CHAPTER NINETEEN

IN THE GARDEN

The summer went on. Every day the people in the secret garden became happier and healthier. The secret garden grew more beautiful every day. But far away from England, there was one person who was not happy. This man, Archibald Craven, had left Misselthwaite Manor when the air was still cold and the sky gray. He had traveled to Europe to see the mountains of Switzerland, and the fields of Norway. He saw places of such beauty that any man would feel happy—but not him. For ten years now, he had been holding a terrible sadness in his heart. He had never tried to replace any of the terrible, dark thoughts with better ones. He told himself life would never get any better.

However, one day he was wandering in a beautiful field in the mountains of Austria. The snow covered mountains sparkled like diamonds. He sighed, and lay down in the grass by a little stream. As he lay there, a very strange thing began to happen.

The whole valley was still and quiet. The clear blue sky looked like Heaven. There were little birds singing in the trees. As Archibald Craven lay there, he felt his whole soul and body becoming still and quiet too. He felt peaceful, for the first time in many years. He looked at some little blue flowers in the grass. He thought to himself that they were pretty little flowers. He hadn't thought of flowers, and trees, and nature for many years. It was too painful, and reminded him of his dead wife. But today, he found himself enjoying nature. He felt so peaceful that he soon fell asleep. He slept deeply and calmly. Soon he began to dream. He dreamed that he was surrounded by roses. He didn't know where he was. Then he heard a sweet, clear voice call, "Archie! Archie! Archie!"

It was the voice of his wife. "Lilias! Lilias!" he cried, jumping up. "Where are you?"

"In the garden," said the voice, laughing. "I'm in the garden!"

Archibald Craven woke up immediately. What had happened? He sat looking at the little stream. The dream had seemed so real. "In the garden!" he said aloud. "But the garden is locked, and the key was thrown away."

He walked the many miles back to his hotel. The hotel was on the edge of a deep, clear lake. By the time he reached his room it was night. The bright yellow moon shone among a million stars. He was surprised to see that a letter was waiting for him. It had come from Yorkshire! He did not recognize the handwriting. It read:

Dear Sir,

I am Susan Sowerby whose daughter, Martha, works at Misselthwaite Manor. Once I spoke to you about Miss Mary. Now, I will speak again. Please, sir, I would come home, if I were you. I think you would be happy to come and, if you will excuse me, sir, I think your lady would ask you to come, if she were here.

Yours,

Susan Sowerby

Archibald Craven kept thinking about his dream. He put the letter in his pocket.

"I'll return to Misselthwaite immediately," he said.

In a few days he was in Yorkshire again. He was taking the train across the country. During this time, he found himself thinking of his son, Colin. He tried never to think about him. When he was born, his mother had died. For many months Archibald had been almost insane with anger and sadness. The child was thin and small, and everyone said he would die. Archibald hadn't wanted to see him at all. But the child didn't die. Instead he grew into a sickly, miserable child with a terrible temper.

Thinking about Colin was unpleasant. But for the first time, his father thought to himself, "Perhaps it is not too late to do something. Perhaps I can help him. What have I been thinking of?"

When he reached Misselthwaite Manor, he felt something had changed about it. The dark house didn't look so dead. The late summer sunlight made the trees and gardens glow. Everything looked magical, somehow. Strangely, Archibald Craven felt glad to be home.

He walked around the gardens for a while. He felt, somehow, afraid to pass by the secret garden. But he had a strange desire to find the door. "I will try to find the key and open the door. I don't know why. The garden has been dead for many years."

He approached the wall of the secret garden. It was covered with vines, as always. On the outside, everything looked the same as it had.

But if the garden was dead, then what were the sounds he heard inside its walls?

Laughter, and sounds like feet running!

"Am I in a dream?" Archibald wondered. "Have I lost my mind? I must be hearing things!"

Suddenly the door to the garden flew open. A boy ran out. He didn't see Archibald standing there, and almost ran into him. Archibald held his hands out just in time to prevent the boy from falling. When he looked into the boy's face, his heart began to pound.

The boy was tall and handsome. His large gray eyes were shining with life. The running had given his face a healthy color. The boy brushed his thick, dark hair away from his face, and stared at the man with laughing eyes. It was the boy's eyes that made Archibald gasp for breath. They were his mother's eyes.

"Who—what! Who?" Archibald said.

Now, this was not what Colin had expected, or planned. But he straightened up and said, "Father, I'm Colin. You may not believe it. I can't believe it, myself. But I'm Colin."

Archibald Craven felt a great joy grow inside of him. He still could not speak.

"I'm well now. The garden, and Mary, and Dickon made me well. We kept the secret, to tell you when you came back. I can beat Mary in a race! I'm going to be an athlete."

Archibald Craven's soul was filled with joy. He put his hands on the boy's shoulders. This was the meaning of the dream. It was time for him to begin living again, as his son had.

"Take me into the garden, my boy," he said, "and tell me all about it."

(end of section)