Chapter 10 Chapter Ten Deacon

The sun has been shining in the secret garden for a week now.The Secret Garden is what Mary calls it when she remembers it.She liked the name, and she liked the feeling even more: the beautiful old wall surrounded her, and no one knew where she was.It's like being locked in a fairy tale world isolated from the world.The few books she had read were fairy tales, and in some of them she had read about the secret garden.Sometimes people sleep in it for a hundred years, she feels really stupid.She was not sleepy, in fact, she was getting more waking every day at Misselwest Manor.She grew to love being outdoors, and instead of hating the wind, she enjoyed it.She can run faster and farther than before, and she can jump a hundred ropes.The bulbs in the secret garden must have been pretty amazed.With such a clean space carved out around them, they had all the breathing room they wanted, and indeed, if only Mary could have known, they'd become more cheerful and work hard in the dark earth.The sun can reach them and warm them, and the rain can reach them directly when it falls, so they gradually feel very alive.

Mary was a queer, determined little creature, and now that she had something that interested her, she was really drawn to it.She worked, dug, and pulled weeds vigorously, only more and more pleased with her work than tired.It was an obsessed game for her.She found more gray-green spots popping up that she never expected to find.They seemed to pop up everywhere, and every day she was sure she found new tiny ones, some just small enough to poke out of the dirt to peek.So much so that she remembered Martha's "thousands of snowdrops," how the bulbs extended to seed new ones.These bulbs had been abandoned for a decade, and perhaps they had spread - like snowdrops - by the thousands.She wondered how long it took them to reveal themselves as flowers.Sometimes she stopped digging and looked at the garden and tried to imagine what it would be like here, covered in blossom and covered with thousands of lovely things.

During that week of sunshine, she and Ji Yuanben became intimate.Several times she popped up beside him, as if she had come out of the ground.The fact is, she was worried that he would pick up his tools and walk away when he saw her coming, so she always walked towards him as quietly as possible.But, in fact, he no longer disliked her as much as he did at first.Maybe she obviously wanted him as an old man for company, to please him secretly.Plus, she's more civilized than before.He didn't know that the first time she saw him, she spoke to him in the manner of an Indian native, and she didn't know that an awkward, determined Yorkshireman didn't know the custom of salaaming to his master and taking orders to do things.

"You're like a robin," he said to her one morning, looking up and seeing her standing beside him, "I never know when I'll see you, or where you'll come from." "It's my friend now," said Mary. "It's like it," Ji Yuanben said sharply, "to please women, to be vain and frivolous. To show off the hair on its tail, it will do anything. It is full of pride, just like an egg is filled with meat." He never talked much, and sometimes he didn't even answer Mary's questions, just grumbled, but this morning he talked more than usual.He stood up, resting one spiked foot on the shovel, and looked at her carefully.

"How long have you been here?" He rushed out. "I think about a month," she replied. "You're starting to make Misselwest a good name," he said, "and you're fatter and less yellow than when you first came. You looked like a plucked crow when you first came into this garden. I said to myself I've never seen an uglier, more sour baby face." Mary is not vain, and because she never thinks much about her looks, she doesn't feel much out of balance. "I know I'm fat," she said, "and my socks are getting tighter. They used to be wrinkled. Here comes the robin, Ji Yuanben."

There, really, was the robin, and she thought it was prettier than ever.Its red vest is as smooth as satin. It plays with its wings and tail, tilts its head, jumps around, and makes various lively and elegant gestures.It seems that he is determined to make Ji Yuanben admire him.But the old season is indifferent. "Of course, it's your art!" he said. "There's no better man, and you can make do with me for a while. You've been reddening your waistcoats and preening your feathers for the last two weeks. I Know what you're up to. You're flattering that brash young lady, telling her nonsense that you're the number one dainty mockingbird on Miser's Field, ready to fight all mockingbirds."

"Oh! Look at it!" exclaimed Mary. The robin was clearly in the mood for charm and daring.It jumped closer and closer, looking at Ji Yuanben more and more intently.It flew to the nearest biao bush, tilted its head, and sang a song to him. "You think you can let me forget it if you do this," said Old Ji, wrinkling his face, and Mary thought he must be trying not to show pleasure. "Nobody but you is going to stand up against you—that's what you think." The robin spread its wings - Mary couldn't believe her eyes.It flew up to the handle of Ji Yuanben's shovel and stopped at the top.The old man's face slowly wrinkled into another expression.He stood motionless, as if afraid to breathe—as if he would not stir a little in the world, lest his robin should suddenly fly away.He spoke in a complete whisper.

"Well, I'm cursed!" he said so softly, as if he'd said something very different. "You do know how to buy—you know! You're as pretty as a bird, and you're too sensible." He stood motionless—barely breathing—until the robin played with its wings and flew away.Then he stood looking at the handle of the shovel as if there was magic in it, and then he started digging again and didn't speak for a few minutes. But he kept grinning slowly, and Mary was not afraid to speak to him. "Do you have your own garden?" she asked. "No. I'm single and live at the gate with Martin."

"If you had one," said Mary, "what would you grow?" "Cabbage, potatoes, onions." "But if you wanted to plant a garden," Mary demanded, "what would you plant?" "Bulbs and something nice-smelling—but mostly roses." Mary's face brightened. "Do you like roses?" she said. Ji Yuanben uprooted a weed and threw it aside before answering. "Well, yes, I do. Taught by a young lady, I'm her gardener. She's got lots of them, she dotes on them, she loves them like children—or like robins. I've seen her Bend down and kiss the rose." He slowly pulled out another weed, frowning at it. "That's ten years old."

"Where is she now?" Mary asked with great interest. "Heaven," he answered, forcing the shovel deep into the soil, "in human terms." "What about the rose?" Mary asked again, more interested. "They stay by themselves." Mary became quite agitated. "Are they all dead? Will the rose die by itself?" She took a risk. "Well, I used to like them—I liked her—she liked them," Ji Yuanben admitted reluctantly. "Once or twice a year, I would do a little—pruning, loosening the soil around the roots. They Crazy, but planted in rich soil, so some survived."

"They have no leaves, and they are gray and brown and dry. How do you know if they are dead or alive?" asked Mary. "Wait for spring to come to them—wait for the sun to shine into the rain, and the rain to fall into the sun, and then you'll know." "How—how?" cried Mary, forgetting to be careful. "Look along the twigs and twigs, if you see little brown bumps here and there, come and see what happens after the spring rain." He stopped suddenly, looking at her eager face curiously, "Why do you care so much about roses or something? , all of a sudden?" he demanded an answer. Miss Mary felt flushed.She was almost afraid to answer. "I—I want to play with that—that I have my own garden," she stammered, "I—I don't have anything to do here. I have nothing—and nobody." "Well," Ji Yuanben said slowly, while looking at her, "That's true. You didn't." He said it in a strange tone, and Mary wondered if he even felt a little sorry for her.She never felt sorry for herself, she was just tired and unhappy because she hated people and things so much.But now the world seems to be changing, for the better.If no one discovers the secret garden, she will keep enjoying herself forever. She stayed with him for another ten or fifteen minutes, asking all the questions she dared to ask.He answered all the questions, with his queer muttering that he didn't seem really upset to pick up the shovel and leave her.Just as she was leaving, he said something about roses that reminded her of the roses he had said she had loved. "Are you going to see those roses?" she asked. "Not this year. My rheumatism makes my joints so stiff." He murmured, very abruptly, that he seemed very annoyed at Mary, though she could not see why he should. "Listen!" he said sternly. "You don't ask so many questions. You have the most questions of all the kids I've met. Go away and play. I've told you enough for today." His tone was not smooth, and she knew there was no need to stay any longer.She skipped rope slowly along the outside aisle, pondering him, saying to herself that, strange to say, there was another person in him that she liked, no matter how surly he was.She likes old Ji Won Ben.Yes, she does like him.She was always trying to make him talk to herself.And she began to believe that he knew everything in the world about flowers and plants. A path with a laurel hedge wound around the secret garden and ended at a gate that led into a wood in the common.She thought she might be able to sneak along the path and see if there were any rabbits hopping around in the woods.She enjoyed skipping rope, and when she came to the little door, she opened it and walked through because she heard a low, strange whistle and wanted to find out what it was.That's a really weird thing.She nearly stopped breathing when she stopped to look.A boy sat under a tree with his back against it, playing on a rough wooden flute.He was a happy-looking boy, about twelve years old.He looked clean, his nose turned up, and his face was as deep as a poppy.Miss Mary had never seen such round and blue eyes in a boy's face.On the tree trunk he was leaning on, a brown squirrel was clinging to him, observing him, and behind a nearby bush, a male pheasant stretched its neck gracefully to look around, and two rabbits sat up close to him, their noses fluttering Inhale - it seems that they are all attracted to him, listening to the strange low call of his flute. When he saw Mary, he held out his hand, and spoke to her in a voice almost as low as his flute. "Don't move," he said, "it will scare them away." Mary remained still.He stopped playing the flute and got up from the ground.He moved so slowly that it was almost impossible to see that he was moving, but at last he stood up, and the squirrel scuttled into the upper foliage, the pheasant shrank back, and the rabbit fell on all fours and jumped away, though they showed no sign of fear. "I'm Dickon," said the boy, "and I know you're Miss Mary." That's when Mary realized that somehow she had known him to be Dickon at first.Who can confuse rabbits and pheasants like the native Indians confuse snakes?He has a wide, curved red mouth, and his smile spreads all over his face. "I get up slowly," he explained, "because if you make a quick movement, you startle them. With wild animals around, move slowly and speak low." He spoke to her as if they had never met, but as if he knew her very well.Mary didn't understand boys at all, and she was a little stiff talking to him because she felt shy. "Did you get Martha's letter?" she asked. He nodded his auburn curly hair, "That's why I came." He stopped to pick up something on the ground, which he placed beside him while he played the flute. "I brought garden tools. Here's a spade, rake, fork, and hoe. Ah! All good. And a trowel. The woman at the store sent me a A packet of white poppies and a packet of blue delphiniums." "Can you show me the seeds?" said Mary. She wished she could talk like him.He said it quickly and easily.It sounded as though he liked her and wasn't at all worried that she wouldn't like him, even though he was just an ordinary wilderness boy with patched clothes and a ridiculous face and rough brown hair. "Let's sit on this pod and look at the seeds," she said. They sat down and he took a clumsy little brown paper bag from his coat pocket.He untied the rope, and inside were many neat little bags, each with a flower pattern on it. "There are lots of mignonettes and poppies," he said, "mignonettes are the sweetest thing that grows, and they will grow wherever you scatter them, just as poppies can grow too. If you whistle at them, They just bloom, and they're beautiful." He stopped and turned quickly, his poppy face brightening. "Where's our mockingbird?" he said. The short cry came from the holly bushes, the scarlet berries were bright, and Mary thought she knew who it was. "Is it really calling us?" she asked. "Well, yes," said Dickon, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, "he's calling one of his friends. It's like saying 'I'm here. Look at me. I want to talk.' He's in the bush ri. Who is it?" "It belongs to Ji Yuan, but I think it knows me a little bit." Mary replied. "Well, he knows you," whispered Dickon again, "and he likes you. He has you as his own. He'll tell me all about you in a minute." It approached the bush, moving slowly, as Mary had noticed earlier, and then it made a sound, almost like the robin's own warbling.The robin listened attentively for a few seconds, then responded as if it were answering a question. "Oh yes, it's your friend." Dickon chuckled softly. "You think it is?" cried Mary eagerly.She really wants to know. "You think it really likes me?" "He won't come near you if he doesn't like you," replied Dickon. "Birds are picky, and a robin can despise a man more than a man. See, he's flattering you." Don't you see A guy?' he was saying." It seemed that this must be true.It hopped on the bushes, sidled this way and that, twittered, tilted its head, "Did you understand everything the bird said?" said Mary. Dickon's smile spread across his face until all he had left was a wide, curved red mouth, and he rubbed his rough head. "I think I know, they think I know," he said, "I've been with them in the wilderness for so long. I've seen them come out of their shells, grow fur, learn to fly, start singing until I feel like I Be one of them. Sometimes I think I might be a bird, or a fox, or a rabbit, or a squirrel, or even a beetle, I just don't know it." He laughed, returned to the log, and started talking about flower seeds again.He told her what they were like when they bloomed, how to plant them, how to care for them, how to feed and water them. "You see," he said suddenly, "I can grow these flowers for you myself. Where is the garden?" Mary's slender hands were clenched together in her lap.She didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything for a whole minute.It never occurred to her.She felt unlucky.She felt her face turn red and white again. "You've got a little garden, don't you?" said Dickon. She did turn red and white again.Dickon was beginning to be puzzled as he watched her change and she remained silent. "They won't give you any?" he asked. "Haven't you got it?" She squeezed her hands tighter and turned her eyes to him. "I don't know anything about boys," she said slowly. "Can you keep a secret if I tell you? It's a big secret. I don't know what to do if someone finds out. I'm sure I'm going to die." Yes!" She said the last sentence very fiercely. Dickon was still more perplexed, and rubbed his whole rough head again, but he answered in good humor. "I've kept a secret," he said, "if I couldn't keep a secret from my brothers, the cubs of the fox, the nests of the birds, the holes of the wild animals, safety on the moor would be nothing. Well, I can keep secret." Miss Mary didn't want it, but she did reach out and grab his sleeve. "I stole a garden," she said quickly, "and it's not mine. It's nobody's. No one wants it, no one cares about it, no one's even been in it. Maybe everything in it is dead .I have no idea." She gradually felt feverish, feeling as surly as ever. "I don't care, I don't care! No one can take it away from me, I care about it, they don't. They let it die and let it lock itself up." She finished furiously, throwing her hands to her face, Crying loudly—poor little Miss Mary. Dickon's curious blue eyes grew rounder and rounder. "Ah-ah-ah!" he said, drawing out a slow exclamation that was both wonder and sympathy. "I have nothing to do," said Mary, "I have nothing. I found it myself, I went into it myself. I'm just like the robin, and they don't take the garden from the robin." Walk." "Where is it?" said Dickon in a low voice. Immediately Miss Mary got up from the log.She knew she was feeling surly and stubborn again, and she didn't care.She is haughty, Indian, angry and sad at the same time. "Come with me and I'll show you," she said. She led him around the laurel lane, to the ivy-thick aisle.Dickon followed her with a strange expression that bordered on pity.He felt himself being led to see a strange bird's nest and had to be gentle.He startled as she stepped toward the wall and lifted the drooping ivy.There was a door, and Mary pushed it slowly, and they entered together, and then Mary stood up, waving her hand defiantly. "Here it is," she said. "It's a secret garden, and I'm the only one in the world who wants to keep it alive." Dickon looked around at it again and again. "Ah!" he almost whispered, "this is a strange and beautiful place! It seems that a person is dreaming."