e interesting things were happening in one day. To
think of going over the moor in the daylight and when the sky was blue!
To think of going into the cottage which held twelve children!

"Does she think Mrs. Medlock would let me go?" she asked, quite
anxiously.

"Aye, she thinks she would. She knows what a tidy woman mother is and
how clean she keeps the cottage."

"If I went I should see your mother as well as Dickon," said Mary,
thinking it over and liking the idea very much. "She doesn't seem to be
like the mothers in India."

Her work in the garden and the excitement of the afternoon ended by
making her feel quiet and thoughtful. Martha stayed with her until
tea-time, but they sat in comfortable quiet and talked very little. But
just before Martha went down-stairs for the tea-tray, Mary asked a
question.

"Martha," she said, "has the scullery-maid had the toothache again
to-day?"

Martha certainly started slightly.

"What makes thee ask that?" she said.

"Because when I waited so long for you to come back I opened the door
and walked down the corridor to see if you were coming. And I heard that
far-off crying again, just as we heard it the other night. There isn't a
wind to-day, so you see it couldn't have been the wind."

"Eh!" said Martha restlessly. "Tha' mustn't go walkin' about in
corridors an' listenin'. Mr. Craven would be that there angry there's no
knowin' what he'd do."

"I wasn't listening," said Mary. "I was just waiting for you--and I
heard it. That's three times."

"My word! There's Mrs. Medlock's bell," said Martha, and she almost ran
out of the room.

"It's the strangest house any one ever lived in," said Mary drowsily, as
she dropped her head on the cushioned seat of the armchair near her.
Fresh air, and digging, and skipping-rope had made her feel so
comfortably tired that she fell asleep.

CHAPTER X

DICKON

The sun shone down for nearly a week on the secret garden. The Secret
Garden was what Mary called it when she was thinking of it. She liked
the name, and she liked still more the feeling that when its beautiful
old walls shut her in no one knew where she was. It seemed almost like
being shut out of the world in some fairy place. The few books she had
read and liked had been fairy-story books, and she had read of secret
gardens in some of the stories. Sometimes people went to sleep in them
for a hundred years, which she had thought must be rather stupid. She
had no