CHAPTER FOUR

THE ROBIN AND THE GARDENER

So Mary put on her coat and went outside. The skies were gray, and it was cold. She could not help thinking about the mysterious locked garden that no one had seen for ten years. She wondered what it looked like, and if there were flowers in it. Why was the door to the garden locked? You could always walk into a garden. Mary saw that she was near some gardens, and headed towards them. Maybe the locked garden was nearby. Mary walked through several gardens. They had trees and paths and fountains. Everything was brown and looked dead, because it was winter. Soon Mary saw a wall with vines growing on it. Was this the wall of the locked garden? No, there was a green door in the wall, and it was open. Mary walked through the door. She saw an old man in the garden, which had fruit trees. He had some gardening tools with him. He seemed surprised to see Mary, but nodded his head in a greeting. He had a cross-looking face, and did not seem very happy to see another person.

"What is this place?" asked Mary.

"It's one of the kitchen gardens," said the old man.

Mary saw that there was another green door in an opposite wall. "Where does that door lead to?" she asked.

"Another one of the kitchen gardens."

"Can I look into it?"

"If you like. But there's nothing to see," said the man.

Mary went into the second green door. This garden had walls around it, also. There were winter vegetables growing out of the ground, such as potatoes and carrots. Mary saw another green door. She hoped the door would not open, because that would mean she had found the mysterious garden. But the door opened immediately. Mary went into the third walled garden, which was an orchard with many fruit trees. She looked around for another door. There was none. Mary looked at one corner of the orchard's wall. She saw the tops of trees on the other side of the wall. It was as if there was another garden on the other side. Was it the mysterious garden? What was on the other side of the wall? Where was the door?

Suddenly Mary heard the sweet sound of a bird singing. The bird was sitting on the tree tops, in the area on the other side of the orchard. It was almost as if he had seen Mary, and was calling to her. The bird had a little brown body and a bright red chest. His song was pretty. Mary listened to him sing, and his cheerful song gave her a nice feeling. Even a sour, unpleasant little girl can be lonely. The strange, walled gardens, the quiet house, and the wide grasslands made Mary feel as if there was no one in the world but herself. The bird's happy little song brought a look to Mary's face. It was almost a smile. Soon the bird flew away. "Perhaps he lives in the mysterious garden, and knows all about it," Mary thought.

Mary walked back through the green doors to the first kitchen garden, where the old man was working. She stood watching him, in her strange unfriendly way. "I have been into the other gardens," she said.

"There was nothing to stop you," said the man.

"I went into the orchard."

"Well, there was no dog at the door to bite you, was there?" said the man. He didn't seem to want to talk.

"In the orchard, there was no door to the other garden," said Mary.

"What garden?" said the man in a louder voice. He looked uncomfortable.

"The one on the other side of the orchard wall," said Mary. "There are trees there—I saw their tops. There was a bird sitting on one of the trees and he sang. He had a red chest."

To Mary's surprise, the man suddenly smiled. The smile changed his cross, angry old face. It made Mary think how much nicer a person looked, when he smiled. This was a new thought for her.

The man turned around and whistled. It was a soft, low sound. The next moment, a wonderful thing happened. The little brown and red bird flew through the air, and landed in the dirt near the gardener's foot!

"Here he is," said the old man. Then he spoke to the bird as if he was speaking to a child. "Where have you been, you little beggar? I haven't seen you before today. Have you been searching for a wife, this early in the year? You're too bold!"

The little bird looked at the old man with his bright black eyes. He hopped around, searching for seeds and insects in the dirt. He didn't seem to be afraid of them at all. It gave Mary a strange feeling in her heart, to look at him. The bird was so pretty and cheerful, and seemed like a person. He had a little fat body, and thin, delicate legs.

"Does he always come when you call him?" asked Mary.

"Yes. I've known him ever since he was little. He came out of the nest in the other garden. He first flew over the wall, but he was too small and weak to fly back for the next few days. So we became friends. Then when he flew back, all his family had gone. He was lonely and came back to me."

"What kind of a bird is he?" asked Mary.

"Don't you know? He's a robin redbreast. They're the friendliest birds in the world. They're almost as friendly as dogs, if you know how to treat them. Watch him hopping in the dirt, and looking at us. He knows we're talking about him."

It was a very strange thing, to see the old man and the robin redbreast. The man looked at the bird as if he was proud of him.

"He's a vain one," said the man, smiling. "He likes to hear us talk about him. And he's curious! He's always coming to see what I'm planting. That bird knows a lot of things—things Mr Craven doesn't bother to discover. He's the real head gardener, he is!"

Mary watched the robin hop around. It seemed that his bright black eyes looked at her curiously. Mary wondered what he was thinking. The strange feeling in her heart became stronger.

"Where did the rest of the robins go?" she asked.

"I don't know. But this one stayed. He knew he'd be lonely without a friend."

Mary stepped a little closer to the robin. She looked at the bird closely. She realized something. "I'm lonely," she said.

Mary had not known until now that loneliness was what had made her feel angry and cross her whole life. She didn't discover this important fact until she met the old man and the robin.

The old man looked carefully at Mary. "Are you the little girl from India?" he asked. Mary nodded her head.

"Then it's no surprise you're lonely. This is a lonely place," he said.

He began to dig again, while the little robin hopped around, looking busy and happy.

"What is your name?" Mary asked the old man.

"Ben Weatherstaff," he said. He laughed a little. "I'm lonely myself, except when the robin is with me. He's the only friend I've got."

"I have no friends at all," said Mary. "I've never had any. In India, my Ayi didn't like me, and I never played with anyone. People never like me, and I never like people."

It is the custom of the Yorkshire people of England to say exactly what they think. Ben Weatherstaff was a Yorkshire man. "You and me are a lot alike," he said. "We're not good-looking, and we're both as sour and angry as we look. We've got the same nasty tempers, I think!"

This was a fact, and Mary had never heard the truth about herself. In India, the servants always agreed with and obeyed you, whatever you did. Mary had never thought much about her looks, but she wondered if she was as unattractive as Ben Weatherstaff said. She wondered if she really was "nasty". She began to feel uncomfortable.

Suddenly the robin flew up to the top of a wall. He sang a little song. Ben Weatherstaff laughed. "He wants to be friends with you!" he said. "I think he likes you."

"He likes me?" said Mary. She looked up at the robin. "Would you make friends with me?" she said. Her voice was not hard. It was as soft and eager as a little girl's can be. Ben Weatherstaff looked at her in surprise.

"Why, you said that as nicely as if you were a real child, instead of a sharp old woman! You said it almost like Dickon talks to his wild animal friends."

Mary turned around quickly. "Do you know Dickon, too?" she asked.

"Everyone knows Dickon. He's a good boy—one of the best. He's always wandering around the moor. The animals trust him."

Mary wanted to ask old Ben more about Dickon, but just then the robin flew away. He had visited them for a while, but now he had other things to do.

"He is flying back over the orchard—into the garden that has no door!" cried Mary, watching the bird.

"He lives there," said Ben Weatherstaff. "He's making his nest there. He's probably making friends with some little girl robin, who lives in the old rose trees."

"Are there rose trees there?" asked Mary.

"There used to be, ten years ago," said Ben. He looked uncomfortable again.

"I want to see them," said Mary. "Where is the green door to that garden? It must be there somewhere."

"There was a door ten years ago, but there isn't now," Ben said firmly. He looked as unfriendly as he had when she first met him.

"But there must be a door!" cried Mary.

"There's no door that anyone can find. And it's none of your business," he said. "Don't be a troublesome child, prying into the affairs of others. I must go on with my work. Go away and play somewhere. I have no more time." Ben Weatherstaff picked up his tools, and walked away. He did not say goodbye.

(end of section)