Page 46 - Secret Garden

“What a strange house this is!” said Mary. “Everything’s secret! Rooms are locked up, gardens are locked up – and now you!”
“I’m not locked up,” Colin protested. “I’d rather be here than go out and get tired – or catch things.”
“Catch things? What, like fish?”
“Like colds!” snapped Colin. “From people. I hate people. I hate Mrs Medlock, and my nurse, and the doctor – especially the doctor.” He paused. “My father comes sometimes. Once in a while. I make him miserable.”
And he hates the garden, because it was hers and she died, thought Mary. “I expect you are a dream. Sometimes I do dream,” said Colin.
“No. We’re both awake,” said Mary reasonably. “But if you don’t like people
seeing you, I suppose I’d better go away.”
Strangely, Colin did not want her to go. He wanted to find out more about
this new-found cousin. Mary did, too. They looked at his books together, and she told him about India.
“How old are you?” he asked suddenly.
“I’m ten. So are you, because when you were born the garden door was locked and the key buried. And it’s been locked ten years.”
“What garden? Why? Who . . . ?” Suddenly all the dullness left Colin’s eyes. Where was it? Had she never looked for the door? Had she asked the gardeners? “I could make them tell me. Everyone has to do as I tell them.
I want to see that garden! I’ll make them open the door!”
Mary was appalled. Now everything would be spoiled. “Oh, don’t – don’t
do that!” she cried. “Then the Secret Garden will never be secret again!”
And she tried to explain (without ever saying she had found the garden already).