"LET THEM LAUGH"

The secret garden was not the only one Dickon worked in.

　　Round the cottage on the moor there was a piece of groundenclosed by a low wall of rough stones. Early in the morningand late in the fading twilight and on all the days Colinand Mary did not see him, Dickon worked there plantingor tending potatoes and cabbages, turnips and carrots andherbs for his mother. In the company of his "creatures"he did wonders there and was never tired of doing them,it seemed. While he dug or weeded he whistled or sangbits of Yorkshire moor songs or talked to Soot or Captainor the brothers and sisters he had taught to help him.

　　"We'd never get on as comfortable as we do," Mrs. Sowerby said,"if it wasn't for Dickon's garden. Anything'll grow for him.

　　His 'taters and cabbages is twice th' size of any oneelse's an' they've got a flavor with 'em as nobody's has."When she found a moment to spare she liked to go outand talk to him. After supper there was still a longclear twilight to work in and that was her quiet time.

　　She could sit upon the low rough wall and look onand hear stories of the day. She loved this time.

　　There were not only vegetables in this garden.

　　Dickon had bought penny packages of flower seeds nowand then and sown bright sweet-scented things amonggooseberry bushes and even cabbages and he grew bordersof mignonette and pinks and pansies and things whoseseeds he could save year after year or whose roots wouldbloom each spring and spread in time into fine clumps.

　　The low wall was one of the prettiest things in Yorkshirebecause he had tucked moorland foxglove and ferns androck-cress and hedgerow flowers into every crevice untilonly here and there glimpses of the stones were to be seen.

　　"All a chap's got to do to make 'em thrive, mother,"he would say, "is to be friends with 'em for sure.

　　They're just like th' `creatures.' If they're thirsty give'em drink and if they're hungry give 'em a bit o' food.

　　They want to live same as we do. If they died I should feelas if I'd been a bad lad and somehow treated them heartless."It was in these twilight hours that Mrs. Sowerby heard of allthat happened at Misselthwaite Manor. At first she was onlytold that "Mester Colin" had taken a fancy to going out intothe grounds with Miss Mary and that it was doing him good.

　　But it was not long before it was agreed between the twochildren that Dickon's mother might "come into the secret."Somehow it was not doubted that she was "safe for sure."So one beautiful still evening Dickon told the whole story,with all the thrilling details of the buried key and therobin and the gray haze which had seemed like deadnessand the secret Mistress Mary had planned never to reveal.

　　The coming of Dickon and how it had been told to him,the doubt of Mester Colin and the final drama of hisintroduction to the hidden domain, combined with theincident of Ben Weatherstaff's angry face peering overthe wall and Mester Colin's sudden indignant strength,made Mrs. Sowerby's nice-looking face quite change colorseveral times.

　　"My word!" she said. "It was a good thing that littlelass came to th' Manor. It's been th' makin' o' her an'

　　th' savin, o' him. Standin' on his feet! An' us all thinkin'

　　he was a poor half-witted lad with not a straight bone in him."She asked a great many questions and her blue eyes werefull of deep thinking.

　　"What do they make of it at th' Manor--him being so well an'

　　cheerful an' never complainin'?" she inquired. "They don'tknow what to make of it," answered Dickon. "Every dayas comes round his face looks different. It's fillin'

　　out and doesn't look so sharp an' th' waxy color is goin'.

　　But he has to do his bit o' complainin'," with a highlyentertained grin.

　　"What for, i' Mercy's name?" asked Mrs. Sowerby.

　　Dickon chuckled.

　　"He does it to keep them from guessin' what's happened.

　　If the doctor knew he'd found out he could stand onhis feet he'd likely write and tell Mester Craven.

　　Mester Colin's savin' th' secret to tell himself.

　　He's goin' to practise his Magic on his legs every daytill his father comes back an' then he's goin' to marchinto his room an' show him he's as straight as other lads.

　　But him an' Miss Mary thinks it's best plan to do abit o' groanin' an' frettin' now an' then to throw folkoff th' scent."Mrs. Sowerby was laughing a low comfortable laugh longbefore he had finished his last sentence.

　　"Eh!" she said, "that pair's enjoyin' their-selves I'll warrant.

　　They'll get a good bit o' actin' out of it an' there's nothin'

　　children likes as much as play actin'. Let's hear whatthey do, Dickon lad." Dickon stopped weeding and satup on his heels to tell her. His eyes were twinkling with fun.

　　"Mester Colin is carried down to his chair every timehe goes out," he explained. "An' he flies out at John,th' footman, for not carryin' him careful enough. He makeshimself as helpless lookin' as he can an' never lifts his headuntil we're out o' sight o' th' house. An' he grunts an'

　　frets a good bit when he's bein' settled into his chair.

　　Him an' Miss Mary's both got to enjoyin' it an' when hegroans an' complains she'll say, `Poor Colin! Does it hurtyou so much? Are you so weak as that, poor Colin?'--but th'

　　trouble is that sometimes they can scarce keep from burstin'

　　out laughin'. When we get safe into the garden they laughtill they've no breath left to laugh with. An' they haveto stuff their faces into Mester Colin's cushions to keepthe gardeners from hearin', if any of, 'em's about.""Th' more they laugh th' better for 'em!" said Mrs. Sowerby,still laughing herself. "Good healthy child laughin'sbetter than pills any day o' th' year. That pair'llplump up for sure.""They are plumpin' up," said Dickon. "They're that hungrythey don't know how to get enough to eat without makin'

　　talk. Mester Colin says if he keeps sendin' for more foodthey won't believe he's an invalid at all. Miss Mary saysshe'll let him eat her share, but he says that if shegoes hungry she'll get thin an' they mun both get fat at once."Mrs. Sowerby laughed so heartily at the revelation of thisdifficulty that she quite rocked backward and forwardin her blue cloak, and Dickon laughed with her.

　　"I'll tell thee what, lad," Mrs. Sowerby said when shecould speak. "I've thought of a way to help 'em. When tha'

　　goes to 'em in th' mornin's tha' shall take a pail o'

　　good new milk an' I'll bake 'em a crusty cottage loaf orsome buns wi' currants in 'em, same as you children like.

　　Nothin's so good as fresh milk an' bread. Then they couldtake off th' edge o' their hunger while they were in theirgarden an' th, fine food they get indoors 'ud polishoff th' corners.""Eh! mother!" said Dickon admiringly, "what a wonder tha'

　　art! Tha' always sees a way out o' things. They wasquite in a pother yesterday. They didn't see how theywas to manage without orderin' up more food--they feltthat empty inside.""They're two young 'uns growin' fast, an' health's comin'

　　back to both of 'em. Children like that feels likeyoung wolves an' food's flesh an' blood to 'em," saidMrs. Sowerby. Then she smiled Dickon's own curving smile.

　　"Eh! but they're enjoyin' theirselves for sure,"she said.

　　She was quite right, the comfortable wonderful mothercreature--and she had never been more so than when she saidtheir "play actin'" would be their joy. Colin and Mary foundit one of their most thrilling sources of entertainment.

　　The idea of protecting themselves from suspicion had beenunconsciously suggested to them first by the puzzlednurse and then by Dr. Craven himself.

　　"Your appetite. Is improving very much, Master Colin,"the nurse had said one day. "You used to eat nothing,and so many things disagreed with you.""Nothing disagrees with me now" replied Colin, and then seeingthe nurse looking at him curiously he suddenly rememberedthat perhaps he ought not to appear too well just yet.

　　"At least things don't so often disagree with me.

　　It's the fresh air.""Perhaps it is," said the nurse, still looking at him witha mystified expression. "But I must talk to Dr. Cravenabout it.""How she stared at you!" said Mary when she went away.

　　"As if she thought there must be something to find out.""I won't have her finding out things," said Colin.

　　"No one must begin to find out yet." When Dr. Craven camethat morning he seemed puzzled, also. He asked a numberof questions, to Colin's great annoyance.

　　"You stay out in the garden a great deal," he suggested.

　　"Where do you go?"Colin put on his favorite air of dignified indifferenceto opinion.

　　"I will not let any one know where I go," he answered.

　　"I go to a place I like. Every one has orders to keepout of the way. I won't be watched and stared at.

　　You know that!""You seem to be out all day but I do not think it hasdone you harm--I do not think so. The nurse saysthat you eat much more than you have ever done before.""Perhaps," said Colin, prompted by a sudden inspiration,"perhaps it is an unnatural appetite.""I do not think so, as your food seems to agree with you,"said Dr. Craven. "You are gaining flesh rapidly and yourcolor is better.""Perhaps--perhaps I am bloated and feverish," said Colin,assuming a discouraging air of gloom. "People who arenot going to live are often--different." Dr. Craven shookhis head. He was holding Colin's wrist and he pushed uphis sleeve and felt his arm.

　　"You are not feverish," he said thoughtfully, "and suchflesh as you have gained is healthy. If you can keepthis up, my boy, we need not talk of dying. Your fatherwill be happy to hear of this remarkable improvement.""I won't have him told!" Colin broke forth fiercely.

　　"It will only disappoint him if I get worse again--and Imay get worse this very night. I might have a raging fever.

　　I feel as if I might be beginning to have one now.

　　I won't have letters written to my father--I won't--I won't!

　　You are making me angry and you know that is bad for me.

　　I feel hot already. I hate being written about and beingtalked over as much as I hate being stared at!""Hush-h! my boy," Dr. Craven soothed him. "Nothing shallbe written without your permission. You are too sensitiveabout things. You must not undo the good which hasbeen done."He said no more about writing to Mr. Craven and when he sawthe nurse he privately warned her that such a possibilitymust not be mentioned to the patient.

　　"The boy is extraordinarily better," he said.

　　"His advance seems almost abnormal. But of course heis doing now of his own free will what we could n............