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The Secret Gardenby Frances Hodgson Burnett

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Chapter OneMary Lennox had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and looked cross. Her hair was yellow and her face was yellow because she had always been ill, making her skin look a strange colour. She had been born, and had always lived, in India. Her father had been an important man who was in charge of part of India, working for the British government. He had always been ill too. Her mother was very beautiful and loved to go to parties and have fun. She had never wanted to have a daughter, so Mary was looked after by an Indian servant.

Mary’s mother and father ignored her and the servants let her do whatever she wanted. Mary was rude and selfish. She never wanted to do her schoolwork or anything.

One hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she found that the servant who looked after her had died of a disease called cholera. Mary became very angry and shouted and hit the young woman who told her. With no-one to look after her she wandered around the big Indian palace doing whatever she wanted. She played by herself out on the grass by the back of the house.

She heard her mother come out and talk with someone by the fountain. She was with a young man and they stood talking together in quiet voices. Mary knew the blond young man who looked like a boy. She had heard that he was a very young soldier 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 she was such a tall, slim, pretty person and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like beautiful silk and she had a tiny little nose and large laughing eyes. That morning her eyes were not laughing at all. She looked scared.

The young soldier told her that many of the servants were sick with cholera, and that some of them were dying. Her mother burst into tears.

Mary went to her room and played with her toys. Somebody had left a glass of wine in there and she drank it. She did not realise how strong it was and it made her fall into a deep sleep. She woke up when she heard the sound of people running through the hall and loud screams. Then she closed her eyes and fell asleep again.

Many things happened during the hours in which she slept so heavily, but she was not woken. When she finally woke up, the house was silent and still. It had never been so quiet before. She wondered what was happening, but everyone had forgotten about her and no-one came. She slept another night in the room. A little snake moved around under the floorboards.

The next morning two men came into the house. The first man who came in was a large soldier she had once seen talking to her father. He looked tired but when he saw Mary he was so surprised that he almost jumped.

"Barney!" he cried out to a second man. "There is a child here! A child all alone! In a place like this! How terrible! Who is she?"

"I am Mary Lennox," the little girl said, standing up. She thought the man was very rude to call her father's house ‘a place like this’. "I fell asleep when everyone had the cholera and I have only just woken up. Why does nobody come?"

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"It is their daughter! The child no-one ever saw!" the man said to the other. "She has actually been forgotten!"

"Why was I forgotten?" Mary said, confused. "Why is nobody coming?"

The young man whose name was Barney looked at her very sadly. Mary even thought she saw tears in his eyes. "Poor little child!" 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. They had died in the night and the few servants who had not died also had left the house as quickly as they could get out of it.

That was why the place was so quiet. It was true that there was no one in the house but herself and the little rustling snake.

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Chapter TwoMary had liked to look at her mother from a distance and she had thought she was very pretty, but as she had known very little about her she did not miss her now she was dead. Mary didn’t care at all, really, and all she thought about was herself. She wondered if she would be taken to live with new people, and whether they’d be nice.

She knew that she was not going to stay at the English vicar’s house where she was taken at first. She did not want to stay there. The Vicar was poor and he had five children, nearly all the same age. They all argued and stole each other’s toys. Mary hated their untidy house and was so nasty to the little boys and girls that none of them would talk to her. They called her “Mistress Mary, quite contrary” and that made her angry.

When she refused to play with them they laughed at her and sang:

"Mistress Mary, quite contrary,

How does your garden grow?

With silver bells, and cockle shells,

And marigolds all in a row."

"You are going to be sent home to England," one of the boys said to her, "at the end of the week. And we can’t wait. You are going to your uncle. His name is Mr Archibald Craven."

"I don't know anything about him," said Mary, angrily.

"I know you don't," the boy answered. "You don't know anything. Girls never do. I heard my father and mother talking about him. He lives in a great, big, old house in the countryside and no one goes near him. He's so cross he won't see anyone, and they wouldn't come if he would let them. He's a hunchback, and he's horrible."

"I don't believe you," said Mary; and she turned her back and stuck her fingers in her ears, because she would not listen any more.

She was told 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 in Yorkshire. She frowned and went to bed, angry.

Soon, Mary made the long trip to England and was met at the dock by a woman named Mrs Medlock, who had been sent by Mr Craven. She was his housekeeper, looking after the servants in his big, cold house. She had red cheeks and black eyes. Mary did not like Mrs Medlock at all, but then Mary never liked anyone. Mrs Medlock didn’t like Mary either.

Mary looked at all the people walking around, and the buses and cabs and horses. She had never been to England before. She thought about her uncle. What sort of person would he be? What would his house be like? What was a hunchback? She wondered why she had never seemed to belong to anyone, even when her parents were alive. She had never been anyone’s little girl. She had servants and food and clothes, but nobody ever took any notice of her. Mary didn’t understand how unfriendly she was; she thought the fault was with everyone else she met.

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Mary thought Mrs Medlock was the most awful person she had ever seen. When the next day they set out on their journey to Yorkshire, she walked through the railway station to the train with her head up and trying to keep as far away from her as she could, because she did not want to be seen with her.

But Mrs Medlock was not bothered by her and her thoughts. She was the kind of woman who would "stand no nonsense from young ones." At least, that is what she would have said if she had been asked. She had not wanted to go to London just when her sister Maria's daughter was going to be married, but she had a comfortable, well paid job as the housekeeper at Misselthwaite Manor and the only way in which she could keep it was to do everything Mr Archibald Craven told her to do. She never dared even to ask a question.

"Mr Lennox and his wife died of the cholera in India," Mr Craven had said in his rude, uninterested way. "Mr Lennox was my wife's brother and so I am now in charge of his daughter. The child is to be brought here. You must go to London and bring her yourself." So, that very day she had packed her small suitcase and made the journey.

Mary sat in her corner of the railway carriage and looked plain and fretful. She had nothing to reador to look at, and she had folded her thin little black-gloved hands in her lap. Her black dressmade her look yellower than ever, and her limp light hair straggled from under her black crêpehat. 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 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 something – to prepare you. You are going to a strange place.’

Mary said nothing at all, and Mrs Medlock looked rather taken aback by her lack of interest, but after taking a breath, she went on. ‘

Not but that it’s a grand big place in a gloomy way, and Mr Craven’s proud of it in his way – and that’s gloomy enough, too. The house is six hundred years old, and it’s on the edge of the moor, and there’s near a hundred rooms in it, though most of them’s shut up and locked. And there’s pictures and fine old furniture and things that’s been there for ages, and there’s a big park round it and gardens and trees with branches trailing to the ground – some of them.’

She paused and took another breath. ‘But there’s nothing else,’ she ended suddenly.

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Mary had begun to listen. It all sounded so different to India, and anything new interested her, but she did not want to look interested. That was one of her unfriendly ways. So, she sat still.

"Well," said Mrs Medlock. "What do you think of it?"

"Nothing," she answered. "I know nothing about places like that."

That made Mrs Medlock laugh a short sort of laugh. "You are like an old woman! Don't you care about anything?"

"It doesn't matter" said Mary, "whether I care or not."

"You’re not wrong, actually," said Mrs Medlock. "It doesn't. I have no idea why you’re going to be kept at Misselthwaite Manor. Mr Craven won’t be interested in you, he’s not interested in anyone. He’s a very unhappy man.”

She stopped herself as if she had just remembered something. "He's got a problem with his back," she said. "That’s why he’s been so unpleasant all his life. He was a grumpy young man despite all his money. Except for when he was married."

Mary's eyes turned toward her. She didn’t know hunchbacks could get married and she was surprised. Mrs Medlock saw this, and as she was a woman who liked to talk, she continued. This was one way of passing some of the time anyway.

"His wife was a sweet, pretty thing and he would have done anything for her. Nobody thought she'd want to marry him, but she did. Then people said she married him for his money. But she didn't. I promise you she didn't. When she died…"

Mary looked up. She had just remembered a French fairy story she had once read. 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 act stranger than ever. He cares about nobody and he’s mean and nasty. He won't see people. Most of the time he goes away and when he is at Misselthwaite he shuts himself up in one side of the house and won't let anyone see him.”

It sounded like something from a book, and it made Mary unhappy.

"You may never see him," said Mrs Medlock. "And you mustn't expect that there will be people to talk to you. You'll have to play about and look after yourself. You'll be told what rooms you can go into and what rooms you're to keep away from. There's gardens enough. But when you're in the house don't go wandering about. Mr Craven won't allow that."

Mary looked out of the window and stared into the rain as it fell. Soon she fell asleep.

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Chapter ThreeMrs Medlock shook her awake. The train had stopped at a station.

"You have had a sleep!" she said. "It's time to open your eyes! We're at Thwaite Station and we've still got a long drive to go."

Mary stood up and tried to keep her eyes open while Mrs Medlock collected her things. The little girl did not offer to help her, because, in India, servants always picked up or carried things.

The station was a small one and nobody else seemed to be getting out of the train. A man at the station spoke to Mrs Medlock, speaking his words in a strange way, which Mary later learned was the way people spoke in Yorkshire.

"I see tha's got back," he said. "An' tha's brought th' young 'un with thee."

"Aye, that's her," answered Mrs Medlock, speaking with a Yorkshire accent herself and pointing toward Mary. "How's thy missus?"

"Well enough. Th' carriage is waitin' outside for thee."

A horse and carriage stood on the road next to the station. Mary saw that it was a very beautiful carriage and that it was a smartly dressed driver who helped her in. His long waterproof coat and the waterproof covering of his hat were shining and dripping with rain. They got into the carriage and set off.

Mary looked out of the window. She could see a stony road, with small bushes on each side. A strong wind was blowing, and Mary could hear a rustling sound. The wind made a strange rushing sound, like the sea. It was pitch black outside. Mary didn’t like it.

“Is that the sea?” she asked.

“No, Miss Mary,” replied Mrs Medlock. “That’s the sound of the moor. We're on the moor now; it's just miles and miles and miles of wild land that nothing grows on but strange prickly plants and rough grasses. Nothing much lives there."

After an hour of driving, they reached Misselthwaite Manor. It was an enormous building, but very dark and scary. Hardly any of the windows were lit. The entrance was a huge wooden door that opened onto a hall with swords and old guns on the walls and suits of armour.

As she stood on the stone floor, Mary felt very small and alone. There were dark portraits on the walls, and the men and the women seemed to be staring at her.

They went down a corridor, up more steps, down another corridor and another. At last, Mrs Medlock stopped in front of a door. She opened it and took Mary into a room where a bright dire was burning. Dinner for one was set out on a table.

"Well, here you are!” said Mrs Medlock. “This room and the next are where you'll live. You must stay here. Don’t go into any of the other rooms – Mr Craven wouldn’t like it. Martha will bring your breakfast in the morning.

Then she blew out the candle and left her there.

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Chapter FourWhen she opened her eyes in the morning a young maid had come into her room to light a fire. Mary lay and watched her for a few moments. Out of a window she could see the moor, which went on as far as she could see. In the morning light, it looked like a purple sea.

The maid saw her looking. Martha was her name. "That's th' moor," she said with a smile. "Does tha' like it?"

"No," answered Mary. "I hate it."

"That's because tha'rt not used to it," Martha said

"Do you like it?" asked Mary.

"Aye, that I do," answered Martha. She had just been lighting the fire and her cheeks were red.

"I just love it.”

Mary listened to her with a confused look on her face. Servants in India never talked to their masters like this. They had to do what they were told. Mary had hit her servants when she was upset. She wondered what would happen if she slapped this girl.

"You are a strange servant," she said from her pillow.

Martha sat up and laughed. She spoke in a strong Yorkshire accent and Mary couldn’t understand a lot of what she said.

"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 I'd never have been let up-stairs. I'm too common an' I talk too much Yorkshire. But this is a funny house for all it's so grand. Seems like there's neither master nor mistress. Mr Craven, he won't be troubled about anythin' when he's here, an' he's nearly always away. Mrs Medlock gave me th' place out o' kindness. She told me she could never have done it if Misselthwaite had been like other big houses."

"Are you going to be my servant?" Mary asked, confused.

Martha began to fix the fire again. "I'm Mrs Medlock's servant," she said firmly.

"An' she's Mr Craven's, but I'm to do the housemaid's work up here an' help you a bit. But you won't need much help."

"Who is going to help me get dressed?" demanded Mary.

Martha sat up again and stared. She spoke in broad Yorkshire in her surprise. "Canna' tha' dress thysen!" she said.

"What do you mean? I don't understand your language," said Mary.

“Oh! I forgot," Martha said. "Mrs Medlock told me I'd have to be careful or you wouldn't know what I was sayin'. I mean can't you put on your own clothes?"

"No," answered Mary crossly. "I never did in my life. My servant always dressed me, of course."

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"Well," said Martha, "it's time you learnt.”

Mary was incredibly angry. She told Martha to get out of her room. Martha just laughed and walked out. Mary felt incredibly angry and lonely. She threw her head into her pillow and started to cry. When Martha heard her tears she came back in and felt sorry for the girl.

"Eh! you mustn't cry like that there!" she begged. "You mustn't. I didn't know you'd be upset. I don't know anythin'. I’m sorry, Miss. Please stop cryin'."

There was something comforting and friendly in her Yorkshire speech which had a good effect on Mary. She stopped crying and went quiet.

"It's time for thee to get up now," said Martha. "Mrs Medlock said I was to carry tha' breakfast an' tea and dinner into th' room next to this. It's been made into a playroom for thee. I'll help thee on with thy clothes if tha'll get out of bed."

When Mary at last decided to get up, the clothes Martha took from the wardrobe were not the black ones she had worn when she arrived the night before with Mrs Medlock. She looked at them and realised they were nicer than hers.

"Mr Craven made Mrs Medlock get them in London. He said 'I won't have a child dressed in black wanderin' about like a lost soul,' he said. 'It'd make the place sadder than it is. Put colour on her.'”

"I hate black things," said Mary.

Getting dressed taught them both something. Martha had buttoned up her little sisters and brothers’ clothes, but she had never seen a child who stood still and waited for another person to do things for her as if she had no hands of her own.

"Why doesn't tha' put on tha' own shoes?" she said.

"In India the servants did it," answered Mary.

Martha found her funny. Mary realised that things were completely different in Yorkshire. Listening to Martha talk, she started to understand more of what she was saying and found it interesting.

“You should see my family," she said. "There's twelve of us an' my father only gets sixteen shilling a week. We all play out on the moor. My brother Dickon, he's twelve years old and he's got a young horse he calls his own."

"Where did he get it?" asked Mary.

"He found it on the moor with its mother when it was a little one an' he began to make friends with it. Dickon's a kind boy an' animals like him."

Mary had never possessed an animal pet of her own and had always thought she should like one. She was interested to hear more about Dickon, and as she had never before been interested in any one but herself, that was a good thing. She went into the other room and ate porridge that Martha had made for her. Martha asked her whether she would like to go outside.

Mary went to the window. There were gardens and paths and big trees, but everything looked dull and frosty.

"Out? Why would I go out on a day like this?"

"Well, if not you’ll get bored.”

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"Who will go with me?" she asked.

Martha stared. "You'll go by yourself," she answered. "You'll have to learn to play like other children do when they haven't got sisters and brothers. Dickon goes off on the moor by himself and plays for hours. That's how he made friends with the pony. He's got sheep on the moor that knows him, and birds that come and eat out of his hand. However little there is to eat, he always saves a bit of his bread to feed his pets."

Mary thought about this. She had always wanted a pet.

It was really this mention of Dickon which made Mary decide to go out, though she didn’t realise at the time.

“Now put on your coat and play outside for a while. The wind will put some colour in your cheeks.” Martha found her coat and went downstairs.

"If you go around that way you’ll find the gardens," Martha said, pointing. "There are lots of flowers in summertime, but there's nothing now." She paused for a second and then she added, "One of the gardens is locked up. No one has been in it for ten years. Don’t go in there."

"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 suddenly. He won't let anyone go inside. It was her garden. He locked the door and dug a hole and buried the key.”

Then Mrs Medlock called for Martha and she had to run away.

After she was gone Mary turned down the path. 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. She found herself in huge gardens, with wide pieces of grass and winding walks with trees and flower-beds. It was very impressive, but it was cold and there were no flowers out. She walked through a gate into a walled garden full of vegetables growing.

She met an old man with a spade over his shoulder. He looked unhappy to see Mary and quite surprised. He had a frown on his face.

"What is this place?" she asked.

"One o' the kitchen-gardens," he answered.

"What is that?" said Mary, pointing through a green door.

"Another of them."

"Can I go in there?" asked Mary.

"If you like. But there's nothing to see."

Mary went down the path and through the door. She found more walls and winter vegetables and glass frames, but in the second wall there was another door and it was not open. Perhaps it led into the garden which no one had seen for ten years. As she was not a shy child and always did what she wanted to do, Mary went to the green door and turned the handle. She hoped the door would not open because she wanted to be sure she had found the mysterious garden, but it opened quite easily and she walked through it and found herself in an orchard of trees.

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In the wall at the end of the orchard there was no door, but she could see the tops of trees growing beyond. She looked up into their branches to see a little robin, a bird she had never seen before, singing down to her. It was as if he was calling down to her. Mary was a girl who never smiled, but the tiny bird made her happy. 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 was bored that she thought so much of the secret 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 would ever see him, but knew she could never ask him about it.

"People never like me and I never like people," she thought.

She remembered the robin and the way he seemed to sing his song at her. "I believe that bird was in the secret garden. I know it was," she said. "There was a wall around the place and there was no door."

She walked back and found the old man digging. He still looked grumpy.

"I have been into the other gardens," she said.

"Fine," he answered.

"I went into the orchard."

"OK," he answered, not interested.

"There was no door there into the other garden," said Mary.

"What garden?" he said in a different voice, stopping his digging.

"The one on the other side of the wall," answered Mary. "There are trees there. I saw the tops of them. A bird was sitting on one of them and he sang."

To her surprise, a smile spread across his old face and he looked completely different. It made Mary think about how much a smile can make a person seem so much nicer.

He turned around and whistled loudly. Smiling that smile at her he waited. Then the little robin came flying through the air, landing right in front of the gardener.

"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, cheeky little thing?" he said.

The bird put his tiny head on one side and looked up at him with his little eye which was like a black dewdrop. He seemed quite friendly and not afraid at all. It even made Mary smile, watching him hop around.

"Will he always come when you call him?" she whispered.

The gardener nodded and smiled at her. "He's my friend," he chuckled. "He likes to hear people talk about him. And he’s curious. He's always comin' to see what I'm plantin'.”

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The robin hopped about, pecking in the mud. Now and then he stopped and looked at them a little. Mary felt that the little creature already knew all about her. Mary went a step nearer to the robin and looked at him very hard.

"I'm lonely," she said.

She had not known before that this was one of the things which made her so unfriendly and cross. She seemed to find it out when the robin looked at her and she looked back at the robin.

The old gardener put his hat on his bald head and stared at her for a minute.

"Are you the little girl from India?" he asked.

Mary nodded.

"Then no wonder you’re lonely," he said.

He began to dig again, driving his spade deep into the black earth while the robin hopped about.

"What is your name?" Mary asked him.

He stood up.

"Ben Weatherstaff," he answered, and then he pointed at the robin. "He's th' only friend I've got.”

"I have no friends at all," said Mary. "I never had any.”

It is normal for people from Yorkshire to say what they think with complete honesty, and old Ben Weatherstaff had hardly ever left Yorkshire in his life.

"We are the same," he said. "Neither of us is good looking and we both get cross.”

This was true and Mary Lennox had never heard the truth about herself in her life. Then, the robin flew off over the wall, singing loudly. She heard him whistle from the other side of the wall.

"He has flown over the wall!" Mary shouted. "He has flown into the orchard and across the other wall, into the garden where there is no door!"

"He lives there," said old Ben. “He lives in the rose trees.”

"Rose-trees?" asked Mary. "Are there rose-trees?"

Ben Weatherstaff took up his spade again and began to dig. "There were ten years ago," he said.

"I want to see them," said Mary. "Where is the green door? There must be a door somewhere."

Ben drove his spade deep and looked as unfriendly as he had looked when she first saw him.

"There was ten years ago, but there isn't now," he said.

"No door!" cried Mary. "There must be."

Ben’s face changed and he became quite cross. "I’ve already told you there is no way in. Leave it alone. It is none of your business."

And he actually stopped digging and walked off, without even saying goodbye.

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Chapter Five

At first, each day at Misselthwaite Manor was the same. Every morning, she woke and watched Martha lighting the fire. Then, she got dressed, ate her breakfast – a little more every day – and went outside. She loved walking around in the wild and looking for the robin. The fresh air made her feel better. She looked better, too. Her cheeks were pink now, and her eyes were bright.

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 grumpy. He seemed to be avoiding her.

The place she liked to sit was by one of the walled gardens she had met Ben in. One part of the wall was overgrown with ivy and covered in thick green leaves. All the rest of the walls were neat and tidy. She liked to play there by herself. Sometimes the little robin would appear and she would chase him as he sang to her.

All of the time she thought about the secret garden. She wondered why Mr Craven had shut it up and where the door into it was. The mystery made her feel like she was not unhappy to come to Misselthwaite Manor after all and she started to behave differently. She was interested in what Martha had to say and she did not spend all day frowning.

One day she felt happy to ask Martha a question. "Why did Mr Craven hate the garden?" she said. She had made Martha stay with her and Martha had not minded. Martha was very young, and used to a crowded little house full of brothers and sisters; she found it boring downstairs with the old servants who made fun of her strong Yorkshire accent.

"Are you always thinking about that garden?" she said. "I knew you would. I was the same when I first heard about it."

"Why did he hate it?”

Martha wouldn’t talk about it. Mrs Medlock wouldn’t let her, she said. Mary begged her to tell just a bit of the story. Finally, she agreed.

"Mrs Medlock said it's not to be talked about. There's lots o' things in this house that we can’t talk about. That's what Mr Craven wants. His troubles are none of the servants' business, he says. That garden was Mrs Craven's garden that she had made when they first got married. She loved it. They used to grow flowers themselves; none of the other gardeners were allowed in. She used to sit high up on the branch of an old tree. But one day the branch broke and she fell down. She got hurt really badly. The next day she died. Mr Craven was so sad that he locked up the garden. That’s why he hates that garden. No-one’s ever been in since that day and he won’t let anyone talk about it.”

Mary did not ask any more questions. She stared at the fire, and listened to the wind blowing across the moor. For the first time in her life, she felt sorry for someone. Mary listened to the sound of the wind on the moor as she thought about the story. The wind made a strange sound as it whooshed around the house. Then she thought she heard another noise. It sounded like a child crying far away somewhere, but inside the house.

"Do you hear any one crying?" she said.

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Martha suddenly looked confused.

"No," she answered. "It's just th' wind."

"But listen," said Mary. "It's coming from inside the house."

And at that very moment a rush of air from a draft blew the door open and they heard the sound louder.

"There!" said Mary. "I told you so! It is someone crying. And it isn't a grown-up!"

Martha ran and shut the door and turned the key, but before she did it they both heard the sound again.

"It was the wind," said Martha crossly. "And if it wasn't, it was little Betty Butterworth, one of the other maids. She's had th' toothache all day."

But something about the way Martha spoke made Mary think she was lying.

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Chapter Six

The next day it was too rainy to go out. The moor was almost hidden by mist.

“What do you all do in your cottage when it rains, Martha?” asked Mary.

“We get in each other’s way!” laughed Martha. “But Dickon goes out, whatever the weather is like. Sometimes, the animals need his help. One day he found a fox cub. He put it in his shirt and brought it home. He calls it Captain. Another time, he found a young crow and brought it home. He calls it Soot. It goes everywhere with him.”

“I would like a fox cub to play with,” said Mary. But I have nothing.”

“Can you knit?”

“No.”

“Can you sew?”

“No.”

“Can you read?”

“Yes. But I don’t have any books. I left them all in India.”

“That’s a shame. There are thousands of books in Mr Craven’s library. You could go to the library and find a book to read, if Mrs Medlock would let you.”

Mary was not scared of Mrs Medlock, so she decided to find the library herself. She didn’t really care that much about finding a book, she just wanted to explore the house. Mary opened the door and went into the corridor.

She wandered through the house all morning. There were hundreds of corridors. Most of the walls were covered with portraits. Some were of children, wearing long silk dresses and lace collars. Where had they gone? What were their names? Why did they wear such strange clothes?

All the doors were closed, and Mary thought they must be locked. She turned the handle of one, to make sure. The door slowly opened, and Mary went in.

It was a lady’s sitting room. Mary found some little ivory elephants, which made her think of India. She played with them for a while. Then she heard a soft rustling sound. It was coming from a sofa, and Mary went to look. Two bright eyes peeped at her from a hole in the little velvet cushion. A mouse! In the hole, Mary could see six tiny, baby mice, all fast asleep. Perhaps the mice are the only other living things in the hundred rooms, she thought.

Mary was really tired now, and she tried to find her way back to the nursery. But she was soon lost in the maze of corridors.

There were lots and lots of doors all lined up along the walls. She stood there for a minute, trying to work out which way to go. Then, just as she had the night before, she heard the sound of someone crying. It was coming from somewhere not too far away.

18

"It's nearer than it was," said Mary, excited.

She started walking down the hall, trying to find out where the noise was coming from. Suddenly, Mrs Medlock came marching towards her, looking extremely angry.

"What are you doing here?" she shouted, and she took Mary by the arm and pulled her away. "I told you to stay in your room."

"I got lost," explained Mary. "I didn't know which way to go and I heard someone crying."

"You didn't hear anything," said the housekeeper. “You’d better get back right now or there will be trouble.” Mrs Medlock held her arm and forced her to walk back to her bedroom.

"Now," she said, "you stay where you're told to stay.”

She went out of the room and slammed the door.

Mary sat on the floor, white with anger.

"There was someone crying! I know there was!" she sobbed.

She had heard it twice now, and soon she would find out. She didn’t care about Mrs Medlock.

19

Chapter SevenTwo days after this, when Mary woke up she sat up in bed and called to Martha.

“Look at the moor! Look at the moor!”

The rain-storm had ended and the grey mist and clouds had been swept away in the night by the wind. The sky over the moor was beautiful. It was perfectly blue, without a cloud to be seen. Mary had thought it was always cold or rainy in England, but Martha explained that in summer it was sometimes sunny and warm. Martha told her all about how wonderful the moor looked in the middle of summer and Mary listened excitedly to every word. She was especially keen to hear about Dickon, who spent long days out in the wild, with the animals. Mary told her that she’d like to see Martha’s little house, where she lived with her parents, and her brothers and sisters.

"I like Dickon," added Mary. "But I've never seen him."

"Well," said Martha stoutly, "I think Dickon would like you. You’re always running around outside with the birds and animals."

“He wouldn't like me," said Mary without emotion. "No one does."

Martha looked thoughtful and went back to her work. She went off feeling happy as soon as she had given Mary her breakfast. She was going to walk five miles across the moor to her home, and she was going to help her mother with the washing and help bake the bread for the week ahead. She enjoyed that.

Mary felt lonelier than ever when she knew Martha 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 around and around the fountain ten times. She counted the times carefully and when she had finished she felt better. The sunshine made the whole place look different. The big house looked less shadowy and scary.

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 put a smile on his face. He waved to Mary when he saw her. "Springtime's comin'," he said, in his strong Yorkshire accent.

"What will they be?" asked Mary, pointing at the plants which were poking out from the soil, growing. "These will be crocuses and snowdrops and daffodils."

"I’ve never seen flowers like those. They don’t grow in India," said Mary. "And I think things grow up suddenly in one night."

"These won't grow up in a night," said Weatherstaff. "You'll have to wait for plants to grow in Yorkshire. They'll poke up a bit higher here, an' push out a green shoot there, and uncurl a leaf this day an' another that. You should watch 'em."

"I am going to," answered Mary. Very soon she heard the soft rustling sound of a bird’s wings again and she knew at once that the robin had come back. He was very lively, and hopped about so close to her, putting his head on one side. She asked Ben Weatherstaff a question. "Do you think he remembers me?"

"Remembers you?" said Weatherstaff laughing. "He knows every cabbage stump in th' gardens. He's the king around these parts! Of course he knows you.”

20

"Are things growing in that garden where he lives?" Mary asked.

"What garden?" said Weatherstaff, the smile left his face.

"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 the robin," said Ben Weatherstaff, pointing at the robin. "He's the only one who knows. No-one else has seen inside it for ten years."

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. She was beginning to like Martha, too. Mary was not used to liking anyone. She thought of the robin as one of the people.

She went for a long walk around the garden. Soon, she was visited by the little robin. He had followed her all the way.

"You do remember me!" she shouted out. "You do! You are prettier than anything else in the world!"

Laughing at him, she sat down in an old flowerbed and watched him fly around her, singing. The flowerbed was empty of any flowers at this time of year, but there were a few bushes with new leaves coming out. The robin flew down and pecked at a hole in the ground, looking for a worm. When Mary looked closer, she saw something shining in the brown mud. It was small, and made of rusty metal, with a little ring on the end.

It was an old key. With an almost frightened face, Mary picked it up. 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!"

21

Chapter Eight

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 used to asking for permission from adults about things. All she thought about the key was that if it was the key to the closed garden, then she could get in and find out what had happened to the old rose-trees. It was because it had been shut up for 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 play on her own, because nobody would ever know where she was.

She put the key in her pocket and walked up and down the walled gardens. She couldn’t find a door to the secret garden anywhere, as hard as she tried. Everything was covered in ivy. It was really thick and hid everything. She was disappointed and had to go back inside for lunch. She took the key in her pocket.

When she got to her room, Martha was working away, cleaning the floor. She told Mary about her at the cottage.

“Mother and I did the washing,” she said, and then we made little cakes for the children. They ate them when they came in from the moor. The hot cakes smelled so nice, and we had a good fire. In the evening, we mended clothes. And I told the children about you, Miss Mary! The little girl from India, who couldn’t put on her own clothes!”

“India is different from England,” said Mary. “If they want to hear more, you could tell them I have had a ride on an elephant. And there are tiger hunts!”

“They would love to hear about elephants and tigers!” said Martha. “But Mother is worried about you. All alone in that great big place. She says I must try to cheer you up. Look, I’ve brought you a present.”

She held out a skipping rope with a blue and red handle.

Mary stared at it. “What is it?” she asked.

“Haven’t you seen a skipping rope before? Didn’t they have skipping ropes in India?”

Martha ran into the middle of the room, and started to skip. One, two three…. she didn’t stop until she reached a hundred.

“Could I learn to skip like that?” asked Mary.

“Try it,” said Martha, handing her the rope. “You will need to practise. Mother said it will do you good, skipping and breathing good fresh air. It will make your arms and legs grow strong.”

22

Mary put on her hat and coat, and put her skipping rope over her arm. At the door, she stopped.

“Thank you, Martha,” she said. “I know that you don’t have much money for presents.”

“You’re a strong child, Miss Mary,” said Martha.

Afterwards, she skipped outside and skipped all around the garden, laughing. It was quite windy, but the sky was still nice and blue. She waved at Ben Weatherstaff as she went.

“You’ve got some colour in your cheeks, at last!” he said to Mary. The robin put his head on one side, and looked at her with his bright little eyes.

“I’ve never skipped before,” she replied. “Now I can reach a hundred.”

She skipped all the way down to where the walled gardens were the key heavy in her pocket. She skipped back to the ivy-covered wall. Just as she had expected, the robin flew down from a branch, singing away. He jumped onto a piece of ivy.

"You showed me where the key was yesterday," she said to the friendly bird. "You ought to show me the door today; but I don't believe you know!"

The robin flew onto the top of the wall and he opened his beak and sang a loud, lovely song. One of the nice little gusts of wind rushed past Mary, and it was a stronger one than the rest. It was strong enough to wave the branches of the trees, and it was strong enough to move the ivy hanging from the wall. To Mary’s surprise, the wind blew the thick ivy apart, revealing a hidden door in the wall. Her heart beat fast as she pulled away the strong leaves and ripped branches from the wall. Her hand went to her pocket and reached for the key. She put the key into the keyhole 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 anyone was coming. No one was coming. No one ever did come, it seemed, and she took another long breath, because she could not help it, and she held back the swinging ivy and pushed back the door, which opened very slowly. Then she stepped through it, and shut it behind her, and stood with her back against it.

She was standing inside the secret garden.

23

Chapter NineIt was the sweetest, most mysterious-looking place anyone could imagine. The high walls which surrounded the garden were covered with rosebushes which were so thick that they were stuck together. There were no rose flowers out. Mary Lennox knew they were roses because she had seen them in India. All the ground was covered with brown grass and around the edges were more messy bushes which were surely dead rosebushes. There were trees in the garden, and one of the things which made the place look strange but lovely was that climbing roses had grown all over them and hung down like curtains. There were neither leaves nor roses on them now and Mary did not know whether they were dead or alive.

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!" Nothing was moving. The robin, who had flown to his treetop, was still as all the rest. He did not even wave his wings; he sat 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."

The garden felt like a magical place, because it was so strange, but it also felt dead. She wished she could tell someone about it and she felt sad because she wished that the garden could be alive again. Looking closer, she spotted a few green shoots growing here and there. Perhaps they were daffodils, she thought. Lots of weeds were there as well and Mary pulled them out of the ground to help the shoots grow.

Pleased at her work, Mary spent three hours getting rid of weeds all around the place, trying to make it look nice. She worked until it was time for lunch.

While she ate, Mary asked Martha if she could get a spade.

"What on earth do you want a spade for?" asked Martha, laughing.

Mary looked at the fire and thought about it. She couldn’t tell anyone about the garden. If they found out they might take the key away from her.

"This is such a big lonely place and my only friends are you and Ben Weatherstaff," she said slowly. “I thought that if I had a little spade I could dig somewhere outside just like him and I might make a little garden if he gave me some seeds."

Martha smiled. She told Mary that, since Mrs Medlock was giving Mary a little bit of money every week, she could buy a spade.

"In the local shop they sell spades and packages of flower-seeds for a penny each, and Dickon knows which are the prettiest ones and how to make 'em grow. If you can write a letter, he’ll buy everything for you.”

Using everything she had learnt in India, Mary wrote a letter that would be sent to Dickon, asking him to buy the things she needed. Martha couldn’t write, so she told her what to put, and she wrote it.

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Dear Dickon,

Miss Mary has plenty of money. Will you go to the shop and buy her some flower seeds and some garden tools to make a flowerbed? Pick the prettiest ones that are easy to grow because she has never done it before. Give my love to mother and every one of you. Miss Mary is going to tell me a lot more about India so that on my next day out you can hear about elephants and camels and people going hunting lions and tigers.

Your loving sister,

Martha Sowerby

"We'll put the money in the envelope and I'll get the butcher's boy to take it to him. He's a great friend of Dickon's," said Martha.

"How will I get the things when Dickon buys them?" asked Mary.

"He'll bring them to you himself. He'll like to walk over to the house."

"Oh!" said Mary, "then I shall see him! I never thought I would meet Dickon."

"Do you want to see him?" asked Martha suddenly, she had looked so pleased.

"Yes, I do."

"Well, my mother knows Mrs Medlock, and she thinks that she’ll let you come over to my house on Tuesday to meet everyone, if you want to.”

Mary was very happy to hear this and couldn’t wait to go. Martha stayed with her until tea-time, but they just sat quietly and talked very little. But just before Martha went downstairs for the tea-tray, Mary asked a question.

“Martha,” she said, “has the maid had the toothache again today?”

Martha started slightly.

“Why did you ask that?” said Martha.

“When I went down the corridor I heard someone crying again. There isn’t a wind today, so it couldn’t be the wind.”

“Eh! You mustn’t go walking about in corridors and listening. Mr Craven would be very angry and there’s no knowing what he would do!” said Martha.

“I wasn’t listening. I was just waiting for you – and I heard it. That’s three times.”

“My word! There’s Mrs Medlock’s bell,” said Martha, and she almost ran out of the room.

“This is the strangest house anyone ever lived in,” said Mary drowsily, as she dropped her head on the cushioned seat of the arm-chair near her. Fresh air, digging and skipping had made her feel so tired that she fell asleep.

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Chapter Ten

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 was like somewhere from a fairytale.

At Misselthwaite she was beginning to like to be out of doors; she no longer hated the wind, but enjoyed the feeling of it. She could run faster, and longer, and she could skip about. The thing she liked the most was weeding in her garden. She worked and dug and pulled up weeds every day, only becoming more pleased with her work every hour instead of getting tired of it. Every day she she saw more green shoots starting to come up through the soil. She thought about what it would be like when the roses and flowers were all out.

During that week of sunshine and working in the garden, she became more friendly with Ben Weatherstaff. She would sneak up on him and surprise him because he was worried he would hide away from her otherwise. In fact, he did not dislike her as strongly as he had at first. After all, Mary was more polite and friendly than she had been before.

"You’re like the robin," he said to her one morning when he lifted his head and saw her standing by him. "I never know when I’ll see you or where you’ll appear from."

"He's friends with me now," said Mary.

"That's like him," snapped Ben Weatherstaff. "He likes to chat to girls like you.” He rarely talked much and sometimes did not even answer Mary's questions, but this morning he said more than usual. He stood up and put one boot on the top of his spade while he looked at her. "How long have you been at Misselthwaite?" he asked.

"I think it's about a month," she answered.

"Well it looks like Misselthwaite’s doing you a lot of good," he said. "You’re a bit fatter and happier than you looked when I first saw you. Now you look quite sweet, when you used to be frowning all day long.”

Mary agreed with him. She felt much better now. As they stood there, the robin came flying down from somewhere up high. "Oh! look at him!" cried Mary. To their surprise, he jumped onto the handle of Ben’s spade. Ben smiled and laughed in excitement, before the bird flew away.

"If you wanted to make a flower garden," asked Mary, "what would you plant?"

"Lots of flowers that smell nice, but mostly roses."

Mary's face lit up. "Do you like roses?" she said.

“Well, yes, I do. I was taught to like them by a young lady who used to live here. She had a lot of roses in a place she was fond of and she loved them like they were children. I've seen her bend over and kiss them." He pulled out another weed and frowned at it. "That was more than ten years ago."

"Where is she now?" asked Mary.

26

"She’s in heaven," he answered. “She died.”

"What happened to the roses?" Mary asked, more interested than ever.

"They were left alone, forgotten about."

Mary was becoming quite excited. "Did they all die? Do roses just die when they are left to themselves?" she asked him.

"Well, I'd got to like them and I liked her," Ben Weatherstaff said. "Once or twice a year I'd go and work on them."

"When roses have no leaves, and look grey and brown and dry, how can you tell whether they are dead or alive?" asked Mary.

"Wait until spring and they’ll start to change."

"How?" cried Mary, forgetting to be careful about what she said.

"Look along the twigs and branches and if you see a bit of a brown lump swelling up, watch it after the warm rain and see what happens." He stopped suddenly and looked curiously at her face. "Why do you care so much about roses, all of a sudden?" he asked.

Mistress Mary felt her face grow red. She was almost afraid to answer. "I want to have a garden of my own. I have nothing to do here.”

"Well," said Ben Weatherstaff slowly, as he watched her, "that's true." He said it in such an odd way that Mary wondered if he was actually a little bit 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 honest 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. "I’ve not been this year. I’m getting old now and my arms and legs hurt, so I am trying to do less."

Then quite suddenly he seemed to get angry with her, though she did not see why he should. "Now look here!" he said crossly. "Don't ask so many questions. I've done enough talking for today." He said it so angrily that she knew there was no point in staying.

She went skipping away. Even though he was always cross, 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. She skipped along the path that led to the wood. As she went through the gate, she heard someone playing a pipe.

She followed the sound, and saw boy was sitting under a tree. He was a funny looking boy of about twelve. He looked very clean and his nose turned up and his cheeks were as red as poppies. Never had Mistress Mary seen such round and such blue eyes on any boy's face. On the trunk of the tree he leaned against, a brown squirrel was clinging and watching him, as if they were friends.

27

When he saw Mary, he held up his hand and spoke to her. "Don't move or you’ll scare the squirrel away," he said. Mary stood still. He moved slowly and came to greet her. "I'm Dickon," the boy said. "I know you’re Miss Mary."

She was excited to meet him, but Mary knew nothing about boys and she spoke to him quietly because she felt rather shy. "Did you get Martha's letter?" she asked.

He nodded. "That's why I’m here." He bent down and picked up a little set of garden tools. He had a spade, a rake, a garden fork and a trowel. With these was a packet of seeds. He passed these all to her. As she came closer to him she noticed that he smelt of flowers and grass, 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. Then he told her all about the types of seeds he had brought. The robin from the garden appeared and flew around them, singing. Dickon enjoyed seeing him and said that the little bird seemed to recognise Mary.

"Do you understand everything birds say?" said Mary.

Dickon's grin spread until he seemed all wide, red mouth, and he rubbed his head. "I think I do, and they think I do,” he said, laughing. “Do you know what? I think I’ll help you out and I'll plant the seeds for you myself. Where is your garden?"

Mary felt bad, because she couldn’t tell him about the Secret Garden. 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. "You have got a garden, haven’t you?” Dickon said. She had turned red. Dickon saw her do it, and as she still said nothing, he was confused. "Wouldn't they give you anything?" he asked.

"Could you keep a secret, if I told you one? It's a big secret. I don't know what I should do if anyone found it out. I would be in trouble." She said the last sentence quite strongly.

Dickon looked more confused than ever. "I'm keeping secrets all the time," he said.

"I've stolen a garden," she said very fast. "It isn't mine. It isn't anybody's. Nobody wants it, nobody cares for it, nobody ever goes into it. Perhaps everything is dead in it already; I don't know." She began to feel hot and worried. "I don't care, I don't care! Nobody has any right to take it from me when I care about it and they don't. They're letting it die, all shut in by itself," she ended and then she started to cry.

Dickon didn’t understand what she meant.

"I've nothing to do," said Mary. "Nothing belongs to me. I found the garden myself and I got into it myself."

"Where is it?" asked Dickon in a low voice.

"Come with me and I'll show you," she said. She led him to the place where the ivy grew so thickly. Dickon followed her. When she stepped closer to the wall and lifted the hanging ivy, he watched. There was a door and Mary pushed it slowly open and they went in together, and then Mary stood and waved her hand round defiantly. "It's a secret garden, and I'm the only one in the world who wants it to be alive."

Dickon looked round and round about it, and round and round again.

28

Chapter Eleven

For two or three minutes, he stood looking around him, while Mary watched.

"I never thought I'd see this place," he said at last, in a whisper.

"Did you know about it?" asked Mary, loudly.

"We must talk very quietly," he said, "or someone will hear us."

"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 a garden that no-one ever went inside," he answered. "We used to wonder what it was like."

He stopped and looked round at the lovely grey tangle around him, and his eyes looked very happy.

“All the birds will be nesting here at springtime,” he said. “It’d be th’ safest nesting place in England. No one ever comin’ near an’ tangles o’roses to build in. I wonder all th’birds on th’moor don’t build here.”

Mary put her hand on his arm without knowing it.

"Will there be roses here in the summer?" she whispered . "Can you tell? I thought perhaps they were all dead."

"No! Not all of 'em!" he answered. "Look here!" He took a thick knife out of his pocket and opened one of its blades. "There's lots of dead wood that ought to be cut out," he said. “If we work hard, we can save lots of these roses.” He made a cut in the branch to reveal green growth underneath. Then the two of them ran around the garden doing this to every rosebush.

Dickon was very strong and clever with his knife and knew how to cut the dry and dead wood away, and could tell when a twig had still green life hidden in it. In the course of half an hour Mary thought she could tell too. The spade, and hoe, and fork were very useful. He showed her how to use the fork while he dug around the roots with the spade to let the air in.

Soon, Dickon saw something that took him by surprise. "Look!" he cried, pointing into the grass. “Who did that there?" He was looking at one of the little shoots that Mary had cleared away before.

"I did it," said Mary.

"But I thought you didn't know anything about gardening?" he said.

"I don't," she answered, "but the little plants were so little, and the grass was so thick and strong, and they looked as if they had no room to breathe, so I made a place for them. I don't even know what sort of plants they are.”

Dickon went and sat down by them, smiling. "You were right," he said. "You’re a good gardener. They'll grow up now safely. They're called crocuses and snowdrops. They will look beautiful when they’re out."

29

He saw all the other places where she had spent time tidying up. "You have done a lot of work for such a little girl," he said, looking her over.

"I'm getting stronger," said Mary, "I used always to be tired. Now when I dig I'm not tired at all."

"I love the smell of the mud when it’s been dug up," Dickon said, nodding his head.

Mary told him the story of the garden and how she had come across it. Dickon looked thoughtful.

"It's a strange garden. Somehow it seems as if somebody has been in here. Someone has cut back some of the plants.”

"But how could that have been done?" said Mary.

Mary told Dickon about how lonely she was at Misselthwaite. There was no-one for her to play with. “Dickon, you are as nice as Martha said you were. Do you like me? Can we be friends?" she said.

He answered happily. "I like you a lot, and so does that robin!"

Dickon took some bread and cheese from his pocket.

“Now, Mary, I’m going to have my lunch and you’d better go and have yours.”

“You won’t tell anyone about the secret garden, will you?” said Mary.

“If you were a missel thrush and you showed my where your nest was, do you think that I would tell anyone? Not me,” he said.

Mary smiled. She was quite sure her secret was safe with him.

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Chapter Twelve

Mary ran back inside so fast that she was out of breath when she reached her room. Her hair was all messy and her cheeks were red. Her food was waiting on the table, and Martha was there.

"You’re late," she said. "Where have you been?"

"I've seen Dickon!" said Mary. "I've seen Dickon!"

"I knew he'd come," said Martha. "Do you like him?"

"I think he's beautiful!" said Mary.

Martha looked rather surprised, but she looked pleased, too. "Well," she said, "he's a very nice boy, but we’ve never thought of him as handsome! How did you like the seeds and the garden tools?"

"How did you know he’d brought them?" asked Mary.

"He’s very good. I knew he’d bring them.

Mary was afraid that she might begin to ask difficult questions about where they had gone, 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 Martha began to ask where the flowers were to be planted.

"Who did you ask about it?" she inquired.

"I haven't asked anybody yet," said Mary, nervously.

"Well, I wouldn't ask the head gardener, Mr Roach. He's too strict."

"I've never seen him," said Mary. "I've only seen Ben Weatherstaff."

"If I was you, I'd ask Ben Weatherstaff," advised Martha. "He's not as mean as he looks, although he is a bit grumpy. Mr Craven lets him do what he likes because he was here when Mrs Craven was alive, and he used to make her laugh. She liked him. Perhaps he'd find you a corner somewhere to plant your flowers."

"If it was out of the way and no one wanted it, no one would mind me having it, would they?" Mary said anxiously.

"Of course not," answered Martha. "You wouldn't do any damage, I’m sure."

Mary ate her dinner as quickly as she could.

"I've got something to tell you," she said. "I thought I'd let you eat your dinner first. Mr Craven came back this morning and I think he wants to meet you."

Mary turned white. She was scared. "Oh!" she said. "Why! Why! He didn't want to see me when I first came to the house.”

"Well," explained Martha, "Mrs Medlock says it's because of my mother. She was walking to the village and she met him. She'd never spoke to him before, but Mrs Craven had been to our cottage

31

two or three times. I don't know what she said to him about you but she said something that’s made him want to see you before he goes away again, tomorrow."

"Oh!" cried Mary, "is he going away tomorrow? I am so glad!"

"He's going for a long time. He might not come back until autumn or winter. He's going to travel to foreign countries. He's always doing it."

"Oh! I'm so glad!" said Mary thankfully. If he did not come back until winter, or even autumn, there would be time to watch her garden come alive. Even if he found out then and took it away from her she would have seen it once at least.

At that moment, Mrs Medlock walked in. She was wearing her best black dress and cap. She looked nervous and excited. "Go and brush your hair, Mary. Martha, help her to put on her best dress. Mr Craven sent me to bring her to see him."

All the red left Mary's cheeks. Her heart began to beat fast and she felt herself changing into a shy, 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 tidy she followed Mrs Medlock down the corridors, in silence. What was there for her to say? She had 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. Mrs Medlock knocked at a door, and when someone said, "Come in," they entered the room together. Mr Craven was sitting in an armchair in front of 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 my bell for you when I want you to come back and take her away," said Mr Craven.

When she went out and closed the door, Mary could only stand there, saying nothing. She felt stiff and shy. She could see that the man in the chair was not so much a hunchback as a man with high shoulders, and he had black hair with patches of white. He turned his head and spoke to her.

"Come here!" he said. Mary went closer to him. He was not ugly. His face would have been handsome if he had smiled. He looked as if the sight of her worried him and as if he did not know what to say to her. "Are you well?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Mary.

"Do they take good care of you?"

"Yes."

He rubbed his forehead as he looked her up and down.

"You are very thin," he said.

"I am getting fatter," Mary answered. What an unhappy face he had!

"I forgot to get you a teacher or someone to look after you," he said.

"Please," began Mary. "Please—" and then she got too nervous to speak.

"What do you want to say?" he asked.

32

"I am… I am too old to need that," said Mary.

He rubbed his forehead again and stared at her. "That was what the Sowerby woman said," he said quietly.

Then Mary felt a bit more confident to speak. "Is she Martha's mother?" she stammered.

"Yes, I think so," he replied.

"She knows about children," said Mary. "She has twelve. She knows."

He seemed to become more interested in her. "What do you want to do at this house?"

"I want to play outdoors," Mary answered, hoping that her voice did not sound frightened. "I never liked it in India."

He was watching her. "Mrs Sowerby said it would do you good. Perhaps it will," he said.

"It makes me feel strong when I play and the wind comes over the moor," said Mary.

"Where do you play?" he asked next.

"Everywhere. Martha's mother sent me a skipping-rope. I skip and run and I look about to see if plants are starting to grow. I don't do any harm."

"Don't look so frightened," he said in a worried voice. "You could not do any harm, a child like you! You can do whatever you like. I am your guardian, though I am a poor one for any child. I cannot give you time or attention. I am too ill, but I want you to be happy and comfortable. I don't know anything about children, but Mrs Medlock will make sure 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.

"She must do," said Mr Craven. "I thought her rather bold to stop me on the moor, but she said… Mrs Craven had been kind to her." It seemed to upset him to say his dead wife's name. "She is a respectable woman. Now I have seen you, I think she said sensible things. Play outside as much as you like. It's a big place and you may go where you like and amuse yourself as you like. Is there anything you want? Do you want toys, books or dolls?"

"Could I," said Mary, nervously, "could I have a bit of earth?"

Mr Craven looked quite surprised. "Earth?" he repeated. "What do you mean?"

"Somewhere to plant seeds in. Somewhere to make things grow and to see them come alive,"

He looked at her for a moment. "Do you care about gardens that much," he said slowly.

"I didn't know about them in India," said Mary. "I was always ill and tired and it was too hot. I sometimes made little beds in the sand and stuck flowers in them. But here it is different."

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 someone else who loved the earth and things that grow. When you see a bit of earth you want," with a weak smile, "take it and make it come alive."

33

"May I take it from anywhere—if it's not wanted?"

"Anywhere," he answered.

"There! You must go now, I am tired." He rang the bell to call Mrs Medlock. "Goodbye. I will 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. Give her simple, healthy food. Let her run around in the garden. Don't look after her too much. She needs fresh air and fun. Mrs Sowerby is to come and see her now and then and she may sometimes go to her cottage."

Mrs Medlock looked pleased. She was relieved to hear that she need not "look after" Mary too much. She found it hard work looking after the child. She was fond of Martha's mother, too. "Thank you, sir," she said, and they left.

When Mrs Medlock left her at the end of her own corridor Mary ran back to her room. She found Martha waiting there. Martha was waiting. "I can have my garden!" cried Mary. "I may have it where I like!"

“That was nice of him, wasn't it?" said Martha.

"Martha," said Mary, "he is really a nice man, only his face is so sad."

She ran out into the garden to see if Dickon was still there, but he had gone. She smiled to herself as she found a note telling her he would be back.

34

Chapter Thirteen

Mary hoped Dickon 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 woken up in the middle of the night by the sound of rain hitting her window. It was pouring down. Mary sat up in bed and felt miserable and angry about the weather.

The powerful wind made a loud howling sound. She could not get back to sleep again. The sad sound kept her awake because she felt sad herself. It sounded like someone lost on the moor crying.

Suddenly something made her sit up in bed and turn her head toward the door listening. She listened and she listened. "It isn't the wind now," she said in a whisper. "That isn't the wind. It is different. It is that crying I heard before!"

The door of her room was slightly open and the sound came down the corridor, a quiet sound from far away inside the building. It was the sound of a child 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.

Mary felt as if she needed to investigate the sound. She got 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 don't care about Mrs Medlock."

There was a candle by her bed and she picked it up and went quietly out of the room. The corridor looked very long and dark, but she was too excited to notice. She tiptoed through doors and listened out for the crying to work out which way to go. The far-off faint crying went on. 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 some stairs, and then to the right again.

She pushed open a door very gently and closed it behind her. Now the crying was louder. It was on the other side of the wall to her left. She could see some light coming through a door. Somebody was crying in that room, a child. Mary walked to the door, pushed it open, and she was standing in a big room with beautiful furniture.

There was a small fire in the fireplace and a huge bed. On the bed was a little boy, crying. Mary wondered if she was in a real place or if she was dreaming. 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 walked across the room, and as she came nearer the boy noticed she was there and stared at her, his grey eyes opening so wide that they looked huge.

"Who are you?" he asked. "Are you a ghost?"

"No, I am not," Mary answered. "Are you one?"

He stared and stared and stared at her. "No," he replied after waiting a moment or so. "I am Colin."

"Who is Colin?" she asked.

"My name is Colin Craven. Who are you?"

35

"I am Mary Lennox. Mr Craven is my uncle."

"He is my father," said the boy.

"Your father?" said Mary, shocked. "No one ever told me he had a boy! Why didn't they?"

"Come here," he said, still keeping his strange grey eyes on her with an anxious look on his face. She came close to the bed and he put out his hand and touched her. "You are real, aren't you?" he said. "I have such real dreams very often. You might be one of them."

"I will pinch you 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?" asked Colin.

"From my own room. The wind blew loudly and I couldn't go to sleep. Then I heard someone crying and wanted to find out who it was. What were you crying for?"

"Because I couldn't go to sleep either and I have a headache. Tell me your name again."

"Mary Lennox. Did no one ever tell you I had come to live here?" Colin seemed less afraid of her now.

"No," he answered "Because I never let anyone see me."

"Why?" Mary asked again, feeling very confused.

"Because I am like this all the time. I am always ill and have to lie down. My father won't let people talk to me either. The servants are not allowed to speak about me. I am so sick that I will probably die at any moment, and if I live, I will turn into a hunchback. My father hates to think that I will end up like him."

"Oh, what a strange house this is!" Mary said. "Everything is a kind of secret. Rooms are locked up and gardens are locked up. And now I find you! Have you been locked up?"

"No. I stay in this room because I don't want to be moved. I get too tired."

"Does your father come and see you?" Mary asked.

"Sometimes he does, but he usually just comes and watches me while I’m asleep. He doesn't want to see me."

"Why?"

The boy looked angry. "My mother died when I was born and it makes him angry to look at me. He blames me for her death. He thinks I don't know, but I've heard people talking. He hates me."

"He hates the garden, because she died," said Mary half speaking to herself.

"What garden?" the boy asked.

"Oh, nothing! Just a garden she used to like," Mary said. "Have you been here all your life?"

"Nearly. Sometimes I have been taken to places at the seaside, but I hate it because people stare at me. I used to wear a big metal thing to keep my back straight, but a doctor came from London to see me and said it wouldn’t work. He told them to take it off and keep me outside in the fresh air. I hate fresh air and I don't want to go out."

36

"I didn't like going outside when first I came here," said Mary. "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"

"Because of my dreams that are so real," he answered. "Sometimes when I open my eyes I don't believe I'm awake."

"I don't want it to be a dream," the boy said.

Mary thought of something. "If you don't like people to see you," she began, "do you want me to go away?"

"No," he said. "I want to hear about you."

Mary put down her candle on the table near the bed and sat down in a chair. She did not want to go away at all. She wanted to 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 where her room was; he wanted to know what she had been doing; if she disliked the moor like he did; 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. One of his nurses had taught him to read when he was quite little and he was always reading and looking at pictures in books. His father would get him anything he wanted and let him do anything.

"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 asked 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 looked up at her. "What garden door was locked? Who did it? Where was the key buried?" he said as if he were suddenly very interested.

"It was the garden Mr Craven hates," said Mary nervously. "He locked the door. No-one knew where he buried the key."

"What sort of a garden is it?" Colin asked.

"No-one has been allowed to go into it for ten years," was Mary's careful answer. She shouldn’t be telling anyone about it, she thought, but it was too late now. He was just like her. He too had had nothing to do and the idea of a hidden garden was exciting to him. He asked question after question. Where was it? Had she never looked for the door? Had she never asked the gardeners?

"They won't talk about it," said Mary. "They’re not allowed to talk about it."

"I would make them," said Colin.

"Could you?" Mary asked, beginning to feel frightened. If he could make people answer questions something bad might happen.

"Everyone has to do what I say," he said. "If I were to live, this place would be my house one day. They all know that. I would make them tell me."

37

Mary realised that Colin was a very spoilt child, just as she had been in India. He thought that the whole world belonged to him. He was a very strange boy and acted in a very odd way. "Do you think you won't live?" she asked, partly because she wanted to know, and partly to change the subject.

"I don't think so," he answered with no emotion. "All my life, I have heard people say I will die. At first, they thought I was too little to understand and now they think I don't hear. But I do. My doctor is my father's cousin. If I die he will own Misselthwaite when my father is dead. He doesn’t want me to live."

"Do you want to live?" asked Mary.

"No," he answered, in a cross, tired fashion. "But I don't want to die. When I feel ill I lie here and think about it until I cry and cry."

"I have heard you crying before," Mary said, "but I did not know who it was. Were you crying about that?" She wanted him to forget the garden.

"Probably," he answered. "Let’s talk about something else. Talk about that garden. Do you want to see it?"

"Yes," she said.

"I do," he went on. "I don't think I ever really wanted to see anything before, but I want to see that garden. I want the key dug up. I want the door unlocked. I am going to make them open the door." He had become quite excited and his strange eyes began to shine. "They have to do it," he said. "I will make them take me there and I will let you go, too."

Mary was scared now. Everything would be ruined! Dickon would never come back. "Oh, don't do that!" she cried out.

"Why?" he exclaimed. "You said you wanted to see it."

"I do," she answered, "but if you make them open the door and take you in like that it will never be a secret again."

He leaned forward. "What do you mean? Tell me."

Mary started to cry. "If the garden was a secret and we could get into it we could watch the things grow bigger every day, and see how many roses are alive. Don't you see? Oh, don't you see how much nicer it would be if it was a secret?"

"I’ve never had a secret," he said, "except that one about not living to grow up. They don't know I know that, so it is a sort of secret. But I like this kind better."

"If you won't make them take you to the garden," pleaded Mary, "maybe I can find out how to get in there one day.”

“I’d love that,” he said.

She felt much calmer now. She told him all about everything: about the robin, and about the roses, and about old Ben Weatherstaff. Sometimes it made him smile and he almost looked beautiful. Mary didn’t tell him that she’d been into the garden, as she didn’t trust him yet.

"I am going to let you look at something," he said suddenly. "Do you see that big curtain hanging on the wall?"

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Mary had not noticed it before, but she looked up and saw it. It was a curtain hanging over a big picture frame. "Yes," she answered.

"There is a rope hanging down from it," said Colin. "Go and pull it."

When she pulled it, the curtain was drawn and 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 beautiful eyes were exactly like Colin's sad grey ones.

"That girl was my mother," said Colin. "I don't see why she died. Sometimes I hate her for doing it. Now draw the curtain again."

Mary did as she was told. "She is much prettier than you," she said, "but her eyes are the same shape and colour. Why is the curtain drawn over her?"

He looked sad. "I made them do it," he said. "Sometimes I don't like to see her looking at me. She smiles too much when I am ill."

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 asked. "She would do as I told her to do," he said. "And I would 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.”

"I think you will be a secret, too," he said. "I will not tell them until they find out about you.” I can always send Martha 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 looks after me."

Now Mary understood why Martha had pretended not to believe her when she had asked questions about the crying. "Martha knew about you all the time!" she said. "Shall I go away now? Your eyes look sleepy."

In fact, he was already asleep. Mary picked up her candle and went back to her room.

39

Chapter FourteenThe moor was hidden in mist when the morning came, and the rain had not stopped pouring down. There could be no going outdoors today. Martha was so busy that Mary couldn’t talk to her until the afternoon.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Martha, knitting a jumper. "You look as if you have something to say."

"I have. I have found out what the crying was," said Mary.

Martha dropped her knitting and looked scared.

"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."

Martha's face went red. "Miss Mary!" she said half crying. "You'll get me in trouble! I will lose my job!"

"You won't lose your job," said Mary. "He was glad I came. We talked and talked and he said he was glad I came."

"Was he?" cried Martha. "Are you sure?"

"I asked him if I should go away and he made me stay. He asked me questions. He wouldn't let me go. He let me see his mother's picture."

Martha was very surprised. "Normally he won't 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 don't know what to do!" cried Martha. "If Mrs Medlock finds out, she'll think I broke orders and told you and I will be sent home."

"He is not going to tell Mrs Medlock anything about it yet. It's going to be a secret," said Mary firmly.

"And he says everybody has to do what he says."

"Yes, that’s true," said Martha, looking less worried.

"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 will get in trouble!"

"You can't if you are doing what he wants you to do," Mary argued. “What is wrong with him?”

"Nobody knows for sure," said Martha. "Mr Craven went mad when he was born. It was because Mrs Craven died. He never wanted to see the baby. He just said it'd be another hunchback like him and it'd be better off dead."

"Is Colin a hunchback?" Mary asked. "He didn't look like one."

"He isn't yet," said Martha. "But they think he might change. He’s been weak all of his life.”

"I think he's a very spoiled boy," said Mary. "Do you think he will die?"

40

"He’s always ill. I think it’s likely he will."

Martha soon had to go and see Colin in his room. After a while, she returned and told Mary that Colin wanted to see her. Mary was happy to go. She did not want to see Colin as much as she wanted to see Dickon, but she still wanted to see him very much.

"Come in," he said, when she got there. "I've been thinking about you all morning."

"I've been thinking about you, too," replied Mary. "Martha is very frightened. 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 with fear. Colin was still frowning. "Have you to do what I please or have you not?" he asked.

"I have to do what you say, sir," Martha said, turning red.

“So does Mrs Medlock. So if I ask you to bring Miss Mary to me, how can Mrs Medlock send you away if she finds it out?"

"Please don't let her, sir," pleaded Martha.

"I'll send her away if she dares to say a word about such a thing," said Colin. "She wouldn't like that, I can tell you."

"Thank you, sir," said Martha.

"I'll take care of you. Now go away."

Martha went out of the room, looking worried.

"I was thinking," said Mary, "how different you are from Dickon."

"Who is Dickon?" he said. "What a strange name!"

She might as well tell him, she thought. She could talk about Dickon without mentioning the secret garden. She liked to talk about him. "He is Martha's brother. He is twelve years old," she explained. "He is not like anyone else in the world. He can make friends with foxes and squirrels and birds.”

Colin lay back on his cushion. "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 won't 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 it's such an empty place?"

"It's the most beautiful place," said Mary. "Thousands of lovely things grow on it and there are thousands of little creatures all busy building nests and making holes and singing or squeaking to each other. They are so busy and having such fun under the earth or in the trees or grass. It's their world."

"How do you know all that?" said Colin, turning on his elbow to look at her.

"I have never been there," said Mary suddenly remembering. "I only drove over it in the dark. I thought it was scary. Martha told me about it first and then Dickon. When Dickon talks about it you

41

feel as if you saw things and heard them and as if you were standing there with the sun shining and the air is all full of bees and butterflies."

"You never see anything if you are ill," said Colin sadly. He looked like a person listening to a new sound in the distance and wondering what it was.

"You can't if you stay in a room," said Mary.

"I couldn't go on the moor," he said.

Mary was silent for a minute and then she spoke. "You might do one day."

He moved as if he were shocked. "Go on the moor! How could I? I am going to die."

"How do you know?" said Mary, annoyed at him. She didn't like the way he had of talking about dying. She felt as if he almost boasted about it.

"Oh, I've heard it ever since I remember," he answered crossly. "They are always whispering about it and thinking I don't notice. They wish I would, too."

Mistress Mary felt quite angry. "If they wished I would," she said, "I wouldn't. Who wishes you would?"

"The servants and, of course, Dr Craven because he would get Misselthwaite and be rich instead of poor. He always looks happy when I am worse. I think my father wishes it, too."

"I don't believe he does," said Mary crossly.

That made Colin turn and look at her again. "Don't 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.

Mary finally spoke. "Don't talk about dying; I don't like it. Let’s talk about living. Let’s 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. Mary talked more than she had ever talked before, and Colin both talked and listened more than he had ever done before either. And they both began to laugh, like children do 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-olds, instead of a spoilt little unemotional girl and a sick 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 forgotten," he said. "We are cousins."

It seemed so strange that they had talked so much and never remembered this simple thing that they laughed more than ever.

At that moment, the door opened and in walked Dr Craven and Mrs Medlock. Dr Craven looked extremely shocked to see the two of them and Mrs Medlock almost fell over.

"My goodness!" shouted Mrs Medlock.

"What is this?" said Dr Craven, coming forward. "What is happening?”

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Then Colin acted as if he hadn’t noticed their reactions and spoke in a calm voice. "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 looked rather angrily at Mrs Medlock. She looked embarrassed.

"Oh, Doctor," she said to him. "I don't know how it's happened. There's not a servant on the place that would dare to talk to Mary about him."

"Nobody told her anything," said Colin, "she heard me crying and found me herself. I am glad she came. Don't be silly, Mrs Medlock."

Mary saw that Dr Craven did not look happy, but it was quite obvious that he had to do what Colin said. He sat down by Colin and checked him, as a doctor does with his patients. "I am afraid there has been too much excitement. Excitement is not good for you, boy," he said.

"I will get even more excited if she is kept away from me," answered Colin, his eyes beginning to look angry. "I am better. She makes me better. We will have tea together."

Mrs Medlock and Dr Craven looked at each other in an unhappy way, but they had to do what he said. "He does look rather better, sir," said Mrs Medlock.

Dr Craven did not stay very long. He 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. Dr Craven did not look happy when he left the room.

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Chapter Fifteen

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 a lot. The week had not seemed long. She had spent hours of every day with Colin in his room. They had looked at the beautiful books and pictures and sometimes Mary had read things to Colin, and sometimes he had read a little to her.

He seemed much healthier now. "You are very naughty to have gone looking for him," Mrs Medlock said once. "But he’s got so much better since you have been friends that it has been easier for all of us.”

In her talks with Colin, Mary had tried to be very secretive about the secret garden. She had pretended that she didn’t know how to get into the garden and had never been in there, because she wasn’t sure if he could keep a secret.

She wanted to know if it would ever be possible to take him to the garden without having any one find out? 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 sometimes looked at herself in the mirror and noticed she had changed since she had come to Misselthwaite. She looked nicer. Even Martha had seen a change in her.

“The air from the moor has done you good already,” she had said. “You don’t look so yellow and you’re not nearly as scrawny. Even your hair has got some life in it now!”

“It’s like me,” said Mary. “It’s growing stronger and fatter. I’m sure there’s more of it.”

“It looks it, for sure,” said Martha, ruffling it up a little around her face. You’re not half as ugly when it’s that way and there’s a bit of red in your cheeks!”

She thought it was because of the time she had spent outdoors. If gardens and fresh air had been good for her perhaps they would be good for Colin too. But then, since 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 asked one day.

"I always hated it," he answered, "even when I was very little.”

"There's one boy," he said quite slowly, as if he were thinking about every single word, "there's one boy I wouldn’t mind meeting, though. It's that boy who knows where the foxes live: Dickon."

"I'm sure you wouldn't mind him," said Mary.

"The animals don't," he said, still thinking it over. Then he laughed and she laughed too. Mary knew she didn’t need to worry about Dickon anymore.

On that first morning when the sky was blue again, Mary woke up very early. The sun was shining and everything looked beautiful. Mary put her hand out of the window and held it in the sun. "It's warm!" she said. "It will make the roses grow!”

44

A sudden thought made her excited. "I can't 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 ran outside, skipping all the way to the secret garden. "It is all different already," she said. "The grass is greener and things are growing up everywhere. This afternoon I am sure Dickon will come back."

When she had reached the place where the door hid itself under the ivy, she pushed open the door and stepped inside. Waiting for her there was Dickon. He was digging and working on the garden. "Oh, Dickon! Dickon!" she cried out. "How could you get here so early!"

He smiled and pointed down at the ground. Some crocuses had grown and the bright flowers caught her eye. She was very happy. They were purple, orange and gold. Mary bent her face down and kissed and kissed the flowers. The two of them ran around the garden looking at all the new things that had grown. They spotted the robin flying around with a twig in his beak and then landing. Dickon put a hand on Mary’s shoulder.

“We must keep really still and quiet. He is building his nest. He’ll stay here if we don’t frighten him.”

So they settled down softly on the grass and sat there without moving.

“If we talk about him I can’t help looking at him. We must talk about something else. There is something I want to tell you. Do you know about Colin?" she whispered.

He turned his head to look at her. "What do you know about him?" he asked.

"I've seen him. I have been to talk to him every day this week. He wants me to come. He says I'm making him forget about being ill and dying," answered Mary.

Dickon looked surprised. "I am glad. I was told never to speak about him. I hate keeping secrets."

"Don't you like hiding the garden?" said Mary.

"I'll never tell anyone about it," he answered.

"How did you know about Colin?" asked Mary.

"Everybody knows about him in the village, but no-one talks about him. He’s not been seen for many years."

Mary told him about Colin. When she described the boy’s small white face and strange eyes Dickon shook his head. "That's just like his mother's eyes, but hers were always laughing, apparently," he said. "They say Mr Craven can't bear to see him when he's awake and it's because his eyes are so similar to his mother's."

"Do you think he wants him to die?" whispered Mary.

"No, but he wishes he'd never been born. Mr Craven is afraid Colin will look at him one day and have turned into a hunchback."

"Colin's so afraid of it himself that he won't sit up," said Mary. "He says he's always thinking that if he should feel a lump growing on his back, he’d go mad."

"He shouldn’t lie there thinking things like that," said Dickon. "No-one could get well thinking like that. When first we got into this garden, it seemed like everything was grey and you thought nothing would live. Look around now and tell me if you don’t see a difference!"

45

"I was thinking that if Colin was out here he wouldn't be watching for lumps to grow on his back; he'd be watching for buds to come out on the rose-bushes, and he'd probably be healthier. That would be better than all the doctors and all the medicine in the world, “ explained Dickon. "I wonder if we will ever be able to get him out here to see."

"I've been wondering that myself. I've thought of it almost every time I've talked to him," said Mary. "I thought perhaps you could push his wheelchair. He won't go out if other people can see him. He could tell the gardeners to keep away so they wouldn't find out."

They watched the robin fly over their heads, carrying grass for his nest.

46

Chapter Sixteen

They had a lot 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 can't come and see him yet," she said to Martha. "I'm very busy in the garden."

Martha looked rather frightened. "Miss Mary," she said, "he won’t be happy to hear that."

But Mary was not as afraid of him as other people were.

"I can't stay," she answered. "Dickon's waiting for me."

Then she ran away. The afternoon was even lovelier and full of growing plants 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 tidied up. Dickon had brought a spade of his own and he had taught Mary to use all her tools, so that by this time the garden was looking a lot less wild.

"There'll be apples and cherries growing overhead here soon," Dickon said, working away. "And there'll be peach and plum trees against the walls. On the ground will be flowers everywhere."

Mary was looking stronger now with all the exercise she had been doing. "I'm getting fatter and fatter every day," she said quite happily.

"Mrs Medlock will have to get me some bigger dresses. Martha says my hair is growing thicker. It isn't so flat."

The sun was beginning to set when they had to stop for the evening. "The weather will be nice tomorrow," said Dickon. "I'll be here early."

"So will I," said Mary. She ran back to the house. She wanted to tell Colin about what the springtime had been doing. She knew he would like to hear. It was not very pleasant, when she opened the door of her room, to see Martha standing waiting for her with a sad face.

"What is the matter?" she asked. "What did Colin say when you told him I couldn't come?"

"He’s been angry and crying all day.”

Mary was angry with Colin. She walked off to confront him. 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 quite rude, Mary thought. "Why didn't 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 hurt and I had a headache and I was tired. Why didn't you come?"

"I was working in the garden with Dickon," said Mary.

Colin frowned and looked at her. "I won't let that boy come here if you go and stay with him instead of coming to talk to me," he said.

47

Mary got extremely cross. "If you send Dickon away, I'll never come into this room again!" she shouted.

"You'll have to do what I say!" said Colin.

"I won't!" said Mary.

"I'll make you," said Colin, "They will drag you in."

"No, they won’t!" said Mary angrily. "I won't even look at you. I'll stare at the floor!"

"You are a selfish girl!" cried Colin.

"Then what are you?" said Mary. "Selfish people always say that. You're the most selfish boy I ever saw."

"I'm not!" snapped Colin. "I'm not as selfish as your fine Dickon is! He keeps you playing in the dirt when he knows I am all by myself. He's selfish!"

"He's nicer than any other boy that ever lived!" she said. "He's like an angel!" It might sound rather silly to say that but she did not care.

Because she was the stronger of the two she was beginning to get the better of him. The truth was that he had never had a fight with anyone like himself in his life and this excitement was doing him good. He turned his head and started to cry.

"I'm not as selfish as you, because I'm always ill, and I'm sure there is a lump growing on my back," he said. "And I am going to die."

"You're not!" replied Mary, feeling very annoyed with him.

He opened his eyes wide. He had never heard anyone say that before. He was both cross and slightly pleased to hear this. "I'm not?" he cried. "I am! You know I am! Everybody says so."

"I don't believe them!" said Mary. "You just say that to make people feel sorry for you. I believe you're sort of proud of it."

Colin sat up in bed. "Get out of the room!" he shouted and he grabbed his pillow and threw it at her.

He was not strong enough to throw it far and it missed her. "I'm going," she said. "And I won't come back!" She walked to the door and when she reached it she turned around and spoke again. "I was going to tell you all sorts of nice things," she said. "Now I won't tell you a single thing!"

She stepped out of the door and closed it behind her. To her surprise, she found a nurse standing as if she had been listening. The woman was laughing.

"What are you laughing at?" she asked her.

"At you two young ones," said the nurse. "It's the best thing that could happen to the sickly pampered thing to have someone to stand up to him that's as spoiled as himself!" She laughed into her handkerchief again.

"Is he going to die?" asked Mary.

"I don't know and I don't care," said the nurse. “Hysterics and temper are half of his illness.”

48

“What are hysterics?” asked Mary.

“You’ll find out if you work him into a tantrum after this – but at any rate, you’ve given him something to have hysterics about, and I am glad about it.”

Mary went back to her room feeling terrible. She was cross and disappointed but not at all sorry for Colin. She had looked forward to telling him lots of things. She had thought 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 unhappy that for a few minutes she almost forgot about Dickon.

Martha was waiting for her back in her room. There was a wooden box on the table, full of packages.

"Mr Craven sent it to you," said Martha.

Mary remembered what he had asked her in his room. "Do you want anything? Dolls, or toys, or books?"

She opened the package wondering if he had sent a doll, but he hadn’t. There were several beautiful books. Some were about gardens and were full of pictures. There were two or three games and there was a beautiful little gold pen. Everything was so nice that she stopped feeling so angry. She had not expected him to remember her at all and her little heart grew quite warm. "I can write now," she said, "and the first thing I will write with that pen will be a letter to say thank you."

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 back to see if there was a lump coming. He had a way of doing that which she hated. It have her an uncomfortable, frightened feeling because he always looked so frightened himself. He said that if he felt just a little lump someday he would know his hunch had begun to grow. Mary thought about Colin some more. Perhaps he felt sorry now. Perhaps she should give him another chance.

49

Chapter Seventeen

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 she had eaten dinner, she was happy to go to bed. It was the middle of the night when she was woken up by loud noises. They scared her so much that she jumped out of bed. What was it? Someone was crying and screaming at the same time, screaming and crying in a horrible way. "It's Colin," she said. "There’s something wrong with him."

As she listened to the screams she did not wonder that people were so frightened of him that they gave him whatever he wanted. She put her hands over her ears and felt sick. "I don't know what to do.” Even when she pressed her hands more tightly over her ears she could not keep the awful sounds out.

Suddenly the servant who had laughed at her came in. She was not laughing now. She even looked rather ill. "He's acting very strangely," she said, worried. "He'll hurt himself. No one can do anything with him. You come and try. He likes you."

"He shouted at me this morning," said Mary.

"That's right," she said. "You're in the right mood. You go and shout at him. Give him something new to think of. Go now!" It was not until afterwards that Mary realized that the whole situation had been funny as well as awful. It was funny that all the grown-up people were so frightened of a little boy 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 angrier she got. When she got to Colin’s room, she shouted at him. "You stop!" she said. "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 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 screaming, spoilt boy. His face looked white and red and he was choking; but little Mary did not care.

"If you scream another scream," she said, "I'll scream too, and I can scream louder than you can and I'll frighten you!"

He actually had stopped screaming because she had surprised him. His face was covered in tears. "I can't stop!" he cried.

"You can!" shouted Mary.

"I felt the lump today. I felt it," said Colin. "I knew I would. I will be a hunchback and then I will die!"

"You didn't feel a lump!" said Mary. "You are just making things up because you’re so upset. Turn over and let me look at it!"

He turned over and she checked his back up and down.

"There's not a single lump there!" she said. “Perhaps if you went outdoors, and stopped crying in here, you might start to feel better!”

50

Colin’s face suddenly changed and he stopped making noise. He put out his hand a little toward Mary, and she stopped feeling angry too.

"I'll go outside with you, Mary," he said. "I want the fresh air and I want Dickon to push my wheelchair. I want to meet him. 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 Mary a cup too.

"We can talk about it later. Now you must go back and get to sleep," Mary said. The servants had all gone. They had realised that the shouting was over.

“Do you think you have found out anything at all about the way into the secret garden?" asked Colin, in a whisper.

Mary looked at his poor little tired face and she decided she didn’t want to lie to him anymore. "Yes," she answered, "I think I have.

“Will you just tell me a little bit about what you imagine the garden looks like inside? I am sure it will make me go to sleep.”

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 long—that it has grown all into a lovely tangle. I think the roses have climbed and climbed and climbed until they hang from the branches and walls and creep over the ground— almost like a strange gray mist. Some of them have died but many—are alive and when the summer comes there will be curtains and fountains of roses. I think the ground is full of daffodils and snowdrops and lilies and iris working their way out of the dark. Now the spring has begun—perhaps—perhaps—"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 grass— perhaps there are clusters of purple crocuses and gold ones—even now. Perhaps the leaves are beginning to break out and uncurl—and perhaps—the gray is changing and a green gauze veil is creeping—and creeping over—everything. And the birds are coming to look at it—because it is—so safe and still. And perhaps—perhaps—perhaps—" very softly and slowly indeed, "the robin has found a mate—and is building a nest."

And Colin was asleep.

51

Chapter Eighteen

Mary did not wake up early the next morning. She slept in 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 had worn himself out with a fit of crying. Mary ate her breakfast slowly as she listened.

"Colin says he wishes you would please go and see him as soon as you can," Martha said.

"I'll run and see Dickon first," said Mary. "No, I’ve changed my mind. I'll go and see Colin first and tell him something."

She had her hat on when she got to Colin's room and, for a second, he looked disappointed. "I'm glad you came," he said. "My head aches and I hurt all over because I'm so tired. Are you going somewhere?"

Mary went and leaned against his bed. "I won't be long," she said. "I'm going to see Dickon, but I'll come back. Colin, it's something about the secret garden."

His whole face looked happier. "Oh! is it?" he cried out. "I dreamed about it all night. I dreamed I was standing in a green garden. There were birds on nests everywhere and they looked so soft and still. I'll lie and think about it until you come back."

In five minutes Mary was with Dickon in their garden. He had brought a baby fox and a baby crow, as well as two tame squirrels. She told him all about how Colin wanted to see the garden. She could see that Dickon felt sorrier for young Colin than she did. They talked about ways to bring him to the garden as they worked digging and making everything neat. Dickon agreed to come and see Colin the next morning.

When they were finished, she went back to the house and when she sat down close to Colin's bed he began to sniff the air. "You smell like flowers and fresh things," he said quite happily. "What is it you smell of? It's cool and warm and sweet all at the same time."

"It's the wind from the moor," said Mary. "It comes from sitting on the grass under a tree with Dickon.” Then they talked for a long time. He loved to hear about Dickon, and about the baby animals that had joined them. It seemed as if Colin could never hear enough of Dickon. He asked her how Dickon made friends with the animals.

"Dickon says anything will understand if you're friends with it for sure, but you have to be real friends."

Colin lay quietly for a little while and his big grey 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 I'm not. I never had anything to be friends with, and I have never liked people."

"Don’t you like me?" asked Mary.

"Yes," he answered, with a little smile. "Did you ever feel as if you hated people?"

"Yes," said Mary. "I would have hated you if I had seen you before I saw the robin and Dickon."

52

Colin put out his thin hand and touched her. "Mary," he said, "I wish I hadn't been nasty to you. I hated you when you said Dickon was like an angel, but maybe he is. I want to see him."

"I'm glad you said that," answered Mary, "because… because…" Suddenly it came into her mind that this was the minute to tell him the truth about the garden.

Colin knew something new was coming. "Because what?" he cried with excitement.

Mary was so anxious that she got up and came to him and held of both his hands. "Can I trust you? I trusted Dickon because birds trusted him. Can I trust you for sure?"

Her face was so serious that he almost whispered his answer. "Yes!"

"Well, Dickon will come to see you tomorrow morning, and he'll bring his animals with him."

"Oh!" Colin cried out in delight. "But that's not all," Mary went on. "The rest is better. There is a door into the garden. I found it. It is under the ivy on the wall."

"Oh! Mary!" he said, weakly, and he started to cry. "Can I see it? Can I get into it? Will I live to get into it?"

"Of course you'll see it!" said Mary angrily. "Of course you'll live to get into it! Don't be silly! I found the key and got in weeks ago, but I didn't tell you because I was so afraid I couldn't trust you for sure!"

53

Chapter Nineteen

Of course, Dr Craven had been called for the morning after Colin had been crying and screaming all night. He was always contacted when this happened and he always found, when he arrived, a white shaken boy lying on his bed, crying and upset. In fact, Dr Craven hated these visits.

This time, he was away from Misselthwaite Manor until that afternoon. "How is he?" he asked Mrs Medlock rather crossly when he arrived.

"Well, sir," answered Mrs Medlock, "you'll hardly believe your eyes when you see him. That rather ugly little girl has completely changed him, nobody knows how. She started shouting at him last night and he got better.”

When Dr Craven got into his patient's room, he was shocked. As Mrs Medlock opened the door, he heard laughing and conversation. 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 Mary. Then they saw Dr Craven and stopped. Mary became very still and Colin looked worried.

"I am sorry to hear you were ill last night, my boy," Dr Craven said nervously. He was rather a nervous man.

"I'm better now. Much better," Colin answered. "I'm going outside in my wheelchair in a day or two if the weather is OK. I want some fresh air."

Dr Craven sat down by him and checked him. "It will have to be a very nice day," he said, "and you must be very careful."

"Fresh air won't make me tired," said the young boy.

Dr Craven could not understand it. Whenever he had seen him before, the same young boy had said that fresh air would give him cold and kill him. "I thought you did not like fresh air," he said.

"I don't when I am by myself, but my cousin is going out with me."

"And a servant too, of course?" asked Dr Craven.

"No, just us," she said, confidently. "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 wheelchair."

Dr Craven felt rather worried. If this little boy got better, he would never get his hands on Misselthwaite Manor. Of course, although he was greedy, Dr Craven was not an evil man, and he did not intend to let Colin get into actual danger.

"He would have to be a very strong boy and someone we can trust," he said. "And I must know something about him. Who is he? What is his name?"

"It's Dickon," Mary spoke up suddenly. She felt somehow that everybody who lived around here must know Dickon. And she was right, too. She saw Dr Craven's serious face turn into a relieved smile.

54

"Oh, Dickon," he said. "If it is Dickon you will be safe enough. Dickon is a very strong young man."

Dr Craven had never made such a short visit when dealing with Colin. This afternoon he did not give any medicine. When he went downstairs he looked very thoughtful and when he talked to Mrs Medlock in the library she felt that he was a very confused man.

"Well, sir, this is very strange," she said.

"It is indeed," said the doctor.

That night, Colin slept well, and when he opened his eyes in the morning he lay still and smiled because he felt so comfortable. It was actually nice to be awake. He felt as if tight strings which had always held him had loosened themselves and let him go.

Very soon, he heard running in the corridor, and Mary was at the door. The next minute she was in the room and had run across to his bed.

"You've been outside! There's that nice smell of leaves!" Colin said.

She had been running and her hair was loose and blown up around her face.

"The garden is so beautiful!" she said, a little breathless with her speed. "The spring has come! Dickon says so!"

"Has it?" cried Colin, and although he really knew nothing about spring he felt his heart beat. He sat up in bed. "Open the window!" he added, laughing with happiness.

Mary ran to the window and opened it wide and freshness and softness and scents and birds’ songs were pouring through.

"That's fresh air," she said. "Breathe it in. That's what Dickon does when he's lying on the moor.”

Colin did.

"Things are coming up out of the earth," she said as she ran around the room in a hurry. “And there are flowers 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.

She was describing the moor, excitedly, and Colin was listening and breathing in long breaths of air when a servant came in. She was surprised at the sight of the open window. He always wanted it shut. "Are you sure you are not cold, Colin?" she asked.

"No," was the answer. "A boy, and a fox, and a crow, and two squirrels, and a new-born lamb, are coming to see me this morning. I want them brought upstairs as soon as they get here," he said.

The servant was very surprised.

"Yes, sir," she answered.

"You can tell Martha to bring them here. The boy is Martha's brother. His name is Dickon."

The servant ran back downstairs.

55

"Listen!" Mary said. They could hear Dickon and his baby animals coming. In a minute, he was inside the room.

"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.

"That's Soot," said Mary. "Listen again! Do you hear a bleat—a tiny one?"

"Oh, yes!" cried Colin.

"That's the new-born lamb," said Mary. "He's coming."

Dickon's moorland boots were thick and clumsy and though he tried to walk quietly they made aclumping sound as he walked through the long corridors. Mary and Colin heard him marching—marching, until he passed through the tapestry door on to the soft carpet of Colin's own passage."If you please, sir," announced Martha, opening the door, "if you please, sir, here's Dickon an' hiscreatures."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. The squirrel sat on his left shoulder. Colin slowly sat up and stared and stared. 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 walked over to Colin's sofa and put the new-born lamb quietly on his lap, and immediately the little creature turned to the warm velvet dressing-gown and began to nuzzle and nuzzle into it.

"What is it doing?" cried Colin. "What does it want?"

Dickon did not feel scared to talk at all. He walked over to Colin's sofa and put the tiny lamb quietly on his lap. The little animal looked so sweet that Colin could not stay quiet any longer.

"What is it doing?" cried Colin. "What does it want?"

"It wants its mother," said Dickon, smiling more and more.

He knelt down by the sofa and took a feeding bottle from his pocket.

"Come on, little one," he said, turning the small woolly white head with a gentle brown hand. "This iswhat it’s after. There now and he pushed the rubber tip of the bottle into the nuzzling mouthand the lamb began to suck it hungrily. After that there was no wondering what to say.

By the time the lamb fell asleep questions Colin asked Dickon so many questions and Dickon answered them all! 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'm going to see them," cried Colin. "I am going to see them!"

56

Chapter Twenty

Although Colin wanted to go out to the garden that morning, they couldn’t. He still wasn’t strong enough to leave the house. Then they had to wait more than a week because, first, there came some very windy days and, second, Colin caught a cold. Every day Dickon came in, just for a few minutes, to talk about what was happening on the moor. That stopped Colin getting angry.

The main problem, though, was the things that had to be done before Colin could be taken to the garden in secret. No one could see them or everything would be ruined. People must think that he was simply going out with Mary and Dickon because he liked them, not because they had a secret.

They had long talks about how to make the journey and, finally, Mr Roach, the head gardener at Misselthwaite, was ordered to come up to Colin’s room. He was very surprised to be asked, as he had never even met the boy.

"I am going out in my wheelchair this afternoon," said Colin. "If it goes well, I might go out every day. When I go, none of the gardeners are to be anywhere near the garden walls. They must all be working in the greenhouses, on the other side of the house. No one is to see me. I will be going out at about two o'clock and every one must keep away until they hear that they can go back."

"Yes, sir," replied Mr Roach, confused.

"You can go now, Mr Roach," Colin said. "But, remember, this is very important."

“Thank you, sir," said Mr Roach. Mrs Medlock took him out of the room.

Outside in the corridor, being a rather goodnatured man, he smiled until he almost laughed.

"My word!" he said, "he's got a fine lordly way with him, hasn't he? You'd think he was a whole Royal Family rolled into one—Prince Consort and all."

"Eh!" protested Mrs. Medlock, "we've been at his beck and call since he has been born!”

"Perhaps he'll grow out of it, if he lives," suggested Mr. Roach.

Inside the room Colin was leaning back on his cushions.

"It's all safe now," he said. "And this afternoon I shall see it—this 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.

"It's all safe now," Colin said. "And this afternoon I shall see the garden. This afternoon I shall be in it!"

Dickon went back to the garden with his animals 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 are you thinking about?”

57

“I can't help thinking about what it will look like," he answered.

"The garden?" asked Mary.

"Just the springtime," he said. "I was thinking that I've really never seen it before."

"I never saw it in India because there wasn't a spring," said Mary.

Later, a servant got 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 had come in to look at Colin’s back. "He's so happy that it makes him stronger."

"I'll be back later in the afternoon, after he has come back in," said Dr Craven.

The strongest servant in the house carried Colin down the stairs and put him in his wheelchair. Dickon waited outside. Dickon began to push the wheelchair slowly and steadily. Mary walked alongside it and Colin leaned back and lifted his face to the sky. It looked very high and the small snowy clouds seemed like white birds floating up high. The wind came rushing down from the moor and smelled sweet. Colin kept lifting his thin chest to breathe it in, and his big eyes looked bigger than ever, as if they might pop out of his head entirely.

There was nobody to be seen anywhere. All the gardeners had kept away. The three of them went slowly along the path they had planned to take. Colin turned his head to stare at everything. It was all new to him. Soon they made it to the walled gardens. They could see the ivy hanging down and the trees, all green, sticking up over the walls. As they came closer and closer, they felt more and more excited. For some reason, this made them speak in whispers.

"This is it," said Mary. "This is where I used to walk up and down and skip, when I had nothing at all to do, and no friends to speak to."

"Is it?" cried Colin. "But I can see nothing," he whispered. "There is no door."

"That's what I thought," said Mary. "That is the garden where Ben Weatherstaff works," said Mary.

"Is it?" said Colin. A little bit further, Mary whispered again. "This is where the robin flew over the wall," she said.

"Is it?" said Colin. "Oh! I wish he'd come again!"

"And that," said Mary with a smile on her face, pointing under a big flowering bush, "is where he dug into the earth and showed me the key."

Then Colin sat up. "Where? Where? There?" he cried.

Dickon stood still and the wheelchair stopped.

"And this," said Mary, stepping towards the wall, “this is the ivy the wind blew back," and she grabbed the hanging green branches, pulling them apart to reveal the door.

"Oh!" shouted Colin.

"And here is the handle, and here is the door. Dickon push him in!"

And Dickon did it with one strong push. They were in.

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Colin looked all around him. Over all the walls, little green leaves had grown, and in the grass under the trees there were little patches of gold and purple and white, where the seeds had been planted. Above his head the trees were showing pink and snow-white flowers above his head and there were birds flapping and flying everywhere. 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 colour had actually crept all over him – ivory face and neck and hands and all.

Mary and Dickon stood and stared at him in wonder.

"I will get well! I will get well!" he cried out. "Mary! Dickon! I will get well! And I will live forever and ever and ever!"

59

Chapter Twenty-One

One of the strange things about living in the world is that sometimes you feel as if you are going to live forever and ever and ever. That’s the way Colin Craven felt at that moment.

They put the chair under the plum tree, which was covered in flowers and bees buzzed all around it. 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 at: flower buds which were opening, flower buds which were closed, bits of twig whose leaves were just coming out, a bird’s eggshell and some colourful feathers left on the grass. Dickon pushed the chair slowly round and round the garden, stopping every other moment to let him look at things coming out of the earth.

"I wonder if we will see the robin?" said Colin.

"You'll see him often when his chicks have hatched. He is busy with his nest in spring," answered Dickon.

Soon Colin saw something he had not had time to notice before. "That's a very old tree over there, isn't 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 quiet voice became more serious.

Mary looked at the tree and thought.

"The branches are quite grey and there's not a single leaf anywhere," Colin went on. "It's quite dead, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," said Dickon. "But those lovely roses have climbed all over it. Soon they will hide every bit of the dead wood when they're full of leaves and flowers. It won't look dead then. It'll be the prettiest of all the things in this garden."

Mary still gazed at the tree, thinking.

"It looks as if a big branch has been broken off," said Colin. "I wonder how that happened."

"It's been like that for years," answered Dickon, the smile leaving his face.

Suddenly he changed the subject and smiled again. "Look at that robin! There he is!"

Colin was almost too late but he just saw him, the bird had flown past quickly with something in his beak.

"It must have been some sort of magic which sent the robin," said Mary secretly to Dickon afterwards. "I know.

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They were very glad that the robin had distracted Colin as both she and Dickon had been afraid he might ask something about the tree whose branch had broken off ten years ago and where his mother had fallen.

Then they saw the robin carrying a worm in his beak to his mate two or three times. This made the children feel hungry too.

“Go and ask one of the servants to bring a basket of food to the rhododendron walk. Then you and Dickon can bring it here.”

Soon they had a white cloth spread across the grass, with hot tea and buttered toast and crumpets.

Colin laughed when Soot stole a piece of cake.

His face and neck were pink from the sunshine and the fresh air.

"I don't want this afternoon to go," he said, "but I shall come back tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, and the day after."

"You'll get plenty of fresh air, won't you?" said Mary.

"I've seen the spring now and I'm going to see the summer. I'm going to see everything grow here. I'm going to grow here myself."

"Yes," said Dickon. "We’ll have you walking about here and digging just like other people do soon." Colin looked surprised.

"Walk?" he said. "Nothing is really wrong with my legs, but they are so weak and thin," he said.

They sat for a while longer. Colin looked as if he was sleepy.

Suddenly Colin lifted his head and said in a loud voice: "Who is that man?"

Dickon and Mary jumped up. "Where?" they both cried in low voices.

Colin pointed to the high wall. "Look!" he whispered.

There was Ben Weatherstaff's angry face frowning at them over the wall from the top of a ladder! He actually shook his fist at Mary in anger. "How dare you come in here!" he cried. He went higher on the ladder, as if he might jump down and confront her. "I never liked you!" he shouted.

"Ben Weatherstaff," called out Mary. She stood below him and called up to him. "Ben Weatherstaff, it was the robin who showed me the way!"

Then Ben seemed angrier than ever. "How could you blame your bad behaviour on a little robin!" he called down. "How on earth did you get in here?”

Then, he looked behind Mary and noticed young Colin. His face completely changed from one of anger to one of shock.

Colin had been so surprised to see Ben Weatherstaff that he had only sat up and listened as if he were frozen. But now he had woken up. Dickon pushed him closer to the old gardener.

"Do you know who I am?" shouted Colin.

Ben Weatherstaff just stared. He looked as if he had seen a ghost.

"Do you know who I am?" Colin repeated. "Answer me!"

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Ben Weatherstaff finally spoke in a strange, shaky voice.

"I know who you are, with your mother’s eyes staring out of your face," he said. "But I do not know how you have got here. You are a poor young hunchback."

Colin looked incredibly cross. "I'm not!" he cried out. "I'm not!"

"He's not!" shouted Mary. "He's not got a lump anywhere on his back! I looked and there were none there!"

Ben Weatherstaff kept staring. He had never seen the boy and could only remember things he had heard from other people.

"Have you not got a crooked back?" he said.

"No!" shouted Colin.

"Have you not got crooked legs?" said Ben more shakily than ever.

It was too much. The strength which Colin usually put into his crying rushed through him now in a new way. His anger made him forget everything.

"Come here!" he shouted to Dickon. "Come here! Come here right now!"

Dickon ran to his side. Mary felt herself turn pale.

Dickon held Colin's arm.

With a push, Colin was standing up!

"Look at me!" he shouted at Ben Weatherstaff. "Just look at me! Just look at me!"

"He's standing as straight as I am!" cried Dickon.

What Ben Weatherstaff did next shocked Mary. He choked and coughed and suddenly tears ran down his old wrinkled cheeks. "I don’t believe it!” he cried. “God bless you!"

Dickon held Colin's arm strongly but the boy was perfectly fine.

"I'm in charge," Colin said, "when my father is away. This is my garden. Don't you dare say a word to anyone about it!”

"Yes, sir! Yes, sir!" said old Ben Weatherstaff. Then he disappeared as he went down the ladder.

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Chapter Twenty-Two

When Ben’s 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 Colin stand. He looked amazing and he showed no signs of falling.

"I can stand," he said, now smiling proudly.

"I told you you could," answered Dickon.

"It’s like magic," said Colin.

"You’re doing all the magic yourself," he said. "It's same magic that made these flowers come out of the earth."

Colin stood up straighter than ever. "I'm going to walk to that tree," he said, pointing to one a little way away from him. "I'm going to be standing when Weatherstaff comes in here."

He walked to the tree and although Dickon held his arm he was perfectly good at walking. When Ben Weatherstaff came through the door in the wall he saw him standing there.

"Look at me!" shouted Colin to Ben Weatherstaff. "Look at me all over! Am I a hunchback? Have I got crooked legs?"

Ben Weatherstaff had recovered from his tears. "No, not at all," he said. "Why have you been hiding away from us? You’re just as well as anyone I’ve ever seen."

"Everyone thought I was going to die," said Colin shortly. "But I'm not!"

And he said it with such confidence that Ben Weatherstaff looked him up and down. "You die!" he said with a laugh. "Of course you won’t!”

"What work do you do in the gardens, Mr Weatherstaff?" asked Colin.

"Anything I'm told to do," answered old Ben. "Mr Craven lets me work here because she liked me."

"She?" said Colin.

"I mean your mother," answered Ben Weatherstaff.

"My mother?" said Colin, and he looked around quietly. "This was her garden, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was." Ben Weatherstaff looked around too. "She loved it."

"It is my garden now, I love it. I will come here every day," said Colin. "But it has to be a secret. No-one can know that we come here. Dickon and my cousin have worked and made it come alive. I will ask you to help sometimes, but you must come when no one can see you."

Ben Weatherstaff's face twisted itself into an old smile. "I've come here before when no one saw me," he said.

"What?" exclaimed Colin. "When?"

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"The last time I was here," said Ben, rubbing his chin and looking around, "was about two years ago."

"But no one has been in it for ten years!" cried Colin. "There was no door!"

"I didn't come through the door. I climbed over the wall. My bad back won’t let me do that anymore."

"I knew somebody had been in here!" cried Dickon.

"She loved this place!" said Ben Weatherstaff slowly. "And she was such a pretty young lady. She told me once that, if she were ill or gone one day, I should always take care of her roses. When she did go away nobody was allowed in. But I came anyway. I did a bit of work once a year."

“It wouldn’t have been as wick as it is if you hadn’t done it,” said Dickon. “I did wonder.”

"I'm glad you did it, Mr Weatherstaff," said Colin. "You'll know how to keep the secret."

"Yes, I'll know, sir," answered Ben.

On the grass near the tree Mary had dropped her trowel. Colin stretched out his hand and picked it up. An odd expression came into his face and he began to scratch at the earth. His thin, white hands shook a little as he placed the plant in the hole.

“I’ve done it! I’ve planted a rose in my mother’s garden.”

And there he stood, tall and straight, as the sun went down behind the ivy-covered wall.

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Chapter Twenty-Three

Dr Craven had been waiting for some time at the house when they returned to it. When Colin was brought back to his room he looked at his body and checked him all over.

"You should not have stayed so long," he said. "You must not excite yourself."

"I am not tired at all," said Colin. "It has made me well. Tomorrow I am going out in the morning as well as in the afternoon."

"I am not sure that I can let you do that," answered Dr Craven.

“Don’t try to stop me," said Colin seriously. "I am going."

Mary thought Colin was a bit rude in the way he spoke to people, including Dr Craven. Mary had once been rather like him herself and since she had been at Misselthwaite had learnt better manners. She decided to try and tell Colin about this.

"I'm feeling sorry for Dr Craven."

"So am I," said Colin calmly. "He won't get Misselthwaite at all, now I'm not going to die."

"I'm sorry for him because of that, of course," said Mary, "but I was thinking just then that it must have been difficult 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 asked.

“Yes. It is always having your own way that has made you so spoilt. But I was the same before I found the garden.”

Colin agreed to try and change. Over the next few months, he did. Over the next few months wonderful things happened in the garden! At first it seemed that the green things would never stop pushing their way through the earth, in the grass, in the beds, even in the crevices of the wall. Then the green things began to unroll and show colour, every shade of blue, every shade of purple, every tint and type of crimson. Iris and white lilies rose of the grass in sheaves, and the green alcoves filled themselves with amazing armies of the blue and white flower lances of tall delphiniums.

“Your mother loved them so much. She liked them because they were always pointing up to the blue sky!”

The seeds Dickon and Mary had planted grew as if fairies had tended them. Satiny poppies of all shades danced in the breeze by the score. And the roses – the roses! Rising out of the grass, tangled round the sun-dial, wreathing the tree-trunks, and hanging from their branches, climbing up the walls and spreading over them with long garlands falling in cascades – they came alive day by day, hour by hour.

Colin saw it all, watching each change as it too place. Every morning he was brought out and every hour of each day when it didn't rain he spent in the garden. He would lie on the grass "watching things growing," he said.

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If you watched long enough, he declared, you could see buds unsheath themselves. Also you could see lots of busy insect things running about. Sometimes they would be 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 elf’s hands, had absorbed him for one whole morning. Ants' ways, beetles' ways, bees' ways, frogs' ways, birds' ways, plants' ways, gave him a new world to explore. Dickon also told him about foxes' ways, otters' ways, ferrets' ways, squirrels' ways, and trout's and water-rats' and badgers' ways, so there was no end to the things to talk about and think over.

66

Chapter Twenty-Four

The secret garden was not the only one Dickon worked in. By the Sowerbys’ house, he grew vegetables in a vegetable patch of his own. Early in the morning and late in the evening he worked there, growing food for his mother. While he worked, he told his mother about all the things going on at Misselthwaite Manor. After Mary agreed that she was trustworthy, Dickon let his mother into the secret about the garden. One beautiful still evening Dickon told her the whole story.

"My goodness!" Mrs Sowerby said. "It was a good thing that little girl came to the Manor. It's changed two young lives for the better.”

Dr Craven and Mrs Medlock were very surprised at how much better Colin was. He was eating much more food than he had ever done before and seemed stronger and happier.

Dr Craven noticed how much better Colin was looking. He wanted to write to Colin’s father to tell him about this remarkable improvement.

“I don’t want you to tell him! It will only disappoint him if I get worse again – and I may get worse this very night. 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. Don’t worry. I will not write to Mr Craven!” he said.

He said no more about writing to Mr Craven, and when he saw the nurse he told her that she must not mention it to Colin.

“The boy is so much better. We need to make sure that he keeps calm so nothing must be said to irritate him.”

Mary and Colin worried that they might watch them and find out about the secret garden. To distract them from thinking about this, Colin would pretend to be more ill than he really was. This meant that he couldn’t finish the food that was given to him, and he felt hungry. When she found out about this, Mrs Sowerby would, very kindly, send some sandwiches with Dickon to solve this problem.

Colin tried so hard to eat less, but it was so hard when he woke up each morning with an amazing brilliant idea when he wakened each morning with an amazing appetite and the table near his sofa was set with a breakfast of home-made bread and fresh butter, snow-white eggs, raspberry jam and clotted cream. Mary always breakfasted with him and when they found themselves at the table—particularly if there were delicate slices of sizzling ham sending delicious aromas from under a hot silver cover - they would look at each other in desperation!

"I think we shall have to eat it all this morning!”

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Dickon started to help Colin do some exercises to make him stronger. Colin would do these every day when he got into the garden. Mary did them with him, so that he didn’t feel lonely.

Colin's skin looked much healthier. His cheeks were pink and fat, his beautiful eyes were shining. His once dark, heavy hair had begun to grow thicker and curlier. His lips were fuller and of a normal colour. When Dr Craven checked him, the man could not believe his eyes.

"I am sorry to hear that you do not eat anything," he said. "That will not do. You will lose all the weight you have gained—and you have gained so much weight recently!”

Mary was sitting on her stool nearby and she made a very strange sound. She was trying to stop herself from laughing!

"What is the matter?" said Dr. Craven, turning to look at her.

Mary began to get annoyed.

"It was something between a sneeze and a cough," she replied, "and it got into my throat."

"But" she said afterward to Colin, "I couldn't stop myself. It just burst out because all at once I couldn't help remembering 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 asked Mrs.Medlock."There's no way unless they dig it out of the earth or pick it off the trees," Mrs. Medlock answered.

"They stay out in the grounds all day and see no one but each other. And if they want anything different to eat from what's sent up to them they need only ask for it."

"Well," said Dr. Craven, "so long as going without food makes them so well we don’t need to worry!” The boy is a new creature."

"So is the girl," said Mrs. Medlock. "She's begun to look really pretty since she's filled out and lost her ugly little sour look. Her hair's grown thick and healthy looking and she's got a bright colour. Now she and Master Colin laugh together like a pair of crazy young ones. Perhaps they're growing fat on that."

"Perhaps they are," said Dr. Craven. "Let them laugh."

68

Chapter Twenty-Five

And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed. Every morning they found something new and interesting. The robin had built a nest and now there were little eggs in there. The robin’s mate sat upon them, keeping them warm with her feathery little breast and careful wings. He watched over them very carefully. Even Dickon stayed away from the nest, so that he didn’t annoy the two robins. The robin knew Dickon and Mary, and soon he liked Colin too.

One morning, when they were stuck inside because of the rain, Colin thought how funny it would be to surprise the servants and the doctor by standing up and showing them he could walk. None of them knew had ever seen him standing, of course. He thought for a while.

"I wish my father would come home," he said. "I want to tell him I’m better myself. I'm always thinking about it.”

“I wish it wasn't raining today," said Mary. Then she realised that they could still have fun indoors. "Colin," she began, "do you know how many rooms there are in this house?"

"About a thousand, I think," he answered.

"There's about a hundred no-one ever goes into," said Mary. "And one rainy day I went and looked into lots of them. No one ever knew, though Mrs Medlock nearly caught me. 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 sat up on his sofa. "A hundred rooms no one goes into," he said. "It sounds almost like a secret garden. We should go and look at them. You could wheel me in my wheelchair and nobody would know where we went."

"That's what I was thinking," said Mary. “There are empty corridors where you could run. We could do our exercises.”

So they went off, with him in his chair. They had a really good time playing hide and seek in the rooms and running in the halls. They saw more rooms than Mary had made on her first journey.

They looked at the paintings on the walls. "All these," said Colin, "must be my family. They lived a long time ago.”

When they got back, the two of them were so hungry that they had to eat everything that was brought up for them to eat. The servants looked surprised when they saw them eating so hungrily.

That afternoon Mary noticed that something had changed in Colin's room. She had noticed it the day before but had said nothing. The picture of Mrs Craven wasn’t behind the curtain anymore, it was on show.

"You are wondering why the curtain is drawn back. I am going to keep it like that," said Colin.

“Last night, I couldn’t sleep, so I got out of bed. There was a patch of moonlight on the pink cushion, so I pulled it back. She looked down at me, laughing, as if she was glad to see me. She doesn’t make me angry any more. I like looking at her face now.”

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70

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ben Weatherstaff sometimes looked at Colin and was amazed at how strong he looked these days. He liked to tell the young boy stories and teach him about gardening. Colin loved to hear what the old gardener had to say.

"What are you thinking about, Ben Weatherstaff?" he asked one day.

"I was thinking," answered Ben, "about how much weight you’ve put on over the past month. You look much better."

"It's Mrs Sowerby’s sandwiches," said Colin, and he smiled.

Colin stood up suddenly from his wheelchair. "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 asked.

"Yes, we do," Dickon answered. Mary said nothing.

“I'm well! I'm well!" said Colin.

His face went quite red all over. He had known it before, but just then the feeling had rushed all through him. He couldn’t help shouting.

"I will live forever and ever and ever!" he cried. "I will find out thousands and thousands of things. I will find out about people and creatures and everything that grows, like Dickon. I'm well! I'm well! I feel as if I want to shout out loud!"

Dickon sang Colin a song, which he knew. It was a prayer. He sang it in such a nice voice, with his Yorkshire accent, that they all smiled proudly. When he had finished, Ben Weatherstaff started to cry. He was so happy to see Colin happy like this.

Colin was looking across the garden at something and his expression had changed.

"Who is coming in here?" he said quickly. "Who is it?"

The door in the wall had been pushed open and a woman had come into the secret garden. She had a beautiful smile on her face as she stepped forward in the sunlight. She looked so friendly that none of them felt worried about the fact that she had come in.

Dickon started grinning. "It's my mother!" he cried and he ran across the grass. Colin began to move toward her, too, and Mary went with him. "I knew you all wanted to see her and I told her where the door was hidden."

Colin held out his hand to Mrs Sowerby. "Even when I was ill I wanted to see you," he said, "you and Dickon and the secret garden. I'd never wanted to see anyone or anything before."

The sight of his happy face made her cry. She went red. "Oh, poor boy!" she said sweetly.

Colin liked it. "Are you surprised that I am so well?" he asked.

She put her hand on his shoulder and smiled the tears of her eyes. "Yes, I am!" she said, "but you look so much like your mother that you shocked me."

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"Do you think," said Colin, "that that will make my father like me?"

"Of course it will," she answered. “You look better than I could ever have imagined.”

She put both hands on Mary's shoulders and looked at her little face. "And you too!" she said. "You’ve grown pretty now. I bet you look just like your mother too. Martha told me that Mrs Medlock had heard she was a pretty woman.”

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 more hair and that it was growing very fast.

Mrs Sowerby went around 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. She was fun and made them laugh at all sorts of things. She told them stories and taught them new words. One of the things they talked about was the visit they were going to make to her little house. They planned it all. They were to walk across the moor and have a picnic outdoors.

Soon it was time for Colin to be wheeled back. But before he got into his chair he stood quite close to Mrs Sowerby and looked up at her. "I wish you were my mother, as well as Dickon's!"

Mrs Sowerby smiled and the tears came back to her eyes. She hugged Colin. "No, you poor boy! Your own mother's ghost is in this very garden. She’s casting a magic spell on all of us. Even though she’s been dead for ten years, she couldn't keep out of it."

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Chapter Twenty-Seven

In every year since the beginning of the world, new things have been discovered. At first, people don’t believe that a strange new thing can be done, then they begin to hope it can be done, then they see it can be done, and then it is done and all the world wonders why it was not done years ago. One of the new things people began to find out many years ago was that thoughts – just thoughts – are as powerful as electricity, as good for you as sunlight is, or as bad for you as poison. To let a sad thought or a bad one get into your mind is as dangerous as letting nasty germs get into your body. If you let it stay there after it has got in, it can really hurt you. Mary's head was full of sad and nasty thoughts. That’s why she was a cross, ugly and unhappy child.

The things that happened to her meant that she was lucky, though. They began to change her. When all she thought about was robins, springtime and secret gardens, there was no room left for the bad thoughts. In the same way, so long as Colin shut himself up in his room and thought only about how he was going to die, he was ill. When he started to think about the good in the world, he got stronger.

While the secret garden was coming alive and two children were coming alive with it, there was a man walking around in far-away beautiful places in Norway, in Italy, then in the mountains of Switzerland. He was a man who, for ten years, had kept his head filled with sad thoughts. He had never tried to put any other thoughts in the place of the bad ones. Most strangers thought he must be mad. He was a tall man with high shoulders, and the name he always wrote when he stayed in hotels was, "Archibald Craven, Misselthwaite Manor, Yorkshire, England." He had travelled far and wide since the day he saw Mary in his room and told her she could have a "piece of earth." He had been in the most beautiful places in Europe. He had chosen the quietest spots.

One day, for the first time in ten years, a strange thing had happened. He was in a lovely valley in Austria and he had been walking alone. He had walked a long way and he had felt extremely tired. He fell down and lay on the soft, wet moss by a stream. As he lay there, something in his mind changed. He started to feel lighter and he started to see beautiful things around him as he listened to the water go by.

"What is it?" he said, almost in a whisper, "I almost feel as if I were completely new again!"

He remembered this strange event months afterward when he was at Misselthwaite again and he found out that at this exact moment Colin had shouted out as he went into the secret garden: "I am going to live forever and ever and ever!"

For the rest of his holiday, this feeling did not go away. He began to think of Misselthwaite and wonder if he should go home. Now and then he wondered about his son. He slept and he had a dream. In the dream, he travelled to Italy, to sit by a beautiful blue lake.

As he sat by the water Mr Craven heard a voice inside his head. It was sweet and clear and happy and far away.

"Archie! Archie! Archie!" it said, and then again, sweeter and clearer than before, "Archie! Archie!"

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He stood up in shock. He knew it was the sound of his dead wife’s voice. “Where are you?" he called out. His voice went out across the lake.

"In the garden,” the voice called back.

"In the garden?"

And then the dream ended.

When he woke up he felt very strange, as if he were shaken by an accident. He kept thinking about the dream. He had received a letter in the post. He opened it. It read as follows:

Dear Sir,

I am Susan Sowerby that spoke to you once on the moor. It was about Miss Mary. Please, sir, I would come home if I was you. I think you would be glad to come back.

Yours,

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, I'll go right now.”

In a few days, he was in Yorkshire again, and on his long train journey he was thinking about his boy as he had never thought in ten years. During those years, he had just wanted to forget him. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had not meant to be a bad father, but he had not felt like a father at all. He had given the young man all he needed to survive, but he had not given him love, because he was too sad. "Perhaps I have been all wrong for ten years," he said to himself. "Ten years is a long time. I should change the way I act with Colin.”

He rode in his horse and carriage up to Misselthwaite. He wondered if his son might have improved since he was away. He also though about the dream he had had. "I will try to find the key to the garden," he said. "I will try to open the door. I feel as if I must do it, but I don't know why."

As he was passing Mrs Sowerby’s cottage on the moor, seven or eight children rushed out, chattering and grinning at him. He smiled at the sight of their plump, pink cheeks, and gave a gold coin to the eldest girl.

“Share that with your brothers and sisters,” he told her.

When he arrived at his big, stone house, he called for Mrs Medlock. She came to him looking excited. "How is Colin?" he asked.

"Well, sir," Mrs Medlock answered, "he's different."

"Worse?" he asked.

Mrs Medlock went completely red. "Well, you see, sir," she tried to explain, "neither Dr Craven, nor myself can understand what’s happened."

"Why is that?"

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"To tell the truth, sir, Colin might be better or he might be worse. He has been acting very strangely. One day he will eat nothing at all, then, the next day, he will eat a lot. Months ago, he started to have one of his worst nights of crying. Then he started asking to be taken out in his wheelchair by Miss Mary and Mrs Sowerby’s son, Dickon. He likes both Miss Mary and Dickon, and Dickon brought little animals for him to play with. Before he would never leave his room, but now he spends all day outdoors."

"How does he look?" was the next question.

"He looks better, that’s true."

"Where is Colin now?" Mr Craven asked.

"In the garden, sir. He's always in the garden, but no-one is allowed to go near him."

Mr Craven went white. He could not believe what he was hearing. "In the garden," he repeated. It felt as if there were bells ringing in his ears.

"In the garden!" he said to himself again after Mrs Medlock had gone. Then, feeling as if he had woken up from a deep sleep, he went out of the room, then out of the enormous house entirely. Just like Mary had done, all those months ago, he walked through the gardens. Walking in a strange way, he found his way along the path to the walled gardens. He did not walk quickly, but slowly, and his eyes were on the path. He did not know why, but he felt as if he had to go to this place.

As he got close to the ivy, he stopped to think. He knew where the hidden door was even though the ivy grew over it, but he did not know exactly where he had buried the key. Nobody had been through that door in ten years, he thought, but now he could hear sounds from behind the wall. They were the sounds of running, of whispers, of children’s laughter. Mr Craven felt that this was all a dream. He could not understand what was happening.

As he stood there, a boy ran through the ivy, through the door. The child bumped into him by accident, and Mr Craven caught him in his arms to save him from falling.

Archibald Craven looked down at the young man he held. He was a tall boy and a handsome one. He had beautiful healthy skin, with pink cheeks. Thick hair covered his forehead, above a pair of strange grey eyes, smiling eyes.

It was Colin’s eyes which made Mr Craven’s heart stop. "Who? What? Who?" he said, unable to talk properly.

This was not what Colin had expected. This was not what he had planned. He had never thought of such a meeting. The children had been playing, running in a race. The first out of the door would win.

Mary, who had been running with him and had come through the door behind Colin, had stopped in shock. She watched, unable to move.

"Father," the boy said, "I'm Colin. You can't believe it."

"In the garden! In the garden!" Mr Craven said again, as if he was talking in his sleep.

“Yes," said Colin. "It was the garden that did it. And Mary and Dickon and the robin. And the magic. No one knows about this. We wanted to tell you when you came. I'm not ill anymore, Father.” He said it all so like a healthy boy, that Mr Craven believed him entirely. Colin put out his hand and

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touched it on his father's arm. "Aren't you glad, Father?" he asked. "Aren't you glad? I'm going to live forever and ever and ever!"

Mr Craven put his hands on the boy's shoulders and held him still. He knew he couldn’t even try to speak for a moment.

"Take me into the garden, my boy," he said finally. "And tell me all about it."

And so, they brought him in. The place was like a sea of colours. There was gold and purple and violet. There was deep blue and bright red. On every side were flowers that he remembered from years ago. He remembered when the first of them had been planted. Roses climbed up above their heads.

"I thought it would be dead," Colin said. "Mary thought so at first. But it came alive."

Then they sat down under their tree and Mr Craven was told the whole story.

"Now," Colin said at the end of the story, "it doesn’t have to be a secret any more. The servants will not believe it when they see me, but I am never getting into that wheelchair again. I will walk back with you, Father, to the house."

Ben Weatherstaff was usually out in the gardens, but that day he had been carrying some vegetables into the kitchen. He was in there, drinking a glass of beer, when he saw the most exciting event ever to happen at Misselthwaite Manor. One of the kitchen windows looked out onto the gardens, and Ben stood by it, with Mrs Medlock.

"Did you see young Colin, or Mr Craven in the garden, Mr Weatherstaff?" she asked.

Ben put his glass down "Yes I did," he answered.

"Both of them?" asked Mrs Medlock.

"Both of them," returned Ben Weatherstaff.

"Together?" said Mrs Medlock

"Together."

"Where was young Colin? How did he look? What did they say to each other?"

"I didn't hear that," said Ben, with a little smile. "I just saw them from the top of my ladder, looking over the wall. But I'll tell you this. There's been things going on outside that you people, who work in the house, know nothing about. But you’ll find out about them soon."

Ben finished his beer and looked out of the window. He pointed down at something on the grass. "Look down there," he said, "look what's coming across the grass."

When Mrs Medlock looked, she threw up her hands and gave a little scream and every man and woman servant in the house ran down to the kitchen and stood looking through the window with their eyes almost popping of their heads in shock. Across the garden came Mr Archibald Craven of Misselthwaite Manor and he had a smile on his face that most of them had never seen.

Walking by his side with his head up in the air and his eyes full of laughter walked, as strongly and confidently as any other boy in Yorkshire, young Colin!