Chapter 15 Chapter 15 Nesting

After another week of rain, the towering blue sky reappeared and the sun shone hot.Although she had no chance to meet the secret garden and Dickon, Miss Mary always enjoyed herself.The week doesn't seem long.She spent many hours each day with Colin in his room, talking about Rajas and gardens and Dickon and the cottage on the moor.Together they looked at gorgeous books and pictures, and sometimes Mary read to Colin, and sometimes Colin read a little to her.When he was amused and interested, Marie thought he didn't look like a disabled person at all, except that his face was colorless and he was always on the couch.

"You're a crafty kid, eavesdropping like that night, out of bed and stalking," said Mrs. Medlock at one point, "though it must be said that it has been a boon to many of us. Ever since you made friends, he Never had a tantrum, never had an illness. The nurse was going to quit her job because she had had enough of him, but now she said she wouldn't mind staying if you were on the shift with her." She laughed a little. Mary was very wary of the secret garden when she chatted with Colin.There are some things she wants to find out from him, but she feels that she must not ask him directly.First, as she starts to like being around him, she wants to see if he's the kind of guy you can tell him secrets.He wasn't like Dickon at all, but the idea of ​​a garden that no one knew of seemed to please him, and she thought maybe she could trust him.But she hadn't known him long enough to be sure.The second thing she wanted to find out was this: if he could be trusted - if he could - wouldn't it be possible to take him to the secret garden without anyone finding out?The big doctor said he must have fresh air, and Colin said he wouldn't mind fresh air in the secret garden.If he got a lot of fresh air, and knew Dickon and the robin, and saw things grow, maybe he wouldn't think so much of dying.Lately Mary has sometimes looked at herself in the mirror and has realized that she looks very different from the child who just arrived from India.This kid looks better.Even Martha noticed the change in her.

"The air from the moor has done you good," she had said, "you're not so yellow, and you're not so skinny. Even your hair isn't so flat on your head. It's a little angry , so puff it up a little bit." "It's like me," said Mary, "strong and thick. I'm sure there's more." "Looks like it must be," said Martha, brushing up the hair a little around her face, "so you're not half as ugly, and you're a little red in the face." If the garden and the fresh air were good for her, perhaps they were good for Colin too.Then, but if he hated people looking at him, maybe he didn't want to see Dickon.

"Why do you get angry when someone looks at you?" she asked one day. "I've always hated that," he replied, "even when I was a little kid. They used to take me to the beach and I'd always be lying in the wagon and everybody would just stare at me and the ladies would stop and talk to my nurse talking, and then they started whispering, and I knew they were saying I wouldn't live to grow up. Then some lady would slap me in the face and say 'poor kid!' Once, when a lady did that, I got high screamed and bit her hand. She ran away in fright." "She thought you had become a mad dog," said Mary, without admiration.

"I don't care what she thinks," said Colin, frowning. "I wonder why you didn't scream and bite me when I came into your room?" Mary said.Then she smiled slowly. "I thought you were a ghost or a dream," he said. "You can't bite a ghost and a dream. They don't care if you scream." "Would you hate it if—if a boy looked at you?" Mary asked uncertainly. He lay back on the pillow, thinking and hesitating. "There's a boy," he said slowly, as if he were choosing his words, "there's a boy I don't think I should mind. That's the boy who knows where the fox lives—Dickon."

"I'm sure you don't mind him," said Mary. "Birds and other animals don't mind," he said, still ruminating, "and maybe that's why I shouldn't. He's like an animal magician, and I'm a boy animal." Then he laughed, and she laughed too; in fact, they laughed a lot at the end, finding the idea of ​​the boy's animal hiding in the hole really funny. What Mary felt afterward was that she needn't be afraid of Dickon. The first morning the sky turned blue again, Mary woke up early.There was something joyous in the scene of the sun pouring in through the curtains, beams slanting, and she jumped out of bed and ran to the window.She raised the shade, opened the window, and a flood of fresh, scented air blew on her.The wilderness is blue, and it seems that some magic has happened to the whole world.There are delicate little voices like flutes, here, there, everywhere, like so many birds attending a concert.Mary put her hand out the window, keeping in the sunlight.

"It's warm—warm!" she said. "It makes the greenspots go up and up, and the bulbs and roots in the ground go all out and work hard." She knelt down and leaned as far out of the window as she could, gulping and sniffing the air until she laughed because she remembered what Mama Dickon had said about his nose quivering like a rabbit's. "It must be very early now," she said, "the little clouds are all pink, and I've never seen such a beautiful sky. No one's up yet. I haven't even heard the stable boys." A sudden thought made her stand up in a hurry.

"I can't wait! I'm going to see the garden!" Now that she has learned to dress herself, she puts on the clothes in five minutes.She knew that as soon as she got to the side door she could unlatch it herself.She flew downstairs in her socks and put on her shoes in the hall.She unchained, unbolted, unlocked, the door opened, and she leaped over the steps with one step, and there she stood on the grass, the grass seemed to turn green, the sun poured down on her, a warm and sweet wave A wind surrounds her, and from every bush and tree comes the flute, warble, and song.She clasped her hands in sheer joy, and looked up at the sky, so blue, pink, pearly, white, with spring light, she felt she had to whistle and sing, she knew the thrush, the robin The bird, the lark, couldn't stand it.She ran around the bushes and paths, toward the secret garden.

"It's all different now," she said. "The grass is greener, and things are popping up and unfurling, and green leaf buds are showing. I'm sure Dickon will be here this afternoon." The long warm rain had had a strange effect on the herb-beds along the path under the low wall.Something was bubbling and gushing from the roots of the clumps of plants, and here and there there were spots of crimson and yellow that were unfurling on the stems of the crocuses.Six months ago Miss Mary had not seen how the world woke up, and now she missed nothing. When she reached the door hidden under the ivy, she was startled by a strange loud noise.It was a croak—a crow called from above the wall. She looked up, and there was a big blue-black bird with smooth feathers standing there, looking down at her wisely.She had never seen a crow this close, and it made her a little nervous, but the next moment it spread its wings and flapped away across the garden.She hoped it wouldn't stay in the garden, and she opened the door wondering if it would.When she was in the depths of the garden, she saw that he was probably going to stay, for he had settled on a dwarf apple tree, and under the apple tree lay a reddish animal with a fluffy tail, both of them were Looking at Dickon's rusty head and bent body.He knelt on the grass and worked hard.

Mary flew to him across the grass. "Oh, Dickon! Dickon!" she cried. "How can you be here so early? How can you? The sun's only just rising!" He himself rises, laughs, shines, and runs through his hair; his eyes are like little patches of sky. "Ah!" he said, "I got up so much earlier than it did. How could I stay in bed! The whole world started up again this morning, really. Fucking, humming, scratching, Plumbing, building nests, breathing out scents till you get up and out instead of lying on your back. When the sun jumps out, the moor goes mad with joy, and I'm in the heather, and I'm running like crazy myself, shouting and singing Ah, I came straight here. I can't get away. Why, the garden lies waiting!"

Mary put her hands on her chest and gasped as if she herself had just run. "Oh, Dickon! Dickon!" she said, "I can't breathe with joy!" The little shaggy-tailed creature, seeing him talking to the stranger, got up from under the tree and came to him, and the crow, croaking once, flew down from the branch and settled silently on his shoulder. "Here's the fox cub," he said, rubbing the head of the little reddish creature. "It's called Captain. This is Soot. Soot followed me across the field, and Captain ran like a hound. It's the same. They're both in the same mood as I am." Neither creature seemed at all afraid of Mary.Dickon began to walk about, the soot resting on his shoulders, and the captain trotted beside him. "Look there!" said Dickon. "Look what's up there, and this--and this! Ah yes! Look at that over there!" He knelt down and Mary knelt beside him.They came upon a bush of crocuses bursting with orange, purple, gold and red.Mary bent down and kissed them. "You never kiss someone like that," she said, looking up. "Flowers are very different." He looked confused, but smiled. "Ah!" said he, "I've kissed Mother so many times, and when I come back from a day's wandering in the moor, she stands there in the sun by the door, looking happy and comfortable." They ran from here to there in the garden, and discovered so many wonders that they were compelled to remind each other of whispering and whispering.He pointed out to her the bulging leaf buds on what once seemed to be dead rose branches.He pointed out to him thousands of new greens breaking through the ground.They brought their young noses eagerly to the ground, sniffing the warm spring breath of the earth; they dug, plucked, and chuckled fascinatedly, until Miss Mary's hair was as disheveled as Dickon's, and her face was almost his. Same poppy red. Every joy in the world was there that morning in the secret garden, and there was one joy that was happier than all the others because it was more wondrous.Something flitted nimbly over the wall, and suddenly through the trees to a corner where the foliage blazed like a spark a little bird's red breast with something hanging from its beak.Dickon stood motionless, with his hands on Mary, and it was almost as if they were suddenly startled laughing in church. "Our horns can't move," he said in his flat Yorkshire accent, "our horns can't blow out loud. Last time I saw him I knew he was looking for a mate. It's Ji Yuanben's robin. He's building a nest." .If we don't fight it, it'll stay." They settled softly on the grass and sat there still. "We mustn't appear to be watching him closely," Deacon said. "If he feels we're meddling, he'll have a reason to fall out with us. He'll be freaking out until it's all over. He's making a family and will Shy, easier to guess maliciously. It has no time to visit and gossip. We must keep quiet and try to look like we are grass, trees, and bushes. Then when it gets used to seeing us, if we make a sound, it will know We won't get in the way of it." Miss Mary was not at all sure she knew, like Dickon, how to try to look like a tree.But he talks about such odd things like it's the easiest, most natural thing in the world, and she thinks it must be easy for him.She really watched him closely for a few minutes, wondering if he could quietly turn green and sprout leaves.Yet he just sat wonderfully still, and when he spoke it was so low and soft that it was hard to imagine that she could still hear him, and yet she could. "It's part of spring, and nesting is," he said, "and I promise it's been going on the same way every year since the beginning of the world. They have their own way of thinking, of doing things, and it's better for people not to mind their own business. If you So curious, you're more likely to lose friends in the spring than in any other season." "If we talk about him, I can't help looking at him," said Mary, as softly as possible. "We must talk about something else. There is something I want to tell you." "He'd prefer us to talk about other things," said Deacon. "What are you going to tell me?" "Well—do you know Colin?" she whispered. He turned to look at her. "What do you know about him?" he asked. "I saw him. I talked to him every day for a week. He asked me to come. He said I made him forget about being sick and dying," Mary replied. Once the surprise had passed from Dickon's face, he actually looked relieved. "I'm glad it is," he exclaimed. "I'm so happy. I knew nothing about him. I don't like to keep things under wraps." "You don't like hiding gardens?" said Mary. "I'll never tell," he replied, "but I said to my mother, 'Mother,' and I said, 'I have a secret to keep. Not a bad secret, you know. Not any worse than hiding a bird's nest. Seriously. You don't mind, do you?'” Mary always wanted to hear about his mother. "What did she say?" she asked, unafraid to hear the answer. Dickon smiled good-naturedly. "As she always does, she said," he replied, "she rubbed my head and laughed, and she said, 'Oh, boy, you can have as many secrets as you want. I know you're twelve years.'" "How do you know Colin?" asked Mary. "Anyone who knows Master Craven knows he's got a little boy who might be crippled, and they know that Master Craven doesn't want people talking about him. Everybody's sorry for Master Craven, because Mrs. Craven Such a beautiful young lady and they were so in love. Mr. Craven stopped at our farmhouse every time he went to Sweet Village and she didn't mind talking to Mum in front of our kids because she knew we were well-bred, Trustworthy. How did you find him? Last time Martha came back, she was very upset. She said, you heard him lose his temper and kept asking questions, and he didn't know what to say." Mary told her story, and the howling wind at midnight woke her up, and the distant murmur led her down a dark corridor with a candle, and finally she opened the door, the room was dimly lit, and in the corner Carved four-poster bed.She described the small ivory face, the strange black-rimmed eyes, and Dickon shook his head. "Like his mother's eyes, except hers are always smiling, they say," he said, "They say Mr. Craven can't see him awake because his eyes are so much like his mother's." , but it is quite different, on his sad little face." "Do you think he wants to die?" Mary whispered. "No, but he wished he had never been born. Mother said it was the worst thing in the world for a child. Unwanted seldom survived. Lord Craven would have bought the poor child any money he could have But as long as he lives, he is willing to forget him. Just for one thing, he is afraid that one day, when he sees him, he will find that he has grown into a hunchback." "Colin's too scared to sit up himself," said Mary. "He says he's always thinking that if he thinks a bun is coming out, he'll go mad and scream to death." "Ah! He shouldn't be lying there thinking things like that," said Dickon. "No boy ever gets well if he thinks like that." The fox lay close to him on the grass, looking up from time to time to ask for a pat. Dickon bent down and rubbed its neck gently, thinking for a few minutes in silence.Then he looked up and looked around the garden. "When I first came in," he said, "everything seemed gray. Look around now and tell me you don't see a difference." Mary looked at it, a little out of breath. "Whoa!" she exclaimed, "the gray wall is changing. It seems like a green mist is crawling all over it. It's almost like a thin green veil." "Well, yes," said Dickon, "it'll keep getting greener and greener till the gray's gone. Can you guess what I'm thinking?" "I know it's good," said Mary eagerly, "I believe it's something about Colin." "I was thinking if he could come out here, he wouldn't be watching a bump on his back; he'd be watching a rosebud grow, and he'd probably be stronger." Dickon Explain, "I was wondering if we could get him in the mood to come out here and lie down under a tree in his wheelchair." "I've always wondered that myself. Almost every time I talk to him, I think about it," said Mary. "I wonder if he can keep it a secret, and I wonder if we can bring him in so no one can see I thought maybe you could push the wheelchair. The doctor said he must get some fresh air, and if he asked us to take him outside, no one would disobey him. He wouldn't go out with other people, maybe they would be happy for him to go out with us .He can order the gardeners to stay away so they won't find out." Dickon thought hard, scratching the captain's back. "It'll be good for him, I promise," he said, "and we don't think it's better that he wasn't born. We're just two little kids, watching the garden grow, and he's the other one. Just two boys and a girl Look at Chunjinger. I guarantee it's better than the doctor's stuff." "He's been lying in his room for so long, and he's been worrying about his back, and he's gotten weird," said Mary. "He knows a lot from books, but he doesn't understand anything else. He Says he's too sick to notice things, and he hates being out of doors, and the garden, and the gardener. But he likes to hear about the garden, because it's a secret. I dare not tell him much, but he says he wants to see it." "We're sure we'll get him out here sometime," said Deacon. "I'm perfectly capable of pushing his wheelchair. Did you notice that the robin and his mate were working all the time we sat here?" Son? See him perched on that branch, wondering where best to put the twig in his beak." He whistled, and the robin turned to look at him inquiringly, still holding its twig.Deacon spoke to it like Ji Yuanben, but in Deacon's tone it was a kind suggestion. "Wherever you put it," he said, "it's all right. You know how to build a nest before you hatch. Go on, man. You ain't got no time to waste." "Oh, I really like to hear you talk to it!" said Mary, laughing happily. I like you. Ji Yuanben said that it is very complacent, and would rather someone throw stones at it than not be noticed." Dickon laughed too, and went on. "He knows we won't disturb him," he said to the robin, "and we're getting close to wild animals ourselves. We're building nests too, bless you. Be careful you don't talk small about us." Though the robin didn't answer because his beak was occupied, Mary knew that when he flew to his little corner with his own twigs, his eyes, bright as dewdrops, were swarthy, meaning he wouldn't take theirs. Tell the world a secret.