Page 84 - Secret Garden

A week later, when he reached Misselthwaite Manor, he sent for Mrs Medlock. “How is Master Colin?”
Mrs Medlock was flustered. “Different,” was all she could manage. “How? Worse?”
“Well, sir . . . peculiar.”
“Peculiar?”
“Peculiar. Sometimes when he’s with that Mary girl, we hear ’em laugh. He never used to laugh. He eats, he doesn’t eat . . . the doctor can make no sense of it. Nor can I.”
“Where is he now?”
“Outdoors. He’s always out there,
and he used to hate outdoors.” In the garden. In the garden.
Mr Craven felt dizzy, remembering his dream.
Past the vegetable garden, past the fountain, across
the lawn . . . he knew where the door was, of
course – but not the key. Ivy still hung thick over the door, but . . .
He could hear voices beyond it! How? Children. Laughing. Running feet . . .