Dickon Ch X

The sun shone down for nearly a week on the secret garden. The SecretGarden was what Mary called it when she was thinking of it. She likedthe name, and she liked still more the feeling that when its beautifulold walls shut her in no one knew where she was. It seemed almost likebeing shut out of the world in some fairy place. The few books she hadread and liked had been fairy-story books, and she had read of secretgardens in some of the stories. Sometimes people went to sleep in themfor a hundred years, which she had thought must be rather stupid. Shehad no intention of going to sleep, and, in fact, she was becoming widerawake every day which passed at Misselthwaite. She was beginning to liketo be out of doors; she no longer hated the wind, but enjoyed it. Shecould run faster, and longer, and she could skip up to a hundred. Thebulbs in the secret garden must have been much astonished. Such niceclear places were made round them that they had all the breathing spacethey wanted, and really, if Mistress Mary had known it, they began tocheer up under the dark earth and work tremendously. The sun could getat them and warm them, and when the rain came down it could reach themat once, so they began to feel very much alive.Mary was an odd, determined little person, and now she had somethinginteresting to be determined about, she was very much absorbed, indeed.She worked and dug and pulled up weeds steadily, only becoming morepleased with her work every hour instead of tiring of it. It seemed toher like a fascinating sort of play. She found many more of thesprouting pale green points than she had ever hoped to find. They seemedto be starting up everywhere and each day she was sure she found tinynew ones, some so tiny that they barely peeped above the earth. Therewere so many that she remembered what Martha had said about the"snowdrops by the thousands," and about bulbs spreading and making newones. These had been left to themselves for ten years and perhaps theyhad spread, like the snowdrops, into thousands. She wondered how long itwould be before they showed that they were flowers. Sometimes shestopped digging to look at the garden and try to imagine what it wouldbe like when it was covered with thousands of lovely things in bloom.During that week of sunshine, she became more intimate with BenWeatherstaff. She surprised him several times by seeming to start upbeside him as if she sprang out of the earth. The truth was that she wasafraid that he would pick up his tools and go away if he saw her coming,so she always walked toward him as silently as possible. But, in fact,he did not object to her as strongly as he had at first. Perhaps he wassecretly rather flattered by her evident desire for his elderly company.Then, also, she was more civil than she had been. He did not know thatwhen she first saw him she spoke to him as she would have spoken to anative, and had not known that a cross, sturdy old Yorkshire man was notaccustomed to salaam to his masters, and be merely commanded by them todo things."Tha'rt like th' robin," he said to her one morning when he lifted hishead and saw her standing by him. "I never knows when I shall see theeor which side tha'll come from.""He's friends with me now," said Mary."That's like him," snapped Ben Weatherstaff. "Makin' up to th' womenfolk just for vanity an' flightiness. There's nothin' he wouldn't do forth' sake o' showin' off an' flirtin' his tail-feathers. He's as full o'pride as an egg's full o' meat."He very seldom talked much and sometimes did not even answer Mary'squestions except by a grunt, but this morning he said more than usual.He stood up and rested one hobnailed boot on the top of his spade whilehe looked her over."How long has tha' been here?" he jerked out."I think it's about a month," she answered."Tha's beginnin' to do Misselthwaite credit," he said. "Tha's a bitfatter than tha' was an' tha's not quite so yeller. Tha' looked like ayoung plucked crow when tha' first came into this garden. Thinks I tomyself I never set eyes on an uglier, sourer faced young 'un."Mary was not vain and as she had never thought much of her looks she wasnot greatly disturbed."I know I'm fatter," she said. "My stockings are getting tighter. Theyused to make wrinkles. There's the robin, Ben Weatherstaff."There, indeed, was the robin, and she thought he looked nicer than ever.His red waistcoat was as glossy as satin and he flirted his wings andtail and tilted his head and hopped about with all sorts of livelygraces. He seemed determined to make Ben Weatherstaff admire him. ButBen was sarcastic."Aye, there tha' art!" he said. "Tha' can put up with me for a bitsometimes when tha's got no one better. Tha's been reddinin' up thywaistcoat an' polishin' thy feathers this two weeks. I know what tha'sup to. Tha's courtin' some bold young madam somewhere, tellin' thy liesto her about bein' th' finest cock robin on Missel Moor an' ready tofight all th' rest of 'em.""Oh! look at him!" exclaimed Mary.The robin was evidently in a fascinating, bold mood. He hopped closerand closer and looked at Ben Weatherstaff more and more engagingly. Heflew on to the nearest currant bush and tilted his head and sang alittle song right at him."Tha' thinks tha'll get over me by doin' that," said Ben, wrinkling hisface up in such a way that Mary felt sure he was trying not to lookpleased. "Tha' thinks no one can stand out against thee--that's whattha' thinks."The robin spread his wings--Mary could scarcely believe her eyes. Heflew right up to the handle of Ben Weatherstaff's spade and alighted onthe top of it. Then the old man's face wrinkled itself slowly into a newexpression. He stood still as if he were afraid to breathe--as if hewould not have stirred for the world, lest his robin should start away.He spoke quite in a whisper."Well, I'm danged!" he said as softly as if he were saying somethingquite different. "Tha' does know how to get at a chap--tha' does! Tha'sfair unearthly, tha's so knowin'."And he stood without stirring--almost without drawing his breath--untilthe robin gave another flirt to his wings and flew away. Then he stoodlooking at the handle of the spade as if there might be Magic in it, andthen he began to dig again and said nothing for several minutes.But because he kept breaking into a slow grin now and then, Mary was notafraid to talk to him."Have you a garden of your own?" she asked."No. I'm bachelder an' lodge with Martin at th' gate.""If you had one," said Mary, "what would you plant?""Cabbages an' 'taters an' onions.""But if you wanted to make a flower garden," persisted Mary, "what wouldyou plant?""Bulbs an' sweet-smellin' things--but mostly roses."Mary's face lighted up."Do you like roses?" she said.Ben Weatherstaff rooted up a weed and threw it aside before he answered."Well, yes, I do. I was learned that by a young lady I was gardener to.She had a lot in a place she was fond of, an' she loved 'em like theywas children--or robins. I've seen her bend over an' kiss 'em." Hedragged out another weed and scowled at it. "That were as much as tenyear' ago.""Where is she now?" asked Mary, much interested."Heaven," he answered, and drove his spade deep into the soil, "'cordingto what parson says.""What happened to the roses?" Mary asked again, more interested thanever."They was left to themselves."Mary was becoming quite excited."Did they quite die? Do roses quite die when they are left tothemselves?" she ventured."Well, I'd got to like 'em--an' I liked her--an' she liked 'em," BenWeatherstaff admitted reluctantly. "Once or twice a year I'd go an' workat 'em a bit--prune 'em an' dig about th' roots. They run wild, but theywas in rich soil, so some of 'em lived.""When they have no leaves and look gray and brown and dry, how can youtell whether they are dead or alive?" inquired Mary."Wait till th' spring gets at 'em--wait till th' sun shines on th' rainan' th' rain falls on th' sunshine an' then tha'll find out.""How--how?" cried Mary, forgetting to be careful."Look along th' twigs an' branches an' if tha' sees a bit of a brownlump swelling here an' there, watch it after th' warm rain an' see whathappens." He stopped suddenly and looked curiously at her eager face."Why does tha' care so much about roses an' such, all of a sudden?" hedemanded.Mistress Mary felt her face grow red. She was almost afraid to answer."I--I want to play that--that I have a garden of my own," she stammered."I--there is nothing for me to do. I have nothing--and no one.""Well," said Ben Weatherstaff slowly, as he watched her, "that's true.Tha' hasn't."He said it in such an odd way that Mary wondered if he was actually alittle sorry for her. She had never felt sorry for herself; she had onlyfelt tired and cross, because she disliked people and things so much.But now the world seemed to be changing and getting nicer. If no onefound out about the secret garden, she should enjoy herself always.She stayed with him for ten or fifteen minutes longer and asked him asmany questions as she dared. He answered every one of them in his queergrunting way and he did not seem really cross and did not pick up hisspade and leave her. He said something about roses just as she wasgoing away and it reminded her of the ones he had said he had been fondof."Do you go and see those other roses now?" she asked."Not been this year. My rheumatics has made me too stiff in th' joints."He said it in his grumbling voice, and then quite suddenly he seemed toget angry with her, though she did not see why he should."Now look here!" he said sharply. "Don't tha' ask so many questions.Tha'rt th' worst wench for askin' questions I've ever come across. Getthee gone an' play thee. I've done talkin' for to-day."And he said it so crossly that she knew there was not the least use instaying another minute. She went skipping slowly down the outside walk,thinking him over and saying to herself that, queer as it was, here wasanother person whom she liked in spite of his crossness. She liked oldBen Weatherstaff. Yes, she did like him. She always wanted to try tomake him talk to her. Also she began to believe that he knew everythingin the world about flowers.There was a laurel-hedged walk which curved round the secret garden andended at a gate which opened into a wood, in the park. She thought shewould skip round this walk and look into the wood and see if there wereany rabbits hopping about. She enjoyed the skipping very much and whenshe reached the little gate she opened it and went through because sheheard a low, peculiar whistling sound and wanted to find out what itwas.It was a very strange thing indeed. She quite caught her breath as shestopped to look at it. A boy was sitting under a tree, with his backagainst it, playing on a rough wooden pipe. He was a funny looking boyabout twelve. He looked very clean and his nose turned up and his cheekswere as red as poppies and never had Mistress Mary seen such round andsuch blue eyes in any boy's face. And on the trunk of the tree he leanedagainst, a brown squirrel was clinging and watching him, and from behinda bush nearby a cock pheasant was delicately stretching his neck to peepout, and quite near him were two rabbits sitting up and sniffing withtremulous noses--and actually it appeared as if they were all drawingnear to watch him and listen to the strange low little call his pipeseemed to make.When he saw Mary he held up his hand and spoke to her in a voice almostas low as and rather like his piping."Don't tha' move," he said. "It'd flight 'em."Mary remained motionless. He stopped playing his pipe and began to risefrom the ground. He moved so slowly that it scarcely seemed as though hewere moving at all, but at last he stood on his feet and then thesquirrel scampered back up into the branches of his tree, the pheasantwithdrew his head and the rabbits dropped on all fours and began to hopaway, though not at all as if they were frightened."I'm Dickon," the boy said. "I know tha'rt Miss Mary."Then Mary realized that somehow she had known at first that he wasDickon. Who else could have been charming rabbits and pheasants as thenatives charm snakes in India? He had a wide, red, curving mouth and hissmile spread all over his face."I got up slow," he explained, "because if tha' makes a quick move itstartles 'em. A body 'as to move gentle an' speak low when wild thingsis about."He did not speak to her as if they had never seen each other before butas if he knew her quite well. Mary knew nothing about boys and she spoketo him a little stiffly because she felt rather shy."Did you get Martha's letter?" she asked.He nodded his curly, rust-colored head."That's why I come."He stooped to pick up something which had been lying on the groundbeside him when he piped."I've got th' garden tools. There's a little spade an' rake an' a forkan' hoe. Eh! they are good 'uns. There's a trowel, too. An' th' woman inth' shop threw in a packet o' white poppy an' one o' blue larkspur whenI bought th' other seeds.""Will you show the seeds to me?" Mary said.She wished she could talk as he did. His speech was so quick and easy.It sounded as if he liked her and was not the least afraid she would notlike him, though he was only a common moor boy, in patched clothes andwith a funny face and a rough, rusty-red head. As she came closer to himshe noticed that there was a clean fresh scent of heather and grass andleaves about him, almost as if he were made of them. She liked it verymuch and when she looked into his funny face with the red cheeks andround blue eyes she forgot that she had felt shy."Let us sit down on this log and look at them," she said.They sat down and he took a clumsy little brown paper package out of hiscoat pocket. He untied the string and inside there were ever so manyneater and smaller packages with a picture of a flower on each one."There's a lot o' mignonette an' poppies," he said. "Mignonette's th'sweetest smellin' thing as grows, an' it'll grow wherever you cast it,same as poppies will. Them as'll come up an' bloom if you just whistleto 'em, them's th' nicest of all."He stopped and turned his head quickly, his poppy-cheeked face lightingup."Where's that robin as is callin' us?" he said.The chirp came from a thick holly bush, bright with scarlet berries, andMary thought she knew whose it was."Is it really calling us?" she asked."Aye," said Dickon, as if it was the most natural thing in the world,"he's callin' some one he's friends with. That's same as sayin' 'Here Iam. Look at me. I wants a bit of a chat.' There he is in the bush. Whoseis he?""He's Ben Weatherstaff's, but I think he knows me a little," answeredMary."Aye, he knows thee," said Dickon in his low voice again. "An' he likesthee. He's took thee on. He'll tell me all about thee in a minute."He moved quite close to the bush with the slow movement Mary had noticedbefore, and then he made a sound almost like the robin's own twitter.The robin listened a few seconds, intently, and then answered quite asif he were replying to a question."Aye, he's a friend o' yours," chuckled Dickon."Do you think he is?" cried Mary eagerly. She did so want to know. "Doyou think he really likes me?""He wouldn't come near thee if he didn't," answered Dickon. "Birds israre choosers an' a robin can flout a body worse than a man. See, he'smaking up to thee now. 'Cannot tha' see a chap?' he's sayin'."And it really seemed as if it must be true. He so sidled and twitteredand tilted as he hopped on his bush."Do you understand everything birds say?" said Mary.Dickon's grin spread until he seemed all wide, red, curving mouth, andhe rubbed his rough head."I think I do, and they think I do," he said. "I've lived on th' moorwith 'em so long. I've watched 'em break shell an' come out an' fledgean' learn to fly an' begin to sing, till I think I'm one of 'em.Sometimes I think p'raps I'm a bird, or a fox, or a rabbit, or asquirrel, or even a beetle, an' I don't know it."He laughed and came back to the log and began to talk about the flowerseeds again. He told her what they looked like when they were flowers;he told her how to plant them, and watch them, and feed and water them."See here," he said suddenly, turning round to look at her. "I'll plantthem for thee myself. Where is tha' garden?"Mary's thin hands clutched each other as they lay on her lap. She didnot know what to say, so for a whole minute she said nothing. She hadnever thought of this. She felt miserable. And she felt as if she wentred and then pale."Tha's got a bit o' garden, hasn't tha'?" Dickon said.It was true that she had turned red and then pale. Dickon saw her do it,and as she still said nothing, he began to be puzzled."Wouldn't they give thee a bit?" he asked. "Hasn't tha' got any yet?"She held her hands even tighter and turned her eyes toward him."I don't know anything about boys," she said slowly. "Could you keep asecret, if I told you one? It's a great secret. I don't know what Ishould do if any one found it out. I believe I should die!" She said thelast sentence quite fiercely.Dickon looked more puzzled than ever and even rubbed his hand over hisrough head again, but he answered quite good-humoredly."I'm keepin' secrets all th' time," he said. "If I couldn't keep secretsfrom th' other lads, secrets about foxes' cubs, an' birds' nests, an'wild things' holes, there'd be naught safe on th' moor. Aye, I can keepsecrets."Mistress Mary did not mean to put out her hand and clutch his sleeve butshe did it."I've stolen a garden," she said very fast. "It isn't mine. It isn'tanybody's. Nobody wants it, nobody cares for it, nobody ever goes intoit. Perhaps everything is dead in it already; I don't know."She began to feel hot and as contrary as she had ever felt in her life."I don't care, I don't care! Nobody has any right to take it from mewhen I care about it and they don't. They're letting it die, all shut inby itself," she ended passionately, and she threw her arms over her faceand burst out crying--poor little Mistress Mary.Dickon's curious blue eyes grew rounder and rounder."Eh-h-h!" he said, drawing his exclamation out slowly, and the way hedid it meant both wonder and sympathy."I've nothing to do," said Mary. "Nothing belongs to me. I found itmyself and I got into it myself. I was only just like the robin, andthey wouldn't take it from the robin.""Where is it?" asked Dickon in a dropped voice.Mistress Mary got up from the log at once. She knew she felt contraryagain, and obstinate, and she did not care at all. She was imperious andIndian, and at the same time hot and sorrowful."Come with me and I'll show you," she said.She led him round the laurel path and to the walk where the ivy grew sothickly. Dickon followed her with a queer, almost pitying, look on hisface. He felt as if he were being led to look at some strange bird'snest and must move softly. When she stepped to the wall and lifted thehanging ivy he started. There was a door and Mary pushed it slowly openand they passed in together, and then Mary stood and waved her handround defiantly."It's this," she said. "It's a secret garden, and I'm the only one inthe world who wants it to be alive."Dickon looked round and round about it, and round and round again."Eh!" he almost whispered, "it is a queer, pretty place! It's like as ifa body was in a dream."