The Secret Garden, by Frances Hodgson Burnett

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Seeing him talking to a stranger, the little bushy-tailed
animal rose from its place under the tree and came to him,
and the rook, cawing once, flew down from its branch
and settled quietly on his shoulder.

"This is th' little fox cub," he said, rubbing the little
reddish animal's head. "It's named Captain. An' this
here's Soot. Soot he flew across th' moor with me an'
Captain he run same as if th' hounds had been after him.
They both felt same as I did."

Neither of the creatures looked as if he were the least
afraid of Mary. When Dickon began to walk about,
Soot stayed on his shoulder and Captain trotted quietly
close to his side.

"See here!" said Dickon. "See how these has
pushed up, an' these an' these! An' Eh! Look at these here!"

He threw himself upon his knees and Mary went
down beside him. They had come upon a whole clump
of crocuses burst into purple and orange and gold.
Mary bent her face down and kissed and kissed them.

"You never kiss a person in that way," she said when she
lifted her head. "Flowers are so different."

He looked puzzled but smiled.

"Eh!" he said, "I've kissed mother many a time that way
when I come in from th' moor after a day's roamin' an'
she stood there at th' door in th' sun, lookin' so glad an'
comfortable." They ran from one part of the garden to
another and found so many wonders that they were obliged
to remind themselves that they must whisper or speak low.
He showed her swelling leafbuds on rose branches which
had seemed dead. He showed her ten thousand new green
points pushing through the mould. They put their eager
young noses close to the earth and sniffed its warmed
springtime breathing; they dug and pulled and laughed low
with rapture until Mistress Mary's hair was as tumbled
as Dickon's and her cheeks were almost as poppy red as his.

There was every joy on earth in the secret garden
that morning, and in the midst of them came a delight
more delightful than all, because it was more wonderful.
Swiftly something flew across the wall and darted through
the trees to a close grown corner, a little flare of
red-breasted bird with something hanging from its beak.
Dickon stood quite still and put his hand on Mary almost
as if they had suddenly found themselves laughing in a church.

"We munnot stir," he whispered in broad Yorkshire.
"We munnot scarce breathe. I knowed he was mate-huntin'
when I seed him last. It's Ben Weatherstaff's robin.
He's buildin' his nest. He'll stay here if us don't fight him."
They settled down softly upon the grass and sat there
without moving.

"Us mustn't seem as if us was watchin' him too close,"
said Dickon. "He'd be out with us for good if he got th'
notion us was interferin' now. He'll be a good bit different
till all this is over. He's settin' up housekeepin'.
He'll be shyer an' readier to take things ill.
He's got no time for visitin' an' gossipin'. Us must
keep still a bit an' try to look as if us was grass an'
trees an' bushes. Then when he's got used to seein'
us I'll chirp a bit an' he'll know us'll not be in
his way."

Mistress Mary was not at all sure that she knew, as Dickon
seemed to, how to try to look like grass and trees and bushes.
But he had said the queer thing as if it were the simplest
and most natural thing in the world, and she felt it must
be quite easy to him, and indeed she watched him for a few
minutes carefully, wondering if it was possible for him
to quietly turn green and put out branches and leaves.
But he only sat wonderfully still, and when he spoke
dropped his voice to such a softness that it was curious
that she could hear him, but she could.

"It's part o' th' springtime, this nest-buildin'
is," he said. "I warrant it's been goin' on in th'
same way every year since th' world was begun.
They've got their way o' thinkin' and doin' things an'
a body had better not meddle. You can lose a friend
in springtime easier than any other season if you're too curious."

"If we talk about him I can't help looking at him," Mary said
as softly as possible. "We must talk of something else.
There is something I want to tell you."

"He'll like it better if us talks o' somethin' else,"
said Dickon. "What is it tha's got to tell me?"

"Well--do you know about Colin?" she whispered.

He turned his head to look at her.

"What does tha' 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 actually relieved as soon as the surprise
died away from his round face.

"I am glad o' that," he exclaimed. "I'm right down glad.
It makes me easier. I knowed I must say nothin' about him an'
I don't like havin' to hide things."

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

"I'll never tell about it," he answered. "But I says
to mother, `Mother,' I says, `I got a secret to keep.
It's not a bad 'un, tha' knows that. It's no worse
than hidin' where a bird's nest is. Tha' doesn't mind it,
does tha'?'"

Mary always wanted to hear about mother.

"What did she say?" she asked, not at all afraid to hear.

Dickon grinned sweet-temperedly.

"It was just like her, what she said," he answered.
"She give my head a bit of a rub an' laughed an' she says,
'Eh, lad, tha' can have all th' secrets tha' likes.
I've knowed thee twelve year'.'"

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

"Everybody as knowed about Mester Craven knowed there was
a little lad as was like to be a cripple, an' they knowed
Mester Craven didn't like him to be talked about. Folks is
sorry for Mester Craven because Mrs. Craven was such a pretty
young lady an' they was so fond of each other. Mrs. Medlock
stops in our cottage whenever she goes to Thwaite an'
she doesn't mind talkin' to mother before us children,
because she knows us has been brought up to be trusty.
How did tha' find out about him? Martha was in fine
trouble th' last time she came home. She said tha'd
heard him frettin' an' tha' was askin' questions an'
she didn't know what to say."

Mary told him her story about the midnight wuthering
of the wind which had wakened her and about the faint
far-off sounds of the complaining voice which had led
her down the dark corridors with her candle and had
ended with her opening of the door of the dimly lighted
room with the carven four-posted bed in the corner.
When she described the small ivory-white face and the
strange black-rimmed eyes Dickon shook his head.

"Them's just like his mother's eyes, only hers was
always laughin', they say," he said. "They say as
Mr. Craven can't bear to see him when he's awake an'
it's because his eyes is so like his mother's an'
yet looks so different in his miserable bit of a face."

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

"No, but he wishes he'd never been born. Mother she
says that's th' worst thing on earth for a child.
Them as is not wanted scarce ever thrives. Mester Craven
he'd buy anythin' as money could buy for th' poor lad
but he'd like to forget as he's on earth. For one thing,
he's afraid he'll look at him some day and find he's
growed hunchback."

"Colin's so afraid of it himself that he won't sit up,"
said Mary. "He says he's always thinking that if he
should feel a lump coming he should go crazy and scream
himself to death."

"Eh! he oughtn't to lie there thinkin' things like that,"
said Dickon. "No lad could get well as thought them
sort o' things."

The fox was lying on the grass close by him, looking up to
ask for a pat now and then, and Dickon bent down and rubbed
his neck softly and thought a few minutes in silence.
Presently he lifted his head and looked round the garden.

"When first we got in here," he said, "it seemed like
everything was gray. Look round now and tell me if tha'
doesn't see a difference."

Mary looked and caught her breath a little.

"Why!" she cried, "the gray wall is changing.
It is as if a green mist were creeping over it.
It's almost like a green gauze veil."

"Aye," said Dickon. "An' it'll be greener and greener till th'
gray's all gone. Can tha' guess what I was thinkin'?"

"I know it was something nice," said Mary eagerly.
"I believe it was something about Colin."

"I was thinkin' that if he was out here he wouldn't be watchin'
for lumps to grow on his back; he'd be watchin' for buds
to break on th' rose-bushes, an' he'd likely be healthier,"
explained Dickon. "I was wonderin' if us could ever
get him in th' humor to come out here an' lie under th'
trees in his carriage."

"I've been wondering that myself. I've thought of it
almost every time I've talked to him," said Mary.
"I've wondered if he could keep a secret and I've wondered
if we could bring him here without any one seeing us.
I thought perhaps you could push his carriage. The doctor
said he must have fresh air and if he wants us to take him
out no one dare disobey him. He won't go out for other people
and perhaps they will be glad if he will go out with us.
He could order the gardeners to keep away so they wouldn't
find out."

Dickon was thinking very hard as he scratched Captain's back.

"It'd be good for him, I'll warrant," he said.
"Us'd not be thinkin' he'd better never been born.
Us'd be just two children watchin' a garden grow, an'
he'd be another. Two lads an' a little lass just lookin'
on at th' springtime. I warrant it'd be better than
doctor's stuff."

"He's been lying in his room so long and he's always
been so afraid of his back that it has made him queer,"
said Mary. "He knows a good many things out of books
but he doesn't know anything else. He says he has been
too ill to notice things and he hates going out of doors
and hates gardens and gardeners. But he likes to hear
about this garden because it is a secret. I daren't tell
him much but he said he wanted to see it."

"Us'll have him out here sometime for sure," said Dickon.
"I could push his carriage well enough. Has tha'
noticed how th' robin an' his mate has been workin'
while we've been sittin' here? Look at him perched on that
branch wonderin' where it'd be best to put that twig he's
got in his beak."

He made one of his low whistling calls and the robin turned
his head and looked at him inquiringly, still holding
his twig. Dickon spoke to him as Ben Weatherstaff did,
but Dickon's tone was one of friendly advice.

"Wheres'ever tha' puts it," he said, "it'll be
all right. Tha' knew how to build tha' nest before tha'
came out o' th' egg. Get on with thee, lad. Tha'st got
no time to lose."

"Oh, I do like to hear you talk to him!" Mary said,
laughing delightedly. "Ben Weatherstaff scolds him
and makes fun of him, and he hops about and looks as
if he understood every word, and I know he likes it.
Ben Weatherstaff says he is so conceited he would rather
have stones thrown at him than not be noticed."

Dickon laughed too and went on talking.

"Tha' knows us won't trouble thee," he said to the robin.
"Us is near bein' wild things ourselves. Us is nest-buildin'
too, bless thee. Look out tha' doesn't tell on us."

And though the robin did not answer, because his beak
was occupied, Mary knew that when he flew away with his
twig to his own corner of the garden the darkness of his
dew-bright eye meant that he would not tell their secret
for the world.

CHAPTER XVI

"I WON'T!" SAID MARY

They found a great deal to do that morning and Mary
was late in returning to the house and was also in such
a hurry to get back to her work that she quite forgot
Colin until the last moment.

"Tell Colin that I can't come and see him yet," she said
to Martha. "I'm very busy in the garden."

Martha looked rather frightened.

"Eh! Miss Mary," she said, "it may put him all out
of humor when I tell him that."

But Mary was not as afraid of him as other people were
and she was not a self-sacrificing person.

"I can't stay," she answered. "Dickon's waiting for me;"
and she ran away.

The afternoon was even lovelier and busier than the morning
had been. Already nearly all the weeds were cleared
out of the garden and most of the roses and trees had
been pruned or dug about. Dickon had brought a spade
of his own and he had taught Mary to use all her tools,
so that by this time it was plain that though the lovely
wild place was not likely to become a "gardener's garden"
it would be a wilderness of growing things before the
springtime was over.

"There'll be apple blossoms an' cherry blossoms overhead,"
Dickon said, working away with all his might.
"An' there'll be peach an' plum trees in bloom against th'
walls, an' th' grass'll be a carpet o' flowers."

The little fox and the rook were as happy and busy
as they were, and the robin and his mate flew
backward and forward like tiny streaks of lightning.
Sometimes the rook flapped his black wings and soared away
over the tree-tops in the park. Each time he came back
and perched near Dickon and cawed several times as if he
were relating his adventures, and Dickon talked to him
just as he had talked to the robin. Once when Dickon
was so busy that he did not answer him at first, Soot flew
on to his shoulders and gently tweaked his ear with his
large beak. When Mary wanted to rest a little Dickon
sat down with her under a tree and once he took his pipe
out of his pocket and played the soft strange little notes
and two squirrels appeared on the wall and looked and listened.

"Tha's a good bit stronger than tha' was," Dickon said,
looking at her as she was digging. "Tha's beginning
to look different, for sure."

Mary was glowing with exercise and good spirits.

"I'm getting fatter and fatter every day," she said
quite exultantly. "Mrs. Medlock will have to get me some
bigger dresses. Martha says my hair is growing thicker.
It isn't so flat and stringy."

The sun was beginning to set and sending deep gold-colored
rays slanting under the trees when they parted.

"It'll be fine tomorrow," said Dickon. "I'll be at work
by sunrise."

"So will I," said Mary.

She ran back to the house as quickly as her feet would
carry her. She wanted to tell Colin about Dickon's fox cub
and the rook and about what the springtime had been doing.
She felt sure he would like to hear. So it was not very
pleasant when she opened the door of her room, to see
Martha standing waiting for her with a doleful face.

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

"Eh!" said Martha, "I wish tha'd gone. He was nigh goin'
into one o' his tantrums. There's been a nice to do all
afternoon to keep him quiet. He would watch the clock
all th' time."

Mary's lips pinched themselves together. She was no more
used to considering other people than Colin was and she
saw no reason why an ill-tempered boy should interfere
with the thing she liked best. She knew nothing about
the pitifulness of people who had been ill and nervous
and who did not know that they could control their tempers
and need not make other people ill and nervous, too.
When she had had a headache in India she had done her
best to see that everybody else also had a headache or
something quite as bad. And she felt she was quite right;
but of course now she felt that Colin was quite wrong.

He was not on his sofa when she went into his room.
He was lying flat on his back in bed and he did not turn
his head toward her as she came in. This was a bad beginning
and Mary marched up to him with her stiff manner.

"Why 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 ached and my
head ached and I was tired. Why didn't you come?"
"I was working in the garden with Dickon," said Mary.

Colin frowned and condescended to look 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.

Mary flew into a fine passion. She could fly into
a passion without making a noise. She just grew sour
and obstinate and did not care what happened.

"If you send Dickon away, I'll never come into this
room again!" she retorted.

"You'll have to if I want you," said Colin.

"I won't!" said Mary.

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

"Shall they, Mr. Rajah!" said Mary fiercely. "They may drag
me in but they can't make me talk when they get me here.
I'll sit and clench my teeth and never tell you one thing.
I won't even look at you. I'll stare at the floor!"

They were a nice agreeable pair as they glared at each other.
If they had been two little street boys they would have
sprung at each other and had a rough-and-tumble fight.
As it was, they did the next thing to it.

"You are a selfish thing!" cried Colin.

"What are you?" said Mary. "Selfish people always say that.
Any one is selfish who doesn't do what they want.
You're more selfish than I am. 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, if you like!"

Mary's eyes flashed fire.

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

"A nice angel!" Colin sneered ferociously. "He's a common
cottage boy off the moor!"

"He's better than a common Rajah!" retorted Mary.
"He's a thousand times better!"

Because she was the stronger of the two she was beginning
to get the better of him. The truth was that he had
never had a fight with any one like himself in his
life and, upon the whole, it was rather good for him,
though neither he nor Mary knew anything about that.
He turned his head on his pillow and shut his eyes
and a big tear was squeezed out and ran down his cheek.
He was beginning to feel pathetic and sorry for himself--not
for any one else.

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

"You're not!" contradicted Mary unsympathetically.

He opened his eyes quite wide with indignation.
He had never heard such a thing said before. He was at
once furious and slightly pleased, if a person could
be both at one time.

"I'm not?" he cried. "I am! You know I am! Everybody
says so."

"I don't believe it!" said Mary sourly. "You just say
that to make people sorry. I believe you're proud of it.
I don't believe it! If you were a nice boy it might be
true--but you're too nasty!"

In spite of his invalid back Colin sat up in bed in quite
a healthy rage.

"Get out of the room!" he shouted and he caught hold
of his pillow and threw it at her. He was not strong
enough to throw it far and it only fell at her feet,
but Mary's face looked as pinched as a nutcracker.

"I'm going," she said. "And I won't come back!"
She walked to the door and when she reached it she turned
round and spoke again.

"I was going to tell you all sorts of nice things,"
she said. "Dickon brought his fox and his rook and I was
going to tell you all about them. Now I won't tell you
a single thing!"

She marched out of the door and closed it behind her,
and there to her great astonishment she found the trained
nurse standing as if she had been listening and, more amazing
still--she was laughing. She was a big handsome young
woman who ought not to have been a trained nurse at all,
as she could not bear invalids and she was always
making excuses to leave Colin to Martha or any one else
who would take her place. Mary had never liked her,
and she simply stood and gazed up at her as she stood
giggling into her handkerchief..

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

"At you two young ones," said the nurse. "It's the best
thing that could happen to the sickly pampered thing
to have some one to stand up to him that's as spoiled
as himself;" and she laughed into her handkerchief again.
"If he'd had a young vixen of a sister to fight with it
would have been the saving of him."

"Is he going to die?"

"I don't know and I don't care," said the nurse.
"Hysterics and temper are half what ails him."

"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'm glad of it."

Mary went back to her room not feeling at all as she
had felt when she had come in from the garden. She was
cross and disappointed but not at all sorry for Colin.
She had looked forward to telling him a great many things
and she had meant to try to make up her mind whether
it would be safe to trust him with the great secret.
She had been beginning to think it would be, but now she
had changed her mind entirely. She would never tell him
and he could stay in his room and never get any fresh
air and die if he liked! It would serve him right! She
felt so sour and unrelenting that for a few minutes she
almost forgot about Dickon and the green veil creeping
over the world and the soft wind blowing down from
the moor.

Martha was waiting for her and the trouble in her face
had been temporarily replaced by interest and curiosity.
There was a wooden box on the table and its cover had been
removed and revealed that it was full of neat packages.

"Mr. Craven sent it to you," said Martha. "It looks
as if it had picture-books in it."

Mary remembered what he had asked her the day she had gone
to his room. "Do you want anything--dolls--toys --books?"
She opened the package wondering if he had sent a doll,
and also wondering what she should do with it if he had.
But he had not sent one. There were several beautiful
books such as Colin had, and two of them were about gardens
and were full of pictures. There were two or three games
and there was a beautiful little writing-case with a gold
monogram on it and a gold pen and inkstand.

Everything was so nice that her pleasure began to crowd
her anger out of her mind. She had not expected him
to remember her at all and her hard little heart grew
quite warm.

"I can write better than I can print," she said,
"and the first thing I shall write with that pen will
be a letter to tell him I am much obliged."

If she had been friends with Colin she would have run to show
him her presents at once, and they would have looked at the
pictures and read some of the gardening books and perhaps
tried playing the games, and he would have enjoyed himself
so much he would never once have thought he was going
to die or have put his hand on his spine to see if there
was a lump coming. He had a way of doing that which she
could not bear. It gave her an uncomfortable frightened
feeling because he always looked so frightened himself.
He said that if he felt even quite a little lump
some day he should know his hunch had begun to grow.
Something he had heard Mrs. Medlock whispering to the
nurse had given him the idea and he had thought over it
in secret until it was quite firmly fixed in his mind.
Mrs. Medlock had said his father's back had begun to show
its crookedness in that way when he was a child. He had
never told any one but Mary that most of his "tantrums"
as they called them grew out of his hysterical hidden fear.
Mary had been sorry for him when he had told her.

"He always began to think about it when he was cross or tired,"
she said to herself. "And he has been cross today.
Perhaps--perhaps he has been thinking about it all afternoon."

She stood still, looking down at the carpet and thinking.

"I said I would never go back again--" she hesitated,
knitting her brows--"but perhaps, just perhaps,
I will go and see--if he wants me--in the morning.
Perhaps he'll try to throw his pillow at me again,
but--I think--I'll go."

CHAPTER XVII

A TANTRUM

She had got up very early in the morning and had worked
hard in the garden and she was tired and sleepy, so as soon
as Martha had brought her supper and she had eaten it,
she was glad to go to bed. As she laid her head on
the pillow she murmured to herself:

"I'll go out before breakfast and work with Dickon
and then afterward--I believe--I'll go to see him."

She thought it was the middle of the night when she was
awakened by such dreadful sounds that she jumped out of
bed in an instant. What was it--what was it? The next
minute she felt quite sure she knew. Doors were opened
and shut and there were hurrying feet in the corridors
and some one was crying and screaming at the same time,
screaming and crying in a horrible way.

"It's Colin," she said. "He's having one of those tantrums
the nurse called hysterics. How awful it sounds."

As she listened to the sobbing screams she did not
wonder that people were so frightened that they gave
him his own way in everything rather than hear them.
She put her hands over her ears and felt sick and shivering.

"I don't know what to do. I don't know what to do,"
she kept saying. "I can't bear it."

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