Chapter 12 Chapter Twelve "May I Have Some Dirt?"

Mary ran so fast that she was out of breath when she reached the room.Her hair was fluffy in front of her forehead, and her face was bright pink.Her meal was waiting for her on the table, and Martha waited beside her. "You're a little late," she said. "Where have you been?" "I've seen Dickon!" said Mary, "I've seen Dickon!" "I know he's coming," Martha said happily. "What do you think of him?" "I think—I think he's beautiful!" said Mary decisively. Martha leaned back, but also pleased. "Well," she said, "he's a very nice lad, but we never thought he was handsome. His nose is too turned up."

"I like turned noses," said Mary. "And his eyes are so round," said Martha, a little hesitant, "although the color is pretty." "I like how round they are," said Mary, "and the same color as the sky over the moor." Martha beamed with joy. "Mum said he made his eyes that color because he always looked up at the birds and the clouds. But he had a big mouth, didn't he, and still does?" "I love his big mouth," said Mary stubbornly. "I wish mine were like that." Martha laughed happily. "That would look rare and funny on your little face," she said, "but I know you'll see him like that. What do you think of seeds and tools?"

"How did you know he sent me those?" Mary asked. "Ah! I never thought he wouldn't send it to you. He's sure to, if there's one in Yorkshire. He's such a dependable lad." Mary worried that she might ask tough questions next, but she didn't.She was very interested in seeds and tools, and only once terrified Mary.That's when she started asking where the flowers were going to be planted. "Who did you ask?" she asked. "I haven't had time to ask anyone yet," Mary said hesitantly. "Well, I'm not going to ask the chief gardener. He's too blunt, Mr. Rauch is like that."

"I've never seen him," said Mary, "I've only seen the gardener and Ji Yuanben." "If I were you, I'd ask Ji Yuanben," Martha suggested, "he's not half as bad as he looks, everyone thinks he's gloomy. Mr. Craven keeps him and lets him do what he wants, Because he was here when Mrs. Craven was alive, and he used to make her laugh. She liked him. Maybe he can find you a corner somewhere out of the way." "If it's out of the way, no one wants it, no one cares that I own the land, does they?" "There's no reason to be," said Martha, "you won't be doing anyone any harm."

Mary finished her meal as fast as she could, and got up from the table to run to her room to put on her hat again, but Martha stopped her. "I have something to tell you," she said. "I want you to finish your dinner first. Mr. Craven came back this morning, and I think he would like to see you." Mary turned pale. "Oh!" she said, "why! why! He wouldn't see me when I first came. I heard Pitcher say he wouldn't." "Well," Martha explained, "Mrs. Medlock said it was because of Mum. Mum went down to Sweet Village and met him. She'd never talked to him before, but Mr. Craven has been to our farmhouse. Two or three times. He forgot, but mother didn't, and took the liberty of calling him. I don't know what she said to him about you, but what she said made him remember to look at you, before he went away again, Tomorrow."

"Oh!" cried Mary. "Is he leaving tomorrow? I'm so glad!" "He's gone for a long time. He might not come back until autumn and winter. He's going to travel abroad. He always does." "Oh! I'm so happy--so happy!" said Mary gratefully. If he came back in winter, even if it was autumn, he would have time to watch the secret garden wake up.Even if he found out then, and took it from her, she'd have at least that much by then. "When do you think he wants to see—" She did not finish, for the door opened and Mrs. Medlock entered.She was wearing her best black dress and hat, fastened at the collar with a large brooch, with a man's face on the collar patch.It was a colored photograph of Mr. Medlock, long dead, in her full dress.She looked tense and excited.

"Your hair is rough," she said quickly. "Go and brush it. Martha, help her into your best dress. Mr. Craven sent me to take her into his study." All the blush faded from Mary's face.Her heart started pounding, and she felt like she was becoming a stiff, dull, silent child.She did not even answer Mrs. Medlock, but turned and went into her bedroom, followed by Martha.She said nothing while Martha changed her, her hair was combed, and when she was quite tidy, she followed Mrs. Medlock down the corridor in silence.What can she say?She had to go, to see Mr. Craven, he wouldn't like her, she wouldn't like him.She knew what he would think of her.

She was led into a part of the house which she had never been before.At last Mrs. Medlock knocked, and someone said, "Come in," and they went in together.A man is sitting by the fire. "This is Miss Mary, sir," said she. "You can go and leave her here. I'll ring for you when I want you to take her away," said Mr. Craven. When she went out and closed the door, Mary had to stand and wait.A dull little thing with tiny hands tangled together.She can see.The man in the chair wasn't exactly stooped, for his shoulders were high and sloping, and his black hair was streaked with gray.He turned his head from the high shoulders and spoke to her.

"Come here!" he said. Mary walked towards him. He is not ugly.His face would have been handsome if it hadn't been so miserable.He acted as if seeing her made him distressed and irritated, and he didn't know what to do with her. "Are you okay?" he asked. "It's fine," Mary replied. "Are they taking good care of you?" "yes." He rubbed his forehead irritably as he checked her. "You're very thin," he said. "I'm putting on weight," Mary replied, never feeling stiffer. How unhappy is his face!His dark eyes were almost blind to her, as if looking at something else, and he could hardly keep his mind on her.

"I forgot you," said he, "how can I remember you? I would have sent you a governess or a nurse, or something of that sort, but I forgot." "Please," began Mary, "please—" and a lump of air choked her. "What do you want to say?" he asked. "I—I'm too old for a nurse," said Mary. "Please—please don't give me a governess just yet." He rubbed his forehead again and stared at her. "That's what the Sowerby woman said," he said absently. At this time, Mary gathered Yu Yong. "Is she—is she Martha's mother?" she stammered.

"Yes, I think so," he replied. "She understands children," said Mary. "She has twelve. She understands." He seemed to wake up. "what you up to?" "I want to play outside," Mary answered, hoping her voice wouldn't tremble. "I've never liked the outdoors in India. It makes me hungry. I'm gaining weight." He watches her. "Mrs Sowerby said it would be good for you. Perhaps," said he, "you'll grow stronger before she wants to give you a governess." "I feel strong when I play in the wind that comes up from the moor," Mary reasoned. "Where are you playing?" he asked next. "Around," gasped Mary, "Martha's mother gave me a jumping rope. I skipped and ran—and I looked around to see if anything was starting to come out of the dirt. I didn't do any harm." "Don't look so frightened," he said in a distressed voice. "You can do no harm, a boy like you! You can do what you want." Mary put her hand to her throat because she was afraid he would see the knot of excitement popping up in her throat.She took a step closer to him. "Can I?" she asked shyly. Her anxious little face seemed to bother him even more. "Don't look so frightened," he cried, "of course you can. I'm your guardian, though I'd be a poor guardian for any child. I can't give you time or thought. I'm too sick, too depressed, Too upset; but I want you to be happy and comfortable. I don't know anything about children, but Mrs. Medlock will look after you and give you everything you need. I sent for you today because Mrs. Sowerby said I should see you. Her daughter talks about you. She thinks you need fresh air, to run around freely." "She knows all about children," said Mary involuntarily. "She deserved it," said Mr. Craven, "I thought she was rather abrupt in stopping me in the moor, but she said—Mrs. Craven had been kind to her." It seemed difficult for him to say his dead wife's name. "Solby's a respectable woman. It seems you think what she says is reasonable. Get out of doors as much as you like. It's a big place, and you can go where you want, and please yourself as you please. Do you want something?" A thought seemed to hit him. "Do you want toys, books, dolls?" "I can," trembling Mary, "may I have some dirt?" In her desperation, she didn't realize how strange that sounded, and that it wasn't what she meant to say.Mr. Craven was astonished. "Mud!" he repeated. "What do you mean?" "To grow seeds—to grow things—to see them come to life," Mary faltered. He stared at her for a moment, then quickly covered his eyes with his hands. "Do you—do you care so much about the garden?" he said slowly. "I don't know gardens in India," Mary said. "I'm always sick and tired and it's too hot. Sometimes I make little flower beds in the sand and put flowers in them. But here it's different." Mr. Craven got up and began to pace the room slowly. "A bit of dirt," he said to himself, and Mary thought she must have reminded him of something somehow.When he stopped to speak to him, his dark eyes seemed almost gentle and benevolent. "You can have as much dirt as you want," he said, "You remind me of someone else who loves dirt and things that grow. You see a little bit of dirt that you want," he said, with an expression that bordered on a smile, "Take it, boy, and bring it to life." "Can I get it from anywhere - if no one wants it?" "Anywhere," he answered, "well! now you must go, I'm tired." He rang for Mrs. Medlock. "Good-bye. I'll be away all summer." Mrs. Medlock came so quickly that Mary thought she must be waiting outside the corridor. "Mrs. Medlock," said Mr. Craven to her, "now that I have seen the child, I understand Mrs. Sowerby. She must be less delicate before she begins her lessons. Give her simple, healthy food. Let She's running about in the garden. Don't oversee her. She needs freedom, fresh air, and a romp about. Mrs Sowerby wants to see her now and then, and when she can go to her farmhouse." Mrs. Medlock looked pleased.She was relieved to hear that she didn't need to "watch" Mary too much.She had long felt that she was a tiring job, and tried her best to look after her as little as possible.Besides, she adored Martha's mother. "Thanks, sir," she said. "Susan Sowerby went to school with me. You walk all day to meet such a sensible, kind woman. I never had children, she had twelve , are the healthiest and best children. They will not have any bad influence on Miss Mary. I always take the advice of Susan Sowerby in my own children. You may call her 'Mind Sound' - if you know what I mean." "I understand," replied Mr. Craven. "Take Miss Mary and let Pitcher." When Mrs. Medlock left Mary at the end of the corridor, she flew back to her room.She was startled to realize that Martha was there waiting for her.In fact, Martha hurried back after taking the food. "I can have my own garden!" cried Mary, "where I want! I won't have a governess for a long time! Your mother is coming to see me, and I can go to your farmhouse! He says I There's no harm in a little girl like that, and I can do whatever I want - anywhere!" "Ah!" said Martha happily. "He's kind, isn't he?" "Martha," said Mary solemnly, "he's a very kind man, but his face is so miserable that his forehead is wrinkled together." She ran to the garden as fast as she could.She had been away far longer than she had expected, and she knew Deakon would need to get up early and walk the five miles.When she slipped through the door under the ivy, she saw that there was no one where he had been when she left.Gardening tools are placed together under the tree.She ran and looked around the area, but Dickon was nowhere to be seen.He was gone, and the secret garden was empty--except for the robin who had just flown over the wall and sat on the grafted rosebush, watching her. "He's gone," she said sadly. "Oh! Is he just--is he just--just a wood-elf?" There was something white nailed to the grafted rosebush, she saw.It was a piece of paper, or rather one of the letters she had sketched for Martha to Dickon.The paper was pinned to a long thorn, and she knew at once that Dickon had left it.It had scrawled letters and a picture on it.At first she couldn't recognize what it was.Then she saw that it meant a bird squatting in a nest.Below are the letters traced, saying: "I'll be back."