It was the lock of the door which had been closed ten years and she put her +hand in her pocket, drew out the key and found it fitted the keyhole. She put +the key in and turned it. It took two hands to do it, but it did turn. +</p> + +<p> +And then she took a long breath and looked behind her up the long walk to see +if anyone was coming. No one was coming. No one ever did come, it seemed, and +she took another long breath, because she could not help it, and she held back +the swinging curtain of ivy and pushed back the door which opened +slowly—slowly. +</p> + +<p> +Then she slipped through it, and shut it behind her, and stood with her back +against it, looking about her and breathing quite fast with excitement, and +wonder, and delight. +</p> + +<p> +She was standing <i>inside</i> the secret garden. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br /> +THE STRANGEST HOUSE ANYONE EVER LIVED IN</h2> + +<p> +It was the sweetest, most mysterious-looking place anyone could imagine. The +high walls which shut it in were covered with the leafless stems of climbing +roses which were so thick that they were matted together. Mary Lennox knew they +were roses because she had seen a great many roses in India. All the ground was +covered with grass of a wintry brown and out of it grew clumps of bushes which +were surely rosebushes if they were alive. There were numbers of standard roses +which had so spread their branches that they were like little trees. There were +other trees in the garden, and one of the things which made the place look +strangest and loveliest was that climbing roses had run all over them and swung +down long tendrils which made light swaying curtains, and here and there they +had caught at each other or at a far-reaching branch and had crept from one +tree to another and made lovely bridges of themselves. There were neither +leaves nor roses on them now and Mary did not know whether they were dead or +alive, but their thin gray or brown branches and sprays looked like a sort of +hazy mantle spreading over everything, walls, and trees, and even brown grass, +where they had fallen from their fastenings and run along the ground. It was +this hazy tangle from tree to tree which made it all look so mysterious. Mary +had thought it must be different from other gardens which had not been left all +by themselves so long; and indeed it was different from any other place she had +ever seen in her life. +</p> + +<p> +“How still it is!” she whispered. “How still!” +</p> + +<p> +Then she waited a moment and listened at the stillness. The robin, who had +flown to his treetop, was still as all the rest. He did not even flutter his +wings; he sat without stirring, and looked at Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“No wonder it is still,” she whispered again. “I am the first +person who has spoken in here for ten years.” +</p> + +<p> +She moved away from the door, stepping as softly as if she were afraid of +awakening someone. She was glad that there was grass under her feet and that +her steps made no sounds. She walked under one of the fairy-like gray arches +between the trees and looked up at the sprays and tendrils which formed them. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if they are all quite dead,” she said. “Is it all a +quite dead garden? I wish it wasn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +If she had been Ben Weatherstaff she could have told whether the wood was alive +by looking at it, but she could only see that there were only gray or brown +sprays and branches and none showed any signs of even a tiny leaf-bud anywhere. +</p> + +<p> +But she was <i>inside</i> the wonderful garden and she could come through the +door under the ivy any time and she felt as if she had found a world all her +own. +</p> + +<p> +The sun was shining inside the four walls and the high arch of blue sky over +this particular piece of Misselthwaite seemed even more brilliant and soft than +it was over the moor. The robin flew down from his tree-top and hopped about or +flew after her from one bush to another. He chirped a good deal and had a very +busy air, as if he were showing her things. Everything was strange and silent +and she seemed to be hundreds of miles away from anyone, but somehow she did +not feel lonely at all. All that troubled her was her wish that she knew +whether all the roses were dead, or if perhaps some of them had lived and might +put out leaves and buds as the weather got warmer. She did not want it to be a +quite dead garden. If it were a quite alive garden, how wonderful it would be, +and what thousands of roses would grow on every side! +</p> + +<p> +Her skipping-rope had hung over her arm when she came in and after she had +walked about for a while she thought she would skip round the whole garden, +stopping when she wanted to look at things. There seemed to have been grass +paths here and there, and in one or two corners there were alcoves of evergreen +with stone seats or tall moss-covered flower urns in them. +</p> + +<p> +As she came near the second of these alcoves she stopped skipping. There had +once been a flowerbed in it, and she thought she saw something sticking out of +the black earth—some sharp little pale green points. She remembered what +Ben Weatherstaff had said and she knelt down to look at them. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, they are tiny growing things and they <i>might</i> be crocuses or +snowdrops or daffodils,” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +She bent very close to them and sniffed the fresh scent of the damp earth. She +liked it very much. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps there are some other ones coming up in other places,” she +said. “I will go all over the garden and look.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not skip, but walked. She went slowly and kept her eyes on the ground. +She looked in the old border beds and among the grass, and after she had gone +round, trying to miss nothing, she had found ever so many more sharp, pale +green points, and she had become quite excited again. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t a quite dead garden,” she cried out softly to +herself. “Even if the roses are dead, there are other things +alive.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not know anything about gardening, but the grass seemed so thick in +some of the places where the green points were pushing their way through that +she thought they did not seem to have room enough to grow. She searched about +until she found a rather sharp piece of wood and knelt down and dug and weeded +out the weeds and grass until she made nice little clear places around them. +</p> + +<p> +“Now they look as if they could breathe,” she said, after she had +finished with the first ones. “I am going to do ever so many more. +I’ll do all I can see. If I haven’t time today I can come +tomorrow.” +</p> + +<p> +She went from place to place, and dug and weeded, and enjoyed herself so +immensely that she was led on from bed to bed and into the grass under the +trees. The exercise made her so warm that she first threw her coat off, and +then her hat, and without knowing it she was smiling down on to the grass and +the pale green points all the time. +</p> + +<p> +The robin was tremendously busy. He was very much pleased to see gardening +begun on his own estate. He had often wondered at Ben Weatherstaff. Where +gardening is done all sorts of delightful things to eat are turned up with the +soil. Now here was this new kind of creature who was not half Ben’s size +and yet had had the sense to come into his garden and begin at once. +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Mary worked in her garden until it was time to go to her midday +dinner. In fact, she was rather late in remembering, and when she put on her +coat and hat, and picked up her skipping-rope, she could not believe that she +had been working two or three hours. She had been actually happy all the time; +and dozens and dozens of the tiny, pale green points were to be seen in cleared +places, looking twice as cheerful as they had looked before when the grass and +weeds had been smothering them. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall come back this afternoon,” she said, looking all round at +her new kingdom, and speaking to the trees and the rose-bushes as if they heard +her. +</p> + +<p> +Then she ran lightly across the grass, pushed open the slow old door and +slipped through it under the ivy. She had such red cheeks and such bright eyes +and ate such a dinner that Martha was delighted. +</p> + +<p> +“Two pieces o’ meat an’ two helps o’ rice +puddin’!” she said. “Eh! mother will be pleased when I tell +her what th’ skippin’-rope’s done for thee.” +</p> + +<p> +In the course of her digging with her pointed stick Mistress Mary had found +herself digging up a sort of white root rather like an onion. She had put it +back in its place and patted the earth carefully down on it and just now she +wondered if Martha could tell her what it was. +</p> + +<p> +“Martha,” she said, “what are those white roots that look +like onions?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re bulbs,” answered Martha. “Lots o’ spring +flowers grow from ’em. Th’ very little ones are snowdrops an’ +crocuses an’ th’ big ones are narcissuses an’ jonquils and +daffydowndillys. Th’ biggest of all is lilies an’ purple flags. Eh! +they are nice. Dickon’s got a whole lot of ’em planted in our bit +o’ garden.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does Dickon know all about them?” asked Mary, a new idea taking +possession of her. +</p> + +<p> +“Our Dickon can make a flower grow out of a brick walk. Mother says he +just whispers things out o’ th’ ground.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do bulbs live a long time? Would they live years and years if no one +helped them?” inquired Mary anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re things as helps themselves,” said Martha. +“That’s why poor folk can afford to have ’em. If you +don’t trouble ’em, most of ’em’ll work away underground +for a lifetime an’ spread out an’ have little ’uns. +There’s a place in th’ park woods here where there’s +snowdrops by thousands. They’re the prettiest sight in Yorkshire when +th’ spring comes. No one knows when they was first planted.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish the spring was here now,” said Mary. “I want to see +all the things that grow in England.” +</p> + +<p> +She had finished her dinner and gone to her favorite seat on the hearth-rug. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish—I wish I had a little spade,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Whatever does tha’ want a spade for?” asked Martha, +laughing. “Art tha’ goin’ to take to diggin’? I must +tell mother that, too.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary looked at the fire and pondered a little. She must be careful if she meant +to keep her secret kingdom. She wasn’t doing any harm, but if Mr. Craven +found out about the open door he would be fearfully angry and get a new key and +lock it up forevermore. She really could not bear that. +</p> + +<p> +“This is such a big lonely place,” she said slowly, as if she were +turning matters over in her mind. “The house is lonely, and the park is +lonely, and the gardens are lonely. So many places seem shut up. I never did +many things in India, but there were more people to look at—natives and +soldiers marching by—and sometimes bands playing, and my Ayah told me +stories. There is no one to talk to here except you and Ben Weatherstaff. And +you have to do your work and Ben Weatherstaff won’t speak to me often. I +thought if I had a little spade I could dig somewhere as he does, and I might +make a little garden if he would give me some seeds.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha’s face quite lighted up. +</p> + +<p> +“There now!” she exclaimed, “if that wasn’t one of +th’ things mother said. She says, ‘There’s such a lot +o’ room in that big place, why don’t they give her a bit for +herself, even if she doesn’t plant nothin’ but parsley an’ +radishes? She’d dig an’ rake away an’ be right down happy +over it.’ Them was the very words she said.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were they?” said Mary. “How many things she knows, +doesn’t she?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” said Martha. “It’s like she says: ‘A woman +as brings up twelve children learns something besides her A B C. +Children’s as good as ’rithmetic to set you findin’ out +things.’” +</p> + +<p> +“How much would a spade cost—a little one?” Mary asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” was Martha’s reflective answer, “at Thwaite +village there’s a shop or so an’ I saw little garden sets with a +spade an’ a rake an’ a fork all tied together for two shillings. +An’ they was stout enough to work with, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got more than that in my purse,” said Mary. “Mrs. +Morrison gave me five shillings and Mrs. Medlock gave me some money from Mr. +Craven.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he remember thee that much?” exclaimed Martha. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Medlock said I was to have a shilling a week to spend. She gives me +one every Saturday. I didn’t know what to spend it on.” +</p> + +<p> +“My word! that’s riches,” said Martha. “Tha’ can +buy anything in th’ world tha’ wants. Th’ rent of our cottage +is only one an’ threepence an’ it’s like pullin’ +eye-teeth to get it. Now I’ve just thought of somethin’,” +putting her hands on her hips. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” said Mary eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“In the shop at Thwaite they sell packages o’ flower-seeds for a +penny each, and our Dickon he knows which is th’ prettiest ones an’ +how to make ’em grow. He walks over to Thwaite many a day just for +th’ fun of it. Does tha’ know how to print letters?” +suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +“I know how to write,” Mary answered. +</p> + +<p> +Martha shook her head. +</p> + +<p> +“Our Dickon can only read printin’. If tha’ could print we +could write a letter to him an’ ask him to go an’ buy th’ +garden tools an’ th’ seeds at th’ same time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! you’re a good girl!” Mary cried. “You are, really! +I didn’t know you were so nice. I know I can print letters if I try. +Let’s ask Mrs. Medlock for a pen and ink and some paper.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got some of my own,” said Martha. “I bought +’em so I could print a bit of a letter to mother of a Sunday. I’ll +go and get it.” +</p> + +<p> +She ran out of the room, and Mary stood by the fire and twisted her thin little +hands together with sheer pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +“If I have a spade,” she whispered, “I can make the earth +nice and soft and dig up weeds. If I have seeds and can make flowers grow the +garden won’t be dead at all—it will come alive.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not go out again that afternoon because when Martha returned with her +pen and ink and paper she was obliged to clear the table and carry the plates +and dishes downstairs and when she got into the kitchen Mrs. Medlock was there +and told her to do something, so Mary waited for what seemed to her a long time +before she came back. Then it was a serious piece of work to write to Dickon. +Mary had been taught very little because her governesses had disliked her too +much to stay with her. She could not spell particularly well but she found that +she could print letters when she tried. This was the letter Martha dictated to +her: +</p> + +<blockquote> <div> + +<p class="noindent"> +“<i>My Dear Dickon:</i> +</p> + +<p> +This comes hoping to find you well as it leaves me at present. Miss Mary has +plenty of money and will you go to Thwaite and buy her some flower seeds and a +set of garden tools to make a flower-bed. Pick the prettiest ones and easy to +grow because she has never done it before and lived in India which is +different. Give my love to mother and everyone of you. Miss Mary is going to +tell me a lot more so that on my next day out you can hear about elephants and +camels and gentlemen going hunting lions and tigers. +</p> + +<p> + “Your loving sister,<br /> + “Martha Phœbe Sowerby.”<br /> +</p> + +</div> </blockquote> + +<p> +“We’ll put the money in th’ envelope an’ I’ll get +th’ butcher boy to take it in his cart. He’s a great friend +o’ Dickon’s,” said Martha. +</p> + +<p> +“How shall I get the things when Dickon buys them?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll bring ’em to you himself. He’ll like to walk +over this way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” exclaimed Mary, “then I shall see him! I never thought +I should see Dickon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does tha’ want to see him?” asked Martha suddenly, for Mary +had looked so pleased. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do. I never saw a boy foxes and crows loved. I want to see him +very much.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha gave a little start, as if she remembered something. +</p> + +<p> +“Now to think,” she broke out, “to think o’ me +forgettin’ that there; an’ I thought I was goin’ to tell you +first thing this mornin’. I asked mother—and she said she’d +ask Mrs. Medlock her own self.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean—” Mary began. +</p> + +<p> +“What I said Tuesday. Ask her if you might be driven over to our cottage +some day and have a bit o’ mother’s hot oat cake, an’ butter, +an’ a glass o’ milk.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed as if all the interesting things were happening in one day. To think +of going over the moor in the daylight and when the sky was blue! To think of +going into the cottage which held twelve children! +</p> + +<p> +“Does she think Mrs. Medlock would let me go?” she asked, quite +anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, she thinks she would. She knows what a tidy woman mother is and how +clean she keeps the cottage.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I went I should see your mother as well as Dickon,” said Mary, +thinking it over and liking the idea very much. “She doesn’t seem +to be like the mothers in India.” +</p> + +<p> +Her work in the garden and the excitement of the afternoon ended by making her +feel quiet and thoughtful. Martha stayed with her until tea-time, but they sat +in comfortable quiet and talked very little. But just before Martha went +downstairs for the tea-tray, Mary asked a question. +</p> + +<p> +“Martha,” she said, “has the scullery-maid had the toothache +again today?” +</p> + +<p> +Martha certainly started slightly. +</p> + +<p> +“What makes thee ask that?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Because when I waited so long for you to come back I opened the door and +walked down the corridor to see if you were coming. And I heard that far-off +crying again, just as we heard it the other night. There isn’t a wind +today, so you see it couldn’t have been the wind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” said Martha restlessly. “Tha’ mustn’t go +walkin’ about in corridors an’ listenin’. Mr. Craven would be +that there angry there’s no knowin’ what he’d do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t listening,” said Mary. “I was just waiting +for you—and I heard it. That’s three times.” +</p> + +<p> +“My word! There’s Mrs. Medlock’s bell,” said Martha, +and she almost ran out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the strangest house anyone ever lived in,” said Mary +drowsily, as she dropped her head on the cushioned seat of the armchair near +her. Fresh air, and digging, and skipping-rope had made her feel so comfortably +tired that she fell asleep. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br /> +DICKON</h2> + +<p> +The sun shone down for nearly a week on the secret garden. The Secret Garden +was what Mary called it when she was thinking of it. She liked the name, and +she liked still more the feeling that when its beautiful old walls shut her in +no one knew where she was. It seemed almost like being shut out of the world in +some fairy place. The few books she had read and liked had been fairy-story +books, and she had read of secret gardens in some of the stories. Sometimes +people went to sleep in them for a hundred years, which she had thought must be +rather stupid. She had no intention of going to sleep, and, in fact, she was +becoming wider awake every day which passed at Misselthwaite. She was beginning +to like to be out of doors; she no longer hated the wind, but enjoyed it. She +could run faster, and longer, and she could skip up to a hundred. The bulbs in +the secret garden must have been much astonished. Such nice clear places were +made round them that they had all the breathing space they wanted, and really, +if Mistress Mary had known it, they began to cheer up under the dark earth and +work tremendously. The sun could get at them and warm them, and when the rain +came down it could reach them at once, so they began to feel very much alive. +</p> + +<p> +Mary was an odd, determined little person, and now she had something +interesting to be determined about, she was very much absorbed, indeed. She +worked and dug and pulled up weeds steadily, only becoming more pleased with +her work every hour instead of tiring of it. It seemed to her like a +fascinating sort of play. She found many more of the sprouting pale green +points than she had ever hoped to find. They seemed to be starting up +everywhere and each day she was sure she found tiny new ones, some so tiny that +they barely peeped above the earth. There were so many that she remembered what +Martha had said about the “snowdrops by the thousands,” and about +bulbs spreading and making new ones. These had been left to themselves for ten +years and perhaps they had spread, like the snowdrops, into thousands. She +wondered how long it would be before they showed that they were flowers. +Sometimes she stopped digging to look at the garden and try to imagine what it +would be like when it was covered with thousands of lovely things in bloom. +</p> + +<p> +During that week of sunshine, she became more intimate with Ben Weatherstaff. +She surprised him several times by seeming to start up beside him as if she +sprang out of the earth. The truth was that she was afraid that he would pick +up his tools and go away if he saw her coming, so she always walked toward him +as silently as possible. But, in fact, he did not object to her as strongly as +he had at first. Perhaps he was secretly rather flattered by her evident desire +for his elderly company. Then, also, she was more civil than she had been. He +did not know that when she first saw him she spoke to him as she would have +spoken to a native, and had not known that a cross, sturdy old Yorkshire man +was not accustomed to salaam to his masters, and be merely commanded by them to +do things. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’rt like th’ robin,” he said to her one morning +when he lifted his head and saw her standing by him. “I never knows when +I shall see thee or which side tha’ll come from.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s friends with me now,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s like him,” snapped Ben Weatherstaff. +“Makin’ up to th’ women folk just for vanity an’ +flightiness. There’s nothin’ he wouldn’t do for th’ +sake o’ showin’ off an’ flirtin’ his tail-feathers. +He’s as full o’ pride as an egg’s full o’ meat.” +</p> + +<p> +He very seldom talked much and sometimes did not even answer Mary’s +questions except by a grunt, but this morning he said more than usual. He stood +up and rested one hobnailed boot on the top of his spade while he looked her +over. +</p> + +<p> +“How long has tha’ been here?” he jerked out. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it’s about a month,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’s beginnin’ to do Misselthwaite credit,” he said. +“Tha’s a bit fatter than tha’ was an’ tha’s not +quite so yeller. Tha’ looked like a young plucked crow when tha’ +first came into this garden. Thinks I to myself I never set eyes on an uglier, +sourer faced young ’un.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary was not vain and as she had never thought much of her looks she was not +greatly disturbed. +</p> + +<p> +“I know I’m fatter,” she said. “My stockings are +getting tighter. They used to make wrinkles. There’s the robin, Ben +Weatherstaff.” +</p> + +<p> +There, indeed, was the robin, and she thought he looked nicer than ever. His +red waistcoat was as glossy as satin and he flirted his wings and tail and +tilted his head and hopped about with all sorts of lively graces. He seemed +determined to make Ben Weatherstaff admire him. But Ben was sarcastic. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, there tha’ art!” he said. “Tha’ can put up +with me for a bit sometimes when tha’s got no one better. Tha’s +been reddenin’ up thy waistcoat an’ polishin’ thy feathers +this two weeks. I know what tha’s up to. Tha’s courtin’ some +bold young madam somewhere tellin’ thy lies to her about bein’ +th’ finest cock robin on Missel Moor an’ ready to fight all +th’ rest of ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! look at him!” exclaimed Mary. +</p> + +<p> +The robin was evidently in a fascinating, bold mood. He hopped closer and +closer and looked at Ben Weatherstaff more and more engagingly. He flew on to +the nearest currant bush and tilted his head and sang a little song right at +him. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ thinks tha’ll get over me by doin’ that,” +said Ben, wrinkling his face up in such a way that Mary felt sure he was trying +not to look pleased. “Tha’ thinks no one can stand out against +thee—that’s what tha’ thinks.” +</p> + +<p> +The robin spread his wings—Mary could scarcely believe her eyes. He flew +right up to the handle of Ben Weatherstaff’s spade and alighted on the +top of it. Then the old man’s face wrinkled itself slowly into a new +expression. He stood still as if he were afraid to breathe—as if he would +not have stirred for the world, lest his robin should start away. He spoke +quite in a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m danged!” he said as softly as if he were saying +something quite different. “Tha’ does know how to get at a +chap—tha’ does! Tha’s fair unearthly, tha’s so +knowin’.” +</p> + +<p> +And he stood without stirring—almost without drawing his +breath—until the robin gave another flirt to his wings and flew away. +Then he stood looking at the handle of the spade as if there might be Magic in +it, and then he began to dig again and said nothing for several minutes. +</p> + +<p> +But because he kept breaking into a slow grin now and then, Mary was not afraid +to talk to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you a garden of your own?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I’m bachelder an’ lodge with Martin at th’ +gate.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you had one,” said Mary, “what would you plant?” +</p> + +<p> +“Cabbages an’ ’taters an’ onions.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if you wanted to make a flower garden,” persisted Mary, +“what would you plant?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bulbs an’ sweet-smellin’ things—but mostly +roses.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary’s face lighted up. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you like roses?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Ben Weatherstaff rooted up a weed and threw it aside before he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, yes, I do. I was learned that by a young lady I was gardener to. +She had a lot in a place she was fond of, an’ she loved ’em like +they was children—or robins. I’ve seen her bend over an’ kiss +’em.” He dragged out another weed and scowled at it. “That +were as much as ten year’ ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is she now?” asked Mary, much interested. +</p> + +<p> +“Heaven,” he answered, and drove his spade deep into the soil, +“’cording to what parson says.” +</p> + +<p> +“What happened to the roses?” Mary asked again, more interested +than ever. +</p> + +<p> +“They was left to themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary was becoming quite excited. +</p> + +<p> +“Did they quite die? Do roses quite die when they are left to +themselves?” she ventured. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’d got to like ’em—an’ I liked +her—an’ she liked ’em,” Ben Weatherstaff admitted +reluctantly. “Once or twice a year I’d go an’ work at +’em a bit—prune ’em an’ dig about th’ roots. They +run wild, but they was in rich soil, so some of ’em lived.” +</p> + +<p> +“When they have no leaves and look gray and brown and dry, how can you +tell whether they are dead or alive?” inquired Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait till th’ spring gets at ’em—wait till th’ +sun shines on th’ rain and th’ rain falls on th’ sunshine +an’ then tha’ll find out.” +</p> + +<p> +“How—how?” cried Mary, forgetting to be careful. +</p> + +<p> +“Look along th’ twigs an’ branches an’ if tha’ +see a bit of a brown lump swelling here an’ there, watch it after +th’ warm rain an’ see what happens.” He stopped suddenly and +looked curiously at her eager face. “Why does tha’ care so much +about roses an’ such, all of a sudden?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Mary felt her face grow red. She was almost afraid to answer. +</p> + +<p> +“I—I want to play that—that I have a garden of my own,” +she stammered. “I—there is nothing for me to do. I have +nothing—and no one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Ben Weatherstaff slowly, as he watched her, +“that’s true. Tha’ hasn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +He said it in such an odd way that Mary wondered if he was actually a little +sorry for her. She had never felt sorry for herself; she had only felt tired +and cross, because she disliked people and things so much. But now the world +seemed to be changing and getting nicer. If no one found out about the secret +garden, she should enjoy herself always. +</p> + +<p> +She stayed with him for ten or fifteen minutes longer and asked him as many +questions as she dared. He answered everyone of them in his queer grunting way +and he did not seem really cross and did not pick up his spade and leave her. +He said something about roses just as she was going away and it reminded her of +the ones he had said he had been fond of. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you go and see those other roses now?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Not been this year. My rheumatics has made me too stiff in th’ +joints.” +</p> + +<p> +He said it in his grumbling voice, and then quite suddenly he seemed to get +angry with her, though she did not see why he should. +</p> + +<p> +“Now look here!” he said sharply. “Don’t tha’ ask +so many questions. Tha’rt th’ worst wench for askin’ +questions I’ve ever come across. Get thee gone an’ play thee. +I’ve done talkin’ for today.” +</p> + +<p> +And he said it so crossly that she knew there was not the least use in staying +another minute. She went skipping slowly down the outside walk, thinking him +over and saying to herself that, queer as it was, here was another person whom +she liked in spite of his crossness. She liked old Ben Weatherstaff. Yes, she +did like him. She always wanted to try to make him talk to her. Also she began +to believe that he knew everything in the world about flowers. +</p> + +<p> +There was a laurel-hedged walk which curved round the secret garden and ended +at a gate which opened into a wood, in the park. She thought she would slip +round this walk and look into the wood and see if there were any rabbits +hopping about. She enjoyed the skipping very much and when she reached the +little gate she opened it and went through because she heard a low, peculiar +whistling sound and wanted to find out what it was. +</p> + +<p> +It was a very strange thing indeed. She quite caught her breath as she stopped +to look at it. A boy was sitting under a tree, with his back against it, +playing on a rough wooden pipe. He was a funny looking boy about twelve. He +looked very clean and his nose turned up and his cheeks were as red as poppies +and never had Mistress Mary seen such round and such blue eyes in any +boy’s face. And on the trunk of the tree he leaned against, a brown +squirrel was clinging and watching him, and from behind a bush nearby a cock +pheasant was delicately stretching his neck to peep out, and quite near him +were two rabbits sitting up and sniffing with tremulous noses—and +actually it appeared as if they were all drawing near to watch him and listen +to the strange low little call his pipe seemed to make. +</p> + +<p> +When he saw Mary he held up his hand and spoke to her in a voice almost as low +as and rather like his piping. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tha’ move,” he said. “It’d flight +’em.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary remained motionless. He stopped playing his pipe and began to rise from +the ground. He moved so slowly that it scarcely seemed as though he were moving +at all, but at last he stood on his feet and then the squirrel scampered back +up into the branches of his tree, the pheasant withdrew his head and the +rabbits dropped on all fours and began to hop away, though not at all as if +they were frightened. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m Dickon,” the boy said. “I know tha’rt Miss +Mary.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Mary realized that somehow she had known at first that he was Dickon. Who +else could have been charming rabbits and pheasants as the natives charm snakes +in India? He had a wide, red, curving mouth and his smile spread all over his +face. +</p> + +<p> +“I got up slow,” he explained, “because if tha’ makes a +quick move it startles ’em. A body ’as to move gentle an’ +speak low when wild things is about.” +</p> + +<p> +He did not speak to her as if they had never seen each other before but as if +he knew her quite well. Mary knew nothing about boys and she spoke to him a +little stiffly because she felt rather shy. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you get Martha’s letter?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +He nodded his curly, rust-colored head. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s why I come.” +</p> + +<p> +He stooped to pick up something which had been lying on the ground beside him +when he piped. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got th’ garden tools. There’s a little spade +an’ rake an’ a fork an’ hoe. Eh! they are good ’uns. +There’s a trowel, too. An’ th’ woman in th’ shop threw +in a packet o’ white poppy an’ one o’ blue larkspur when I +bought th’ other seeds.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you show the seeds to me?” Mary said. +</p> + +<p> +She wished she could talk as he did. His speech was so quick and easy. It +sounded as if he liked her and was not the least afraid she would not like him, +though he was only a common moor boy, in patched clothes and with a funny face +and a rough, rusty-red head. As she came closer to him she noticed that there +was a clean fresh scent of heather and grass and leaves about him, almost as if +he were made of them. She liked it very much and when she looked into his funny +face with the red cheeks and round blue eyes she forgot that she had felt shy. +</p> + +<p> +“Let us sit down on this log and look at them,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +They sat down and he took a clumsy little brown paper package out of his coat +pocket. He untied the string and inside there were ever so many neater and +smaller packages with a picture of a flower on each one. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a lot o’ mignonette an’ poppies,” he +said. “Mignonette’s th’ sweetest smellin’ thing as +grows, an’ it’ll grow wherever you cast it, same as poppies will. +Them as’ll come up an’ bloom if you just whistle to ’em, +them’s th’ nicest of all.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped and turned his head quickly, his poppy-cheeked face lighting up. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s that robin as is callin’ us?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The chirp came from a thick holly bush, bright with scarlet berries, and Mary +thought she knew whose it was. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it really calling us?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye,” said Dickon, as if it was the most natural thing in the +world, “he’s callin’ someone he’s friends with. +That’s same as sayin’ ‘Here I am. Look at me. I wants a bit +of a chat.’ There he is in the bush. Whose is he?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s Ben Weatherstaff’s, but I think he knows me a +little,” answered Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, he knows thee,” said Dickon in his low voice again. +“An’ he likes thee. He’s took thee on. He’ll tell me +all about thee in a minute.” +</p> + +<p> +He moved quite close to the bush with the slow movement Mary had noticed +before, and then he made a sound almost like the robin’s own twitter. The +robin listened a few seconds, intently, and then answered quite as if he were +replying to a question. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, he’s a friend o’ yours,” chuckled Dickon. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think he is?” cried Mary eagerly. She did so want to know. +“Do you think he really likes me?” +</p> + +<p> +“He wouldn’t come near thee if he didn’t,” answered +Dickon. “Birds is rare choosers an’ a robin can flout a body worse +than a man. See, he’s making up to thee now. ‘Cannot tha’ see +a chap?’ he’s sayin’.” +</p> + +<p> +And it really seemed as if it must be true. He so sidled and twittered and +tilted as he hopped on his bush. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you understand everything birds say?” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon’s grin spread until he seemed all wide, red, curving mouth, and he +rubbed his rough head. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I do, and they think I do,” he said. “I’ve +lived on th’ moor with ’em so long. I’ve watched ’em +break shell an’ come out an’ fledge an’ learn to fly +an’ begin to sing, till I think I’m one of ’em. Sometimes I +think p’raps I’m a bird, or a fox, or a rabbit, or a squirrel, or +even a beetle, an’ I don’t know it.” +</p> + +<p> +He laughed and came back to the log and began to talk about the flower seeds +again. He told her what they looked like when they were flowers; he told her +how to plant them, and watch them, and feed and water them. +</p> + +<p> +“See here,” he said suddenly, turning round to look at her. +“I’ll plant them for thee myself. Where is tha’ +garden?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary’s thin hands clutched each other as they lay on her lap. She did not +know what to say, so for a whole minute she said nothing. She had never thought +of this. She felt miserable. And she felt as if she went red and then pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’s got a bit o’ garden, hasn’t tha’?” +Dickon said. +</p> + +<p> +It was true that she had turned red and then pale. Dickon saw her do it, and as +she still said nothing, he began to be puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t they give thee a bit?” he asked. +“Hasn’t tha’ got any yet?” +</p> + +<p> +She held her hands tighter and turned her eyes toward him. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know anything about boys,” she said slowly. +“Could you keep a secret, if I told you one? It’s a great secret. I +don’t know what I should do if anyone found it out. I believe I should +die!” She said the last sentence quite fiercely. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon looked more puzzled than ever and even rubbed his hand over his rough +head again, but he answered quite good-humoredly. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m keepin’ secrets all th’ time,” he said. +“If I couldn’t keep secrets from th’ other lads, secrets +about foxes’ cubs, an’ birds’ nests, an’ wild +things’ holes, there’d be naught safe on th’ moor. Aye, I can +keep secrets.” +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Mary did not mean to put out her hand and clutch his sleeve but she +did it. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve stolen a garden,” she said very fast. “It +isn’t mine. It isn’t anybody’s. Nobody wants it, nobody cares +for it, nobody ever goes into it. Perhaps everything is dead in it already. I +don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +She began to feel hot and as contrary as she had ever felt in her life. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care, I don’t care! Nobody has any right to take it +from me when I care about it and they don’t. They’re letting it +die, all shut in by itself,” she ended passionately, and she threw her +arms over her face and burst out crying—poor little Mistress Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon’s curious blue eyes grew rounder and rounder. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh-h-h!” he said, drawing his exclamation out slowly, and the way +he did it meant both wonder and sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve nothing to do,” said Mary. “Nothing belongs to +me. I found it myself and I got into it myself. I was only just like the robin, +and they wouldn’t take it from the robin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is it?” asked Dickon in a dropped voice. +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Mary got up from the log at once. She knew she felt contrary again, +and obstinate, and she did not care at all. She was imperious and Indian, and +at the same time hot and sorrowful. +</p> + +<p> +“Come with me and I’ll show you,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +She led him round the laurel path and to the walk where the ivy grew so +thickly. Dickon followed her with a queer, almost pitying, look on his face. He +felt as if he were being led to look at some strange bird’s nest and must +move softly. When she stepped to the wall and lifted the hanging ivy he +started. There was a door and Mary pushed it slowly open and they passed in +together, and then Mary stood and waved her hand round defiantly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s this,” she said. “It’s a secret garden, and +I’m the only one in the world who wants it to be alive.” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon looked round and round about it, and round and round again. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” he almost whispered, “it is a queer, pretty place! +It’s like as if a body was in a dream.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br /> +THE NEST OF THE MISSEL THRUSH</h2> + +<p> +For two or three minutes he stood looking round him, while Mary watched him, +and then he began to walk about softly, even more lightly than Mary had walked +the first time she had found herself inside the four walls. His eyes seemed to +be taking in everything—the gray trees with the gray creepers climbing +over them and hanging from their branches, the tangle on the walls and among +the grass, the evergreen alcoves with the stone seats and tall flower urns +standing in them. +</p> + +<p> +“I never thought I’d see this place,” he said at last, in a +whisper. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you know about it?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +She had spoken aloud and he made a sign to her. +</p> + +<p> +“We must talk low,” he said, “or someone’ll hear us +an’ wonder what’s to do in here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I forgot!” said Mary, feeling frightened and putting her hand +quickly against her mouth. “Did you know about the garden?” she +asked again when she had recovered herself. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon nodded. +</p> + +<p> +“Martha told me there was one as no one ever went inside,” he +answered. “Us used to wonder what it was like.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped and looked round at the lovely gray tangle about him, and his round +eyes looked queerly happy. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! the nests as’ll be here come springtime,” he said. +“It’d be th’ safest nestin’ place in England. No one +never comin’ near an’ tangles o’ trees an’ roses to +build in. I wonder all th’ birds on th’ moor don’t build +here.” +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Mary put her hand on his arm again without knowing it. +</p> + +<p> +“Will there be roses?” she whispered. “Can you tell? I +thought perhaps they were all dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! No! Not them—not all of ’em!” he answered. +“Look here!” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped over to the nearest tree—an old, old one with gray lichen all +over its bark, but upholding a curtain of tangled sprays and branches. He took +a thick knife out of his pocket and opened one of its blades. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s lots o’ dead wood as ought to be cut out,” he +said. “An’ there’s a lot o’ old wood, but it made some +new last year. This here’s a new bit,” and he touched a shoot which +looked brownish green instead of hard, dry gray. +</p> + +<p> +Mary touched it herself in an eager, reverent way. +</p> + +<p> +“That one?” she said. “Is that one quite alive quite?” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon curved his wide smiling mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s as wick as you or me,” he said; and Mary remembered +that Martha had told her that “wick” meant “alive” or +“lively.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad it’s wick!” she cried out in her whisper. +“I want them all to be wick. Let us go round the garden and count how +many wick ones there are.” +</p> + +<p> +She quite panted with eagerness, and Dickon was as eager as she was. They went +from tree to tree and from bush to bush. Dickon carried his knife in his hand +and showed her things which she thought wonderful. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve run wild,” he said, “but th’ strongest +ones has fair thrived on it. The delicatest ones has died out, but th’ +others has growed an’ growed, an’ spread an’ spread, till +they’s a wonder. See here!” and he pulled down a thick gray, +dry-looking branch. “A body might think this was dead wood, but I +don’t believe it is—down to th’ root. I’ll cut it low +down an’ see.” +</p> + +<p> +He knelt and with his knife cut the lifeless-looking branch through, not far +above the earth. +</p> + +<p> +“There!” he said exultantly. “I told thee so. There’s +green in that wood yet. Look at it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary was down on her knees before he spoke, gazing with all her might. +</p> + +<p> +“When it looks a bit greenish an’ juicy like that, it’s +wick,” he explained. “When th’ inside is dry an’ breaks +easy, like this here piece I’ve cut off, it’s done for. +There’s a big root here as all this live wood sprung out of, an’ if +th’ old wood’s cut off an’ it’s dug round, and took +care of there’ll be—” he stopped and lifted his face to look +up at the climbing and hanging sprays above him—“there’ll be +a fountain o’ roses here this summer.” +</p> + +<p> +They went from bush to bush and from tree to tree. He was very strong and +clever with his knife and knew how to cut the dry and dead wood away, and could +tell when an unpromising bough or twig had still green life in it. In the +course of half an hour Mary thought she could tell too, and when he cut through +a lifeless-looking branch she would cry out joyfully under her breath when she +caught sight of the least shade of moist green. The spade, and hoe, and fork +were very useful. He showed her how to use the fork while he dug about roots +with the spade and stirred the earth and let the air in. +</p> + +<p> +They were working industriously round one of the biggest standard roses when he +caught sight of something which made him utter an exclamation of surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Why!” he cried, pointing to the grass a few feet away. “Who +did that there?” +</p> + +<p> +It was one of Mary’s own little clearings round the pale green points. +</p> + +<p> +“I did it,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I thought tha’ didn’t know nothin’ about +gardenin’,” he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t,” she answered, “but they were so little, and +the grass was so thick and strong, and they looked as if they had no room to +breathe. So I made a place for them. I don’t even know what they +are.” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon went and knelt down by them, smiling his wide smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ was right,” he said. “A gardener couldn’t +have told thee better. They’ll grow now like Jack’s bean-stalk. +They’re crocuses an’ snowdrops, an’ these here is +narcissuses,” turning to another patch, “an here’s +daffydowndillys. Eh! they will be a sight.” +</p> + +<p> +He ran from one clearing to another. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ has done a lot o’ work for such a little wench,” +he said, looking her over. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m growing fatter,” said Mary, “and I’m growing +stronger. I used always to be tired. When I dig I’m not tired at all. I +like to smell the earth when it’s turned up.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s rare good for thee,” he said, nodding his head wisely. +“There’s naught as nice as th’ smell o’ good clean +earth, except th’ smell o’ fresh growin’ things when +th’ rain falls on ’em. I get out on th’ moor many a day when +it’s rainin’ an’ I lie under a bush an’ listen to +th’ soft swish o’ drops on th’ heather an’ I just sniff +an’ sniff. My nose end fair quivers like a rabbit’s, mother +says.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you never catch cold?” inquired Mary, gazing at him +wonderingly. She had never seen such a funny boy, or such a nice one. +</p> + +<p> +“Not me,” he said, grinning. “I never ketched cold since I +was born. I wasn’t brought up nesh enough. I’ve chased about +th’ moor in all weathers same as th’ rabbits does. Mother says +I’ve sniffed up too much fresh air for twelve year’ to ever get to +sniffin’ with cold. I’m as tough as a white-thorn knobstick.” +</p> + +<p> +He was working all the time he was talking and Mary was following him and +helping him with her fork or the trowel. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a lot of work to do here!” he said once, looking +about quite exultantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you come again and help me to do it?” Mary begged. +“I’m sure I can help, too. I can dig and pull up weeds, and do +whatever you tell me. Oh! do come, Dickon!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll come every day if tha’ wants me, rain or shine,” +he answered stoutly. “It’s the best fun I ever had in my +life—shut in here an’ wakenin’ up a garden.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you will come,” said Mary, “if you will help me to make +it alive I’ll—I don’t know what I’ll do,” she +ended helplessly. What could you do for a boy like that? +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell thee what tha’ll do,” said Dickon, with his +happy grin. “Tha’ll get fat an’ tha’ll get as hungry as +a young fox an’ tha’ll learn how to talk to th’ robin same as +I do. Eh! we’ll have a lot o’ fun.” +</p> + +<p> +He began to walk about, looking up in the trees and at the walls and bushes +with a thoughtful expression. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t want to make it look like a gardener’s garden, +all clipped an’ spick an’ span, would you?” he said. +“It’s nicer like this with things runnin’ wild, an’ +swingin’ an’ catchin’ hold of each other.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t let us make it tidy,” said Mary anxiously. “It +wouldn’t seem like a secret garden if it was tidy.” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon stood rubbing his rusty-red head with a rather puzzled look. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a secret garden sure enough,” he said, “but seems +like someone besides th’ robin must have been in it since it was shut up +ten year’ ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the door was locked and the key was buried,” said Mary. +“No one could get in.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true,” he answered. “It’s a queer place. +Seems to me as if there’d been a bit o’ prunin’ done here +an’ there, later than ten year’ ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how could it have been done?” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +He was examining a branch of a standard rose and he shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye! how could it!” he murmured. “With th’ door locked +an’ th’ key buried.” +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Mary always felt that however many years she lived she should never +forget that first morning when her garden began to grow. Of course, it did seem +to begin to grow for her that morning. When Dickon began to clear places to +plant seeds, she remembered what Basil had sung at her when he wanted to tease +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Are there any flowers that look like bells?” she inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Lilies o’ th’ valley does,” he answered, digging away +with the trowel, “an’ there’s Canterbury bells, an’ +campanulas.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s plant some,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s lilies o’ th, valley here already; I saw ’em. +They’ll have growed too close an’ we’ll have to separate +’em, but there’s plenty. Th’ other ones takes two years to +bloom from seed, but I can bring you some bits o’ plants from our cottage +garden. Why does tha’ want ’em?” +</p> + +<p> +Then Mary told him about Basil and his brothers and sisters in India and of how +she had hated them and of their calling her “Mistress Mary Quite +Contrary.” +</p> + +<p> +“They used to dance round and sing at me. They sang— +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +‘Mistress Mary, quite contrary,<br /> + How does your garden grow?<br /> +With silver bells, and cockle shells,<br /> + And marigolds all in a row.’<br /> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +I just remembered it and it made me wonder if there were really flowers like +silver bells.” +</p> + +<p> +She frowned a little and gave her trowel a rather spiteful dig into the earth. +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t as contrary as they were.” +</p> + +<p> +But Dickon laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” he said, and as he crumbled the rich black soil she saw he +was sniffing up the scent of it. “There doesn’t seem to be no need +for no one to be contrary when there’s flowers an’ such like, +an’ such lots o’ friendly wild things runnin’ about +makin’ homes for themselves, or buildin’ nests an’ +singin’ an’ whistlin’, does there?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary, kneeling by him holding the seeds, looked at him and stopped frowning. +</p> + +<p> +“Dickon,” she said, “you are as nice as Martha said you were. +I like you, and you make the fifth person. I never thought I should like five +people.” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon sat up on his heels as Martha did when she was polishing the grate. He +did look funny and delightful, Mary thought, with his round blue eyes and red +cheeks and happy looking turned-up nose. +</p> + +<p> +“Only five folk as tha’ likes?” he said. “Who is +th’ other four?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your mother and Martha,” Mary checked them off on her fingers, +“and the robin and Ben Weatherstaff.” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon laughed so that he was obliged to stifle the sound by putting his arm +over his mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“I know tha’ thinks I’m a queer lad,” he said, +“but I think tha’ art th’ queerest little lass I ever +saw.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Mary did a strange thing. She leaned forward and asked him a question she +had never dreamed of asking anyone before. And she tried to ask it in +Yorkshire because that was his language, and in India a native was always +pleased if you knew his speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Does tha’ like me?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” he answered heartily, “that I does. I likes thee +wonderful, an’ so does th’ robin, I do believe!” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s two, then,” said Mary. “That’s two for +me.” +</p> + +<p> +And then they began to work harder than ever and more joyfully. Mary was +startled and sorry when she heard the big clock in the courtyard strike the +hour of her midday dinner. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have to go,” she said mournfully. “And you will have +to go too, won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon grinned. +</p> + +<p> +“My dinner’s easy to carry about with me,” he said. +“Mother always lets me put a bit o’ somethin’ in my +pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +He picked up his coat from the grass and brought out of a pocket a lumpy little +bundle tied up in a quite clean, coarse, blue and white handkerchief. It held +two thick pieces of bread with a slice of something laid between them. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s oftenest naught but bread,” he said, “but +I’ve got a fine slice o’ fat bacon with it today.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary thought it looked a queer dinner, but he seemed ready to enjoy it. +</p> + +<p> +“Run on an’ get thy victuals,” he said. “I’ll be +done with mine first. I’ll get some more work done before I start back +home.” +</p> + +<p> +He sat down with his back against a tree. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll call th’ robin up,” he said, “and give him +th’ rind o’ th’ bacon to peck at. They likes a bit o’ +fat wonderful.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary could scarcely bear to leave him. Suddenly it seemed as if he might be a +sort of wood fairy who might be gone when she came into the garden again. He +seemed too good to be true. She went slowly half-way to the door in the wall +and then she stopped and went back. +</p> + +<p> +“Whatever happens, you—you never would tell?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +His poppy-colored cheeks were distended with his first big bite of bread and +bacon, but he managed to smile encouragingly. +</p> + +<p> +“If tha’ was a missel thrush an’ showed me where thy nest +was, does tha’ think I’d tell anyone? Not me,” he said. +“Tha’ art as safe as a missel thrush.” +</p> + +<p> +And she was quite sure she was. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br /> +“MIGHT I HAVE A BIT OF EARTH?”</h2> + +<p> +Mary ran so fast that she was rather out of breath when she reached her room. +Her hair was ruffled on her forehead and her cheeks were bright pink. Her +dinner was waiting on the table, and Martha was waiting near it. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’s a bit late,” she said. “Where has tha’ +been?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen Dickon!” said Mary. “I’ve seen +Dickon!” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew he’d come,” said Martha exultantly. “How does +tha’ like him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think—I think he’s beautiful!” said Mary in a +determined voice. +</p> + +<p> +Martha looked rather taken aback but she looked pleased, too. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” she said, “he’s th’ best lad as ever was +born, but us never thought he was handsome. His nose turns up too much.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like it to turn up,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ his eyes is so round,” said Martha, a trifle doubtful. +“Though they’re a nice color.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like them round,” said Mary. “And they are exactly the +color of the sky over the moor.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha beamed with satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother says he made ’em that color with always lookin’ up at +th’ birds an’ th’ clouds. But he has got a big mouth, +hasn’t he, now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I love his big mouth,” said Mary obstinately. “I wish mine +were just like it.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha chuckled delightedly. +</p> + +<p> +“It’d look rare an’ funny in thy bit of a face,” she +said. “But I knowed it would be that way when tha’ saw him. How did +tha’ like th’ seeds an’ th’ garden tools?” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you know he brought them?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! I never thought of him not bringin’ ’em. He’d be +sure to bring ’em if they was in Yorkshire. He’s such a trusty +lad.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary was afraid that she might begin to ask difficult questions, but she did +not. She was very much interested in the seeds and gardening tools, and there +was only one moment when Mary was frightened. This was when she began to ask +where the flowers were to be planted. +</p> + +<p> +“Who did tha’ ask about it?” she inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t asked anybody yet,” said Mary, hesitating. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I wouldn’t ask th’ head gardener. He’s too +grand, Mr. Roach is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never seen him,” said Mary. “I’ve only seen +undergardeners and Ben Weatherstaff.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I was you, I’d ask Ben Weatherstaff,” advised Martha. +“He’s not half as bad as he looks, for all he’s so crabbed. +Mr. Craven lets him do what he likes because he was here when Mrs. Craven was +alive, an’ he used to make her laugh. She liked him. Perhaps he’d +find you a corner somewhere out o’ the way.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it was out of the way and no one wanted it, no one <i>could</i> mind +my having it, could they?” Mary said anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“There wouldn’t be no reason,” answered Martha. “You +wouldn’t do no harm.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary ate her dinner as quickly as she could and when she rose from the table +she was going to run to her room to put on her hat again, but Martha stopped +her. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got somethin’ to tell you,” she said. “I +thought I’d let you eat your dinner first. Mr. Craven came back this +mornin’ and I think he wants to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary turned quite pale. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” she said. “Why! Why! He didn’t want to see me +when I came. I heard Pitcher say he didn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” explained Martha, “Mrs. Medlock says it’s +because o’ mother. She was walkin’ to Thwaite village an’ she +met him. She’d never spoke to him before, but Mrs. Craven had been to our +cottage two or three times. He’d forgot, but mother hadn’t +an’ she made bold to stop him. I don’t know what she said to him +about you but she said somethin’ as put him in th’ mind to see you +before he goes away again, tomorrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Mary, “is he going away tomorrow? I am so +glad!” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s goin’ for a long time. He mayn’t come back till +autumn or winter. He’s goin’ to travel in foreign places. +He’s always doin’ it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I’m so glad—so glad!” said Mary thankfully. +</p> + +<p> +If he did not come back until winter, or even autumn, there would be time to +watch the secret garden come alive. Even if he found out then and took it away +from her she would have had that much at least. +</p> + +<p> +“When do you think he will want to see—” +</p> + +<p> +She did not finish the sentence, because the door opened, and Mrs. Medlock +walked in. She had on her best black dress and cap, and her collar was fastened +with a large brooch with a picture of a man’s face on it. It was a +colored photograph of Mr. Medlock who had died years ago, and she always wore +it when she was dressed up. She looked nervous and excited. +</p> + +<p> +“Your hair’s rough,” she said quickly. “Go and brush +it. Martha, help her to slip on her best dress. Mr. Craven sent me to bring her +to him in his study.” +</p> + +<p> +All the pink left Mary’s cheeks. Her heart began to thump and she felt +herself changing into a stiff, plain, silent child again. She did not even +answer Mrs. Medlock, but turned and walked into her bedroom, followed by +Martha. She said nothing while her dress was changed, and her hair brushed, and +after she was quite tidy she followed Mrs. Medlock down the corridors, in +silence. What was there for her to say? She was obliged to go and see Mr. +Craven and he would not like her, and she would not like him. She knew what he +would think of her. +</p> + +<p> +She was taken to a part of the house she had not been into before. At last Mrs. +Medlock knocked at a door, and when someone said, “Come in,” they +entered the room together. A man was sitting in an armchair before the fire, +and Mrs. Medlock spoke to him. +</p> + +<p> +“This is Miss Mary, sir,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“You can go and leave her here. I will ring for you when I want you to +take her away,” said Mr. Craven. +</p> + +<p> +When she went out and closed the door, Mary could only stand waiting, a plain +little thing, twisting her thin hands together. She could see that the man in +the chair was not so much a hunchback as a man with high, rather crooked +shoulders, and he had black hair streaked with white. He turned his head over +his high shoulders and spoke to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Come here!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Mary went to him. +</p> + +<p> +He was not ugly. His face would have been handsome if it had not been so +miserable. He looked as if the sight of her worried and fretted him and as if +he did not know what in the world to do with her. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you well?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Do they take good care of you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +He rubbed his forehead fretfully as he looked her over. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very thin,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I am getting fatter,” Mary answered in what she knew was her +stiffest way. +</p> + +<p> +What an unhappy face he had! His black eyes seemed as if they scarcely saw her, +as if they were seeing something else, and he could hardly keep his thoughts +upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“I forgot you,” he said. “How could I remember you? I +intended to send you a governess or a nurse, or someone of that sort, but I +forgot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please,” began Mary. “Please—” and then the lump +in her throat choked her. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want to say?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“I am—I am too big for a nurse,” said Mary. “And +please—please don’t make me have a governess yet.” +</p> + +<p> +He rubbed his forehead again and stared at her. +</p> + +<p> +“That was what the Sowerby woman said,” he muttered absent-mindedly. +</p> + +<p> +Then Mary gathered a scrap of courage. +</p> + +<p> +“Is she—is she Martha’s mother?” she stammered. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I think so,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“She knows about children,” said Mary. “She has twelve. She +knows.” +</p> + +<p> +He seemed to rouse himself. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to play out of doors,” Mary answered, hoping that her voice +did not tremble. “I never liked it in India. It makes me hungry here, and +I am getting fatter.” +</p> + +<p> +He was watching her. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Sowerby said it would do you good. Perhaps it will,” he said. +“She thought you had better get stronger before you had a +governess.” +</p> + +<p> +“It makes me feel strong when I play and the wind comes over the +moor,” argued Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you play?” he asked next. +</p> + +<p> +“Everywhere,” gasped Mary. “Martha’s mother sent me a +skipping-rope. I skip and run—and I look about to see if things are +beginning to stick up out of the earth. I don’t do any harm.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t look so frightened,” he said in a worried voice. +“You could not do any harm, a child like you! You may do what you +like.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary put her hand up to her throat because she was afraid he might see the +excited lump which she felt jump into it. She came a step nearer to him. +</p> + +<p> +“May I?” she said tremulously. +</p> + +<p> +Her anxious little face seemed to worry him more than ever. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t look so frightened,” he exclaimed. “Of course +you may. I am your guardian, though I am a poor one for any child. I cannot +give you time or attention. I am too ill, and wretched and distracted; but I +wish you to be happy and comfortable. I don’t know anything about +children, but Mrs. Medlock is to see that you have all you need. I sent for you +today because Mrs. Sowerby said I ought to see you. Her daughter had talked +about you. She thought you needed fresh air and freedom and running +about.” +</p> + +<p> +“She knows all about children,” Mary said again in spite of +herself. +</p> + +<p> +“She ought to,” said Mr. Craven. “I thought her rather bold +to stop me on the moor, but she said—Mrs. Craven had been kind to +her.” It seemed hard for him to speak his dead wife’s name. +“She is a respectable woman. Now I have seen you I think she said +sensible things. Play out of doors as much as you like. It’s a big place +and you may go where you like and amuse yourself as you like. Is there anything +you want?” as if a sudden thought had struck him. “Do you want +toys, books, dolls?” +</p> + +<p> +“Might I,” quavered Mary, “might I have a bit of +earth?” +</p> + +<p> +In her eagerness she did not realize how queer the words would sound and that +they were not the ones she had meant to say. Mr. Craven looked quite startled. +</p> + +<p> +“Earth!” he repeated. “What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“To plant seeds in—to make things grow—to see them come +alive,” Mary faltered. +</p> + +<p> +He gazed at her a moment and then passed his hand quickly over his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you—care about gardens so much,” he said slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know about them in India,” said Mary. “I was +always ill and tired and it was too hot. I sometimes made little beds in the +sand and stuck flowers in them. But here it is different.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Craven got up and began to walk slowly across the room. +</p> + +<p> +“A bit of earth,” he said to himself, and Mary thought that somehow +she must have reminded him of something. When he stopped and spoke to her his +dark eyes looked almost soft and kind. +</p> + +<p> +“You can have as much earth as you want,” he said. “You +remind me of someone else who loved the earth and things that grow. When you +see a bit of earth you want,” with something like a smile, “take +it, child, and make it come alive.” +</p> + +<p> +“May I take it from anywhere—if it’s not wanted?” +</p> + +<p> +“Anywhere,” he answered. “There! You must go now, I am +tired.” He touched the bell to call Mrs. Medlock. “Good-by. I shall +be away all summer.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Medlock came so quickly that Mary thought she must have been waiting in +the corridor. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Medlock,” Mr. Craven said to her, “now I have seen the +child I understand what Mrs. Sowerby meant. She must be less delicate before +she begins lessons. Give her simple, healthy food. Let her run wild in the +garden. Don’t look after her too much. She needs liberty and fresh air +and romping about. Mrs. Sowerby is to come and see her now and then and she may +sometimes go to the cottage.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Medlock looked pleased. She was relieved to hear that she need not +“look after” Mary too much. She had felt her a tiresome charge and +had indeed seen as little of her as she dared. In addition to this she was fond +of Martha’s mother. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir,” she said. “Susan Sowerby and me went to +school together and she’s as sensible and good-hearted a woman as +you’d find in a day’s walk. I never had any children myself and +she’s had twelve, and there never was healthier or better ones. Miss Mary +can get no harm from them. I’d always take Susan Sowerby’s advice +about children myself. She’s what you might call healthy-minded—if +you understand me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I understand,” Mr. Craven answered. “Take Miss Mary away now +and send Pitcher to me.” +</p> + +<p> +When Mrs. Medlock left her at the end of her own corridor Mary flew back to her +room. She found Martha waiting there. Martha had, in fact, hurried back after +she had removed the dinner service. +</p> + +<p> +“I can have my garden!” cried Mary. “I may have it where I +like! I am not going to have a governess for a long time! Your mother is coming +to see me and I may go to your cottage! He says a little girl like me could not +do any harm and I may do what I like—anywhere!” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” said Martha delightedly, “that was nice of him +wasn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Martha,” said Mary solemnly, “he is really a nice man, only +his face is so miserable and his forehead is all drawn together.” +</p> + +<p> +She ran as quickly as she could to the garden. She had been away so much longer +than she had thought she should and she knew Dickon would have to set out early +on his five-mile walk. When she slipped through the door under the ivy, she saw +he was not working where she had left him. The gardening tools were laid +together under a tree. She ran to them, looking all round the place, but there +was no Dickon to be seen. He had gone away and the secret garden was +empty—except for the robin who had just flown across the wall and sat on +a standard rose-bush watching her. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s gone,” she said woefully. “Oh! was he—was +he—was he only a wood fairy?” +</p> + +<p> +Something white fastened to the standard rose-bush caught her eye. It was a +piece of paper, in fact, it was a piece of the letter she had printed for +Martha to send to Dickon. It was fastened on the bush with a long thorn, and in +a minute she knew Dickon had left it there. There were some roughly printed +letters on it and a sort of picture. At first she could not tell what it was. +Then she saw it was meant for a nest with a bird sitting on it. Underneath were +the printed letters and they said: +</p> + +<p> +“I will cum bak.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br /> +“I AM COLIN”</h2> + +<p> +Mary took the picture back to the house when she went to her supper and she +showed it to Martha. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” said Martha with great pride. “I never knew our Dickon +was as clever as that. That there’s a picture of a missel thrush on her +nest, as large as life an’ twice as natural.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Mary knew Dickon had meant the picture to be a message. He had meant that +she might be sure he would keep her secret. Her garden was her nest and she was +like a missel thrush. Oh, how she did like that queer, common boy! +</p> + +<p> +She hoped he would come back the very next day and she fell asleep looking +forward to the morning. +</p> + +<p> +But you never know what the weather will do in Yorkshire, particularly in the +springtime. She was awakened in the night by the sound of rain beating with +heavy drops against her window. It was pouring down in torrents and the wind +was “wuthering” round the corners and in the chimneys of the huge +old house. Mary sat up in bed and felt miserable and angry. +</p> + +<p> +“The rain is as contrary as I ever was,” she said. “It came +because it knew I did not want it.” +</p> + +<p> +She threw herself back on her pillow and buried her face. She did not cry, but +she lay and hated the sound of the heavily beating rain, she hated the wind and +its “wuthering.” She could not go to sleep again. The mournful +sound kept her awake because she felt mournful herself. If she had felt happy +it would probably have lulled her to sleep. How it “wuthered” and +how the big raindrops poured down and beat against the pane! +</p> + +<p> +“It sounds just like a person lost on the moor and wandering on and on +crying,” she said.<br /><br /> +</p> + +<p> +She had been lying awake turning from side to side for about an hour, when +suddenly something made her sit up in bed and turn her head toward the door +listening. She listened and she listened. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t the wind now,” she said in a loud whisper. +“That isn’t the wind. It is different. It is that crying I heard +before.” +</p> + +<p> +The door of her room was ajar and the sound came down the corridor, a far-off +faint sound of fretful crying. She listened for a few minutes and each minute +she became more and more sure. She felt as if she must find out what it was. It +seemed even stranger than the secret garden and the buried key. Perhaps the +fact that she was in a rebellious mood made her bold. She put her foot out of +bed and stood on the floor. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to find out what it is,” she said. “Everybody is +in bed and I don’t care about Mrs. Medlock—I don’t +care!” +</p> + +<p> +There was a candle by her bedside and she took it up and went softly out of the +room. The corridor looked very long and dark, but she was too excited to mind +that. She thought she remembered the corners she must turn to find the short +corridor with the door covered with tapestry—the one Mrs. Medlock had +come through the day she lost herself. The sound had come up that passage. So +she went on with her dim light, almost feeling her way, her heart beating so +loud that she fancied she could hear it. The far-off faint crying went on and +led her. Sometimes it stopped for a moment or so and then began again. Was this +the right corner to turn? She stopped and thought. Yes it was. Down this +passage and then to the left, and then up two broad steps, and then to the +right again. Yes, there was the tapestry door. +</p> + +<p> +She pushed it open very gently and closed it behind her, and she stood in the +corridor and could hear the crying quite plainly, though it was not loud. It +was on the other side of the wall at her left and a few yards farther on there +was a door. She could see a glimmer of light coming from beneath it. The +Someone was crying in that room, and it was quite a young Someone. +</p> + +<p> +So she walked to the door and pushed it open, and there she was standing in the +room! +</p> + +<p> +It was a big room with ancient, handsome furniture in it. There was a low fire +glowing faintly on the hearth and a night light burning by the side of a carved +four-posted bed hung with brocade, and on the bed was lying a boy, crying +fretfully. +</p> + +<p> +Mary wondered if she was in a real place or if she had fallen asleep again and +was dreaming without knowing it. +</p> + +<p> +The boy had a sharp, delicate face the color of ivory and he seemed to have +eyes too big for it. He had also a lot of hair which tumbled over his forehead +in heavy locks and made his thin face seem smaller. He looked like a boy who +had been ill, but he was crying more as if he were tired and cross than as if +he were in pain. +</p> + +<p> +Mary stood near the door with her candle in her hand, holding her breath. Then +she crept across the room, and, as she drew nearer, the light attracted the +boy’s attention and he turned his head on his pillow and stared at her, +his gray eyes opening so wide that they seemed immense. +</p> + +<p> +“Who are you?” he said at last in a half-frightened whisper. +“Are you a ghost?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I am not,” Mary answered, her own whisper sounding half +frightened. “Are you one?” +</p> + +<p> +He stared and stared and stared. Mary could not help noticing what strange eyes +he had. They were agate gray and they looked too big for his face because they +had black lashes all round them. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he replied after waiting a moment or so. “I am +Colin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is Colin?” she faltered. +</p> + +<p> +“I am Colin Craven. Who are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am Mary Lennox. Mr. Craven is my uncle.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is my father,” said the boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Your father!” gasped Mary. “No one ever told me he had a +boy! Why didn’t they?” +</p> + +<p> +“Come here,” he said, still keeping his strange eyes fixed on her +with an anxious expression. +</p> + +<p> +She came close to the bed and he put out his hand and touched her. +</p> + +<p> +“You are real, aren’t you?” he said. “I have such real +dreams very often. You might be one of them.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary had slipped on a woolen wrapper before she left her room and she put a +piece of it between his fingers. +</p> + +<p> +“Rub that and see how thick and warm it is,” she said. “I +will pinch you a little if you like, to show you how real I am. For a minute I +thought you might be a dream too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you come from?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“From my own room. The wind wuthered so I couldn’t go to sleep and +I heard someone crying and wanted to find out who it was. What were you crying +for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I couldn’t go to sleep either and my head ached. Tell me +your name again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mary Lennox. Did no one ever tell you I had come to live here?” +</p> + +<p> +He was still fingering the fold of her wrapper, but he began to look a little +more as if he believed in her reality. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he answered. “They daren’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I should have been afraid you would see me. I won’t let +people see me and talk me over.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” Mary asked again, feeling more mystified every moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I am like this always, ill and having to lie down. My father +won’t let people talk me over either. The servants are not allowed to +speak about me. If I live I may be a hunchback, but I shan’t live. My +father hates to think I may be like him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, what a queer house this is!” Mary said. “What a queer +house! Everything is a kind of secret. Rooms are locked up and gardens are +locked up—and you! Have you been locked up?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I stay in this room because I don’t want to be moved out of +it. It tires me too much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does your father come and see you?” Mary ventured. +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes. Generally when I am asleep. He doesn’t want to see +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” Mary could not help asking again. +</p> + +<p> +A sort of angry shadow passed over the boy’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“My mother died when I was born and it makes him wretched to look at me. +He thinks I don’t know, but I’ve heard people talking. He almost +hates me.” +</p> + +<p> +“He hates the garden, because she died,” said Mary half speaking to +herself. +</p> + +<p> +“What garden?” the boy asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! just—just a garden she used to like,” Mary stammered. +“Have you been here always?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nearly always. Sometimes I have been taken to places at the seaside, but +I won’t stay because people stare at me. I used to wear an iron thing to +keep my back straight, but a grand doctor came from London to see me and said +it was stupid. He told them to take it off and keep me out in the fresh air. I +hate fresh air and I don’t want to go out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t when first I came here,” said Mary. “Why do +you keep looking at me like that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because of the dreams that are so real,” he answered rather +fretfully. “Sometimes when I open my eyes I don’t believe I’m +awake.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re both awake,” said Mary. She glanced round the room +with its high ceiling and shadowy corners and dim fire-light. “It looks +quite like a dream, and it’s the middle of the night, and everybody in +the house is asleep—everybody but us. We are wide awake.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want it to be a dream,” the boy said restlessly. +</p> + +<p> +Mary thought of something all at once. +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t like people to see you,” she began, “do +you want me to go away?” +</p> + +<p> +He still held the fold of her wrapper and he gave it a little pull. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said. “I should be sure you were a dream if you +went. If you are real, sit down on that big footstool and talk. I want to hear +about you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary put down her candle on the table near the bed and sat down on the +cushioned stool. She did not want to go away at all. She wanted to stay in the +mysterious hidden-away room and talk to the mysterious boy. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want me to tell you?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +He wanted to know how long she had been at Misselthwaite; he wanted to know +which corridor her room was on; he wanted to know what she had been doing; if +she disliked the moor as he disliked it; where she had lived before she came to +Yorkshire. She answered all these questions and many more and he lay back on +his pillow and listened. He made her tell him a great deal about India and +about her voyage across the ocean. She found out that because he had been an +invalid he had not learned things as other children had. One of his nurses had +taught him to read when he was quite little and he was always reading and +looking at pictures in splendid books. +</p> + +<p> +Though his father rarely saw him when he was awake, he was given all sorts of +wonderful things to amuse himself with. He never seemed to have been amused, +however. He could have anything he asked for and was never made to do anything +he did not like to do. +</p> + +<p> +“Everyone is obliged to do what pleases me,” he said indifferently. +“It makes me ill to be angry. No one believes I shall live to grow +up.” +</p> + +<p> +He said it as if he was so accustomed to the idea that it had ceased to matter +to him at all. He seemed to like the sound of Mary’s voice. As she went +on talking he listened in a drowsy, interested way. Once or twice she wondered +if he were not gradually falling into a doze. But at last he asked a question +which opened up a new subject. +</p> + +<p> +“How old are you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I am ten,” answered Mary, forgetting herself for the moment, +“and so are you.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know that?” he demanded in a surprised voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Because when you were born the garden door was locked and the key was +buried. And it has been locked for ten years.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin half sat up, turning toward her, leaning on his elbows. +</p> + +<p> +“What garden door was locked? Who did it? Where was the key +buried?” he exclaimed as if he were suddenly very much interested. +</p> + +<p> +“It—it was the garden Mr. Craven hates,” said Mary nervously. +“He locked the door. No one—no one knew where he buried the +key.” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of a garden is it?” Colin persisted eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“No one has been allowed to go into it for ten years,” was +Mary’s careful answer. +</p> + +<p> +But it was too late to be careful. He was too much like herself. He too had had +nothing to think about and the idea of a hidden garden attracted him as it had +attracted her. He asked question after question. Where was it? Had she never +looked for the door? Had she never asked the gardeners? +</p> + +<p> +“They won’t talk about it,” said Mary. “I think they +have been told not to answer questions.” +</p> + +<p> +“I would make them,” said Colin. +</p> + +<p> +“Could you?” Mary faltered, beginning to feel frightened. If he +could make people answer questions, who knew what might happen! +</p> + +<p> +“Everyone is obliged to please me. I told you that,” he said. +“If I were to live, this place would sometime belong to me. They all know +that. I would make them tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary had not known that she herself had been spoiled, but she could see quite +plainly that this mysterious boy had been. He thought that the whole world +belonged to him. How peculiar he was and how coolly he spoke of not living. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think you won’t live?” she asked, partly because she +was curious and partly in hope of making him forget the garden. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t suppose I shall,” he answered as indifferently as he +had spoken before. “Ever since I remember anything I have heard people +say I shan’t. At first they thought I was too little to understand and +now they think I don’t hear. But I do. My doctor is my father’s +cousin. He is quite poor and if I die he will have all Misselthwaite when my +father is dead. I should think he wouldn’t want me to live.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to live?” inquired Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he answered, in a cross, tired fashion. “But I +don’t want to die. When I feel ill I lie here and think about it until I +cry and cry.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard you crying three times,” Mary said, “but I did +not know who it was. Were you crying about that?” She did so want him to +forget the garden. +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say,” he answered. “Let us talk about something else. +Talk about that garden. Don’t you want to see it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Mary, in quite a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” he went on persistently. “I don’t think I ever +really wanted to see anything before, but I want to see that garden. I want the +key dug up. I want the door unlocked. I would let them take me there in my +chair. That would be getting fresh air. I am going to make them open the +door.” +</p> + +<p> +He had become quite excited and his strange eyes began to shine like stars and +looked more immense than ever. +</p> + +<p> +“They have to please me,” he said. “I will make them take me +there and I will let you go, too.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary’s hands clutched each other. Everything would be +spoiled—everything! Dickon would never come back. She would never again +feel like a missel thrush with a safe-hidden nest. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t—don’t—don’t—don’t do +that!” she cried out. +</p> + +<p> +He stared as if he thought she had gone crazy! +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” he exclaimed. “You said you wanted to see it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” she answered almost with a sob in her throat, “but if +you make them open the door and take you in like that it will never be a secret +again.” +</p> + +<p> +He leaned still farther forward. +</p> + +<p> +“A secret,” he said. “What do you mean? Tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary’s words almost tumbled over one another. +</p> + +<p> +“You see—you see,” she panted, “if no one knows but +ourselves—if there was a door, hidden somewhere under the ivy—if +there was—and we could find it; and if we could slip through it together +and shut it behind us, and no one knew anyone was inside and we called it our +garden and pretended that—that we were missel thrushes and it was our +nest, and if we played there almost every day and dug and planted seeds and +made it all come alive—” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it dead?” he interrupted her. +</p> + +<p> +“It soon will be if no one cares for it,” she went on. “The +bulbs will live but the roses—” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped her again as excited as she was herself. +</p> + +<p> +“What are bulbs?” he put in quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“They are daffodils and lilies and snowdrops. They are working in the +earth now—pushing up pale green points because the spring is +coming.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is the spring coming?” he said. “What is it like? You +don’t see it in rooms if you are ill.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the sun shining on the rain and the rain falling on the sunshine, +and things pushing up and working under the earth,” said Mary. “If +the garden was a secret and we could get into it we could watch the things grow +bigger every day, and see how many roses are alive. Don’t you see? Oh, +don’t you see how much nicer it would be if it was a secret?” +</p> + +<p> +He dropped back on his pillow and lay there with an odd expression on his face. +</p> + +<p> +“I never had a secret,” he said, “except that one about not +living to grow up. They don’t know I know that, so it is a sort of +secret. But I like this kind better.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you won’t make them take you to the garden,” pleaded +Mary, “perhaps—I feel almost sure I can find out how to get in +sometime. And then—if the doctor wants you to go out in your chair, and +if you can always do what you want to do, perhaps—perhaps we might find +some boy who would push you, and we could go alone and it would always be a +secret garden.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should—like—that,” he said very slowly, his eyes +looking dreamy. “I should like that. I should not mind fresh air in a +secret garden.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary began to recover her breath and feel safer because the idea of keeping the +secret seemed to please him. She felt almost sure that if she kept on talking +and could make him see the garden in his mind as she had seen it he would like +it so much that he could not bear to think that everybody might tramp in to it +when they chose. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what I <i>think</i> it would be like, if we could go +into it,” she said. “It has been shut up so long things have grown +into a tangle perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +He lay quite still and listened while she went on talking about the roses which +<i>might</i> have clambered from tree to tree and hung down—about the +many birds which <i>might</i> have built their nests there because it was so +safe. And then she told him about the robin and Ben Weatherstaff, and there was +so much to tell about the robin and it was so easy and safe to talk about it +that she ceased to be afraid. The robin pleased him so much that he smiled +until he looked almost beautiful, and at first Mary had thought that he was +even plainer than herself, with his big eyes and heavy locks of hair. +</p> + +<p> +“I did not know birds could be like that,” he said. “But if +you stay in a room you never see things. What a lot of things you know. I feel +as if you had been inside that garden.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not know what to say, so she did not say anything. He evidently did not +expect an answer and the next moment he gave her a surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to let you look at something,” he said. “Do you +see that rose-colored silk curtain hanging on the wall over the +mantel-piece?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary had not noticed it before, but she looked up and saw it. It was a curtain +of soft silk hanging over what seemed to be some picture. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a cord hanging from it,” said Colin. “Go and pull +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary got up, much mystified, and found the cord. When she pulled it the silk +curtain ran back on rings and when it ran back it uncovered a picture. It was +the picture of a girl with a laughing face. She had bright hair tied up with a +blue ribbon and her gay, lovely eyes were exactly like Colin’s unhappy +ones, agate gray and looking twice as big as they really were because of the +black lashes all round them. +</p> + +<p> +“She is my mother,” said Colin complainingly. “I don’t +see why she died. Sometimes I hate her for doing it.” +</p> + +<p> +“How queer!” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“If she had lived I believe I should not have been ill always,” he +grumbled. “I dare say I should have lived, too. And my father would not +have hated to look at me. I dare say I should have had a strong back. Draw the +curtain again.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary did as she was told and returned to her footstool. +</p> + +<p> +“She is much prettier than you,” she said, “but her eyes are +just like yours—at least they are the same shape and color. Why is the +curtain drawn over her?” +</p> + +<p> +He moved uncomfortably. +</p> + +<p> +“I made them do it,” he said. “Sometimes I don’t like +to see her looking at me. She smiles too much when I am ill and miserable. +Besides, she is mine and I don’t want everyone to see her.” +</p> + +<p> +There were a few moments of silence and then Mary spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“What would Mrs. Medlock do if she found out that I had been here?” +she inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“She would do as I told her to do,” he answered. “And I +should tell her that I wanted you to come here and talk to me every day. I am +glad you came.” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” said Mary. “I will come as often as I can, +but”—she hesitated—“I shall have to look every day for +the garden door.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you must,” said Colin, “and you can tell me about it +afterward.” +</p> + +<p> +He lay thinking a few minutes, as he had done before, and then he spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you shall be a secret, too,” he said. “I will not +tell them until they find out. I can always send the nurse out of the room and +say that I want to be by myself. Do you know Martha?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know her very well,” said Mary. “She waits on +me.” +</p> + +<p> +He nodded his head toward the outer corridor. +</p> + +<p> +“She is the one who is asleep in the other room. The nurse went away +yesterday to stay all night with her sister and she always makes Martha attend +to me when she wants to go out. Martha shall tell you when to come here.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Mary understood Martha’s troubled look when she had asked questions +about the crying. +</p> + +<p> +“Martha knew about you all the time?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; she often attends to me. The nurse likes to get away from me and +then Martha comes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have been here a long time,” said Mary. “Shall I go away +now? Your eyes look sleepy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I could go to sleep before you leave me,” he said rather +shyly. +</p> + +<p> +“Shut your eyes,” said Mary, drawing her footstool closer, +“and I will do what my Ayah used to do in India. I will pat your hand and +stroke it and sing something quite low.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like that perhaps,” he said drowsily. +</p> + +<p> +Somehow she was sorry for him and did not want him to lie awake, so she leaned +against the bed and began to stroke and pat his hand and sing a very low little +chanting song in Hindustani. +</p> + +<p> +“That is nice,” he said more drowsily still, and she went on +chanting and stroking, but when she looked at him again his black lashes were +lying close against his cheeks, for his eyes were shut and he was fast asleep. +So she got up softly, took her candle and crept away without making a sound. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br /> +A YOUNG RAJAH</h2> + +<p> +The moor was hidden in mist when the morning came, and the rain had not stopped +pouring down. There could be no going out of doors. Martha was so busy that +Mary had no opportunity of talking to her, but in the afternoon she asked her +to come and sit with her in the nursery. She came bringing the stocking she was +always knitting when she was doing nothing else. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with thee?” she asked as soon as they sat +down. “Tha’ looks as if tha’d somethin’ to say.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have. I have found out what the crying was,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Martha let her knitting drop on her knee and gazed at her with startled eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ hasn’t!” she exclaimed. “Never!” +</p> + +<p> +“I heard it in the night,” Mary went on. “And I got up and +went to see where it came from. It was Colin. I found him.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha’s face became red with fright. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! Miss Mary!” she said half crying. “Tha’ +shouldn’t have done it—tha’ shouldn’t! Tha’ll get +me in trouble. I never told thee nothin’ about him—but tha’ll +get me in trouble. I shall lose my place and what’ll mother do!” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t lose your place,” said Mary. “He was glad I +came. We talked and talked and he said he was glad I came.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was he?” cried Martha. “Art tha’ sure? Tha’ +doesn’t know what he’s like when anything vexes him. He’s a +big lad to cry like a baby, but when he’s in a passion he’ll fair +scream just to frighten us. He knows us daren’t call our souls our +own.” +</p> + +<p> +“He wasn’t vexed,” said Mary. “I asked him if I should +go away and he made me stay. He asked me questions and I sat on a big footstool +and talked to him about India and about the robin and gardens. He +wouldn’t let me go. He let me see his mother’s picture. Before I +left him I sang him to sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha fairly gasped with amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“I can scarcely believe thee!” she protested. “It’s as +if tha’d walked straight into a lion’s den. If he’d been like +he is most times he’d have throwed himself into one of his tantrums and +roused th’ house. He won’t let strangers look at him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He let me look at him. I looked at him all the time and he looked at me. +We stared!” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what to do!” cried agitated Martha. “If +Mrs. Medlock finds out, she’ll think I broke orders and told thee and I +shall be packed back to mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“He is not going to tell Mrs. Medlock anything about it yet. It’s +to be a sort of secret just at first,” said Mary firmly. “And he +says everybody is obliged to do as he pleases.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, that’s true enough—th’ bad lad!” sighed +Martha, wiping her forehead with her apron. +</p> + +<p> +“He says Mrs. Medlock must. And he wants me to come and talk to him every +day. And you are to tell me when he wants me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me!” said Martha; “I shall lose my place—I shall for +sure!” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t if you are doing what he wants you to do and everybody +is ordered to obey him,” Mary argued. +</p> + +<p> +“Does tha’ mean to say,” cried Martha with wide open eyes, +“that he was nice to thee!” +</p> + +<p> +“I think he almost liked me,” Mary answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Then tha’ must have bewitched him!” decided Martha, drawing +a long breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean Magic?” inquired Mary. “I’ve heard about +Magic in India, but I can’t make it. I just went into his room and I was +so surprised to see him I stood and stared. And then he turned round and stared +at me. And he thought I was a ghost or a dream and I thought perhaps he was. +And it was so queer being there alone together in the middle of the night and +not knowing about each other. And we began to ask each other questions. And +when I asked him if I must go away he said I must not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Th’ world’s comin’ to a end!” gasped Martha. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter with him?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody knows for sure and certain,” said Martha. “Mr. Craven +went off his head like when he was born. Th’ doctors thought he’d +have to be put in a ’sylum. It was because Mrs. Craven died like I told +you. He wouldn’t set eyes on th’ baby. He just raved and said +it’d be another hunchback like him and it’d better die.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is Colin a hunchback?” Mary asked. “He didn’t look +like one.” +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t yet,” said Martha. “But he began all wrong. +Mother said that there was enough trouble and raging in th’ house to set +any child wrong. They was afraid his back was weak an’ they’ve +always been takin’ care of it—keepin’ him lyin’ down +and not lettin’ him walk. Once they made him wear a brace but he fretted +so he was downright ill. Then a big doctor came to see him an’ made them +take it off. He talked to th’ other doctor quite rough—in a polite +way. He said there’d been too much medicine and too much lettin’ +him have his own way.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think he’s a very spoiled boy,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s th’ worst young nowt as ever was!” said Martha. +“I won’t say as he hasn’t been ill a good bit. He’s had +coughs an’ colds that’s nearly killed him two or three times. Once +he had rheumatic fever an’ once he had typhoid. Eh! Mrs. Medlock did get +a fright then. He’d been out of his head an’ she was talkin’ +to th’ nurse, thinkin’ he didn’t know nothin’, +an’ she said, ‘He’ll die this time sure enough, an’ +best thing for him an’ for everybody.’ An’ she looked at him +an’ there he was with his big eyes open, starin’ at her as sensible +as she was herself. She didn’t know wha’d happen but he just stared +at her an’ says, ‘You give me some water an’ stop +talkin’.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think he will die?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother says there’s no reason why any child should live that gets +no fresh air an’ doesn’t do nothin’ but lie on his back +an’ read picture-books an’ take medicine. He’s weak and hates +th’ trouble o’ bein’ taken out o’ doors, an’ he +gets cold so easy he says it makes him ill.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary sat and looked at the fire. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” she said slowly, “if it would not do him good to +go out into a garden and watch things growing. It did me good.” +</p> + +<p> +“One of th’ worst fits he ever had,” said Martha, “was +one time they took him out where the roses is by the fountain. He’d been +readin’ in a paper about people gettin’ somethin’ he called +‘rose cold’ an’ he began to sneeze an’ said he’d +got it an’ then a new gardener as didn’t know th’ rules +passed by an’ looked at him curious. He threw himself into a passion +an’ he said he’d looked at him because he was going to be a +hunchback. He cried himself into a fever an’ was ill all night.” +</p> + +<p> +“If he ever gets angry at me, I’ll never go and see him +again,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll have thee if he wants thee,” said Martha. +“Tha’ may as well know that at th’ start.” +</p> + +<p> +Very soon afterward a bell rang and she rolled up her knitting. +</p> + +<p> +“I dare say th’ nurse wants me to stay with him a bit,” she +said. “I hope he’s in a good temper.” +</p> + +<p> +She was out of the room about ten minutes and then she came back with a puzzled +expression. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, tha’ has bewitched him,” she said. “He’s +up on his sofa with his picture-books. He’s told the nurse to stay away +until six o’clock. I’m to wait in the next room. Th’ minute +she was gone he called me to him an’ says, ‘I want Mary Lennox to +come and talk to me, and remember you’re not to tell anyone.’ +You’d better go as quick as you can.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary was quite willing to go quickly. She did not want to see Colin as much as +she wanted to see Dickon; but she wanted to see him very much. +</p> + +<p> +There was a bright fire on the hearth when she entered his room, and in the +daylight she saw it was a very beautiful room indeed. There were rich colors in +the rugs and hangings and pictures and books on the walls which made it look +glowing and comfortable even in spite of the gray sky and falling rain. Colin +looked rather like a picture himself. He was wrapped in a velvet dressing-gown +and sat against a big brocaded cushion. He had a red spot on each cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about you all +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” answered Mary. +“You don’t know how frightened Martha is. She says Mrs. Medlock +will think she told me about you and then she will be sent away.” +</p> + +<p> +He frowned. +</p> + +<p> +“Go and tell her to come here,” he said. “She is in the next +room.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary went and brought her back. Poor Martha was shaking in her shoes. Colin was +still frowning. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you to do what I please or have you not?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“I have to do what you please, sir,” Martha faltered, turning quite +red. +</p> + +<p> +“Has Medlock to do what I please?” +</p> + +<p> +“Everybody has, sir,” said Martha. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then, if I order you to bring Miss Mary to me, how can Medlock +send you away if she finds it out?” +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t let her, sir,” pleaded Martha. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll send <i>her</i> away if she dares to say a word about such a +thing,” said Master Craven grandly. “She wouldn’t like that, +I can tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir,” bobbing a curtsy, “I want to do my duty, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“What I want is your duty” said Colin more grandly still. +“I’ll take care of you. Now go away.” +</p> + +<p> +When the door closed behind Martha, Colin found Mistress Mary gazing at him as +if he had set her wondering. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you look at me like that?” he asked her. “What are +you thinking about?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am thinking about two things.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are they? Sit down and tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is the first one,” said Mary, seating herself on the big +stool. “Once in India I saw a boy who was a Rajah. He had rubies and +emeralds and diamonds stuck all over him. He spoke to his people just as you +spoke to Martha. Everybody had to do everything he told them—in a minute. +I think they would have been killed if they hadn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall make you tell me about Rajahs presently,” he said, +“but first tell me what the second thing was.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinking,” said Mary, “how different you are from +Dickon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is Dickon?” he said. “What a queer name!” +</p> + +<p> +She might as well tell him, she thought she could talk about Dickon without +mentioning the secret garden. She had liked to hear Martha talk about him. +Besides, she longed to talk about him. It would seem to bring him nearer. +</p> + +<p> +“He is Martha’s brother. He is twelve years old,” she +explained. “He is not like anyone else in the world. He can charm foxes +and squirrels and birds just as the natives in India charm snakes. He plays a +very soft tune on a pipe and they come and listen.” +</p> + +<p> +There were some big books on a table at his side and he dragged one suddenly +toward him. +</p> + +<p> +“There is a picture of a snake-charmer in this,” he exclaimed. +“Come and look at it.” +</p> + +<p> +The book was a beautiful one with superb colored illustrations and he turned to +one of them. +</p> + +<p> +“Can he do that?” he asked eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“He played on his pipe and they listened,” Mary explained. +“But he doesn’t call it Magic. He says it’s because he lives +on the moor so much and he knows their ways. He says he feels sometimes as if +he was a bird or a rabbit himself, he likes them so. I think he asked the robin +questions. It seemed as if they talked to each other in soft chirps.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin lay back on his cushion and his eyes grew larger and larger and the spots +on his cheeks burned. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me some more about him,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“He knows all about eggs and nests,” Mary went on. “And he +knows where foxes and badgers and otters live. He keeps them secret so that +other boys won’t find their holes and frighten them. He knows about +everything that grows or lives on the moor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does he like the moor?” said Colin. “How can he when +it’s such a great, bare, dreary place?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the most beautiful place,” protested Mary. +“Thousands of lovely things grow on it and there are thousands of little +creatures all busy building nests and making holes and burrows and chippering +or singing or squeaking to each other. They are so busy and having such fun +under the earth or in the trees or heather. It’s their world.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know all that?” said Colin, turning on his elbow to +look at her. +</p> + +<p> +“I have never been there once, really,” said Mary suddenly +remembering. “I only drove over it in the dark. I thought it was hideous. +Martha told me about it first and then Dickon. When Dickon talks about it you +feel as if you saw things and heard them and as if you were standing in the +heather with the sun shining and the gorse smelling like honey—and all +full of bees and butterflies.” +</p> + +<p> +“You never see anything if you are ill,” said Colin restlessly. He +looked like a person listening to a new sound in the distance and wondering +what it was. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t if you stay in a room,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t go on the moor,” he said in a resentful tone. +</p> + +<p> +Mary was silent for a minute and then she said something bold. +</p> + +<p> +“You might—sometime.” +</p> + +<p> +He moved as if he were startled. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on the moor! How could I? I am going to die.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know?” said Mary unsympathetically. She didn’t +like the way he had of talking about dying. She did not feel very sympathetic. +She felt rather as if he almost boasted about it. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ve heard it ever since I remember,” he answered +crossly. “They are always whispering about it and thinking I don’t +notice. They wish I would, too.” +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Mary felt quite contrary. She pinched her lips together. +</p> + +<p> +“If they wished I would,” she said, “I wouldn’t. Who +wishes you would?” +</p> + +<p> +“The servants—and of course Dr. Craven because he would get +Misselthwaite and be rich instead of poor. He daren’t say so, but he +always looks cheerful when I am worse. When I had typhoid fever his face got +quite fat. I think my father wishes it, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe he does,” said Mary quite obstinately. +</p> + +<p> +That made Colin turn and look at her again. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +And then he lay back on his cushion and was still, as if he were thinking. And +there was quite a long silence. Perhaps they were both of them thinking strange +things children do not usually think of. +</p> + +<p> +“I like the grand doctor from London, because he made them take the iron +thing off,” said Mary at last “Did he say you were going to +die?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did he say?” +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t whisper,” Colin answered. “Perhaps he knew I +hated whispering. I heard him say one thing quite aloud. He said, ‘The +lad might live if he would make up his mind to it. Put him in the humor.’ +It sounded as if he was in a temper.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you who would put you in the humor, perhaps,” said +Mary reflecting. She felt as if she would like this thing to be settled one way +or the other. “I believe Dickon would. He’s always talking about +live things. He never talks about dead things or things that are ill. +He’s always looking up in the sky to watch birds flying—or looking +down at the earth to see something growing. He has such round blue eyes and +they are so wide open with looking about. And he laughs such a big laugh with +his wide mouth—and his cheeks are as red—as red as cherries.” +</p> + +<p> +She pulled her stool nearer to the sofa and her expression quite changed at the +remembrance of the wide curving mouth and wide open eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“See here,” she said. “Don’t let us talk about dying; I +don’t like it. Let us talk about living. Let us talk and talk about +Dickon. And then we will look at your pictures.” +</p> + +<p> +It was the best thing she could have said. To talk about Dickon meant to talk +about the moor and about the cottage and the fourteen people who lived in it on +sixteen shillings a week—and the children who got fat on the moor grass +like the wild ponies. And about Dickon’s mother—and the +skipping-rope—and the moor with the sun on it—and about pale green +points sticking up out of the black sod. And it was all so alive that Mary +talked more than she had ever talked before—and Colin both talked and +listened as he had never done either before. And they both began to laugh over +nothings as children will when they are happy together. And they laughed so +that in the end they were making as much noise as if they had been two ordinary +healthy natural ten-year-old creatures—instead of a hard, little, +unloving girl and a sickly boy who believed that he was going to die. +</p> + +<p> +They enjoyed themselves so much that they forgot the pictures and they forgot +about the time. They had been laughing quite loudly over Ben Weatherstaff and +his robin, and Colin was actually sitting up as if he had forgotten about his +weak back, when he suddenly remembered something. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know there is one thing we have never once thought of,” he +said. “We are cousins.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed so queer that they had talked so much and never remembered this +simple thing that they laughed more than ever, because they had got into the +humor to laugh at anything. And in the midst of the fun the door opened and in +walked Dr. Craven and Mrs. Medlock. +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Craven started in actual alarm and Mrs. Medlock almost fell back because he +had accidentally bumped against her. +</p> + +<p> +“Good Lord!” exclaimed poor Mrs. Medlock with her eyes almost +starting out of her head. “Good Lord!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is this?” said Dr. Craven, coming forward. “What does +it mean?” +</p> + +<p> +Then Mary was reminded of the boy Rajah again. Colin answered as if neither the +doctor’s alarm nor Mrs. Medlock’s terror were of the slightest +consequence. He was as little disturbed or frightened as if an elderly cat and +dog had walked into the room. +</p> + +<p> +“This is my cousin, Mary Lennox,” he said. “I asked her to +come and talk to me. I like her. She must come and talk to me whenever I send +for her.” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Craven turned reproachfully to Mrs. Medlock. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, sir” she panted. “I don’t know how it’s +happened. There’s not a servant on the place tha’d dare to +talk—they all have their orders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody told her anything,” said Colin. “She heard me crying +and found me herself. I am glad she came. Don’t be silly, Medlock.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary saw that Dr. Craven did not look pleased, but it was quite plain that he +dare not oppose his patient. He sat down by Colin and felt his pulse. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid there has been too much excitement. Excitement is not good +for you, my boy,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I should be excited if she kept away,” answered Colin, his eyes +beginning to look dangerously sparkling. “I am better. She makes me +better. The nurse must bring up her tea with mine. We will have tea +together.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Medlock and Dr. Craven looked at each other in a troubled way, but there +was evidently nothing to be done. +</p> + +<p> +“He does look rather better, sir,” ventured Mrs. Medlock. +“But”—thinking the matter over—“he looked better +this morning before she came into the room.” +</p> + +<p> +“She came into the room last night. She stayed with me a long time. She +sang a Hindustani song to me and it made me go to sleep,” said Colin. +“I was better when I wakened up. I wanted my breakfast. I want my tea +now. Tell nurse, Medlock.” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Craven did not stay very long. He talked to the nurse for a few minutes +when she came into the room and said a few words of warning to Colin. He must +not talk too much; he must not forget that he was ill; he must not forget that +he was very easily tired. Mary thought that there seemed to be a number of +uncomfortable things he was not to forget. +</p> + +<p> +Colin looked fretful and kept his strange black-lashed eyes fixed on Dr. +Craven’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“I <i>want</i> to forget it,” he said at last. “She makes me +forget it. That is why I want her.” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Craven did not look happy when he left the room. He gave a puzzled glance +at the little girl sitting on the large stool. She had become a stiff, silent +child again as soon as he entered and he could not see what the attraction was. +The boy actually did look brighter, however—and he sighed rather heavily +as he went down the corridor. +</p> + +<p> +“They are always wanting me to eat things when I don’t want +to,” said Colin, as the nurse brought in the tea and put it on the table +by the sofa. “Now, if you’ll eat I will. Those muffins look so nice +and hot. Tell me about Rajahs.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br /> +NEST BUILDING</h2> + +<p> +After another week of rain the high arch of blue sky appeared again and the sun +which poured down was quite hot. Though there had been no chance to see either +the secret garden or Dickon, Mistress Mary had enjoyed herself very much. The +week had not seemed long. She had spent hours of every day with Colin in his +room, talking about Rajahs or gardens or Dickon and the cottage on the moor. +They had looked at the splendid books and pictures and sometimes Mary had read +things to Colin, and sometimes he had read a little to her. When he was amused +and interested she thought he scarcely looked like an invalid at all, except +that his face was so colorless and he was always on the sofa. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a sly young one to listen and get out of your bed to go +following things up like you did that night,” Mrs. Medlock said once. +“But there’s no saying it’s not been a sort of blessing to +the lot of us. He’s not had a tantrum or a whining fit since you made +friends. The nurse was just going to give up the case because she was so sick +of him, but she says she doesn’t mind staying now you’ve gone on +duty with her,” laughing a little. +</p> + +<p> +In her talks with Colin, Mary had tried to be very cautious about the secret +garden. There were certain things she wanted to find out from him, but she felt +that she must find them out without asking him direct questions. In the first +place, as she began to like to be with him, she wanted to discover whether he +was the kind of boy you could tell a secret to. He was not in the least like +Dickon, but he was evidently so pleased with the idea of a garden no one knew +anything about that she thought perhaps he could be trusted. But she had not +known him long enough to be sure. The second thing she wanted to find out was +this: If he could be trusted—if he really could—wouldn’t it +be possible to take him to the garden without having anyone find it out? The +grand doctor had said that he must have fresh air and Colin had said that he +would not mind fresh air in a secret garden. Perhaps if he had a great deal of +fresh air and knew Dickon and the robin and saw things growing he might not +think so much about dying. Mary had seen herself in the glass sometimes lately +when she had realized that she looked quite a different creature from the child +she had seen when she arrived from India. This child looked nicer. Even Martha +had seen a change in her. +</p> + +<p> +“Th’ air from th’ moor has done thee good already,” she +had said. “Tha’rt not nigh so yeller and tha’rt not nigh so +scrawny. Even tha’ hair doesn’t slamp down on tha’ head so +flat. It’s got some life in it so as it sticks out a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s like me,” said Mary. “It’s growing stronger +and fatter. I’m sure there’s more of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It looks it, for sure,” said Martha, ruffling it up a little round +her face. “Tha’rt not half so ugly when it’s that way +an’ there’s a bit o’ red in tha’ cheeks.” +</p> + +<p> +If gardens and fresh air had been good for her perhaps they would be good for +Colin. But then, if he hated people to look at him, perhaps he would not like +to see Dickon. +</p> + +<p> +“Why does it make you angry when you are looked at?” she inquired +one day. +</p> + +<p> +“I always hated it,” he answered, “even when I was very +little. Then when they took me to the seaside and I used to lie in my carriage +everybody used to stare and ladies would stop and talk to my nurse and then +they would begin to whisper and I knew then they were saying I shouldn’t +live to grow up. Then sometimes the ladies would pat my cheeks and say +‘Poor child!’ Once when a lady did that I screamed out loud and bit +her hand. She was so frightened she ran away.” +</p> + +<p> +“She thought you had gone mad like a dog,” said Mary, not at all +admiringly. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care what she thought,” said Colin, frowning. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder why you didn’t scream and bite me when I came into your +room?” said Mary. Then she began to smile slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you were a ghost or a dream,” he said. “You +can’t bite a ghost or a dream, and if you scream they don’t +care.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you hate it if—if a boy looked at you?” Mary asked +uncertainly. +</p> + +<p> +He lay back on his cushion and paused thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s one boy,” he said quite slowly, as if he were +thinking over every word, “there’s one boy I believe I +shouldn’t mind. It’s that boy who knows where the foxes +live—Dickon.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sure you wouldn’t mind him,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“The birds don’t and other animals,” he said, still thinking +it over, “perhaps that’s why I shouldn’t. He’s a sort +of animal charmer and I am a boy animal.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he laughed and she laughed too; in fact it ended in their both laughing a +great deal and finding the idea of a boy animal hiding in his hole very funny +indeed. +</p> + +<p> +What Mary felt afterward was that she need not fear about Dickon.<br /><br /> +</p> + +<p> +On that first morning when the sky was blue again Mary wakened very early. The +sun was pouring in slanting rays through the blinds and there was something so +joyous in the sight of it that she jumped out of bed and ran to the window. She +drew up the blinds and opened the window itself and a great waft of fresh, +scented air blew in upon her. The moor was blue and the whole world looked as +if something Magic had happened to it. There were tender little fluting sounds +here and there and everywhere, as if scores of birds were beginning to tune up +for a concert. Mary put her hand out of the window and held it in the sun. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s warm—warm!” she said. “It will make the +green points push up and up and up, and it will make the bulbs and roots work +and struggle with all their might under the earth.” +</p> + +<p> +She kneeled down and leaned out of the window as far as she could, breathing +big breaths and sniffing the air until she laughed because she remembered what +Dickon’s mother had said about the end of his nose quivering like a +rabbit’s. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be very early,” she said. “The little clouds are all +pink and I’ve never seen the sky look like this. No one is up. I +don’t even hear the stable boys.” +</p> + +<p> +A sudden thought made her scramble to her feet. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t wait! I am going to see the garden!” +</p> + +<p> +She had learned to dress herself by this time and she put on her clothes in +five minutes. She knew a small side door which she could unbolt herself and she +flew downstairs in her stocking feet and put on her shoes in the hall. She +unchained and unbolted and unlocked and when the door was open she sprang +across the step with one bound, and there she was standing on the grass, which +seemed to have turned green, and with the sun pouring down on her and warm +sweet wafts about her and the fluting and twittering and singing coming from +every bush and tree. She clasped her hands for pure joy and looked up in the +sky and it was so blue and pink and pearly and white and flooded with +springtime light that she felt as if she must flute and sing aloud herself and +knew that thrushes and robins and skylarks could not possibly help it. She ran +around the shrubs and paths towards the secret garden. +</p> + +<p> +“It is all different already,” she said. “The grass is +greener and things are sticking up everywhere and things are uncurling and +green buds of leaves are showing. This afternoon I am sure Dickon will +come.” +</p> + +<p> +The long warm rain had done strange things to the herbaceous beds which +bordered the walk by the lower wall. There were things sprouting and pushing +out from the roots of clumps of plants and there were actually here and there +glimpses of royal purple and yellow unfurling among the stems of crocuses. Six +months before Mistress Mary would not have seen how the world was waking up, +but now she missed nothing. +</p> + +<p> +When she had reached the place where the door hid itself under the ivy, she was +startled by a curious loud sound. It was the caw—caw of a crow and it +came from the top of the wall, and when she looked up, there sat a big +glossy-plumaged blue-black bird, looking down at her very wisely indeed. She +had never seen a crow so close before and he made her a little nervous, but the +next moment he spread his wings and flapped away across the garden. She hoped +he was not going to stay inside and she pushed the door open wondering if he +would. When she got fairly into the garden she saw that he probably did intend +to stay because he had alighted on a dwarf apple-tree and under the apple-tree +was lying a little reddish animal with a Bushy tail, and both of them were +watching the stooping body and rust-red head of Dickon, who was kneeling on the +grass working hard. +</p> + +<p> +Mary flew across the grass to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Dickon! Dickon!” she cried out. “How could you get here +so early! How could you! The sun has only just got up!” +</p> + +<p> +He got up himself, laughing and glowing, and tousled; his eyes like a bit of +the sky. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” he said. “I was up long before him. How could I have +stayed abed! Th’ world’s all fair begun again this mornin’, +it has. An’ it’s workin’ an’ hummin’ an’ +scratchin’ an’ pipin’ an’ nest-buildin’ an’ +breathin’ out scents, till you’ve got to be out on it ’stead +o’ lyin’ on your back. When th’ sun did jump up, th’ +moor went mad for joy, an’ I was in the midst of th’ heather, +an’ I run like mad myself, shoutin’ an’ singin’. +An’ I come straight here. I couldn’t have stayed away. Why, +th’ garden was lyin’ here waitin’!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary put her hands on her chest, panting, as if she had been running herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Dickon! Dickon!” she said. “I’m so happy I can +scarcely breathe!” +</p> + +<p> +Seeing him talking to a stranger, the little bushy-tailed animal rose from its +place under the tree and came to him, and the rook, cawing once, flew down from +its branch and settled quietly on his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“This is th’ little fox cub,” he said, rubbing the little +reddish animal’s head. “It’s named Captain. An’ this +here’s Soot. Soot he flew across th’ moor with me an’ Captain +he run same as if th’ hounds had been after him. They both felt same as I +did.” +</p> + +<p> +Neither of the creatures looked as if he were the least afraid of Mary. When +Dickon began to walk about, Soot stayed on his shoulder and Captain trotted +quietly close to his side. +</p> + +<p> +“See here!” said Dickon. “See how these has pushed up, +an’ these an’ these! An’ Eh! Look at these here!” +</p> + +<p> +He threw himself upon his knees and Mary went down beside him. They had come +upon a whole clump of crocuses burst into purple and orange and gold. Mary bent +her face down and kissed and kissed them. +</p> + +<p> +“You never kiss a person in that way,” she said when she lifted her +head. “Flowers are so different.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked puzzled but smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” he said, “I’ve kissed mother many a time that way +when I come in from th’ moor after a day’s roamin’ an’ +she stood there at th’ door in th’ sun, lookin’ so glad +an’ comfortable.” +</p> + +<p> +They ran from one part of the garden to another and found so many wonders that +they were obliged to remind themselves that they must whisper or speak low. He +showed her swelling leafbuds on rose branches which had seemed dead. He showed +her ten thousand new green points pushing through the mould. They put their +eager young noses close to the earth and sniffed its warmed springtime +breathing; they dug and pulled and laughed low with rapture until Mistress +Mary’s hair was as tumbled as Dickon’s and her cheeks were almost +as poppy red as his. +</p> + +<p> +There was every joy on earth in the secret garden that morning, and in the +midst of them came a delight more delightful than all, because it was more +wonderful. Swiftly something flew across the wall and darted through the trees +to a close grown corner, a little flare of red-breasted bird with something +hanging from its beak. Dickon stood quite still and put his hand on Mary almost +as if they had suddenly found themselves laughing in a church. +</p> + +<p> +“We munnot stir,” he whispered in broad Yorkshire. “We munnot +scarce breathe. I knowed he was mate-huntin’ when I seed him last. +It’s Ben Weatherstaff’s robin. He’s buildin’ his nest. +He’ll stay here if us don’t flight him.” +</p> + +<p> +They settled down softly upon the grass and sat there without moving. +</p> + +<p> +“Us mustn’t seem as if us was watchin’ him too close,” +said Dickon. “He’d be out with us for good if he got th’ +notion us was interferin’ now. He’ll be a good bit different till +all this is over. He’s settin’ up housekeepin’. He’ll +be shyer an’ readier to take things ill. He’s got no time for +visitin’ an’ gossipin’. Us must keep still a bit an’ +try to look as if us was grass an’ trees an’ bushes. Then when +he’s got used to seein’ us I’ll chirp a bit an’ +he’ll know us’ll not be in his way.” +</p> + +<p> +Mistress Mary was not at all sure that she knew, as Dickon seemed to, how to +try to look like grass and trees and bushes. But he had said the queer thing as +if it were the simplest and most natural thing in the world, and she felt it +must be quite easy to him, and indeed she watched him for a few minutes +carefully, wondering if it was possible for him to quietly turn green and put +out branches and leaves. But he only sat wonderfully still, and when he spoke +dropped his voice to such a softness that it was curious that she could hear +him, but she could. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s part o’ th’ springtime, this nest-buildin’ +is,” he said. “I warrant it’s been goin’ on in +th’ same way every year since th’ world was begun. They’ve +got their way o’ thinkin’ and doin’ things an’ a body +had better not meddle. You can lose a friend in springtime easier than any +other season if you’re too curious.” +</p> + +<p> +“If we talk about him I can’t help looking at him,” Mary said +as softly as possible. “We must talk of something else. There is +something I want to tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll like it better if us talks o’ somethin’ +else,” said Dickon. “What is it tha’s got to tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well—do you know about Colin?” she whispered. +</p> + +<p> +He turned his head to look at her. +</p> + +<p> +“What does tha’ know about him?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen him. I have been to talk to him every day this week. He +wants me to come. He says I’m making him forget about being ill and +dying,” answered Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon looked actually relieved as soon as the surprise died away from his +round face. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad o’ that,” he exclaimed. “I’m right +down glad. It makes me easier. I knowed I must say nothin’ about him +an’ I don’t like havin’ to hide things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you like hiding the garden?” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll never tell about it,” he answered. “But I says to +mother, ‘Mother,’ I says, ‘I got a secret to keep. It’s +not a bad ’un, tha’ knows that. It’s no worse than +hidin’ where a bird’s nest is. Tha’ doesn’t mind it, +does tha’?’” +</p> + +<p> +Mary always wanted to hear about mother. +</p> + +<p> +“What did she say?” she asked, not at all afraid to hear. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon grinned sweet-temperedly. +</p> + +<p> +“It was just like her, what she said,” he answered. “She give +my head a bit of a rub an’ laughed an’ she says, ‘Eh, lad, +tha’ can have all th’ secrets tha’ likes. I’ve knowed +thee twelve year’.’” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you know about Colin?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Everybody as knowed about Mester Craven knowed there was a little lad as +was like to be a cripple, an’ they knowed Mester Craven didn’t like +him to be talked about. Folks is sorry for Mester Craven because Mrs. Craven +was such a pretty young lady an’ they was so fond of each other. Mrs. +Medlock stops in our cottage whenever she goes to Thwaite an’ she +doesn’t mind talkin’ to mother before us children, because she +knows us has been brought up to be trusty. How did tha’ find out about +him? Martha was in fine trouble th’ last time she came home. She said +tha’d heard him frettin’ an’ tha’ was askin’ +questions an’ she didn’t know what to say.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary told him her story about the midnight wuthering of the wind which had +wakened her and about the faint far-off sounds of the complaining voice which +had led her down the dark corridors with her candle and had ended with her +opening of the door of the dimly lighted room with the carven four-posted bed +in the corner. When she described the small ivory-white face and the strange +black-rimmed eyes Dickon shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Them’s just like his mother’s eyes, only hers was always +laughin’, they say,” he said. “They say as Mr. Craven +can’t bear to see him when he’s awake an’ it’s because +his eyes is so like his mother’s an’ yet looks so different in his +miserable bit of a face.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think he wants to die?” whispered Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“No, but he wishes he’d never been born. Mother she says +that’s th’ worst thing on earth for a child. Them as is not wanted +scarce ever thrives. Mester Craven he’d buy anythin’ as money could +buy for th’ poor lad but he’d like to forget as he’s on +earth. For one thing, he’s afraid he’ll look at him some day and +find he’s growed hunchback.” +</p> + +<p> +“Colin’s so afraid of it himself that he won’t sit up,” +said Mary. “He says he’s always thinking that if he should feel a +lump coming he should go crazy and scream himself to death.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! he oughtn’t to lie there thinkin’ things like +that,” said Dickon. “No lad could get well as thought them sort +o’ things.” +</p> + +<p> +The fox was lying on the grass close by him, looking up to ask for a pat now +and then, and Dickon bent down and rubbed his neck softly and thought a few +minutes in silence. Presently he lifted his head and looked round the garden. +</p> + +<p> +“When first we got in here,” he said, “it seemed like +everything was gray. Look round now and tell me if tha’ doesn’t see +a difference.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary looked and caught her breath a little. +</p> + +<p> +“Why!” she cried, “the gray wall is changing. It is as if a +green mist were creeping over it. It’s almost like a green gauze +veil.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye,” said Dickon. “An’ it’ll be greener and +greener till th’ gray’s all gone. Can tha’ guess what I was +thinkin’?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it was something nice,” said Mary eagerly. “I believe +it was something about Colin.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinkin’ that if he was out here he wouldn’t be +watchin’ for lumps to grow on his back; he’d be watchin’ for +buds to break on th’ rose-bushes, an’ he’d likely be +healthier,” explained Dickon. “I was wonderin’ if us could +ever get him in th’ humor to come out here an’ lie under th’ +trees in his carriage.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been wondering that myself. I’ve thought of it almost +every time I’ve talked to him,” said Mary. “I’ve +wondered if he could keep a secret and I’ve wondered if we could bring +him here without anyone seeing us. I thought perhaps you could push his +carriage. The doctor said he must have fresh air and if he wants us to take him +out no one dare disobey him. He won’t go out for other people and perhaps +they will be glad if he will go out with us. He could order the gardeners to +keep away so they wouldn’t find out.” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon was thinking very hard as he scratched Captain’s back. +</p> + +<p> +“It’d be good for him, I’ll warrant,” he said. +“Us’d not be thinkin’ he’d better never been born. +Us’d be just two children watchin’ a garden grow, an’ +he’d be another. Two lads an’ a little lass just lookin’ on +at th’ springtime. I warrant it’d be better than doctor’s +stuff.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s been lying in his room so long and he’s always been so +afraid of his back that it has made him queer,” said Mary. “He +knows a good many things out of books but he doesn’t know anything else. +He says he has been too ill to notice things and he hates going out of doors +and hates gardens and gardeners. But he likes to hear about this garden because +it is a secret. I daren’t tell him much but he said he wanted to see +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Us’ll have him out here sometime for sure,” said Dickon. +“I could push his carriage well enough. Has tha’ noticed how +th’ robin an’ his mate has been workin’ while we’ve +been sittin’ here? Look at him perched on that branch wonderin’ +where it’d be best to put that twig he’s got in his beak.” +</p> + +<p> +He made one of his low whistling calls and the robin turned his head and looked +at him inquiringly, still holding his twig. Dickon spoke to him as Ben +Weatherstaff did, but Dickon’s tone was one of friendly advice. +</p> + +<p> +“Wheres’ever tha’ puts it,” he said, “it’ll +be all right. Tha’ knew how to build tha’ nest before tha’ +came out o’ th’ egg. Get on with thee, lad. Tha’st got no +time to lose.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I do like to hear you talk to him!” Mary said, laughing +delightedly. “Ben Weatherstaff scolds him and makes fun of him, and he +hops about and looks as if he understood every word, and I know he likes it. +Ben Weatherstaff says he is so conceited he would rather have stones thrown at +him than not be noticed.” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon laughed too and went on talking. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ knows us won’t trouble thee,” he said to the +robin. “Us is near bein’ wild things ourselves. Us is +nest-buildin’ too, bless thee. Look out tha’ doesn’t tell on +us.” +</p> + +<p> +And though the robin did not answer, because his beak was occupied, Mary knew +that when he flew away with his twig to his own corner of the garden the +darkness of his dew-bright eye meant that he would not tell their secret for +the world. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br /> +“I WON’T!” SAID MARY</h2> + +<p> +They found a great deal to do that morning and Mary was late in returning to +the house and was also in such a hurry to get back to her work that she quite +forgot Colin until the last moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell Colin that I can’t come and see him yet,” she said to +Martha. “I’m very busy in the garden.” +</p> + +<p> +Martha looked rather frightened. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! Miss Mary,” she said, “it may put him all out of humor +when I tell him that.” +</p> + +<p> +But Mary was not as afraid of him as other people were and she was not a +self-sacrificing person. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t stay,” she answered. “Dickon’s waiting +for me;” and she ran away. +</p> + +<p> +The afternoon was even lovelier and busier than the morning had been. Already +nearly all the weeds were cleared out of the garden and most of the roses and +trees had been pruned or dug about. Dickon had brought a spade of his own and +he had taught Mary to use all her tools, so that by this time it was plain that +though the lovely wild place was not likely to become a “gardener’s +garden” it would be a wilderness of growing things before the springtime +was over. +</p> + +<p> +“There’ll be apple blossoms an’ cherry blossoms +overhead,” Dickon said, working away with all his might. “An’ +there’ll be peach an’ plum trees in bloom against th’ walls, +an’ th’ grass’ll be a carpet o’ flowers.” +</p> + +<p> +The little fox and the rook were as happy and busy as they were, and the robin +and his mate flew backward and forward like tiny streaks of lightning. +Sometimes the rook flapped his black wings and soared away over the tree-tops +in the park. Each time he came back and perched near Dickon and cawed several +times as if he were relating his adventures, and Dickon talked to him just as +he had talked to the robin. Once when Dickon was so busy that he did not answer +him at first, Soot flew on to his shoulders and gently tweaked his ear with his +large beak. When Mary wanted to rest a little Dickon sat down with her under a +tree and once he took his pipe out of his pocket and played the soft strange +little notes and two squirrels appeared on the wall and looked and listened. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’s a good bit stronger than tha’ was,” Dickon said, +looking at her as she was digging. “Tha’s beginning to look +different, for sure.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary was glowing with exercise and good spirits. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m getting fatter and fatter every day,” she said quite +exultantly. “Mrs. Medlock will have to get me some bigger dresses. Martha +says my hair is growing thicker. It isn’t so flat and stringy.” +</p> + +<p> +The sun was beginning to set and sending deep gold-colored rays slanting under +the trees when they parted. +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll be fine tomorrow,” said Dickon. “I’ll be +at work by sunrise.” +</p> + +<p> +“So will I,” said Mary.<br /><br /> +</p> + +<p> +She ran back to the house as quickly as her feet would carry her. She wanted to +tell Colin about Dickon’s fox cub and the rook and about what the +springtime had been doing. She felt sure he would like to hear. So it was not +very pleasant when she opened the door of her room, to see Martha standing +waiting for her with a doleful face. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter?” she asked. “What did Colin say when you +told him I couldn’t come?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” said Martha, “I wish tha’d gone. He was nigh +goin’ into one o’ his tantrums. There’s been a nice to do all +afternoon to keep him quiet. He would watch the clock all th’ +time.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary’s lips pinched themselves together. She was no more used to +considering other people than Colin was and she saw no reason why an +ill-tempered boy should interfere with the thing she liked best. She knew +nothing about the pitifulness of people who had been ill and nervous and who +did not know that they could control their tempers and need not make other +people ill and nervous, too. When she had had a headache in India she had done +her best to see that everybody else also had a headache or something quite as +bad. And she felt she was quite right; but of course now she felt that Colin +was quite wrong. +</p> + +<p> +He was not on his sofa when she went into his room. He was lying flat on his +back in bed and he did not turn his head toward her as she came in. This was a +bad beginning and Mary marched up to him with her stiff manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you get up?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I did get up this morning when I thought you were coming,” he +answered, without looking at her. “I made them put me back in bed this +afternoon. My back ached and my head ached and I was tired. Why didn’t +you come?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was working in the garden with Dickon,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Colin frowned and condescended to look at her. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t let that boy come here if you go and stay with him instead +of coming to talk to me,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Mary flew into a fine passion. She could fly into a passion without making a +noise. She just grew sour and obstinate and did not care what happened. +</p> + +<p> +“If you send Dickon away, I’ll never come into this room +again!” she retorted. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have to if I want you,” said Colin. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t!” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll make you,” said Colin. “They shall drag you +in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall they, Mr. Rajah!” said Mary fiercely. “They may drag +me in but they can’t make me talk when they get me here. I’ll sit +and clench my teeth and never tell you one thing. I won’t even look at +you. I’ll stare at the floor!” +</p> + +<p> +They were a nice agreeable pair as they glared at each other. If they had been +two little street boys they would have sprung at each other and had a +rough-and-tumble fight. As it was, they did the next thing to it. +</p> + +<p> +“You are a selfish thing!” cried Colin. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you?” said Mary. “Selfish people always say that. +Anyone is selfish who doesn’t do what they want. You’re more +selfish than I am. You’re the most selfish boy I ever saw.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not!” snapped Colin. “I’m not as selfish as +your fine Dickon is! He keeps you playing in the dirt when he knows I am all by +myself. He’s selfish, if you like!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary’s eyes flashed fire. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s nicer than any other boy that ever lived!” she said. +“He’s—he’s like an angel!” It might sound rather +silly to say that but she did not care. +</p> + +<p> +“A nice angel!” Colin sneered ferociously. “He’s a +common cottage boy off the moor!” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s better than a common Rajah!” retorted Mary. +“He’s a thousand times better!” +</p> + +<p> +Because she was the stronger of the two she was beginning to get the better of +him. The truth was that he had never had a fight with anyone like himself in +his life and, upon the whole, it was rather good for him, though neither he nor +Mary knew anything about that. He turned his head on his pillow and shut his +eyes and a big tear was squeezed out and ran down his cheek. He was beginning +to feel pathetic and sorry for himself—not for anyone else. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not as selfish as you, because I’m always ill, and +I’m sure there is a lump coming on my back,” he said. “And I +am going to die besides.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not!” contradicted Mary unsympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +He opened his eyes quite wide with indignation. He had never heard such a thing +said before. He was at once furious and slightly pleased, if a person could be +both at one time. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not?” he cried. “I am! You know I am! Everybody +says so.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe it!” said Mary sourly. “You just say +that to make people sorry. I believe you’re proud of it. I don’t +believe it! If you were a nice boy it might be true—but you’re too +nasty!” +</p> + +<p> +In spite of his invalid back Colin sat up in bed in quite a healthy rage. +</p> + +<p> +“Get out of the room!” he shouted and he caught hold of his pillow +and threw it at her. He was not strong enough to throw it far and it only fell +at her feet, but Mary’s face looked as pinched as a nutcracker. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going,” she said. “And I won’t come +back!” +</p> + +<p> +She walked to the door and when she reached it she turned round and spoke +again. +</p> + +<p> +“I was going to tell you all sorts of nice things,” she said. +“Dickon brought his fox and his rook and I was going to tell you all +about them. Now I won’t tell you a single thing!” +</p> + +<p> +She marched out of the door and closed it behind her, and there to her great +astonishment she found the trained nurse standing as if she had been listening +and, more amazing still—she was laughing. She was a big handsome young +woman who ought not to have been a trained nurse at all, as she could not bear +invalids and she was always making excuses to leave Colin to Martha or anyone +else who would take her place. Mary had never liked her, and she simply stood +and gazed up at her as she stood giggling into her handkerchief.. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you laughing at?” she asked her. +</p> + +<p> +“At you two young ones,” said the nurse. “It’s the best +thing that could happen to the sickly pampered thing to have someone to stand +up to him that’s as spoiled as himself;” and she laughed into her +handkerchief again. “If he’d had a young vixen of a sister to fight +with it would have been the saving of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he going to die?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know and I don’t care,” said the nurse. +“Hysterics and temper are half what ails him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are hysterics?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll find out if you work him into a tantrum after +this—but at any rate you’ve given him something to have hysterics +about, and I’m glad of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary went back to her room not feeling at all as she had felt when she had come +in from the garden. She was cross and disappointed but not at all sorry for +Colin. She had looked forward to telling him a great many things and she had +meant to try to make up her mind whether it would be safe to trust him with the +great secret. She had been beginning to think it would be, but now she had +changed her mind entirely. She would never tell him and he could stay in his +room and never get any fresh air and die if he liked! It would serve him right! +She felt so sour and unrelenting that for a few minutes she almost forgot about +Dickon and the green veil creeping over the world and the soft wind blowing +down from the moor. +</p> + +<p> +Martha was waiting for her and the trouble in her face had been temporarily +replaced by interest and curiosity. There was a wooden box on the table and its +cover had been removed and revealed that it was full of neat packages. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Craven sent it to you,” said Martha. “It looks as if it +had picture-books in it.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary remembered what he had asked her the day she had gone to his room. +“Do you want anything—dolls—toys—books?” She +opened the package wondering if he had sent a doll, and also wondering what she +should do with it if he had. But he had not sent one. There were several +beautiful books such as Colin had, and two of them were about gardens and were +full of pictures. There were two or three games and there was a beautiful +little writing-case with a gold monogram on it and a gold pen and inkstand. +</p> + +<p> +Everything was so nice that her pleasure began to crowd her anger out of her +mind. She had not expected him to remember her at all and her hard little heart +grew quite warm. +</p> + +<p> +“I can write better than I can print,” she said, “and the +first thing I shall write with that pen will be a letter to tell him I am much +obliged.” +</p> + +<p> +If she had been friends with Colin she would have run to show him her presents +at once, and they would have looked at the pictures and read some of the +gardening books and perhaps tried playing the games, and he would have enjoyed +himself so much he would never once have thought he was going to die or have +put his hand on his spine to see if there was a lump coming. He had a way of +doing that which she could not bear. It gave her an uncomfortable frightened +feeling because he always looked so frightened himself. He said that if he felt +even quite a little lump some day he should know his hunch had begun to grow. +Something he had heard Mrs. Medlock whispering to the nurse had given him the +idea and he had thought over it in secret until it was quite firmly fixed in +his mind. Mrs. Medlock had said his father’s back had begun to show its +crookedness in that way when he was a child. He had never told anyone but Mary +that most of his “tantrums” as they called them grew out of his +hysterical hidden fear. Mary had been sorry for him when he had told her. +</p> + +<p> +“He always began to think about it when he was cross or tired,” she +said to herself. “And he has been cross today. Perhaps—perhaps he +has been thinking about it all afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +She stood still, looking down at the carpet and thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“I said I would never go back again—” she hesitated, knitting +her brows—“but perhaps, just perhaps, I will go and see—if he +wants me—in the morning. Perhaps he’ll try to throw his pillow at +me again, but—I think—I’ll go.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br /> +A TANTRUM</h2> + +<p> +She had got up very early in the morning and had worked hard in the garden and +she was tired and sleepy, so as soon as Martha had brought her supper and she +had eaten it, she was glad to go to bed. As she laid her head on the pillow she +murmured to herself: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go out before breakfast and work with Dickon and then +afterward—I believe—I’ll go to see him.” +</p> + +<p> +She thought it was the middle of the night when she was awakened by such +dreadful sounds that she jumped out of bed in an instant. What was +it—what was it? The next minute she felt quite sure she knew. Doors were +opened and shut and there were hurrying feet in the corridors and someone was +crying and screaming at the same time, screaming and crying in a horrible way. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Colin,” she said. “He’s having one of those +tantrums the nurse called hysterics. How awful it sounds.” +</p> + +<p> +As she listened to the sobbing screams she did not wonder that people were so +frightened that they gave him his own way in everything rather than hear them. +She put her hands over her ears and felt sick and shivering. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do,” she +kept saying. “I can’t bear it.” +</p> + +<p> +Once she wondered if he would stop if she dared go to him and then she +remembered how he had driven her out of the room and thought that perhaps the +sight of her might make him worse. Even when she pressed her hands more tightly +over her ears she could not keep the awful sounds out. She hated them so and +was so terrified by them that suddenly they began to make her angry and she +felt as if she should like to fly into a tantrum herself and frighten him as he +was frightening her. She was not used to anyone’s tempers but her own. +She took her hands from her ears and sprang up and stamped her foot. +</p> + +<p> +“He ought to be stopped! Somebody ought to make him stop! Somebody ought +to beat him!” she cried out. +</p> + +<p> +Just then she heard feet almost running down the corridor and her door opened +and the nurse came in. She was not laughing now by any means. She even looked +rather pale. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s worked himself into hysterics,” she said in a great +hurry. “He’ll do himself harm. No one can do anything with him. You +come and try, like a good child. He likes you.” +</p> + +<p> +“He turned me out of the room this morning,” said Mary, stamping +her foot with excitement. +</p> + +<p> +The stamp rather pleased the nurse. The truth was that she had been afraid she +might find Mary crying and hiding her head under the bed-clothes. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” she said. “You’re in the right +humor. You go and scold him. Give him something new to think of. Do go, child, +as quick as ever you can.” +</p> + +<p> +It was not until afterward that Mary realized that the thing had been funny as +well as dreadful—that it was funny that all the grown-up people were so +frightened that they came to a little girl just because they guessed she was +almost as bad as Colin himself. +</p> + +<p> +She flew along the corridor and the nearer she got to the screams the higher +her temper mounted. She felt quite wicked by the time she reached the door. She +slapped it open with her hand and ran across the room to the four-posted bed. +</p> + +<p> +“You stop!” she almost shouted. “You stop! I hate you! +Everybody hates you! I wish everybody would run out of the house and let you +scream yourself to death! You <i>will</i> scream yourself to death in a minute, +and I wish you would!” +</p> + +<p> +A nice sympathetic child could neither have thought nor said such things, but +it just happened that the shock of hearing them was the best possible thing for +this hysterical boy whom no one had ever dared to restrain or contradict. +</p> + +<p> +He had been lying on his face beating his pillow with his hands and he actually +almost jumped around, he turned so quickly at the sound of the furious little +voice. His face looked dreadful, white and red and swollen, and he was gasping +and choking; but savage little Mary did not care an atom. +</p> + +<p> +“If you scream another scream,” she said, “I’ll scream +too—and I can scream louder than you can and I’ll frighten you, +I’ll frighten you!” +</p> + +<p> +He actually had stopped screaming because she had startled him so. The scream +which had been coming almost choked him. The tears were streaming down his face +and he shook all over. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t stop!” he gasped and sobbed. “I +can’t—I can’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“You can!” shouted Mary. “Half that ails you is hysterics and +temper—just hysterics—hysterics—hysterics!” and she +stamped each time she said it. +</p> + +<p> +“I felt the lump—I felt it,” choked out Colin. “I knew +I should. I shall have a hunch on my back and then I shall die,” and he +began to writhe again and turned on his face and sobbed and wailed but he +didn’t scream. +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t feel a lump!” contradicted Mary fiercely. +“If you did it was only a hysterical lump. Hysterics makes lumps. +There’s nothing the matter with your horrid back—nothing but +hysterics! Turn over and let me look at it!” +</p> + +<p> +She liked the word “hysterics” and felt somehow as if it had an +effect on him. He was probably like herself and had never heard it before. +</p> + +<p> +“Nurse,” she commanded, “come here and show me his back this +minute!” +</p> + +<p> +The nurse, Mrs. Medlock and Martha had been standing huddled together near the +door staring at her, their mouths half open. All three had gasped with fright +more than once. The nurse came forward as if she were half afraid. Colin was +heaving with great breathless sobs. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps he—he won’t let me,” she hesitated in a low +voice. +</p> + +<p> +Colin heard her, however, and he gasped out between two sobs: +</p> + +<p> +“Sh-show her! She-she’ll see then!” +</p> + +<p> +It was a poor thin back to look at when it was bared. Every rib could be +counted and every joint of the spine, though Mistress Mary did not count them +as she bent over and examined them with a solemn savage little face. She looked +so sour and old-fashioned that the nurse turned her head aside to hide the +twitching of her mouth. There was just a minute’s silence, for even Colin +tried to hold his breath while Mary looked up and down his spine, and down and +up, as intently as if she had been the great doctor from London. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s not a single lump there!” she said at last. +“There’s not a lump as big as a pin—except backbone lumps, +and you can only feel them because you’re thin. I’ve got backbone +lumps myself, and they used to stick out as much as yours do, until I began to +get fatter, and I am not fat enough yet to hide them. There’s not a lump +as big as a pin! If you ever say there is again, I shall laugh!” +</p> + +<p> +No one but Colin himself knew what effect those crossly spoken childish words +had on him. If he had ever had anyone to talk to about his secret +terrors—if he had ever dared to let himself ask questions—if he had +had childish companions and had not lain on his back in the huge closed house, +breathing an atmosphere heavy with the fears of people who were most of them +ignorant and tired of him, he would have found out that most of his fright and +illness was created by himself. But he had lain and thought of himself and his +aches and weariness for hours and days and months and years. And now that an +angry unsympathetic little girl insisted obstinately that he was not as ill as +he thought he was he actually felt as if she might be speaking the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know,” ventured the nurse, “that he thought +he had a lump on his spine. His back is weak because he won’t try to sit +up. I could have told him there was no lump there.” Colin gulped and +turned his face a little to look at her. +</p> + +<p> +“C-could you?” he said pathetically. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“There!” said Mary, and she gulped too. +</p> + +<p> +Colin turned on his face again and but for his long-drawn broken breaths, which +were the dying down of his storm of sobbing, he lay still for a minute, though +great tears streamed down his face and wet the pillow. Actually the tears meant +that a curious great relief had come to him. Presently he turned and looked at +the nurse again and strangely enough he was not like a Rajah at all as he spoke +to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think—I could—live to grow up?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +The nurse was neither clever nor soft-hearted but she could repeat some of the +London doctor’s words. +</p> + +<p> +“You probably will if you will do what you are told to do and not give +way to your temper, and stay out a great deal in the fresh air.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin’s tantrum had passed and he was weak and worn out with crying and +this perhaps made him feel gentle. He put out his hand a little toward Mary, +and I am glad to say that, her own tantum having passed, she was softened too +and met him half-way with her hand, so that it was a sort of making up. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll—I’ll go out with you, Mary,” he said. +“I shan’t hate fresh air if we can find—” He remembered +just in time to stop himself from saying “if we can find the secret +garden” and he ended, “I shall like to go out with you if Dickon +will come and push my chair. I do so want to see Dickon and the fox and the +crow.” +</p> + +<p> +The nurse remade the tumbled bed and shook and straightened the pillows. Then +she made Colin a cup of beef tea and gave a cup to Mary, who really was very +glad to get it after her excitement. Mrs. Medlock and Martha gladly slipped +away, and after everything was neat and calm and in order the nurse looked as +if she would very gladly slip away also. She was a healthy young woman who +resented being robbed of her sleep and she yawned quite openly as she looked at +Mary, who had pushed her big footstool close to the four-posted bed and was +holding Colin’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You must go back and get your sleep out,” she said. +“He’ll drop off after a while—if he’s not too upset. +Then I’ll lie down myself in the next room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like me to sing you that song I learned from my Ayah?” +Mary whispered to Colin. +</p> + +<p> +His hand pulled hers gently and he turned his tired eyes on her appealingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes!” he answered. “It’s such a soft song. I shall +go to sleep in a minute.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will put him to sleep,” Mary said to the yawning nurse. +“You can go if you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the nurse, with an attempt at reluctance. “If he +doesn’t go to sleep in half an hour you must call me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” answered Mary. +</p> + +<p> +The nurse was out of the room in a minute and as soon as she was gone Colin +pulled Mary’s hand again. +</p> + +<p> +“I almost told,” he said; “but I stopped myself in time. I +won’t talk and I’ll go to sleep, but you said you had a whole lot +of nice things to tell me. Have you—do you think you have found out +anything at all about the way into the secret garden?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary looked at his poor little tired face and swollen eyes and her heart +relented. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye-es,” she answered, “I think I have. And if you will go to +sleep I will tell you tomorrow.” His hand quite trembled. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mary!” he said. “Oh, Mary! If I could get into it I +think I should live to grow up! Do you suppose that instead of singing the Ayah +song—you could just tell me softly as you did that first day what you +imagine it looks like inside? I am sure it will make me go to sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Mary. “Shut your eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +He closed his eyes and lay quite still and she held his hand and began to speak +very slowly and in a very low voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it has been left alone so long—that it has grown all into +a lovely tangle. I think the roses have climbed and climbed and climbed until +they hang from the branches and walls and creep over the ground—almost +like a strange gray mist. Some of them have died but many—are alive and +when the summer comes there will be curtains and fountains of roses. I think +the ground is full of daffodils and snowdrops and lilies and iris working their +way out of the dark. Now the spring has +begun—perhaps—perhaps—” +</p> + +<p> +The soft drone of her voice was making him stiller and stiller and she saw it +and went on. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps they are coming up through the grass—perhaps there are +clusters of purple crocuses and gold ones—even now. Perhaps the leaves +are beginning to break out and uncurl—and perhaps—the gray is +changing and a green gauze veil is creeping—and creeping +over—everything. And the birds are coming to look at it—because it +is—so safe and still. And +perhaps—perhaps—perhaps—” very softly and slowly +indeed, “the robin has found a mate—and is building a nest.” +</p> + +<p> +And Colin was asleep. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br /> +“THA’ MUNNOT WASTE NO TIME”</h2> + +<p> +Of course Mary did not waken early the next morning. She slept late because she +was tired, and when Martha brought her breakfast she told her that though +Colin was quite quiet he was ill and feverish as he always was after he had +worn himself out with a fit of crying. Mary ate her breakfast slowly as she +listened. +</p> + +<p> +“He says he wishes tha’ would please go and see him as soon as +tha’ can,” Martha said. “It’s queer what a fancy +he’s took to thee. Tha’ did give it him last night for +sure—didn’t tha? Nobody else would have dared to do it. Eh! poor +lad! He’s been spoiled till salt won’t save him. Mother says as +th’ two worst things as can happen to a child is never to have his own +way—or always to have it. She doesn’t know which is th’ +worst. Tha’ was in a fine temper tha’self, too. But he says to me +when I went into his room, ‘Please ask Miss Mary if she’ll please +come an’ talk to me?’ Think o’ him saying please! Will you +go, Miss?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll run and see Dickon first,” said Mary. “No, +I’ll go and see Colin first and tell him—I know what I’ll +tell him,” with a sudden inspiration. +</p> + +<p> +She had her hat on when she appeared in Colin’s room and for a second he +looked disappointed. He was in bed. His face was pitifully white and there were +dark circles round his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you came,” he said. “My head aches and I ache +all over because I’m so tired. Are you going somewhere?” +</p> + +<p> +Mary went and leaned against his bed. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t be long,” she said. “I’m going to +Dickon, but I’ll come back. Colin, it’s—it’s something +about the garden.” +</p> + +<p> +His whole face brightened and a little color came into it. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! is it?” he cried out. “I dreamed about it all night. I +heard you say something about gray changing into green, and I dreamed I was +standing in a place all filled with trembling little green leaves—and +there were birds on nests everywhere and they looked so soft and still. +I’ll lie and think about it until you come back.” +</p> + +<p> +In five minutes Mary was with Dickon in their garden. The fox and the crow were +with him again and this time he had brought two tame squirrels. +</p> + +<p> +“I came over on the pony this mornin’,” he said. “Eh! +he is a good little chap—Jump is! I brought these two in my pockets. This +here one he’s called Nut an’ this here other one’s called +Shell.” +</p> + +<p> +When he said “Nut” one squirrel leaped on to his right shoulder and +when he said “Shell” the other one leaped on to his left shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +When they sat down on the grass with Captain curled at their feet, Soot +solemnly listening on a tree and Nut and Shell nosing about close to them, it +seemed to Mary that it would be scarcely bearable to leave such delightfulness, +but when she began to tell her story somehow the look in Dickon’s funny +face gradually changed her mind. She could see he felt sorrier for Colin than +she did. He looked up at the sky and all about him. +</p> + +<p> +“Just listen to them birds—th’ world seems full of +’em—all whistlin’ an’ pipin’,” he said. +“Look at ’em dartin’ about, an’ hearken at ’em +callin’ to each other. Come springtime seems like as if all th’ +world’s callin’. The leaves is uncurlin’ so you can see +’em—an’, my word, th’ nice smells there is +about!” sniffing with his happy turned-up nose. “An’ that +poor lad lyin’ shut up an’ seein’ so little that he gets to +thinkin’ o’ things as sets him screamin’. Eh! my! we mun get +him out here—we mun get him watchin’ an listenin’ an’ +sniffin’ up th’ air an’ get him just soaked through wi’ +sunshine. An’ we munnot lose no time about it.” +</p> + +<p> +When he was very much interested he often spoke quite broad Yorkshire though at +other times he tried to modify his dialect so that Mary could better +understand. But she loved his broad Yorkshire and had in fact been trying to +learn to speak it herself. So she spoke a little now. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, that we mun,” she said (which meant “Yes, indeed, we +must”). “I’ll tell thee what us’ll do first,” she +proceeded, and Dickon grinned, because when the little wench tried to twist her +tongue into speaking Yorkshire it amused him very much. “He’s took +a graidely fancy to thee. He wants to see thee and he wants to see Soot +an’ Captain. When I go back to the house to talk to him I’ll ax him +if tha’ canna’ come an’ see him tomorrow +mornin’—an’ bring tha’ creatures wi’ +thee—an’ then—in a bit, when there’s more leaves out, +an’ happen a bud or two, we’ll get him to come out an’ +tha’ shall push him in his chair an’ we’ll bring him here +an’ show him everything.” +</p> + +<p> +When she stopped she was quite proud of herself. She had never made a long +speech in Yorkshire before and she had remembered very well. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ mun talk a bit o’ Yorkshire like that to Mester +Colin,” Dickon chuckled. “Tha’ll make him laugh an’ +there’s nowt as good for ill folk as laughin’ is. Mother says she +believes as half a hour’s good laugh every mornin’ ’ud cure a +chap as was makin’ ready for typhus fever.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to talk Yorkshire to him this very day,” said +Mary, chuckling herself. +</p> + +<p> +The garden had reached the time when every day and every night it seemed as if +Magicians were passing through it drawing loveliness out of the earth and the +boughs with wands. It was hard to go away and leave it all, particularly as Nut +had actually crept on to her dress and Shell had scrambled down the trunk of +the apple-tree they sat under and stayed there looking at her with inquiring +eyes. But she went back to the house and when she sat down close to +Colin’s bed he began to sniff as Dickon did though not in such an +experienced way. +</p> + +<p> +“You smell like flowers and—and fresh things,” he cried out +quite joyously. “What is it you smell of? It’s cool and warm and +sweet all at the same time.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s th’ wind from th’ moor,” said Mary. +“It comes o’ sittin’ on th’ grass under a tree +wi’ Dickon an’ wi’ Captain an’ Soot an’ Nut +an’ Shell. It’s th’ springtime an’ out o’ doors +an’ sunshine as smells so graidely.” +</p> + +<p> +She said it as broadly as she could, and you do not know how broadly Yorkshire +sounds until you have heard someone speak it. Colin began to laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doing?” he said. “I never heard you talk like +that before. How funny it sounds.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m givin’ thee a bit o’ Yorkshire,” answered +Mary triumphantly. “I canna’ talk as graidely as Dickon an’ +Martha can but tha’ sees I can shape a bit. Doesn’t tha’ +understand a bit o’ Yorkshire when tha’ hears it? An’ +tha’ a Yorkshire lad thysel’ bred an’ born! Eh! I wonder +tha’rt not ashamed o’ thy face.” +</p> + +<p> +And then she began to laugh too and they both laughed until they could not stop +themselves and they laughed until the room echoed and Mrs. Medlock opening the +door to come in drew back into the corridor and stood listening amazed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, upon my word!” she said, speaking rather broad Yorkshire +herself because there was no one to hear her and she was so astonished. +“Whoever heard th’ like! Whoever on earth would ha’ thought +it!” +</p> + +<p> +There was so much to talk about. It seemed as if Colin could never hear enough +of Dickon and Captain and Soot and Nut and Shell and the pony whose name was +Jump. Mary had run round into the wood with Dickon to see Jump. He was a tiny +little shaggy moor pony with thick locks hanging over his eyes and with a +pretty face and a nuzzling velvet nose. He was rather thin with living on moor +grass but he was as tough and wiry as if the muscle in his little legs had been +made of steel springs. He had lifted his head and whinnied softly the moment he +saw Dickon and he had trotted up to him and put his head across his shoulder +and then Dickon had talked into his ear and Jump had talked back in odd little +whinnies and puffs and snorts. Dickon had made him give Mary his small front +hoof and kiss her on her cheek with his velvet muzzle. +</p> + +<p> +“Does he really understand everything Dickon says?” Colin asked. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems as if he does,” answered Mary. “Dickon says +anything will understand if you’re friends with it for sure, but you have +to be friends for sure.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin lay quiet a little while and his strange gray eyes seemed to be staring +at the wall, but Mary saw he was thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I was friends with things,” he said at last, “but +I’m not. I never had anything to be friends with, and I can’t bear +people.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you bear me?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I can,” he answered. “It’s funny but I even like +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ben Weatherstaff said I was like him,” said Mary. “He said +he’d warrant we’d both got the same nasty tempers. I think you are +like him too. We are all three alike—you and I and Ben Weatherstaff. He +said we were neither of us much to look at and we were as sour as we looked. +But I don’t feel as sour as I used to before I knew the robin and +Dickon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you feel as if you hated people?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Mary without any affectation. “I should have +detested you if I had seen you before I saw the robin and Dickon.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin put out his thin hand and touched her. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary,” he said, “I wish I hadn’t said what I did about +sending Dickon away. I hated you when you said he was like an angel and I +laughed at you but—but perhaps he is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it was rather funny to say it,” she admitted frankly, +“because his nose does turn up and he has a big mouth and his clothes +have patches all over them and he talks broad Yorkshire, but—but if an +angel did come to Yorkshire and live on the moor—if there was a Yorkshire +angel—I believe he’d understand the green things and know how to +make them grow and he would know how to talk to the wild creatures as Dickon +does and they’d know he was friends for sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t mind Dickon looking at me,” said Colin; “I +want to see him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you said that,” answered Mary, +“because—because—” +</p> + +<p> +Quite suddenly it came into her mind that this was the minute to tell him. +Colin knew something new was coming. +</p> + +<p> +“Because what?” he cried eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +Mary was so anxious that she got up from her stool and came to him and caught +hold of both his hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Can I trust you? I trusted Dickon because birds trusted him. Can I trust +you—for sure—<i>for sure?</i>” she implored. +</p> + +<p> +Her face was so solemn that he almost whispered his answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—yes!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Dickon will come to see you tomorrow morning, and he’ll +bring his creatures with him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Oh!” Colin cried out in delight. +</p> + +<p> +“But that’s not all,” Mary went on, almost pale with solemn +excitement. “The rest is better. There is a door into the garden. I found +it. It is under the ivy on the wall.” +</p> + +<p> +If he had been a strong healthy boy Colin would probably have shouted +“Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!” but he was weak and rather hysterical; +his eyes grew bigger and bigger and he gasped for breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Mary!” he cried out with a half sob. “Shall I see it? +Shall I get into it? Shall I <i>live</i> to get into it?” and he clutched +her hands and dragged her toward him. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you’ll see it!” snapped Mary indignantly. +“Of course you’ll live to get into it! Don’t be silly!” +</p> + +<p> +And she was so un-hysterical and natural and childish that she brought him to +his senses and he began to laugh at himself and a few minutes afterward she was +sitting on her stool again telling him not what she imagined the secret garden +to be like but what it really was, and Colin’s aches and tiredness were +forgotten and he was listening enraptured. +</p> + +<p> +“It is just what you thought it would be,” he said at last. +“It sounds just as if you had really seen it. You know I said that when +you told me first.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary hesitated about two minutes and then boldly spoke the truth. +</p> + +<p> +“I had seen it—and I had been in,” she said. “I found +the key and got in weeks ago. But I daren’t tell you—I +daren’t because I was so afraid I couldn’t trust you—<i>for +sure!</i>” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br /> +“IT HAS COME!”</h2> + +<p> +Of course Dr. Craven had been sent for the morning after Colin had had his +tantrum. He was always sent for at once when such a thing occurred and he +always found, when he arrived, a white shaken boy lying on his bed, sulky and +still so hysterical that he was ready to break into fresh sobbing at the least +word. In fact, Dr. Craven dreaded and detested the difficulties of these +visits. On this occasion he was away from Misselthwaite Manor until afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +“How is he?” he asked Mrs. Medlock rather irritably when he +arrived. “He will break a blood-vessel in one of those fits some day. The +boy is half insane with hysteria and self-indulgence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” answered Mrs. Medlock, “you’ll scarcely +believe your eyes when you see him. That plain sour-faced child that’s +almost as bad as himself has just bewitched him. How she’s done it +there’s no telling. The Lord knows she’s nothing to look at and you +scarcely ever hear her speak, but she did what none of us dare do. She just +flew at him like a little cat last night, and stamped her feet and ordered him +to stop screaming, and somehow she startled him so that he actually did stop, +and this afternoon—well just come up and see, sir. It’s past +crediting.” +</p> + +<p> +The scene which Dr. Craven beheld when he entered his patient’s room was +indeed rather astonishing to him. As Mrs. Medlock opened the door he heard +laughing and chattering. Colin was on his sofa in his dressing-gown and he was +sitting up quite straight looking at a picture in one of the garden books and +talking to the plain child who at that moment could scarcely be called plain at +all because her face was so glowing with enjoyment. +</p> + +<p> +“Those long spires of blue ones—we’ll have a lot of +those,” Colin was announcing. “They’re called +Del-phin-iums.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dickon says they’re larkspurs made big and grand,” cried +Mistress Mary. “There are clumps there already.” +</p> + +<p> +Then they saw Dr. Craven and stopped. Mary became quite still and Colin looked +fretful. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry to hear you were ill last night, my boy,” Dr. Craven +said a trifle nervously. He was rather a nervous man. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m better now—much better,” Colin answered, rather +like a Rajah. “I’m going out in my chair in a day or two if it is +fine. I want some fresh air.” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Craven sat down by him and felt his pulse and looked at him curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“It must be a very fine day,” he said, “and you must be very +careful not to tire yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fresh air won’t tire me,” said the young Rajah. +</p> + +<p> +As there had been occasions when this same young gentleman had shrieked aloud +with rage and had insisted that fresh air would give him cold and kill him, it +is not to be wondered at that his doctor felt somewhat startled. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you did not like fresh air,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t when I am by myself,” replied the Rajah; “but +my cousin is going out with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the nurse, of course?” suggested Dr. Craven. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I will not have the nurse,” so magnificently that Mary could +not help remembering how the young native Prince had looked with his diamonds +and emeralds and pearls stuck all over him and the great rubies on the small +dark hand he had waved to command his servants to approach with salaams and +receive his orders. +</p> + +<p> +“My cousin knows how to take care of me. I am always better when she is +with me. She made me better last night. A very strong boy I know will push my +carriage.” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Craven felt rather alarmed. If this tiresome hysterical boy should chance +to get well he himself would lose all chance of inheriting Misselthwaite; but +he was not an unscrupulous man, though he was a weak one, and he did not intend +to let him run into actual danger. +</p> + +<p> +“He must be a strong boy and a steady boy,” he said. “And I +must know something about him. Who is he? What is his name?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Dickon,” Mary spoke up suddenly. She felt somehow that +everybody who knew the moor must know Dickon. And she was right, too. She saw +that in a moment Dr. Craven’s serious face relaxed into a relieved smile. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Dickon,” he said. “If it is Dickon you will be safe +enough. He’s as strong as a moor pony, is Dickon.” +</p> + +<p> +“And he’s trusty,” said Mary. “He’s th’ +trustiest lad i’ Yorkshire.” She had been talking Yorkshire to +Colin and she forgot herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Did Dickon teach you that?” asked Dr. Craven, laughing outright. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m learning it as if it was French,” said Mary rather +coldly. “It’s like a native dialect in India. Very clever people +try to learn them. I like it and so does Colin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” he said. “If it amuses you perhaps it +won’t do you any harm. Did you take your bromide last night, Colin?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Colin answered. “I wouldn’t take it at first and +after Mary made me quiet she talked me to sleep—in a low +voice—about the spring creeping into a garden.” +</p> + +<p> +“That sounds soothing,” said Dr. Craven, more perplexed than ever +and glancing sideways at Mistress Mary sitting on her stool and looking down +silently at the carpet. “You are evidently better, but you must +remember—” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to remember,” interrupted the Rajah, appearing +again. “When I lie by myself and remember I begin to have pains +everywhere and I think of things that make me begin to scream because I hate +them so. If there was a doctor anywhere who could make you forget you were ill +instead of remembering it I would have him brought here.” And he waved a +thin hand which ought really to have been covered with royal signet rings made +of rubies. “It is because my cousin makes me forget that she makes me +better.” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Craven had never made such a short stay after a “tantrum”; +usually he was obliged to remain a very long time and do a great many things. +This afternoon he did not give any medicine or leave any new orders and he was +spared any disagreeable scenes. When he went downstairs he looked very +thoughtful and when he talked to Mrs. Medlock in the library she felt that he +was a much puzzled man. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” she ventured, “could you have believed +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is certainly a new state of affairs,” said the doctor. +“And there’s no denying it is better than the old one.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe Susan Sowerby’s right—I do that,” said Mrs. +Medlock. “I stopped in her cottage on my way to Thwaite yesterday and had +a bit of talk with her. And she says to me, ‘Well, Sarah Ann, she +mayn’t be a good child, an’ she mayn’t be a pretty one, but +she’s a child, an’ children needs children.’ We went to +school together, Susan Sowerby and me.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s the best sick nurse I know,” said Dr. Craven. +“When I find her in a cottage I know the chances are that I shall save my +patient.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Medlock smiled. She was fond of Susan Sowerby. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s got a way with her, has Susan,” she went on quite +volubly. “I’ve been thinking all morning of one thing she said +yesterday. She says, ‘Once when I was givin’ th’ children a +bit of a preach after they’d been fightin’ I ses to ’em all, +“When I was at school my jography told as th’ world was shaped like +a orange an’ I found out before I was ten that th’ whole orange +doesn’t belong to nobody. No one owns more than his bit of a quarter +an’ there’s times it seems like there’s not enow quarters to +go round. But don’t you—none o’ you—think as you own +th’ whole orange or you’ll find out you’re mistaken, +an’ you won’t find it out without hard knocks.” ‘What +children learns from children,’ she says, ‘is that there’s no +sense in grabbin’ at th’ whole orange—peel an’ all. If +you do you’ll likely not get even th’ pips, an’ them’s +too bitter to eat.’” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a shrewd woman,” said Dr. Craven, putting on his coat. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, she’s got a way of saying things,” ended Mrs. Medlock, +much pleased. “Sometimes I’ve said to her, ‘Eh! Susan, if you +was a different woman an’ didn’t talk such broad Yorkshire +I’ve seen the times when I should have said you was clever.’” +<br /><br /> +</p> + +<p> +That night Colin slept without once awakening and when he opened his eyes in +the morning he lay still and smiled without knowing it—smiled because he +felt so curiously comfortable. It was actually nice to be awake, and he turned +over and stretched his limbs luxuriously. He felt as if tight strings which had +held him had loosened themselves and let him go. He did not know that Dr. +Craven would have said that his nerves had relaxed and rested themselves. +Instead of lying and staring at the wall and wishing he had not awakened, his +mind was full of the plans he and Mary had made yesterday, of pictures of the +garden and of Dickon and his wild creatures. It was so nice to have things to +think about. And he had not been awake more than ten minutes when he heard feet +running along the corridor and Mary was at the door. The next minute she was in +the room and had run across to his bed, bringing with her a waft of fresh air +full of the scent of the morning. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been out! You’ve been out! There’s that nice +smell of leaves!” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +She had been running and her hair was loose and blown and she was bright with +the air and pink-cheeked, though he could not see it. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s so beautiful!” she said, a little breathless with her +speed. “You never saw anything so beautiful! It has <i>come!</i> I +thought it had come that other morning, but it was only coming. It is here now! +It has come, the Spring! Dickon says so!” +</p> + +<p> +“Has it?” cried Colin, and though he really knew nothing about it +he felt his heart beat. He actually sat up in bed. +</p> + +<p> +“Open the window!” he added, laughing half with joyful excitement +and half at his own fancy. “Perhaps we may hear golden trumpets!” +</p> + +<p> +And though he laughed, Mary was at the window in a moment and in a moment more +it was opened wide and freshness and softness and scents and birds’ songs +were pouring through. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s fresh air,” she said. “Lie on your back and +draw in long breaths of it. That’s what Dickon does when he’s lying +on the moor. He says he feels it in his veins and it makes him strong and he +feels as if he could live forever and ever. Breathe it and breathe it.” +</p> + +<p> +She was only repeating what Dickon had told her, but she caught Colin’s +fancy. +</p> + +<p> +“’Forever and ever’! Does it make him feel like that?” +he said, and he did as she told him, drawing in long deep breaths over and over +again until he felt that something quite new and delightful was happening to +him. +</p> + +<p> +Mary was at his bedside again. +</p> + +<p> +“Things are crowding up out of the earth,” she ran on in a hurry. +“And there are flowers uncurling and buds on everything and the green +veil has covered nearly all the gray and the birds are in such a hurry about +their nests for fear they may be too late that some of them are even fighting +for places in the secret garden. And the rose-bushes look as wick as wick can +be, and there are primroses in the lanes and woods, and the seeds we planted +are up, and Dickon has brought the fox and the crow and the squirrels and a +new-born lamb.” +</p> + +<p> +And then she paused for breath. The new-born lamb Dickon had found three days +before lying by its dead mother among the gorse bushes on the moor. It was not +the first motherless lamb he had found and he knew what to do with it. He had +taken it to the cottage wrapped in his jacket and he had let it lie near the +fire and had fed it with warm milk. It was a soft thing with a darling silly +baby face and legs rather long for its body. Dickon had carried it over the +moor in his arms and its feeding bottle was in his pocket with a squirrel, and +when Mary had sat under a tree with its limp warmness huddled on her lap she +had felt as if she were too full of strange joy to speak. A lamb—a lamb! +A living lamb who lay on your lap like a baby! +</p> + +<p> +She was describing it with great joy and Colin was listening and drawing in +long breaths of air when the nurse entered. She started a little at the sight +of the open window. She had sat stifling in the room many a warm day because +her patient was sure that open windows gave people cold. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure you are not chilly, Master Colin?” she inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” was the answer. “I am breathing long breaths of fresh +air. It makes you strong. I am going to get up to the sofa for breakfast. My +cousin will have breakfast with me.” +</p> + +<p> +The nurse went away, concealing a smile, to give the order for two breakfasts. +She found the servants’ hall a more amusing place than the +invalid’s chamber and just now everybody wanted to hear the news from +upstairs. There was a great deal of joking about the unpopular young recluse +who, as the cook said, “had found his master, and good for him.” +The servants’ hall had been very tired of the tantrums, and the butler, +who was a man with a family, had more than once expressed his opinion that the +invalid would be all the better “for a good hiding.” +</p> + +<p> +When Colin was on his sofa and the breakfast for two was put upon the table he +made an announcement to the nurse in his most Rajah-like manner. +</p> + +<p> +“A boy, and a fox, and a crow, and two squirrels, and a new-born lamb, +are coming to see me this morning. I want them brought upstairs as soon as they +come,” he said. “You are not to begin playing with the animals in +the servants’ hall and keep them there. I want them here.” +</p> + +<p> +The nurse gave a slight gasp and tried to conceal it with a cough. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” she answered. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what you can do,” added Colin, waving his +hand. “You can tell Martha to bring them here. The boy is Martha’s +brother. His name is Dickon and he is an animal charmer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope the animals won’t bite, Master Colin,” said the +nurse. +</p> + +<p> +“I told you he was a charmer,” said Colin austerely. +“Charmers’ animals never bite.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are snake-charmers in India,” said Mary. “And they can +put their snakes’ heads in their mouths.” +</p> + +<p> +“Goodness!” shuddered the nurse. +</p> + +<p> +They ate their breakfast with the morning air pouring in upon them. +Colin’s breakfast was a very good one and Mary watched him with serious +interest. +</p> + +<p> +“You will begin to get fatter just as I did,” she said. “I +never wanted my breakfast when I was in India and now I always want it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted mine this morning,” said Colin. “Perhaps it was the +fresh air. When do you think Dickon will come?” +</p> + +<p> +He was not long in coming. In about ten minutes Mary held up her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Listen!” she said. “Did you hear a caw?” +</p> + +<p> +Colin listened and heard it, the oddest sound in the world to hear inside a +house, a hoarse “caw-caw.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s Soot,” said Mary. “Listen again. Do you hear a +bleat—a tiny one?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes!” cried Colin, quite flushing. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the new-born lamb,” said Mary. “He’s +coming.” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon’s moorland boots were thick and clumsy and though he tried to walk +quietly they made a clumping sound as he walked through the long corridors. +Mary and Colin heard him marching—marching, until he passed through the +tapestry door on to the soft carpet of Colin’s own passage. +</p> + +<p> +“If you please, sir,” announced Martha, opening the door, “if +you please, sir, here’s Dickon an’ his creatures.” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon came in smiling his nicest wide smile. The new-born lamb was in his arms +and the little red fox trotted by his side. Nut sat on his left shoulder and +Soot on his right and Shell’s head and paws peeped out of his coat +pocket. +</p> + +<p> +Colin slowly sat up and stared and stared—as he had stared when he first +saw Mary; but this was a stare of wonder and delight. The truth was that in +spite of all he had heard he had not in the least understood what this boy +would be like and that his fox and his crow and his squirrels and his lamb were +so near to him and his friendliness that they seemed almost to be part of +himself. Colin had never talked to a boy in his life and he was so overwhelmed +by his own pleasure and curiosity that he did not even think of speaking. +</p> + +<p> +But Dickon did not feel the least shy or awkward. He had not felt embarrassed +because the crow had not known his language and had only stared and had not +spoken to him the first time they met. Creatures were always like that until +they found out about you. He walked over to Colin’s sofa and put the +new-born lamb quietly on his lap, and immediately the little creature turned to +the warm velvet dressing-gown and began to nuzzle and nuzzle into its folds and +butt its tight-curled head with soft impatience against his side. Of course no +boy could have helped speaking then. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it doing?” cried Colin. “What does it want?” +</p> + +<p> +“It wants its mother,” said Dickon, smiling more and more. “I +brought it to thee a bit hungry because I knowed tha’d like to see it +feed.” +</p> + +<p> +He knelt down by the sofa and took a feeding-bottle from his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on, little ’un,” he said, turning the small woolly +white head with a gentle brown hand. “This is what tha’s after. +Tha’ll get more out o’ this than tha’ will out o’ silk +velvet coats. There now,” and he pushed the rubber tip of the bottle into +the nuzzling mouth and the lamb began to suck it with ravenous ecstasy. +</p> + +<p> +After that there was no wondering what to say. By the time the lamb fell asleep +questions poured forth and Dickon answered them all. He told them how he had +found the lamb just as the sun was rising three mornings ago. He had been +standing on the moor listening to a skylark and watching him swing higher and +higher into the sky until he was only a speck in the heights of blue. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d almost lost him but for his song an’ I was +wonderin’ how a chap could hear it when it seemed as if he’d get +out o’ th’ world in a minute—an’ just then I heard +somethin’ else far off among th’ gorse bushes. It was a weak +bleatin’ an’ I knowed it was a new lamb as was hungry an’ I +knowed it wouldn’t be hungry if it hadn’t lost its mother somehow, +so I set off searchin’. Eh! I did have a look for it. I went in an’ +out among th’ gorse bushes an’ round an’ round an’ I +always seemed to take th’ wrong turnin’. But at last I seed a bit +o’ white by a rock on top o’ th’ moor an’ I climbed up +an’ found th’ little ’un half dead wi’ cold an’ +clemmin’.” +</p> + +<p> +While he talked, Soot flew solemnly in and out of the open window and cawed +remarks about the scenery while Nut and Shell made excursions into the big +trees outside and ran up and down trunks and explored branches. Captain curled +up near Dickon, who sat on the hearth-rug from preference. +</p> + +<p> +They looked at the pictures in the gardening books and Dickon knew all the +flowers by their country names and knew exactly which ones were already growing +in the secret garden. +</p> + +<p> +“I couldna’ say that there name,” he said, pointing to one +under which was written “Aquilegia,” “but us calls that a +columbine, an’ that there one it’s a snapdragon and they both grow +wild in hedges, but these is garden ones an’ they’re bigger +an’ grander. There’s some big clumps o’ columbine in +th’ garden. They’ll look like a bed o’ blue an’ white +butterflies flutterin’ when they’re out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to see them,” cried Colin. “I am going to +see them!” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, that tha’ mun,” said Mary quite seriously. +“An’ tha’ munnot lose no time about it.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br /> +“I SHALL LIVE FOREVER—AND EVER—AND EVER!”</h2> + +<p> +But they were obliged to wait more than a week because first there came some +very windy days and then Colin was threatened with a cold, which two things +happening one after the other would no doubt have thrown him into a rage but +that there was so much careful and mysterious planning to do and almost every +day Dickon came in, if only for a few minutes, to talk about what was happening +on the moor and in the lanes and hedges and on the borders of streams. The +things he had to tell about otters’ and badgers’ and +water-rats’ houses, not to mention birds’ nests and field-mice and +their burrows, were enough to make you almost tremble with excitement when you +heard all the intimate details from an animal charmer and realized with what +thrilling eagerness and anxiety the whole busy underworld was working. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re same as us,” said Dickon, “only they have to +build their homes every year. An’ it keeps ’em so busy they fair +scuffle to get ’em done.” +</p> + +<p> +The most absorbing thing, however, was the preparations to be made before Colin +could be transported with sufficient secrecy to the garden. No one must see the +chair-carriage and Dickon and Mary after they turned a certain corner of the +shrubbery and entered upon the walk outside the ivied walls. As each day +passed, Colin had become more and more fixed in his feeling that the mystery +surrounding the garden was one of its greatest charms. Nothing must spoil that. +No one must ever suspect that they had a secret. People must think that he was +simply going out with Mary and Dickon because he liked them and did not object +to their looking at him. They had long and quite delightful talks about their +route. They would go up this path and down that one and cross the other and go +round among the fountain flower-beds as if they were looking at the +“bedding-out plants” the head gardener, Mr. Roach, had been having +arranged. That would seem such a rational thing to do that no one would think +it at all mysterious. They would turn into the shrubbery walks and lose +themselves until they came to the long walls. It was almost as serious and +elaborately thought out as the plans of march made by great generals in time of +war. +</p> + +<p> +Rumors of the new and curious things which were occurring in the +invalid’s apartments had of course filtered through the servants’ +hall into the stable yards and out among the gardeners, but notwithstanding +this, Mr. Roach was startled one day when he received orders from Master +Colin’s room to the effect that he must report himself in the apartment +no outsider had ever seen, as the invalid himself desired to speak to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, well,” he said to himself as he hurriedly changed his coat, +“what’s to do now? His Royal Highness that wasn’t to be +looked at calling up a man he’s never set eyes on.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Roach was not without curiosity. He had never caught even a glimpse of the +boy and had heard a dozen exaggerated stories about his uncanny looks and ways +and his insane tempers. The thing he had heard oftenest was that he might die +at any moment and there had been numerous fanciful descriptions of a humped +back and helpless limbs, given by people who had never seen him. +</p> + +<p> +“Things are changing in this house, Mr. Roach,” said Mrs. Medlock, +as she led him up the back staircase to the corridor on to which opened the +hitherto mysterious chamber. +</p> + +<p> +“Let’s hope they’re changing for the better, Mrs. +Medlock,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“They couldn’t well change for the worse,” she continued; +“and queer as it all is there’s them as finds their duties made a +lot easier to stand up under. Don’t you be surprised, Mr. Roach, if you +find yourself in the middle of a menagerie and Martha Sowerby’s Dickon +more at home than you or me could ever be.” +</p> + +<p> +There really was a sort of Magic about Dickon, as Mary always privately +believed. When Mr. Roach heard his name he smiled quite leniently. +</p> + +<p> +“He’d be at home in Buckingham Palace or at the bottom of a coal +mine,” he said. “And yet it’s not impudence, either. +He’s just fine, is that lad.” +</p> + +<p> +It was perhaps well he had been prepared or he might have been startled. When +the bedroom door was opened a large crow, which seemed quite at home perched on +the high back of a carven chair, announced the entrance of a visitor by saying +“Caw—Caw” quite loudly. In spite of Mrs. Medlock’s +warning, Mr. Roach only just escaped being sufficiently undignified to jump +backward. +</p> + +<p> +The young Rajah was neither in bed nor on his sofa. He was sitting in an +armchair and a young lamb was standing by him shaking its tail in feeding-lamb +fashion as Dickon knelt giving it milk from its bottle. A squirrel was perched +on Dickon’s bent back attentively nibbling a nut. The little girl from +India was sitting on a big footstool looking on. +</p> + +<p> +“Here is Mr. Roach, Master Colin,” said Mrs. Medlock. +</p> + +<p> +The young Rajah turned and looked his servitor over—at least that was +what the head gardener felt happened. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you are Roach, are you?” he said. “I sent for you to +give you some very important orders.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir,” answered Roach, wondering if he was to receive +instructions to fell all the oaks in the park or to transform the orchards into +water-gardens. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going out in my chair this afternoon,” said Colin. “If +the fresh air agrees with me I may go out every day. When I go, none of the +gardeners are to be anywhere near the Long Walk by the garden walls. No one is +to be there. I shall go out about two o’clock and everyone must keep away +until I send word that they may go back to their work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir,” replied Mr. Roach, much relieved to hear that the +oaks might remain and that the orchards were safe. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary,” said Colin, turning to her, “what is that thing you +say in India when you have finished talking and want people to go?” +</p> + +<p> +“You say, ‘You have my permission to go,’” answered +Mary. +</p> + +<p> +The Rajah waved his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“You have my permission to go, Roach,” he said. “But, +remember, this is very important.” +</p> + +<p> +“Caw—Caw!” remarked the crow hoarsely but not impolitely. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good, sir. Thank you, sir,” said Mr. Roach, and Mrs. Medlock +took him out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +Outside in the corridor, being a rather good-natured man, he smiled until he +almost laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“My word!” he said, “he’s got a fine lordly way with +him, hasn’t he? You’d think he was a whole Royal Family rolled into +one—Prince Consort and all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” protested Mrs. Medlock, “we’ve had to let him +trample all over everyone of us ever since he had feet and he thinks +that’s what folks was born for.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps he’ll grow out of it, if he lives,” suggested Mr. +Roach. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s one thing pretty sure,” said Mrs. Medlock. +“If he does live and that Indian child stays here I’ll warrant she +teaches him that the whole orange does not belong to him, as Susan Sowerby +says. And he’ll be likely to find out the size of his own quarter.” +</p> + +<p> +Inside the room Colin was leaning back on his cushions. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all safe now,” he said. “And this afternoon I +shall see it—this afternoon I shall be in it!” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon went back to the garden with his creatures and Mary stayed with Colin. +She did not think he looked tired but he was very quiet before their lunch came +and he was quiet while they were eating it. She wondered why and asked him +about it. +</p> + +<p> +“What big eyes you’ve got, Colin,” she said. “When you +are thinking they get as big as saucers. What are you thinking about +now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help thinking about what it will look like,” he +answered. +</p> + +<p> +“The garden?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“The springtime,” he said. “I was thinking that I’ve +really never seen it before. I scarcely ever went out and when I did go I never +looked at it. I didn’t even think about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never saw it in India because there wasn’t any,” said +Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Shut in and morbid as his life had been, Colin had more imagination than she +had and at least he had spent a good deal of time looking at wonderful books +and pictures. +</p> + +<p> +“That morning when you ran in and said ‘It’s come! It’s +come!’, you made me feel quite queer. It sounded as if things were coming +with a great procession and big bursts and wafts of music. I’ve a picture +like it in one of my books—crowds of lovely people and children with +garlands and branches with blossoms on them, everyone laughing and dancing and +crowding and playing on pipes. That was why I said, ‘Perhaps we shall +hear golden trumpets’ and told you to throw open the window.” +</p> + +<p> +“How funny!” said Mary. “That’s really just what it +feels like. And if all the flowers and leaves and green things and birds and +wild creatures danced past at once, what a crowd it would be! I’m sure +they’d dance and sing and flute and that would be the wafts of +music.” +</p> + +<p> +They both laughed but it was not because the idea was laughable but because +they both so liked it. +</p> + +<p> +A little later the nurse made Colin ready. She noticed that instead of lying +like a log while his clothes were put on he sat up and made some efforts to +help himself, and he talked and laughed with Mary all the time. +</p> + +<p> +“This is one of his good days, sir,” she said to Dr. Craven, who +dropped in to inspect him. “He’s in such good spirits that it makes +him stronger.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll call in again later in the afternoon, after he has come +in,” said Dr. Craven. “I must see how the going out agrees with +him. I wish,” in a very low voice, “that he would let you go with +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather give up the case this moment, sir, than even stay here +while it’s suggested,” answered the nurse. With sudden firmness. +</p> + +<p> +“I hadn’t really decided to suggest it,” said the doctor, +with his slight nervousness. “We’ll try the experiment. +Dickon’s a lad I’d trust with a new-born child.” +</p> + +<p> +The strongest footman in the house carried Colin downstairs and put him in his +wheeled chair near which Dickon waited outside. After the manservant had +arranged his rugs and cushions the Rajah waved his hand to him and to the +nurse. +</p> + +<p> +“You have my permission to go,” he said, and they both disappeared +quickly and it must be confessed giggled when they were safely inside the +house. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon began to push the wheeled chair slowly and steadily. Mistress Mary +walked beside it and Colin leaned back and lifted his face to the sky. The arch +of it looked very high and the small snowy clouds seemed like white birds +floating on outspread wings below its crystal blueness. The wind swept in soft +big breaths down from the moor and was strange with a wild clear scented +sweetness. Colin kept lifting his thin chest to draw it in, and his big eyes +looked as if it were they which were listening—listening, instead of his +ears. +</p> + +<p> +“There are so many sounds of singing and humming and calling out,” +he said. “What is that scent the puffs of wind bring?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s gorse on th’ moor that’s openin’ +out,” answered Dickon. “Eh! th’ bees are at it wonderful +today.” +</p> + +<p> +Not a human creature was to be caught sight of in the paths they took. In fact +every gardener or gardener’s lad had been witched away. But they wound in +and out among the shrubbery and out and round the fountain beds, following +their carefully planned route for the mere mysterious pleasure of it. But when +at last they turned into the Long Walk by the ivied walls the excited sense of +an approaching thrill made them, for some curious reason they could not have +explained, begin to speak in whispers. +</p> + +<p> +“This is it,” breathed Mary. “This is where I used to walk up +and down and wonder and wonder.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it?” cried Colin, and his eyes began to search the ivy with +eager curiousness. “But I can see nothing,” he whispered. +“There is no door.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I thought,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Then there was a lovely breathless silence and the chair wheeled on. +</p> + +<p> +“That is the garden where Ben Weatherstaff works,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it?” said Colin. +</p> + +<p> +A few yards more and Mary whispered again. +</p> + +<p> +“This is where the robin flew over the wall,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it?” cried Colin. “Oh! I wish he’d come +again!” +</p> + +<p> +“And that,” said Mary with solemn delight, pointing under a big +lilac bush, “is where he perched on the little heap of earth and showed +me the key.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Colin sat up. +</p> + +<p> +“Where? Where? There?” he cried, and his eyes were as big as the +wolf’s in Red Riding-Hood, when Red Riding-Hood felt called upon to +remark on them. Dickon stood still and the wheeled chair stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“And this,” said Mary, stepping on to the bed close to the ivy, +“is where I went to talk to him when he chirped at me from the top of the +wall. And this is the ivy the wind blew back,” and she took hold of the +hanging green curtain. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! is it—is it!” gasped Colin. +</p> + +<p> +“And here is the handle, and here is the door. Dickon push him +in—push him in quickly!” +</p> + +<p> +And Dickon did it with one strong, steady, splendid push. +</p> + +<p> +But Colin had actually dropped back against his cushions, even though he gasped +with delight, and he had covered his eyes with his hands and held them there +shutting out everything until they were inside and the chair stopped as if by +magic and the door was closed. Not till then did he take them away and look +round and round and round as Dickon and Mary had done. And over walls and earth +and trees and swinging sprays and tendrils the fair green veil of tender little +leaves had crept, and in the grass under the trees and the gray urns in the +alcoves and here and there everywhere were touches or splashes of gold and +purple and white and the trees were showing pink and snow above his head and +there were fluttering of wings and faint sweet pipes and humming and scents and +scents. And the sun fell warm upon his face like a hand with a lovely touch. +And in wonder Mary and Dickon stood and stared at him. He looked so strange and +different because a pink glow of color had actually crept all over +him—ivory face and neck and hands and all. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall get well! I shall get well!” he cried out. “Mary! +Dickon! I shall get well! And I shall live forever and ever and ever!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br /> +BEN WEATHERSTAFF</h2> + +<p> +One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and +then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One +knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out +and stands alone and throws one’s head far back and looks up and up and +watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things +happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one’s heart stands +still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun—which +has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of +years. One knows it then for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when +one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold +stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly +again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then +sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with millions of stars +waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music +makes it true; and sometimes a look in someone’s eyes. +</p> + +<p> +And it was like that with Colin when he first saw and heard and felt the +Springtime inside the four high walls of a hidden garden. That afternoon the +whole world seemed to devote itself to being perfect and radiantly beautiful +and kind to one boy. Perhaps out of pure heavenly goodness the spring came and +crowded everything it possibly could into that one place. More than once Dickon +paused in what he was doing and stood still with a sort of growing wonder in +his eyes, shaking his head softly. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! it is graidely,” he said. “I’m twelve goin’ +on thirteen an’ there’s a lot o’ afternoons in thirteen +years, but seems to me like I never seed one as graidely as this +’ere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, it is a graidely one,” said Mary, and she sighed for mere +joy. “I’ll warrant it’s the graidelest one as ever was in +this world.” +</p> + +<p> +“Does tha’ think,” said Colin with dreamy carefulness, +“as happen it was made loike this ’ere all o’ purpose for +me?” +</p> + +<p> +“My word!” cried Mary admiringly, “that there is a bit +o’ good Yorkshire. Tha’rt shapin’ first-rate—that +tha’ art.” +</p> + +<p> +And delight reigned. +</p> + +<p> +They drew the chair under the plum-tree, which was snow-white with blossoms and +musical with bees. It was like a king’s canopy, a fairy king’s. +There were flowering cherry-trees near and apple-trees whose buds were pink and +white, and here and there one had burst open wide. Between the blossoming +branches of the canopy bits of blue sky looked down like wonderful eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Mary and Dickon worked a little here and there and Colin watched them. They +brought him things to look at—buds which were opening, buds which were +tight closed, bits of twig whose leaves were just showing green, the feather of +a woodpecker which had dropped on the grass, the empty shell of some bird early +hatched. Dickon pushed the chair slowly round and round the garden, stopping +every other moment to let him look at wonders springing out of the earth or +trailing down from trees. It was like being taken in state round the country of +a magic king and queen and shown all the mysterious riches it contained. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if we shall see the robin?” said Colin. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ll see him often enow after a bit,” answered Dickon. +“When th’ eggs hatches out th’ little chap he’ll be +kep’ so busy it’ll make his head swim. Tha’ll see him +flyin’ backward an’ for’ard carryin’ worms nigh as big +as himsel’ an’ that much noise goin’ on in th’ nest +when he gets there as fair flusters him so as he scarce knows which big mouth +to drop th’ first piece in. An’ gapin’ beaks an’ +squawks on every side. Mother says as when she sees th’ work a robin has +to keep them gapin’ beaks filled, she feels like she was a lady with +nothin’ to do. She says she’s seen th’ little chaps when it +seemed like th’ sweat must be droppin’ off ’em, though folk +can’t see it.” +</p> + +<p> +This made them giggle so delightedly that they were obliged to cover their +mouths with their hands, remembering that they must not be heard. Colin had +been instructed as to the law of whispers and low voices several days before. +He liked the mysteriousness of it and did his best, but in the midst of excited +enjoyment it is rather difficult never to laugh above a whisper. +</p> + +<p> +Every moment of the afternoon was full of new things and every hour the +sunshine grew more golden. The wheeled chair had been drawn back under the +canopy and Dickon had sat down on the grass and had just drawn out his pipe +when Colin saw something he had not had time to notice before. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a very old tree over there, isn’t it?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon looked across the grass at the tree and Mary looked and there was a +brief moment of stillness. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Dickon, after it, and his low voice had a very +gentle sound. +</p> + +<p> +Mary gazed at the tree and thought. +</p> + +<p> +“The branches are quite gray and there’s not a single leaf +anywhere,” Colin went on. “It’s quite dead, isn’t +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye,” admitted Dickon. “But them roses as has climbed all +over it will near hide every bit o’ th’ dead wood when +they’re full o’ leaves an’ flowers. It won’t look dead +then. It’ll be th’ prettiest of all.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary still gazed at the tree and thought. +</p> + +<p> +“It looks as if a big branch had been broken off,” said Colin. +“I wonder how it was done.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s been done many a year,” answered Dickon. +“Eh!” with a sudden relieved start and laying his hand on Colin. +“Look at that robin! There he is! He’s been foragin’ for his +mate.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin was almost too late but he just caught sight of him, the flash of +red-breasted bird with something in his beak. He darted through the greenness +and into the close-grown corner and was out of sight. Colin leaned back on his +cushion again, laughing a little. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s taking her tea to her. Perhaps it’s five o’clock. +I think I’d like some tea myself.” +</p> + +<p> +And so they were safe. +</p> + +<p> +“It was Magic which sent the robin,” said Mary secretly to Dickon +afterward. “I know it was Magic.” For both she and Dickon had been +afraid Colin might ask something about the tree whose branch had broken off ten +years ago and they had talked it over together and Dickon had stood and rubbed +his head in a troubled way. +</p> + +<p> +“We mun look as if it wasn’t no different from th’ other +trees,” he had said. “We couldn’t never tell him how it +broke, poor lad. If he says anything about it we mun—we mun try to look +cheerful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, that we mun,” had answered Mary. +</p> + +<p> +But she had not felt as if she looked cheerful when she gazed at the tree. She +wondered and wondered in those few moments if there was any reality in that +other thing Dickon had said. He had gone on rubbing his rust-red hair in a +puzzled way, but a nice comforted look had begun to grow in his blue eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Craven was a very lovely young lady,” he had gone on rather +hesitatingly. “An’ mother she thinks maybe she’s about +Misselthwaite many a time lookin’ after Mester Colin, same as all mothers +do when they’re took out o’ th’ world. They have to come +back, tha’ sees. Happen she’s been in the garden an’ happen +it was her set us to work, an’ told us to bring him here.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary had thought he meant something about Magic. She was a great believer in +Magic. Secretly she quite believed that Dickon worked Magic, of course good +Magic, on everything near him and that was why people liked him so much and +wild creatures knew he was their friend. She wondered, indeed, if it were not +possible that his gift had brought the robin just at the right moment when +Colin asked that dangerous question. She felt that his Magic was working all +the afternoon and making Colin look like an entirely different boy. It did not +seem possible that he could be the crazy creature who had screamed and beaten +and bitten his pillow. Even his ivory whiteness seemed to change. The faint +glow of color which had shown on his face and neck and hands when he first got +inside the garden really never quite died away. He looked as if he were made of +flesh instead of ivory or wax. +</p> + +<p> +They saw the robin carry food to his mate two or three times, and it was so +suggestive of afternoon tea that Colin felt they must have some. +</p> + +<p> +“Go and make one of the men servants bring some in a basket to the +rhododendron walk,” he said. “And then you and Dickon can bring it +here.” +</p> + +<p> +It was an agreeable idea, easily carried out, and when the white cloth was +spread upon the grass, with hot tea and buttered toast and crumpets, a +delightfully hungry meal was eaten, and several birds on domestic errands +paused to inquire what was going on and were led into investigating crumbs with +great activity. Nut and Shell whisked up trees with pieces of cake and Soot +took the entire half of a buttered crumpet into a corner and pecked at and +examined and turned it over and made hoarse remarks about it until he decided +to swallow it all joyfully in one gulp. +</p> + +<p> +The afternoon was dragging towards its mellow hour. The sun was deepening the +gold of its lances, the bees were going home and the birds were flying past +less often. Dickon and Mary were sitting on the grass, the tea-basket was +repacked ready to be taken back to the house, and Colin was lying against his +cushions with his heavy locks pushed back from his forehead and his face +looking quite a natural color. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want this afternoon to go,” he said; “but I +shall come back tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, and the day +after.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll get plenty of fresh air, won’t you?” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to get nothing else,” he answered. +“I’ve seen the spring now and I’m going to see the summer. +I’m going to see everything grow here. I’m going to grow here +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“That tha’ will,” said Dickon. “Us’ll have thee +walkin’ about here an’ diggin’ same as other folk afore +long.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin flushed tremendously. +</p> + +<p> +“Walk!” he said. “Dig! Shall I?” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon’s glance at him was delicately cautious. Neither he nor Mary had +ever asked if anything was the matter with his legs. +</p> + +<p> +“For sure tha’ will,” he said stoutly. +“Tha—tha’s got legs o’ thine own, same as other +folks!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary was rather frightened until she heard Colin’s answer. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing really ails them,” he said, “but they are so thin +and weak. They shake so that I’m afraid to try to stand on them.” +</p> + +<p> +Both Mary and Dickon drew a relieved breath. +</p> + +<p> +“When tha’ stops bein’ afraid tha’lt stand on +’em,” Dickon said with renewed cheer. “An’ tha’lt +stop bein’ afraid in a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall?” said Colin, and he lay still as if he were wondering +about things. +</p> + +<p> +They were really very quiet for a little while. The sun was dropping lower. It +was that hour when everything stills itself, and they really had had a busy and +exciting afternoon. Colin looked as if he were resting luxuriously. Even the +creatures had ceased moving about and had drawn together and were resting near +them. Soot had perched on a low branch and drawn up one leg and dropped the +gray film drowsily over his eyes. Mary privately thought he looked as if he +might snore in a minute. +</p> + +<p> +In the midst of this stillness it was rather startling when Colin half lifted +his head and exclaimed in a loud suddenly alarmed whisper: +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that man?” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon and Mary scrambled to their feet. +</p> + +<p> +“Man!” they both cried in low quick voices. +</p> + +<p> +Colin pointed to the high wall. +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” he whispered excitedly. “Just look!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary and Dickon wheeled about and looked. There was Ben Weatherstaff’s +indignant face glaring at them over the wall from the top of a ladder! He +actually shook his fist at Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“If I wasn’t a bachelder, an’ tha’ was a wench o’ +mine,” he cried, “I’d give thee a hidin’!” +</p> + +<p> +He mounted another step threateningly as if it were his energetic intention to +jump down and deal with her; but as she came toward him he evidently thought +better of it and stood on the top step of his ladder shaking his fist down at +her. +</p> + +<p> +“I never thowt much o’ thee!” he harangued. “I +couldna’ abide thee th’ first time I set eyes on thee. A scrawny +buttermilk-faced young besom, allus askin’ questions an’ +pokin’ tha’ nose where it wasna, wanted. I never knowed how +tha’ got so thick wi’ me. If it hadna’ been for th’ +robin— Drat him—” +</p> + +<p> +“Ben Weatherstaff,” called out Mary, finding her breath. She stood +below him and called up to him with a sort of gasp. “Ben Weatherstaff, it +was the robin who showed me the way!” +</p> + +<p> +Then it did seem as if Ben really would scramble down on her side of the wall, +he was so outraged. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ young bad ’un!” he called down at her. +“Layin’ tha’ badness on a robin—not but what he’s +impidint enow for anythin’. Him showin’ thee th’ way! Him! +Eh! tha’ young nowt”—she could see his next words burst out +because he was overpowered by curiosity—“however i’ this +world did tha’ get in?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was the robin who showed me the way,” she protested +obstinately. “He didn’t know he was doing it but he did. And I +can’t tell you from here while you’re shaking your fist at +me.” +</p> + +<p> +He stopped shaking his fist very suddenly at that very moment and his jaw +actually dropped as he stared over her head at something he saw coming over the +grass toward him. +</p> + +<p> +At the first sound of his torrent of words Colin had been so surprised that he +had only sat up and listened as if he were spellbound. But in the midst of it +he had recovered himself and beckoned imperiously to Dickon. +</p> + +<p> +“Wheel me over there!” he commanded. “Wheel me quite close +and stop right in front of him!” +</p> + +<p> +And this, if you please, this is what Ben Weatherstaff beheld and which made +his jaw drop. A wheeled chair with luxurious cushions and robes which came +toward him looking rather like some sort of State Coach because a young Rajah +leaned back in it with royal command in his great black-rimmed eyes and a thin +white hand extended haughtily toward him. And it stopped right under Ben +Weatherstaff’s nose. It was really no wonder his mouth dropped open. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know who I am?” demanded the Rajah. +</p> + +<p> +How Ben Weatherstaff stared! His red old eyes fixed themselves on what was +before him as if he were seeing a ghost. He gazed and gazed and gulped a lump +down his throat and did not say a word. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know who I am?” demanded Colin still more imperiously. +“Answer!” +</p> + +<p> +Ben Weatherstaff put his gnarled hand up and passed it over his eyes and over +his forehead and then he did answer in a queer shaky voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Who tha’ art?” he said. “Aye, that I +do—wi’ tha’ mother’s eyes starin’ at me out +o’ tha’ face. Lord knows how tha’ come here. But tha’rt +th’ poor cripple.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin forgot that he had ever had a back. His face flushed scarlet and he sat +bolt upright. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not a cripple!” he cried out furiously. “I’m +not!” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s not!” cried Mary, almost shouting up the wall in her +fierce indignation. “He’s not got a lump as big as a pin! I looked +and there was none there—not one!” +</p> + +<p> +Ben Weatherstaff passed his hand over his forehead again and gazed as if he +could never gaze enough. His hand shook and his mouth shook and his voice +shook. He was an ignorant old man and a tactless old man and he could only +remember the things he had heard. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’—tha’ hasn’t got a crooked back?” he +said hoarsely. +</p> + +<p> +“No!” shouted Colin. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’—tha’ hasn’t got crooked legs?” +quavered Ben more hoarsely yet. +</p> + +<p> +It was too much. The strength which Colin usually threw into his tantrums +rushed through him now in a new way. Never yet had he been accused of crooked +legs—even in whispers—and the perfectly simple belief in their +existence which was revealed by Ben Weatherstaff’s voice was more than +Rajah flesh and blood could endure. His anger and insulted pride made him +forget everything but this one moment and filled him with a power he had never +known before, an almost unnatural strength. +</p> + +<p> +“Come here!” he shouted to Dickon, and he actually began to tear +the coverings off his lower limbs and disentangle himself. “Come here! +Come here! This minute!” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon was by his side in a second. Mary caught her breath in a short gasp and +felt herself turn pale. +</p> + +<p> +“He can do it! He can do it! He can do it! He can!” she gabbled +over to herself under her breath as fast as ever she could. +</p> + +<p> +There was a brief fierce scramble, the rugs were tossed on the ground, Dickon +held Colin’s arm, the thin legs were out, the thin feet were on the +grass. Colin was standing upright—upright—as straight as an arrow +and looking strangely tall—his head thrown back and his strange eyes +flashing lightning. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at me!” he flung up at Ben Weatherstaff. “Just look at +me—you! Just look at me!” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s as straight as I am!” cried Dickon. “He’s +as straight as any lad i’ Yorkshire!” +</p> + +<p> +What Ben Weatherstaff did Mary thought queer beyond measure. He choked and +gulped and suddenly tears ran down his weather-wrinkled cheeks as he struck his +old hands together. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” he burst forth, “th’ lies folk tells! +Tha’rt as thin as a lath an’ as white as a wraith, but +there’s not a knob on thee. Tha’lt make a mon yet. God bless +thee!” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon held Colin’s arm strongly but the boy had not begun to falter. He +stood straighter and straighter and looked Ben Weatherstaff in the face. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m your master,” he said, “when my father is away. +And you are to obey me. This is my garden. Don’t dare to say a word about +it! You get down from that ladder and go out to the Long Walk and Miss Mary +will meet you and bring you here. I want to talk to you. We did not want you, +but now you will have to be in the secret. Be quick!” +</p> + +<p> +Ben Weatherstaff’s crabbed old face was still wet with that one queer +rush of tears. It seemed as if he could not take his eyes from thin straight +Colin standing on his feet with his head thrown back. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! lad,” he almost whispered. “Eh! my lad!” And then +remembering himself he suddenly touched his hat gardener fashion and said, +“Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” and obediently disappeared as he descended +the ladder. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br /> +WHEN THE SUN WENT DOWN</h2> + +<p> +When his head was out of sight Colin turned to Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Go and meet him,” he said; and Mary flew across the grass to the +door under the ivy. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon was watching him with sharp eyes. There were scarlet spots on his cheeks +and he looked amazing, but he showed no signs of falling. +</p> + +<p> +“I can stand,” he said, and his head was still held up and he said +it quite grandly. +</p> + +<p> +“I told thee tha’ could as soon as tha’ stopped bein’ +afraid,” answered Dickon. “An’ tha’s stopped.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’ve stopped,” said Colin. +</p> + +<p> +Then suddenly he remembered something Mary had said. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you making Magic?” he asked sharply. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon’s curly mouth spread in a cheerful grin. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’s doin’ Magic thysel’,” he said. +“It’s same Magic as made these ’ere work out o’ +th’ earth,” and he touched with his thick boot a clump of crocuses +in the grass. +</p> + +<p> +Colin looked down at them. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye,” he said slowly, “there couldna’ be bigger Magic +than that there—there couldna’ be.” +</p> + +<p> +He drew himself up straighter than ever. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to walk to that tree,” he said, pointing to one a +few feet away from him. “I’m going to be standing when Weatherstaff +comes here. I can rest against the tree if I like. When I want to sit down I +will sit down, but not before. Bring a rug from the chair.” +</p> + +<p> +He walked to the tree and though Dickon held his arm he was wonderfully steady. +When he stood against the tree trunk it was not too plain that he supported +himself against it, and he still held himself so straight that he looked tall. +</p> + +<p> +When Ben Weatherstaff came through the door in the wall he saw him standing +there and he heard Mary muttering something under her breath. +</p> + +<p> +“What art sayin’?” he asked rather testily because he did not +want his attention distracted from the long thin straight boy figure and proud +face. +</p> + +<p> +But she did not tell him. What she was saying was this: +</p> + +<p> +“You can do it! You can do it! I told you you could! You can do it! You +can do it! You <i>can!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +She was saying it to Colin because she wanted to make Magic and keep him on his +feet looking like that. She could not bear that he should give in before Ben +Weatherstaff. He did not give in. She was uplifted by a sudden feeling that he +looked quite beautiful in spite of his thinness. He fixed his eyes on Ben +Weatherstaff in his funny imperious way. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at me!” he commanded. “Look at me all over! Am I a +hunchback? Have I got crooked legs?” +</p> + +<p> +Ben Weatherstaff had not quite got over his emotion, but he had recovered a +little and answered almost in his usual way. +</p> + +<p> +“Not tha’,” he said. “Nowt o’ th’ sort. +What’s tha’ been doin’ with thysel’—hidin’ +out o’ sight an’ lettin’ folk think tha’ was cripple +an’ half-witted?” +</p> + +<p> +“Half-witted!” said Colin angrily. “Who thought that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lots o’ fools,” said Ben. “Th’ world’s +full o’ jackasses brayin’ an’ they never bray nowt but lies. +What did tha’ shut thysel’ up for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Everyone thought I was going to die,” said Colin shortly. +“I’m not!” +</p> + +<p> +And he said it with such decision Ben Weatherstaff looked him over, up and +down, down and up. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ die!” he said with dry exultation. “Nowt o’ +th’ sort! Tha’s got too much pluck in thee. When I seed thee put +tha’ legs on th’ ground in such a hurry I knowed tha’ was all +right. Sit thee down on th’ rug a bit young Mester an’ give me thy +orders.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a queer mixture of crabbed tenderness and shrewd understanding in his +manner. Mary had poured out speech as rapidly as she could as they had come +down the Long Walk. The chief thing to be remembered, she had told him, was +that Colin was getting well—getting well. The garden was doing it. No one +must let him remember about having humps and dying. +</p> + +<p> +The Rajah condescended to seat himself on a rug under the tree. +</p> + +<p> +“What work do you do in the gardens, Weatherstaff?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Anythin’ I’m told to do,” answered old Ben. +“I’m kep’ on by favor—because she liked me.” +</p> + +<p> +“She?” said Colin. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ mother,” answered Ben Weatherstaff. +</p> + +<p> +“My mother?” said Colin, and he looked about him quietly. +“This was her garden, wasn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, it was that!” and Ben Weatherstaff looked about him too. +“She were main fond of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is my garden now. I am fond of it. I shall come here every +day,” announced Colin. “But it is to be a secret. My orders are +that no one is to know that we come here. Dickon and my cousin have worked and +made it come alive. I shall send for you sometimes to help—but you must +come when no one can see you.” +</p> + +<p> +Ben Weatherstaff’s face twisted itself in a dry old smile. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve come here before when no one saw me,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“What!” exclaimed Colin. “When?” +</p> + +<p> +“Th’ last time I was here,” rubbing his chin and looking +round, “was about two year’ ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“But no one has been in it for ten years!” cried Colin. +</p> + +<p> +“There was no door!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m no one,” said old Ben dryly. “An’ I +didn’t come through th’ door. I come over th’ wall. Th’ +rheumatics held me back th’ last two year’.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ come an’ did a bit o’ prunin’!” cried +Dickon. “I couldn’t make out how it had been done.” +</p> + +<p> +“She was so fond of it—she was!” said Ben Weatherstaff +slowly. “An’ she was such a pretty young thing. She says to me +once, ‘Ben,’ says she laughin’, ‘if ever I’m ill +or if I go away you must take care of my roses.’ When she did go away +th’ orders was no one was ever to come nigh. But I come,” with +grumpy obstinacy. “Over th’ wall I come—until th’ +rheumatics stopped me—an’ I did a bit o’ work once a year. +She’d gave her order first.” +</p> + +<p> +“It wouldn’t have been as wick as it is if tha’ hadn’t +done it,” said Dickon. “I did wonder.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you did it, Weatherstaff,” said Colin. +“You’ll know how to keep the secret.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, I’ll know, sir,” answered Ben. “An’ +it’ll be easier for a man wi’ rheumatics to come in at th’ +door.” +</p> + +<p> +On the grass near the tree Mary had dropped her trowel. Colin stretched out his +hand and took it up. An odd expression came into his face and he began to +scratch at the earth. His thin hand was weak enough but presently as they +watched him—Mary with quite breathless interest—he drove the end of +the trowel into the soil and turned some over. +</p> + +<p> +“You can do it! You can do it!” said Mary to herself. “I tell +you, you can!” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon’s round eyes were full of eager curiousness but he said not a +word. Ben Weatherstaff looked on with interested face. +</p> + +<p> +Colin persevered. After he had turned a few trowelfuls of soil he spoke +exultantly to Dickon in his best Yorkshire. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ said as tha’d have me walkin’ about here same as +other folk—an’ tha’ said tha’d have me diggin’. I +thowt tha’ was just leein’ to please me. This is only th’ +first day an’ I’ve walked—an’ here I am +diggin’.” +</p> + +<p> +Ben Weatherstaff’s mouth fell open again when he heard him, but he ended +by chuckling. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” he said, “that sounds as if tha’d got wits enow. +Tha’rt a Yorkshire lad for sure. An’ tha’rt diggin’, +too. How’d tha’ like to plant a bit o’ somethin’? I can +get thee a rose in a pot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go and get it!” said Colin, digging excitedly. “Quick! +Quick!” +</p> + +<p> +It was done quickly enough indeed. Ben Weatherstaff went his way forgetting +rheumatics. Dickon took his spade and dug the hole deeper and wider than a new +digger with thin white hands could make it. Mary slipped out to run and bring +back a watering-can. When Dickon had deepened the hole Colin went on turning +the soft earth over and over. He looked up at the sky, flushed and glowing with +the strangely new exercise, slight as it was. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to do it before the sun goes quite—quite down,” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +Mary thought that perhaps the sun held back a few minutes just on purpose. Ben +Weatherstaff brought the rose in its pot from the greenhouse. He hobbled over +the grass as fast as he could. He had begun to be excited, too. He knelt down +by the hole and broke the pot from the mould. +</p> + +<p> +“Here, lad,” he said, handing the plant to Colin. “Set it in +the earth thysel’ same as th’ king does when he goes to a new +place.” +</p> + +<p> +The thin white hands shook a little and Colin’s flush grew deeper as he +set the rose in the mould and held it while old Ben made firm the earth. It was +filled in and pressed down and made steady. Mary was leaning forward on her +hands and knees. Soot had flown down and marched forward to see what was being +done. Nut and Shell chattered about it from a cherry-tree. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s planted!” said Colin at last. “And the sun is +only slipping over the edge. Help me up, Dickon. I want to be standing when it +goes. That’s part of the Magic.” +</p> + +<p> +And Dickon helped him, and the Magic—or whatever it was—so gave him +strength that when the sun did slip over the edge and end the strange lovely +afternoon for them there he actually stood on his two feet—laughing. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br /> +MAGIC</h2> + +<p> +Dr. Craven had been waiting some time at the house when they returned to it. He +had indeed begun to wonder if it might not be wise to send someone out to +explore the garden paths. When Colin was brought back to his room the poor man +looked him over seriously. +</p> + +<p> +“You should not have stayed so long,” he said. “You must not +overexert yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not tired at all,” said Colin. “It has made me well. +Tomorrow I am going out in the morning as well as in the afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not sure that I can allow it,” answered Dr. Craven. “I +am afraid it would not be wise.” +</p> + +<p> +“It would not be wise to try to stop me,” said Colin quite +seriously. “I am going.” +</p> + +<p> +Even Mary had found out that one of Colin’s chief peculiarities was that +he did not know in the least what a rude little brute he was with his way of +ordering people about. He had lived on a sort of desert island all his life and +as he had been the king of it he had made his own manners and had had no one to +compare himself with. Mary had indeed been rather like him herself and since +she had been at Misselthwaite had gradually discovered that her own manners had +not been of the kind which is usual or popular. Having made this discovery she +naturally thought it of enough interest to communicate to Colin. So she sat and +looked at him curiously for a few minutes after Dr. Craven had gone. She wanted +to make him ask her why she was doing it and of course she did. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you looking at me for?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m thinking that I am rather sorry for Dr. Craven.” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” said Colin calmly, but not without an air of some +satisfaction. “He won’t get Misselthwaite at all now I’m not +going to die.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry for him because of that, of course,” said Mary, +“but I was thinking just then that it must have been very horrid to have +had to be polite for ten years to a boy who was always rude. I would never have +done it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I rude?” Colin inquired undisturbedly. +</p> + +<p> +“If you had been his own boy and he had been a slapping sort of +man,” said Mary, “he would have slapped you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he daren’t,” said Colin. +</p> + +<p> +“No, he daren’t,” answered Mistress Mary, thinking the thing +out quite without prejudice. “Nobody ever dared to do anything you +didn’t like—because you were going to die and things like that. You +were such a poor thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” announced Colin stubbornly, “I am not going to be a +poor thing. I won’t let people think I’m one. I stood on my feet +this afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is always having your own way that has made you so queer,” Mary +went on, thinking aloud. +</p> + +<p> +Colin turned his head, frowning. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I queer?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” answered Mary, “very. But you needn’t be +cross,” she added impartially, “because so am I queer—and so +is Ben Weatherstaff. But I am not as queer as I was before I began to like +people and before I found the garden.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to be queer,” said Colin. “I am not going +to be,” and he frowned again with determination. +</p> + +<p> +He was a very proud boy. He lay thinking for a while and then Mary saw his +beautiful smile begin and gradually change his whole face. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall stop being queer,” he said, “if I go every day to +the garden. There is Magic in there—good Magic, you know, Mary. I am sure +there is.” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Even if it isn’t real Magic,” Colin said, “we can +pretend it is. <i>Something</i> is there—<i>something!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Magic,” said Mary, “but not black. It’s as +white as snow.” +</p> + +<p> +They always called it Magic and indeed it seemed like it in the months that +followed—the wonderful months—the radiant months—the amazing +ones. Oh! the things which happened in that garden! If you have never had a +garden you cannot understand, and if you have had a garden you will know that +it would take a whole book to describe all that came to pass there. At first it +seemed that green things would never cease pushing their way through the earth, +in the grass, in the beds, even in the crevices of the walls. Then the green +things began to show buds and the buds began to unfurl and show color, every +shade of blue, every shade of purple, every tint and hue of crimson. In its +happy days flowers had been tucked away into every inch and hole and corner. +Ben Weatherstaff had seen it done and had himself scraped out mortar from +between the bricks of the wall and made pockets of earth for lovely clinging +things to grow on. Iris and white lilies rose out of the grass in sheaves, and +the green alcoves filled themselves with amazing armies of the blue and white +flower lances of tall delphiniums or columbines or campanulas. +</p> + +<p> +“She was main fond o’ them—she was,” Ben Weatherstaff +said. “She liked them things as was allus pointin’ up to th’ +blue sky, she used to tell. Not as she was one o’ them as looked down on +th’ earth—not her. She just loved it but she said as th’ blue +sky allus looked so joyful.” +</p> + +<p> +The seeds Dickon and Mary had planted grew as if fairies had tended them. +Satiny poppies of all tints danced in the breeze by the score, gaily defying +flowers which had lived in the garden for years and which it might be confessed +seemed rather to wonder how such new people had got there. And the +roses—the roses! Rising out of the grass, tangled round the sun-dial, +wreathing the tree trunks and hanging from their branches, climbing up the +walls and spreading over them with long garlands falling in cascades—they +came alive day by day, hour by hour. Fair fresh leaves, and buds—and +buds—tiny at first but swelling and working Magic until they burst and +uncurled into cups of scent delicately spilling themselves over their brims and +filling the garden air. +</p> + +<p> +Colin saw it all, watching each change as it took place. Every morning he was +brought out and every hour of each day when it didn’t rain he spent in +the garden. Even gray days pleased him. He would lie on the grass +“watching things growing,” he said. If you watched long enough, he +declared, you could see buds unsheath themselves. Also you could make the +acquaintance of strange busy insect things running about on various unknown but +evidently serious errands, sometimes carrying tiny scraps of straw or feather +or food, or climbing blades of grass as if they were trees from whose tops one +could look out to explore the country. A mole throwing up its mound at the end +of its burrow and making its way out at last with the long-nailed paws which +looked so like elfish hands, had absorbed him one whole morning. Ants’ +ways, beetles’ ways, bees’ ways, frogs’ ways, birds’ +ways, plants’ ways, gave him a new world to explore and when Dickon +revealed them all and added foxes’ ways, otters’ ways, +ferrets’ ways, squirrels’ ways, and trout’ and +water-rats’ and badgers’ ways, there was no end to the things to +talk about and think over. +</p> + +<p> +And this was not the half of the Magic. The fact that he had really once stood +on his feet had set Colin thinking tremendously and when Mary told him of the +spell she had worked he was excited and approved of it greatly. He talked of it +constantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course there must be lots of Magic in the world,” he said +wisely one day, “but people don’t know what it is like or how to +make it. Perhaps the beginning is just to say nice things are going to happen +until you make them happen. I am going to try and experiment.” +</p> + +<p> +The next morning when they went to the secret garden he sent at once for Ben +Weatherstaff. Ben came as quickly as he could and found the Rajah standing on +his feet under a tree and looking very grand but also very beautifully smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Good morning, Ben Weatherstaff,” he said. “I want you and +Dickon and Miss Mary to stand in a row and listen to me because I am going to +tell you something very important.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, aye, sir!” answered Ben Weatherstaff, touching his forehead. +(One of the long concealed charms of Ben Weatherstaff was that in his boyhood +he had once run away to sea and had made voyages. So he could reply like a +sailor.) +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to try a scientific experiment,” explained the Rajah. +“When I grow up I am going to make great scientific discoveries and I am +going to begin now with this experiment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, aye, sir!” said Ben Weatherstaff promptly, though this was +the first time he had heard of great scientific discoveries. +</p> + +<p> +It was the first time Mary had heard of them, either, but even at this stage +she had begun to realize that, queer as he was, Colin had read about a great +many singular things and was somehow a very convincing sort of boy. When he +held up his head and fixed his strange eyes on you it seemed as if you believed +him almost in spite of yourself though he was only ten years old—going on +eleven. At this moment he was especially convincing because he suddenly felt +the fascination of actually making a sort of speech like a grown-up person. +</p> + +<p> +“The great scientific discoveries I am going to make,” he went on, +“will be about Magic. Magic is a great thing and scarcely anyone knows +anything about it except a few people in old books—and Mary a little, +because she was born in India where there are fakirs. I believe Dickon knows +some Magic, but perhaps he doesn’t know he knows it. He charms animals +and people. I would never have let him come to see me if he had not been an +animal charmer—which is a boy charmer, too, because a boy is an animal. I +am sure there is Magic in everything, only we have not sense enough to get hold +of it and make it do things for us—like electricity and horses and +steam.” +</p> + +<p> +This sounded so imposing that Ben Weatherstaff became quite excited and really +could not keep still. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, aye, sir,” he said and he began to stand up quite straight. +</p> + +<p> +“When Mary found this garden it looked quite dead,” the orator +proceeded. “Then something began pushing things up out of the soil and +making things out of nothing. One day things weren’t there and another +they were. I had never watched things before and it made me feel very curious. +Scientific people are always curious and I am going to be scientific. I keep +saying to myself, ‘What is it? What is it?’ It’s something. +It can’t be nothing! I don’t know its name so I call it Magic. I +have never seen the sun rise but Mary and Dickon have and from what they tell +me I am sure that is Magic too. Something pushes it up and draws it. Sometimes +since I’ve been in the garden I’ve looked up through the trees at +the sky and I have had a strange feeling of being happy as if something were +pushing and drawing in my chest and making me breathe fast. Magic is always +pushing and drawing and making things out of nothing. Everything is made out of +Magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and +people. So it must be all around us. In this garden—in all the places. +The Magic in this garden has made me stand up and know I am going to live to be +a man. I am going to make the scientific experiment of trying to get some and +put it in myself and make it push and draw me and make me strong. I don’t +know how to do it but I think that if you keep thinking about it and calling it +perhaps it will come. Perhaps that is the first baby way to get it. When I was +going to try to stand that first time Mary kept saying to herself as fast as +she could, ‘You can do it! You can do it!’ and I did. I had to try +myself at the same time, of course, but her Magic helped me—and so did +Dickon’s. Every morning and evening and as often in the daytime as I can +remember I am going to say, ‘Magic is in me! Magic is making me well! I +am going to be as strong as Dickon, as strong as Dickon!’ And you must +all do it, too. That is my experiment Will you help, Ben Weatherstaff?” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, aye, sir!” said Ben Weatherstaff. “Aye, aye!” +</p> + +<p> +“If you keep doing it every day as regularly as soldiers go through drill +we shall see what will happen and find out if the experiment succeeds. You +learn things by saying them over and over and thinking about them until they +stay in your mind forever and I think it will be the same with Magic. If you +keep calling it to come to you and help you it will get to be part of you and +it will stay and do things.” +</p> + +<p> +“I once heard an officer in India tell my mother that there were fakirs +who said words over and over thousands of times,” said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve heard Jem Fettleworth’s wife say th’ same thing +over thousands o’ times—callin’ Jem a drunken brute,” +said Ben Weatherstaff dryly. “Summat allus come o’ that, sure +enough. He gave her a good hidin’ an’ went to th’ Blue Lion +an’ got as drunk as a lord.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin drew his brows together and thought a few minutes. Then he cheered up. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, “you see something did come of it. She used +the wrong Magic until she made him beat her. If she’d used the right +Magic and had said something nice perhaps he wouldn’t have got as drunk +as a lord and perhaps—perhaps he might have bought her a new +bonnet.” +</p> + +<p> +Ben Weatherstaff chuckled and there was shrewd admiration in his little old +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’rt a clever lad as well as a straight-legged one, Mester +Colin,” he said. “Next time I see Bess Fettleworth I’ll give +her a bit of a hint o’ what Magic will do for her. She’d be rare +an’ pleased if th’ sinetifik ’speriment +worked—an’ so ’ud Jem.” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon had stood listening to the lecture, his round eyes shining with curious +delight. Nut and Shell were on his shoulders and he held a long-eared white +rabbit in his arm and stroked and stroked it softly while it laid its ears +along its back and enjoyed itself. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think the experiment will work?” Colin asked him, wondering +what he was thinking. He so often wondered what Dickon was thinking when he saw +him looking at him or at one of his “creatures” with his happy wide +smile. +</p> + +<p> +He smiled now and his smile was wider than usual. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye,” he answered, “that I do. It’ll work same as +th’ seeds do when th’ sun shines on ’em. It’ll work for +sure. Shall us begin it now?” +</p> + +<p> +Colin was delighted and so was Mary. Fired by recollections of fakirs and +devotees in illustrations Colin suggested that they should all sit cross-legged +under the tree which made a canopy. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be like sitting in a sort of temple,” said Colin. +“I’m rather tired and I want to sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” said Dickon, “tha’ mustn’t begin by +sayin’ tha’rt tired. Tha’ might spoil th’ Magic.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin turned and looked at him—into his innocent round eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s true,” he said slowly. “I must only think of +the Magic.” +</p> + +<p> +It all seemed most majestic and mysterious when they sat down in their circle. +Ben Weatherstaff felt as if he had somehow been led into appearing at a +prayer-meeting. Ordinarily he was very fixed in being what he called +“agen’ prayer-meetin’s” but this being the +Rajah’s affair he did not resent it and was indeed inclined to be +gratified at being called upon to assist. Mistress Mary felt solemnly +enraptured. Dickon held his rabbit in his arm, and perhaps he made some +charmer’s signal no one heard, for when he sat down, cross-legged like +the rest, the crow, the fox, the squirrels and the lamb slowly drew near and +made part of the circle, settling each into a place of rest as if of their own +desire. +</p> + +<p> +“The ‘creatures’ have come,” said Colin gravely. +“They want to help us.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin really looked quite beautiful, Mary thought. He held his head high as if +he felt like a sort of priest and his strange eyes had a wonderful look in +them. The light shone on him through the tree canopy. +</p> + +<p> +“Now we will begin,” he said. “Shall we sway backward and +forward, Mary, as if we were dervishes?” +</p> + +<p> +“I canna’ do no swayin’ back’ard and +for’ard,” said Ben Weatherstaff. “I’ve got th’ +rheumatics.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Magic will take them away,” said Colin in a High Priest tone, +“but we won’t sway until it has done it. We will only chant.” +</p> + +<p> +“I canna’ do no chantin’” said Ben Weatherstaff a +trifle testily. “They turned me out o’ th’ church choir +th’ only time I ever tried it.” +</p> + +<p> +No one smiled. They were all too much in earnest. Colin’s face was not +even crossed by a shadow. He was thinking only of the Magic. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I will chant,” he said. And he began, looking like a strange +boy spirit. “The sun is shining—the sun is shining. That is the +Magic. The flowers are growing—the roots are stirring. That is the Magic. +Being alive is the Magic—being strong is the Magic. The Magic is in +me—the Magic is in me. It is in me—it is in me. It’s in +everyone of us. It’s in Ben Weatherstaff’s back. Magic! Magic! Come +and help!” +</p> + +<p> +He said it a great many times—not a thousand times but quite a goodly +number. Mary listened entranced. She felt as if it were at once queer and +beautiful and she wanted him to go on and on. Ben Weatherstaff began to feel +soothed into a sort of dream which was quite agreeable. The humming of the bees +in the blossoms mingled with the chanting voice and drowsily melted into a +doze. Dickon sat cross-legged with his rabbit asleep on his arm and a hand +resting on the lamb’s back. Soot had pushed away a squirrel and huddled +close to him on his shoulder, the gray film dropped over his eyes. At last +Colin stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Now I am going to walk round the garden,” he announced. +</p> + +<p> +Ben Weatherstaff’s head had just dropped forward and he lifted it with a +jerk. +</p> + +<p> +“You have been asleep,” said Colin. +</p> + +<p> +“Nowt o’ th’ sort,” mumbled Ben. “Th’ +sermon was good enow—but I’m bound to get out afore th’ +collection.” +</p> + +<p> +He was not quite awake yet. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re not in church,” said Colin. +</p> + +<p> +“Not me,” said Ben, straightening himself. “Who said I were? +I heard every bit of it. You said th’ Magic was in my back. Th’ +doctor calls it rheumatics.” +</p> + +<p> +The Rajah waved his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“That was the wrong Magic,” he said. “You will get better. +You have my permission to go to your work. But come back tomorrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to see thee walk round the garden,” grunted Ben. +</p> + +<p> +It was not an unfriendly grunt, but it was a grunt. In fact, being a stubborn +old party and not having entire faith in Magic he had made up his mind that if +he were sent away he would climb his ladder and look over the wall so that he +might be ready to hobble back if there were any stumbling. +</p> + +<p> +The Rajah did not object to his staying and so the procession was formed. It +really did look like a procession. Colin was at its head with Dickon on one +side and Mary on the other. Ben Weatherstaff walked behind, and the +“creatures” trailed after them, the lamb and the fox cub keeping +close to Dickon, the white rabbit hopping along or stopping to nibble and Soot +following with the solemnity of a person who felt himself in charge. +</p> + +<p> +It was a procession which moved slowly but with dignity. Every few yards it +stopped to rest. Colin leaned on Dickon’s arm and privately Ben +Weatherstaff kept a sharp lookout, but now and then Colin took his hand from +its support and walked a few steps alone. His head was held up all the time and +he looked very grand. +</p> + +<p> +“The Magic is in me!” he kept saying. “The Magic is making me +strong! I can feel it! I can feel it!” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed very certain that something was upholding and uplifting him. He sat +on the seats in the alcoves, and once or twice he sat down on the grass and +several times he paused in the path and leaned on Dickon, but he would not give +up until he had gone all round the garden. When he returned to the canopy tree +his cheeks were flushed and he looked triumphant. +</p> + +<p> +“I did it! The Magic worked!” he cried. “That is my first +scientific discovery.” +</p> + +<p> +“What will Dr. Craven say?” broke out Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“He won’t say anything,” Colin answered, “because he +will not be told. This is to be the biggest secret of all. No one is to know +anything about it until I have grown so strong that I can walk and run like any +other boy. I shall come here every day in my chair and I shall be taken back in +it. I won’t have people whispering and asking questions and I won’t +let my father hear about it until the experiment has quite succeeded. Then +sometime when he comes back to Misselthwaite I shall just walk into his study +and say ‘Here I am; I am like any other boy. I am quite well and I shall +live to be a man. It has been done by a scientific experiment.’” +</p> + +<p> +“He will think he is in a dream,” cried Mary. “He won’t +believe his eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin flushed triumphantly. He had made himself believe that he was going to +get well, which was really more than half the battle, if he had been aware of +it. And the thought which stimulated him more than any other was this imagining +what his father would look like when he saw that he had a son who was as +straight and strong as other fathers’ sons. One of his darkest miseries +in the unhealthy morbid past days had been his hatred of being a sickly +weak-backed boy whose father was afraid to look at him. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll be obliged to believe them,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“One of the things I am going to do, after the Magic works and before I +begin to make scientific discoveries, is to be an athlete.” +</p> + +<p> +“We shall have thee takin’ to boxin’ in a week or so,” +said Ben Weatherstaff. “Tha’lt end wi’ winnin’ +th’ Belt an’ bein’ champion prize-fighter of all +England.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin fixed his eyes on him sternly. +</p> + +<p> +“Weatherstaff,” he said, “that is disrespectful. You must not +take liberties because you are in the secret. However much the Magic works I +shall not be a prize-fighter. I shall be a Scientific Discoverer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ax pardon—ax pardon, sir” answered Ben, touching his +forehead in salute. “I ought to have seed it wasn’t a jokin’ +matter,” but his eyes twinkled and secretly he was immensely pleased. He +really did not mind being snubbed since the snubbing meant that the lad was +gaining strength and spirit. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br /> +“LET THEM LAUGH”</h2> + +<p> +The secret garden was not the only one Dickon worked in. Round the cottage on +the moor there was a piece of ground enclosed by a low wall of rough stones. +Early in the morning and late in the fading twilight and on all the days Colin +and Mary did not see him, Dickon worked there planting or tending potatoes and +cabbages, turnips and carrots and herbs for his mother. In the company of his +“creatures” he did wonders there and was never tired of doing them, +it seemed. While he dug or weeded he whistled or sang bits of Yorkshire moor +songs or talked to Soot or Captain or the brothers and sisters he had taught to +help him. +</p> + +<p> +“We’d never get on as comfortable as we do,” Mrs. Sowerby +said, “if it wasn’t for Dickon’s garden. Anything’ll +grow for him. His ’taters and cabbages is twice th’ size of anyone +else’s an’ they’ve got a flavor with ’em as +nobody’s has.” +</p> + +<p> +When she found a moment to spare she liked to go out and talk to him. After +supper there was still a long clear twilight to work in and that was her quiet +time. She could sit upon the low rough wall and look on and hear stories of the +day. She loved this time. There were not only vegetables in this garden. Dickon +had bought penny packages of flower seeds now and then and sown bright +sweet-scented things among gooseberry bushes and even cabbages and he grew +borders of mignonette and pinks and pansies and things whose seeds he could +save year after year or whose roots would bloom each spring and spread in time +into fine clumps. The low wall was one of the prettiest things in Yorkshire +because he had tucked moorland foxglove and ferns and rock-cress and hedgerow +flowers into every crevice until only here and there glimpses of the stones +were to be seen. +</p> + +<p> +“All a chap’s got to do to make ’em thrive, mother,” he +would say, “is to be friends with ’em for sure. They’re just +like th’ ‘creatures.’ If they’re thirsty give ’em +drink and if they’re hungry give ’em a bit o’ food. They want +to live same as we do. If they died I should feel as if I’d been a bad +lad and somehow treated them heartless.” +</p> + +<p> +It was in these twilight hours that Mrs. Sowerby heard of all that happened at +Misselthwaite Manor. At first she was only told that “Mester Colin” +had taken a fancy to going out into the grounds with Miss Mary and that it was +doing him good. But it was not long before it was agreed between the two +children that Dickon’s mother might “come into the secret.” +Somehow it was not doubted that she was “safe for sure.” +</p> + +<p> +So one beautiful still evening Dickon told the whole story, with all the +thrilling details of the buried key and the robin and the gray haze which had +seemed like deadness and the secret Mistress Mary had planned never to reveal. +The coming of Dickon and how it had been told to him, the doubt of Mester Colin +and the final drama of his introduction to the hidden domain, combined with the +incident of Ben Weatherstaff’s angry face peering over the wall and +Mester Colin’s sudden indignant strength, made Mrs. Sowerby’s +nice-looking face quite change color several times. +</p> + +<p> +“My word!” she said. “It was a good thing that little lass +came to th’ Manor. It’s been th’ makin’ o’ her +an’ th’ savin, o’ him. Standin’ on his feet! An’ +us all thinkin’ he was a poor half-witted lad with not a straight bone in +him.” +</p> + +<p> +She asked a great many questions and her blue eyes were full of deep thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“What do they make of it at th’ Manor—him being so well +an’ cheerful an’ never complainin’?” she inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“They don’t know what to make of it,” answered Dickon. +“Every day as comes round his face looks different. It’s +fillin’ out and doesn’t look so sharp an’ th’ waxy +color is goin’. But he has to do his bit o’ +complainin’,” with a highly entertained grin. +</p> + +<p> +“What for, i’ Mercy’s name?” asked Mrs. Sowerby. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon chuckled. +</p> + +<p> +“He does it to keep them from guessin’ what’s happened. If +the doctor knew he’d found out he could stand on his feet he’d +likely write and tell Mester Craven. Mester Colin’s savin’ +th’ secret to tell himself. He’s goin’ to practise his Magic +on his legs every day till his father comes back an’ then he’s +goin’ to march into his room an’ show him he’s as straight as +other lads. But him an’ Miss Mary thinks it’s best plan to do a bit +o’ groanin’ an’ frettin’ now an’ then to throw +folk off th’ scent.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sowerby was laughing a low comfortable laugh long before he had finished +his last sentence. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh!” she said, “that pair’s enjoyin’ +theirselves I’ll warrant. They’ll get a good bit o’ +actin’ out of it an’ there’s nothin’ children likes as +much as play actin’. Let’s hear what they do, Dickon lad.” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon stopped weeding and sat up on his heels to tell her. His eyes were +twinkling with fun. +</p> + +<p> +“Mester Colin is carried down to his chair every time he goes out,” +he explained. “An’ he flies out at John, th’ footman, for not +carryin’ him careful enough. He makes himself as helpless lookin’ +as he can an’ never lifts his head until we’re out o’ sight +o’ th’ house. An’ he grunts an’ frets a good bit when +he’s bein’ settled into his chair. Him an’ Miss Mary’s +both got to enjoyin’ it an’ when he groans an’ complains +she’ll say, ‘Poor Colin! Does it hurt you so much? Are you so weak +as that, poor Colin?’—but th’ trouble is that sometimes they +can scarce keep from burstin’ out laughin’. When we get safe into +the garden they laugh till they’ve no breath left to laugh with. +An’ they have to stuff their faces into Mester Colin’s cushions to +keep the gardeners from hearin’, if any of, ’em’s +about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Th’ more they laugh th’ better for ’em!” said +Mrs. Sowerby, still laughing herself. “Good healthy child laughin’s +better than pills any day o’ th’ year. That pair’ll plump up +for sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are plumpin’ up,” said Dickon. “They’re +that hungry they don’t know how to get enough to eat without makin’ +talk. Mester Colin says if he keeps sendin’ for more food they +won’t believe he’s an invalid at all. Miss Mary says she’ll +let him eat her share, but he says that if she goes hungry she’ll get +thin an’ they mun both get fat at once.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Sowerby laughed so heartily at the revelation of this difficulty that she +quite rocked backward and forward in her blue cloak, and Dickon laughed with +her. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell thee what, lad,” Mrs. Sowerby said when she could +speak. “I’ve thought of a way to help ’em. When tha’ +goes to ’em in th’ mornin’s tha’ shall take a pail +o’ good new milk an’ I’ll bake ’em a crusty cottage +loaf or some buns wi’ currants in ’em, same as you children like. +Nothin’s so good as fresh milk an’ bread. Then they could take off +th’ edge o’ their hunger while they were in their garden an’ +th, fine food they get indoors ’ud polish off th’ corners.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! mother!” said Dickon admiringly, “what a wonder +tha’ art! Tha’ always sees a way out o’ things. They was +quite in a pother yesterday. They didn’t see how they was to manage +without orderin’ up more food—they felt that empty inside.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re two young ’uns growin’ fast, an’ +health’s comin’ back to both of ’em. Children like that feels +like young wolves an’ food’s flesh an’ blood to +’em,” said Mrs. Sowerby. Then she smiled Dickon’s own curving +smile. “Eh! but they’re enjoyin’ theirselves for sure,” +she said. +</p> + +<p> +She was quite right, the comfortable wonderful mother creature—and she +had never been more so than when she said their “play actin’” +would be their joy. Colin and Mary found it one of their most thrilling sources +of entertainment. The idea of protecting themselves from suspicion had been +unconsciously suggested to them first by the puzzled nurse and then by Dr. +Craven himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Your appetite. Is improving very much, Master Colin,” the nurse +had said one day. “You used to eat nothing, and so many things disagreed +with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing disagrees with me now” replied Colin, and then seeing the +nurse looking at him curiously he suddenly remembered that perhaps he ought not +to appear too well just yet. “At least things don’t so often +disagree with me. It’s the fresh air.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it is,” said the nurse, still looking at him with a +mystified expression. “But I must talk to Dr. Craven about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“How she stared at you!” said Mary when she went away. “As if +she thought there must be something to find out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t have her finding out things,” said Colin. “No +one must begin to find out yet.” +</p> + +<p> +When Dr. Craven came that morning he seemed puzzled, also. He asked a number of +questions, to Colin’s great annoyance. +</p> + +<p> +“You stay out in the garden a great deal,” he suggested. +“Where do you go?” +</p> + +<p> +Colin put on his favorite air of dignified indifference to opinion. +</p> + +<p> +“I will not let anyone know where I go,” he answered. “I go +to a place I like. Everyone has orders to keep out of the way. I won’t +be watched and stared at. You know that!” +</p> + +<p> +“You seem to be out all day but I do not think it has done you +harm—I do not think so. The nurse says that you eat much more than you +have ever done before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” said Colin, prompted by a sudden inspiration, +“perhaps it is an unnatural appetite.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not think so, as your food seems to agree with you,” said Dr. +Craven. “You are gaining flesh rapidly and your color is better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps—perhaps I am bloated and feverish,” said Colin, +assuming a discouraging air of gloom. “People who are not going to live +are often—different.” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Craven shook his head. He was holding Colin’s wrist and he pushed up +his sleeve and felt his arm. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not feverish,” he said thoughtfully, “and such flesh +as you have gained is healthy. If you can keep this up, my boy, we need not +talk of dying. Your father will be happy to hear of this remarkable +improvement.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t have him told!” Colin broke forth fiercely. +“It will only disappoint him if I get worse again—and I may get +worse this very night. I might have a raging fever. I feel as if I might be +beginning to have one now. I won’t have letters written to my +father—I won’t—I won’t! You are making me angry and you +know that is bad for me. I feel hot already. I hate being written about and +being talked over as much as I hate being stared at!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush-h! my boy,” Dr. Craven soothed him. “Nothing shall be +written without your permission. You are too sensitive about things. You must +not undo the good which has been done.” +</p> + +<p> +He said no more about writing to Mr. Craven and when he saw the nurse he +privately warned her that such a possibility must not be mentioned to the +patient. +</p> + +<p> +“The boy is extraordinarily better,” he said. “His advance +seems almost abnormal. But of course he is doing now of his own free will what +we could not make him do before. Still, he excites himself very easily and +nothing must be said to irritate him.” +</p> + +<p> +Mary and Colin were much alarmed and talked together anxiously. From this time +dated their plan of “play actin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“I may be obliged to have a tantrum,” said Colin regretfully. +“I don’t want to have one and I’m not miserable enough now to +work myself into a big one. Perhaps I couldn’t have one at all. That lump +doesn’t come in my throat now and I keep thinking of nice things instead +of horrible ones. But if they talk about writing to my father I shall have to +do something.” +</p> + +<p> +He made up his mind to eat less, but unfortunately it was not possible to carry +out this brilliant idea when he wakened each morning with an amazing appetite +and the table near his sofa was set with a breakfast of home-made bread and +fresh butter, snow-white eggs, raspberry jam and clotted cream. Mary always +breakfasted with him and when they found themselves at the +table—particularly if there were delicate slices of sizzling ham sending +forth tempting odors from under a hot silver cover—they would look into +each other’s eyes in desperation. +</p> + +<p> +“I think we shall have to eat it all this morning, Mary,” Colin +always ended by saying. “We can send away some of the lunch and a great +deal of the dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +But they never found they could send away anything and the highly polished +condition of the empty plates returned to the pantry awakened much comment. +</p> + +<p> +“I do wish,” Colin would say also, “I do wish the slices of +ham were thicker, and one muffin each is not enough for anyone.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s enough for a person who is going to die,” answered Mary +when first she heard this, “but it’s not enough for a person who is +going to live. I sometimes feel as if I could eat three when those nice fresh +heather and gorse smells from the moor come pouring in at the open +window.” +</p> + +<p> +The morning that Dickon—after they had been enjoying themselves in the +garden for about two hours—went behind a big rosebush and brought forth +two tin pails and revealed that one was full of rich new milk with cream on the +top of it, and that the other held cottage-made currant buns folded in a clean +blue and white napkin, buns so carefully tucked in that they were still hot, +there was a riot of surprised joyfulness. What a wonderful thing for Mrs. +Sowerby to think of! What a kind, clever woman she must be! How good the buns +were! And what delicious fresh milk! +</p> + +<p> +“Magic is in her just as it is in Dickon,” said Colin. “It +makes her think of ways to do things—nice things. She is a Magic person. +Tell her we are grateful, Dickon—extremely grateful.” +</p> + +<p> +He was given to using rather grown-up phrases at times. He enjoyed them. He +liked this so much that he improved upon it. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell her she has been most bounteous and our gratitude is +extreme.” +</p> + +<p> +And then forgetting his grandeur he fell to and stuffed himself with buns and +drank milk out of the pail in copious draughts in the manner of any hungry +little boy who had been taking unusual exercise and breathing in moorland air +and whose breakfast was more than two hours behind him. +</p> + +<p> +This was the beginning of many agreeable incidents of the same kind. They +actually awoke to the fact that as Mrs. Sowerby had fourteen people to provide +food for she might not have enough to satisfy two extra appetites every day. So +they asked her to let them send some of their shillings to buy things. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon made the stimulating discovery that in the wood in the park outside the +garden where Mary had first found him piping to the wild creatures there was a +deep little hollow where you could build a sort of tiny oven with stones and +roast potatoes and eggs in it. Roasted eggs were a previously unknown luxury +and very hot potatoes with salt and fresh butter in them were fit for a +woodland king—besides being deliciously satisfying. You could buy both +potatoes and eggs and eat as many as you liked without feeling as if you were +taking food out of the mouths of fourteen people. +</p> + +<p> +Every beautiful morning the Magic was worked by the mystic circle under the +plum-tree which provided a canopy of thickening green leaves after its brief +blossom-time was ended. After the ceremony Colin always took his walking +exercise and throughout the day he exercised his newly found power at +intervals. Each day he grew stronger and could walk more steadily and cover +more ground. And each day his belief in the Magic grew stronger—as well +it might. He tried one experiment after another as he felt himself gaining +strength and it was Dickon who showed him the best things of all. +</p> + +<p> +“Yesterday,” he said one morning after an absence, “I went to +Thwaite for mother an’ near th’ Blue Cow Inn I seed Bob Haworth. +He’s the strongest chap on th’ moor. He’s the champion +wrestler an’ he can jump higher than any other chap an’ throw +th’ hammer farther. He’s gone all th’ way to Scotland for +th’ sports some years. He’s knowed me ever since I was a little +’un an’ he’s a friendly sort an’ I axed him some +questions. Th’ gentry calls him a athlete and I thought o’ thee, +Mester Colin, and I says, ‘How did tha’ make tha’ muscles +stick out that way, Bob? Did tha’ do anythin’ extra to make +thysel’ so strong?’ An’ he says ‘Well, yes, lad, I did. +A strong man in a show that came to Thwaite once showed me how to exercise my +arms an’ legs an’ every muscle in my body. An’ I says, +‘Could a delicate chap make himself stronger with ’em, Bob?’ +an’ he laughed an’ says, ‘Art tha’ th’ delicate +chap?’ an’ I says, ‘No, but I knows a young gentleman +that’s gettin’ well of a long illness an’ I wish I knowed +some o’ them tricks to tell him about.’ I didn’t say no names +an’ he didn’t ask none. He’s friendly same as I said +an’ he stood up an’ showed me good-natured like, an’ I +imitated what he did till I knowed it by heart.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin had been listening excitedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you show me?” he cried. “Will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, to be sure,” Dickon answered, getting up. “But he says +tha’ mun do ’em gentle at first an’ be careful not to tire +thysel’. Rest in between times an’ take deep breaths an’ +don’t overdo.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be careful,” said Colin. “Show me! Show me! +Dickon, you are the most Magic boy in the world!” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon stood up on the grass and slowly went through a carefully practical but +simple series of muscle exercises. Colin watched them with widening eyes. He +could do a few while he was sitting down. Presently he did a few gently while +he stood upon his already steadied feet. Mary began to do them also. Soot, who +was watching the performance, became much disturbed and left his branch and +hopped about restlessly because he could not do them too. +</p> + +<p> +From that time the exercises were part of the day’s duties as much as the +Magic was. It became possible for both Colin and Mary to do more of them each +time they tried, and such appetites were the results that but for the basket +Dickon put down behind the bush each morning when he arrived they would have +been lost. But the little oven in the hollow and Mrs. Sowerby’s bounties +were so satisfying that Mrs. Medlock and the nurse and Dr. Craven became +mystified again. You can trifle with your breakfast and seem to disdain your +dinner if you are full to the brim with roasted eggs and potatoes and richly +frothed new milk and oatcakes and buns and heather honey and clotted cream. +</p> + +<p> +“They are eating next to nothing,” said the nurse. +“They’ll die of starvation if they can’t be persuaded to take +some nourishment. And yet see how they look.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look!” exclaimed Mrs. Medlock indignantly. “Eh! I’m +moithered to death with them. They’re a pair of young Satans. Bursting +their jackets one day and the next turning up their noses at the best meals +Cook can tempt them with. Not a mouthful of that lovely young fowl and bread +sauce did they set a fork into yesterday—and the poor woman fair +<i>invented</i> a pudding for them—and back it’s sent. She almost +cried. She’s afraid she’ll be blamed if they starve themselves into +their graves.” +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Craven came and looked at Colin long and carefully, He wore an extremely +worried expression when the nurse talked with him and showed him the almost +untouched tray of breakfast she had saved for him to look at—but it was +even more worried when he sat down by Colin’s sofa and examined him. He +had been called to London on business and had not seen the boy for nearly two +weeks. When young things begin to gain health they gain it rapidly. The waxen +tinge had left, Colins skin and a warm rose showed through it; his beautiful +eyes were clear and the hollows under them and in his cheeks and temples had +filled out. His once dark, heavy locks had begun to look as if they sprang +healthily from his forehead and were soft and warm with life. His lips were +fuller and of a normal color. In fact as an imitation of a boy who was a +confirmed invalid he was a disgraceful sight. Dr. Craven held his chin in his +hand and thought him over. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry to hear that you do not eat anything,” he said. +“That will not do. You will lose all you have gained—and you have +gained amazingly. You ate so well a short time ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“I told you it was an unnatural appetite,” answered Colin. +</p> + +<p> +Mary was sitting on her stool nearby and she suddenly made a very queer sound +which she tried so violently to repress that she ended by almost choking. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter?” said Dr. Craven, turning to look at her. +</p> + +<p> +Mary became quite severe in her manner. +</p> + +<p> +“It was something between a sneeze and a cough,” she replied with +reproachful dignity, “and it got into my throat.” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” she said afterward to Colin, “I couldn’t stop +myself. It just burst out because all at once I couldn’t help remembering +that last big potato you ate and the way your mouth stretched when you bit +through that thick lovely crust with jam and clotted cream on it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there any way in which those children can get food secretly?” +Dr. Craven inquired of Mrs. Medlock. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no way unless they dig it out of the earth or pick it off +the trees,” Mrs. Medlock answered. “They stay out in the grounds +all day and see no one but each other. And if they want anything different to +eat from what’s sent up to them they need only ask for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Dr. Craven, “so long as going without food +agrees with them we need not disturb ourselves. The boy is a new +creature.” +</p> + +<p> +“So is the girl,” said Mrs. Medlock. “She’s begun to be +downright pretty since she’s filled out and lost her ugly little sour +look. Her hair’s grown thick and healthy looking and she’s got a +bright color. The glummest, ill-natured little thing she used to be and now her +and Master Colin laugh together like a pair of crazy young ones. Perhaps +they’re growing fat on that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps they are,” said Dr. Craven. “Let them laugh.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br /> +THE CURTAIN</h2> + +<p> +And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed and every morning revealed new +miracles. In the robin’s nest there were Eggs and the robin’s mate +sat upon them keeping them warm with her feathery little breast and careful +wings. At first she was very nervous and the robin himself was indignantly +watchful. Even Dickon did not go near the close-grown corner in those days, but +waited until by the quiet working of some mysterious spell he seemed to have +conveyed to the soul of the little pair that in the garden there was nothing +which was not quite like themselves—nothing which did not understand the +wonderfulness of what was happening to them—the immense, tender, +terrible, heart-breaking beauty and solemnity of Eggs. If there had been one +person in that garden who had not known through all his or her innermost being +that if an Egg were taken away or hurt the whole world would whirl round and +crash through space and come to an end—if there had been even one who did +not feel it and act accordingly there could have been no happiness even in that +golden springtime air. But they all knew it and felt it and the robin and his +mate knew they knew it. +</p> + +<p> +At first the robin watched Mary and Colin with sharp anxiety. For some +mysterious reason he knew he need not watch Dickon. The first moment he set his +dew-bright black eye on Dickon he knew he was not a stranger but a sort of +robin without beak or feathers. He could speak robin (which is a quite distinct +language not to be mistaken for any other). To speak robin to a robin is like +speaking French to a Frenchman. Dickon always spoke it to the robin himself, so +the queer gibberish he used when he spoke to humans did not matter in the +least. The robin thought he spoke this gibberish to them because they were not +intelligent enough to understand feathered speech. His movements also were +robin. They never startled one by being sudden enough to seem dangerous or +threatening. Any robin could understand Dickon, so his presence was not even +disturbing. +</p> + +<p> +But at the outset it seemed necessary to be on guard against the other two. In +the first place the boy creature did not come into the garden on his legs. He +was pushed in on a thing with wheels and the skins of wild animals were thrown +over him. That in itself was doubtful. Then when he began to stand up and move +about he did it in a queer unaccustomed way and the others seemed to have to +help him. The robin used to secrete himself in a bush and watch this anxiously, +his head tilted first on one side and then on the other. He thought that the +slow movements might mean that he was preparing to pounce, as cats do. When +cats are preparing to pounce they creep over the ground very slowly. The robin +talked this over with his mate a great deal for a few days but after that he +decided not to speak of the subject because her terror was so great that he was +afraid it might be injurious to the Eggs. +</p> + +<p> +When the boy began to walk by himself and even to move more quickly it was an +immense relief. But for a long time—or it seemed a long time to the +robin—he was a source of some anxiety. He did not act as the other humans +did. He seemed very fond of walking but he had a way of sitting or lying down +for a while and then getting up in a disconcerting manner to begin again. +</p> + +<p> +One day the robin remembered that when he himself had been made to learn to fly +by his parents he had done much the same sort of thing. He had taken short +flights of a few yards and then had been obliged to rest. So it occurred to him +that this boy was learning to fly—or rather to walk. He mentioned this to +his mate and when he told her that the Eggs would probably conduct themselves +in the same way after they were fledged she was quite comforted and even became +eagerly interested and derived great pleasure from watching the boy over the +edge of her nest—though she always thought that the Eggs would be much +cleverer and learn more quickly. But then she said indulgently that humans were +always more clumsy and slow than Eggs and most of them never seemed really to +learn to fly at all. You never met them in the air or on tree-tops. +</p> + +<p> +After a while the boy began to move about as the others did, but all three of +the children at times did unusual things. They would stand under the trees and +move their arms and legs and heads about in a way which was neither walking nor +running nor sitting down. They went through these movements at intervals every +day and the robin was never able to explain to his mate what they were doing or +tying to do. He could only say that he was sure that the Eggs would never flap +about in such a manner; but as the boy who could speak robin so fluently was +doing the thing with them, birds could be quite sure that the actions were not +of a dangerous nature. Of course neither the robin nor his mate had ever heard +of the champion wrestler, Bob Haworth, and his exercises for making the muscles +stand out like lumps. Robins are not like human beings; their muscles are +always exercised from the first and so they develop themselves in a natural +manner. If you have to fly about to find every meal you eat, your muscles do +not become atrophied (atrophied means wasted away through want of use). +</p> + +<p> +When the boy was walking and running about and digging and weeding like the +others, the nest in the corner was brooded over by a great peace and content. +Fears for the Eggs became things of the past. Knowing that your Eggs were as +safe as if they were locked in a bank vault and the fact that you could watch +so many curious things going on made setting a most entertaining occupation. On +wet days the Eggs’ mother sometimes felt even a little dull because the +children did not come into the garden. +</p> + +<p> +But even on wet days it could not be said that Mary and Colin were dull. One +morning when the rain streamed down unceasingly and Colin was beginning to feel +a little restive, as he was obliged to remain on his sofa because it was not +safe to get up and walk about, Mary had an inspiration. +</p> + +<p> +“Now that I am a real boy,” Colin had said, “my legs and arms +and all my body are so full of Magic that I can’t keep them still. They +want to be doing things all the time. Do you know that when I waken in the +morning, Mary, when it’s quite early and the birds are just shouting +outside and everything seems just shouting for joy—even the trees and +things we can’t really hear—I feel as if I must jump out of bed and +shout myself. If I did it, just think what would happen!” +</p> + +<p> +Mary giggled inordinately. +</p> + +<p> +“The nurse would come running and Mrs. Medlock would come running and +they would be sure you had gone crazy and they’d send for the +doctor,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Colin giggled himself. He could see how they would all look—how horrified +by his outbreak and how amazed to see him standing upright. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish my father would come home,” he said. “I want to tell +him myself. I’m always thinking about it—but we couldn’t go +on like this much longer. I can’t stand lying still and pretending, and +besides I look too different. I wish it wasn’t raining today.” +</p> + +<p> +It was then Mistress Mary had her inspiration. +</p> + +<p> +“Colin,” she began mysteriously, “do you know how many rooms +there are in this house?” +</p> + +<p> +“About a thousand, I suppose,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s about a hundred no one ever goes into,” said Mary. +“And one rainy day I went and looked into ever so many of them. No one +ever knew, though Mrs. Medlock nearly found me out. I lost my way when I was +coming back and I stopped at the end of your corridor. That was the second time +I heard you crying.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin started up on his sofa. +</p> + +<p> +“A hundred rooms no one goes into,” he said. “It sounds +almost like a secret garden. Suppose we go and look at them. Wheel me in my +chair and nobody would know we went.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I was thinking,” said Mary. “No one would +dare to follow us. There are galleries where you could run. We could do our +exercises. There is a little Indian room where there is a cabinet full of ivory +elephants. There are all sorts of rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ring the bell,” said Colin. +</p> + +<p> +When the nurse came in he gave his orders. +</p> + +<p> +“I want my chair,” he said. “Miss Mary and I are going to +look at the part of the house which is not used. John can push me as far as the +picture-gallery because there are some stairs. Then he must go away and leave +us alone until I send for him again.” +</p> + +<p> +Rainy days lost their terrors that morning. When the footman had wheeled the +chair into the picture-gallery and left the two together in obedience to +orders, Colin and Mary looked at each other delighted. As soon as Mary had made +sure that John was really on his way back to his own quarters below stairs, +Colin got out of his chair. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to run from one end of the gallery to the other,” he +said, “and then I am going to jump and then we will do Bob +Haworth’s exercises.” +</p> + +<p> +And they did all these things and many others. They looked at the portraits and +found the plain little girl dressed in green brocade and holding the parrot on +her finger. +</p> + +<p> +“All these,” said Colin, “must be my relations. They lived a +long time ago. That parrot one, I believe, is one of my great, great, great, +great aunts. She looks rather like you, Mary—not as you look now but as +you looked when you came here. Now you are a great deal fatter and better +looking.” +</p> + +<p> +“So are you,” said Mary, and they both laughed. +</p> + +<p> +They went to the Indian room and amused themselves with the ivory elephants. +They found the rose-colored brocade boudoir and the hole in the cushion the +mouse had left, but the mice had grown up and run away and the hole was empty. +They saw more rooms and made more discoveries than Mary had made on her first +pilgrimage. They found new corridors and corners and flights of steps and new +old pictures they liked and weird old things they did not know the use of. It +was a curiously entertaining morning and the feeling of wandering about in the +same house with other people but at the same time feeling as if one were miles +away from them was a fascinating thing. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad we came,” Colin said. “I never knew I lived +in such a big queer old place. I like it. We will ramble about every rainy day. +We shall always be finding new queer corners and things.” +</p> + +<p> +That morning they had found among other things such good appetites that when +they returned to Colin’s room it was not possible to send the luncheon +away untouched. +</p> + +<p> +When the nurse carried the tray downstairs she slapped it down on the kitchen +dresser so that Mrs. Loomis, the cook, could see the highly polished dishes and +plates. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at that!” she said. “This is a house of mystery, and +those two children are the greatest mysteries in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“If they keep that up every day,” said the strong young footman +John, “there’d be small wonder that he weighs twice as much today +as he did a month ago. I should have to give up my place in time, for fear of +doing my muscles an injury.” +</p> + +<p> +That afternoon Mary noticed that something new had happened in Colin’s +room. She had noticed it the day before but had said nothing because she +thought the change might have been made by chance. She said nothing today but +she sat and looked fixedly at the picture over the mantel. She could look at it +because the curtain had been drawn aside. That was the change she noticed. +</p> + +<p> +“I know what you want me to tell you,” said Colin, after she had +stared a few minutes. “I always know when you want me to tell you +something. You are wondering why the curtain is drawn back. I am going to keep +it like that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“Because it doesn’t make me angry any more to see her laughing. I +wakened when it was bright moonlight two nights ago and felt as if the Magic +was filling the room and making everything so splendid that I couldn’t +lie still. I got up and looked out of the window. The room was quite light and +there was a patch of moonlight on the curtain and somehow that made me go and +pull the cord. She looked right down at me as if she were laughing because she +was glad I was standing there. It made me like to look at her. I want to see +her laughing like that all the time. I think she must have been a sort of Magic +person perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are so like her now,” said Mary, “that sometimes I think +perhaps you are her ghost made into a boy.” +</p> + +<p> +That idea seemed to impress Colin. He thought it over and then answered her +slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“If I were her ghost—my father would be fond of me,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want him to be fond of you?” inquired Mary. +</p> + +<p> +“I used to hate it because he was not fond of me. If he grew fond of me I +think I should tell him about the Magic. It might make him more +cheerful.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br /> +“IT’S MOTHER!”</h2> + +<p> +Their belief in the Magic was an abiding thing. After the morning’s +incantations Colin sometimes gave them Magic lectures. +</p> + +<p> +“I like to do it,” he explained, “because when I grow up and +make great scientific discoveries I shall be obliged to lecture about them and +so this is practise. I can only give short lectures now because I am very +young, and besides Ben Weatherstaff would feel as if he were in church and he +would go to sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Th’ best thing about lecturin’,” said Ben, “is +that a chap can get up an’ say aught he pleases an’ no other chap +can answer him back. I wouldn’t be agen’ lecturin’ a bit +mysel’ sometimes.” +</p> + +<p> +But when Colin held forth under his tree old Ben fixed devouring eyes on him +and kept them there. He looked him over with critical affection. It was not so +much the lecture which interested him as the legs which looked straighter and +stronger each day, the boyish head which held itself up so well, the once sharp +chin and hollow cheeks which had filled and rounded out and the eyes which had +begun to hold the light he remembered in another pair. Sometimes when Colin +felt Ben’s earnest gaze meant that he was much impressed he wondered what +he was reflecting on and once when he had seemed quite entranced he questioned +him. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you thinking about, Ben Weatherstaff?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinkin’” answered Ben, “as I’d warrant +tha’s gone up three or four pound this week. I was lookin’ at +tha’ calves an’ tha’ shoulders. I’d like to get thee on +a pair o’ scales.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the Magic and—and Mrs. Sowerby’s buns and milk +and things,” said Colin. “You see the scientific experiment has +succeeded.” +</p> + +<p> +That morning Dickon was too late to hear the lecture. When he came he was ruddy +with running and his funny face looked more twinkling than usual. As they had a +good deal of weeding to do after the rains they fell to work. They always had +plenty to do after a warm deep sinking rain. The moisture which was good for +the flowers was also good for the weeds which thrust up tiny blades of grass +and points of leaves which must be pulled up before their roots took too firm +hold. Colin was as good at weeding as anyone in these days and he could +lecture while he was doing it. +</p> + +<p> +“The Magic works best when you work, yourself,” he said this +morning. “You can feel it in your bones and muscles. I am going to read +books about bones and muscles, but I am going to write a book about Magic. I am +making it up now. I keep finding out things.” +</p> + +<p> +It was not very long after he had said this that he laid down his trowel and +stood up on his feet. He had been silent for several minutes and they had seen +that he was thinking out lectures, as he often did. When he dropped his trowel +and stood upright it seemed to Mary and Dickon as if a sudden strong thought +had made him do it. He stretched himself out to his tallest height and he threw +out his arms exultantly. Color glowed in his face and his strange eyes widened +with joyfulness. All at once he had realized something to the full. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary! Dickon!” he cried. “Just look at me!” +</p> + +<p> +They stopped their weeding and looked at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember that first morning you brought me in here?” he +demanded. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon was looking at him very hard. Being an animal charmer he could see more +things than most people could and many of them were things he never talked +about. He saw some of them now in this boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, that we do,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +Mary looked hard too, but she said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Just this minute,” said Colin, “all at once I remembered it +myself—when I looked at my hand digging with the trowel—and I had +to stand up on my feet to see if it was real. And it is real! I’m +<i>well</i>—I’m <i>well!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, that th’ art!” said Dickon. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m well! I’m well!” said Colin again, and his face +went quite red all over. +</p> + +<p> +He had known it before in a way, he had hoped it and felt it and thought about +it, but just at that minute something had rushed all through him—a sort +of rapturous belief and realization and it had been so strong that he could not +help calling out. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall live forever and ever and ever!” he cried grandly. +“I shall find out thousands and thousands of things. I shall find out +about people and creatures and everything that grows—like +Dickon—and I shall never stop making Magic. I’m well! I’m +well! I feel—I feel as if I want to shout out something—something +thankful, joyful!” +</p> + +<p> +Ben Weatherstaff, who had been working near a rose-bush, glanced round at him. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ might sing th’ Doxology,” he suggested in his +dryest grunt. He had no opinion of the Doxology and he did not make the +suggestion with any particular reverence. +</p> + +<p> +But Colin was of an exploring mind and he knew nothing about the Doxology. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Dickon can sing it for thee, I’ll warrant,” replied Ben +Weatherstaff. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon answered with his all-perceiving animal charmer’s smile. +</p> + +<p> +“They sing it i’ church,” he said. “Mother says she +believes th’ skylarks sings it when they gets up i’ th’ +mornin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“If she says that, it must be a nice song,” Colin answered. +“I’ve never been in a church myself. I was always too ill. Sing it, +Dickon. I want to hear it.” +</p> + +<p> +Dickon was quite simple and unaffected about it. He understood what Colin felt +better than Colin did himself. He understood by a sort of instinct so natural +that he did not know it was understanding. He pulled off his cap and looked +round still smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Tha’ must take off tha’ cap,” he said to Colin, +“an’ so mun tha’, Ben—an’ tha’ mun stand +up, tha’ knows.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin took off his cap and the sun shone on and warmed his thick hair as he +watched Dickon intently. Ben Weatherstaff scrambled up from his knees and bared +his head too with a sort of puzzled half-resentful look on his old face as if +he didn’t know exactly why he was doing this remarkable thing. +</p> + +<p> +Dickon stood out among the trees and rose-bushes and began to sing in quite a +simple matter-of-fact way and in a nice strong boy voice: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Praise God from whom all blessings flow,<br /> +Praise Him all creatures here below,<br /> +Praise Him above ye Heavenly Host,<br /> +Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.<br /> + Amen.”<br /> +</p> + +<p> +When he had finished, Ben Weatherstaff was standing quite still with his jaws +set obstinately but with a disturbed look in his eyes fixed on Colin. +Colin’s face was thoughtful and appreciative. +</p> + +<p> +“It is a very nice song,” he said. “I like it. Perhaps it +means just what I mean when I want to shout out that I am thankful to the +Magic.” He stopped and thought in a puzzled way. “Perhaps they are +both the same thing. How can we know the exact names of everything? Sing it +again, Dickon. Let us try, Mary. I want to sing it, too. It’s my song. +How does it begin? ‘Praise God from whom all blessings +flow’?” +</p> + +<p> +And they sang it again, and Mary and Colin lifted their voices as musically as +they could and Dickon’s swelled quite loud and beautiful—and at the +second line Ben Weatherstaff raspingly cleared his throat and at the third line +he joined in with such vigor that it seemed almost savage and when the +“Amen” came to an end Mary observed that the very same thing had +happened to him which had happened when he found out that Colin was not a +cripple—his chin was twitching and he was staring and winking and his +leathery old cheeks were wet. +</p> + +<p> +“I never seed no sense in th’ Doxology afore,” he said +hoarsely, “but I may change my mind i’ time. I should say +tha’d gone up five pound this week Mester Colin—five on +’em!” +</p> + +<p> +Colin was looking across the garden at something attracting his attention and +his expression had become a startled one. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is coming in here?” he said quickly. “Who is it?” +</p> + +<p> +The door in the ivied wall had been pushed gently open and a woman had entered. +She had come in with the last line of their song and she had stood still +listening and looking at them. With the ivy behind her, the sunlight drifting +through the trees and dappling her long blue cloak, and her nice fresh face +smiling across the greenery she was rather like a softly colored illustration +in one of Colin’s books. She had wonderful affectionate eyes which seemed +to take everything in—all of them, even Ben Weatherstaff and the +“creatures” and every flower that was in bloom. Unexpectedly as she +had appeared, not one of them felt that she was an intruder at all. +Dickon’s eyes lighted like lamps. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s mother—that’s who it is!” he cried and went +across the grass at a run. +</p> + +<p> +Colin began to move toward her, too, and Mary went with him. They both felt +their pulses beat faster. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s mother!” Dickon said again when they met halfway. +“I knowed tha’ wanted to see her an’ I told her where +th’ door was hid.” +</p> + +<p> +Colin held out his hand with a sort of flushed royal shyness but his eyes quite +devoured her face. +</p> + +<p> +“Even when I was ill I wanted to see you,” he said, “you and +Dickon and the secret garden. I’d never wanted to see anyone or anything +before.” +</p> + +<p> +The sight of his uplifted face brought about a sudden change in her own. She +flushed and the corners of her mouth shook and a mist seemed to sweep over her +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! dear lad!” she broke out tremulously. “Eh! dear +lad!” as if she had not known she were going to say it. She did not say, +“Mester Colin,” but just “dear lad” quite suddenly. She +might have said it to Dickon in the same way if she had seen something in his +face which touched her. Colin liked it. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you surprised because I am so well?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +She put her hand on his shoulder and smiled the mist out of her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, that I am!” she said; “but tha’rt so like thy +mother tha’ made my heart jump.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think,” said Colin a little awkwardly, “that will +make my father like me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, for sure, dear lad,” she answered and she gave his shoulder a +soft quick pat. “He mun come home—he mun come home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Susan Sowerby,” said Ben Weatherstaff, getting close to her. +“Look at th’ lad’s legs, wilt tha’? They was like +drumsticks i’ stockin’ two month’ ago—an’ I heard +folk tell as they was bandy an’ knock-kneed both at th’ same time. +Look at ’em now!” +</p> + +<p> +Susan Sowerby laughed a comfortable laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“They’re goin’ to be fine strong lad’s legs in a +bit,” she said. “Let him go on playin’ an’ +workin’ in the garden an’ eatin’ hearty an’ +drinkin’ plenty o’ good sweet milk an’ there’ll not be +a finer pair i’ Yorkshire, thank God for it.” +</p> + +<p> +She put both hands on Mistress Mary’s shoulders and looked her little +face over in a motherly fashion. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ thee, too!” she said. “Tha’rt grown near as +hearty as our ’Lisabeth Ellen. I’ll warrant tha’rt like thy +mother too. Our Martha told me as Mrs. Medlock heard she was a pretty woman. +Tha’lt be like a blush rose when tha’ grows up, my little lass, +bless thee.” +</p> + +<p> +She did not mention that when Martha came home on her “day out” and +described the plain sallow child she had said that she had no confidence +whatever in what Mrs. Medlock had heard. “It doesn’t stand to +reason that a pretty woman could be th’ mother o’ such a fou’ +little lass,” she had added obstinately. +</p> + +<p> +Mary had not had time to pay much attention to her changing face. She had only +known that she looked “different” and seemed to have a great deal +more hair and that it was growing very fast. But remembering her pleasure in +looking at the Mem Sahib in the past she was glad to hear that she might some +day look like her. +</p> + +<p> +Susan Sowerby went round their garden with them and was told the whole story of +it and shown every bush and tree which had come alive. Colin walked on one side +of her and Mary on the other. Each of them kept looking up at her comfortable +rosy face, secretly curious about the delightful feeling she gave them—a +sort of warm, supported feeling. It seemed as if she understood them as Dickon +understood his “creatures.” She stooped over the flowers and talked +about them as if they were children. Soot followed her and once or twice cawed +at her and flew upon her shoulder as if it were Dickon’s. When they told +her about the robin and the first flight of the young ones she laughed a +motherly little mellow laugh in her throat. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose learnin’ ’em to fly is like learnin’ +children to walk, but I’m feared I should be all in a worrit if mine had +wings instead o’ legs,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +It was because she seemed such a wonderful woman in her nice moorland cottage +way that at last she was told about the Magic. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you believe in Magic?” asked Colin after he had explained about +Indian fakirs. “I do hope you do.” +</p> + +<p> +“That I do, lad,” she answered. “I never knowed it by that +name but what does th’ name matter? I warrant they call it a different +name i’ France an’ a different one i’ Germany. Th’ same +thing as set th’ seeds swellin’ an’ th’ sun +shinin’ made thee a well lad an’ it’s th’ Good Thing. +It isn’t like us poor fools as think it matters if us is called out of +our names. Th’ Big Good Thing doesn’t stop to worrit, bless thee. +It goes on makin’ worlds by th’ million—worlds like us. Never +thee stop believin’ in th’ Big Good Thing an’ knowin’ +th’ world’s full of it—an’ call it what tha’ +likes. Tha’ wert singin’ to it when I come into th’ +garden.” +</p> + +<p> +“I felt so joyful,” said Colin, opening his beautiful strange eyes +at her. “Suddenly I felt how different I was—how strong my arms and +legs were, you know—and how I could dig and stand—and I jumped up +and wanted to shout out something to anything that would listen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Th’ Magic listened when tha’ sung th’ Doxology. It +would ha’ listened to anything tha’d sung. It was th’ joy +that mattered. Eh! lad, lad—what’s names to th’ Joy +Maker,” and she gave his shoulders a quick soft pat again. +</p> + +<p> +She had packed a basket which held a regular feast this morning, and when the +hungry hour came and Dickon brought it out from its hiding place, she sat down +with them under their tree and watched them devour their food, laughing and +quite gloating over their appetites. She was full of fun and made them laugh at +all sorts of odd things. She told them stories in broad Yorkshire and taught +them new words. She laughed as if she could not help it when they told her of +the increasing difficulty there was in pretending that Colin was still a +fretful invalid. +</p> + +<p> +“You see we can’t help laughing nearly all the time when we are +together,” explained Colin. “And it doesn’t sound ill at all. +We try to choke it back but it will burst out and that sounds worse than +ever.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s one thing that comes into my mind so often,” said +Mary, “and I can scarcely ever hold in when I think of it suddenly. I +keep thinking suppose Colin’s face should get to look like a full moon. +It isn’t like one yet but he gets a tiny bit fatter every day—and +suppose some morning it should look like one—what should we do!” +</p> + +<p> +“Bless us all, I can see tha’ has a good bit o’ play +actin’ to do,” said Susan Sowerby. “But tha’ +won’t have to keep it up much longer. Mester Craven’ll come +home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think he will?” asked Colin. “Why?” +</p> + +<p> +Susan Sowerby chuckled softly. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it ’ud nigh break thy heart if he found out before +tha’ told him in tha’ own way,” she said. “Tha’s +laid awake nights plannin’ it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t bear anyone else to tell him,” said Colin. +“I think about different ways every day, I think now I just want to run +into his room.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’d be a fine start for him,” said Susan Sowerby. +“I’d like to see his face, lad. I would that! He mun come +back—that he mun.” +</p> + +<p> +One of the things they talked of was the visit they were to make to her +cottage. They planned it all. They were to drive over the moor and lunch out of +doors among the heather. They would see all the twelve children and +Dickon’s garden and would not come back until they were tired. +</p> + +<p> +Susan Sowerby got up at last to return to the house and Mrs. Medlock. It was +time for Colin to be wheeled back also. But before he got into his chair he +stood quite close to Susan and fixed his eyes on her with a kind of bewildered +adoration and he suddenly caught hold of the fold of her blue cloak and held it +fast. +</p> + +<p> +“You are just what I—what I wanted,” he said. “I wish +you were my mother—as well as Dickon’s!” +</p> + +<p> +All at once Susan Sowerby bent down and drew him with her warm arms close +against the bosom under the blue cloak—as if he had been Dickon’s +brother. The quick mist swept over her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh! dear lad!” she said. “Thy own mother’s in this +’ere very garden, I do believe. She couldna’ keep out of it. Thy +father mun come back to thee—he mun!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br /> +IN THE GARDEN</h2> + +<p> +In each century since the beginning of the world wonderful things have been +discovered. In the last century more amazing things were found out than in any +century before. In this new century hundreds of things still more astounding +will be brought to light. At first people refuse to believe that a strange new +thing can be done, then they begin to hope it can be done, then they see it can +be done—then it is done and all the world wonders why it was not done +centuries ago. One of the new things people began to find out in the last +century was that thoughts—just mere thoughts—are as powerful as +electric batteries—as good for one as sunlight is, or as bad for one as +poison. To let a sad thought or a bad one get into your mind is as dangerous as +letting a scarlet fever germ get into your body. If you let it stay there after +it has got in you may never get over it as long as you live. +</p> + +<p> +So long as Mistress Mary’s mind was full of disagreeable thoughts about +her dislikes and sour opinions of people and her determination not to be +pleased by or interested in anything, she was a yellow-faced, sickly, bored and +wretched child. Circumstances, however, were very kind to her, though she was +not at all aware of it. They began to push her about for her own good. When her +mind gradually filled itself with robins, and moorland cottages crowded with +children, with queer crabbed old gardeners and common little Yorkshire +housemaids, with springtime and with secret gardens coming alive day by day, +and also with a moor boy and his “creatures,” there was no room +left for the disagreeable thoughts which affected her liver and her digestion +and made her yellow and tired. +</p> + +<p> +So long as Colin shut himself up in his room and thought only of his fears and +weakness and his detestation of people who looked at him and reflected hourly +on humps and early death, he was a hysterical half-crazy little hypochondriac +who knew nothing of the sunshine and the spring and also did not know that he +could get well and could stand upon his feet if he tried to do it. When new +beautiful thoughts began to push out the old hideous ones, life began to come +back to him, his blood ran healthily through his veins and strength poured into +him like a flood. His scientific experiment was quite practical and simple and +there was nothing weird about it at all. Much more surprising things can happen +to anyone who, when a disagreeable or discouraged thought comes into his mind, +just has the sense to remember in time and push it out by putting in an +agreeable determinedly courageous one. Two things cannot be in one place. +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Where you tend a rose, my lad,<br /> +A thistle cannot grow.”<br /> +</p> + +<p> +While the secret garden was coming alive and two children were coming alive +with it, there was a man wandering about certain far-away beautiful places in +the Norwegian fiords and the valleys and mountains of Switzerland and he was a +man who for ten years had kept his mind filled with dark and heart-broken +thinking. He had not been courageous; he had never tried to put any other +thoughts in the place of the dark ones. He had wandered by blue lakes and +thought them; he had lain on mountain-sides with sheets of deep blue gentians +blooming all about him and flower breaths filling all the air and he had +thought them. A terrible sorrow had fallen upon him when he had been happy and +he had let his soul fill itself with blackness and had refused obstinately to +allow any rift of light to pierce through. He had forgotten and deserted his +home and his duties. When he traveled about, darkness so brooded over him that +the sight of him was a wrong done to other people because it was as if he +poisoned the air about him with gloom. Most strangers thought he must be either +half mad or a man with some hidden crime on his soul. He, was a tall man with a +drawn face and crooked shoulders and the name he always entered on hotel +registers was, “Archibald Craven, Misselthwaite Manor, Yorkshire, +England.” +</p> + +<p> +He had traveled far and wide since the day he saw Mistress Mary in his study +and told her she might have her “bit of earth.” He had been in the +most beautiful places in Europe, though he had remained nowhere more than a few +days. He had chosen the quietest and remotest spots. He had been on the tops of +mountains whose heads were in the clouds and had looked down on other mountains +when the sun rose and touched them with such light as made it seem as if the +world were just being born. +</p> + +<p> +But the light had never seemed to touch himself until one day when he realized +that for the first time in ten years a strange thing had happened. He was in a +wonderful valley in the Austrian Tyrol and he had been walking alone through +such beauty as might have lifted, any man’s soul out of shadow. He had +walked a long way and it had not lifted his. But at last he had felt tired and +had thrown himself down to rest on a carpet of moss by a stream. It was a clear +little stream which ran quite merrily along on its narrow way through the +luscious damp greenness. Sometimes it made a sound rather like very low +laughter as it bubbled over and round stones. He saw birds come and dip their +heads to drink in it and then flick their wings and fly away. It seemed like a +thing alive and yet its tiny voice made the stillness seem deeper. The valley +was very, very still. +</p> + +<p> +As he sat gazing into the clear running of the water, Archibald Craven +gradually felt his mind and body both grow quiet, as quiet as the valley +itself. He wondered if he were going to sleep, but he was not. He sat and gazed +at the sunlit water and his eyes began to see things growing at its edge. There +was one lovely mass of blue forget-me-nots growing so close to the stream that +its leaves were wet and at these he found himself looking as he remembered he +had looked at such things years ago. He was actually thinking tenderly how +lovely it was and what wonders of blue its hundreds of little blossoms were. He +did not know that just that simple thought was slowly filling his +mind—filling and filling it until other things were softly pushed aside. +It was as if a sweet clear spring had begun to rise in a stagnant pool and had +risen and risen until at last it swept the dark water away. But of course he +did not think of this himself. He only knew that the valley seemed to grow +quieter and quieter as he sat and stared at the bright delicate blueness. He +did not know how long he sat there or what was happening to him, but at last he +moved as if he were awakening and he got up slowly and stood on the moss +carpet, drawing a long, deep, soft breath and wondering at himself. Something +seemed to have been unbound and released in him, very quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” he said, almost in a whisper, and he passed his hand +over his forehead. “I almost feel as if—I were alive!” +</p> + +<p> +I do not know enough about the wonderfulness of undiscovered things to be able +to explain how this had happened to him. Neither does anyone else yet. He did +not understand at all himself—but he remembered this strange hour months +afterward when he was at Misselthwaite again and he found out quite by accident +that on this very day Colin had cried out as he went into the secret garden: +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to live forever and ever and ever!” +</p> + +<p> +The singular calmness remained with him the rest of the evening and he slept a +new reposeful sleep; but it was not with him very long. He did not know that it +could be kept. By the next night he had opened the doors wide to his dark +thoughts and they had come trooping and rushing back. He left the valley and +went on his wandering way again. But, strange as it seemed to him, there were +minutes—sometimes half-hours—when, without his knowing why, the +black burden seemed to lift itself again and he knew he was a living man and +not a dead one. Slowly—slowly—for no reason that he knew +of—he was “coming alive” with the garden. +</p> + +<p> +As the golden summer changed into the deep golden autumn he went to the Lake of +Como. There he found the loveliness of a dream. He spent his days upon the +crystal blueness of the lake or he walked back into the soft thick verdure of +the hills and tramped until he was tired so that he might sleep. But by this +time he had begun to sleep better, he knew, and his dreams had ceased to be a +terror to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” he thought, “my body is growing stronger.” +</p> + +<p> +It was growing stronger but—because of the rare peaceful hours when his +thoughts were changed—his soul was slowly growing stronger, too. He began +to think of Misselthwaite and wonder if he should not go home. Now and then he +wondered vaguely about his boy and asked himself what he should feel when he +went and stood by the carved four-posted bed again and looked down at the +sharply chiseled ivory-white face while it slept and, the black lashes rimmed +so startlingly the close-shut eyes. He shrank from it. +</p> + +<p> +One marvel of a day he had walked so far that when he returned the moon was +high and full and all the world was purple shadow and silver. The stillness of +lake and shore and wood was so wonderful that he did not go into the villa he +lived in. He walked down to a little bowered terrace at the water’s edge +and sat upon a seat and breathed in all the heavenly scents of the night. He +felt the strange calmness stealing over him and it grew deeper and deeper until +he fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +He did not know when he fell asleep and when he began to dream; his dream was +so real that he did not feel as if he were dreaming. He remembered afterward +how intensely wide awake and alert he had thought he was. He thought that as he +sat and breathed in the scent of the late roses and listened to the lapping of +the water at his feet he heard a voice calling. It was sweet and clear and +happy and far away. It seemed very far, but he heard it as distinctly as if it +had been at his very side. +</p> + +<p> +“Archie! Archie! Archie!” it said, and then again, sweeter and +clearer than before, “Archie! Archie!” +</p> + +<p> +He thought he sprang to his feet not even startled. It was such a real voice +and it seemed so natural that he should hear it. +</p> + +<p> +“Lilias! Lilias!” he answered. “Lilias! where are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“In the garden,” it came back like a sound from a golden flute. +“In the garden!” +</p> + +<p> +And then the dream ended. But he did not awaken. He slept soundly and sweetly +all through the lovely night. When he did awake at last it was brilliant +morning and a servant was standing staring at him. He was an Italian servant +and was accustomed, as all the servants of the villa were, to accepting without +question any strange thing his foreign master might do. No one ever knew when +he would go out or come in or where he would choose to sleep or if he would +roam about the garden or lie in the boat on the lake all night. The man held a +salver with some letters on it and he waited quietly until Mr. Craven took +them. When he had gone away Mr. Craven sat a few moments holding them in his +hand and looking at the lake. His strange calm was still upon him and something +more—a lightness as if the cruel thing which had been done had not +happened as he thought—as if something had changed. He was remembering +the dream—the real—real dream. +</p> + +<p> +“In the garden!” he said, wondering at himself. “In the +garden! But the door is locked and the key is buried deep.” +</p> + +<p> +When he glanced at the letters a few minutes later he saw that the one lying at +the top of the rest was an English letter and came from Yorkshire. It was +directed in a plain woman’s hand but it was not a hand he knew. He opened +it, scarcely thinking of the writer, but the first words attracted his +attention at once. +</p> + +<blockquote> <div> + +<p class="noindent"> +“<i>Dear Sir:</i> +</p> + +<p> +I am Susan Sowerby that made bold to speak to you once on the moor. It was +about Miss Mary I spoke. I will make bold to speak again. Please, sir, I would +come home if I was you. I think you would be glad to come and—if you will +excuse me, sir—I think your lady would ask you to come if she was here. +</p> + +<p> + Your obedient servant,<br /> + Susan Sowerby.”<br /> +</p> + +</div> </blockquote> + +<p> +Mr. Craven read the letter twice before he put it back in its envelope. He kept +thinking about the dream. +</p> + +<p> +“I will go back to Misselthwaite,” he said. “Yes, I’ll +go at once.” +</p> + +<p> +And he went through the garden to the villa and ordered Pitcher to prepare for +his return to England.<br /><br /> +</p> + +<p> +In a few days he was in Yorkshire again, and on his long railroad journey he +found himself thinking of his boy as he had never thought in all the ten years +past. During those years he had only wished to forget him. Now, though he did +not intend to think about him, memories of him constantly drifted into his +mind. He remembered the black days when he had raved like a madman because the +child was alive and the mother was dead. He had refused to see it, and when he +had gone to look at it at last it had been, such a weak wretched thing that +everyone had been sure it would die in a few days. But to the surprise of those +who took care of it the days passed and it lived and then everyone believed it +would be a deformed and crippled creature. +</p> + +<p> +He had not meant to be a bad father, but he had not felt like a father at all. +He had supplied doctors and nurses and luxuries, but he had shrunk from the +mere thought of the boy and had buried himself in his own misery. The first +time after a year’s absence he returned to Misselthwaite and the small +miserable looking thing languidly and indifferently lifted to his face the +great gray eyes with black lashes round them, so like and yet so horribly +unlike the happy eyes he had adored, he could not bear the sight of them and +turned away pale as death. After that he scarcely ever saw him except when he +was asleep, and all he knew of him was that he was a confirmed invalid, with a +vicious, hysterical, half-insane temper. He could only be kept from furies +dangerous to himself by being given his own way in every detail. +</p> + +<p> +All this was not an uplifting thing to recall, but as the train whirled him +through mountain passes and golden plains the man who was “coming +alive” began to think in a new way and he thought long and steadily and +deeply. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I have been all wrong for ten years,” he said to himself. +“Ten years is a long time. It may be too late to do anything—quite +too late. What have I been thinking of!” +</p> + +<p> +Of course this was the wrong Magic—to begin by saying “too +late.” Even Colin could have told him that. But he knew nothing of +Magic—either black or white. This he had yet to learn. He wondered if +Susan Sowerby had taken courage and written to him only because the motherly +creature had realized that the boy was much worse—was fatally ill. If he +had not been under the spell of the curious calmness which had taken possession +of him he would have been more wretched than ever. But the calm had brought a +sort of courage and hope with it. Instead of giving way to thoughts of the +worst he actually found he was trying to believe in better things. +</p> + +<p> +“Could it be possible that she sees that I may be able to do him good and +control him?” he thought. “I will go and see her on my way to +Misselthwaite.” +</p> + +<p> +But when on his way across the moor he stopped the carriage at the cottage, +seven or eight children who were playing about gathered in a group and bobbing +seven or eight friendly and polite curtsies told him that their mother had gone +to the other side of the moor early in the morning to help a woman who had a +new baby. “Our Dickon,” they volunteered, was over at the Manor +working in one of the gardens where he went several days each week. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Craven looked over the collection of sturdy little bodies and round +red-cheeked faces, each one grinning in its own particular way, and he awoke to +the fact that they were a healthy likable lot. He smiled at their friendly +grins and took a golden sovereign from his pocket and gave it to “our +’Lizabeth Ellen” who was the oldest. +</p> + +<p> +“If you divide that into eight parts there will be half a crown for each +of, you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Then amid grins and chuckles and bobbing of curtsies he drove away, leaving +ecstasy and nudging elbows and little jumps of joy behind. +</p> + +<p> +The drive across the wonderfulness of the moor was a soothing thing. Why did it +seem to give him a sense of homecoming which he had been sure he could never +feel again—that sense of the beauty of land and sky and purple bloom of +distance and a warming of the heart at drawing, nearer to the great old house +which had held those of his blood for six hundred years? How he had driven away +from it the last time, shuddering to think of its closed rooms and the boy +lying in the four-posted bed with the brocaded hangings. Was it possible that +perhaps he might find him changed a little for the better and that he might +overcome his shrinking from him? How real that dream had been—how +wonderful and clear the voice which called back to him, “In the +garden—In the garden!” +</p> + +<p> +“I will try to find the key,” he said. “I will try to open +the door. I must—though I don’t know why.” +</p> + +<p> +When he arrived at the Manor the servants who received him with the usual +ceremony noticed that he looked better and that he did not go to the remote +rooms where he usually lived attended by Pitcher. He went into the library and +sent for Mrs. Medlock. She came to him somewhat excited and curious and +flustered. +</p> + +<p> +“How is Master Colin, Medlock?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir,” Mrs. Medlock answered, +“he’s—he’s different, in a manner of speaking.” +</p> + +<p> +“Worse?” he suggested. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Medlock really was flushed. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you see, sir,” she tried to explain, “neither Dr. +Craven, nor the nurse, nor me can exactly make him out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“To tell the truth, sir, Master Colin might be better and he might be +changing for the worse. His appetite, sir, is past understanding—and his +ways—” +</p> + +<p> +“Has he become more—more peculiar?” her master, asked, +knitting his brows anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it, sir. He’s growing very peculiar—when you +compare him with what he used to be. He used to eat nothing and then suddenly +he began to eat something enormous—and then he stopped again all at once +and the meals were sent back just as they used to be. You never knew, sir, +perhaps, that out of doors he never would let himself be taken. The things +we’ve gone through to get him to go out in his chair would leave a body +trembling like a leaf. He’d throw himself into such a state that Dr. +Craven said he couldn’t be responsible for forcing him. Well, sir, just +without warning—not long after one of his worst tantrums he suddenly +insisted on being taken out every day by Miss Mary and Susan Sowerby’s +boy Dickon that could push his chair. He took a fancy to both Miss Mary and +Dickon, and Dickon brought his tame animals, and, if you’ll credit it, +sir, out of doors he will stay from morning until night.” +</p> + +<p> +“How does he look?” was the next question. +</p> + +<p> +“If he took his food natural, sir, you’d think he was putting on +flesh—but we’re afraid it may be a sort of bloat. He laughs +sometimes in a queer way when he’s alone with Miss Mary. He never used to +laugh at all. Dr. Craven is coming to see you at once, if you’ll allow +him. He never was as puzzled in his life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is Master Colin now?” Mr. Craven asked. +</p> + +<p> +“In the garden, sir. He’s always in the garden—though not a +human creature is allowed to go near for fear they’ll look at him.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Craven scarcely heard her last words. +</p> + +<p> +“In the garden,” he said, and after he had sent Mrs. Medlock away +he stood and repeated it again and again. “In the garden!” +</p> + +<p> +He had to make an effort to bring himself back to the place he was standing in +and when he felt he was on earth again he turned and went out of the room. He +took his way, as Mary had done, through the door in the shrubbery and among the +laurels and the fountain beds. The fountain was playing now and was encircled +by beds of brilliant autumn flowers. He crossed the lawn and turned into the +Long Walk by the ivied walls. He did not walk quickly, but slowly, and his eyes +were on the path. He felt as if he were being drawn back to the place he had so +long forsaken, and he did not know why. As he drew near to it his step became +still more slow. He knew where the door was even though the ivy hung thick over +it—but he did not know exactly where it lay—that buried key. +</p> + +<p> +So he stopped and stood still, looking about him, and almost the moment after +he had paused he started and listened—asking himself if he were walking +in a dream. +</p> + +<p> +The ivy hung thick over the door, the key was buried under the shrubs, no human +being had passed that portal for ten lonely years—and yet inside the +garden there were sounds. They were the sounds of running scuffling feet +seeming to chase round and round under the trees, they were strange sounds of +lowered suppressed voices—exclamations and smothered joyous cries. It +seemed actually like the laughter of young things, the uncontrollable laughter +of children who were trying not to be heard but who in a moment or so—as +their excitement mounted—would burst forth. What in heaven’s name +was he dreaming of—what in heaven’s name did he hear? Was he losing +his reason and thinking he heard things which were not for human ears? Was it +that the far clear voice had meant? +</p> + +<p> +And then the moment came, the uncontrollable moment when the sounds forgot to +hush themselves. The feet ran faster and faster—they were nearing the +garden door—there was quick strong young breathing and a wild outbreak of +laughing shouts which could not be contained—and the door in the wall was +flung wide open, the sheet of ivy swinging back, and a boy burst through it at +full speed and, without seeing the outsider, dashed almost into his arms. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Craven had extended them just in time to save him from falling as a result +of his unseeing dash against him, and when he held him away to look at him in +amazement at his being there he truly gasped for breath. +</p> + +<p> +He was a tall boy and a handsome one. He was glowing with life and his running +had sent splendid color leaping to his face. He threw the thick hair back from +his forehead and lifted a pair of strange gray eyes—eyes full of boyish +laughter and rimmed with black lashes like a fringe. It was the eyes which made +Mr. Craven gasp for breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Who—What? Who!” he stammered. +</p> + +<p> +This was not what Colin had expected—this was not what he had planned. He +had never thought of such a meeting. And yet to come dashing out—winning +a race—perhaps it was even better. He drew himself up to his very +tallest. Mary, who had been running with him and had dashed through the door +too, believed that he managed to make himself look taller than he had ever +looked before—inches taller. +</p> + +<p> +“Father,” he said, “I’m Colin. You can’t believe +it. I scarcely can myself. I’m Colin.” +</p> + +<p> +Like Mrs. Medlock, he did not understand what his father meant when he said +hurriedly: +</p> + +<p> +“In the garden! In the garden!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” hurried on Colin. “It was the garden that did +it—and Mary and Dickon and the creatures—and the Magic. No one +knows. We kept it to tell you when you came. I’m well, I can beat Mary in +a race. I’m going to be an athlete.” +</p> + +<p> +He said it all so like a healthy boy—his face flushed, his words tumbling +over each other in his eagerness—that Mr. Craven’s soul shook with +unbelieving joy. +</p> + +<p> +Colin put out his hand and laid it on his father’s arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you glad, Father?” he ended. “Aren’t you +glad? I’m going to live forever and ever and ever!” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Craven put his hands on both the boy’s shoulders and held him still. +He knew he dared not even try to speak for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Take me into the garden, my boy,” he said at last. “And tell +me all about it.” +</p> + +<p> +And so they led him in. +</p> + +<p> +The place was a wilderness of autumn gold and purple and violet blue and +flaming scarlet and on every side were sheaves of late lilies standing +together—lilies which were white or white and ruby. He remembered well +when the first of them had been planted that just at this season of the year +their late glories should reveal themselves. Late roses climbed and hung and +clustered and the sunshine deepening the hue of the yellowing trees made one +feel that one, stood in an embowered temple of gold. The newcomer stood silent +just as the children had done when they came into its grayness. He looked round +and round. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought it would be dead,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Mary thought so at first,” said Colin. “But it came +alive.” +</p> + +<p> +Then they sat down under their tree—all but Colin, who wanted to stand +while he told the story. +</p> + +<p> +It was the strangest thing he had ever heard, Archibald Craven thought, as it +was poured forth in headlong boy fashion. Mystery and Magic and wild creatures, +the weird midnight meeting—the coming of the spring—the passion of +insulted pride which had dragged the young Rajah to his feet to defy old Ben +Weatherstaff to his face. The odd companionship, the play acting, the great +secret so carefully kept. The listener laughed until tears came into his eyes +and sometimes tears came into his eyes when he was not laughing. The Athlete, +the Lecturer, the Scientific Discoverer was a laughable, lovable, healthy young +human thing. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” he said at the end of the story, “it need not be a +secret any more. I dare say it will frighten them nearly into fits when they +see me—but I am never going to get into the chair again. I shall walk +back with you, Father—to the house.”<br /><br /> +</p> + +<p> +Ben Weatherstaff’s duties rarely took him away from the gardens, but on +this occasion he made an excuse to carry some vegetables to the kitchen and +being invited into the servants’ hall by Mrs. Medlock to drink a glass of +beer he was on the spot—as he had hoped to be—when the most +dramatic event Misselthwaite Manor had seen during the present generation +actually took place. +</p> + +<p> +One of the windows looking upon the courtyard gave also a glimpse of the lawn. +Mrs. Medlock, knowing Ben had come from the gardens, hoped that he might have +caught sight of his master and even by chance of his meeting with Master Colin. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see either of them, Weatherstaff?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +Ben took his beer-mug from his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of his +hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Aye, that I did,” he answered with a shrewdly significant air. +</p> + +<p> +“Both of them?” suggested Mrs. Medlock. +</p> + +<p> +“Both of ’em,” returned Ben Weatherstaff. “Thank ye +kindly, ma’am, I could sup up another mug of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Together?” said Mrs. Medlock, hastily overfilling his beer-mug in +her excitement. +</p> + +<p> +“Together, ma’am,” and Ben gulped down half of his new mug at +one gulp. +</p> + +<p> +“Where was Master Colin? How did he look? What did they say to each +other?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didna’ hear that,” said Ben, “along o’ only +bein’ on th’ stepladder lookin over th’ wall. But I’ll +tell thee this. There’s been things goin’ on outside as you house +people knows nowt about. An’ what tha’ll find out tha’ll find +out soon.” +</p> + +<p> +And it was not two minutes before he swallowed the last of his beer and waved +his mug solemnly toward the window which took in through the shrubbery a piece +of the lawn. +</p> + +<p> +“Look there,” he said, “if tha’s curious. Look +what’s comin’ across th’ grass.” +</p> + +<p> +When Mrs. Medlock looked she threw up her hands and gave a little shriek and +every man and woman servant within hearing bolted across the servants’ +hall and stood looking through the window with their eyes almost starting out +of their heads. +</p> + +<p> +Across the lawn came the Master of Misselthwaite and he looked as many of them +had never seen him. And by his side with his head up in the air and his eyes +full of laughter walked as strongly and steadily as any boy in +Yorkshire—Master Colin!<br /><br /> +</p> + +<h5> +THE END +</h5> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 113 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + |