Who will go with me? she inquired.
Martha stared.
You ll go by yourself, she answered. You ll have to learn to play
like other children does when they haven t got sisters and brothers.
Our Dickon goes off on th moor by himself an plays for hours. That s
how he made friends with th pony. He s got sheep on th moor that
knows him, an birds as comes an eats out of his hand. However little
there is to eat, he always saves a bit o his bread to coax his pets.
It was really this mention of Dickon which made Mary decide to go out,
though she was not aware of it. There would be, birds outside though
there would not be ponies or sheep. They would be different from the
birds in India and it might amuse her to look at them.
Martha found her coat and hat for her and a pair of stout little boots
and she showed her her way downstairs.
If tha goes round that way tha ll come to th gardens, she said,
pointing to a gate in a wall of shrubbery. There s lots o flowers in
summer-time, but there s nothin bloomin now. She seemed to hesitate
a second before she added, One of th gardens is locked up. No one has
been in it for ten years.
Why? asked Mary in spite of herself. Here was another locked door
added to the hundred in the strange house.
Mr. Craven had it shut when his wife died so sudden. He won t let no
one go inside. It was her garden. He locked th door an dug a hole and
buried th key. There s Mrs. Medlock s bell ringing I must run.
After she was gone Mary turned down the walk which led to the door in
the shrubbery. She could not help thinking about the garden which no
one had been into for ten years. She wondered what it would look like
and whether there were any flowers still alive in it. When she had
passed through the shrubbery gate she found herself in great gardens,
with wide lawns and winding walks with clipped borders. There were
trees, and flower-beds, and evergreens clipped into strange shapes, and
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