The sun shone down for nearly a week on the secret garden.

　　The Secret Garden was what Mary called it when she wasthinking of it. She liked the name, and she liked stillmore the feeling that when its beautiful old walls shuther in no one knew where she was. It seemed almost likebeing shut out of the world in some fairy place. The fewbooks she had read and liked had been fairy-story books,and she had read of secret gardens in some of the stories.

　　Sometimes people went to sleep in them for a hundred years,which she had thought must be rather stupid. She had nointention of going to sleep, and, in fact, she was becomingwider awake every day which passed at Misselthwaite.

　　She was beginning to like to be out of doors; she no longerhated the wind, but enjoyed it. She could run faster,and longer, and she could skip up to a hundred. The bulbsin the secret garden must have been much astonished.

　　Such nice clear places were made round them that theyhad all the breathing space they wanted, and really,if Mistress Mary had known it, they began to cheer upunder the dark earth and work tremendously. The sun couldget at them and warm them, and when the rain came downit could reach them at once, so they began to feel verymuch alive.

　　Mary was an odd, determined little person, and now shehad something interesting to be determined about,she was very much absorbed, indeed. She worked and dugand pulled up weeds steadily, only becoming more pleasedwith her work every hour instead of tiring of it.

　　It seemed to her like a fascinating sort of play.

　　She found many more of the sprouting pale green points thanshe had ever hoped to find. They seemed to be starting upeverywhere and each day she was sure she found tiny new ones,some so tiny that they barely peeped above the earth.

　　There were so many that she remembered what Martha hadsaid about the "snowdrops by the thousands," and aboutbulbs spreading and making new ones. These had been leftto themselves for ten years and perhaps they had spread,like the snowdrops, into thousands. She wondered how longit would be before they showed that they were flowers.

　　Sometimes she stopped digging to look at the garden andtry to imagine what it would be like when it was coveredwith thousands of lovely things in bloom. During that weekof sunshine, she became more intimate with Ben Weatherstaff.

　　She surprised him several times by seeming to startup beside him as if she sprang out of the earth.

　　The truth was that she was afraid that he would pick uphis tools and go away if he saw her coming, so she alwayswalked toward him as silently as possible. But, in fact,he did not object to her as strongly as he had at first.

　　Perhaps he was secretly rather flattered by her evidentdesire for his elderly company. Then, also, she was morecivil than she had been. He did not know that when shefirst saw him she spoke to him as she would have spokento a native, and had not known that a cross, sturdy oldYorkshire man was not accustomed to salaam to his masters,and be merely commanded by them to do things.

　　"Tha'rt like th' robin," he said to her one morningwhen he lifted his head and saw her standing by him.

　　"I never knows when I shall see thee or which side tha'llcome from.""He's friends with me now," said Mary.

　　"That's like him," snapped Ben Weatherstaff. "Makin' upto th' women folk just for vanity an' flightiness.

　　There's nothin' he wouldn't do for th' sake o' showin'

　　off an' flirtin' his tail-feathers. He's as full o'

　　pride as an egg's full o' meat."He very seldom talked much and sometimes did not even answerMary's questions except by a grunt, but this morning hesaid more than usual. He stood up and rested one hobnailedboot on the top of his spade while he looked her over.

　　"How long has tha' been here?" he jerked out.

　　"I think it's about a month," she answered.

　　"Tha's beginnin' to do Misselthwaite credit," he said.

　　"Tha's a bit fatter than tha' was an' tha's not quiteso yeller. Tha' looked like a young plucked crow when tha'

　　first came into this garden. Thinks I to myself I never seteyes on an uglier, sourer faced young 'un."Mary was not vain and as she had never thought muchof her looks she was not greatly disturbed.

　　"I know I'm fatter," she said. "My stockingsare getting tighter. They used to make wrinkles.

　　There's the robin, Ben Weatherstaff."There, indeed, was the robin, and she thought he lookednicer than ever. His red waistcoat was as glossy as satinand he flirted his wings and tail and tilted his headand hopped about with all sorts of lively graces.

　　He seemed determined to make Ben Weatherstaff admire him.

　　But Ben was sarcastic.

　　"Aye, there tha' art!" he said. "Tha' can put up withme for a bit sometimes when tha's got no one better.

　　Tha's been reddenin' up thy waistcoat an' polishin'

　　thy feathers this two weeks. I know what tha's up to.

　　Tha's courtin' some bold young madam somewhere tellin'

　　thy lies to her about bein' th' finest cock robin on MisselMoor an' ready to fight all th' rest of 'em.""Oh! look at him!" exclaimed Mary.

　　The robin was evidently in a fascinating, bold mood.

　　He hopped closer and closer and looked at Ben Weatherstaffmore and more engagingly. He flew on to the nearestcurrant bush and tilted his head and sang a little songright at him.

　　"Tha' thinks tha'll get over me by doin' that," said Ben,wrinkling his face up in such a way that Mary felt sure hewas trying not to look pleased. "Tha' thinks no one canstand out against thee--that's what tha' thinks."The robin spread his wings--Mary could scarcely believeher eyes. He flew right up to the handle of BenWeatherstaff's spade and alighted on the top of it.

　　Then the old man's face wrinkled itself slowly intoa new expression. He stood still as if he were afraidto breathe--as if he would not have stirred for the world,lest his robin should start away. He spoke quite in a whisper.

　　"Well, I'm danged!" he said as softly as if he were sayingsomething quite different. "Tha' does know how to get ata chap--tha' does! Tha's fair unearthly, tha's so knowin'."And he stood without stirring--almost without drawinghis breath--until the robin gave another flirt to hiswings and flew away. Then he stood looking at the handleof the spade as if there might be Magic in it, and thenhe began to dig again and said nothing for several minutes.

　　But because he kept breaking into a slow grin now and then,Mary was not afraid to talk to him.

　　"Have you a garden of your own?" she asked.

　　"No. I'm bachelder an' lodge with Martin at th' gate.""If you had one," said Mary, "what would you plant?""Cabbages an' 'taters an' onions.""But if you wanted to make a flower garden," persisted Mary,"what would you plant?""Bulbs an' sweet-smellin' things--but mostly roses."Mary's face lighted up.

　　"Do you like roses?" she said.

　　Ben Weatherstaff rooted up a weed and threw it asidebefore he answered.

　　"Well, yes, I do. I was learned that by a young lady Iwas gardener to. She had a lot in a place she was fondof, an' she loved 'em like they was children--or robins.

　　I've seen her bend over an' kiss 'em." He dragged out anotherweed and scowled at it. "That were as much as ten year' ago.""Where is she now?" asked Mary, much interested.

　　"Heaven," he answered, and drove his spade deep intothe soil, "'cording to what parson says.""What happened to the roses?" Mary asked again,more interested than ever.

　　"They was left to themselves."Mary was becoming quite excited.

　　"Did they quite die? Do roses quite die when they areleft to themselves?" she ventured.

　　"Well, I'd got to like 'em--an' I liked her--an'

　　she liked 'em," Ben Weatherstaff admitted reluctantly.

　　"Once or twice a year I'd go an' work at 'em a bit--prune'em an' dig about th' roots. They run wild, but they wasin rich soil, so some of 'em lived.""When they have no leaves and look gray and brown and dry,how can you tell whether they are dead or alive?"inquired Mary.

　　"Wait till th' spring gets at 'em--wait till th' sun shineson th' rain and th' rain falls on th' sunshine an'

　　then tha'll find out.""How--how?" cried Mary, forgetting to be careful.

　　"Look along th' twigs an' branches an' if tha' see a bitof a brown lump swelling here an' there, watch it after th'

　　warm rain an' see what happens." He stopped suddenlyand looked curiously at her eager face. "Why does tha'

　　care so much about roses an' such, all of a sudden?"he demanded.

　　Mistress Mary felt her face grow red. She was almostafraid to answer.

　　"I--I want to play that--that I have a garden of my own,"she stammered. "I--there is nothing for me to do.

　　I have nothing--and no one.""Well," said Ben Weatherstaff slowly, as he watched her,"that's true. Tha' hasn't."He said it in such an odd way that Mary wondered if hewas actually a little sorry for her. She had never feltsorry for herself; she had only felt tired and cross,because she disliked people and things so much.

　　But now the world seemed to be changing and getting nicer.

　　If no one found out about the secret garden, she shouldenjoy herself always.

　　She stayed with him for ten or fifteen minutes longer andasked him as many questions as she dared. He answered everyone of them in his queer grunting way and he did not seemreally cross and did not pick up his spade and leave her.

　　He said something about roses just as she was going awayand it reminded her of the ones he had said he had beenfond of.

　　"Do you go and see those other roses now?" she asked.

　　"Not been this year. My rheumatics has made me too stiffin th' joints."He said it in his grumbling voice, and then quite suddenlyhe seemed to get angry with her, though she did not seewhy he should.

　　"Now look here!" he said sharply. "Don't tha'

　　ask so many questions. Tha'rt th' worst wench for askin'

　　questions I've ever come a cross. Get thee gone an'

　　play thee. I've d............