Page 24 - Secret Garden

On her way back to the house, she passed an old gardener digging. When she stopped beside him, he took no notice.
“I’ve been in the orchard,” she said.
“So?” he grunted.
“I couldn’t get into the other garden.”
“What garden?” His spade stopped in mid-air. “The one on the other side of the wall. A bird with
a red front was sitting on a branch singing.”
The old man gave a low, soft whistle. With a flutter and a flicker, the same
robin flew down.
Mary was enchanted. He cocked his head and hopped about
just as if he was showing off his suit of feathers, and he watched them both
with his shiny black eyes – just like a friendly little person.
“You called him and he came! He likes you!” “We been pals many a year, Mr Robin and me.
He’s a cheeky one an’ no mistake,” said Ben Weatherstaff, smiling.
The smile made Mary less afraid. She was longing to talk about the locked-up garden and
the buried key. But Ben Weatherstaff put his spade on his shoulder and walked off, as if he had just remembered that he was a grouchy old man who did not like children one bit.