Chapter 10, Dickon.
Mary called her special place the secret garden.
In it, she felt like part of a fairy story.
She had read about people who went to sleep in secret gardens for a hundred years, but instead Mary was becoming wider awake.
She could run faster and longer now and skip to a hundred.
Every day she worked in the garden to give the bulbs breathing room.
Mary was oddly stubborn when something interested her, and the garden interested her more than anything she had ever known.
She learned more about gardening from Ben, and he usually welcomed her company.
In fact, he was flattered that she wanted to talk to an old man.
Also, Mary no longer spoke to him as if he were a mere servant.
One day, he paid her a gruff compliment.
"'You're starting to be a credit to Misselthwaite,' he said.
"'You're not so thin and pale.
You looked like a blocked crow when you first came here.'
Mary liked old Ben, and even his homespun honesty.
One day he told her why he especially liked roses.
'I was a gardener to a young lady who had a rose garden and she loved roses like they were children.
That was ten years ago,' he sighed.
"'But the lady's in heaven now, and the roses are overgrown.'
Tried tending them, pruning them a bit and digging around the roots, but my stiff old body makes it too hard.
Thinking of the secret garden, Mary asked When roses have no leaves and they look grayish and brown and dry, how can you tell if they're still alive?
In the spring, look for little bumps on the twigs and branches.
Watch them after a warm rain and see what happens.
He stopped digging suddenly and stared at Mary.
Why do you ask?
He said crossly.
Girls shouldn't ask so many questions.
Go off and play.
I've got work to do.
She wasn't mad at being sent away.
She liked Ben, even when he was cross with her.
Mary walked away from Ben and found the path that curved around the secret garden.
It was lined with laurel hedges and ended at a gate opening into the woods.
She hoped to see rabbits there, but instead she heard a whistling sound coming from the other side.
Curious, she followed it into the woods.
What she saw took her breath away.
A boy sitting under a tree with rust-colored hair, cheeks as red as poppies and the roundest bluest eyes Mary had ever seen.
He was playing a pipe, and a squirrel was clinging to the tree just over his shoulder.
A pheasant behind a small bush stretched its neck to peek out at him.
Nearby sat two rabbits twitching their noses as if they had come to a concert.
When the boy saw Mary, he raised his hand in a low voice.
He said, don't move.
It would frighten them.
He stopped playing and stood up very slowly, almost like he wasn't moving at all.
When he finally got to his feet, the animals scampered away.
They didn't seem afraid.
I'm the boy said, and you're Miss Mary.
He talked in a friendly way, but Mary felt shy around boys.
Did you get our letter? she asked rather stiffly.
Dickon nodded his head yes.
I've brought the garden tools.
He showed her a package wrapped in brown paper.
There's a spade, a rake, a fork, and a hoe. trowel, too, and some extra seeds.
The woman at the store threw in a packet of white poppy and blue larkspur for free.
Can you tell me about the seeds?
Mary asked, opening the package.
The way he talked sounded as if he liked her.
She forgot about being shy.
They sat on a log and Dickon explained all about the seeds and how to plant them.
They heard chirping coming from a holly bush.
There's a Robin calling us, Dickon said.
He's calling someone he's friends with.
He's Ben Weatherstaff's Robin, Mary said.
I think he knows me a little.
Dickon whispered.
He's telling me he likes you.
Dickon moved quietly to the bush.
He made a sound like the robin's own twitter.
The robin answered.
Mary was amazed.
"'Do you really understand everything birds say?' she asked.
Dickon grinned.
"'I think so,' he said.
"'I've lived on the moor so long that I feel I'm one of them.
Sometimes I think I'm a bird or a fox or a badger.'
He laughed and came back to the log.
Then he asked, Where's your garden?
I can help you plant.
Mary turned red, then pale.
She twisted her hands in her lap and looked at the ground.
Dickon was puzzled.
He asked, You do have one, don't you?
Mary said nothing for several minutes.
Then she looked up and said, Can you keep a secret?
It's a great one.
If anyone found out, I think I might die.
Dickon was more puzzled than ever, but he said in a good-natured way, I keep secrets all the time.
I keep the animal secrets so no one bothers them on the moor.
Mary grabbed his sleeve and spoke very fast.
I've stolen a garden.
Nobody wants it.
And maybe it's all dead, but I don't care.
Nobody can take it from me.
Then she threw her arms over her face and burst into tears.
Dickon drew out a soft, oh.
Mary wiped at her tears.
She said, I found it myself and got in myself like the robin.
They wouldn't take the garden away from a robin.
Where is it?
Dickon asked.
Mary jumped up.
I'll show you, she said.
Dickon followed her through the gate, up the laurel path into the ivy-covered walkway.
He didn't speak, but looked kindly at her.
Mary found the door and led him inside.
It's a secret garden, she said.
They're letting it die, but I want it to live.
Dickon took his first look around.
In a curious whisper, he said, It's a strange, pretty place.
It's like we're in a dream.
