Don t let us make it tidy, said Mary anxiously. It wouldn t seem
like a secret garden if it was tidy.
Dickon stood rubbing his rusty-red head with a rather puzzled look.
It s a secret garden sure enough, he said, but seems like someone
besides th robin must have been in it since it was shut up ten year
ago.
But the door was locked and the key was buried, said Mary. No one
could get in.
That s true, he answered. It s a queer place. Seems to me as if
there d been a bit o prunin done here an there, later than ten year
ago.
But how could it have been done? said Mary.
He was examining a branch of a standard rose and he shook his head.
Aye! how could it! he murmured. With th door locked an th key
buried.
Mistress Mary always felt that however many years she lived she should
never forget that first morning when her garden began to grow. Of
course, it did seem to begin to grow for her that morning. When Dickon
began to clear places to plant seeds, she remembered what Basil had
sung at her when he wanted to tease her.
Are there any flowers that look like bells? she inquired.
Lilies o th valley does, he answered, digging away with the trowel,
an there s Canterbury bells, an campanulas.
Let s plant some, said Mary.
There s lilies o th, valley here already; I saw em. They ll have
growed too close an we ll have to separate em, but there s plenty.
Th other ones takes two years to bloom from seed, but I can bring you
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