CHAPTER TEN
DICKON
For one week after this the sun shone on the secret garden. Mary loved being inside the garden's walls, safely hidden away from the world. It was like being in a magical land. Because of her time spent in the garden, Mary was beginning to like being outside. She no longer hated the strong winds. She could run faster and longer, and she was becoming stronger.
Mary was a strange, determined little girl, and now she had something to work for. She spent hours in the garden that week. She pulled up dead grass and weeds. She found more and more little green plants every day. She wondered how long it would be before the plants turned into flowers. When they came, there would be hundreds of them!
During that week Mary became more friendly with Ben Weatherstaff. They talked a little, and watched the robin sing and hop about. Ben was not used to company, but he secretly enjoyed seeing Mary. One day during that week Ben asked her, "How long have you been here?"
"About a month," said Mary.
"You're beginning to look like a real little girl. You're a little fatter, and not so yellow and ugly. When you first came here, I said to myself, 'I've never seen an uglier more sour-faced child!'"
Mary did not care much about her looks, so this comment did not bother her.
"I know I'm fatter," she said. "My dresses are a little tighter now. Look, Ben Weatherstaff, here comes the robin."
The robin looked especially good that day. His little gray and red body was fat and shiny, and his black eyes were bright. He seemed to be trying to make Ben Weatherstaff admire him.
"Oh, there you are!" said Ben. "You'll come and talk to me, when you haven't got anyone better. I know what you've been doing. You've been seeing some lady robin. You'll be telling her you're the bravest bird on the moor!"
The little bird looked at Ben and hopped so close that Mary could almost touch him. Then he did an amazing thing. He flew and sat on top of Ben's gardening tool, only inches from his face. Ben stood still as if he were afraid to breathe. He didn't want to say anything, or the robin might fly away.
"I don't believe it," he whispered. "You know how to amaze a fellow, that's for sure!"
He stood there without moving until the robin sang a little song and flew away. Ben looked at his gardening tool as if it were a magic thing. He didn't say anything for a few moments, but he kept smiling. Mary wasn't afraid to speak to him.
"Do you have a garden, Ben Weatherstaff?" she asked.
"But if you had one, what would you plant in it?"
"Cabbages and potatoes and onions," said Ben.
"But what if you wanted to grow flowers? What would you plant then?" continued Mary.
"Oh ... sweet-smelling flowers. Mostly roses."
Mary was excited. She remembered the rose vines in the secret garden. "Do you like roses?" she asked.
"Yes, I do. A young lady I worked for loved them, and she taught me all about them. She had a lot of roses in ... a place she liked, and she loved them like they were children," said Ben. "That was ten years ago."
"Where is she now?" asked Mary.
"Heaven," said Ben.
"What happened to her roses? Did they die, when she did?"
"Well, for a few years after she died I went and took care of the roses. I don't do that anymore, because I'm old and stiff. But I think many of them lived."
Mary was more and more excited. "Ben Weatherstaff, when some roses have no leaves, and look gray and brown and dry, how do you know if they are dead or alive?" she cried. She had forgotten to be careful.
"When the spring comes, look at the branches of the rose plants. If you see a small bump on the branches, they're alive. After a warm rain you'll see what happens. Now see here! Why do you care about roses so much, all of a sudden?" he said, looking closely at Mary.
Mary's face grew red. "Well ... I want to—to pretend that I have a garden," she said slowly. "There is nothing for me to do. I have nothing—and no one."
"That's true," said Ben slowly as he watched her. "You haven't."
Mary wondered if he felt sorry for her. She stayed with him for ten minutes more, asking him as many questions as she dared. He answered her in his strange way, but Mary thought that he might be beginning to like her, a little. She stayed with him until he said, "Now look here! Go and play. You ask too many questions! I'm finished talking for today."
Instead of being angry, Mary cheerfully told him goodbye and left. She thought to herself that she liked old Ben, although he was cross. She wanted to keep talking with him. And he seemed to know everything in the world about flowers!
As Mary turned a corner she saw a very strange thing. She couldn't believe her eyes. A boy was sitting under the tree, playing a little wooden pipe. He was a funny looking boy, about twelve years old. He had red cheeks and bright blue eyes. They were as blue and bright as the sky. But the most amazing thing was that there were animals all around him. A squirrel and two rabbits were sitting near him. They didn't seem afraid at all; they almost seemed to be listening to the music.
When the boy saw Mary he spoke to her in a low voice.
"Don't you move," he said. "It would scare them."
Mary didn't move. The boy put his pipe in his pocket and stood up, so slowly that he hardly moved at all. When he did, the rabbits and squirrel moved away. They still didn't seem frightened, however.
"I'm Dickon," said the boy. "I know you're Miss Mary."
Mary realized that she had known this was Dickon from the beginning. Who else could it have been? Dickon had a wide smile, and it filled his whole face.
"I stood up so slowly because wild animals don't like it when you move fast. You have to move slow, and speak softly."
He spoke to Mary as if he'd known her a long time. However, Mary knew nothing about boys, so she felt a little shy.
"Did you get Martha's letter?" she asked.
"Yes, that's why I came," said Dickon. He pointed to a little package on the ground. "I've got your garden tools and seeds."
"Will you show the seeds to me?" asked Mary.
Looking at Dickon's friendly face she forgot to be shy. "Let's sit on this log and look at them together," she said.
They sat down and Dickon took out a package. Inside were small envelopes of seeds. "Here are some poppy seeds, and here's some mignonette. Mignonette flowers are the sweetest smelling in the world. They'll grow wherever you plant them, the same as the poppies!"
He explained to Mary how to water the seeds, and what they would look like when they became flowers. "Listen," he said suddenly. "I'll plant them for you myself. Where's your garden?"
Mary's face turned red, then white. She hadn't thought of this before. How could she tell Dickon about the secret garden? She didn't know what to say.
Dickon saw her reaction. "Haven't you got a garden yet?" he asked. "Wouldn't they give you a little one?"
Mary's eyes were huge, as she looked at him. "I don't know anything about boys," she said slowly. "If I tell you a very big secret, will you promise not to tell? If anyone else found out ... I think I would die!" she said, almost angrily.
But Dickon just smiled. "I keep secrets all the time," he said. "If I couldn't keep secrets from the other boys about animals' nests and things, then no animal on the moor would be safe. Yes, I can keep secrets."
"I've ... I've stolen a garden," whispered Mary. "It's an old garden, more than ten years old. Nobody wants it—they never enter it. Perhaps everything in it is dead, I don't know—but I don't care, I don't! I have nothing here—nothing belongs to me. I found it myself. No one has the right to take it away from me when I love it and they don't. They're letting it die, all alone," she said, and burst into tears.
Dickon's blue eyes grew bigger and bigger. "Ahhhh!" he said with pity and understanding. "Where is it?" he whispered.
Mary got up at once. She was feeling a little like the old Mary—sour and angry—but at the same time very worried and upset. "I'll show you," she said.
Mary took Dickon to the garden wall. She lifted the thick vines and showed him the door. She was careful to make sure no one was around.
When they passed through the garden door, Mary said, "This is the place. It's a secret garden, and I'm the only one who wants it to be alive."
Dickon looked around and around him.
"It's a strange, pretty place!" he whispered. "It's like a place in a dream."
(end of section)