“But” she said afterward to Colin, “I
couldn’t stop myself. It just burst out
because all at once I couldn’t help remembering
that last big potato you ate and the way your mouth
stretched when you bit through that thick lovely crust
with jam and clotted cream on it.”
“Is there any way in which those children can
get food secretly?” Dr. Craven inquired of Mrs.
Medlock.
“There’s no way unless they dig it out
of the earth or pick it off the trees,” Mrs.
Medlock answered. “They stay out in the
grounds all day and see no one but each other.
And if they want anything different to eat from what’s
sent up to them they need only ask for it.”
“Well,” said Dr. Craven, “so long
as going without food agrees with them we need not
disturb ourselves. The boy is a new creature.”
“So is the girl,” said Mrs. Medlock.
“She’s begun to be downright pretty since
she’s filled out and lost her ugly little sour
look. Her hair’s grown thick and healthy
looking and she’s got a bright color. The
glummest, ill-natured little thing she used to be and
now her and Master Colin laugh together like a pair
of crazy young ones. Perhaps they’re growing
fat on that.”
“Perhaps they are,” said Dr. Craven.
“Let them laugh.”
THE CURTAIN
And the secret garden bloomed and bloomed and every
morning revealed new miracles. In the robin’s
nest there were Eggs and the robin’s mate sat
upon them keeping them warm with her feathery little
breast and careful wings. At first she was very
nervous and the robin himself was indignantly watchful.
Even Dickon did not go near the close-grown corner
in those days, but waited until by the quiet working
of some mysterious spell he seemed to have conveyed
to the soul of the little pair that in the garden
there was nothing which was not quite like themselves—nothing
which did not understand the wonderfulness of what
was happening to them—the immense, tender,
terrible, heart-breaking beauty and solemnity of Eggs.
If there had been one person in that garden who had
not known through all his or her innermost being that
if an Egg were taken away or hurt the whole world
would whirl round and crash through space and come
to an end—if there had been even one who
did not feel it and act accordingly there could have
been no happiness even in that golden springtime air.
But they all knew it and felt it and the robin and
his mate knew they knew it.
At first the robin watched Mary and Colin with sharp
anxiety. For some mysterious reason he knew he
need not watch Dickon. The first moment he set
his dew-bright black eye on Dickon he knew he was not
a stranger but a sort of robin without beak or feathers.
He could speak robin (which is a quite distinct language
not to be mistaken for any other). To speak robin
to a robin is like speaking French to a Frenchman.
Dickon always spoke it to the robin himself, so the
queer gibberish he used when he spoke to humans did
not matter in the least. The robin thought he
spoke this gibberish to them because they were not
intelligent enough to understand feathered speech.
His movements also were robin. They never startled
one by being sudden enough to seem dangerous or threatening.
Any robin could understand Dickon, so his presence
was not even disturbing.
