Page 67 - Secret Garden

So, Mary and Dickon dragged Colin’s chair under the plum tree and brought him buds and feathers and the hatched shells of birds’ eggs. Then they pushed him round the garden as if they were touring some fabulous kingdom.
It’s easy to talk in whispers . . . laughing is much harder! And they laughed a lot that afternoon. But then Colin asked about the old tree with the broken branch, and Dickon glanced at Mary. It was the tree where Colin’s mother had perched, long ago. The truth might spoil the day.
“It’s quite dead, isn’t it?” said Colin.
“Aye. But when roses climb all over, it’ll be prettiest of all.”
“It looks as if a big branch broke off . . .”
“Years ago, aye . . . Eh! Look! There’s Mr Robin!”
To Dickon’s relief, Colin turned delightedly to watch the bird
and there was no need to tell him the sad story.
They ate cake and sandwiches, and the birds hurried to share the
crumbs. The sunlight deepened to gold, the bees set off for home, and still the friends sat laughing in their Secret Garden.
“I’ll come here every day!” said Colin.
“Then us’ll soon have thee up and doin’ diggin’.”
“What? Could I? One day, could I?” said Colin, hiding a yawn.
All the excitement was making him sleepy. *