The Secret Garden PDF

THE SECRET GARDEN FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT NYPUBL C L BRARY THE BRANCH L.BRAR.ES 3 3333 08107 8459 REFERENCE T THE SECRET GARDEN  A *" 'IT SEEMED SCARCELY BEARABLE TO LEAVE SUCH DEHGHTKUI.NESS' 1...

THE SECRET GARDEN FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT NYPUBL C L BRARY THE BRANCH L.BRAR.ES 3 3333 08107 8459 REFERENCE T THE SECRET GARDEN  A *" 'IT SEEMED SCARCELY BEARABLE TO LEAVE SUCH DEHGHTKUI.NESS' 1 Page 23!  THE SECRET GARDEN BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT A uthor of "The Shuttle? " The Making of a Marchioness? "The Methods of Lady Walderhurst? "That Lass o' Loiuries? "Through One Adminis- tration? "Little Lord Fauntleroy? "A Lady of Quality? etc. NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS  Copyright, 1911, by FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT Copyright, igioign, by t THE PHILLIPS PUBLISHING Co. rights reserved, including that of translation into foreign languages, including the Scandinavian. Printed in the United States of America,  PROPERTY OF THE ^^ CITY OF NEW YORK CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I THERENo ONE LEFT is. I II MISTRESS MARY QUITE CONTRARY. 10 III ACROSS THE MOOR 23 IV MARTHA 30 V THE " CRY IN THE CORRIDOR.... 55 VI THERE WAS SOME ONE CRYING THERE WAS ' 65 VII THE KEY OF THE GARDEN... 75 VIII THE ROBIN WHO SHOWED THE WAY. 85 IX THE STRANGEST HOUSE ANY ONE EVER LIVED IN........ 97 X DICKON in XI THE NEST OF THE MISSEL THRUSH. 128 " " XII MIGHT I HAVE A BIT OF EARTH?. 140 XIII "I AM COLIN" 153 XIV A YOUNG RAJAH 172 XV NEST BUILDING 189 XVI "I WON'T!" SAID MARY.... 207 XVII A TANTRUM 218 XVIII " THA' MUNNOT WASTE No TIME ". 229 XIX "!T HAS COME!"...239  CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE " XX I SHALL LIVE FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER!' 255 XXI BEN WEATHERSTAFF. 268 XXII WHEN THE SUN WENT DOWN.. 284 XXIII MAGIC 292 XXIV " LET THEM LAUGH "..... 310 XXV THE CURTAIN........ 328 XXVI "IT'S MOTHER!"....... 339 XXVII IN THE GARDEN....,.,.. 353 THE SECRET GARDEN THE SECRET GARDEN CHAPTER I THERE IS NO ONE LEFT A X 7HEN Mary Lennox was sent to Missel- * * thwaite Manor to live with her uncle every- body said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the t hild out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was i 2 THE SECRET GARDEN kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces of her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always obeyed her and gave her her own way in everything, be- cause the Mem Sahib would be angry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years old she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The young English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to know how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all. One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she awakened feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she saw that the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah. " Why did you come? she said to the strange " woman. I will not let you stay. Send my Ayah to me.' The woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah could not come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat  THERE IS NO ONE LEFT 3 and kicked her, she looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not possible for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib. There was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was done in its regular order and several of the native servants seemed missing, while those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared faces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She was actually left alone as the morning went on, and at last she wandered out into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near the veranda. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuck big scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth, all the time growing more and more angry and muttering to herself the things she would say and the names she would call Saidie when she returned. "Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!" she said, because to call a native a pig is the worst insult of all. She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she heard her mother come out on the veranda with some one. She was with a fair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices. Mary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy. She had heard that he was a very young officer who had just come 4 THE SECRET GARDEN from England. The child stared at him, but she stared most at her mother.She always did this when she had a chance to see her, because the Mem Sahib Mary used to call her that oftener than anything else was such a tall, slim, pretty person and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk and she had a delicate little nose which seemed to be disdaining things, and she had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin and floating, and Mary said they were " full of lace." They looked fuller of lace than ever this morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all. They were large and scared and lifted im- ploringly to the fair boy officer's face. " ' Is it so very bad? Oh, is it? Mary heard her say. Awfully/' the young man answered in a trem- ' * bling voice. Awfully, Mrs. Lennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago." The Mem Sahib wrung her hands. " " " Oh, I know I ought! she cried. I only stayed to go to that silly dinner party. What a ' fool I was ! Atthat very moment such a loud sound of wail- ing broke out from the servants' quarters that she clutched the young man's arm, and Mary stood shivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder.  THERE IS NO ONE LEFT 5 "What is it? What is it?" Mrs. Lennox gasped. " Some one has died," answered the boy offi- " cer. You did not say it had broken out among your servants." u I did not know!' the Mem Sahib cried. u Come with me Come with me ! and she 1 ' turned and ran into the house. After that appalling things happened, and the mysteriousness of the morning was explained to Mary. The cholera had "broken out in its most fatalform and people were dying like flies. The Ayah had been taken ill in the night, and it was because she had just died that the servants had wailed in the huts. Before the next day three other servants were dead and others had run away in terror. There was panic on every side, and dy- ing people in all the bungalows. During the confusion and bewilderment of the second day Mary hid herself in the nursery and was forgotten by every one. Nobody thought of her, nobody wanted her, and strange things hap- pened of which she knew nothing. Mary alter- nately cried and slept through the hours. She only knew that people were ill and that she heard mysterious and frightening sounds. Once she crept into the dining-room and found it empty, though a partly finished meal was on the table and 6 THE SECRET GARDEN chairs and plates looked as if they had been hastily pushed back when the diners rose suddenly for some reason. The child ate some fruit and bis- cuits, and being thirsty she drank a glass of wine which stood nearly filled. It was sweet, and she did notknow how strong it was. Very soon it made her intensely drowsy, and she went back to her nursery and shut herself in again, frightened by cries she heard in the huts and by the hurrying sound of feet. The wine made her so sleepy that she could scarcely keep her eyes open and she lay down on her bed and knew nothing more for a long time. Many things happened during the hours in which she slept so heavily, but she was not dis- turbed by the wails and the sound of things be- ing carried in and out of the bungalow. When she awakened she lay and stared at the wall. The house was perfectly still. She had never known it to be so silent before. She heard neither voices nor footsteps, and wondered if everybody had got well of the cholera and all the trouble was over. She wondered also who< would take care of her now her Ayah was dead. There would be a new Ayah, and perhaps she would know some new stories. Mary had been rather tired of the old ones. She did not cry because her nurse had died. She was not an affec-  THERE IS NO ONE LEFT 7 donate child and had never cared much for any one. The noise and hurrying about and wailing over the cholera had frightened her, and she had been angry because no one seemed to remember that she was alive. Every one was too panic- stricken to think of a no one was fond of. little girl When people had the cholera it seemed that they remembered nothing but themselves. But if ev- ery one had got well again, surely some one would remember and come to look for her. But no one came, and as she lay waiting the house seemed to grow more and more silent. She heard something rustling on the matting and when she looked down she saw a little snake gliding along and watching her with eyes like jewels. She was not frightened, because he was a harmless little thing who would not hurt her and he seemed in a hurry to get out of the room. He slipped under the door as she watched him. " How queer and quiet it is," she said. ' It sounds as if there was no one in the bungalow but me and the snake." Almost the next minute she heard footsteps in the compound, and then on the veranda. They were men's footsteps, and the men entered the bungalow and talked in low voices. No one went to meet or speak to them and they seemed to open doors and look into rooms. 8 THE SECRET GARDEN What desolation! ' she heard one voice say. That pretty, pretty woman! I suppose the child, too. I heard there was a child, though no one ever saw her." Mary was standing in the middle of the nursery when they opened the door a few minutes later. She looked an ugly, cross little thing and was frowning because she was beginning to be hungry and feel disgracefully neglected. The first man who came in was a large officer she had once seen talking to her father. looked tired and He troubled, but when he saw her he was so startled that he almost jumped back. 1 'Barney! he cried out. "There is a child here! A child alone! In a place like thisl Mercy on who is she us, ! ' " I am Mary Lennox," the little girl said, draw- ing herself up stiffly. She thought the man was " very rude to call her father's bungalow A place like this ! ' "I fell asleep when every one had the cholera and I have only just wakened up. ' Why does nobody come ? 1 1 It is the child no one ever saw ! exclaimed " the man, turning to his companions. She has ' actually been forgotten ! " ' Why was I forgotten? Mary said, stamp- " " ing her foot. Why does nobody come? The young man whose name was Barney looked  THERE IS NO ONE LEFT 9 at her very sadly. Mary even thought she saw him wink his eyes as if to wink tears away. " ' " Poor little kid ! ' he said. There is nobody left to come." It was in that strange and sudden way that Mary found out that she had neither father nor mother left; that they had died and been carried away in the night, and that the few native servants who had not died also had left the house as quickly as they could get out of it, none of them even re- membering that there was a Missie Sahib. That was why the place was so quiet. It was true that there was no one in the bungalow but herself and the little rustling snake.  CHAPTER II MISTRESS MARY QUITE CONTRARY had liked to look at her mother from a MARY distance and she had thought her very pretty, but as she knew very little of her she could scarcely have been expected to love her or to miss her very much when was gone. She did not miss her she at and as she was a self-absorbed child all, in fact, she gave her entire thought to herself, as she had always done. If she had been older she would no doubt have been very anxious at being left alone in the world, but she was very young, and as she had always been taken care of, she supposed she always would be. What she thought was that she would like to know if she was going to nice people, who would be polite to her and give her her own way as her Ayah and the other native servants had done. She knew that she was not going to stay at the English clergyman's house where she was taken at first. She did not want to stay. The English clergyman was poor and he had five children nearly the same age and they wore shabby clothes  MISTRESS MARY n and were always quarreling and snatching toys from each other. Mary hated their untidy bun- galow and was so disagreeable to them that after the first day or two nobody would play with her. By the second day they had given her a nickname which made her furious. It was Basil who thought of it first. Basil was a little boy with impudent blue eyes and a turned-up nose and Mary hated him. She was playing by herself under a tree, just as she had been playing the day the cholera broke out. She was making heaps of earth and paths for a garden and Basil came and stood near to watch her. Pres- ently he got rather interested and suddenly made a suggestion. Why don't you put a heap of stones" there and ' pretend it is a rockery? he said. There in the middle," and he leaned over her to point. 1 Go away " cried Mary. " I don't want boys. ! Go away! ' For a moment and then he Basil looked angry, began to tease. was He always teasing his sis- ters. He danced round and round her and made faces and sang and laughed. '* Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With silver bells, and cockle shells. ' 9 And marigolds all in a row 12 THE SECRET GARDEN He until the other children heard and sang it laughed, too; and the Grosser Mary got, the more " they sang Mistress Mary, quite contrary "; and after that as long as she stayed with them they ' ' called her Mistress Mary Quite Contrary when they spoke of her to each other, and often when they spoke to her. You are going to be sent home," Basil said " to her, at the end of the week. And we're glad of it." I am glad of it, too," answered Mary. " Where is home?" " She doesn't know where home is! 4 said Basil, : with seven-year-old scorn. It's England, of course. Our grandmama lives there and our sis- ter Mabel was sent to her last year. You are not going your grandmama. You to none. have You are going to your uncle. His name is Mr. Archibald Craven." I don't know anything about him," snapped ' Mary. ' " I know you don't," Basil answered. You don't know anything. Girls 'never do. I heard father and mother talking about him. He lives in a great, big, desolate old house in the country and no one goes near him. He's so cross he won't let them, and they wouldn't come if he would let them. He's a hunchback, and he's horrid."  MISTRESS MARY 13 " don't believe you," said Mary; and she I turned her back and stuck her fingers in her ears, because she would not listen any more. But she thought over it a great deal afterward; and when Mrs. Crawford told her that night that she was going to sail away to England in a few days and go to her uncle,Mr. Archibald Craven, who lived at Misselthwaite Manor, she looked so stony and stubbornly uninterested that they did not know what to think about her. They tried to be kind to her, but she only turned her face away when Mrs. Crawford attempted to kiss her, and held herself stiffly when Mr. Crawford patted her shoulder. " Shesuch a plain child," Mrs. Crawford said is " pityingly, afterward. And her mother was such a pretty creature. She had a very pretty manner, too, and Mary has the most unattractive ways I ' ever saw in a child. The children call her Mis- tress Mary Quite Contrary/ and though it's naughty of them, one can't help understanding it." " Perhaps if her mother had carried her pretty face and her pretty manners oftener into the nur- sery Mary might have learned some pretty ways too. It is very sad, now the poor beautiful thing is gone, to remember that many people never even knew that she had a child at all." " I believe she scarcely ever looked at her,"  14 THE SECRET GARDEN " sighed Mrs. Crawford. When her Ayah was dead there was no one to give a thought to the little thing. Think ofthe servants running away and leaving her all alone in that deserted bunga- low. Colonel McGrew said he nearly jumped out of his skin when he opened the door and found 1 her standing by herself in the middle of the room.' Mary made the long voyage to England under the care of an officer's wife, who was taking her children to leavethem in a boarding-school. She was very much absorbed in her own little boy and girl, and was rather glad to hand the child over to the woman Mr. Archibald Craven sent to meet her, in London. The woman was his housekeeper at Misselthwaite Manor, and her name was Mrs. Medlock. She was a stout woman, with very red cheeks and sharp black eyes. She wore a very purple dress, a black silk mantle with jet fringe on it and a black bonnet with purple velvet flowers which stuck up and trembled when she moved her head. Mary did not like her at all, but as she very seldom liked people there was nothing re- markable in that; besides which it was very evident 1 Mrs. Medlock did not think much of her. " ' My word " ! she's a plain little piece of goods ! she said. And we'd heard that her mother was a beauty. She hasn't handed much of it down ? has she, ma'am? '  MISTRESS MARY 15 ' Perhaps she will improve as she grows older/' " the officer's wife said good-naturedly. If she were not so sallow and had a nicer expression, her features are rather good. Children alter so much." 1 She'll have to alter a good deal," answered " Mrs. Medlock. And there's nothing likely to improve children at Misselthwaite if you ask me!" They thought Mary was not listening because she was standing a little apart from them at the window of the private hotel they had gone to. She was watching the passing buses and cabs, and people, but she heard quite well and was made very curious about her uncle and the place he lived in. What sort of a place was it, and what would he be like? What was a hunchback? She had never seen one. Perhaps there were none in India. Since she had been living in other people's houses and had had no Ayah, she had begun to feel lonely and to think queer thoughts which were new to her. She had begun to wonder why she had never seemed to belong to any one even when her father and mother had been Other alive. children seemed to belong to their fathers and mothers, but she had never seemed to really be any one's little girl. She had had servants, and food and clothes, but no one had taken any notice 1 6 THE SECRET GARDEN of her. She did not know that this was because she was a disagreeable child; but then, of course, she did not know she was disagreeable. She often thought that other people were, but she did not know that she was so herself. She thought Mrs. Medlock the most disagree- able person she had ever seen, with her common, highly colored face and her common fine bonnet. When the next day they set out on their journey to Yorkshire, she walked through the station to the railway carriage with her head up and trying to keep as far away from her as she could, because she did not want to seem to belong to her. It would have made her very angry to think people imagined she was her little girl. But Mrs. Medlock was not in the least disturbed by her and her thoughts. She was the kind of woman who would " stand no nonsense from young ones." At least, that is what she would have said if she had been asked. She had not wanted to go to London just when her sister Maria's daugh- ter was going to be married, but she had a comfort- able, well paid place as housekeeper at Missel- thwaite Manor and the only way in which she could keep it was to do at once what Mr. Archibald Craven told her to do. She never dared even *o ask a question. * Captain Lennox and his wife died of the chol-  MISTRESS MARY 17 era," Mr. Craven had said in his short, cold way. " Captain Lennox was my wife's brother and I am their daughter's guardian. The child is to be brought here. You must go to London and bring her yourself." So she packed her small trunk and made the journey. Mary sat in her corner of the railway carriage and looked and fretful. She had nothing to plain read or to lookat, and she had folded her thin little black-gloved hands in her lap. Her black dress made her look yellower than ever, and her limp light hair straggled from under her black crepe hat. " A more marred-looking young one I never saw my life," Mrs. Medlock thought. in (Marred is a Yorkshire word and means spoiled and pettish.) She had never seen a child who sat so without doing anything; and at last she got still 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 be- IB THE SECRET GARDEN cause she remembered that her father and mother had never talked to her about anything in partic- ular. Certainly they had never told her things. " Humph," muttered Mrs. Medlock, staring at, her queer, unresponsive little face. She did not say any more for a few moments and then she be- gan again. " I suppose you might as well be told something to prepare you. You are going to a queer place." Mary said nothing at all, and Mrs. Medlock looked rather discomfited by her apparent indiffer- ence, 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. Mary had begun to listen in spite of herself. It all sounded so unlike India, and anything new rather attracted her. But she did not intend to  MISTRESS MARY 19 look as if she were interested. That was one of her unhappy, disagreeable ways. So she sat still. " " Well," said Mrs. Medlock. What do you think of it?" " " Nothing," she answered. I know nothing about such places." That made Mrs. Medlock laugh a short sort of laugh. " " Eh ! ' she said, but you are like an old ' woman. Don't you care? " " It doesn't matter," said Mary, whether I care or not." " You are right enough there," said Mrs. Med- " lock. It doesn't. What you're to be kept at Misselthwaite Manor for I don't know, unless be- cause it's the easiest way. He's not going to trouble himself about you, that's sure and certain. He never troubles himself about no one." She stopped herself as if she had just remem- bered something in time. " He's got a crooked back," she said. " That sethim wrong. He was a sour young man and got no good of all his money and big place till he was married." Mary's eyes turned toward her in spite of her intention not to seem to care. She had never thought of the hunchback's being married and she was a trifle surprised. Mrs. Medlock saw this, 20 THE SECRET GARDEN and as she was a talkative woman she continued with more interest. This was one way of passing some of the time, at any rate. u She was a sweet, pretty thing and he'd have walked the world over to get her a blade o' grass she wanted. Nobody thought she'd marry him, but she did, and people said she married him for his money. But she didn't she didn't," posi- " tively. "When she died Mary gave a little involuntary jump. " " Oh! did she die! she exclaimed, quite with- out meaning She had just remembered a to. French fairy story she had once read called ' ' Ri- quet a la Houppe." It had been about a poor hunchback and a beautiful princess and it had made her suddenly sorry for Mr. Archibald Craven. " Yes, she died," Mrs. Medlock answered. " And it made him queerer than ever. He cares about nobody. He won't see people. Most of the time he goes away, and when he is at Missel- thwaite he shuts himself up in the West Wing and won't let any one but Pitcher see him. Pitcher's an old fellow, but he took care of him when he was a child and he knows his ways." It sounded like something in a book and it did not make Mary feel cheerful. A house with a hundred rooms, nearly all shut up and with their doors locked a house on the edge of a  MISTRESS MARY 21 moor whatsoever a moor was sounded dreary. A man with a crooked back who shut himself up also! She stared out of the window with her lips pinched together, and it seemed quite natural that the rain should have begun to pour down in gray slanting lines and splash and stream down the window-panes. If the pretty wife had been alive she might have made things cheerful by being something like her own mother and by running in and out and going to parties " as she had done in frocks full of lace." But she was not there any more. '" You needn't expect to see him, because ten " to one vou won't," said ^ 7 Mrs. Medlock. And you mustn't expect that there will be people to talk to you. You'll have to play about and look after yourself. You'll be told what rooms you can go into and what rooms you're to keep out of. There's gardens enough. But when you're in the house don't go wandering and poking about. Mr. Craven won't have it." " I shall not want to go poking about," said sour little Mary; and just as suddenly as she had begun to be rather sorry for Mr. Archibald Cra- ven she began to cease to be sorry and to think he was unpleasant enough to deserve all that had happened to him. And she turned her face toward the streaming 22 THE SECRET GARDEN panes of the window of the railway carriage and gazed out at the gray rain-storm which looked as if it would go on forever and ever. She watched it so long and steadily that the grayness grew heav- ier and heavier before her eyes and she fell asleep*  CHAPTER III ACROSS THE MOOR slept a long time, and when she awakened SHE Mrs. Medlock had bought a lunchbasket at one of the stations and they had some chicken and cold beef and bread and butter and some hot tea. The rain seemed to be streaming down more heavily than ever and everybody in the station wore wet and glistening waterproofs. The guard lighted the lamps in the carriage, and Mrs. Med- lock cheered up very much over her tea and chicken and beef. She ate a great deal and afterward fell asleep herself, and Mary sat and stared at her and watched her fine bonnet slip on one side until she herself asleep once more in the corner fell of the carnage, lulled by the splashing of the rain against the windows. It was quite dark when she awakened again. The train had stopped at a i station and Mrs. Medlock was shaking her. " " " You have had a sleep ! she said. It's time to open your eyes! We're at Thwaite Station and we've got a long drive before us." Mary stood up and tried to keep her eyes open 23 24 THE SECRET GARDEN while Mrs. Medlock collected her parcels. The did not offer to help her, because in India little girl native servants always picked up or carried things and it seemed quite proper that other people should wait on one. The station was a small one and nobody but themselves seemed to be getting out of the train. The station-master spoke to Mrs. Medlock in a rough, good-natured way, pronouncing his words in a queer broad fashion which Mary found out afterward was Yorkshire. " " I see tha's got back," he said. An' tha's browt th' young 'un with thee." " Aye, that's her," answered Mrs. Medlock, speaking with a Yorkshire accent herself and jerk- ing her head over her shoulder toward Mary. "How's thy Missus?" " Well enow. Th' carriage is waitin' outside for thee." A brougham stood on the road before the little outside platform. Mary was a smart saw that it carriage and that it was a smart footman who helped her in. His long waterproof coat and the waterproof covering of his hat were shining and dripping with rain as everything was, the burly station-master included. When he shut the door, mounted the box with the coachman, and they drove off, the little girl  ACROSS THE MOOR 25 found herself seated in a comfortably cushioned corner, but she was not inclined to go to sleep again. She sat and looked out of the window, curious to see something of the road over which she was being driven to the queer place Mrs. Med- lock had spoken of. She was not at all a timid child and she was not exactly frightened, but she felt that there was no knowing what might happen in a house with a hundred rooms nearly all shut up a house standing on the edge of a moor. " What is a moor? " she said suddenly to Mrs. Medlock. " Look out of the window in about ten min- utes and you'll see," the woman answered. " We've got to drive five miles across Missel Moor before we get to the Manor. You won't see much because it's a dark night, but you can see some- thing." Mary asked no more questions but waited in the darkness of her corner, keeping her eyes on the window. The carriage lamps cast rays of ahead of them and she caught light a little distance glimpses of the things they passed. After they had left the station they had driven through a tiny village and she had seen whitewashed cot- tages and the lights of a public house. Then they had passed a church and a vicarage and a little shop-window or so in a cottage with toys and 26 THE SECRET GARDEN sweets and odd things set out for sale. Then they were on the highroad and she saw hedges and trees. After that there seemed nothing dif- ferent for a long time or at least it seemed a long time to her. At began to go more slowly, as last the horses if they were climbing up-hill, and presently there seemed to be no more hedges and no more trees. She could see nothing, in fact, but a dense dark- ness on either side. She leaned forward and pressed her face against the window just as the carriage gave a big jolt. " Eh We're on ! the moor now sure enough,' 1 said Mrs. Medlock. The carriage lamps shed a yellow light on a rough-looking road which seemed to be cut through bushes and low growing things which ended in the great expanse of dark apparently spread out be- fore and around them. A wind was rising and making a singular, wild, low, rushing sound. " " It's it's not the sea, is it? said Mary, look* ing round at her companion. " " No, not it," answered Mrs. Medlock. Nor it isn't nor mountains, it's just miles and miles fields and miles of wild land that nothing grows on but heather and gorse and broom, and nothing lives on but wild ponies and sheep." " I feel as if it might be the sea, if there were  ACROSS THE MOOR 27 " water on it," said Mary. It sounds like the sea just now/' That's the wind blowing through the bushes," u Mrs. Medlock said. It's a wild, dreary enough place to my mind, though there's plenty that likes it particularly when the heather's in bloom." On and on they drove through the darkness, and though the rain stopped, the wind rushed by and whistled and made strange sounds. The road went up and down, and several times the carriage passed over a little bridge beneath which water rushed very fast with a great deal of noise. Mary felt as if the drive would never come to an end and that the wide, bleak moor was a wide expanse of black ocean through which she was passing on a strip of dry land. " " I don't like it," she said to herself. I don't like it," and she pinched her thin lips more tightly together. The horses were climbing up a hilly piece of road when she first caught sight of a light. Mrs. Medlock saw it as soon as she did and drew a long sigh of relief. " I am glad to see that bit o' light twin- Eh, " kling," she exclaimed. It's the light in the lodge window. We shall get a good cup of tea after a bit, at all events." " It was after a bit," as she said, for when the 28 THE SECRET GARDEN carriage passed through the park gates there was still two miles of avenue to drive through and the trees (which nearly met overhead) made it seem as if they were driving through a long dark vault. They drove out of the vault into a clear space and stopped before an immensely long but low- built house which seemed to ramble round a stone court. At first Mary thought that there were no lights at all in the windows, but as she got out of the carriage she saw that one room in a corner up-stairs showed a dull glow. The entrance door was a huge one made of mas- sive, curiously shaped panels of oak studded with big iron nails and bound with great iron bars. It opened into an enormous hall, which was so dimly lighted that the faces in the portraits on the walls and the figures in the suits of armor made Mary feel that she did not want to look at them. As she stood on the stone floor she looked a very small, odd little black figure, and she felt as small and lost and odd as she looked. A neat, thin old man stood near the manservant who opened the door for them. You are to take her to her room," he said in ahusky voice. ' He doesn't want to see her. He's going to London in the morning." " Very well, Mr. Pitcher," Mrs. Medlock an-  ACROSS THE MOOR 29 " swered. So long as I know what's expected of me, I can manage." " What's expected of you, Mrs. Medlock," Mr. you make sure that he's not ' Pitcher said, is that disturbed and that he doesn't see what he doesn't want to see." And then Mary Lennox was led up a broad staircase and down a long corridor and up a short flight of steps and through another corridor and another, until a door opened in a wall and she found herself in a room with a fire in it and a supper on a table. Mrs. Medlock said unceremoniously: Well, here you are This room and the next ! are where you'll live and you must keep to ' them. Don't you forget that! It was in this way Mistress Mary arrived at Misseithwaite Manor and she had perhaps neve*; felt quite so contrary in all her life.  CHAPTER IV MARTHA she opened her eyes in the morning it WHEN was because a young housemaid had come into her room to light the fire and was kneeling on the hearth-rug raking out the cinders noisily. Mary lay and watched her for a few moments and then began to look about the room. She had never seen a room at all like it and thought it cu- rious and gloomy. The walls were covered with tapestry with a forest scene embroidered on it. There were fantastically dressed people under the trees and in the distance there was a glimpse of the turrets of a castle. There were hunters and horses and dogs and ladies. Mary felt as if she were in the forest with them. Out of a deep win- dow she could see a great climbing stretch of land which seemed to have no trees on it, and to look rather like an endless, dull, purplish sea. What is that? " she said, pointing out of the window. Martha, the young housemaid, who had just looked and pointed also, risen to her feet, 30  MARTHA 31 "That there?" she said " Yes." " That's th' moor," with a good-natured grin. "Does tha' like it?" " " No," answered Mary. I hate it." " That's because tha'rt not used to it," Martha " said, going back to her hearth. Tha' thinks it's too big an' bare now. But tha' will like it.' u Do you ? ' ' inquired Mary. u Aye, that I do," answered Martha, cheerfully " polishing away at the grate. I just love it. It's none bare. It's covered wi' growin' things as smells sweet. It's fair lovely in spring an' sum- mer when th' gorse an' broom an' heather's in flower. It smells o' honey an' there's such a lot o' an' th' sky looks so high an' th' bees fresh air an' skylarks makes such a nice noise hummin' an' singin'. Eh ! I wouldn't live away from th 1 moor for anythin'." Mary listened to her with a grave, puzzled ex- pression. The native servants she had been used to in India were not in the least like this. They Were obsequious and servile and did not presume to talk to their masters as if they were their equals. " They made salaams and called them protector " of the poor and names of that sort. Indian serv- ants were commanded to do things, not asked. 32 THE SECRET GARDEN " " " It was not the custom to say please and thank ' you and Mary had always slapped her Ayah in the face when she was angry. She wondered a little what this girl would do if one slapped her in the face. She was a round, rosy, good-natured looking creature, but she had a sturdy way which made Mistress Mary wonder if she might not even slap back if the person who slapped her was only a little girl. You are a strange servant," she said from her pillows, rather haughtily. Martha sat up on her heels, with her blacking- brush her hand, and laughed, without seeming in the least out of temper. " 'Eh! I know that," she said. If there was a grand Missus at Misselthwaite I should never have been even one of th' under housemaids. I might have been let to be scullery-maid but 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 except Mr. Pitcher an' Mrs. Medlock. Mr. Craven, he won't be troubled about anythin' when he's here, an' he's nearly always away. Mrs. Medlock gave me th' place out o' kindness. She told me she could never have done it if Misselthwaite had been like other big houses."  MARTHA 33 5 "Are you going to be my servant? Mary asked, still in her imperious little Indian way. Martha beganto rub her grate again. " I'm Mrs. Medlock's servant," she said stoutly. "An' she's Mr. Craven's but I'm to do the housemaid's work up here an' wait on you a bit. But you won't need much waitin' on." "Who is going to dress me?' demanded Mary. Martha sat up on her heels again and stared. She spoke in broad Yorkshire in her amazement. " ' Canna' tha' dress thysenl she said. " What do you mean? I don't understand your language," said Mary. "Eh! I forgot," Martha said. "Mrs. Med- lock told me I'dhave 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, quite indignantly. I never did in my life. My Ayah dressed me, of course." " Well," said Martha, evidently not in the least " 1 aware that she was impudent, it's time tha' should learn. Tha' cannot begin younger. It'll do thee good to wait on thysen a bit. My mother always said she couldn't see why grand people's children didn't turn out fair fools what witK 34 THE SECRET GARDEN nurses an' bein' washed an' dressed an' took out they was puppies ' to walk as if ! " It is different in India, said Mistress Mary disdainfully. She could scarcely stand this. But Martha was not at all crushed. 'Eh! I can see it's different," she answered ' almost sympathetically. I dare say it's because there's such a lot o' blacks there instead o' respect- able white people. When I heard you was comin' from India I thought you was a black too." Mary sat up in bed furious. " " What " ! she said. What ! You thought I was a native. You 1 you daughter of a pig! Martha stared and looked hot. " Who are you callin' names?' she said. You needn't be so vexed. That's not th' way for a young lady to talk. I've nothin' against th' blacks. When you read about 'em in tracts they're always very religious. You always read as a black's a man an' a brother. I've never seen a black an' I was fair pleased to think I was goin' to see one close. When I come in to light your fire this mornin' I crep' up to your bed an' pulled th'cover back careful to look at you. An' there u you was," disappointedly, no more black than me for all you're so yeller." Mary did not even try to control her rage and humiliation.  MARTHA 35 "You thought I You dared! was a native! You don't know anything about natives! They are not people they're servants who must sa- laam to you. You know nothing about India. You know nothing about anything ! ' She was in such a rage and felt so helpless be- fore the girl's simple stare, and somehow she sud- denly felt so horribly lonely and far away from everything she understood and which understood her, that shethrew herself face downward on the pillows and burst into passionate sobbing. She sobbed so unrestrainedly that good-natured York- shire Martha was a little frightened and quite sorry for her. She went to the bed and bent over her. u Eh! you mustn't cry like that there!' she " begged. You mustn't for sure. I didn't know you'd be vexed. I don't know anythin' about any- thin' you said. I beg your pardon, just like Miss. Do stop cryinV There was something comforting and really friendly in her queer Yorkshire speech and sturdy way which had a good effect on Mary. She grad- ually ceased crying and became quiet. Martha looked relieved. " time for thee to get up now," she said. It's " Mrs. Medlock said I was to carry tha' break- fast an' tea an' dinner into th* room next to this. 36 THE SECRET GARDEN It's been made into a nursery for thee. I'll help thee on with thy clothes if tha'll get out o' bed. If th' buttons are at th' back tha' cannot button them up tha'self." When Mary at decided to get up, the clothes last Martha took from the wardrobe were not the ones she had worn when she arrived the night before with Mrs. Medlock. " * Those are not mine," she said. Mine arc black." She looked the thick white wool coat and dress over, and added with cool approval: u Those are nicer than mine." " These are th' ones tha' must put on," Martha " answered. Mr. Craven ordered Mrs. Medlock to get 'em in London. He said I won't have a ' child dressed in black wanderin' about like a lost soul,' he said. ' It'd make the place sadder than it Put color on her.' Mother she said she is. knew what he meant. Mother always knows what a body means. She doesn't hold with black her- sel'." " I hate black things," said Mary. The was one which taught them dressing process " bofh something. Martha had " buttoned up her little sisters and brothers but she had never seen a child who stood still and waited for another per-  MARTHA 37 son to do things for her as if she had neither hands nor feet of her own. doesn't tha' put on tha' own shoes ?" Why she said when Mary quietly held out her foot. " " My Ayah did it," answered Mary, staring. Itwas the custom." " She said that very often It was the custom." The native servants were always saying it. If one told them to do a thing their ancestors had not done for a thousand years they gazed at one mildly and one knew ' ' and said, It is not the custom that was the end of the matter. It had not been the custom that Mistress Mary should do anything but stand and allow herself to be dressed like a doll, but before she was ready for breakfast she began to suspect that her life at Misselthwaite Manor would end by teaching her a number of things quite new to her things such as putting on her own shoes and stockings, and picking up things she let fall. If Martha had been a well-trained fine young lady's maid she would have been more subservient and respectful and would have known that it was her business to brush hair, and button boots, and pick things up and lay them away. She was, however, only an un- trained Yorkshire rustic who had been brought up in a moorland cottage with a swarm of little 38 THE SECRET GARDEN brothers and sisters who had never dreamed of doing anything but waiting on themselves and on the younger ones who were either babies in arms or just learning to totter about and tumble over things. If Mary Lennox had been a child w ho was ready T to be amused she would perhaps have laughed at Martha's readiness to talk, but Mary only listened to her coldly and wondered at her freedom of manner. At first she was not at all interested, but gradually, as the girl rattled on in her good-tem- pered, homely way, Mary began to notice what she was saying. 'Eh! you should see 'em all," she said. " There's twelve of us an' my father only gets sixteen shilling a week. I can tell you my mother's put to it to get porridge for 'em all. They tumble about on th' moor an' play there day an' all mother says th' air of th' moor She fattens 'em. says she believes they eat th' grass same as th' wild ponies do. Our Dickon, he's twelve years old and he's got a young pony he calls his own.' " Where did he get it? asked Mary. ' He found it on th' moor with its mother when it was one an' he began to make friends a little with it an' give it bits o' bread an' pluck young grass for it. And it got to like him so it follows  MARTHA 39 him about an' it lets him get on its back. Dickon's a kind lad an' animals likes him." Mary had never possessed an animal pet of her own and had always thought she should like one. So she began to feel a slight interest in Dickon, and as had never before been interested she in any one but herself, it was the dawning of a healthy sentiment. When she went into the room which had been made into a nursery for her, she found that it was rather like the one she had slept in. It was not a child's room, but a grown-up person's room, with gloomy old pictures on the walls and heavy old oak chairs. table in the A center was set with a good substantial breakfast. But she had always had a very small appetite, and she looked with something more than indifference at thefirst plate Martha set before her. " I don't want it," she said. " " Tha' doesn't want thy porridge Martha ! ex- claimed incredulously. " No." " Tha' doesn't know how good it is. Put a bit o' treacleon it or a bit o' sugar." " I don't want it," repeated Mary. "Eh!" said Martha. "I can't abide to see good victuals go to waste. If our children was at this table they'd clean it bare in five minutes." "Why?" said Mary coldly. 40 THE SECRET GARDEN "Why!" echoed Martha. "Because they scarce ever had their stomachs full in their lives. They're as hungry as young hawks an' foxes." " I don't know what it is to be hungry," said Mary, with the indifference of ignorance. Martha looked indignant. " Well, it would do thee good to try it. I can see that enough," she said outspokenly. plain ' I've no patience with folk as sits an' just stares at good bread an' meat. My word! don't I wish Dickon and Phil an' Jane an' th' rest of 'em had what's here under their pinafores." " ' Why don't you take it to them? suggested Mary. " It's not mine," answered Martha stoutly. " An' this isn't my day out. I get my day out once a month same as th' rest. Then I go home an' clean mother an' give her a day's rest." up for Mary drank some tea and ate a little toast and some marmalade. " You wrap up warman' run out an' play you," " said Martha. do you good and give you It'll some stomach for your meat." Mary went to the window. There were gar- dens and paths and big trees, but everything looked dull and wintry, "Out? Why should I go out on a day like this?"  MARTHA 41 " Well, if go out tha'lt have to stay tha' doesn't ' in, an' what has do? tha' got to Mary glanced about her. There was nothing to do. When Mrs. Medlock had prepared the nursery she had not thought of amusement. Per- haps it would be better to go and see what the gardens were like. " Who will go with me? she inquired. Martha stared. " You'll go by yourself," she answered. You'll have to learn to play like other children does when they haven't got sisters and brothers. Our Dickon goes off on th'moor by himself an' plays for hours. That's how he made friends with th' pony. He's got sheep on th' moor that knows him, an' birds as comes an' eats out of his hand. However littleto eat, he always there is saves a bit bread to coax his pets." o' his It was really this mention of Dickon which made Mary decide to go out, though she was not aware of it. There would be birds outside though there would not be ponies or sheep. They would be different from the birds in India and it might amuse her to look at them. Martha found her coat and hat for her and a pair of stout little boots and she showed her her way down-stairs. " If tha' goes round that way tha'll come to 42 THE SECRET GARDEN th' gardens," she said, pointing to a gate in a wall of shrubbery. There's lots o' flowers in sum- mer-time, but there's nothin' bloomin' now." She seemed to hesitate a second before she added, " One of th' gardens is locked up. No one has been in it for ten years." " ' Why? asked Mary in spite of herself. Here was another locked door added to the hun- dred in the strange house. ' Mr. Craven had it shut when his wife died so sudden. He won't let no one go inside. It was her garden. He locked th' door an' dug a hole and buried th' key. There's Mrs. Medlock's bell ringing I must run." After she was gone Mary turned down the walk which led to the door in the shrubbery. She could not help thinking about the garden which no one had been into for ten years. She wondered what it would look like and whether there were any flowers still alive in it. When she had passed through the shrubbery gate she found herself in great gardens, with wide lawns and winding walks with clipped borders. There were trees, and flow- er-beds, and evergreens clipped into strange shapes, and a large pool with an old gray fountain in its midst. But the flower-beds were bare and wintry and the fountain was not playing. This was not the garden which was shut up. How  MARTHA 43 could a garden be shut up? You could always walk into a garden. She was just thinking this when she saw that, at the end of the path she was following, there seemed to be a long wall, with ivy growing over it. She was not familiar enough with England to know that she was coming upon the kitchen-gar- dens where the vegetables and fruit were growing. She went toward the wall and found that there was a green door in the ivy, and that it stood open. This was not the closed garden, evidently, and she could go into it. She went through the door and found that it was a garden with walls all round it and that it was only one of several walled gardens which seemed to open into one another. She saw an- other open green door, revealing bushes and path- ways between beds containing winter vegetables. Fruit-trees were trained flat against the wall, and over some of the beds there were glass frames. The place was bare and ugly enough, Mary thought, as she stood and stared about her. It might be nicer in summer when things were green, but there was nothing pretty about it now. Presently an old man with a spade over his shoulder walked through the door leading from the second garden. He looked startled when he 44 THE SECRET GARDEN saw Mary, and then touched his cap. He had a surly old face, and did not seem at all pleased to see her- -but then she was displeased with his u " garden and wore her quite contrary expression, and certainly did not seem at all pleased to see him. " " What is this place? she asked. * One o' th' kitchen-gardens," he answered. " What is that? said Mary, pointing through the other green door. Another of 'em," shortly. " There's another 1 on t'other side o' th' wall an' there's th' orchard t'other side o' that." Can them? " asked Mary. ' I go in ' If tha' likes. But there's nowt to see." Mary made no response. She went down the path and through the second green door. There she found more walls and winter vegetables and glass frames, but in the second wall there was an- other green door and it was not open. Perhaps it led into the garden which no one had seen for ten years. As she was not at all a timid child and always did what she wanted to do, Mary went to the green door and turned the handle. She hoped the door would not open because she wanted to be sure she had found the mysterious garden but it did open quite easily and she walked through it and found herself in an orchard. There were walls all round it also and trees trained against  MARTHA 45 them, and there were bare fruit-trees growing in the winter-browned grass but there was no green door to be seen anywhere. looked Mary for it, and yet when she had entered the upper end of the garden she had noticed that the wall did not seem to end with the orchard but to extend be- yond it as if it enclosed a place at the other side. She could see the tops of trees above the wall, and when she stood still she saw a bird with a bright red breast sitting on the topmost branch of one of them, and suddenly he burst into his winter song almost as if he had caught sight of her and was calling to her. She stopped and listened to him and somehow his cheerful, friendly little whistle gave her a pleased feeling even a disagreeable little girl may be lonely, and the big closed house and big bare moor and big bare gardens had made this one feel as if there was no one left in the world but herself. If she had been an affectionate child, who had been used to being loved, she would have " broken her heart, but even though she was Mis- ' tress Mary Quite Contrary she was desolate, and the bright-breasted little bird brought a look into her sour little face which was almost a smile. She listened to him until he flew away. He was not like an Indian bird and she liked him and won- dered if she should ever see him again. Per- 46 THE SECRET GARDEN haps he lived in the mysterious garden and knew all about it. Perhaps it was because she had nothing what- ever to do that she thought so much of the de- serted garden. She was curious about it and wanted to see what it was like. Why had Mr. Archibald Craven buried the key? If he had liked his wife so much why did he hate her garden? She wondered if she should ever see him, but she knew that if she did she should not like him, and he would not like her, and that she should only stand and stare at him and say nothing, though she should be wanting dreadfully to ask him why he had done such a queer thing. " People never like me and I never like people," she thought. And I never can talk as the Craw- ' ford children ^ould. They were always talking and laughing ana making noises." She thought of the robin and of the way he seemed to sing his song at her, and as she remem- bered the tree-top he perched on she stopped rather suddenly on the path. ' I believe that tree was in the secret garden " I feel sure it There was a wall was," she said. round the place and there was no door." She walked back into the first kitchen-garden she had entered and found the old man digging there. She went and stood beside him and  MARTHA 47 watched him a few moments in her cold little way. He took no notice of her and so at last she spoke to him. " I have been into the other gardens," she said. " There was nothin' to prevent thee," he an- swered crustily. " I went into the orchard." " There was no dog at th' door to bite thee," he answered. " There was no door there into the other gar- den," said Mary. "What garden?' he said in a rough voice, stopping digging for a moment. his " The one on the other side of the wall," an- " swered Mistress Mary. There are trees there I saw the tops of them. A bird with a red breast was sitting on one of them and he sang." To her surprise the surly old weather-beaten face actually changed its expression. slow smile A spread over it and the gardener looked quite different. It made her think that was curious it how much nicer a person looked when he smiled. She had not thought of it before. He turned about to the orchard side of his garden and began to whistle a low soft whistle. She could not understand how such a surly man could make such a coaxing sound. 48 THE SECRET GARDEN Almost the next moment a wonderful thing hap- pened. She heard a soft little rushing flight through the air and it was the bird with the red breast flying to them, and he actually alighted on the big clod of earth quite near to the gardener's foot. " Here hechuckled the old man, and then is," he spoke to the bird as if he were speaking to a child. " Where has tha' been, tha' cheeky little beg* ' ' gar? he said. I've not seen thee before to- day. Has tha' begun tha' courtin' this early in th' season? Tha'rt too forrad." The bird put his tiny head on one side and looked up at him with his soft bright eye which was like a black dewdrop. He seemed quite famil- iar and not the least afraid. He hopped about and pecked the earth briskly, looking for seeds and insects. It actually gave Mary a queer feeling in her heart, because he was so pretty and cheerful and seemed so like a person. He had a tiny plump body and a delicate beak, and slender deli- cate legs. " Will he always come when you call him?' she asked almost in a whisper. " Aye, that he will. I've knowed him ever since he was a fledgling. He come out of th' nest in th' other garden an' when first he flew over th'  MARTHA 49 wall he was too weak to fly back for a few days an' we got friendly. When he went over th' wall again th' rest of th' brood was gone an' he was lonely an' he come back to me." " What kind of a bird is he? " Mary asked. " Doesn't tha' know? He's a robin redbreast an' they're th' friendliest, curiousest birds alive. They're almost as friendly as dogs if you know how to get on with 'em. Watch him peckin' about there an' lookin' round at us now an' again. He knows we're talkin' about him.' 3 It was the queerest thing in the world to see the old fellow. He looked at the plump little scarlet-waistcoated bird as if he were both proud and fond of him. " He's a conceited one/ he chuckled. " He 5 likes to hear folk talk about him. An' curious bless me, there never was his like for curiosity an' meddlin'. He's always comin' to see what I'm plantin'. He knows all th' things ester Craven M never troubles hissel' to find out. He's th' head gardener, he is." The robin hopped about busily pecking the soil and now and then stopped and looked at them a little. Mary thought his black dewdrop eyes gazed at her with great curiosity. It really seemed as if he were finding out all about her. The gueer feeling in her heart increased. SO THE SECRET GARDEN " " Where did the rest of the brood fly to? she asked. The old ones turn 'em There's no knowin'. out o' their make 'em fly an' they're scat- nest an' tered before you know it. This one was a knowin' one an' he knew he was lonely." Mistress Mary went a step nearer to the robin and looked at him very hard. " I'm lonely," she said. She had not known before that this was one of the things which made her feel sour and cross. She seemed to find it out when the robin looked at her and she looked at the robin. The old gardener pushed his cap back on his bald head and stared at her a minute. "Art tha' th' little wench from India?" he asked. Mary nodded. Then no wonder tha'rt lonely. Tha'lt be lonelier before tha's done," he said. He began to dig again, driving his spade deep into the rich black garden soil while the robin hopped about very busily employed. " What is your name? " Mary inquired. He stood up to answer her. ' Ben Weatherstaff," he answered, and then he " added with a surly chuckle, I'm lonely mysel'  MARTHA 51 except when he's with me," and he jerked his " thumb toward the robin. He's th' only friend I've got." ' ' I have no friends at all," saidMary. I never had. My Ayah didn't like me and I never played with any one." It is a Yorkshire habit to say what you think with blunt frankness, and old Ben Weather- was a Yorkshire moor man. staff " Tha' an' me are a good bit alike," he said. " We was wove out of th' same cloth. We're neither of us good lookin' an' we're both of us as sour as we look. We've got the same nasty tem- pers, both of us, I'll warrant." This was plain speaking, and Mary Lennox had never heard the truth about herself in her life. Native servants always salaamed and submitted to you, whatever you did. She had never thought much about her looks, but she wondered if she was as unattractive as Ben Weatherstaff and she also wondered if she looked as sour as he had looked before the robin came. She actually began to * wonder also if she was nasty tempered." She felt uncomfortable. Suddenly a clear rippling little sound broke out near her and she turned round. She was standing a few feet from a young apple-tree and the robii> 52 THE SECRET GARDEN had flown on to one of its branches and had burst out into a scrap of a song. Ben Weatherstaff laughed outright. " What did he do that for? " asked Mary. " He's made up his mind to make friends with Dang me if he hasn't took ' thee," replied Ben. a fancy to thee." " To me? said Mary, and she moved toward the little tree softly and looked up. " " Would you make friends with me? she said to the robin just as if she was speaking to a person. " Would you? ' And she did not say it either in her hard little voice or in her imperious Indian and eager and coaxing voice, but in a tone so soft thatBen Weatherstaff was as surprised as she had been when she heard him whistle. " u Why," he cried out, tha' said that as nice an' human as if tha' was a real child instead of a sharp old woman. Tha' said it almost like Dickon talks to his wild things on th' moor." " Do you know Dickon? ' Mary asked, turn- ing round rather in a hurry. ' Everybody knows him. Dickon's wanderin' about everywhere. Th' very blackberries an' heather-bells knows him. I warrant th' foxes shows him where their cubs lies an' th' skylarks doesn't hide their nests from him." Mary would have liked to ask some more ques-  MARTHA 53 tions. She was almost as curious about Dickon as she was about the deserted garden. But just that moment the robin, who had ended his song, gave a little shake of his wings, spread them and flew away. He had made his visit and had other things to do. " " He has flown over the wall ! Mary cried out, " watching him. He has flown into the orchard he has flown across the other wall into the ' garden where there is no door! " " He lives there/' said old Ben. He came out o' th' egg there. If he's courtin', he's makin' up to some young madam of a robin that lives among th' old rose-trees there." " " Rose-trees," said Mary. Are there rose- " trees? Ben Weatherstaff took up his spade again and began to dig. " There was ten year' ago," he mumbled. " I should like to see them," said Mary. " There must be a Where is the green door? door somewhere." Ben drove his spade deep and looked as uncom- panionable as he had looked when she first saw him. " There was ten year' ago, but there isn't now," he said. " " " No door! cried Mary. There must be." 54 THE SECRET GARDEN ' None as any one can find, an' none as is any one's business. Don't you be a meddlesome.wench an' poke your nose where it's no cause to go. Here, I must go on with my work. Get you gone an' play you. I've no more time." And he actually stopped digging, threw his spade over his shoulder and walked off, without even glancing at her or saying good-by.  CHAPTER V THE CRY IN THE CORRIDOR A T first each day which passed by for Mary Len- ** nox was like the others. exactly Every morning she awoke tapestried room and in her found Martha kneeling upon the hearth building tier fire; every morning she ate her breakfast in the nursery which had nothing amusing in it; and after each breakfast she gazed out of the window across to the huge moor which seemed to spread out on all sides and climb up to the sky, and after she had stared for a while she realized that if she did not go out she would have to stay in and do nothing and so she went out. She did not know that thiswas the best thing she could have done, and she did not know that, when she began to walk quickly or even run along the paths and down the avenue, she was stirring her slow blood and making herself stronger by fighting with the wind which swept down from the moor. She ran only to make herself warm, and she hated the wind which rushed at her face and roared and held her back as if it were some giant she could not see. 55 56 THE SECRET GARDEN But the big breaths of rough fresh air blown over the heather filled her lungs with something which was good for her whole thin body and whipped some red color into her cheeks and brightened her dull eyes when she did not know anything about it. But after a few days spent almost entirely out of doors she wakened one morning knowing what it was to be hungry, and when she sat down to her breakfast she did not glance disdainfully at her porridge and push it away, but took up her spoon and began to eat it and went on eating it until her bowl was empty. Tha' got on well enough with that this " mornin', didn't tha'? said Martha. " It tastes nice to-day," said Mary, feeling a little surprised herself. " It's th' air of th' moor that's givin' thee stomach for tha' victuals," answered Martha. " It's lucky for thee that tha's got victuals as well as appetite. There's been twelve in our cottage as had th' stomach an' nothin' to put in it. You go on playin' you out o' doors every day an' you'll get some flesh on your bones an' you won't be so yeller." " " I don't play," said Mary. I have nothing to play with." " Nothin' to play with!" exclaimed Martha.  THE CRY IN THE CORRIDOR 57 " Our children plays with sticks and stones. They just runs about an' shouts an' looks at things." Mary did not shout, but she looked at things. There was nothing else to do. She walked round and round the gardens and wandered about the paths in the park. Sometimes she looked for Ben Weatherstaff, but though several times she saw him at work he was too busy to look at her