Page 48 - Secret Garden

Then, Colin pointed to a curtain on the wall. When Mary drew it back, there hung the picture of a young woman. Her eyes were just like Colin’s except that they smiled. Her mouth, cheeks, curly hair – even the robin sitting on her shoulder – looked cheerful.
“She’s my mother,” said Colin. “She died when I was born. I don’t know why. Sometimes I hate her for it. If she hadn’t died, Father wouldn’t hate me so much. Cover it up again. She smiles too much when I’m miserable. And looks at me.”
“I must go before Mrs Medlock finds me,” said Mary nervously.
“If she does, I’ll tell her I want you here every day!” Colin declared in his kingly, spoiled way. “If I tell her, she has to let you come.”
Mary thought of Dickon and the garden and wished she were there rather than in this stuffy brown room. “I will . . . but of course I must go on looking for the Secret Garden.”
Luckily, Colin agreed. “I’ve decided to keep you a secret, too. I won’t tell anyone – except Martha. Do you know the servant, Martha? I’ll send Martha to tell you when to come.”
So! Martha had known about Colin all along! That made Mary angry and sad – but then this whole house kept secrets, didn’t it?
“I wish I could be asleep before you go,” said Colin shyly.
So Mary sat down again and started softly to sing the lullaby her
ayah had sung to her in India.
“That’s nice,” Colin murmured, so she went on singing until he was
asleep, then crept away without a sound.