For two or three minutes he stood looking round him,while Mary watched him, and then he began to walkabout softly, even more lightly than Mary had walked thefirst time she had found herself inside the four walls.
His eyes seemed to be taking in everything--the gray treeswith the gray creepers climbing over them and hangingfrom their branches, the tangle on the walls and amongthe grass, the evergreen alcoves with the stone seatsand tall flower urns standing in them.
I never thought I'd see this place," he said at last,in a whisper.
Did you know about it?" asked Mary.
She had spoken aloud and he made a sign to her.
We must talk low," he said, "or some one'll hear us an
wonder what's to do in here.""Oh! I forgot!" said Mary, feeling frightened and puttingher hand quickly against her mouth. "Did you know aboutthe garden?" she asked again when she had recovered herself.
Dickon nodded.
Martha told me there was one as no one ever went inside,"he answered. "Us used to wonder what it was like."He stopped and looked round at the lovely gray tangleabout him, and his round eyes looked queerly happy.
Eh! the nests as'll be here come springtime," he said.
It'd be th' safest nestin' place in England.
No one never comin' near an' tangles o' trees an
roses to build in. I wonder all th' birds on th
moor don't build here."Mistress Mary put her hand on his arm again withoutknowing it.
Will there be roses?" she whispered. "Can you tell? Ithought perhaps they were all dead.""Eh! No! Not them--not all of 'em!" he answered.
Look here!"He stepped over to the nearest tree--an old, old one withgray lichen all over its bark, but upholding a curtainof tangled sprays and branches. He took a thick knifeout of his Pocket and opened one of its blades.
There's lots o' dead wood as ought to be cut out," he said.
An' there's a lot o' old wood, but it made some newlast year. This here's a new bit," and he touched a shootwhich looked brownish green instead of hard, dry gray.
Mary touched it herself in an eager, reverent way.
That one?" she said. "Is that one quite alive quite?"Dickon curved his wide smiling mouth.
It's as wick as you or me," he said; and Mary rememberedthat Martha had told her that "wick" meant "alive"or "lively.""I'm glad it's wick!" she cried out in her whisper.
I want them all to be wick. Let us go round the gardenand count how many wick ones there are."She quite panted with eagerness, and Dickon was as eageras she was. They went from tree to tree and from bushto bush. Dickon carried his knife in his hand and showedher things which she thought wonderful.
They've run wild," he said, "but th' strongest oneshas fair thrived on it. The delicatest ones hasdied out, but th' others has growed an' growed, an
spread an' spread, till they's a wonder. See here!"and he pulled down a thick gray, dry-looking branch.
A body might think this was dead wood, but I don't believeit is--down to th' root. I'll cut it low down an' see."He knelt and with his knife cut the lifeless-lookingbranch through, not far above the earth.
There!" he said exultantly. "I told thee so.
There's green in that wood yet. Look at it."Mary was down on her knees before he spoke, gazing withall her might.
When it looks a bit greenish an' juicy like that,it's wick," he explained. "When th' inside is dry an
breaks easy, like this here piece I've cut off,it's done for. There's a big root here as all this livewood sprung out of, an' if th' old wood's cut off an
it's dug round, and took care of there'll be--"he stopped and lifted his face to look up at the climbingand hanging sprays above him--"there'll be a fountain o
roses here this summer."They went from bush to bush and from tree to tree.
He was very strong and clever with his knife and knewhow to cut the dry and dead wood away, and could tell whenan unpromising bough or twig had still green life in it.
In the course of half an hour Mary thought she could tell too,and when he cut through a lifeless-looking branch she wouldcry out joyfully under her breath when she caught sightof the least shade of moist green. The spade, and hoe,and fork were very useful. He showed her how to use thefork while he dug about roots with the spade and stirredthe earth and let the air in.
They were working industriously round one of the biggeststandard roses when he caught sight of something whichmade him utter an exclamation of surprise.
Why!" he cried, pointing to the grass a few feet away.
Who did that there?"It was one of Mary's own little clearings round the palegreen points.
I did it," said Mary.
Why, I thought tha' didn't know nothin' about gardenin',"he exclaimed.
I don't," she answered, "but they were so little, and thegrass was so thick and strong, and they looked as if theyhad no room to breathe. So I made a place for them.
I don't even know what they are."Dickon went and knelt down by them, smiling his wide smile.
Tha' was right," he said. "A gardener couldn't have toldthee better. They'll grow now like Jack's bean-stalk. They'recrocuses an' snowdrops, an' these here is narcissuses,"turning to another patch, "an here's daffydowndillys.
Eh! they will be a sight."He ran from one clearing to another.
Tha' has done a lot o' work for such a little wench,"he said, looking her over.
I'm growing fatter," said Mary, "and I'm growing stronger.
I used always to be tired. When I dig I'm not tired at all.
I like to smell the earth when it's turned up.""It's rare good for thee," he said, nodding hishead wisely. "There's naught as nice as th' smell o
good clean earth, except th' smell o' fresh growin
things when th' rain falls on 'em. I get out on th
moor many a day when it's rainin' an' I lie under a bush an
listen to th' soft swish o' drops on th' heather an,I just sniff an, sniff. My nose end fair quivers like arabbit's, mother says.""Do you never catch cold?" inquired Mary, gazing athim wonderingly. She had never seen such a funny boy,or such a nice one.
Not me," he said, grinning. "I never ketched coldsince I was born. I wasn't brought up nesh enough.
I've chased about th' moor in all weathers same as th
rabbits does. Mother says I've sniffed up too much freshair for twelve year' to ever get to sniffin' with cold.
I'm as tough as a white-thorn knobstick."He was working all the time he was talking and Mary wasfollowing him and helping him with her fork or the trowel.
There's a lot of work to do here!" he said once,looking about quite exultantly.
Will you come again and help me to do it?" Mary begged.
I'm sure I can help, too. I can dig and pull up weeds,and do whatever you tell me. Oh! do come, Dickon!""I'll come every day if tha' wants me, rain or shine,"he answered stoutly. "It's the best fun I ever had in mylife-- shut in here an' wakenin' up a garden.""If you will come," said Mary, "if you will help meto make it alive I'll--I don't know what I'll do,"she ended helplessly. What could you do for a boy like that
I'll tell thee what tha'll do," said Dickon, with hishappy grin. "Tha'll get fat an' tha'll get as hungryas a young fox an' tha'll learn how to talk to th
robin same as I do. Eh! we'll have a lot o' fun."He began to walk about, looking up in the trees and atthe walls and bushes with a thoughtful expression.
I wouldn't want to make it look like a gardener'sgarden, all clipped an' spick an' span, would you?"he said. "It's nicer like this with things runnin
wild, an' swingin' an' catchin' hold of each other.""Don't let us make it tidy," said Mary anxiously.
It wouldn't seem like a secret garden if it was tidy."Dickon stood rubbing his rusty-red head with a ratherpuzzled look. "It's a secret garden sure enough," he said,"but seems like some one besides th' robin must have beenin it since it was shut up ten year' ago.""But the door was locked and the key was buried," said Mary.
No one could get in.""That's true," he answered. "It's a queer place.
Seems to me as if there'd been a bit o' prunin' done here an
there, later than ten year' ago.""But how could it have been done?" said Mary.
He was examining a branch of a standard rose and he shookhis head.
Aye! how could it!" he murmured. "With th
door locked an' th' key buried."Mistress Mary always felt that however many yearsshe lived she should never forget that first morningwhen her garden began to grow. Of course, it did seemto begin to grow for her that morning. When Dickonbegan to clear places to plant seeds, she rememberedwhat Basil had sung at her when he wanted to tease her.
Are there any flowers that look like bells?" she inquired.
Lilies o' th' valley does," he answered, digging awaywith the trowel, "an' there's Canterbury bells, an' campanulas.""Let's plant some," said Mary. "There's lilies o' th,valley here already; I saw 'em. They'll have growed tooclose an' we'll have to separate 'em, but there's plenty.
Th' other ones takes two years to bloom from seed, but Ican bring you some bits o' plants from our cottage garden.
Why does tha' want 'em?"Then Mary told him about Basil and his brothersand sisters in India and of how she had hated themand of their calling her "Mistress Mary Quite Contrary.""They used to dance round and sing at me. They sang--`Mistress Mary, quite contrary,How does your garden grow
With silver bells, and cockle shells,And marigolds all in a row.
I just remembered it and it made me wonder if therewere really flowers like silver bells."She frowned a little and gave her trowel a rather spitefuldig into the earth.
I wasn't as contrary as they were."But Dickon laughed.
Eh!" he said, and as he crumbled the rich black soil shesaw he was sniffing up the scent of it. "There doesn'tseem to be no need for no one to be contrary when there'sflowers an' such like, an' such lots o' friendly wildthings runnin' about makin' homes for themselves, or buildin
nests an' singin' an' whistlin', does there?"Mary, kneeling by him holding the seeds, looked at himand stopped frowning.
Dickon," she said, "you are as nice as Martha saidyou were. I like you, and you make the fifth person.
I never thought I should like five people."Dickon sat up on his heels as Martha did when she waspolishing the grate. He did look funny and delightful,Mary thought, with his round blue eyes and red cheeksand happy looking turned-up nose.
Only five folk as tha' likes?" he said. "Who is th
other four?""Your mother and Martha," Mary checked them offon her fingers, "and the robin and Ben Weatherstaff."Dickon laughed so that he was obliged to stifle the soundby putting his arm over his mouth.
I know tha' thinks I'm a queer lad," he said, "but Ithink tha' art th' queerest little lass I ever saw."Then Mary did a strange thing. She leaned forwardand asked him a question she had never dreamed of askingany one before. And she tried to ask it in Yorkshirebecause that was his lan- guage, and in India a nativewas always pleased if you knew his speech.
Does tha' like me?" she said.
Eh!" he answered heartily, "that I does. I likesthee wonderful, an' so does th' robin, I do believe!""That's two, then," said Mary. "That's two for me."And then they began to work harder than ever and more joyfully.
Mary was startled and sorry when she heard the big clockin the courtyard strike the hour of her midday dinner.
I shall have to go," she said mournfully. "And youwill have to go too, won't you?"Dickon grinned.
My dinner's easy to carry about with me," he said.
Mother always lets me put a bit o' somethin' in my pocket."He picked up his coat from the grass and brought out ofa pocket a lumpy little bundle tied up in a quite clean,coarse, blue and white handkerchief. It held two thickpieces of bread with a slice of something laid between them.
It's oftenest naught but bread," he said, "but I've gota fine slice o' fat bacon with it today."Mary thought it looked a queer dinner, but he seemedready to enjoy it.
Run on an' get thy victuals," he said. "I'll be donewith mine first. I'll get some more work done before Istart back home."He sat down with his back against a tree.
I'll call th' robin up," he said, "and give him th
rind o' th' bacon to peck at. They likes a bit o
fat wonderful."Mary could scarcely bear to leave him. Suddenly itseemed as if he might be a sort of wood fairy whomight be gone when she came into the garden again.
He seemed too good to be true. She went slowly half-wayto the door in the wall and then she stopped and went back.
Whatever happens, you--you never would tell?" she said.
His poppy-colored cheeks were distended with his first bigbite of bread and bacon, but he managed to smile encouragingly.
If tha' was a missel thrush an' showed me where thy nest was,does tha' think I'd tell any one? Not me," he said.
Tha' art as safe as a missel thrush."And she was quite sure she was.