THE SECRET GARDEN
By Frances Hodgson Burnett
|
|
CHAPTER I
THERE IS NO ONE LEFT
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.
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.
Why did you come? she said to the strange woman. I will not let you
stay. Send my Ayah to me.
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.
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.
Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs! she said, because to call a native a pig
is the worst insult of all.
She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she heard
her mother come out on the veranda with some one. 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 SahibMary used
to call her that oftener than anything elsewas 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 officers
face.
Is it so very bad? Oh, is it? Mary heard her say.
Awfully, the young man answered in a trembling voice. Awfully, Mrs.
Lennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago.
The Mem Sahib wrung her hands.
Oh, I know I ought! she cried. I only stayed to go to that silly
dinner party. What a fool I was!
At that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from the servants
quarters that she clutched the young mans arm, and Mary stood shivering
from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder.
What is it? What is it? Mrs. Lennox gasped.
Some one has died, answered the boy officer. You did not say it had
broken out among your servants.
I did not know! the Mem Sahib cried. Come with me! Come with me! and
she turned and ran into the house.
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.
During the confusion and bewilderment of the second day Mary hid herself in
the nursery and was forgotten by every one. 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.
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.
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 any one. 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. Every one
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 every one had got well again, surely some one would
remember and come to look for her.
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.
How queer and quiet it is, she said. It sounds as if there was no one
in the bungalow but me and the snake.
Almost the next minute she heard footsteps in the compound, and then on the
veranda. They were mens 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.
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.
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.
Barney! he cried out. There is a child here! A child alone! In a
place like this! Mercy on us, who is she!
I am Mary Lennox, the little girl said, drawing herself up stiffly.
She thought the man was very rude to call her fathers bungalow A place
like this! I fell asleep when every one had the cholera and I have
only just wakened up. Why does nobody come?
It is the child no one ever saw! exclaimed the man, turning to his
companions. She has actually been forgotten!
Why was I forgotten? Mary said, stamping her foot. Why does nobody
come?
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.
Poor little kid! he said. There is nobody left to come.
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.
CHAPTER II
MISTRESS MARY QUITE CONTRARY
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.
She knew that she was not going to stay at the English clergymans 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.
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.
Why dont 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.
Go away! cried Mary. I dont want boys. Go away!
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.
Mistress Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And marigolds all in a row.
|
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.
You are going to be sent home, Basil said to her, at the end of the
week. And were glad of it.
I am glad of it, too, answered Mary. Where is home?
She doesnt know where home is! said Basil, with seven-year-old scorn. Its 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.
I dont know anything about him, snapped Mary.
I know you dont, Basil answered. You dont 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. Hes
so cross he wont let them, and they wouldnt come if he would let them.
Hes a hunchback, and hes horrid.
I dont believe you, said Mary; and she turned her back and stuck her
fingers in her ears, because she would not listen any more.
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.
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
its naughty of them, one cant help understanding it.
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.
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.
Mary made the long voyage to England under the care of an officers
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.
My word! shes a plain little piece of goods! she said. And wed heard that
her mother was a beauty. She hasnt handed much of it down, has she, maam?
Perhaps she will improve as she grows older, the officers wife said
good-naturedly. If she were not so sallow and had a nicer expression,
her features are rather good. Children alter so much.
Shell have to alter a good deal, answered Mrs. Medlock. And theres
nothing likely to improve children at Misselthwaiteif you ask me!
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.
Since she had been living in other peoples 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 any
one 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 any ones 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.
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 very angry to think people
imagined she was her little girl.
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 Marias 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.
Captain Lennox and his wife died of the cholera, Mr. Craven had said
in his short, cold way. Captain Lennox was my wifes brother and I am
their daughters guardian. The child is to be brought here. You must go
to London and bring her yourself.
So she packed her small trunk and made the journey.
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 crjpe hat.
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.
I suppose I may as well tell you something about where you are going
to, she said. Do you know anything about your uncle?
No, said Mary.
Never heard your father and mother talk about him?
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.
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.
I suppose you might as well be told somethingto prepare you. You are
going to a queer place.
Mary said nothing at all, and Mrs. Medlock looked rather discomfited by
her apparent indifference, but, after taking a breath, she went on.
Not but that its a grand big place in a gloomy way, and Mr. Cravens
proud of it in his wayand thats gloomy enough, too. The house is six
hundred years old and its on the edge of the moor, and theres near a
hundred rooms in it, though most of thems shut up and locked. And
theres pictures and fine old furniture and things thats been there for
ages, and theres a big park round it and gardens and trees with
branches trailing to the groundsome of them. She paused and took
another breath. But theres nothing else, she ended suddenly.
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.
Well, said Mrs. Medlock. What do you think of it?
Nothing, she answered. I know nothing about such places.
That made Mrs. Medlock laugh a short sort of laugh.
Eh! she said, but you are like an old woman. Dont you care?
It doesnt matter, said Mary, whether I care or not.
You are right enough there, said Mrs. Medlock. It doesnt. What
youre to be kept at Misselthwaite Manor for I dont know, unless
because its the easiest way. Hes not going to trouble himself about
you, thats sure and certain. He never troubles himself about no one.
She stopped herself as if she had just remembered something in time.
Hes 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.
Marys eyes turned toward her in spite of her intention not to seem to care.
She had never thought of the hunchbacks 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.
She was a sweet, pretty thing and hed have walked the world over to
get her a blade o grass she wanted. Nobody thought shed marry him, but
she did, and people said she married him for his money. But she
didntshe didnt, positively. When she died
Mary gave a little involuntary jump.
Oh! did she die! she exclaimed, quite without meaning to. She had just
remembered a French fairy story she had once read called Riquet ` la
Houppe. It had been about a poor hunchback and a beautiful princess and
it had made her suddenly sorry for Mr. Archibald Craven.
Yes, she died, Mrs. Medlock answered. And it made him queerer than
ever. He cares about nobody. He wont see people. Most of the time he
goes away, and when he is at Misselthwaite he shuts himself up in the
West Wing and wont let any one but Pitcher see him. Pitchers an old
fellow, but he took care of him when he was a child and he knows his
ways.
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
lockeda house on the edge of a moorwhatsoever a moor
wassounded 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.
You neednt expect to see him, because ten to one you wont, said Mrs.
Medlock. And you mustnt expect that there will be people to talk to
you. Youll have to play about and look after yourself. Youll be told
what rooms you can go into and what rooms youre to keep out of. Theres
gardens enough. But when youre in the house dont go wandering and
poking about. Mr. Craven wont have it.
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.
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.
CHAPTER III
ACROSS THE MOOR
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.
You have had a sleep! she said. Its time to open your eyes! Were at
Thwaite Station and weve got a long drive before us.
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.
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.
I see thas got back, he said. An thas browt th young un with
thee.
Aye, thats her, answered Mrs. Medlock, speaking with a Yorkshire
accent herself and jerking her head over her shoulder toward Mary. Hows thy Missus?
Well enow. Th carriage is waitin outside for thee.
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.
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 upa house standing on the edge of
a moor.
What is a moor? she said suddenly to Mrs. Medlock.
Look out of the window in about ten minutes and youll see, the woman
answered. Weve got to drive five miles across Missel Moor before we
get to the Manor. You wont see much because its a dark night, but you
can see something.
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 timeor at least it seemed
a long time to her.
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.
Eh! Were on the moor now sure enough, said Mrs. Medlock.
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.
Itsits not the sea, is it? said Mary, looking round at her
companion.
No, not it, answered Mrs. Medlock. Nor it isnt fields nor mountains,
its 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.
I feel as if it might be the sea, if there were water on it, said Mary. It
sounds like the sea just now.
Thats the wind blowing through the bushes, Mrs. Medlock said. Its a
wild, dreary enough place to my mind, though theres plenty that likes
itparticularly when the heathers in bloom.
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.
I dont like it, she said to herself. I dont like it, and she
pinched her thin lips more tightly together.
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.
Eh, I am glad to see that bit o light twinkling, she exclaimed. Its
the light in the lodge window. We shall get a good cup of tea after a
bit, at all events.
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.
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 up-stairs showed a dull glow.
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.
A neat, thin old man stood near the manservant who opened the door for
them.
You are to take her to her room, he said in a husky voice. He doesnt
want to see her. Hes going to London in the morning.
Very well, Mr. Pitcher, Mrs. Medlock answered. So long as I know whats
expected of me, I can manage.
Whats expected of you, Mrs. Medlock, Mr. Pitcher said, is that you
make sure that hes not disturbed and that he doesnt see what he
doesnt want to see.
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.
Mrs. Medlock said unceremoniously:
Well, here you are! This room and the next are where youll liveand
you must keep to them. Dont you forget that!
It was in this way Mistress Mary arrived at Misselthwaite Manor and
she had perhaps never felt quite so contrary in all her life.
CHAPTER IV
MARTHA
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.
What is that? she said, pointing out of the window.
Martha, the young housemaid, who had just risen to her feet, looked and pointed
also.
That there? she said.
Yes.
Thats th moor, with a good-natured grin. Does tha like it?
No, answered Mary. I hate it.
Thats because thart not used to it, Martha said, going back to her
hearth. Tha thinks its too big an bare now. But tha will like it.
Do you? inquired Mary.
Aye, that I do, answered Martha, cheerfully polishing away at the
grate. I just love it. Its none bare. Its covered wi growin things
as smells sweet. Its fair lovely in spring an summer when th gorse
an broom an heathers in flower. It smells o honey an theres such a
lot o fresh airan th sky looks so high an th bees an skylarks
makes such a nice noise hummin an singin. Eh! I wouldnt live away
from th moor for anythin.
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
backif the person who slapped her was only a little girl.
You are a strange servant, she said from her pillows, rather
haughtily.
Martha sat up on her heels, with her blacking-brush in her hand, and
laughed, without seeming the least out of temper.
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 scullery-maid but Id never have been let up-stairs. Im
too common an I talk too much Yorkshire. But this is a funny house for
all its so grand. Seems like theres neither Master nor Mistress except
Mr. Pitcher an Mrs. Medlock. Mr. Craven, he wont be troubled
about anythin when hes here, an hes 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.
Are you going to be my servant? Mary asked, still in her imperious
little Indian way.
Martha began to rub her grate again.
Im Mrs. Medlocks servant, she said stoutly. An shes Mr.
Cravensbut Im to do the housemaids work up here an wait on you a
bit. But you wont need much waitin on.
Who is going to dress me? demanded Mary.
Martha sat up on her heels again and stared. She spoke in broad
Yorkshire in her amazement.
Canna tha dress thysen! she said.
What do you mean? I dont understand your language, said Mary.
Eh! I forgot, Martha said. Mrs. Medlock told me Id have to be
careful or you wouldnt know what I was sayin. I mean cant you put on
your own clothes?
No, answered Mary, quite indignantly. I never did in my life. My Ayah
dressed me, of course.
Well, said Martha, evidently not in the least aware that she was impudent, its time tha should learn. Tha cannot begin younger. Itll do thee
good to wait on thysen a bit. My mother always said she couldnt see why
grand peoples children didnt turn out fair foolswhat with nurses
an bein washed an dressed an took out to walk as if they was puppies!
It is different in India, said Mistress Mary disdainfully. She could
scarcely stand this.
But Martha was not at all crushed.
Eh! I can see its different, she answered almost sympathetically. I
dare say its because theres 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.
Mary sat up in bed furious.
What! she said. What! You thought I was a native. Youyou daughter
of a pig!
Martha stared and looked hot.
Who are you callin names? she said. You neednt be so vexed. Thats
not th way for a young lady to talk. Ive nothin against th blacks.
When you read about em in tracts theyre always very religious. You
always read as a blacks a man an a brother. Ive 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 mefor all youre so yeller.
Mary did not even try to control her rage and humiliation.
You thought I was a native! You dared! You dont know anything about
natives! They are not peopletheyre servants who must salaam to you.
You know nothing about India. You know nothing about anything!
She was in such a rage and felt so helpless before the girls 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.
Eh! you mustnt cry like that there! she begged. You mustnt for
sure. I didnt know youd be vexed. I dont know anythin about
anythinjust like you said. I beg your pardon, Miss. Do stop cryin.
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.
Its 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. Its been
made into a nursery for thee. Ill help thee on with thy clothes if thall
get out o bed. If th buttons are at th back tha cannot button them
up thaself.
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.
Those are not mine, she said. Mine are black.
She looked the thick white wool coat and dress over, and added with cool
approval:
Those are nicer than mine.
These are th ones tha must put on, Martha answered. Mr. Craven
ordered Mrs. Medlock to get em in London. He said I wont have a child
dressed in black wanderin about like a lost soul, he said. Itd 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 doesnt hold
with black hersel.
I hate black things, said Mary.
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.
Why doesnt tha put on tha own shoes? she said when Mary quietly
held out her foot.
My Ayah did it, answered Mary, staring. It was the custom.
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.
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 herthings
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 ladys 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.
If Mary Lennox had been a child who was ready to be amused she would
perhaps have laughed at Marthas 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.
Eh! you should see em all, she said. Theres twelve of us an my
father only gets sixteen shilling a week. I can tell you my mothers 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, hes twelve years old and hes got a young pony he calls his
own.
Where did he get it? asked Mary.
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. Dickons a kind lad an animals likes him.
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 any one 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 childs room, but a grown-up
persons 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.
I dont want it, she said.
Tha doesnt want thy porridge! Martha exclaimed incredulously.
No.
Tha doesnt know how good it is. Put a bit o treacle on it or a bit
o sugar.
I dont want it, repeated Mary.
Eh! said Martha. I cant abide to see good victuals go to waste. If
our children was at this table theyd clean it bare in five minutes.
Why? said Mary coldly.
Why! echoed Martha. Because they scarce ever had their stomachs full
in their lives. Theyre as hungry as young hawks an foxes.
I dont know what it is to be hungry, said Mary, with the indifference
of ignorance.
Martha looked indignant.
Well, it would do thee good to try it. I can see that plain enough, she said outspokenly. Ive no patience with folk as sits an just
stares at good bread an meat. My word! dont I wish Dickon and Phil an
Jane an th rest of em had whats here under their pinafores.
Why dont you take it to them? suggested Mary.
Its not mine, answered Martha stoutly. An this isnt 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 days rest.
Mary drank some tea and ate a little toast and some marmalade.
You wrap up warm an run out an play you, said Martha. Itll do you
good and give you some stomach for your meat.
Mary went to the window. There were gardens and paths and big trees, but
everything looked dull and wintry.
Out? Why should I go out on a day like this?
Well, if tha doesnt go out thalt have to stay in, an what has tha
got to do?
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.
Who will go with me? she inquired.
Martha stared.
Youll go by yourself, she answered. Youll have to learn to play
like other children does when they havent got sisters and brothers. Our
Dickon goes off on th moor by himself an plays for hours. Thats how
he made friends with th pony. Hes 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.
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.
Martha found her coat and hat for her and a pair of stout little boots
and she showed her her way down-stairs.
If tha goes round that way thall come to th gardens, she said, pointing
to a gate in a wall of shrubbery. Theres lots o flowers in summer-time,
but theres 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.
Why? asked Mary in spite of herself. Here was another locked door
added to the hundred in the strange house.
Mr. Craven had it shut when his wife died so sudden. He wont let no
one go inside. It was her garden. He locked th door an dug a hole and
buried th key. Theres Mrs. Medlocks bell ringingI must run.
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.
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.
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.
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 herbut then she was displeased with
his garden and wore her quite contrary expression, and certainly
did not seem at all pleased to see him.
What is this place? she asked.
One o th kitchen-gardens, he answered.
What is that? said Mary, pointing through the other green door.
Another of em, shortly. Theres another on tother side o th wall
an theres th orchard tother side o that.
Can I go in them? asked Mary.
If tha likes. But theres nowt to see.
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
gardenbut 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
grassbut 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 songalmost as if he had caught
sight of her and was calling to her.
She stopped and listened to him and somehow his cheerful, friendly little whistle
gave her a pleased feelingeven 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.
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.
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.
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.
I believe that tree was in the secret gardenI feel sure it was, she
said. There was a wall round the place and there was no door.
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.
I have been into the other gardens, she said.
There was nothin to prevent thee, he answered crustily.
I went into the orchard.
There was no dog at th door to bite thee, he answered.
There was no door there into the other garden, said Mary.
What garden? he said in a rough voice, stopping his digging for a
moment.
The one on the other side of the wall, answered Mistress Mary. There
are trees thereI saw the tops of them. A bird with a red breast was
sitting on one of them and he sang.
To her surprise the surly old weather-beaten face actually changed its
expression. A slow smile spread over it and the gardener looked quite
different. It made her think that it was curious how much nicer a person
looked when he smiled. She had not thought of it before.
He turned about to the orchard side of his garden and began to whistlea
low soft whistle. She could not understand how such a surly man
could make such a coaxing sound.
Almost the next moment a wonderful thing happened. She heard a soft
little rushing flight through the airand 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 gardeners foot.
Here he is, chuckled the old man, and then he spoke to the bird as if
he were speaking to a child.
Where has tha been, tha cheeky little beggar? he said. Ive not
seen thee before to-day. Has tha begun tha courtin this early in th
season? Thart too forrad.
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.
Will he always come when you call him? she asked almost in a whisper.
Aye, that he will. Ive knowed him ever since he was a fledgling. He
come out of th nest in th other garden an when first he flew over thwall
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.
What kind of a bird is he? Mary asked.
Doesnt tha know? Hes a robin redbreast an theyre th friendliest,
curiousest birds alive. Theyre almost as friendly as dogsif you know
how to get on with em. Watch him peckin about there an lookin round
at us now an again. He knows were talkin about him.
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.
Hes a conceited one, he chuckled. He likes to hear folk talk about
him. An curiousbless me, there never was his like for curiosity an
meddlin. Hes always comin to see what Im plantin. He knows all th
things Mester Craven never troubles hissel to find out. Hes th head
gardener, he is.
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.
Where did the rest of the brood fly to? she asked.
Theres no knowin. The old ones turn em out o their nest an make em fly an theyre scattered before you know it. This one was a knowin
one an he knew he was lonely.
Mistress Mary went a step nearer to the robin and looked at him very
hard.
Im lonely, she said.
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.
The old gardener pushed his cap back on his bald head and stared at her
a minute.
Art tha th little wench from India? he asked.
Mary nodded.
Then no wonder thart lonely. Thalt be lonelier before thas done, he
said.
He began to dig again, driving his spade deep into the rich black garden
soil while the robin hopped about very busily employed.
What is your name? Mary inquired.
He stood up to answer her.
Ben Weatherstaff, he answered, and then he added with a surly chuckle, Im lonely myselexcept when hes with me, and he jerked his thumb toward
the robin. Hes th only friend Ive got.
I have no friends at all, said Mary. I never had. My Ayah didnt like
me and I never played with any one.
It is a Yorkshire habit to say what you think with blunt frankness, and
old Ben Weatherstaff was a Yorkshire moor man.
Tha an me are a good bit alike, he said. We was wove out of th
same cloth. Were neither of us good lookin an were both of us as
sour as we look. Weve got the same nasty tempers, both of us, Ill
warrant.
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.
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.
What did he do that for? asked Mary.
Hes made up his mind to make friends with thee, replied Ben. Dang me
if he hasnt took a fancy to thee.
To me? said Mary, and she moved toward the little tree softly and
looked up.
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.
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.
Do you know Dickon? Mary asked, turning round rather in a hurry.
Everybody knows him. Dickons wanderin about everywhere. Th very
blackberries an heather-bells knows him. I warrant th foxes shows him
where their cubs lies an th skylarks doesnt hide their nests from
him.
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.
He has flown over the wall! Mary cried out, watching him. He has
flown into the orchardhe has flown across the other wallinto the
garden where there is no door!
He lives there, said old Ben. He came out o th egg there. If hes
courtin, hes makin up to some young madam of a robin that lives among
th old rose-trees there.
Rose-trees, said Mary. Are there rose-trees?
Ben Weatherstaff took up his spade again and began to dig.
There was ten year ago, he mumbled.
I should like to see them, said Mary. Where is the green door? There
must be a door somewhere.
Ben drove his spade deep and looked as uncompanionable as he had looked
when she first saw him.
There was ten year ago, but there isnt now, he said.
No door! cried Mary. There must be.
None as any one can find, an none as is any ones business. Dont you
be a meddlesome wench an poke your nose where its no cause to go.
Here, I must go on with my work. Get you gone an play you. Ive no more
time.
And he actually stopped digging, threw his spade over his shoulder and walked
off, without even glancing at her or saying good-by.
CHAPTER V
THE CRY IN THE CORRIDOR
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 nothingand 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.
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.
Tha got on well enough with that this mornin, didnt tha? said
Martha.
It tastes nice to-day, said Mary, feeling a little surprised herself.
Its th air of th moor thats givin thee stomach for tha victuals, answered Martha. Its lucky for thee that thas got victuals as well as
appetite. Theres 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
youll get some flesh on your bones an you wont be so yeller.
I dont play, said Mary. I have nothing to play with.
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.
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.
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 Weatherstaffs robin redbreast, tilting forward to look at her with
his small head on one side.
Oh! she cried out, is it youis it you? And it did not seem at all
queer to her that she spoke to him as if she was sure that he would
understand and answer her.
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:
Good morning! Isnt the wind nice? Isnt the sun nice? Isnt everything
nice? Let us both chirp and hop and twitter. Come on! Come on!
Mary began to laugh, and as he hopped and took little flights along the
wall she ran after him. Poor little thin, sallow, ugly Maryshe
actually looked almost pretty for a moment.
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.
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 wallmuch lower downand there was the same tree inside.
Its in the garden no one can go into, she said to herself. Its the
garden without a door. He lives in there. How I wish I could see what it
is like!
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.
It is the garden, she said. I am sure it is.
She walked round and looked closely at that side of the orchard wall, but she
only found what she had found beforethat 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.
Its 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.
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.
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.
Why did Mr. Craven hate the garden? she said.
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 servantshall down-stairs 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.
She sat down on the hearth herself without waiting to be asked.
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.
Why did he hate it? Mary persisted.
Martha tucked her feet under her and made herself quite comfortable.
Listen to th wind wutherin round the house, she said. You could
bare stand up on the moor if you was out on it to-night.
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.
But why did he hate it so? she asked, after she had listened. She intended
to know if Martha did.
Then Martha gave up her store of knowledge.
Mind, she said, Mrs. Medlock said its not to be talked about.
Theres lots o things in this place thats not to be talked over.
Thats Mr. Cravens orders. His troubles are none servants business, he
says. But for th garden he wouldnt be like he is. It was Mrs. Cravens
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 an 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 hed go out o his mind an die, too. Thats why he hates it. No
ones never gone in since, an he wont let any one talk about it.
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.
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 some one. She was getting on.
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 soundit 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
that this sound was inside the house, not outside it. It was far away,
but it was inside. She turned round and looked at Martha.
Do you hear any one crying? she said.
Martha suddenly looked confused.
No, she answered. Its th wind. Sometimes it sounds like as if some
one was lost on th moor an wailin. Its got all sorts o sounds.
But listen, said Mary. Its in the housedown one of those long
corridors.
And at that very moment a door must have been opened somewhere down-stairs;
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.
There! said Mary. I told you so! It is some one cryingand it isnt a
grown-up person.
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.
It was th wind, said Martha stubbornly. An if it wasnt, it was
little Betty Butterworth, th scullery-maid. Shes had th toothache all
day.
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.
CHAPTER VI
THERE WAS SOME ONE CRYINGTHERE WAS!
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 to-day.
What do you do in your cottage when it rains like this? she asked
Martha.
Try to keep from under each others feet mostly, Martha answered. Eh! there
does seem a lot of us then. Mothers a good-tempered woman but
she gets fair moithered. The biggest ones goes out in th cow-shed and
plays there. Dickon he doesnt mind th wet. He goes out just th same
as if th sun was shinin. He says he sees things on rainy days as doesnt
show when its 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. Hes got it at home now. He found
a half-drowned young crow another time an he brought it home, too, an
tamed it. Its named Soot because its so black, an it hops an flies
about with him everywhere.
The time had come when Mary had forgotten to resent Marthas 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.
If I had a raven or a fox cub I could play with it, said Mary. But I
have nothing.
Martha looked perplexed.
Can tha knit? she asked.
No, answered Mary.
Can tha sew?
No.
Can tha read?
Yes.
Then why doesnt tha read somethin, or learn a bit o spellin? Thast old
enough to be learnin thy book a good bit now.
I havent any books, said Mary. Those I had were left in India.
Thats a pity, said Martha. If Mrs. Medlockd let thee go into th
library, theres thousands o books there.
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 housekeepers sitting-room down-stairs. In this
queer place one scarcely ever saw any one 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.
Marys 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.
Hasnt 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 shes only four year old. Sometimes tha looks fair soft in
th head.
Mary had worn her contrary scowl for an hour after that, but it made her
think several entirely new things.
She stood at the window for about ten minutes this morning after Martha had
swept up the hearth for the last time and gone down-stairs. 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 shouldnt 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. 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
childrenlittle 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.
Where do you live now? said Mary aloud to her. I wish you were here.
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 up-stairs 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.
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.
Perhaps she slept here once, said Mary. She stares at me so that she
makes me feel queer.
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.
In one room, which looked like a ladys 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.
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.
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.
If they wouldnt be so frightened I would take them back with me, said
Mary.
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.
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
dont know which way to go. How still everything is!
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.
Its nearer than it was, said Mary, her heart beating rather faster. And it is crying.
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.
What are you doing here? she said, and she took Mary by the arm and
pulled her away. What did I tell you?
I turned round the wrong corner, explained Mary. I didnt know which way
to go and I heard some one crying.
She quite hated Mrs. Medlock at the moment, but she hated her more the
next.
You didnt hear anything of the sort, said the housekeeper. You come
along back to your own nursery or Ill box your ears.
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.
Now, she said, you stay where youre told to stay or youll find
yourself locked up. The master had better get you a governess, same as
he said he would. Youre one that needs some one to look sharp after
you. Ive got enough to do.
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.
There was some one cryingthere wasthere was! she said to
herself.
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.
CHAPTER VII
THE KEY OF THE GARDEN
Two days after this, when Mary opened her eyes she sat upright in bed
immediately, and called to Martha.
Look at the moor! Look at the moor!
The rain-storm 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.
Aye, said Martha with a cheerful grin. Th storms 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. Thats
because th springtimes on its way. Its a long way off yet, but its
comin.
I thought perhaps it always rained or looked dark in England, Mary
said.
Eh! no! said Martha, sitting up on her heels among her black lead
brushes. Nowt o th soart!
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.
Martha laughed as she had done the first morning.
There now, she said. Ive talked broad Yorkshire again like Mrs. Medlock
said I mustnt. Nowt o th soart means nothin-of-the-sort, slowly
and carefully, but it takes so long to say it. Yorkshires th sunniest
place on earth when it is sunny. I told thee thad 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. Youll want to get out on it at sunrise an live out on
it all day like Dickon does.
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.
I dont know, answered Martha. Thas never used tha legs since tha
was born, it seems to me. Tha couldnt walk five mile. Its five mile
to our cottage.
I should like to see your cottage.
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
Anns when she wanted something very much.
Ill ask my mother about it, she said. Shes one o them that nearly
always sees a way to do things. Its my day out to-day an Im goin
home. Eh! I am glad. Mrs. Medlock thinks a lot o mother. Perhaps she
could talk to her.
I like your mother, said Mary.
I should think tha did, agreed Martha, polishing away.
Ive never seen her, said Mary.
No, tha hasnt, replied Martha.
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.
Well, shes that sensible an hard workin an good-natured an clean
that no one could help likin her whether theyd seen her or not. When
Im goin home to her on my day out I just jump for joy when Im
crossin th moor.
I like Dickon, added Mary. And Ive never seen him.
Well, said Martha stoutly, Ive 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?
He wouldnt like me, said Mary in her stiff, cold little way. No one
does.
Martha looked reflective again.
How does tha like thysel? she inquired, really quite as if she were
curious to know.
Mary hesitated a moment and thought it over.
Not at allreally, she answered. But I never thought of that
before.
Martha grinned a little as if at some homely recollection.
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 vixon, tha! There tha stands sayin tha doesnt like
this one an tha doesnt like that one. How does tha like thysel?
It made me laugh an it brought me to my senses in a minute.
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 weeks baking and enjoy herself thoroughly.
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.
Springtimes comin, he said. Cannot tha smell it?
Mary sniffed and thought she could.
I smell something nice and fresh and damp, she said.
Thats th good rich earth, he answered, digging away. Its in a good
humor makin ready to grow things. Its glad when plantin time comes.
Its dull in th winter when its got nowt to do. In th flower gardens
out there things will be stirrin down below in th dark. Th suns
warmin em. Youll see bits o green spikes stickin out o th black
earth after a bit.
What will they be? asked Mary.
Crocuses an snowdrops an daffydowndillys. Has tha never seen them?
No. Everything is hot, and wet, and green after the rains in India, said Mary. And I think things grow up in a night.
These wont grow up in a night, said Weatherstaff. Thall have to
wait for em. Theyll 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.
I am going to, answered Mary.
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.
Do you think he remembers me? she said.
Remembers thee! said Weatherstaff indignantly. He knows every cabbage
stump in th gardens, let alone th people. Hes never seen a little
wench here before, an hes bent on findin out all about thee. Thas no
need to try to hide anything from him.
Are things stirring down below in the dark in that garden where he
lives? Mary inquired.
What garden? grunted Weatherstaff, becoming surly again.
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?
Ask him, said Ben Weatherstaff, hunching his shoulders toward the
robin. Hes the only one as knows. No one else has seen inside it for
ten year.
Ten years was a long time, Mary thought. She had been born ten years
ago.
She walked away, slowly thinking. She had begun to like the garden just as
she had begun to like the robin and Dickon and Marthas mother. She was
beginning to like Martha, too. That seemed a good many people to likewhen
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 Weatherstaffs robin.
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.
You do remember me! she cried out. You do! You are prettier than
anything else in the world!
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.
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 persononly nicer than any other person in the world. She
was so happy that she scarcely dared to breathe.
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.
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.
Mistress Mary stood up and looked at it with an almost frightened face as it
hung from her finger.
Perhaps it has been buried for ten years, she said in a whisper. Perhaps
it is the key to the garden!
CHAPTER VIII
THE ROBIN WHO SHOWED THE WAY
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.
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. 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.
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.
I got up at four oclock, she said. Eh! it was pretty on th moor
with th birds gettin up an th rabbits scamperin about an th sun
risin. I didnt walk all th way. A man gave me a ride in his cart an
I can tell you I did enjoy myself.
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 dough-cake with a bit
of brown sugar in it.
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.
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 didnt know how
to put on her own stockings.
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 couldnt tell em
enough.
Mary reflected a little.
Ill 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.
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.
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?
Why, our Dickons 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, Hasnt Mr. Craven got no governess
for her, nor no nurse? and I said, No, he hasnt, though Mrs. Medlock
says he will when he thinks of it, but she says he maynt think of it
for two or three years.
I dont want a governess, said Mary sharply.
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 youd 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.
Mary gave her a long, steady look.
You do cheer me up, she said. I like to hear you talk.
Presently Martha went out of the room and came back with something held
in her hands under her apron.
What does tha think, she said, with a cheerful grin. Ive brought
thee a present.
A present! exclaimed Mistress Mary. How could a cottage full of
fourteen hungry people give any one a present!
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, hes 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, thas brought me thy
wages like a good lass, an Ive got four places to put every penny, but
Im just goin to take tuppence out of it to buy that child a skippin-rope,
an she bought one an here it is.
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.
What is it for? she asked curiously.
For! cried out Martha. Does tha mean that theyve not got
skippin-ropes in India, for all theyve got elephants and tigers and
camels! No wonder most of ems black. This is what its for; just watch
me.
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 Marys face delighted her, and
she went on skipping and counted as she skipped until she had reached
a hundred.
I could skip longer than that, she said when she stopped. Ive
skipped as much as five hundred when I was twelve, but I wasnt as fat
then as I am now, an I was in practice.
Mary got up from her chair beginning to feel excited herself.
It looks nice, she said. Your mother is a kind woman. Do you think I
could ever skip like that?
You just try it, urged Martha, handing her the skipping-rope. You
cant skip a hundred at first, but if you practise youll mount up.
Thats what mother said. She says, Nothin will do her more good than
skippin rope. Its th sensiblest toy a child can have. Let her play
out in th fresh air skippin an itll stretch her legs an arms an
give her some strength in em.
It was plain that there was not a great deal of strength in Mistress
Marys 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.
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.
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.
Martha, she said, they were your wages. It was your twopence 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.
Martha gave her hand a clumsy little shake, as if she was not accustomed
to this sort of thing either. Then she laughed.
Eh! tha art a queer, old-womanish thing, she said. If thad been our Lizabeth Ellen thad have give me a kiss.
Mary looked stiffer than ever.
Do you want me to kiss you?
Martha laughed again.
Nay, not me, she answered. If tha was different, praps thad want
to thysel. But tha isnt. Run off outside an play with thy rope.
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 blowingnot 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 really wanted him to see her skip.
Well! he exclaimed. Upon my word! Praps tha art a young un, after
all, an praps thas got childs blood in thy veins instead of sour
buttermilk. Thas skipped red into thy cheeks as sure as my names Ben
Weatherstaff. I wouldnt have believed tha could do it.
I never skipped before, Mary said. Im just beginning. I can only go
up to twenty.
Tha keep on, said Ben. Tha shapes well enough at it for a young un thats
lived with heathen. Just see how hes watchin thee, jerking his
head toward the robin. He followed after thee yesterday. Hell be at
it again to-day. Hell be bound to find out what th skippin-rope is.
Hes never seen one. Eh! shaking his head at the bird, tha curosity
will be th death of thee sometime if tha doesnt look sharp.
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.
You showed me where the key was yesterday, she said. You ought to
show me the door to-day; but I dont believe you know!
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
offand they are nearly always doing it.
Mary Lennox had heard a great deal about Magic in her Ayahs stories,
and she always said that what happened almost at that moment was Magic.
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 ita round
knob which had been covered by the leaves hanging over it. It was the
knob of a door.
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. Marys 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?
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.
And then she took a long breath and looked behind her up the long walk
to see if any one 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 slowlyslowly.
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.
She was standing inside the secret garden.
CHAPTER IX
THE STRANGEST HOUSE ANY ONE EVER LIVED IN
It was the sweetest, most mysterious-looking place any one 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 rose-bushes 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.
How still it is! she whispered. How still!
Then she waited a moment and listened at the stillness. The robin, who
had flown to his tree-top, was still as all the rest. He did not even
flutter his wings; he sat without stirring, and looked at Mary.
No wonder it is still, she whispered again. I am the first person who
has spoken in here for ten years.
She moved away from the door, stepping as softly as if she were afraid of awakening
some one. 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.
I wonder if they are all quite dead, she said. Is it all a quite dead
garden? I wish it wasnt.
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.
But she was inside 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.
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 any one, 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!
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.
As she came near the second of these alcoves she stopped skipping. There
had once been a flower-bed in it, and she thought she saw something
sticking out of the black earthsome sharp little pale green points.
She remembered what Ben Weatherstaff had said and she knelt down to look
at them.
Yes, they are tiny growing things and they might be crocuses or
snowdrops or daffodils, she whispered.
She bent very close to them and sniffed the fresh scent of the damp
earth. She liked it very much.
Perhaps there are some other ones coming up in other places, she said. I will go all over the garden and look.
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.
It isnt a quite dead garden, she cried out softly to herself. Even
if the roses are dead, there are other things alive.
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.
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. Ill
do all I can see. If I havent time to-day I can come to-morrow.
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.
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
Bens size and yet had had the sense to come into his garden and begin
at once.
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.
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.
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.
Two pieces o meat an two helps o rice puddin! she said. Eh! mother will
be pleased when I tell her what th skippin-ropes done for thee.
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.
Martha, she said, what are those white roots that look like onions?
Theyre bulbs, answered Martha. Lots o spring flowers grow from em.
Th very little ones are snowdrops an crocuses an th big ones are
narcissusis an jonquils an daffydowndillys. Th biggest of all is
lilies an purple flags. Eh! they are nice. Dickons got a whole lot of em planted in our bit o garden.
Does Dickon know all about them? asked Mary, a new idea taking
possession of her.
Our Dickon can make a flower grow out of a brick walk. Mother says he
just whispers things out o th ground.
Do bulbs live a long time? Would they live years and years if no one
helped them? inquired Mary anxiously.
Theyre things as helps themselves, said Martha. Thats why poor folk can
afford to have em. If you dont trouble em, most of emll work away
underground for a lifetime an spread out an have little uns. Theres
a place in th park woods here where theres snowdrops by thousands. Theyre
the prettiest sight in Yorkshire when th spring comes. No one knows when
they was first planted.
I wish the spring was here now, said Mary. I want to see all the
things that grow in England.
She had finished her dinner and gone to her favorite seat on the
hearth-rug.
I wishI wish I had a little spade, she said.
Whatever does tha want a spade for? asked Martha, laughing. Art tha
goin to take to diggin? I must tell mother that, too.
Mary looked at the fire and pondered a little. She must be careful if
she meant to keep her secret kingdom. She wasnt 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.
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 atnatives and
soldiers marching byand 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 wont 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.
Marthas face quite lighted up.
There now! she exclaimed, if that wasnt one of th things mother
said. She says, Theres such a lot o room in that big place, why dont
they give her a bit for herself, even if she doesnt plant nothin but
parsley an radishes? Shed dig an rake away an be right down happy
over it. Them was the very words she said.
Were they? said Mary. How many things she knows, doesnt she?
Eh! said Martha. Its like she says: A woman as brings up twelve
children learns something besides her A B C. Childrens as good as rithmetic to set you findin out things.
How much would a spade costa little one? Mary asked.
Well, was Marthas reflective answer, at Thwaite village theres 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.
Ive 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.
Did he remember thee that much? exclaimed Martha.
Mrs. Medlock said I was to have a shilling a week to spend. She gives
me one every Saturday. I didnt know what to spend it on.
My word! thats riches, said Martha. Tha can buy anything in th
world tha wants. Th rent of our cottage is only one an threepence an
its like pullin eye-teeth to get it. Now Ive just thought of
somethin, putting her hands on her hips.
What? said Mary eagerly.
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.
I know how to write, Mary answered.
Martha shook her head.
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.
Oh! youre a good girl! Mary cried. You are, really! I didnt know you were
so nice. I know I can print letters if I try. Lets ask Mrs. Medlock for
a pen and ink and some paper.
Ive got some of my own, said Martha. I bought em so I could print a
bit of a letter to mother of a Sunday. Ill go and get it.
She ran out of the room, and Mary stood by the fire and twisted her thin
little hands together with sheer pleasure.
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
wont be dead at allit will come alive.
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 down-stairs 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:
My Dear Dickon:
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
every one 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.
Your loving sister,
Martha Phœbe Sowerby.
|
Well put the money in th envelope an Ill get th butchers boy to
take it in his cart. Hes a great friend o Dickons, said Martha.
How shall I get the things when Dickon buys them? asked Mary.
Hell bring em to you himself. Hell like to walk over this way.
Oh! exclaimed Mary, then I shall see him! I never thought I should
see Dickon.
Does tha want to see him? asked Martha suddenly, she had looked so
pleased.
Yes, I do. I never saw a boy foxes and crows loved. I want to see him
very much.
Martha gave a little start, as if she suddenly remembered something.
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
motherand she said shed ask Mrs. Medlock her own self.
Do you mean Mary began.
What I said Tuesday. Ask her if you might be driven over to our cottage
some day and have a bit o mothers hot oat cake, an butter, an a
glass o milk.
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!
Does she think Mrs. Medlock would let me go? she asked, quite
anxiously.
Aye, she thinks she would. She knows what a tidy woman mother is and
how clean she keeps the cottage.
If I went I should see your mother as well as Dickon, said Mary,
thinking it over and liking the idea very much. She doesnt seem to be
like the mothers in India.
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 down-stairs for the tea-tray, Mary asked a question.
Martha, she said, has the scullery-maid had the toothache again
to-day?
Martha certainly started slightly.
What makes thee ask that? she said.
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 isnt a
wind to-day, so you see it couldnt have been the wind.
Eh! said Martha restlessly. Tha mustnt go walkin about in
corridors an listenin. Mr. Craven would be that there angry theres no
knowin what hed do.
I wasnt listening, said Mary. I was just waiting for youand I
heard it. Thats three times.
My word! Theres Mrs. Medlocks bell, said Martha, and she almost ran
out of the room.
Its the strangest house any one 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.
CHAPTER X
DICKON
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.
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.
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.
Thart 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 thall come from.
Hes friends with me now, said Mary.
Thats like him, snapped Ben Weatherstaff. Makin up to th women
folk just for vanity an flightiness. Theres nothin he wouldnt do for
th sake o showin off an flirtin his tail-feathers. Hes as full o
pride as an eggs full o meat.
He very seldom talked much and sometimes did not even answer Marys 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.
How long has tha been here? he jerked out.
I think its about a month, she answered.
Thas beginnin to do Misselthwaite credit, he said. Thas a bit
fatter than tha was an thas 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.
Mary was not vain and as she had never thought much of her looks she was
not greatly disturbed.
I know Im fatter, she said. My stockings are getting tighter. They
used to make wrinkles. Theres the robin, Ben Weatherstaff.
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.
Aye, there tha art! he said. Tha can put up with me for a bit sometimes
when thas got no one better. Thas been reddinin up thy waistcoat an
polishin thy feathers this two weeks. I know what thas up to. Thas
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.
Oh! look at him! exclaimed Mary.
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.
Tha thinks thall 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 theethats what
tha thinks.
The robin spread his wingsMary could scarcely believe her eyes. He
flew right up to the handle of Ben Weatherstaffs spade and alighted on
the top of it. Then the old mans face wrinkled itself slowly into a new
expression. He stood still as if he were afraid to breatheas if he
would not have stirred for the world, lest his robin should start away.
He spoke quite in a whisper.
Well, Im danged! he said as softly as if he were saying something quite
different. Tha does know how to get at a chaptha does! Thas
fair unearthly, thas so knowin.
And he stood without stirringalmost without drawing his breathuntil
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.
But because he kept breaking into a slow grin now and then, Mary was not
afraid to talk to him.
Have you a garden of your own? she asked.
No. Im bachelder an lodge with Martin at th gate.
If you had one, said Mary, what would you plant?
Cabbages an taters an onions.
But if you wanted to make a flower garden, persisted Mary, what would
you plant?
Bulbs an sweet-smellin thingsbut mostly roses.
Marys face lighted up.
Do you like roses? she said.
Ben Weatherstaff rooted up a weed and threw it aside before he answered.
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
childrenor robins. Ive seen her bend over an kiss em. He dragged
out another weed and scowled at it. That were as much as ten year ago.
Where is she now? asked Mary, much interested.
Heaven, he answered, and drove his spade deep into the soil, cording
to what parson says.
What happened to the roses? Mary asked again, more interested than
ever.
They was left to themselves.
Mary was becoming quite excited.
Did they quite die? Do roses quite die when they are left to
themselves? she ventured.
Well, Id got to like eman I liked heran she liked em, Ben
Weatherstaff admitted reluctantly. Once or twice a year Id go an work
at em a bitprune em an dig about th roots. They run wild, but they
was in rich soil, so some of em lived.
When they have no leaves and look gray and brown and dry, how can you
tell whether they are dead or alive? inquired Mary.
Wait till th spring gets at emwait till th sun shines on th rain
an th rain falls on th sunshine an then thall find out.
Howhow? cried Mary, forgetting to be careful.
Look along th twigs an branches an if tha sees 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.
Mistress Mary felt her face grow red. She was almost afraid to answer.
II want to play thatthat I have a garden of my own, she stammered. Ithere is nothing for me to do. I have nothingand no one.
Well, said Ben Weatherstaff slowly, as he watched her, thats true.
Tha hasnt.
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.
She stayed with him for ten or fifteen minutes longer and asked him as many
questions as she dared. He answered every one 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.
Do you go and see those other roses now? she asked.
Not been this year. My rheumatics has made me too stiff in th joints.
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.
Now look here! he said sharply. Dont tha ask so many questions.
Thart th worst wench for askin questions Ive ever come across. Get
thee gone an play thee. Ive done talkin for to-day.
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.
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
skip 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.
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 boys 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 nosesand 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.
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.
Dont tha move, he said. Itd flight em.
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.
Im Dickon, the boy said. I know thart Miss Mary.
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.
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.
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.
Did you get Marthas letter? she asked.
He nodded his curly, rust-colored head.
Thats why I come.
He stooped to pick up something which had been lying on the ground
beside him when he piped.
Ive got th garden tools. Theres a little spade an rake an a fork
an hoe. Eh! they are good uns. Theres 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.
Will you show the seeds to me? Mary said.
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.
Let us sit down on this log and look at them, she said.
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.
Theres a lot o mignonette an poppies, he said. Mignonettes th
sweetest smellin thing as grows, an itll grow wherever you cast it,
same as poppies will. Them asll come up an bloom if you just whistle
to em, thems th nicest of all.
He stopped and turned his head quickly, his poppy-cheeked face lighting
up.
Wheres that robin as is callin us? he said.
The chirp came from a thick holly bush, bright with scarlet berries, and
Mary thought she knew whose it was.
Is it really calling us? she asked.
Aye, said Dickon, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, hes callin some one hes friends with. Thats 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?
Hes Ben Weatherstaffs, but I think he knows me a little, answered
Mary.
Aye, he knows thee, said Dickon in his low voice again. An he likes
thee. Hes took thee on. Hell tell me all about thee in a minute.
He moved quite close to the bush with the slow movement Mary had noticed before,
and then he made a sound almost like the robins own twitter. The robin
listened a few seconds, intently, and then answered quite as if he were
replying to a question.
Aye, hes a friend o yours, chuckled Dickon.
Do you think he is? cried Mary eagerly. She did so want to know. Do
you think he really likes me?
He wouldnt come near thee if he didnt, answered Dickon. Birds is
rare choosers an a robin can flout a body worse than a man. See, hes
making up to thee now. Cannot tha see a chap? hes sayin.
And it really seemed as if it must be true. He so sidled and twittered
and tilted as he hopped on his bush.
Do you understand everything birds say? said Mary.
Dickons grin spread until he seemed all wide, red, curving mouth, and
he rubbed his rough head.
I think I do, and they think I do, he said. Ive lived on th moor
with em so long. Ive watched em break shell an come out an fledge
an learn to fly an begin to sing, till I think Im one of em.
Sometimes I think praps Im a bird, or a fox, or a rabbit, or a
squirrel, or even a beetle, an I dont know it.
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.
See here, he said suddenly, turning round to look at her. Ill plant
them for thee myself. Where is tha garden?
Marys 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.
Thas got a bit o garden, hasnt tha? Dickon said.
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.
Wouldnt they give thee a bit? he asked. Hasnt tha got any yet?
She held her hands even tighter and turned her eyes toward him.
I dont know anything about boys, she said slowly. Could you keep a
secret, if I told you one? Its a great secret. I dont know what I
should do if any one found it out. I believe I should die! She said the
last sentence quite fiercely.
Dickon looked more puzzled than ever and even rubbed his hand over his rough
head again, but he answered quite good-humoredly.
Im keepin secrets all th time, he said. If I couldnt keep secrets
from th other lads, secrets about foxes cubs, an birds nests, an
wild things holes, thered be naught safe on th moor. Aye, I can keep
secrets.
Mistress Mary did not mean to put out her hand and clutch his sleeve but
she did it.
Ive stolen a garden, she said very fast. It isnt mine. It isnt
anybodys. Nobody wants it, nobody cares for it, nobody ever goes into
it. Perhaps everything is dead in it already; I dont know.
She began to feel hot and as contrary as she had ever felt in her life.
I dont care, I dont care! Nobody has any right to take it from me
when I care about it and they dont. Theyre letting it die, all shut in
by itself, she ended passionately, and she threw her arms over her face
and burst out cryingpoor little Mistress Mary.
Dickons curious blue eyes grew rounder and rounder.
Eh-h-h! he said, drawing his exclamation out slowly, and the way he
did it meant both wonder and sympathy.
Ive 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 wouldnt
take it from the robin.
Where is it? asked Dickon in a dropped voice.
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.
Come with me and Ill show you, she said.
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 birds
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.
Its this, she said. Its a secret garden, and Im the only one in
the world who wants it to be alive.
Dickon looked round and round about it, and round and round again.
Eh! he almost whispered, it is a queer, pretty place! Its like as if a
body was in a dream.
CHAPTER XI
THE NEST OF THE MISSEL THRUSH
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 everythingthe 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.
I never thought Id see this place, he said at last, in a whisper.
Did you know about it? asked Mary.
She had spoken aloud and he made a sign to her.
We must talk low, he said, or some onell hear us an wonder whats
to do in here.
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.
Dickon nodded.
Martha told me there was one as no one ever went inside, he answered. Us used to wonder what it was like.
He stopped and looked round at the lovely gray tangle about him, and his
round eyes looked queerly happy.
Eh! the nests asll be here come springtime, he said. Itd 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 dont
build here.
Mistress Mary put her hand on his arm again without knowing it.
Will there be roses? she whispered. Can you tell? I thought perhaps
they were all dead.
Eh! No! Not themnot all of em! he answered. Look here!
He stepped over to the nearest treean 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.
Theres lots o dead wood as ought to be cut out, he said. An theres a
lot o old wood, but it made some new last year. This heres a new bit, and he touched a shoot which looked brownish green instead of hard, dry
gray.
Mary touched it herself in an eager, reverent way.
That one? she said. Is that one quite alivequite?
Dickon curved his wide smiling mouth.
Its as wick as you or me, he said; and Mary remembered that Martha
had told her that wick meant alive or lively.
Im glad its 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.
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.
Theyve 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 theys a wonder. See here! and he
pulled down a thick gray, dry-looking branch. A body might think this
was dead wood, but I dont believe it isdown to th root. Ill cut it
low down an see.
He knelt and with his knife cut the lifeless-looking branch through, not
far above the earth.
There! he said exultantly. I told thee so. Theres green in that
wood yet. Look at it.
Mary was down on her knees before he spoke, gazing with all her might.
When it looks a bit greenish an juicy like that, its wick, he
explained. When th inside is dry an breaks easy, like this here piece
Ive cut off, its done for. Theres a big root here as all this live
wood sprung out of, an if th old woods cut off an its dug round,
an took care of therell be he stopped and lifted his face to look
up at the climbing and hanging sprays above him therell be a fountain
o roses here this summer.
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.
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.
Why! he cried, pointing to the grass a few feet away. Who did that
there?
It was one of Marys own little clearings round the pale green points.
I did it, said Mary.
Why, I thought tha didnt know nothin about gardenin, he exclaimed.
I dont, 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 dont even know what they are.
Dickon went and knelt down by them, smiling his wide smile.
Tha was right, he said. A gardener couldnt have told thee better.
Theyll grow now like Jacks bean-stalk. Theyre crocuses an snowdrops,
an these here is narcissuses turning to another patch, an heres
daffydowndillys. Eh! they will be a sight.
He ran from one clearing to another.
Tha has done a lot o work for such a little wench, he said, looking
her over.
Im growing fatter, said Mary, and Im growing stronger. I used always to
be tired. When I dig Im not tired at all. I like to smell the earth when
its turned up.
Its rare good for thee, he said, nodding his head wisely. Theres
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 its 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 rabbits, mother says.
Do you never catch cold? inquired Mary, gazing at him wonderingly. She
had never seen such a funny boy, or such a nice one.
Not me, he said, grinning. I never ketched cold since I was born. I
wasnt brought up nesh enough. Ive chased about th moor in all
weathers same as th rabbits does. Mother says Ive sniffed up too much
fresh air for twelve year to ever get to sniffin with cold. Im as
tough as a white-thorn knobstick.
He was working all the time he was talking and Mary was following him
and helping him with her fork or the trowel.
Theres a lot of work to do here! he said once, looking about quite
exultantly.
Will you come again and help me to do it? Mary begged. Im sure I can help,
too. I can dig and pull up weeds, and do whatever you tell me. Oh! do
come, Dickon!
Ill come every day if tha wants me, rain or shine, he answered
stoutly. Its th best fun I ever had in my lifeshut in here an
wakenin up a garden.
If you will come, said Mary, if you will help me to make it alive
IllI dont know what Ill do, she ended helplessly. What could you
do for a boy like that?
Ill tell thee what thall do, said Dickon, with his happy grin. Thall get fat an thall get as hungry as a young fox an thall learn
how to talk to th robin same as I do. Eh! well have a lot o fun.
He began to walk about, looking up in the trees and at the walls and
bushes with a thoughtful expression.
I wouldnt want to make it look like a gardeners garden, all clipped
an spick an span, would you? he said. Its nicer like this with
things runnin wild, an swingin an catchin hold of each other.
Dont let us make it tidy, said Mary anxiously. It wouldnt seem like
a secret garden if it was tidy.
Dickon stood rubbing his rusty-red head with a rather puzzled look.
Its a secret garden sure enough, he said, but seems like some one
besides th robin must have been in it since it was shut up ten year
ago.
But the door was locked and the key was buried, said Mary. No one
could get in.
Thats true, he answered. Its a queer place. Seems to me as if
thered been a bit o prunin done here an there, later than ten year
ago.
But how could it have been done? said Mary.
He was examining a branch of a standard rose and he shook his head.
Aye! how could it! he murmured. With th door locked an th key
buried.
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.
Are there any flowers that look like bells? she inquired.
Lilies o th valley does, he answered, digging away with the trowel, an theres Canterbury bells, an campanulas.
Let us plant some, said Mary.
Theres lilies o th valley here already; I saw em. Theyll have
growed too close an well have to separate em, but theres 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?
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.
They used to dance round and sing at me. They sang
Mistress Mary, quite contrary,
How does your garden grow?
With silver bells, and cockle shells,
And marigolds all in a row.
|
I just remembered it and it made me wonder if there were really flowers
like silver bells.
She frowned a little and gave her trowel a rather spiteful dig into the
earth.
I wasnt as contrary as they were.
But Dickon laughed.
Eh! he said, and as he crumbled the rich black soil she saw he was sniffing
up the scent of it, there doesnt seem to be no need for no one to be
contrary when theres flowers an such like, an such lots o friendly
wild things runninabout makin homes for themselves, or buildin nests
an singin an whistlin, does there?
Mary, kneeling by him holding the seeds, looked at him and stopped
frowning.
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.
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.
Only five folk as tha likes? he said. Who is th other four?
Your mother and Martha, Mary checked them off on her fingers, and the
robin and Ben Weatherstaff.
Dickon laughed so that he was obliged to stifle the sound by putting his
arm over his mouth.
I know tha thinks Im a queer lad, he said, but I think tha art th
queerest little lass I ever saw.
Then Mary did a strange thing. She leaned forward and asked him a question
she had never dreamed of asking any one 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.
Does tha like me? she said.
Eh! he answered heartily, that I does. I likes thee wonderful, an so
does th robin, I do believe!
Thats two, then, said Mary. Thats two for me.
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.
I shall have to go, she said mournfully. And you will have to go too,
wont you?
Dickon grinned.
My dinners easy to carry about with me, he said. Mother always lets
me put a bit o somethin in my pocket.
He picked up his coat from the grass and brought out of a pocket a lumpy
little bundle tied up in a quiet clean, coarse, blue and white
handkerchief. It held two thick pieces of bread with a slice of
something laid between them.
Its oftenest naught but bread, he said, but Ive got a fine slice o
fat bacon with it to-day.
Mary thought it looked a queer dinner, but he seemed ready to enjoy it.
Run on an get thy victuals, he said. Ill be done with mine first.
Ill get some more work done before I start back home.
He sat down with his back against a tree.
Ill call th robin up, he said, and give him th rind o th bacon
to peck at. They likes a bit o fat wonderful.
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.
Whatever happens, youyou never would tell? she said.
His poppy-colored cheeks were distended with his first big bite of bread
and bacon, but he managed to smile encouragingly.
If tha was a missel thrush an showed me where thy nest was, does tha
think Id tell any one? Not me, he said. Tha art as safe as a missel
thrush.
And she was quite sure she was.
CHAPTER XII
MIGHT I HAVE A BIT OF EARTH?
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.
Thas a bit late, she said. Where has tha been?
Ive seen Dickon! said Mary. Ive seen Dickon!
I knew hed come, said Martha exultantly. How does tha like him?
I thinkI think hes beautiful! said Mary in a determined voice.
Martha looked rather taken aback but she looked pleased, too.
Well, she said, hes th best lad as ever was born, but us never
thought he was handsome. His nose turns up too much.
I like it to turn up, said Mary.
An his eyes is so round, said Martha, a trifle doubtful. Though
theyre a nice color.
I like them round, said Mary. And they are exactly the color of the
sky over the moor.
Martha beamed with satisfaction.
Mother says he made em that color with always lookin up at th birds
an th clouds. But he has got a big mouth, hasnt he, now?
I love his big mouth, said Mary obstinately. I wish mine were just
like it.
Martha chuckled delightedly.
Itd 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?
How did you know he brought them? asked Mary.
Eh! I never thought of him not bringin em. Hed be sure to bring em
if they was in Yorkshire. Hes such a trusty lad.
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.
Who did tha ask about it? she inquired.
I havent asked anybody yet, said Mary, hesitating.
Well, I wouldnt ask th head gardener. Hes too grand, Mr. Roach is.
Ive never seen him, said Mary. Ive only seen under-gardeners and
Ben Weatherstaff.
If I was you, Id ask Ben Weatherstaff, advised Martha. Hes not half
as bad as he looks, for all hes 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 hed find you a corner somewhere
out o the way.
If it was out of the way and no one wanted it, no one could mind my
having it, could they? Mary said anxiously.
There wouldnt be no reason, answered Martha. You wouldnt do no
harm.
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.
Ive got somethin to tell you, she said. I thought Id let you eat
your dinner first. Mr. Craven came back this mornin and I think he
wants to see you.
Mary turned quite pale.
Oh! she said. Why! Why! He didnt want to see me when I came. I heard Pitcher
say he didnt.
Well, explained Martha, Mrs. Medlock says its because o mother. She
was walkin to Thwaite village an she met him. Shed never spoke to him
before, but Mrs. Craven had been to our cottage two or three times. Hed
forgot, but mother hadnt an she made bold to stop him. I dont 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, to-morrow.
Oh! cried Mary, is he going away to-morrow? I am so glad!
Hes goin for a long time. He maynt come back till autumn or winter.
Hes goin to travel in foreign places. Hes always doin it.
Oh! Im so gladso glad! said Mary thankfully.
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.
When do you think he will want to see
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 mans 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.
Your hairs 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.
All the pink left Marys 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.
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 some one said, Come in, they entered the room together. A man was sitting in an armchair before
the fire, and Mrs. Medlock spoke to him.
This is Miss Mary, sir, she said.
You can go and leave her here. I will ring for you when I want you to take
her away, said Mr. Craven.
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.
Come here! he said.
Mary went to him.
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.
Are you well? he asked.
Yes, answered Mary.
Do they take good care of you?
Yes.
He rubbed his forehead fretfully as he looked her over.
You are very thin, he said.
I am getting fatter, Mary answered in what she knew was her stiffest
way.
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.
I forgot you, he said. How could I remember you? I intended to send
you a governess or a nurse, or some one of that sort, but I forgot.
Please, began Mary. Please and then the lump in her throat choked
her.
What do you want to say? he inquired.
I amI am too big for a nurse, said Mary. And pleaseplease dont
make me have a governess yet.
He rubbed his forehead again and stared at her.
That was what the Sowerby woman said, he muttered absent-mindedly.
Then Mary gathered a scrap of courage.
Is sheis she Marthas mother? she stammered.
Yes, I think so, he replied.
She knows about children, said Mary. She has twelve. She knows.
He seemed to rouse himself.
What do you want to do?
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.
He was watching her.
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.
It makes me feel strong when I play and the wind comes over the moor, argued Mary.
Where do you play? he asked next.
Everywhere, gasped Mary. Marthas mother sent me a skipping-rope. I
skip and runand I look about to see if things are beginning to stick
up out of the earth. I dont do any harm.
Dont 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.
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.
May I? she said tremulously.
Her anxious little face seemed to worry him more than ever.
Dont 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 dont know anything about children, but Mrs. Medlock
is to see that you have all you need. I sent for you to-day 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.
She knows all about children, Mary said again in spite of herself.
She ought to, said Mr. Craven. I thought her rather bold to stop me
on the moor, but she saidMrs. Craven had been kind to her. It seemed
hard for him to speak his dead wifes 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. Its 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?
Might I, quavered Mary, might I have a bit of earth?
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.
Earth! he repeated. What do you mean?
To plant seeds into make things growto see them come alive, Mary
faltered.
He gazed at her a moment and then passed his hand quickly over his eyes.
Do youcare about gardens so much, he said slowly.
I didnt 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.
Mr. Craven got up and began to walk slowly across the room.
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.
You can have as much earth as you want, he said. You remind me of
some one 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.
May I take it from anywhereif its not wanted?
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.
Mrs. Medlock came so quickly that Mary thought she must have been
waiting in the corridor.
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. Dont 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.
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 Marthas mother.
Thank you, sir, she said. Susan Sowerby and me went to school
together and shes as sensible and good-hearted a woman as youd find in
a days walk. I never had any children myself and shes had twelve, and
there never was healthier or better ones. Miss Mary can get no harm from
them. Id always take Susan Sowerbys advice about children myself.
Shes what you might call healthy-mindedif you understand me.
I understand, Mr. Craven answered. Take Miss Mary away now and send
Pitcher to me.
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.
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 likeanywhere!
Eh! said Martha delightedly, that was nice of him wasnt it?
Martha, said Mary solemnly, he is really a nice man, only his face is
so miserable and his forehead is all drawn together.
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 emptyexcept for the robin who had just flown
across the wall and sat on a standard rose-bush watching her.
Hes gone, she said wofully. Oh! was hewas hewas he only a wood
fairy?
Something white fastened to the standard rose-bush caught her eye. It
was a piece of paperin 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:
I will cum bak.
CHAPTER XIII
I AM COLIN
Mary took the picture back to the house when she went to her supper and
she showed it to Martha.
Eh! said Martha with great pride. I never knew our Dickon was as
clever as that. That theres a picture of a missel thrush on her nest,
as large as life an twice as natural.
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!
She hoped he would come back the very next day and she fell asleep
looking forward to the morning.
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.
The rain is as contrary as I ever was, she said. It came because it
knew I did not want it.
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 rain-drops poured down and beat against the
pane!
It sounds just like a person lost on the moor and wandering on and on
crying, she said.
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.
It isnt the wind now, she said in a loud whisper. That isnt the
wind. It is different. It is that crying I heard before.
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.
I am going to find out what it is, she said. Everybody is in bed and
I dont care about Mrs. MedlockI dont care!
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 tapestrythe
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.
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.
So she walked to the door and pushed it open, and there she was standing
in the room!
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.
Mary wondered if she was in a real place or if she had fallen asleep
again and was dreaming without knowing it.
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.
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 boys attention and he turned his head on his pillow and stared at
her, his gray eyes opening so wide that they seemed immense.
WHO ARE YOU?
ARE YOU A GHOST?
|
Who are you? he said at last in a half-frightened whisper. Are you a
ghost?
No, I am not, Mary answered, her own whisper sounding half frightened. Are you one?
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.
No, he replied after waiting a moment or so. I am Colin.
Who is Colin? she faltered.
I am Colin Craven. Who are you?
I am Mary Lennox. Mr. Craven is my uncle.
He is my father, said the boy.
Your father! gasped Mary. No one ever told me he had a boy! Why
didnt they?
Come here, he said, still keeping his strange eyes fixed on her with
an anxious expression.
She came close to the bed and he put out his hand and touched her.
You are real, arent you? he said. I have such real dreams very often. You
might be one of them.
Mary had slipped on a woolen wrapper before she left her room and she
put a piece of it between his fingers.
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.
Where did you come from? he asked.
From my own room. The wind wuthered so I couldnt go to sleep and I
heard some one crying and wanted to find out who it was. What were you
crying for?
Because I couldnt go to sleep either and my head ached. Tell me your
name again.
Mary Lennox. Did no one ever tell you I had come to live here?
He was still fingering the fold of her wrapper, but he began to look a
little more as if he believed in her reality.
No, he answered. They darent.
Why? asked Mary.
Because I should have been afraid you would see me. I wont let people
see me and talk me over.
Why? Mary asked again, feeling more mystified every moment.
Because I am like this always, ill and having to lie down. My father wont
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 shant live. My father
hates to think I may be like him.
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 upand you! Have you been locked up?
No. I stay in this room because I dont want to be moved out of it. It
tires me too much.
Does your father come and see you? Mary ventured.
Sometimes. Generally when I am asleep. He doesnt want to see me.
Why? Mary could not help asking again.
A sort of angry shadow passed over the boys face.
My mother died when I was born and it makes him wretched to look at me.
He thinks I dont know, but Ive heard people talking. He almost hates
me.
He hates the garden, because she died, said Mary half speaking to
herself.
What garden? the boy asked.
Oh! justjust a garden she used to like, Mary stammered. Have you
been here always?
Nearly always. Sometimes I have been taken to places at the seaside,
but I wont 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 dont want to go out.
I didnt when first I came here, said Mary. Why do you keep looking
at me like that?
Because of the dreams that are so real, he answered rather fretfully. Sometimes when I open my eyes I dont believe Im awake.
Were both awake, said Mary. She glanced round the room with its high
ceiling and shadowy corners and dim firelight. It looks quite like a
dream, and its the middle of the night, and everybody in the house is
asleepeverybody but us. We are wide awake.
I dont want it to be a dream, the boy said restlessly.
Mary thought of something all at once.
If you dont like people to see you, she began, do you want me to go
away?
He still held the fold of her wrapper and he gave it a little pull.
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.
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.
What do you want me to tell you? she said.
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.
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.
Every one 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.
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 Marys 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.
How old are you? he asked.
I am ten, answered Mary, forgetting herself for the moment, and so
are you.
How do you know that? he demanded in a surprised voice.
Because when you were born the garden door was locked and the key was
buried. And it has been locked for ten years.
Colin half sat up, turning toward her, leaning on his elbows.
What garden door was locked? Who did it? Where was the key buried? he
exclaimed as if he were suddenly very much interested.
Itit was the garden Mr. Craven hates, said Mary nervously. He locked the door. No oneno one knew where he buried the key.
What sort of a garden is it? Colin persisted eagerly.
No one has been allowed to go into it for ten years, was Marys
careful answer.
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?
They wont talk about it, said Mary. I think they have been told not
to answer questions.
I would make them, said Colin.
Could you? Mary faltered, beginning to feel frightened. If he could
make people answer questions, who knew what might happen!
Every one 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.
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.
Do you think you wont live? she asked, partly because she was curious and
partly in hope of making him forget the garden.
I dont suppose I shall, he answered as indifferently as he had spoken
before. Ever since I remember anything I have heard people say I
shant. At first they thought I was too little to understand and now
they think I dont hear. But I do. My doctor is my fathers cousin. He
is quite poor and if I die he will have all Misselthwaite when my father
is dead. I should think he wouldnt want me to live.
Do you want to live? inquired Mary.
No, he answered, in a cross, tired fashion. But I dont want to die.
When I feel ill I lie here and think about it until I cry and cry.
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.
I dare say, he answered. Let us talk about something else. Talk about
that garden. Dont you want to see it?
Yes, answered Mary, in quite a low voice.
I do, he went on persistently. I dont 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.
He had become quite excited and his strange eyes began to shine like
stars and looked more immense than ever.
They have to please me, he said. I will make them take me there and I
will let you go, too.
Marys hands clutched each other. Everything would be
spoiledeverything! Dickon would never come back. She would never again
feel like a missel thrush with a safe-hidden nest.
Oh, dontdontdontdont do that! she cried out.
He stared as if he thought she had gone crazy!
Why? he exclaimed. You said you wanted to see it.
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.
He leaned still farther forward.
A secret, he said. What do you mean? Tell me.
Marys words almost tumbled over one another.
You seeyou see, she panted, if no one knows but ourselvesif
there was a door, hidden somewhere under the ivyif there wasand
we could find it; and if we could slip through it together and shut it
behind us, and no one knew any one was inside and we called it our garden
and pretended thatthat 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
Is it dead? he interrupted her.
It soon will be if no one cares for it, she went on. The bulbs will
live but the roses
He stopped her again as excited as she was herself.
What are bulbs? he put in quickly.
They are daffodils and lilies and snowdrops. They are working in the
earth nowpushing up pale green points because the spring is coming.
Is the spring coming? he said. What is it like? You dont see it in
rooms if you are ill.
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. Dont you see?
Oh, dont you see how much nicer it would be if it was a secret?
He dropped back on his pillow and lay there with an odd expression on
his face.
I never had a secret, he said, except that one about not living to grow
up. They dont know I know that, so it is a sort of secret. But I like
this kind better.
If you wont make them take you to the garden, pleaded Mary, perhapsI feel almost sure I can find out how to get in sometime. And
thenif the doctor wants you to go out in your chair, and if you can
always do what you want to do, perhapsperhaps we might find some boy
who would push you, and we could go alone and it would always be a
secret garden.
I shouldlikethat, he said very slowly, his eyes looking dreamy. I
should like that. I should not mind fresh air in a secret garden.
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 into it when they chose.
Ill tell you what I think 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.
He lay quite still and listened while she went on talking about the roses which
might have clambered from tree to tree and hung downabout
the many birds which might 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 feel 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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
Yes, she answered.
There is a cord hanging from it, said Colin. Go and pull it.
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
Colins unhappy ones, agate gray and looking twice as big as they really
were because of the black lashes all round them.
She is my mother, said Colin complainingly. I dont see why she died.
Sometimes I hate her for doing it.
How queer! said Mary.
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.
Mary did as she was told and returned to her footstool.
She is much prettier than you, she said, but her eyes are just like
yoursat least they are the same shape and color. Why is the curtain
drawn over her?
He moved uncomfortably.
I made them do it, he said. Sometimes I dont like to see her looking at
me. She smiles too much when I am ill and miserable. Besides, she is mine
and I dont want every one to see her.
There were a few moments of silence and then Mary spoke.
What would Mrs. Medlock do if she found out that I had been here? she
inquired.
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.
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.
Yes, you must, said Colin, and you can tell me about it afterward.
He lay thinking a few minutes, as he had done before, and then he spoke
again.
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?
Yes, I know her very well, said Mary. She waits on me.
He nodded his head toward the outer corridor.
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.
Then Mary understood Marthas troubled look when she had asked questions about
the crying.
Martha knew about you all the time? she said.
Yes; she often attends to me. The nurse likes to get away from me and
then Martha comes.
I have been here a long time, said Mary. Shall I go away now? Your
eyes look sleepy.
I wish I could go to sleep before you leave me, he said rather shyly.
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.
I should like that perhaps, he said drowsily.
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.
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.
CHAPTER XIV
A YOUNG RAJAH
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.
Whats the matter with thee? she asked as soon as they sat down. Tha
looks as if thad somethin to say.
I have. I have found out what the crying was, said Mary.
Martha let her knitting drop on her knee and gazed at her with startled
eyes.
Tha hasnt! she exclaimed. Never!
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.
Marthas face became red with fright.
Eh! Miss Mary! she said half crying. Tha shouldnt have done ittha
shouldnt! Thall get me in trouble. I never told thee nothin about himbut
thall get me in trouble. I shall lose my place and whatll mother do!
You wont lose your place, said Mary. He was glad I came. We talked
and talked and he said he was glad I came.
Was he? cried Martha. Art tha sure? Tha doesnt know what hes like
when anything vexes him. Hes a big lad to cry like a baby, but when
hes in a passion hell fair scream just to frighten us. He knows us
darent call our souls our own.
He wasnt 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 wouldnt
let me go. He let me see his mothers picture. Before I left him I sang
him to sleep.
Martha fairly gasped with amazement.
I can scarcely believe thee! she protested. Its as if thad walked
straight into a lions den. If hed been like he is most times hed have
throwed himself into one of his tantrums and roused th house. He wont
let strangers look at him.
He let me look at him. I looked at him all the time and he looked at me. We
stared! said Mary.
I dont know what to do! cried agitated Martha. If Mrs. Medlock finds
out, shell think I broke orders and told thee and I shall be packed
back to mother.
He is not going to tell Mrs. Medlock anything about it yet. Its to be
a sort of secret just at first, said Mary firmly. And he says
everybody is obliged to do as he pleases.
Aye, thats true enoughth bad lad! sighed Martha, wiping her
forehead with her apron.
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.
Me! said Martha; I shall lose my placeI shall for sure!
You cant if you are doing what he wants you to do and everybody is
ordered to obey him, Mary argued.
Does tha mean to say, cried Martha with wide open eyes, that he was
nice to thee!
I think he almost liked me, Mary answered.
Then tha must have bewitched him! decided Martha, drawing a long
breath.
Do you mean Magic? inquired Mary. Ive heard about Magic in India, but I
cant 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.
Th worlds comin to a end! gasped Martha.
What is the matter with him? asked Mary.
Nobody knows for sure and certain, said Martha. Mr. Craven went off
his head like when he was born. Th doctors thought hed have to be put
in a sylum. It was because Mrs. Craven died like I told you. He
wouldnt set eyes on th baby. He just raved and said itd be another
hunchback like him and itd better die.
Is Colin a hunchback? Mary asked. He didnt look like one.
He isnt 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 theyve always been takin care of itkeepin
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
roughin a polite way. He said thered been too much medicine and
too much lettin him have his own way.
I think hes a very spoiled boy, said Mary.
Hes th worst young nowt as ever was! said Martha. I wont say as he
hasnt been ill a good bit. Hes had coughs an colds thats 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. Hed been out of
his head an she was talkin to th nurse, thinkin he didnt know
nothin, an she said, Hell 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
didnt know whatd happen but he just stared at her an says, You give
me some water an stop talkin.
Do you think he will die? asked Mary.
Mother says theres no reason why any child should live that gets no
fresh air an doesnt do nothin but lie on his back an read
picture-books an take medicine. Hes weak and hates th trouble o
bein taken out o doors, an he gets cold so easy he says it makes him
ill.
Mary sat and looked at the fire.
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.
One of th worst fits he ever had, said Martha, was one time they
took him out where the roses is by the fountain. Hed been readin in a
paper about people gettin somethin he called rose cold an he began
to sneeze an said hed got it an then a new gardener as didnt know
th rules passed by an looked at him curious. He threw himself into a
passion an he said hed looked at him because he was going to be a
hunchback. He cried himself into a fever an was ill all night.
If he ever gets angry at me, Ill never go and see him again, said
Mary.
Hell have thee if he wants thee, said Martha. Tha may as well know
that at th start.
Very soon afterward a bell rang and she rolled up her knitting.
I dare say th nurse wants me to stay with him a bit, she said. I
hope hes in a good temper.
She was out of the room about ten minutes and then she came back with a
puzzled expression.
Well, tha has bewitched him, she said. Hes up on his sofa with his picture-books.
Hes told the nurse to stay away until six oclock. Im 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 youre not to tell any
one. Youd better go as quick as you can.
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.
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.
Come in, he said. Ive been thinking about you all morning.
Ive been thinking about you, too, answered Mary. You dont know how
frightened Martha is. She says Mrs. Medlock will think she told me about
you and then she will be sent away.
He frowned.
Go and tell her to come here, he said. She is in the next room.
Mary went and brought her back. Poor Martha was shaking in her shoes.
Colin was still frowning.
Have you to do what I please or have you not? he demanded.
I have to do what you please, sir, Martha faltered, turning quite red.
Has Medlock to do what I please?
Everybody has, sir, said Martha.
Well, then, if I order you to bring Miss Mary to me, how can Medlock
send you away if she finds it out?
Please dont let her, sir, pleaded Martha.
Ill send her away if she dares to say a word about such a thing, said Master Craven grandly. She wouldnt like that, I can tell you.
Thank you, sir, bobbing a curtsy, I want to do my duty, sir.
What I want is your duty, said Colin more grandly still. Ill take
care of you. Now go away.
When the door closed behind Martha, Colin found Mistress Mary gazing at
him as if he had set her wondering.
Why do you look at me like that? he asked her. What are you thinking
about?
I am thinking about two things.
What are they? Sit down and tell me.
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 themin a minute. I think
they would have been killed if they hadnt.
I shall make you tell me about Rajahs presently, he said, but first
tell me what the second thing was.
I was thinking, said Mary, how different you are from Dickon.
Who is Dickon? he said. What a queer name!
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.
He is Marthas brother. He is twelve years old, she explained. He is
not like any one 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.
There were some big books on a table at his side and he dragged one suddenly
toward him.
There is a picture of a snake-charmer in this, he exclaimed. Come and
look at it.
The book was a beautiful one with superb colored illustrations and he
turned to one of them.
Can he do that? he asked eagerly.
He played on his pipe and they listened, Mary explained. But he
doesnt call it Magic. He says its 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.
Colin lay back on his cushion and his eyes grew larger and larger and
the spots on his cheeks burned.
Tell me some more about him, he said.
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 wont find their holes and frighten them. He knows about everything
that grows or lives on the moor.
Does he like the moor? said Colin. How can he when its such a great,
bare, dreary place?
Its 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. Its their world.
How do you know all that? said Colin, turning on his elbow to look at
her.
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 honeyand all
full of bees and butterflies.
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.
You cant if you stay in a room, said Mary.
I couldnt go on the moor, he said in a resentful tone.
Mary was silent for a minute and then she said something bold.
You mightsometime.
He moved as if he were startled.
Go on the moor! How could I? I am going to die.
How do you know? said Mary unsympathetically. She didnt 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.
Oh, Ive heard it ever since I remember, he answered crossly. They
are always whispering about it and thinking I dont notice. They wish I
would, too.
Mistress Mary felt quite contrary. She pinched her lips together.
If they wished I would, she said, I wouldnt. Who wishes you would?
The servantsand of course Dr. Craven because he would get
Misselthwaite and be rich instead of poor. He darent 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.
I dont believe he does, said Mary quite obstinately.
That made Colin turn and look at her again.
Dont you? he said.
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.
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?
No.
What did he say?
He didnt 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.
Ill 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. Hes always talking about
live things. He never talks about dead things or things that are ill.
Hes always looking up in the sky to watch birds flyingor 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 mouthand his cheeks are as redas red as cherries.
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.
See here, she said. Dont let us talk about dying; I dont like it. Let
us talk about living. Let us talk and talk about Dickon. And then we will
look at your pictures.
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 weekand the children who got fat on
the moor grass like the wild ponies. And about Dickons motherand the
skipping-ropeand the moor with the sun on itand 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 beforeand 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
creaturesinstead of a hard, little, unloving girl and a sickly boy who
believed that he was going to die.
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.
Do you know there is one thing we have never once thought of, he said. We are cousins.
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.
Dr. Craven started in actual alarm and Mrs. Medlock almost fell back
because he had accidentally bumped against her.
Good Lord! exclaimed poor Mrs. Medlock, with her eyes almost starting
out of her head. Good Lord!
What is this? said Dr. Craven, coming forward. What does it mean?
Then Mary was reminded of the boy Rajah again. Colin answered as if
neither the doctors alarm nor Mrs. Medlocks 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.
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.
Dr. Craven turned reproachfully to Mrs. Medlock.
Oh, sir, she panted. I dont know how its happened. Theres not a
servant on the place thatd dare to talkthey all have their orders.
Nobody told her anything, said Colin, she heard me crying and found
me herself. I am glad she came. Dont be silly, Medlock.
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.
I am afraid there has been too much excitement. Excitement is not good
for you, my boy, he said.
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.
Mrs. Medlock and Dr. Craven looked at each other in a troubled way, but
there was evidently nothing to be done.
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.
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.
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.
Colin looked fretful and kept his strange black-lashed eyes fixed on Dr.
Cravens face.
I want to forget it, he said at last. She makes me forget it. That
is why I want her.
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,
howeverand he sighed rather heavily as he went down the corridor.
They are always wanting me to eat things when I dont want to, said Colin,
as the nurse brought in the tea and put it on the table by the sofa. Now,
if youll eat I will. Those muffins look so nice and hot. Tell me about
Rajahs.
CHAPTER XV
NEST BUILDING
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.
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 theres
no saying its not been a sort of blessing to the lot of us. Hes 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 doesnt mind staying now youve gone on duty with her, laughing a
little. 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 trustedif
he really couldwouldnt it be possible to take him to the garden
without having any one 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.
Th air from th moor has done thee good already, she had said. Thart not nigh so yeller and thart not nigh so scrawny. Even tha
hair doesnt slamp down on tha head so flat. Its got some life in it
so as it sticks out a bit.
Its like me, said Mary. Its growing stronger and fatter. Im sure
theres more of it.
It looks it, for sure, said Martha, ruffling it up a little round her
face. Thart not half so ugly when its that way an theres a bit o
red in tha cheeks.
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.
Why does it make you angry when you are looked at? she inquired one
day.
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 shouldnt 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.
She thought you had gone mad like a dog, said Mary, not at all
admiringly.
I dont care what she thought, said Colin, frowning.
I wonder why you didnt scream and bite me when I came into your room? said Mary. Then she began to smile slowly.
I thought you were a ghost or a dream, he said. You cant bite a
ghost or a dream, and if you scream they dont care.
Would you hate it ifif a boy looked at you? Mary asked uncertainly.
He lay back on his cushion and paused thoughtfully.
Theres one boy, he said quite slowly, as if he were thinking over
every word, theres one boy I believe I shouldnt mind. Its that boy
who knows where the foxes liveDickon.
Im sure you wouldnt mind him, said Mary.
The birds dont and other animals, he said, still thinking it over, perhaps thats why I shouldnt. Hes a sort of animal charmer and I am
a boy animal.
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.
What Mary felt afterward was that she need not fear about Dickon.
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.
Its warmwarm! 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.
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 Dickons mother had said about the end of his nose quivering like
a rabbits.
It must be very early, she said. The little clouds are all pink and
Ive never seen the sky look like this. No one is up. I dont even hear
the stable boys.
A sudden thought made her scramble to her feet.
I cant wait! I am going to see the garden!
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 down-stairs 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 toward the secret garden.
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.
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.
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 cawcaw 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.
Mary flew across the grass to him.
Oh, Dickon! Dickon! she cried out. How could you get here so early!
How could you! The sun has only just got up!
He got up himself, laughing and glowing, and tousled; his eyes like a
bit of the sky.
Eh! he said. I was up long before him. How could I have stayed abed!
Th worlds all fair begun again this mornin, it has. An its workin
an hummin an scratchin an pipin an nest-buildin an breathin
out scents, till youve 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 couldnt have stayed away. Why, th
garden was lyin here waitin!
Mary put her hands on her chest, panting, as if she had been running
herself.
Oh, Dickon! Dickon! she said. Im so happy I can scarcely breathe!
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.
This is th little fox cub, he said, rubbing the little reddish
animals head. Its named Captain. An this heres 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.
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.
See here! said Dickon. See how these has pushed up, an these an
these! An Eh! look at these here!
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.
You never kiss a person in that way, she said when she lifted her
head. Flowers are so different.
He looked puzzled but smiled.
Eh! he said, Ive kissed mother many a time that way when I come in from
th moor after a days roamin an she stood there at th door
in th sun, lookin so glad an comfortable.
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 leaf-buds 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 Marys hair was as tumbled
as Dickons and her cheeks were almost as poppy red as his.
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.
We munnot stir, he whispered in broad Yorkshire. We munnot scarce breathe.
I knowed he was mate-huntin when I seed him last. Its Ben Weatherstaffs
robin. Hes buildin his nest. Hell stay here if us dont flight him.
They settled down softly upon the grass and sat there without moving.
Us mustnt seem as if us was watchin him too close, said Dickon. Hed be out with us for good if he got th notion us was interferin
now. Hell be a good bit different till all this is over. Hes settin
up housekeepin. Hell be shyer an readier to take things ill. Hes 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 hes got used to
seein us Ill chirp a bit an hell know usll not be in his way.
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.
Its part o th springtime, this nest-buildin is, he said. I warrant its
been goin on in th same way every year since th world was begun. Theyve
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 youre
too curious.
If we talk about him I cant help looking at him, Mary said as softly
as possible. We must talk of something else. There is something I want
to tell you.
Hell like it better if us talks o somethin else, said Dickon. What
is it thas got to tell me?
Welldo you know about Colin? she whispered.
He turned his head to look at her.
What does tha know about him? he asked.
Ive seen him. I have been to talk to him every day this week. He wants
me to come. He says Im making him forget about being ill and dying, answered Mary.
Dickon looked actually relieved as soon as the surprise died away from
his round face.
I am glad o that, he exclaimed. Im right down glad. It makes me
easier. I knowed I must say nothin about him an I dont like havin to
hide things.
Dont you like hiding the garden? said Mary.
Ill never tell about it, he answered. But I says to mother, Mother, I
says, I got a secret to keep. Its not a bad un, tha knows that. Its
no worse than hidin where a birds nest is. Tha doesnt mind it, does
tha?
Mary always wanted to hear about mother.
What did she say? she asked, not at all afraid to hear.
Dickon grinned sweet-temperedly.
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. Ive knowed thee twelve year.
How did you know about Colin? asked Mary.
Everybody as knowed about Mester Craven knowed there was a little lad
as was like to be a cripple, an they knowed Mester Craven didnt
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 doesnt 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
thad heard him frettin an tha was askin questions an she didnt know
what to say.
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.
Thems just like his mothers eyes, only hers was always laughin, they
say, he said. They say as Mr. Craven cant bear to see him when hes
awake an its because his eyes is so like his mothers an yet looks so
different in his miserable bit of a face.
Do you think he wants him to die? whispered Mary.
No, but he wishes hed never been born. Mother she says thats th
worst thing on earth for a child. Them as is not wanted scarce ever
thrives. Mester Craven hed buy anythin as money could buy for th poor
lad but hed like to forget as hes on earth. For one thing, hes afraid
hell look at him some day and find hes growed hunchback.
Colins so afraid of it himself that he wont sit up, said Mary. He says
hes always thinking that if he should feel a lump coming he should go
crazy and scream himself to death.
Eh! he oughtnt to lie there thinkin things like that, said Dickon. No lad could get well as thought them sort o things.
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.
When first we got in here, he said, it seemed like everything was
gray. Look round now and tell me if tha doesnt see a difference.
Mary looked and caught her breath a little.
Why! she cried, the gray wall is changing. It is as if a green mist
were creeping over it. Its almost like a green gauze veil.
Aye, said Dickon. An itll be greener and greener till th grays
all gone. Can tha guess what I was thinkin?
I know it was something nice, said Mary eagerly. I believe it was
something about Colin.
I was thinkin that if he was out here he wouldnt be watchin for lumps to
grow on his back; hed be watchin for buds to break on th rose-bushes,
an hed 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.
Ive been wondering that myself. Ive thought of it almost every time
Ive talked to him, said Mary. Ive wondered if he could keep a secret
and Ive wondered if we could bring him here without any one 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 wont 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 wouldnt find out.
Dickon was thinking very hard as he scratched Captains back.
Itd be good for him, Ill warrant, he said. Usd not be thinkin
hed better never been born. Usd be just two children watchin a garden
grow, an hed be another. Two lads an a little lass just lookin on at
th springtime. I warrant itd be better than doctors stuff.
Hes been lying in his room so long and hes 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 doesnt 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 darent tell him much but he said he wanted to see it.
Usll 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 weve been sittin here? Look at him perched on
that branch wonderin where itd be best to put that twig hes got in
his beak.
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 Dickons tone was one of friendly advice.
Wheresever tha puts it, he said, itll be all right. Tha knew how
to build tha nest before tha came out o th egg. Get on with thee,
lad. Thast got no time to lose.
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.
Dickon laughed too and went on talking.
Tha knows us wont trouble thee, he said to the robin. Us is near
bein wild things ourselves. Us is nest-buildin too, bless thee. Look
out tha doesnt tell on us.
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.
CHAPTER XVI
I WONT! SAID MARY
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.
Tell Colin that I cant come and see him yet, she said to Martha. Im
very busy in the garden.
Martha looked rather frightened.
Eh! Miss Mary, she said, it may put him all out of humor when I tell
him that.
But Mary was not as afraid of him as other people were and she was not a
self-sacrificing person.
I cant stay, she answered. Dickons waiting for me; and she ran
away.
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 gardeners garden it would be a wilderness of growing things before
the springtime was over.
Therell be apple blossoms an cherry blossoms overhead, Dickon said,
working away with all his might. An therell be peach an plum trees
in bloom against th walls, an th grassll be a carpet o flowers.
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.
Thas a good bit stronger than tha was, Dickon said, looking at her as she
was digging. Thas beginning to look different, for sure.
Mary was glowing with exercise and good spirits.
Im 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 isnt so flat and stringy.
The sun was beginning to set and sending deep gold-colored rays slanting
under the trees when they parted.
Itll be fine to-morrow, said Dickon. Ill be at work by sunrise.
So will I, said Mary.
She ran back to the house as quickly as her feet would carry her. She
wanted to tell Colin about Dickons 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.
What is the matter? she asked. What did Colin say when you told him I
couldnt come?
Eh! said Martha, I wish thad gone. He was nigh goin into one o his tantrums.
Theres been a nice to do all afternoon to keep him quiet. He would watch
the clock all th time.
Marys 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.
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.
Why didnt you get up? she said.
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 didnt you come?
I was working in the garden with Dickon, said Mary.
Colin frowned and condescended to look at her.
I wont let that boy come here if you go and stay with him instead of
coming to talk to me, he said.
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.
If you send Dickon away, Ill never come into this room again! she
retorted.
Youll have to if I want you, said Colin.
I wont! said Mary.
Ill make you, said Colin, They shall drag you in.
Shall they, Mr. Rajah! said Mary fiercely. They may drag me in but
they cant make me talk when they get me here. Ill sit and clench my
teeth and never tell you one thing. I wont even look at you. Ill stare
at the floor!
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.
You are a selfish thing! cried Colin.
What are you? said Mary. Selfish people always say that. Any one is selfish
who doesnt do what they want. Youre more selfish than I am. Youre the
most selfish boy I ever saw.
Im not! snapped Colin. Im not as selfish as your fine Dickon is! He
keeps you playing in the dirt when he knows I am all by myself. Hes
selfish, if you like!
Marys eyes flashed fire.
Hes nicer than any other boy that ever lived! she said. Heshes
like an angel! It might sound rather silly to say that but she did not
care.
A nice angel! Colin sneered ferociously. Hes a common cottage boy
off the moor!
Hes better than a common Rajah! retorted Mary. Hes a thousand times
better!
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 any one
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
himselfnot for any one else.
Im not as selfish as you, because Im always ill, and Im sure there is a
lump coming on my back, he said. And I am going to die besides.
Youre not! contradicted Mary unsympathetically.
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 the same time.
Im not? he cried. I am! You know I am! Everybody says so.
I dont believe it! said Mary sourly. You just say that to make
people sorry. I believe youre proud of it. I dont believe it! If you
were a nice boy it might be truebut youre too nasty!
In spite of his invalid back Colin sat up in bed in quite a healthy
rage.
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 Marys face looked as pinched as a nutcracker.
Im going, she said. And I wont come back!
She walked to the door and when she reached it she turned round and
spoke again.
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 wont tell you a single thing!
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 stillshe 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 any one 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.
What are you laughing at? she asked her.
At you two young ones, said the nurse. Its the best thing that could
happen to the sickly pampered thing to have some one to stand up to him
thats as spoiled as himself; and she laughed into her handkerchief
again. If hed had a young vixen of a sister to fight with it would
have been the saving of him.
Is he going to die?
I dont know and I dont care, said the nurse. Hysterics and temper
are half what ails him.
What are hysterics? asked Mary.
Youll find out if you work him into a tantrum after thisbut at any
rate youve given him something to have hysterics about, and Im
glad of it.
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.
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.
Mr. Craven sent it to you, said Martha. It looks as if it had
picture-books in it.
Mary remembered what he had asked her the day she had gone to his room. Do
you want anythingdollstoysbooks? 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.
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.
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.
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
fathers back had begun to show its crookedness in that way when he was
a child. He had never told any one 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.
He always began to think about it when he was cross or tired, she said
to herself. And he has been cross to-day. Perhapsperhaps he has been
thinking about it all afternoon.
She stood still, looking down at the carpet and thinking.
I said I would never go back again she hesitated, knitting her brows but
perhaps, just perhaps, I will go and seeif he wants mein
the morning. Perhaps hell try to throw his pillow at me again, butI
thinkIll go.
CHAPTER XVII
A TANTRUM
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:
Ill go out before breakfast and work with Dickon and then afterwardI
believeIll go to see him.
She thought it was the middle of the night when she was wakened by such
dreadful sounds that she jumped out of bed in an instant. What was
itwhat 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
some one was crying and screaming at the same time, screaming and crying
in a horrible way.
Its Colin, she said. Hes having one of those tantrums the nurse
called hysterics. How awful it sounds.
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.
I dont know what to do. I dont know what to do, she kept saying. I
cant bear it.
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 any ones tempers but her own. She took her hands from her ears
and sprang up and stamped her foot.
He ought to be stopped! Somebody ought to make him stop! Somebody ought
to beat him! she cried out.
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.
Hes worked himself into hysterics, she said in a great hurry. Hell
do himself harm. No one can do anything with him. You come and try, like
a good child. He likes you.
He turned me out of the room this morning, said Mary, stamping her
foot with excitement.
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.
Thats right, she said. Youre 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.
It was not until afterward that Mary realized that the thing had been
funny as well as dreadfulthat 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.
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.
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 will scream yourself to death in a minute, and I
wish you would!
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.
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.
If you scream another scream, she said, Ill scream tooand I can
scream louder than you can and Ill frighten you, Ill frighten you!
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.
I cant stop! he gasped and sobbed. I cantI cant!
You can! shouted Mary. Half that ails you is hysterics and
temperjust hystericshystericshysterics! and she stamped each time
she said it.
I felt the lumpI 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 didnt scream.
You didnt feel a lump! contradicted Mary fiercely. If you did it was
only a hysterical lump. Hysterics makes lumps. Theres nothing the
matter with your horrid backnothing but hysterics! Turn over and let
me look at it!
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.
Nurse, she commanded, come here and show me his back this minute!
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.
Perhaps hehe wont let me, she hesitated in a low voice.
Colin heard her, however, and he gasped out between two sobs:
Shshow her! Sheshell see then!
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 minutes
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.
Theres not a single lump there! she said at last. Theres not a lump
as big as a pinexcept backbone lumps, and you can only feel them
because youre thin. Ive 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. Theres not a lump as big as a pin! If you
ever say there is again, I shall laugh!
No one but Colin himself knew what effect those crossly spoken childish words
had on him. If he had ever had any one to talk to about his secret terrorsif
he had ever dared to let himself ask questionsif 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.
I didnt know, ventured the nurse, that he thought he had a lump on
his spine. His back is weak because he wont 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.
C-could you? he said pathetically.
Yes, sir.
There! said Mary, and she gulped too.
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.
Do you thinkI couldlive to grow up? he said.
The nurse was neither clever nor soft-hearted but she could repeat some
of the London doctors words.
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.
Colins 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 tantrum having passed, she was
softened too and met him half-way with her hand, so that it was a sort
of making up.
IllIll go out with you, Mary, he said. I shant 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.
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 Colins hand.
You must go back and get your sleep out, she said. Hell drop off
after a whileif hes not too upset. Then Ill lie down myself in the
next room.
Would you like me to sing you that song I learned from my Ayah? Mary
whispered to Colin.
His hand pulled hers gently and he turned his tired eyes on her
appealingly.
Oh, yes! he answered. Its such a soft song. I shall go to sleep in a
minute.
I will put him to sleep, Mary said to the yawning nurse. You can go
if you like.
Well, said the nurse, with an attempt at reluctance. If he doesnt go
to sleep in half an hour you must call me.
Very well, answered Mary.
The nurse was out of the room in a minute and as soon as she was gone
Colin pulled Marys hand again.
I almost told, he said; but I stopped myself in time. I wont talk
and Ill go to sleep, but you said you had a whole lot of nice things to
tell me. Have youdo you think you have found out anything at all about
the way into the secret garden?
Mary looked at his poor little tired face and swollen eyes and her heart relented.
Ye-es, she answered, I think I have. And if you will go to sleep I
will tell you to-morrow.
His hand quite trembled.
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
songyou 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.
Yes, answered Mary. Shut your eyes.
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.
I think it has been left alone so longthat 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
groundalmost like a strange gray mist. Some of them have died but
manyare 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 begunperhapsperhaps
The soft drone of her voice was making him stiller and stiller and she
saw it and went on.
Perhaps they are coming up through the grassperhaps there are clusters
of purple crocuses and gold oneseven now. Perhaps the leaves are
beginning to break out and uncurland perhapsthe gray is
changing and a green gauze veil is creepingand creeping overeverything.
And the birds are coming to look at itbecause it isso safe
and still. And perhapsperhapsperhaps very softly
and slowly indeed, the robin has found a mateand is building a
nest. And Colin was asleep.
CHAPTER XVIII
THA MUNNOT WASTE NO TIME
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.
He says he wishes tha would please go and see him as soon as tha can, Martha
said. Its queer what a fancy hes took to thee. Tha did give it him
last night for suredidnt tha? Nobody else would have dared to
do it. Eh! poor lad! Hes been spoiled till salt wont save him. Mother
says as th two worst things as can happen to a child is never to have
his own wayor always to have it. She doesnt know which is th
worst. Tha was in a fine temper thaself, too. But he says to me when
I went into his room, Please ask Miss Mary if shell please come an
talk to me? Think o him saying please! Will you go, Miss?
Ill run and see Dickon first, said Mary. No, Ill go and see Colin
first and tell himI know what Ill tell him, with a sudden
inspiration.
She had her hat on when she appeared in Colins room and for a second he
looked disappointed. He was in bed and his face was pitifully white and
there were dark circles round his eyes.
Im glad you came, he said. My head aches and I ache all over because
Im so tired. Are you going somewhere?
Mary went and leaned against his bed.
I wont be long, she said. Im going to Dickon, but Ill come back.
Colin, itsits something about the secret garden.
His whole face brightened and a little color came into it.
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 leavesand
there were birds on nests everywhere and they looked so soft and still.
Ill lie and think about it until you come back.
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.
I came over on the pony this mornin, he said. Eh! he is a good
little chapJump is! I brought these two in my pockets. This here one
hes called Nut an this here other ones called Shell.
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.
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
Dickons 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.
Just listen to them birdsth world seems full of emall 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 worlds callin.
The leaves is uncurlin so you can see eman, 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 herewe
mun get him watchin an listeninan sniffin up th air an get him
just soaked through wi sunshine. An we munnot lose no time about it.
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.
Aye, that we mun, she said (which meant Yes, indeed, we must ). Ill
tell thee what usll 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. Hes 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 Ill ax him if tha canna come an see
him to-morrow morninan bring tha creatures wi theean thenin a
bit, when theres more leaves out, an happen a bud or two, well get
him to come out an tha shall push him in his chair an well bring him
here an show him everything.
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.
Tha mun talk a bit o Yorkshire like that to Mester Colin, Dickon chuckled. Thall make him laugh an theres nowt as good for ill folk as laughin
is. Mother says she believes as half a hours good laugh every mornin ud cure a chap as was makin ready for typhus fever.
Im going to talk Yorkshire to him this very day, said Mary, chuckling
herself.
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 Colins bed he began to sniff as Dickon
did though not in such an experienced way.
You smell like flowers andand fresh things, he cried out quite
joyously. What is it you smell of? Its cool and warm and sweet all at
the same time.
Its 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. Its th springtime an out o doors an sunshine as smells so
graidely.
She said it as broadly as she could, and you do not know how broadly Yorkshire
sounds until you have heard some one speak it. Colin began to laugh.
What are you doing? he said. I never heard you talk like that before.
How funny it sounds.
Im 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. Doesnt tha understand a bit o Yorkshire when tha hears
it? An tha a Yorkshire lad thysel bred an born! Eh! I wonder thart
not ashamed o thy face.
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.
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!
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.
Does he really understand everything Dickon says? Colin asked.
It seems as if he does, answered Mary. Dickon says anything will
understand if youre friends with it for sure, but you have to be
friends for sure.
Colin lay quiet a little while and his strange gray eyes seemed to be
staring at the wall, but Mary saw he was thinking.
I wish I was friends with things, he said at last, but Im not. I
never had anything to be friends with, and I cant bear people.
Cant you bear me? asked Mary.
Yes, I can, he answered. Its very funny but I even like you.
Ben Weatherstaff said I was like him, said Mary. He said hed warrant
wed both got the same nasty tempers. I think you are like him too. We
are all three alikeyou 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
dont feel as sour as I used to before I knew the robin and Dickon.
Did you feel as if you hated people?
Yes, answered Mary without any affectation. I should have detested
you if I had seen you before I saw the robin and Dickon.
Colin put out his thin hand and touched her.
Mary, he said, I wish I hadnt said what I did about sending Dickon
away. I hated you when you said he was like an angel and I laughed at
you butbut perhaps he is.
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, butbut if an angel
did come to Yorkshire and live on the moorif there was a Yorkshire
angelI believe hed 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 theyd know he was friends for sure.
I shouldnt mind Dickon looking at me, said Colin; I want to see him.
Im glad you said that, answered Mary, becausebecause
Quite suddenly it came into her mind that this was the minute to tell
him. Colin knew something new was coming.
Because what? he cried eagerly.
Mary was so anxious that she got up from her stool and came to him and
caught hold of both his hands.
Can I trust you? I trusted Dickon because birds trusted him. Can I
trust youfor surefor sure? she implored.
Her face was so solemn that he almost whispered his answer.
Yesyes!
Well, Dickon will come to see you to-morrow morning, and hell bring
his creatures with him.
Oh! Oh! Colin cried out in delight.
But thats 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.
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.
Oh! Mary! he cried out with a half sob. Shall I see it? Shall I get into
it? Shall I live to get into it? and he clutched her hands and
dragged her toward him.
Of course youll see it! snapped Mary indignantly. Of course youll
live to get into it! Dont be silly!
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
Colins aches and tiredness were forgotten and he was listening
enraptured.
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.
Mary hesitated about two minutes and then boldly spoke the truth.
I had seen itand I had been in, she said. I found the key and got
in weeks ago. But I darent tell youI darent because I was so
afraid I couldnt trust youfor sure!
CHAPTER XIX
IT HAS COME!
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.
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.
Well, sir, answered Mrs. Medlock, youll scarcely believe your eyes when
you see him. That plain sour-faced child thats almost as bad as himself
has just bewitched him. How shes done it theres no telling. The Lord
knows shes 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 afternoonwell
just come up and see, sir. Its past crediting.
The scene which Dr. Craven beheld when he entered his patients 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.
Those long spires of blue oneswell have a lot of those, Colin was
announcing. Theyre called Del-phin-iums.
Dickon says theyre larkspurs made big and grand, cried Mistress Mary. There are clumps there already.
Then they saw Dr. Craven and stopped. Mary became quite still and Colin
looked fretful.
I am sorry to hear you were ill last night, my boy, Dr. Craven said a
trifle nervously. He was rather a nervous man.
Im better nowmuch better, Colin answered, rather like a Rajah. Im
going out in my chair in a day or two if it is fine. I want some fresh
air.
Dr. Craven sat down by him and felt his pulse and looked at him
curiously.
It must be a very fine day, he said, and you must be very careful not
to tire yourself.
Fresh air wont tire me, said the young Rajah.
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.
I thought you did not like fresh air, he said.
I dont when I am by myself, replied the Rajah; but my cousin is
going out with me.
And the nurse, of course? suggested Dr. Craven.
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.
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.
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.
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?
Its 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. Cravens serious face relaxed into a relieved smile.
Oh, Dickon, he said. If it is Dickon you will be safe enough. Hes as
strong as a moor pony, is Dickon.
And hes trusty, said Mary. Hes th trustiest lad i Yorkshire. She
had been talking Yorkshire to Colin and she forgot herself.
Did Dickon teach you that? asked Dr. Craven, laughing outright.
Im learning it as if it was French, said Mary rather coldly. Its like
a native dialect in India. Very clever people try to learn them.
I like it and so does Colin.
Well, well, he said. If it amuses you perhaps it wont do you any
harm. Did you take your bromide last night, Colin?
No, Colin answered. I wouldnt take it at first and after Mary made
me quiet she talked me to sleepin a low voiceabout the spring
creeping into a garden.
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
I dont 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.
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 down-stairs he looked
very thoughtful and when he talked to Mrs. Medlock in the library she
felt that he was a much puzzled man.
Well, sir, she ventured, could you have believed it?
It is certainly a new state of affairs, said the doctor. And theres
no denying it is better than the old one.
I believe Susan Sowerbys rightI 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 maynt be a
good child, an she maynt be a pretty one, but shes a child, an
children needs children. We went to school together, Susan Sowerby and
me.
Shes 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.
Mrs. Medlock smiled. She was fond of Susan Sowerby.
Shes got a way with her, has Susan, she went on quite volubly. Ive
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 theyd been fightin
I ses to em all, When I was at school my jography told as thworld was
shaped like a orange an I found out before I was ten that th whole orange
doesnt belong to nobody. No one owns more than his bit of a quarter an
theres times it seems like theres not enow quarters to go round. But
dont younone o youthink as you own th whole orange or
youll find out youre mistaken, an you wont find it out without hard
knocks. What children learns from children, she says, is that theres
no sense in grabbin at th whole orangepeel an all. If you do
youll likely not get even th pips, an thems too bitter to eat.
Shes a shrewd woman, said Dr. Craven, putting on his coat.
Well, shes got a way of saying things, ended Mrs. Medlock, much
pleased. Sometimes Ive said to her, Eh! Susan, if you was a different
woman an didnt talk such broad Yorkshire Ive seen the times when I
should have said you was clever.
That night Colin slept without once awakening and when he opened his eyes in
the morning he lay still and smiled without knowing itsmiled 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.
Youve been out! Youve been out! Theres that nice smell of leaves! he cried.
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.
Its so beautiful! she said, a little breathless with her speed. You
never saw anything so beautiful! It has come! 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!
Has it? cried Colin, and though he really knew nothing about it he felt his
heart beat. He actually sat up in bed.
Open the window! he added, laughing half with joyful excitement and
half at his own fancy. Perhaps we may hear golden trumpets!
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.
Thats fresh air, she said. Lie on your back and draw in long breaths
of it. Thats what Dickon does when hes 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.
She was only repeating what Dickon had told her, but she caught Colins
fancy.
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.
Mary was at his bedside again.
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.
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 lamba lamb! A living lamb who lay
on your lap like a baby!
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.
Are you sure you are not chilly, Master Colin? she inquired.
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 and my
cousin will have breakfast with me.
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
invalids chamber and just now everybody wanted to hear the news from
up-stairs. 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.
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.
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 up-stairs 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.
The nurse gave a slight gasp and tried to conceal it with a cough.
Yes, sir, she answered.
Ill tell you what you can do, added Colin, waving his hand. You can
tell Martha to bring them here. The boy is Marthas brother. His name is
Dickon and he is an animal charmer.
I hope the animals wont bite, Master Colin, said the nurse.
I told you he was a charmer, said Colin austerely. Charmers animals
never bite.
There are snake-charmers in India, said Mary; and they can put their
snakes heads in their mouths.
Goodness! shuddered the nurse.
They ate their breakfast with the morning air pouring in upon them.
Colins breakfast was a very good one and Mary watched him with serious
interest.
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.
I wanted mine this morning, said Colin. Perhaps it was the fresh air.
When do you think Dickon will come?
He was not long in coming. In about ten minutes Mary held up her hand.
Listen! she said. Did you hear a caw?
Colin listened and heard it, the oddest sound in the world to hear
inside a house, a hoarse caw-caw.
Yes, he answered.
Thats Soot, said Mary. Listen again! Do you hear a bleata tiny
one?
Oh, yes! cried Colin, quite flushing.
Thats the new-born lamb, said Mary. Hes coming.
Dickons 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 marchingmarching, until he passed
through the tapestry door on to the soft carpet of Colins own passage.
If you please, sir, announced Martha, opening the door, if you
please, sir, heres Dickon an his creatures.
DICKON CAME IN SMILING
HIS NICEST WIDE SMILE.
|
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 Shells head and paws peeped out of
his coat pocket.
Colin slowly sat up and stared and staredas 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.
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
Colins 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.
What is it doing? cried Colin. What does it want?
It wants its mother, said Dickon, smiling more and more. I brought it
to thee a bit hungry because I knowed thad like to see it feed.
He knelt down by the sofa and took a feeding-bottle from his pocket.
Come on, little un, he said, turning the small woolly white head with a
gentle brown hand. This is what thas after. Thall 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.
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.
Id almost lost him but for his song an I was wonderin how a chap
could hear it when it seemed as if hed get out o th world in a
minutean 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 wouldnt be hungry if it hadnt 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.
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.
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.
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 its a snapdragon and they both grow wild in hedges, but these is
garden ones an theyre bigger an grander. Theres some big clumps o
columbine in th garden. Theyll look like a bed o blue an white
butterflies flutterin when theyre out.
Im going to see them, cried Colin. I am going to see them!
Aye, that tha mun, said Mary quite seriously. An tha munnot lose no time
about it.
CHAPTER XX
I SHALL LIVE FOREVERAND EVERAND EVER!
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.
Theyre 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. 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.
Rumors of the new and curious things which were occurring in the
invalids 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
Colins 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.
Well, well, he said to himself as he hurriedly changed his coat, whats to do now? His Royal Highness that wasnt to be looked at
calling up a man hes never set eyes on.
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.
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.
Lets hope theyre changing for the better, Mrs. Medlock, he answered.
They couldnt well change for the worse, she continued; and queer as
it all is theres them as finds their duties made a lot easier to stand
up under. Dont you be surprised, Mr. Roach, if you find yourself in the
middle of a menagerie and Martha Sowerbys Dickon more at home than you
or me could ever be.
There really was a sort of Magic about Dickon, as Mary always privately
believed. When Mr. Roach heard his name he smiled quite leniently.
Hed be at home in Buckingham Palace or at the bottom of a coal mine, he said. And yet its not impudence, either. Hes just fine, is that
lad.
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 CawCaw quite loudly. In spite of Mrs.
Medlocks warning, Mr. Roach only just escaped being sufficiently
undignified to jump backward.
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 Dickons bent back attentively nibbling a nut. The little girl
from India was sitting on a big footstool looking on.
Here is Mr. Roach, Master Colin, said Mrs. Medlock.
The young Rajah turned and looked his servitor overat least that was
what the head gardener felt happened.
Oh, you are Roach, are you? he said. I sent for you to give you some
very important orders.
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.
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 oclock and every one must
keep away until I send word that they may go back to their work.
Very good, sir, replied Mr. Roach, much relieved to hear that the oaks might
remain and that the orchards were safe.
Mary, said Colin, turning to her, what is that thing you say in India
when you have finished talking and want people to go?
You say, You have my permission to go, answered Mary.
The Rajah waved his hand.
You have my permission to go, Roach, he said. But, remember, this is
very important.
CawCaw! remarked the crow hoarsely but not impolitely.
Very good, sir. Thank you, sir, said Mr. Roach, and Mrs. Medlock took
him out of the room.
Outside in the corridor, being a rather good-natured man, he smiled
until he almost laughed.
My word! he said, hes got a fine lordly way with him, hasnt he?
Youd think he was a whole Royal Family rolled into onePrince Consort
and all.
Eh! protested Mrs. Medlock, weve had to let him trample all over
every one of us ever since he had feet and he thinks thats what folks
was born for.
Perhaps hell grow out of it, if he lives, suggested Mr. Roach.
Well, theres one thing pretty sure, said Mrs. Medlock. If he does live
and that Indian child stays here Ill warrant she teaches him that the
whole orange does not belong to him, as Susan Sowerby says. And hell
be likely to find out the size of his own quarter.
Inside the room Colin was leaning back on his cushions.
Its all safe now, he said. And this afternoon I shall see itthis
afternoon I shall be in it!
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.
What big eyes youve got, Colin, she said. When you are thinking they
get as big as saucers. What are you thinking about now?
I cant help thinking about what it will look like, he answered.
The garden? asked Mary.
The springtime, he said. I was thinking that Ive really never seen
it before. I scarcely ever went out and when I did go I never looked at
it. I didnt even think about it.
I never saw it in India because there wasnt any, said Mary.
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.
That morning when you ran in and said Its come! Its 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. Ive a picture like it in
one of my bookscrowds of lovely people and children with garlands and
branches with blossoms on them, every one 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.
How funny! said Mary. Thats 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! Im sure theyd dance and
sing and flute and that would be the wafts of music.
They both laughed but it was not because the idea was laughable but
because they both so liked it.
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.
This is one of his good days, sir, she said to Dr. Craven, who dropped
in to inspect him. Hes in such good spirits that it makes him stronger.
Ill 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.
Id rather give up the case this moment, sir, than even stay here while
its suggested, answered the nurse with sudden firmness.
I hadnt really decided to suggest it, said the doctor, with his
slight nervousness. Well try the experiment. Dickons a lad Id trust
with a new-born child.
The strongest footman in the house carried Colin down-stairs 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.
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.
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 listeninglistening,
instead of his ears.
There are so many sounds of singing and humming and calling out, he
said. What is that scent the puffs of wind bring?
Its gorse on th moor thats openin out, answered Dickon. Eh! th
bees are at it wonderful to-day.
Not a human creature was to be caught sight of in the paths they took.
In fact every gardener or gardeners 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.
This is it, breathed Mary. This is where I used to walk up and down and
wonder and wonder.
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.
Thats what I thought, said Mary.
Then there was a lovely breathless silence and the chair wheeled on.
That is the garden where Ben Weatherstaff works, said Mary.
Is it? said Colin.
A few yards more and Mary whispered again.
This is where the robin flew over the wall, she said.
Is it? cried Colin. Oh! I wish hed come again!
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.
Then Colin sat up.
Where? Where? There? he cried, and his eyes were as big as the wolfs
in Red Riding-Hood, when Red Riding-Hood felt called upon to remark on
them. Dickon stood still and the wheeled chair stopped.
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.
Oh! is itis it! gasped Colin.
And here is the handle, and here is the door. Dickon push him inpush
him in quickly!
And Dickon did it with one strong, steady, splendid push.
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 himivory
face and neck and hands and all. 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!
CHAPTER XXI
BEN WEATHERSTAFF
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 ones 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 ones
heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of
the sunwhich 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 some ones eyes.
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.
Eh! it is graidely, he said. Im twelve goin on thirteen an theres
a lot o afternoons in thirteen years, but seems to me like I never seed
one as graidely as this ere.
Aye, it is a graidely one, said Mary, and she sighed for mere joy. Ill warrant its th graidelest one as ever was in this world.
Does tha think, said Colin with dreamy carefulness, as happen it was
made loike this ere all o purpose for me?
My word! cried Mary admiringly, that there is a bit o good
Yorkshire. Thart shapin first-ratethat tha art.
And delight reigned.
They drew the chair under the plum-tree, which was snow-white with
blossoms and musical with bees. It was like a kings canopy, a fairy
kings. 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.
Mary and Dickon worked a little here and there and Colin watched them.
They brought him things to look atbuds 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.
I wonder if we shall see the robin? said Colin.
Thall see him often enow after a bit, answered Dickon. When th eggs hatches
out th little chap hell be kep so busy itll make his head swim. Thall
see him flyin backward an forard 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 shes seen th little chaps
when it seemed like th sweat must be droppin off em, though folk cant
see it.
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.
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.
Thats a very old tree over there, isnt it? he said.
Dickon looked across the grass at the tree and Mary looked and there was
a brief moment of stillness.
Yes, answered Dickon, after it, and his low voice had a very gentle
sound.
Mary gazed at the tree and thought.
The branches are quite gray and theres not a single leaf anywhere, Colin went on. Its quite dead, isnt it?
Aye, admitted Dickon. But them roses as has climbed all over it will
near hide every bit o th dead wood when theyre full o leaves an
flowers. It wont look dead then. Itll be th prettiest of all.
Mary still gazed at the tree and thought.
It looks as if a big branch had been broken off, said Colin. I wonder
how it was done.
Its 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! Hes been foragin for his mate.
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.
Hes taking her tea to her. Perhaps its five oclock. I think Id like
some tea myself.
And so they were safe.
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.
We mun look as if it wasnt no different from th other trees, he had
said. We couldnt never tell him how it broke, poor lad. If he says
anything about it we munwe mun try to look cheerful.
Aye, that we mun, had answered Mary.
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.
Mrs. Craven was a very lovely young lady, he had gone on rather hesitatingly. An mother she thinks maybe shes about Misselthwaite many a time lookin
after Mester Colin, same as all mothers do when theyre took out o th
world. They have to come back, tha sees. Happen shes been in the garden
an happen it was her set us to work, an told us to bring him here.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The afternoon was dragging toward 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 re-packed 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.
I dont want this afternoon to go, he said; but I shall come back
to-morrow, and the day after, and the day after, and the day after.
Youll get plenty of fresh air, wont you? said Mary.
Im going to get nothing else, he answered. Ive seen the spring now
and Im going to see the summer. Im going to see everything grow here.
Im going to grow here myself.
That tha will, said Dickon. Usll have thee walkin about here an
diggin same as other folk afore long.
Colin flushed tremendously.
Walk! he said. Dig! Shall I?
Dickons glance at him was delicately cautious. Neither he nor Mary had
ever asked if anything was the matter with his legs.
For sure tha will, he said stoutly. Thathas got legs o thine
own, same as other folks!
Mary was rather frightened until she heard Colins answer.
Nothing really ails them, he said, but they are so thin and weak.
They shake so that Im afraid to try to stand on them.
Both Mary and Dickon drew a relieved breath.
When tha stops bein afraid thalt stand on em, Dickon said with
renewed cheer. An thalt stop bein afraid in a bit.
I shall? said Colin, and he lay still as if he were wondering about
things.
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.
In the midst of this stillness it was rather startling when Colin half
lifted his head and exclaimed in a loud suddenly alarmed whisper:
Who is that man?
Dickon and Mary scrambled to their feet.
Man! they both cried in low quick voices.
Colin pointed to the high wall.
Look! he whispered excitedly. Just look!
Mary and Dickon wheeled about and looked. There was Ben Weatherstaffs
indignant face glaring at them over the wall from the top of a ladder!
He actually shook his fist at Mary.
If I wasnt a bachelder, an tha was a wench o mine, he cried, Id
give thee a hidin!
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.
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
robinDrat him
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!
Then it did seem as if Ben really would scramble down on her side of the
wall, he was so outraged.
Tha young bad un! he called down at her. Layin tha badness on a
robin,not but what hes 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?
It was the robin who showed me the way, she protested obstinately. He
didnt know he was doing it but he did. And I cant tell you from here
while youre shaking your fist at me.
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.
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.
Wheel me over there! he commanded. Wheel me quite close and stop
right in front of him!
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 Weatherstaffs nose. It was really no
wonder his mouth dropped open.
Do you know who I am? demanded the Rajah.
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.
Do you know who I am? demanded Colin still more imperiously. Answer!
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.
Who tha art? he said. Aye, that I dowi tha mothers eyes starin
at me out o tha face. Lord knows how tha come here. But thart th
poor cripple.
Colin forgot that he had ever had a back. His face flushed scarlet and
he sat bolt upright.
Im not a cripple! he cried out furiously. Im not!
Hes not! cried Mary, almost shouting up the wall in her fierce
indignation. Hes not got a lump as big as a pin! I looked and there
was none therenot one!
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.
Thatha hasnt got a crooked back? he said hoarsely.
No! shouted Colin.
Thatha hasnt got crooked legs? quavered Ben more hoarsely
yet.
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 legseven in whispersand the perfectly simple
belief in their existence which was revealed by Ben Weatherstaffs 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.
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!
Dickon was by his side in a second. Mary caught her breath in a short
gasp and felt herself turn pale.
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.
There was a brief fierce scramble, the rugs were tossed on to the ground, Dickon
held Colins arm, the thin legs were out, the thin feet were on the grass.
Colin was standing uprightuprightas straight as an arrow
and looking strangely tallhis head thrown back and his strange
eyes flashing lightning.
Look at me! he flung up at Ben Weatherstaff. Just look at meyou!
Just look at me!
Hes as straight as I am! cried Dickon. Hes as straight as any lad
i Yorkshire!
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.
Eh! he burst forth, th lies folk tells! Thart as thin as a lath an
as white as a wraith, but theres not a knob on thee. Thalt make a mon
yet. God bless thee!
Dickon held Colins arm strongly but the boy had not begun to falter. He
stood straighter and straighter and looked Ben Weatherstaff in the face.
Im your master, he said, when my father is away. And you are to obey
me. This is my garden. Dont 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!
Ben Weatherstaffs 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.
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.
CHAPTER XXII
WHEN THE SUN WENT DOWN
When his head was out of sight Colin turned to Mary.
Go and meet him, he said; and Mary flew across the grass to the door
under the ivy.
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.
I can stand, he said, and his head was still held up and he said it
quite grandly.
I told thee tha could as soon as tha stopped bein afraid, answered
Dickon. An thas stopped.
Yes, Ive stopped, said Colin.
Then suddenly he remembered something Mary had said.
Are you making Magic? he asked sharply.
Dickons curly mouth spread in a cheerful grin.
Thas doin Magic thysel, he said. Its 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.
Colin looked down at them.
Aye, he said slowly, there couldna be bigger Magic then that
therethere couldna be.
He drew himself up straighter than ever.
Im going to walk to that tree, he said, pointing to one a few feet
away from him. Im 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.
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.
When Ben Weatherstaff came through the door in the wall he saw him
standing there and he heard Mary muttering something under her breath.
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.
But she did not tell him. What she was saying was this:
You can do it! You can do it! I told you you could! You can do it! You can
do it! You can!
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.
Look at me! he commanded. Look at me all over! Am I a hunchback? Have
I got crooked legs?
Ben Weatherstaff had not quite got over his emotion, but he had
recovered a little and answered almost in his usual way.
Not tha, he said. Nowt o th sort. Whats tha been doin with
thysel? hidin out o sight an lettin folk think tha was cripple
an half-witted?
Half-witted! said Colin angrily. Who thought that?
Lots o fools, said Ben. Th worlds full o jackasses brayin an
they never bray nowt but lies. What did tha shut thysel up for?
Every one thought I was going to die, said Colin shortly. Im not!
And he said it with such decision Ben Weatherstaff looked him over, up
and down, down and up.
Tha die! he said with dry exultation. Nowt o
th sort! Thas 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.
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 wellgetting well. The garden
was doing it. No one must let him remember about having humps and dying.
The Rajah condescended to seat himself on a rug under the tree.
What work do you do in the gardens, Weatherstaff? he inquired.
Anythin Im told to do, answered old Ben. Im kep on by
favorbecause she liked me.
She? said Colin.
Tha mother, answered Ben Weatherstaff.
My mother? said Colin, and he looked about him quietly. This was her
garden, wasnt it?
Aye, it was that! and Ben Weatherstaff looked about him too. She were
main fond of it.
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 helpbut you must come when no
one can see you.
Ben Weatherstaffs face twisted itself in a dry old smile.
Ive come here before when no one saw me, he said.
What! exclaimed Colin. When?
Th last time I was here, rubbing his chin and looking round, was
about two year ago.
But no one has been in it for ten years! cried Colin. There was no
door!
Im no one, said old Ben dryly. An I didnt come through th door. I
come over th wall. Th rheumatics held me back th last two year.
Tha come an did a bit o prunin! cried Dickon. I couldnt make out
how it had been done.
She was so fond of itshe was! said Ben Weatherstaff slowly. An she
was such a pretty young thing. She says to me once, Ben, says she laughin, if ever Im 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 comeuntil th rheumatics
stopped mean I did a bit o work once a year. Shed gave her order
first.
It wouldnt have been as wick as it is if tha hadnt done it, said
Dickon. I did wonder.
Im glad you did it, Weatherstaff, said Colin. Youll know how to
keep the secret.
Aye, Ill know, sir, answered Ben. An itll be easier for a man wi
rheumatics to come in at th door.
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 himMary with quite breathless interesthe
drove the end of the trowel into the soil and turned some over.
You can do it! You can do it! said Mary to herself. I tell you, you
can!
Dickons round eyes were full of eager curiousness but he said not a
word. Ben Weatherstaff looked on with interested face.
Colin persevered. After he had turned a few trowelfuls of soil he spoke
exultantly to Dickon in his best Yorkshire.
Tha said as thad have me walkin about here same as other folkan
tha said thad have me diggin. I thowt tha was just leein to please
me. This is only th first day an Ive walkedan here I am diggin.
Ben Weatherstaffs mouth fell open again when he heard him, but he ended
by chuckling.
Eh! he said, that sounds as if thad got wits enow. Thart a
Yorkshire lad for sure. An thart diggin, too. Howd tha like to
plant a bit o somethin? I can get thee a rose in a pot.
Go and get it! said Colin, digging excitedly. Quick! Quick!
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.
I want to do it before the sun goes quitequite down, he said.
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.
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.
The thin white hands shook a little and Colins 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.
Its 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. Thats
part of the Magic.
And Dickon helped him, and the Magicor whatever it wasso 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 feetlaughing.
CHAPTER XXIII
MAGIC
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 some
one out to explore the garden paths. When Colin was brought back to his
room the poor man looked him over seriously.
You should not have stayed so long, he said. You must not overexert
yourself.
I am not tired at all, said Colin. It has made me well. To-morrow I
am going out in the morning as well as in the afternoon.
I am not sure that I can allow it, answered Dr. Craven. I am afraid
it would not be wise.
It would not be wise to try to stop me, said Colin quite seriously. I
am going.
Even Mary had found out that one of Colins 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.
What are you looking at me for? he said.
Im thinking that I am rather sorry for Dr. Craven.
So am I, said Colin calmly, but not without an air of some
satisfaction. He wont get Misselthwaite at all now Im not going to
die.
Im 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.
Am I rude? Colin inquired undisturbedly.
If you had been his own boy and he had been a slapping sort of man, said Mary, he would have slapped you.
But he darent, said Colin.
No, he darent, answered Mistress Mary, thinking the thing out quite without
prejudice. Nobody ever dared to do anything you didnt likebecause
you were going to die and things like that. You were such a poor thing.
But, announced Colin stubbornly, I am not going to be a poor thing. I
wont let people think Im one. I stood on my feet this afternoon.
It is always having your own way that has made you so queer, Mary went
on, thinking aloud.
Colin turned his head, frowning.
Am I queer? he demanded.
Yes, answered Mary, very. But you neednt be cross, she added
impartially, because so am I queerand 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.
I dont want to be queer, said Colin. I am not going to be, and he
frowned again with determination.
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.
I shall stop being queer, he said, if I go every day to the garden. There
is Magic in theregood Magic, you know, Mary. I am sure there is.
So am I, said Mary.
Even if it isnt real Magic, Colin said, we can pretend it is.
Something is theresomething!
Its Magic, said Mary, but not black. Its as white as snow.
They always called it Magic and indeed it seemed like it in the months that
followedthe wonderful monthsthe radiant monthsthe
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.
She was main fond o themshe 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 earthnot her. She
just loved it but she said as th blue sky allus looked so joyful.
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 rosesthe 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 cascadesthey came alive day by day, hour by hour.
Fair fresh leaves, and budsand budstiny 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.
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 didnt 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 trouts and water-rats and badgers ways, there was no end
to the things to talk about and think over.
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.
Of course there must be lots of Magic in the world, he said wisely one day, but people dont 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.
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.
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.
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.)
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.
Aye, aye, sir! said Ben Weatherstaff promptly, though this was the
first time he had heard of great scientific discoveries.
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 oldgoing 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.
The great scientific discoveries I am going to make, he went on, will
be about Magic. Magic is a great thing and scarcely any one knows
anything about it except a few people in old booksand Mary a little,
because she was born in India where there are fakirs. I believe Dickon
knows some Magic, but perhaps he doesnt 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 charmerwhich 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 uslike
electricity and horses and steam.
This sounded so imposing that Ben Weatherstaff became quite excited and really
could not keep still.
Aye, aye, sir, he said and he began to stand up quite straight.
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 werent 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? Its something. It cant be nothing!
I dont 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 Ive been
in the garden Ive 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 gardenin 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 dont 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 meand so did Dickons. 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?
Aye, aye, sir! said Ben Weatherstaff. Aye, aye!
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.
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.
Ive heard Jem Fettleworths wife say th same thing over thousands o
timescallin 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.
Colin drew his brows together and thought a few minutes. Then he cheered
up.
Well, he said, you see something did come of it. She used the wrong
Magic until she made him beat her. If shed used the right Magic and had
said something nice perhaps he wouldnt have got as drunk as a lord and
perhapsperhaps he might have bought her a new bonnet.
Ben Weatherstaff chuckled and there was shrewd admiration in his little
old eyes.
Thart a clever lad as well as a straight-legged one, Mester Colin, he
said. Next time I see Bess Fettleworth Ill give her a bit of a hint o
what Magic will do for her. Shed be rare an pleased if th sinetifik speriment workedan so ud Jem.
Dickon had stood listening to the lecture, his round eyes shining with curious
delight. Nut andShell 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.
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.
He smiled now and his smile was wider than usual.
Aye, he answered, that I do. Itll work same as th seeds do when th
sun shines on em. Itll work for sure. Shall us begin it now?
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.
It will be like sitting in a sort of temple, said Colin. Im rather
tired and I want to sit down.
Eh! said Dickon, tha musnt begin by sayin thart tired. Tha might
spoil th Magic.
Colin turned and looked at himinto his innocent round eyes.
Thats true, he said slowly. I must only think of the Magic.
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-meetins but this being the Rajahs 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 charmers 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.
The creatures have come, said Colin gravely. They want to help us.
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.
Now we will begin, he said. Shall we sway backward and forward, Mary,
as if we were dervishes?
I canna do no swayin backard and forard, said Ben Weatherstaff. Ive
got th rheumatics.
The Magic will take them away, said Colin in a High Priest tone, but
we wont sway until it has done it. We will only chant.
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.
No one smiled. They were all too much in earnest. Colins face was not
even crossed by a shadow. He was thinking only of the Magic.
Then I will chant, he said. And he began, looking like a strange boy
spirit. The sun is shiningthe sun is shining. That is the Magic. The
flowers are growingthe roots are stirring. That is the Magic. Being
alive is the Magicbeing strong is the Magic. The Magic is in methe
Magic is in me. It is in meit is in me. Its in every one of us. Its
in Ben Weatherstaffs back. Magic! Magic! Come and help!
He said it a great many timesnot 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 lambs 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.
Now I am going to walk round the garden, he announced.
Ben Weatherstaffs head had just dropped forward and he lifted it with a
jerk.
You have been asleep, said Colin.
Nowt o th sort, mumbled Ben. Th sermon was good enowbut Im
bound to get out afore th collection.
He was not quite awake yet.
Youre not in church, said Colin.
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.
The Rajah waved his hand.
That was the wrong Magic, he said. You will get better. You have my
permission to go to your work. But come back to-morrow.
Id like to see thee walk round the garden, grunted Ben.
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.
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.
It was a procession which moved slowly but with dignity. Every few yards
it stopped to rest. Colin leaned on Dickons 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.
The Magic is in me! he kept saying. The Magic is making me strong! I
can feel it! I can feel it!
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.
I did it! The Magic worked! he cried. That is my first scientific
discovery.
What will Dr. Craven say? broke out Mary.
He wont 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 wont have people whispering and asking questions and I
wont 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.
He will think he is in a dream, cried Mary. He wont believe his
eyes.
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.
Hell be obliged to believe them, he said. 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.
We shall have thee takin to boxin in a week or so, said Ben
Weatherstaff. Thalt end wi winnin th Belt an bein champion
prize-fighter of all England.
Colin fixed his eyes on him sternly.
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.
Ax pardonax pardon, sir, answered Ben, touching his forehead in salute. I ought to have seed it wasnt 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.
CHAPTER XXIV
LET THEM LAUGH
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.
Wed never get on as comfortable as we do, Mrs. Sowerby said, if it
wasnt for Dickons garden. Anythingll grow for him. His taters and
cabbages is twice th size of any one elses an theyve got a flavor
with em as nobodys has.
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.
All a chaps got to do to make em thrive, mother, he would say, is
to be friends with em for sure. Theyre just like th creatures. If
theyre thirsty give em a drink and if theyre hungry give em a bit o
food. They want to live same as we do. If they died I should feel as if
Id been a bad lad and somehow treated them heartless.
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 Dickons mother might come into the secret. Somehow
it was not doubted that she was safe for sure.
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 Weatherstaffs angry
face peering over the wall and Mester Colins sudden indignant strength,
made Mrs. Sowerbys nice-looking face quite change color several times.
My word! she said. It was a good thing that little lass came to th
Manor. Its 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.
She asked a great many questions and her blue eyes were full of deep
thinking.
What do they make of it at th Manorhim being so well an cheerful
an never complainin? she inquired.
They dont know what to make of it, answered Dickon. Every day as
comes round his face looks different. Its fillin out and doesnt look
so sharp an th waxy color is goin. But he has to do his bit o
complainin, with a highly entertained grin.
What for, i Mercys name? asked Mrs. Sowerby.
Dickon chuckled.
He does it to keep them from guessin whats happened. If the doctor
knew hed found out he could stand on his feet hed likely write and
tell Mester Craven. Mester Colins savin th secret to tell himself.
Hes goin to practise his Magic on his legs every day till his father
comes back an then hes goin to march into his room an show him hes
as straight as other lads. But him an Miss Mary thinks its best plan
to do a bit o groanin an frettin now an then to throw folk off th
scent.
Mrs. Sowerby was laughing a low comfortable laugh long before he had
finished his last sentence.
Eh! she said, that pairs enjoyin theirselves, Ill warrant. Theyll get
a good bit o play actin out of it an theres nothin children likes
as much as play actin. Lets hear what they do, Dickon lad.
Dickon stopped weeding and sat up on his heels to tell her. His eyes
were twinkling with fun.
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 were out o sight o th house. An he grunts an
frets a good bit when hes bein settled into his chair. Him an Miss
Marys both got to enjoyin it an when he groans an complains shell
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 theyve no breath left to laugh with. An they have to stuff their
faces into Mester Colins cushions to keep the gardeners from hearin,
if any of ems about.
Th more they laugh th better for em! said Mrs. Sowerby, still
laughing herself. Good healthy child laughins better than pills any
day o th year. That pairll plump up for sure.
They are plumpin up, said Dickon. Theyre that hungry they dont know how
to get enough to eat without makin talk. Mester Colin says if he keeps
sendin for more food they wont believe hes an invalid at all.
Miss Mary says shell let him eat her share, but he says that if she goes
hungry shell get thin an they mun both get fat at once.
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.
Ill tell thee what, lad, Mrs. Sowerby said when she could speak. Ive thought of a way to help em. When tha goes to em in th
mornins tha shall take a pail o good new milk an Ill bake em a
crusty cottage loaf or some buns wi currants in em, same as you
children like. Nothins 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.
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 didnt see how they was to manage without orderin up more
foodthey felt that empty inside.
Theyre two young uns growin fast, an healths comin back to both of em.
Children like that feels like young wolves an foods flesh an blood
to em, said Mrs. Sowerby. Then she smiled Dickons own curving smile. Eh! but theyre enjoyin theirselves for sure, she said.
She was quite right, the comfortable wonderful mother creatureand 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.
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.
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 dont so often
disagree with me. Its the fresh air.
Perhaps it is, said the nurse, still looking at him with a mystified
expression. But I must talk to Dr. Craven about it.
How she stared at you! said Mary when she went away. As if she
thought there must be something to find out.
I wont have her finding out things, said Colin. No one must begin to find
out yet. When Dr. Craven came that morning he seemed puzzled,
also. He asked a number of questions, to Colins great annoyance.
You stay out in the garden a great deal, he suggested. Where do you
go?
Colin put on his favorite air of dignified indifference to opinion.
I will not let any one know where I go, he answered. I go to a place
I like. Every one has orders to keep out of the way. I wont be watched
and stared at. You know that!
You seem to be out all day but I do not think it has done you harmI
do not think so. The nurse says that you eat much more than you have
ever done before.
Perhaps, said Colin, prompted by a sudden inspiration, perhaps it is
an unnatural appetite.
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.
Perhapsperhaps I am bloated and feverish, said Colin, assuming a
discouraging air of gloom. People who are not going to live are
oftendifferent.
Dr. Craven shook his head. He was holding Colins wrist and he pushed up
his sleeve and felt his arm.
You are not feverish, he said thoughtfully, and such flesh as you have gained
is healthy. If we can keep this up, my boy, we need not talk of dying.
Your father will be very happy to hear of this remarkable improvement.
I wont have him told! Colin broke forth fiercely. It will only
disappoint him if I get worse againand 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 wont have letters written to my fatherI wontI
wont! 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!
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.
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.
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.
Mary and Colin were much alarmed and talked together anxiously. From
this time dated their plan of play actin.
I may be obliged to have a tantrum, said Colin regretfully. I dont
want to have one and Im not miserable enough now to work myself into a
big one. Perhaps I couldnt have one at all. That lump doesnt 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.
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 tableparticularly if there were delicate slices of
sizzling ham sending forth tempting odors from under a hot silver
coverthey would look into each others eyes in desperation.
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.
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.
I do wish, Colin would say also, I do wish the slices of ham were
thicker, and one muffin each is not enough for any one.
Its enough for a person who is going to die, answered Mary when first
she heard this, but its 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.
The morning that Dickonafter they had been enjoying themselves in the
garden for about two hourswent behind a big rose-bush 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!
Magic is in her just as it is in Dickon, said Colin. It makes her think
of ways to do thingsnice things. She is a Magic person. Tell her
we are grateful, Dickonextremely grateful.
He was given to using rather grown-up phrases at times. He enjoyed them.
He liked this so much that he improved upon it.
Tell her she has been most bounteous and our gratitude is extreme.
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.
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.
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 kingbesides 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.
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 strongeras 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.
Yesterday, he said one morning after an absence, I went to Thwaite for mother
an near th Blue Cow Inn I seed Bob Haworth. Hes the strongest chap
on th moor. Hes the champion wrestler an he can jump higher
than any other chap an throw th hammer farther. Hes gone all th way
to Scotland for th sports some years. Hes knowed me ever since I was
a little un an hes 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 thats gettin well of a long illness an I wish I knowed
some o them tricks to tell him about. I didnt say no names an he didnt
ask none. Hes 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.
Colin had been listening excitedly.
Can you show me? he cried. Will you?
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 dont overdo.
Ill be careful, said Colin. Show me! Show me! Dickon, you are the
most Magic boy in the world!
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.
From that time the exercises were part of the days 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. Sowerbys 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 oat-cakes
and buns and heather honey and clotted cream.
They are eating next to nothing, said the nurse. Theyll die of
starvation if they cant be persuaded to take some nourishment. And yet
see how they look.
Look! exclaimed Mrs. Medlock indignantly. Eh! Im moithered to death
with them. Theyre 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 yesterdayand the poor woman fair invented
a pudding for themand back its sent. She almost cried. Shes afraid
shell be blamed if they starve themselves into their graves.
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
atbut it was even more worried when he sat down by Colins 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.
I am sorry to hear that you do not eat anything, he said. That will not
do. You will lose all you have gainedand you have gained amazingly.
You ate so well a short time ago.
I told you it was an unnatural appetite, answered Colin.
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.
What is the matter? said Dr. Craven, turning to look at her.
Mary became quite severe in her manner.
It was something between a sneeze and a cough, she replied with
reproachful dignity, and it got into my throat.
But she said afterward to Colin, I couldnt stop myself. It just
burst out because all at once I couldnt 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.
Is there any way in which those children can get food secretly? Dr.
Craven inquired of Mrs. Medlock.
Theres 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 whats
sent up to them they need only ask for it.
Well, said Dr. Craven, so long as going without food agrees with them
we need not disturb ourselves. The boy is a new creature.
So is the girl, said Mrs. Medlock. Shes begun to be downright pretty
since shes filled out and lost her ugly little sour look. Her hairs
grown thick and healthy looking and shes 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 theyre
growing fat on that.
Perhaps they are, said Dr. Craven. Let them laugh.
CHAPTER XXV
THE CURTAIN
And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed and every morning revealed new miracles.
In the robins nest there were Eggs and the robins 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 themselvesnothing which
did not understand the wonderfulness of what was happening to themthe
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 endif 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.
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.
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.
When the boy began to walk by himself and even to move more quickly it
was an immense relief. But for a long timeor it seemed a long time to
the robinhe 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.
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 flyor 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 nestthough
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. 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 trying 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).
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.
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.
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 cant keep them still. They want to be doing
things all the time. Do you know that when I waken in the morning, Mary,
when its quite early and the birds are just shouting outside and everything
seems just shouting for joyeven the trees and things we cant really
hearI feel as if I must jump out of bed and shout myself. And if
I did it, just think what would happen!
Mary giggled inordinately.
The nurse would come running and Mrs. Medlock would come running and
they would be sure you had gone crazy and theyd send for the doctor, she said.
Colin giggled himself. He could see how they would all lookhow
horrified by his outbreak and how amazed to see him standing upright.
I wish my father would come home, he said. I want to tell him myself.
Im always thinking about itbut we couldnt go on like this much
longer. I cant stand lying still and pretending, and besides I look too
different. I wish it wasnt raining to-day.
It was then Mistress Mary had her inspiration.
Colin, she began mysteriously, do you know how many rooms there are
in this house?
About a thousand, I suppose, he answered.
Theres 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.
Colin started up on his sofa.
A hundred rooms no one goes into, he said. It sounds almost like a
secret garden. Suppose we go and look at them. You could wheel me in my
chair and nobody would know where we went.
Thats 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.
Ring the bell, said Colin.
When the nurse came in he gave his orders.
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.
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.
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 Haworths
exercises.
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.
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, Marynot as you look now but as you
looked when you came here. Now you are a great deal fatter and better
looking.
So are you, said Mary, and they both laughed.
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.
Im 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.
That morning they had found among other things such good appetites that
when they returned to Colins room it was not possible to send the
luncheon away untouched.
When the nurse carried the tray down-stairs she slapped it down on the
kitchen dresser so that Mrs. Loomis, the cook, could see the highly
polished dishes and plates.
Look at that! she said. This is a house of mystery, and those two
children are the greatest mysteries in it.
If they keep that up every day, said the strong young footman John, thered
be small wonder that he weighs twice as much to-day as he did a month
ago. I should have to give up my place in time, for fear of doing my muscles
an injury.
That afternoon Mary noticed that something new had happened in Colins
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
to-day 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.
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.
Why? asked Mary.
Because it doesnt 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 couldnt 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.
You are so like her now, said Mary, that sometimes I think perhaps
you are her ghost made into a boy.
That idea seemed to impress Colin. He thought it over and then answered
her slowly.
If I were her ghostmy father would be fond of me, he said.
Do you want him to be fond of you? inquired Mary.
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.
CHAPTER XXVI
ITS MOTHER!
Their belief in the Magic was an abiding thing. After the mornings
incantations Colin sometimes gave them Magic lectures.
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 was in church
and he would go to sleep.
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
wouldnt be agen lecturin a bit mysel sometimes.
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 Bens 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.
What are you thinking about, Ben Weatherstaff? he asked.
I was thinkin, answered Ben, as Id warrant thas gone up three or
four pound this week. I was lookin at tha calves an tha shoulders.
Id like to get thee on a pair o scales.
Its the Magic andand Mrs. Sowerbys buns and milk and things, said
Colin. You see the scientific experiment has succeeded.
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 any one in these
days and he could lecture while he was doing it.
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.
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.
Mary! Dickon! he cried. Just look at me!
They stopped their weeding and looked at him.
Do you remember that first morning you brought me in here? he
demanded.
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.
Aye, that we do, he answered.
Mary looked hard too, but she said nothing.
Just this minute, said Colin, all at once I remembered it
myselfwhen I looked at my hand digging with the troweland I had to
stand up on my feet to see if it was real. And it is real! Im
wellIm well!
Aye, that tha art! said Dickon.
Im well! Im well! said Colin again, and his face went quite red all
over.
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
hima sort of rapturous belief and realization and it had been so
strong that he could not help calling out.
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 growslike Dickonand I shall
never stop making Magic. Im well! Im well! I feelI feel as if I want
to shout out somethingsomething thankful, joyful!
Ben Weatherstaff, who had been working near a rose-bush, glanced round
at him.
Tha might sing th Doxology, he suggested in his dryest grunt. He had no
opinion of theDoxology and he did not make the suggestion with any particular
reverence.
But Colin was of an exploring mind and he knew nothing about the
Doxology.
What is that? he inquired.
Dickon can sing it for thee, Ill warrant, replied Ben Weatherstaff.
Dickon answered with his all-perceiving animal charmers smile.
They sing it i church, he said. Mother says she believes th
skylarks sings it when they gets up i th mornin.
If she says that, it must be a nice song, Colin answered. Ive never
been in a church myself. I was always too ill. Sing it, Dickon. I want
to hear it.
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.
Tha must take off tha cap, he said to Colin, an so mun tha,
Benan tha mun stand up, tha knows.
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 didnt know exactly why he was doing this remarkable
thing.
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:
Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
Praise Him all creatures here below,
Praise Him above ye Heavenly Host,
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
Amen.
|
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. Colins face was thoughtful and appreciative.
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. Its my song. How does
it begin? Praise God from whom all blessings flow?
PRAISE GOD FROM WHOM ALL BLESSINGS FLOW
|
And they sang it again, and Mary and Colin lifted their voices as musically
as they could and Dickons swelled quite loud and beautifuland at
the second line Ben Weatherstaff raspingly cleared his throat and at the
third 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 cripplehis
chin was twitching and he was staring and winking and his leathery old
cheeks were wet.
I never seed no sense in th Doxology afore, he said hoarsely, but I
may change my mind i time. I should say thad gone up five pound this
week, Mester Colinfive on em!
Colin was looking across the garden at something attracting his
attention and his expression had become a startled one.
Who is coming in here? he said quickly. Who is it?
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 Colins books. She had wonderful affectionate eyes
which seemed to take everything inall 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.
Dickons eyes lighted like lamps.
Its Motherthats who it is! he cried and he went across the grass
at a run.
Colin began to move toward her, too, and Mary went with him. They both
felt their pulses beat faster.
Its Mother! Dickon said again when they met half-way. I knowed tha
wanted to see her an I told her where th door was hid.
Colin held out his hand with a sort of flushed royal shyness but his
eyes quite devoured her face.
Even when I was ill I wanted to see you, he said, you and Dickon and
the secret garden. Id never wanted to see any one or anything before.
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.
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.
Are you surprised because I am so well? he asked.
She put her hand on his shoulder and smiled the mist out of her eyes.
Aye, that I am! she said; but thart so like thy mother tha made my
heart jump.
Do you think, said Colin a little awkwardly, that will make my father
like me?
Aye, for sure, dear lad, she answered and she gave his shoulder a soft
quick pat. He mun come homehe mun come home.
Susan Sowerby, said Ben Weatherstaff, getting close to her. Look at
th lads legs, wilt tha? They was like drumsticks i stockin two
month agoan I heard folk tell as they was bandy an knock-kneed both
at th same time. Look at em now!
Susan Sowerby laughed a comfortable laugh.
Theyre goin to be fine strong lads legs in a bit, she said. Let
him go on playin an workin in th garden an eatin hearty an
drinkin plenty o good sweet milk an therell not be a finer pair i
Yorkshire, thank God for it.
She put both hands on Mistress Marys shoulders and looked her little face
over in a motherly fashion.
An thee, too! she said. Thart grown near as hearty as our Lizabeth
Ellen. Ill warrant thart like thy mother too. Our Martha told me as
Mrs. Medlock heard she was a pretty woman. Thalt be like a blush rose
when tha grows up, my little lass, bless thee.
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 doesnt stand to reason
that a pretty woman could be th mother o such a fou little lass, she
had added obstinately.
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.
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 thema 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 Dickons. 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.
I suppose learnin em to fly is like learnin children to walk, but
Im feared I should be all in a worrit if mine had wings instead o
legs, she said.
It was because she seemed such a wonderful woman in her nice moorland
cottage way that at last she was told about the Magic.
Do you believe in Magic? asked Colin after he had explained about
Indian fakirs. I do hope you do.
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 its th Good Thing. It isnt
like us poor fools as think it matters if us is called out of our names.
Th Big Good Thing doesnt stop to worrit, bless thee. It goes on makin
worlds by th millionworlds like us. Never thee stop believin
in th Big Good Thing an knowin th worlds full of itan call
it what tha likes. Tha wert singin to it when I come into th garden.
I felt so joyful, said Colin, opening his beautiful strange eyes at
her. Suddenly I felt how different I washow strong my arms and legs
were, you knowand how I could dig and standand I jumped up and
wanted to shout out something to anything that would listen.
Th Magic listened when tha sung th Doxology. It would ha listened
to anything thad sung. It was th joy that mattered. Eh! lad,
ladwhats names to th Joy Maker, and she gave his shoulders a quick
soft pat again.
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.
You see we cant help laughing nearly all the time when we are
together, explained Colin. And it doesnt sound ill at all. We try to
choke it back but it will burst out and that sounds worse than ever.
Theres 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 Colins face should get to look like a full moon. It isnt like
one yet but he gets a tiny bit fatter every dayand suppose some
morning it should look like onewhat should we do!
Bless us all, I can see tha has a good bit o play actin to do, said
Susan Sowerby. But tha wont have to keep it up much longer. Mester
Cravenll come home.
Do you think he will? asked Colin. Why?
Susan Sowerby chuckled softly.
I suppose it ud nigh break thy heart if he found out before tha told
him in tha own way, she said. Thas laid awake nights plannin it.
I couldnt bear any one else to tell him, said Colin. I think about different
ways every day. I think now I just want to run into his room.
Thatd be a fine start for him, said Susan Sowerby. Id like to see
his face, lad. I would that! He mun come backthat he mun.
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 Dickons garden and would not come back until they were tired.
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.
You are just what Iwhat I wanted, he said. I wish you were my
motheras well as Dickons!
All at once Susan Sowerby bent down and drew him with her warm arms
close against the bosom under the blue cloakas if he had been Dickons
brother. The quick mist swept over her eyes.
Eh! dear lad! she said. Thy own mothers in this ere very garden,
I do believe. She couldna keep out of it. Thy father mun come back to
theehe mun!
CHAPTER XXVII
IN THE GARDEN
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 donethen 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 thoughtsjust
mere thoughtsare as powerful as electric batteriesas 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.
So long as Mistress Marys 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.
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 any one 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.
Where you tend a rose, my lad,
A thistle cannot grow.
|
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.
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.
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 mans 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. 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 mindfilling 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.
What is it? he said, almost in a whisper, and he passed his hand over
his forehead. I almost feel as ifI were alive!
I do not know enough about the wonderfulness of undiscovered things to
be able to explain how this had happened to him. Neither does any one
else yet. He did not understand at all himselfbut 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:
I am going to live forever and ever and ever!
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 minutessometimes half-hourswhen,
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. Slowlyslowlyfor
no reason that he knew ofhe was coming alive with the garden.
As the golden summer changed into the deeper 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.
Perhaps, he thought, my body is growing stronger.
It was growing stronger butbecause of the rare peaceful hours when his
thoughts were changedhis 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.
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 waters 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.
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.
Archie! Archie! Archie! it said, and then again, sweeter and clearer than
before, Archie! Archie!
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.
Lilias! Lilias! he answered. Lilias! where are you?
In the garden, it came back like a sound from a golden flute. In the
garden!
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 morea lightness as
if the cruel thing which had been done had not happened as he thoughtas
if something had changed. He was remembering the dreamthe realreal
dream.
In the garden! he said, wondering at himself. In the garden! But the
door is locked and the key is buried deep.
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 womans 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.
Dear Sir:
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 andif you will excuse me, sirI
think your lady would ask you to come if she was here.
Your obedient
servant,
Susan Sowerby.
|
Mr. Craven read the letter twice before he put it back in its
envelope. He kept thinking about the dream.
I will go back to Misselthwaite, he said. Yes, Ill
go at once.
And he went through the garden to the villa and ordered Pitcher
to prepare for his return to England.
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 every one 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 every one believed it would be a deformed
and crippled creature.
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 years 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.
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.
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 anythingquite too late.
What have I been thinking of!
Of course this was the wrong Magicto begin by saying too
late. Even Colin could have told him that. But he knew nothing of Magiceither
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 worsewas 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.
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.
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.
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.
If you divide that into eight parts there will be half a crown for each
of you, he said.
Then amid grins and chuckles and bobbing of curtsies he drove away,
leaving ecstasy and nudging elbows and little jumps of joy behind.
The drive across the wonderfulness of the moor was a soothing thing.
Why did it seem to give him a sense of home-coming which he had been sure
he could never feel againthat 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 beenhow wonderful and clear the voice
which called back to him, In the gardenIn the garden!
I will try to find the key, he said. I will try to open the door. I
mustthough I dont know why.
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.
How is Master Colin, Medlock? he inquired.
Well, sir, Mrs. Medlock answered, heshes different, in a manner
of speaking.
Worse? he suggested.
Mrs. Medlock really was flushed.
Well, you see, sir, she tried to explain, neither Dr. Craven, nor the
nurse, nor me can exactly make him out.
Why is that?
To tell the truth, sir, Master Colin might be better and he might be
changing for the worse. His appetite, sir, is past understandingand
his ways
Has he become moremore peculiar? her master asked, knitting his
brows anxiously.
Thats it, sir. Hes growing very peculiarwhen you compare
him with what he used to be. He used to eat nothing and then suddenly
he began to eat something enormousand 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 weve gone through to get him to go out in his chair would
leave a body trembling like a leaf. Hed throw himself into such a state
that Dr. Craven said he couldnt be responsible for forcing him.
Well, sir, just without warningnot long after one of his worst
tantrums he suddenly insisted on being taken out every day by Miss Mary
and Susan Sowerbys 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 youll credit it, sir, out of doors he will stay from morning until
night.
How does he look? was the next question.
If he took his food natural, sir, youd think he was putting on
fleshbut were afraid it may be a sort of bloat. He laughs sometimes
in a queer way when hes alone with Miss Mary. He never used to laugh at
all. Dr. Craven is coming to see you at once, if youll allow him. He
never was as puzzled in his life.
Where is Master Colin now? Mr. Craven asked.
In the garden, sir. Hes always in the gardenthough not a human
creature is allowed to go near for fear theyll look at him.
Mr. Craven scarcely heard her last words.
In the garden, he said, and after he had sent Mrs. Medlock away he
stood and repeated it again and again. In the garden!
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 itbut
he did not know exactly where it laythat buried key.
So he stopped and stood still, looking about him, and almost the moment
after he had paused he started and listenedasking himself if he were
walking in a dream.
The ivy hung thick over the door, the key was buried under the shrubs, no human
being had passed that portal for ten lonely yearsand 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 voicesexclamations 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 soas their excitement mountedwould burst forth. What
in heavens name was he dreaming ofwhat in heavens 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?
And then the moment came, the uncontrollable moment when the sounds
forgot to hush themselves. The feet ran faster and fasterthey were
nearing the garden doorthere was quick strong young breathing and a
wild outbreak of laughing shouts which could not be containedand 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.
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.
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 eyeseyes full
of boyish laughter and rimmed with black lashes like a fringe. It was
the eyes which made Mr. Craven gasp for breath.
WhoWhat? Who! he stammered.
This was not what Colin had expectedthis was not what he had planned.
He had never thought of such a meeting. And yet to come dashing
outwinning a raceperhaps 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 beforeinches taller.
Father, he said, Im Colin. You cant believe it. I scarcely can
myself. Im Colin.
Like Mrs. Medlock, he did not understand what his father meant when he
said hurriedly:
In the garden! In the garden!
Yes, hurried on Colin. It was the garden that did itand Mary and
Dickon and the creaturesand the Magic. No one knows. We kept it to
tell you when you came. Im well, I can beat Mary in a race. Im going
to be an athlete.
He said it all so like a healthy boyhis face flushed, his words
tumbling over each other in his eagernessthat Mr. Cravens soul shook
with unbelieving joy.
Colin put out his hand and laid it on his fathers arm.
Arent you glad, Father? he ended.
Arent you glad? Im going to live forever and ever and ever!
Mr. Craven put his hands on both the boys shoulders and held him still.
He knew he dared not even try to speak for a moment.
Take me into the garden, my boy, he said at last. And tell me all
about it.
And so they led him in.
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
togetherlilies 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.
I thought it would be dead, he said.
Mary thought so at first, said Colin. But it came alive.
Then they sat down under their treeall but Colin, who wanted to stand
while he told the story.
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 meetingthe coming of the springthe
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.
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
mebut I am never going to get into the chair again. I shall walk back
with you, Fatherto the house.
Ben Weatherstaffs 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 spotas he had hoped to bewhen the
most dramatic event Misselthwaite Manor had seen during the present
generation actually took place.
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.
Did you see either of them, Weatherstaff? she asked.
Ben took his beer-mug from his mouth and wiped his lips with the back of
his hand.
Aye, that I did, he answered with a shrewdly significant air.
Both of them? suggested Mrs. Medlock.
Both of em, returned Ben Weatherstaff. Thank ye kindly, maam, I
could sup up another mug of it.
Together? said Mrs. Medlock, hastily overfilling his beer-mug in her
excitement.
Together, maam, and Ben gulped down half of his new mug at one gulp.
Where was Master Colin? How did he look? What did they say to each
other?
I didna hear that, said Ben, along o only bein on th step-ladder
lookin over th wall. But Ill tell thee this. Theres been things
goin on outside as you house people knows nowt about. An what thall
find out thall find out soon.
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.
Look there, he said, if thas curious. Look whats comin across th
grass.
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.
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 YorkshireMaster Colin!
THE END
355 W Olive Avenue, Suite 207, Sunnyvale, CA 94086 | 408-738-8384
| info@improveyourenglish.com
Copyright 2003-2010, Improve Your English. All rights reserved.
|