I there is nothing for me to do. I have nothing and no one.
Well, said Ben Weatherstaff slowly, as he watched her, that s true.
Tha hasn t.
He said it in such an odd way that Mary wondered if he was actually a
little sorry for her. She had never felt sorry for herself; she had
only felt tired and cross, because she disliked people and things so
much. But now the world seemed to be changing and getting nicer. If no
one found out about the secret garden, she should enjoy herself always.
She stayed with him for ten or fifteen minutes longer and asked him as
many questions as she dared. He answered everyone of them in his queer
grunting way and he did not seem really cross and did not pick up his
spade and leave her. He said something about roses just as she was
going away and it reminded her of the ones he had said he had been fond
of.
Do you go and see those other roses now? she asked.
Not been this year. My rheumatics has made me too stiff in th
joints.
He said it in his grumbling voice, and then quite suddenly he seemed to
get angry with her, though she did not see why he should.
Now look here! he said sharply. Don t tha ask so many questions.
Tha rt th worst wench for askin questions I ve ever come across. Get
thee gone an play thee. I ve done talkin for today.
And he said it so crossly that she knew there was not the least use in
staying another minute. She went skipping slowly down the outside walk,
thinking him over and saying to herself that, queer as it was, here was
another person whom she liked in spite of his crossness. She liked old
Ben Weatherstaff. Yes, she did like him. She always wanted to try to
make him talk to her. Also she began to believe that he knew everything
in the world about flowers.
There was a laurel-hedged walk which curved round the secret garden and
ended at a gate which opened into a wood, in the park. She thought she
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