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Chapter XV
NEST BUILDING
After another week of rain the high arch of blue sky
appeared again and the sun which poured down was quite hot.
Though there had been no chance to see either the secret
garden or Dickon, Mistress Mary had enjoyed herself
very much. The week had not seemed long. She had spent
hours of every day with Colin in his room, talking about
Rajahs or gardens or Dickon and the cottage on the moor.
They had looked at the splendid books and pictures and
sometimes Mary had read things to Colin, and sometimes he
had read a little to her. When he was amused and interested
she thought he scarcely looked like an invalid at all,
except that his face was so colorless and he was always
on the sofa.
"You are a sly young one to listen and get out of your
bed to go following things up like you did that night,"
Mrs. Medlock said once. "But there's no saying it's
not been a sort of blessing to the lot of us. He's not
had a tantrum or a whining fit since you made friends.
The nurse was just going to give up the case because she
was so sick of him, but she says she doesn't mind staying
now you've gone on duty with her," laughing a little.
In her talks with Colin, Mary had tried to be very cautious
about the secret garden. There were certain things she
wanted to find out from him, but she felt that she must
find them out without asking him direct questions.
In the first place, as she began to like to be with him,
she wanted to discover whether he was the kind of boy you
could tell a secret to. He was not in the least like Dickon,
but he was evidently so pleased with the idea of a garden
no one knew anything about that she thought perhaps he
could be trusted. But she had not known him long enough
to be sure. The second thing she wanted to find out was
this: If he could be trusted--if he really could--wouldn't
it be possible to take him to the garden without having
any one find it out? The grand doctor had said that he must
have fresh air and Colin had said that he would not mind
fresh air in a secret garden. Perhaps if he had a great
deal of fresh air and knew Dickon and the robin and saw
things growing he might not think so much about dying.
Mary had seen herself in the glass sometimes lately when she
had realized that she looked quite a different creature
from the child she had seen when she arrived from India.
This child looked nicer. Even Martha had seen a change
in her.
"Th' air from th' moor has done thee good already,"
she had said. "Tha'rt not nigh so yeller and tha'rt not
nigh so scrawny. Even tha' hair doesn't slamp down on tha'
head so flat. It's got some life in it so as it sticks
out a bit."
"It's like me," said Mary. "It's growing stronger
and fatter. I'm sure there's more of it."
"It looks it, for sure," said Martha, ruffling it up
a little round her face. "Tha'rt not half so ugly when
it's that way an' there's a bit o' red in tha' cheeks."
If gardens and fresh air had been good for her perhaps they
would be good for Colin. But then, if he hated people
to look at him, perhaps he would not like to see Dickon.
"Why does it make you angry when you are looked at?"
she inquired one day.
"I always hated it," he answered, "even when I was very little.
Then when they took me to the seaside and I used to lie
in my carriage everybody used to stare and ladies would
stop and talk to my nurse and then they would begin to
whisper and I knew then they were saying I shouldn't live
to grow up. Then sometimes the ladies would pat my cheeks
and say `Poor child!' Once when a lady did that I screamed
out loud and bit her hand. She was so frightened she ran away."
"She thought you had gone mad like a dog," said Mary,
not at all admiringly.
"I don't care what she thought," said Colin, frowning.
"I wonder why you didn't scream and bite me when I came
into your room?" said Mary. Then she began to smile slowly.
"I thought you were a ghost or a dream," he said.
"You can't bite a ghost or a dream, and if you scream they
don't care."
"Would you hate it if--if a boy looked at you?"
Mary asked uncertainly.
He lay back on his cushion and paused thoughtfully.
"There's one boy," he said quite slowly, as if he were thinking
over every word, "there's one boy I believe I shouldn't mind.
It's that boy who knows where the foxes live--Dickon."
"I'm sure you wouldn't mind him," said Mary.
"The birds don't and other animals," he said, still thinking
it over, "perhaps that's why I shouldn't. He's a sort
of animal charmer and I am a boy animal."
Then he laughed and she laughed too; in fact it ended
in their both laughing a great deal and finding the idea
of a boy animal hiding in his hole very funny indeed.
What Mary felt afterward was that she need not fear
about Dickon.
On that first morning when the sky was blue again Mary wakened
very early. The sun was pouring in slanting rays through
the blinds and there was something so joyous in the sight
of it that she jumped out of bed and ran to the window.
She drew up the blinds and opened the window itself
and a great waft of fresh, scented air blew in upon her.
The moor was blue and the whole world looked as if something
Magic had happened to it. There were tender little
fluting sounds here and there and everywhere, as if scores
of birds were beginning to tune up for a concert.
Mary put her hand out of the window and held it in the sun.
"It's warm--warm!" she said. "It will make the green
points push up and up and up, and it will make the bulbs
and roots work and struggle with all their might under
the earth."
She kneeled down and leaned out of the window as far
as she could, breathing big breaths and sniffing the air
until she laughed because she remembered what Dickon's
mother had said about the end of his nose quivering
like a rabbit's. "It must be very early," she said.
"The little clouds are all pink and I've never seen
the sky look like this. No one is up. I don't even hear
the stable boys."
A sudden thought made her scramble to her feet.
"I can't wait! I am going to see the garden!"
She had learned to dress herself by this time and she put
on her clothes in five minutes. She knew a small side door
which she could unbolt herself and she flew downstairs
in her stocking feet and put on her shoes in the hall.
She unchained and unbolted and unlocked and when the door
was open she sprang across the step with one bound,
and there she was standing on the grass, which seemed
to have turned green, and with the sun pouring down on
her and warm sweet wafts about her and the fluting and
twittering and singing coming from every bush and tree.
She clasped her hands for pure joy and looked up in the sky
and it was so blue and pink and pearly and white and flooded
with springtime light that she felt as if she must flute
and sing aloud herself and knew that thrushes and robins
and skylarks could not possibly help it. She ran around
the shrubs and paths towards the secret garden.
"It is all different already," she said. "The grass is
greener and things are sticking up every- where and things
are uncurling and green buds of leaves are showing.
This afternoon I am sure Dickon will come."
The long warm rain had done strange things to the
herbaceous beds which bordered the walk by the lower wall.
There were things sprouting and pushing out from the
roots of clumps of plants and there were actually here
and there glimpses of royal purple and yellow unfurling
among the stems of crocuses. Six months before Mistress
Mary would not have seen how the world was waking up,
but now she missed nothing.
When she had reached the place where the door hid itself
under the ivy, she was startled by a curious loud sound.
It was the caw--caw of a crow and it came from the top
of the wall, and when she looked up, there sat a big
glossy-plumaged blue-black bird, looking down at her very
wisely indeed. She had never seen a crow so close before
and he made her a little nervous, but the next moment he
spread his wings and flapped away across the garden.
She hoped he was not going to stay inside and she
pushed the door open wondering if he would. When she
got fairly into the garden she saw that he probably
did intend to stay because he had alighted on a dwarf
apple-tree and under the apple-tree was lying a little
reddish animal with a Bushy tail, and both of them were
watching the stooping body and rust-red head of Dickon,
who was kneeling on the grass working hard.
Mary flew across the grass to him.
"Oh, Dickon! Dickon!" she cried out. "How could you get
here so early! How could you! The sun has only just got up!"
He got up himself, laughing and glowing, and tousled;
his eyes like a bit of the sky.
"Eh!" he said. "I was up long before him. How could I
have stayed abed! Th' world's all fair begun again this
mornin', it has. An' it's workin' an' hummin' an' scratchin'
an' pipin' an' nest-buildin' an' breathin' out scents,
till you've got to be out on it 'stead o' lyin' on your back.
When th' sun did jump up, th' moor went mad for joy, an'
I was in the midst of th' heather, an' I run like mad
myself, shoutin' an' singin'. An' I come straight here.
I couldn't have stayed away. Why, th' garden was lyin'
here waitin'!"
Mary put her hands on her chest, panting, as if she
had been running herself.
"Oh, Dickon! Dickon!" she said. "I'm so happy I can
scarcely breathe!"
Seeing him talking to a stranger, the little bushy-tailed
animal rose from its place under the tree and came to him,
and the rook, cawing once, flew down from its branch
and settled quietly on his shoulder.
"This is th' little fox cub," he said, rubbing the little
reddish animal's head. "It's named Captain. An' this
here's Soot. Soot he flew across th' moor with me an'
Captain he run same as if th' hounds had been after him.
They both felt same as I did."
Neither of the creatures looked as if he were the least
afraid of Mary. When Dickon began to walk about,
Soot stayed on his shoulder and Captain trotted quietly
close to his side.
"See here!" said Dickon. "See how these has
pushed up, an' these an' these! An' Eh! Look at these here!"
He threw himself upon his knees and Mary went
down beside him. They had come upon a whole clump
of crocuses burst into purple and orange and gold.
Mary bent her face down and kissed and kissed them.
"You never kiss a person in that way," she said when she
lifted her head. "Flowers are so different."
He looked puzzled but smiled.
"Eh!" he said, "I've kissed mother many a time that way
when I come in from th' moor after a day's roamin' an'
she stood there at th' door in th' sun, lookin' so glad an'
comfortable." They ran from one part of the garden to
another and found so many wonders that they were obliged
to remind themselves that they must whisper or speak low.
He showed her swelling leafbuds on rose branches which
had seemed dead. He showed her ten thousand new green
points pushing through the mould. They put their eager
young noses close to the earth and sniffed its warmed
springtime breathing; they dug and pulled and laughed low
with rapture until Mistress Mary's hair was as tumbled
as Dickon's and her cheeks were almost as poppy red as his.
There was every joy on earth in the secret garden
that morning, and in the midst of them came a delight
more delightful than all, because it was more wonderful.
Swiftly something flew across the wall and darted through
the trees to a close grown corner, a little flare of
red-breasted bird with something hanging from its beak.
Dickon stood quite still and put his hand on Mary almost
as if they had suddenly found themselves laughing in a church.
"We munnot stir," he whispered in broad Yorkshire.
"We munnot scarce breathe. I knowed he was mate-huntin'
when I seed him last. It's Ben Weatherstaff's robin.
He's buildin' his nest. He'll stay here if us don't fight him."
They settled down softly upon the grass and sat there
without moving.
"Us mustn't seem as if us was watchin' him too close,"
said Dickon. "He'd be out with us for good if he got th'
notion us was interferin' now. He'll be a good bit different
till all this is over. He's settin' up housekeepin'.
He'll be shyer an' readier to take things ill.
He's got no time for visitin' an' gossipin'. Us must
keep still a bit an' try to look as if us was grass an'
trees an' bushes. Then when he's got used to seein'
us I'll chirp a bit an' he'll know us'll not be in
his way."
Mistress Mary was not at all sure that she knew, as Dickon
seemed to, how to try to look like grass and trees and bushes.
But he had said the queer thing as if it were the simplest
and most natural thing in the world, and she felt it must
be quite easy to him, and indeed she watched him for a few
minutes carefully, wondering if it was possible for him
to quietly turn green and put out branches and leaves.
But he only sat wonderfully still, and when he spoke
dropped his voice to such a softness that it was curious
that she could hear him, but she could.
"It's part o' th' springtime, this nest-buildin'
is," he said. "I warrant it's been goin' on in th'
same way every year since th' world was begun.
They've got their way o' thinkin' and doin' things an'
a body had better not meddle. You can lose a friend
in springtime easier than any other season if you're too
curious."
"If we talk about him I can't help looking at him," Mary said
as softly as possible. "We must talk of something else.
There is something I want to tell you."
"He'll like it better if us talks o' somethin' else,"
said Dickon. "What is it tha's got to tell me?"
"Well--do you know about Colin?" she whispered.
He turned his head to look at her.
"What does tha' know about him?" he asked.
"I've seen him. I have been to talk to him every day
this week. He wants me to come. He says I'm making him
forget about being ill and dying," answered Mary.
Dickon looked actually relieved as soon as the surprise
died away from his round face.
"I am glad o' that," he exclaimed. "I'm right down glad.
It makes me easier. I knowed I must say nothin' about him an'
I don't like havin' to hide things."
"Don't you like hiding the garden?" said Mary.
"I'll never tell about it," he answered. "But I says
to mother, `Mother,' I says, `I got a secret to keep.
It's not a bad 'un, tha' knows that. It's no worse
than hidin' where a bird's nest is. Tha' doesn't mind it,
does tha'?'"
Mary always wanted to hear about mother.
"What did she say?" she asked, not at all afraid to hear.
Dickon grinned sweet-temperedly.
"It was just like her, what she said," he answered.
"She give my head a bit of a rub an' laughed an' she says,
'Eh, lad, tha' can have all th' secrets tha' likes.
I've knowed thee twelve year'.'"
"How did you know about Colin?" asked Mary.
"Everybody as knowed about Mester Craven knowed there was
a little lad as was like to be a cripple, an' they knowed
Mester Craven didn't like him to be talked about. Folks is
sorry for Mester Craven because Mrs. Craven was such a pretty
young lady an' they was so fond of each other. Mrs. Medlock
stops in our cottage whenever she goes to Thwaite an'
she doesn't mind talkin' to mother before us children,
because she knows us has been brought up to be trusty.
How did tha' find out about him? Martha was in fine
trouble th' last time she came home. She said tha'd
heard him frettin' an' tha' was askin' questions an'
she didn't know what to say."
Mary told him her story about the midnight wuthering
of the wind which had wakened her and about the faint
far-off sounds of the complaining voice which had led
her down the dark corridors with her candle and had
ended with her opening of the door of the dimly lighted
room with the carven four-posted bed in the corner.
When she described the small ivory-white face and the
strange black-rimmed eyes Dickon shook his head.
"Them's just like his mother's eyes, only hers was
always laughin', they say," he said. "They say as
Mr. Craven can't bear to see him when he's awake an'
it's because his eyes is so like his mother's an'
yet looks so different in his miserable bit of a face."
"Do you think he wants to die?" whispered Mary.
"No, but he wishes he'd never been born. Mother she
says that's th' worst thing on earth for a child.
Them as is not wanted scarce ever thrives. Mester Craven
he'd buy anythin' as money could buy for th' poor lad
but he'd like to forget as he's on earth. For one thing,
he's afraid he'll look at him some day and find he's
growed hunchback."
"Colin's so afraid of it himself that he won't sit up,"
said Mary. "He says he's always thinking that if he
should feel a lump coming he should go crazy and scream
himself to death."
"Eh! he oughtn't to lie there thinkin' things like that,"
said Dickon. "No lad could get well as thought them
sort o' things."
The fox was lying on the grass close by him, looking up to
ask for a pat now and then, and Dickon bent down and rubbed
his neck softly and thought a few minutes in silence.
Presently he lifted his head and looked round the garden.
"When first we got in here," he said, "it seemed like
everything was gray. Look round now and tell me if tha'
doesn't see a difference."
Mary looked and caught her breath a little.
"Why!" she cried, "the gray wall is changing.
It is as if a green mist were creeping over it.
It's almost like a green gauze veil."
"Aye," said Dickon. "An' it'll be greener and greener till th'
gray's all gone. Can tha' guess what I was thinkin'?"
"I know it was something nice," said Mary eagerly.
"I believe it was something about Colin."
"I was thinkin' that if he was out here he wouldn't be watchin'
for lumps to grow on his back; he'd be watchin' for buds
to break on th' rose-bushes, an' he'd likely be healthier,"
explained Dickon. "I was wonderin' if us could ever
get him in th' humor to come out here an' lie under th'
trees in his carriage."
"I've been wondering that myself. I've thought of it
almost every time I've talked to him," said Mary.
"I've wondered if he could keep a secret and I've wondered
if we could bring him here without any one seeing us.
I thought perhaps you could push his carriage. The doctor
said he must have fresh air and if he wants us to take him
out no one dare disobey him. He won't go out for other people
and perhaps they will be glad if he will go out with us.
He could order the gardeners to keep away so they wouldn't
find out."
Dickon was thinking very hard as he scratched Captain's back.
"It'd be good for him, I'll warrant," he said.
"Us'd not be thinkin' he'd better never been born.
Us'd be just two children watchin' a garden grow, an'
he'd be another. Two lads an' a little lass just lookin'
on at th' springtime. I warrant it'd be better than
doctor's stuff."
"He's been lying in his room so long and he's always
been so afraid of his back that it has made him queer,"
said Mary. "He knows a good many things out of books
but he doesn't know anything else. He says he has been
too ill to notice things and he hates going out of doors
and hates gardens and gardeners. But he likes to hear
about this garden because it is a secret. I daren't tell
him much but he said he wanted to see it."
"Us'll have him out here sometime for sure," said Dickon.
"I could push his carriage well enough. Has tha'
noticed how th' robin an' his mate has been workin'
while we've been sittin' here? Look at him perched on that
branch wonderin' where it'd be best to put that twig he's
got in his beak."
He made one of his low whistling calls and the robin turned
his head and looked at him inquiringly, still holding
his twig. Dickon spoke to him as Ben Weatherstaff did,
but Dickon's tone was one of friendly advice.
"Wheres'ever tha' puts it," he said, "it'll be
all right. Tha' knew how to build tha' nest before tha'
came out o' th' egg. Get on with thee, lad. Tha'st got
no time to lose."
"Oh, I do like to hear you talk to him!" Mary said,
laughing delightedly. "Ben Weatherstaff scolds him
and makes fun of him, and he hops about and looks as
if he understood every word, and I know he likes it.
Ben Weatherstaff says he is so conceited he would rather
have stones thrown at him than not be noticed."
Dickon laughed too and went on talking.
"Tha' knows us won't trouble thee," he said to the robin.
"Us is near bein' wild things ourselves. Us is nest-buildin'
too, bless thee. Look out tha' doesn't tell on us."
And though the robin did not answer, because his beak
was occupied, Mary knew that when he flew away with his
twig to his own corner of the garden the darkness of his
dew-bright eye meant that he would not tell their secret
for the world.
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