Mrs. Medlock looked pleased. She was relieved
to hear that she need not “look after”
Mary too much. She had felt her a tiresome charge
and had indeed seen as little of her as she dared.
In addition to this she was fond of Martha’s
mother.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “Susan
Sowerby and me went to school together and she’s
as sensible and good-hearted a woman as you’d
find in a day’s walk. I never had any children
myself and she’s had twelve, and there never
was healthier or better ones. Miss Mary can get
no harm from them. I’d always take Susan
Sowerby’s advice about children myself.
She’s what you might call healthy-minded—if
you understand me.”
“I understand,” Mr. Craven answered.
“Take Miss Mary away now and send Pitcher to
me.”
When Mrs. Medlock left her at the end of her own corridor
Mary flew back to her room. She found Martha
waiting there. Martha had, in fact, hurried back
after she had removed the dinner service.
“I can have my garden!” cried Mary.
“I may have it where I like! I am not going
to have a governess for a long time! Your mother
is coming to see me and I may go to your cottage!
He says a little girl like me could not do any harm
and I may do what I like—anywhere!”
“Eh!” said Martha delightedly, “that
was nice of him wasn’t it?”
“Martha,” said Mary solemnly, “he
is really a nice man, only his face is so miserable
and his forehead is all drawn together.”
She ran as quickly as she could to the garden.
She had been away so much longer than she had thought
she should and she knew Dickon would have to set out
early on his five-mile walk. When she slipped
through the door under the ivy, she saw he was not
working where she had left him. The gardening
tools were laid together under a tree. She ran
to them, looking all round the place, but there was
no Dickon to be seen. He had gone away and the
secret garden was empty—except for the robin
who had just flown across the wall and sat on a standard
rose-bush watching her.
“He’s gone,” she said wofully.
“Oh! was he—was he—was
he only a wood fairy?”
Something white fastened to the standard rose-bush
caught her eye. It was a piece of paper—in
fact, it was a piece of the letter she had printed
for Martha to send to Dickon. It was fastened
on the bush with a long thorn, and in a minute she
knew Dickon had left it there. There were some
roughly printed letters on it and a sort of picture.
At first she could not tell what it was. Then
she saw it was meant for a nest with a bird sitting
on it. Underneath were the printed letters and
they said:
“I will cum bak.”
“I AM COLIN”
Mary took the picture back to the house when she went
to her supper and she showed it to Martha.
“Eh!” said Martha with great pride.
“I never knew our Dickon was as clever as that.
That there’s a picture of a missel thrush on
her nest, as large as life an’ twice as natural.”
