Читать книгу Таинственный сад / The secret garden - Фрэнсис-Элиза Ходжсон Бёрнетт - Страница 12

“What a garden!” Dickon said, in a whisper.

“Did you know about it?” asked Mary.

Dickon nodded.

“Martha told me about it,” he answered.

He stopped and looked round at the lovely gray tangle about him, and his eyes looked happy.

“Eh! It will be the safest nesting place in England.”

Mary put her hand on his arm.

“Will there be roses?” she whispered. “Can you tell? Perhaps they were all dead.”

“Eh! No! Not all of them!” he answered. “Look here!”

He stepped over to the nearest tree with a curtain of tangled sprays and branches. He took a thick knife out of his pocket and opened one of its blades.

“I see dead wood here,” he said. “But this one is alive,” and he touched a shoot which looked green instead of hard, dry gray.

Mary touched it herself.

“That one?” she said. “Is that one quite alive?”

“It’s as alive as you or me,” he said.

“I’m glad it’s alive!” she cried out. “I want them all to be alive. Let us go round the garden and count how many alive ones there are.”

They went from tree to tree and from bush to bush. Dickon carried his knife in his hand and showed her things which she thought wonderful.

“These are dead,” he said, “but those are strong. See here!” and he pulled down a thick gray branch. He knelt and with his knife cut the branch through, not far above the earth.

“There!” he said exultantly. “I told you so. It’s alive. Look at it. There’s a big root here,” he stopped and lifted his face. “There will be a fountain of roses here this summer.”

They went from bush to bush and from tree to tree. He was very strong and clever with his knife and knew how to cut the dry and dead wood away. The spade, and hoe, and fork were very useful. He showed her how to use the fork while he dug about roots with the spade and stirred the earth. They were working industriously.

“Why!” he cried, pointing to the grass a few feet away. “Who did that there?”

It was one of Mary’s own little clearings.

“I did it,” said Mary.

“I thought that you didn’t know anything about gardening,” he exclaimed.

“I don’t,” she answered, “but they were so little, and the grass was so thick and strong. They had no room to breathe. So I made a place for them.”

Dickon went and knelt down by them, smiling.

“That was right,” he said. “They will grow now. They’re crocuses and snowdrops, and these here are narcissuses. A lot of work for such a little wench!”

“I’m growing stronger,” said Mary, “And when I dig I’m not tired at all. I like to smell the earth.”

“It’s good for you,” he said, nodding his head wisely. “When it’s raining I lie under a bush and listen to the soft swish of drops.”

“Do you never catch cold?” inquired Mary, gazing at him wonderingly.

“Not me,” he said, grinning. “I have never caught cold since I was born.”

He was working all the time he was talking and Mary was following him and helping him with her fork or the trowel.

“There’s a lot of work to do here!” he said.

“Will you come again and help me to do it?” Mary begged. “I can dig and pull up weeds, and do whatever you tell me. Oh! do come, Dickon!”

“I’ll come every day if you want, rain or shine,” he answered stoutly. “Eh! We’ll have a lot of fun.”

He began to walk about, looking up in the trees and at the walls and bushes with a thoughtful expression.

“It’s a secret garden,” he said, “right?”

“The door was locked and the key was buried,” said Mary. “No one could get in.”

“Yes,” he said. “It’s a queer place.”

Dickon laughed. Mary looked at him.

“Dickon,” she said. “You are as nice as Martha said you were. I like you. I never thought I could like five people.”

Dickon looked funny and delightful, Mary thought, with his round blue eyes and red cheeks.

“Only five people?” he said. “Who are the other four?”

“Your mother and Martha,” Mary said, “and the robin and Ben Weatherstaff.”

Dickon laughed again.

“I know you think I’m a queer lad,” he said, “but I think that you are a very queer lass.”

Then Mary did a strange thing. She leaned forward and asked him a question,

“Do you like me?”

“Eh!” he answered heartily, “I do. I like you, and so does the robin, I believe!”

“That’s two, then,” said Mary. “That’s two for me.”

And then they began to work harder than ever and more joyfully. Then Mary heard the big clock in the courtyard strike the hour of her midday dinner.

“I shall go,” she said mournfully. “And you will go too, won’t you?”

Dickon grinned.

“My dinner is with me,” he said. “Mother always gives me a bit of something in my pocket.”

He picked up his coat from the grass and brought out of a pocket a lumpy little bundle. It held two thick pieces of bread with a slice of bacon.”

Mary thought it looked a queer dinner. She went slowly to the door in the wall and then she stopped and went back.

“Whatever happens, you-you never will tell?” she said.

He smiled encouragingly.

“Not me,” he said.