Chapter 5 Chapter 5 Crying in the Corridor

At first, for Mary Lennox, there was no difference between one day and another.Every morning she woke up in the tapestry room to see Mary kneeling before the fire stoking a fire; every morning she ate her breakfast in the uninteresting nursery, and after each breakfast she gazed out of the window The great moor, which seemed to expand in every direction, climb into the sky, and after she stared at the moor for a while, she realized that if she didn't go out, she would have nothing to do but stay indoors--and she out.Little did she know that she had made the best choice.She didn't know that as she walked faster and even ran along the path that led to the main road, her slow blood flow was being activated, and she was being strengthened against the wind blowing from the moor.She ran just to keep warm, she hated the piercing wind, roaring and dragging her, like an invisible giant.Yet the great gusts of fresh air from the heather filled her lungs with something.The thing did her whole little frame good, stirred some blush to her cheeks, made her glassy eyes glow without her knowing it.

However, after spending several days out of doors, she woke up one morning and knew what it meant to be hungry.She sat down to breakfast, and instead of casting a contemptuous glance at her porridge and pushing it away, she picked up a spoon and ate, and ate until the bowl was empty. "The porridge is delicious this morning, isn't it?" said Martha. "It tastes good today," said Mary, feeling a little surprised. "It's the air on the moor that gives you your appetite," Martha replied. "You are blessed to have an appetite and food. There are twelve in our house, and there is nothing to feed them if you have an appetite. You insist on going out every day, There will be flesh growing on the bones, and it won’t be so yellow.”

"I don't play," said Mary, "I don't have anything to play with." "Nothing to play with!" Martha exclaimed. "Our children play with sticks and stones. They just run around and shout and look at things." Mary didn't cry out, just looked at things.There is nothing else to do.She went round and round the gardens, wandering the paths in the courtyard.Sometimes she went to look for Ji Yuanben, but the few times she saw him, he was too busy to dismiss her, or he was very surly.Once she was walking towards him, and he picked up the shovel and turned away, as if on purpose.

There is one place she goes to more often.It was the long walkway outside the walled garden.The walkway was flanked by bare flower beds, and the walls were covered with dense ivy.On one part of the wall, the spreading dark green leaves are thicker than other places.It looks like this area has been neglected for a long time.The rest was trimmed and trimmed, but the lower end of the aisle was not trimmed at all. A few days after she had spoken to Ji Yuanben, Mary stopped to notice this and wondered why it was so.She stopped and looked up, watching a long ivy swaying in the wind, when suddenly she saw a glimpse of bright red and heard a clear and short bird song - right there, on the top of the wall, Ji Yuanben's red Breasted robin, stopped there, bent over her, little head on one side.

"Oh!" she cried, "is that you—is that you?" She was not at all surprised, and spoke to it herself, as if she were sure it would understand and answer her. It really answered.There was another melodious sound, another short cry, jumping up and down on the wall, as if telling her various things.Miss Mary felt as if she understood him too, though it did not speak in words.It seems like it says: "Good morning! Isn't that a good wind? Isn't that a good sun? Isn't everything all right? Let's chirp, dance, twitter! Come on! Come on!" Mary laughed, and she ran after it as it danced along the wall.Poor little, sallow, ugly Mary—for a moment she looked pretty.

"I like you! I like you!" she cried, clattering down the aisle; she chirped and tried to whistle.She can't whistle at all.But the robin seemed satisfied, and sang and whistled back to her.At last it spread its wings, flew up to the top of a tree, stopped, and sang loudly.It reminded Mary of when she first saw it.That time it was dangling on top of a tree and she was standing in the orchard.Now she was on the other side of the orchard, on the path beyond the wall—a much lower wall, with the same tree inside. "This is the garden that no one is allowed to enter," she said to herself. "This is the garden without a door. It lives there. If only I could see what it's like in there!"

She ran up the path to the green door she had entered the first morning.Then she ran down the path through another gate into the orchard, and she stood looking up and saw the tree beyond the wall, and the robin had just finished singing the song and was preening its beak. "That's the garden," she said, "I'm sure that's it." She walked around, taking a closer look at the side of the orchard wall, but she found the same thing as before—there was no door in the wall.Then she ran across the vegetable garden again and came to the walkway beyond the long ivy-covered wall, and she went to the end to check, but there was no door.She went to the other end and looked again, but there was no door there.

"It's so strange," she said, "Ji Yuan said that there is no door, and there really is no door. But there must have been a door ten years ago, because Mr. Craven buried the key." It was enough for her to think about it, and she began to be very interested in it, and felt that it was a pity to come to Misselwest Park.In India she was always hot and tired and indifferent.In fact, the fresh air on the moor was already blowing the cobwebs out of the young mind and clearing her up a little. She had been out of doors almost all day, and when she sat down to dinner she felt hungry and faint and comfortable.While Martha was chatting, she didn't feel uncomfortable, and finally she thought she should ask Martha something.She asked after supper and sat down on a heather rug in front of the fire.

"Why does Mr. Craven hate that garden?" she said. She asked Martha to stay, and Martha had no objection.Martha was young, used to the cottage being crowded with brothers and sisters, and found the servants' hall downstairs dull.The porters and high maids in the hall teased her for her Yorkshire accent and regarded her as an insignificant little fellow, and they sat there whispering to themselves.Martha loves to chat, and this strange kid who lived in India and was served by "blacks" is legendary enough to attract Martha. Without waiting to be invited, she sat down on the heather rug.

"Are you thinking about that garden?" she said. "I knew you would. It was the same when I first heard." "Why does he hate it?" Mary pursued. Martha folded her feet under her to make herself more comfortable. "Listen to the wind howling around the house," she said, "you won't be able to stand on the field if you're out tonight." Mary didn't know what "whoosh" meant until she listened to it.It must have meant the hollow, shuddering growl that sprinted round and round the house, as if an invisible giant were pounding on walls and windows to break in.But people know that it can't get in. Somehow, this makes the people in the house feel very safe and warm in front of the red charcoal fire.

"But why does he hate it so much?" She asked after hearing the wind.She was going to see if Martha knew. So Martha sacrificed her intelligence stockpile. "Really," she said, "Mrs. Medlock said it couldn't be said. There are a lot of things in this place that can't be said. That was Mr. Craven's order. He said his troubles were none of the servant's business. But he wouldn't be where he is now if it wasn't for the garden. It used to be Mrs. Craven's garden, she made it when they first got married. She loved it so much. They took care of the flowers and plants themselves. Not a single flower Carpenter went in. He and she used to go in and shut the door, and stay in there for hours, reading and talking. She was kind of like a little girl, and there was an old tree with a bent trunk like a seat. She let The roses were all over the trunk, and she used to sit there. But one day while she was sitting on it, the trunk broke, and she fell, and was badly hurt, and died the next day. The doctor thought Mr. Craven was going mad, And then die too. That's why he hated that garden. No one has been in it since, and he won't allow anyone to mention it." Mary asked no more.She looked at the red fire and listened to the "howling" of the wind.It seems that needless to say, the "Wu Xiao" is louder than before.At that moment, something good was happening to her.In fact, several good things had happened to her since she came to Misselwest.She felt that she understood the robin and the robin understood her; she ran on the wind until her blood was hot; she was hungry for the first time in her life; she knew at last what it was to pity someone. However, when she listened to the wind, she gradually began to listen to other voices.She didn't know what it was, because at first she could barely distinguish it from the wind.It was a strange sound--it almost sounded like a child crying somewhere.Sometimes the sound of the wind was very like a child's cry, but at this time Miss Mary was quite sure that it was in the house and not outside.It's far away, but inside.She turned to look at Martha. "Can you hear someone crying?" she asked. Martha was suddenly puzzled. "No," she answered, "it's the wind. Sometimes it sounds like someone is lost in the moor and howling. The wind can make all kinds of noises." "But listen," said Mary, "it's in the house—at the end of that long corridor." At that moment the door somewhere downstairs must have opened, for a violent draft came down the passage and the door to their room was flung open.They both jumped up, the lights were blown out, and the cries were heard more clearly than ever, sweeping down the far corridor. "There!" said Mary, "I told you! Someone was crying--and it wasn't grown-ups." Martha ran to close the door and turn the key, but before she closed it they both heard the door of the passageway in the distance slammed with a bang, and then all was quiet, for even the sound of the wind stopped for a while. There is no "whoosh". "It's the wind," said Martha stubbornly. "If it's not the wind, it's little Betty. Butterworth, the scullery valet. She's got a toothache today." But there was something worried and awkward in her expression, which made Miss Mary stare at her hard.She doesn't believe Martha is telling the truth.