Colin fixed his eyes on him sternly.
“Weatherstaff,” he said, “that is
disrespectful. You must not take liberties because
you are in the secret. However much the Magic
works I shall not be a prize-fighter. I shall
be a Scientific Discoverer.”
“Ax pardon—ax pardon, sir,”
answered Ben, touching his forehead in salute.
“I ought to have seed it wasn’t a jokin’
matter,” but his eyes twinkled and secretly
he was immensely pleased. He really did not mind
being snubbed since the snubbing meant that the lad
was gaining strength and spirit.
“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 ground enclosed by a low wall of rough stones.
Early in the morning and late in the fading twilight
and on all the days Colin and Mary did not see him,
Dickon worked there planting or tending potatoes and
cabbages, turnips and carrots and herbs 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
sang bits of Yorkshire moor songs or talked to Soot
or Captain or 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 one else’s an’ they’ve
got a flavor with ’em as nobody’s has.”
When she found a moment to spare she liked to go out
and talk to him. After supper there was still
a long clear twilight to work in and that was her
quiet time. She could sit upon the low rough wall
and look on and 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 now and then and sown bright sweet-scented
things among gooseberry bushes and even cabbages and
he grew borders of mignonette and pinks and pansies
and things whose seeds he could save year after year
or whose roots would bloom each spring and spread
in time into fine clumps. The low wall was one
of the prettiest things in Yorkshire because he had
tucked moorland foxglove and ferns and rock-cress and
hedgerow flowers into every crevice until only 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 a 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 feel as if I’d been a bad
lad and somehow treated them heartless.”
It was in these twilight hours that Mrs. Sowerby heard
of all that happened at Misselthwaite Manor.
At first she was only told that “Mester Colin”
had taken a fancy to going out into the grounds with
Miss Mary and that it was doing him good. But
it was not long before it was agreed between the two
children that Dickon’s mother might “come
into the secret.” Somehow it was not doubted
that she was “safe for sure.”
