Page 76 - Secret Garden

Of course, Mrs Medlock could still find reason to fuss and worry. “Oh Doctor, I don’t know what to think!” she wailed. “They eat, they don’t eat . . .”
“Are they losing weight?” asked the doctor.
“No . . . but . . .”
“Are there any other symptoms?”
Mrs Medlock racked her brains. “Well, they do laugh a lot.
Is that a symptom of something awful?”
The doctor hid a smile. “Probably not. Laughing is good
exercise for the lungs. Let them laugh.”
But one dismal rainy day, Colin could not to the garden.
Then, he did not laugh at all.
“Colin,” Mary began mysteriously, “do you realise, there
are about a hundred rooms in this house? Once, when it rained, I went and looked inside some. Suppose we go exploring? There are places where you can run and do your exercises.”
That morning, rainy days lost their sadness. A servant wheeled Colin to the picture gallery and was sent away. Then Colin leapt out of his chair and ran from one end of the gallery to the other, watched by the portraits of his dusty ancestors.
The two of them played with the ivory elephants, found the cushion where the mouse had been, found new passageways and staircases and old chests and wilting candles.