But they were obliged to wait more than a week because first there came
some very windy days and then Colin was threatened with a cold, which
two things happening one after the other would no doubt have thrown him
into a rage but that there was so much careful and mysterious planning
to do and almost every day Dickon came in, if only for a few minutes,
to talk about what was happening on the moor and in the lanes and
hedges and on the borders of streams.  The things he had to tell about
otters' and badgers' and water-rats' houses, not to mention birds'
nests and field-mice and their burrows, were enough to make you almost
tremble with excitement when you heard all the intimate details from an
animal charmer and realized with what thrilling eagerness and anxiety
the whole busy underworld was working.

"They're same as us," said Dickon, "only they have to build their homes
every year.  An' it keeps 'em so busy they fair scuffle to get 'em
done."

The most absorbing thing, however, was the preparations to be made
before Colin could be transported with sufficient secrecy to the
garden.  No one must see the chair-carriage and Dickon and Mary after
they turned a certain corner of the shrubbery and entered upon the walk
outside the ivied walls.  As each day passed, Colin had become more and
more fixed in his feeling that the mystery surrounding the garden was
one of its greatest charms.  Nothing must spoil that.  No one must ever
suspect that they had a secret.  People must think that he was simply
going out with Mary and Dickon because he liked them and did not object
to their looking at him.  They had long and quite delightful talks
about their route.  They would go up this path and down that one and
cross the other and go round among the fountain flower-beds as if they
were looking at the "bedding-out plants" the head gardener, Mr. Roach,
had been having arranged.  That would seem such a rational thing to do
that no one would think it at all mysterious.  They would turn into the
shrubbery walks and lose themselves until they came to the long walls.
It was almost as serious and elaborately thought out as the plans of
march made by great generals in time of war.

Rumors of the new and curious things which were occurring in the
invalid's apartments had of course filtered through the servants' hall
into the stable yards and out among the gardeners, but notwithstanding
this, Mr. Roach was startled one day when he received orders from
Master Colin's room to the effect that he must report himself in the
apartment no outsider had ever seen, as the invalid himself desired to
speak to him.

"Well, well," he said to himself as he hurriedly changed his coat,
"what's to do now? His Royal Highness that wasn't to be looked at
calling up a man he's never set eyes on."

Mr. Roach was not without curiosity.  He had never caught even a
glimpse of the boy and had heard a dozen exaggerated stories about his
uncanny looks and ways and his insane tempers.  The thing he had heard
oftenest was that he might die at any moment and there had been
numerous fanciful descriptions of a humped back and helpless limbs,
given by people who had never seen him.

"Things are changing in this house, Mr. Roach," said Mrs. Medlock, as
she led him up the back staircase to the corridor on to which opened
the hitherto mysterious chamber.

"Let's hope they're changing for the better, Mrs. Medlock," he answered.

"They couldn't well change for the worse," she continued; "and queer as
it all is there's them as finds their duties made a lot easier to stand
up under.  Don't you be surprised, Mr. Roach, if you find yourself in
the middle of a menagerie and Martha Sowerby's Dickon more at home than
you or me could ever be."

There really was a sort of Magic about Dickon, as Mary always privately
believed.  When Mr. Roach heard his name he smiled quite leniently.

"He'd be at home in Buckingham Palace or at the bottom of a coal mine,"
he said.  "And yet it's not impudence, either.  He's just fine, is that
lad."

It was perhaps well he had been prepared or he might have been
startled.  When the bedroom door was opened a large crow, which seemed
quite at home perched on the high back of a carven chair, announced the
entrance of a visitor by saying "Caw--Caw" quite loudly.  In spite of
Mrs. Medlock's warning, Mr. Roach only just escaped being sufficiently
undignified to jump backward.

The young Rajah was neither in bed nor on his sofa.  He was sitting in
an armchair and a young lamb was standing by him shaking its tail in
feeding-lamb fashion as Dickon knelt giving it milk from its bottle.  A
squirrel was perched on Dickon's bent back attentively nibbling a nut.
The little girl from India was sitting on a big footstool looking on.

"Here is Mr. Roach, Master Colin," said Mrs. Medlock.

The young Rajah turned and looked his servitor over--at least that was
what the head gardener felt happened.

"Oh, you are Roach, are you?" he said.  "I sent for you to give you
some very important orders."

"Very good, sir," answered Roach, wondering if he was to receive
instructions to fell all the oaks in the park or to transform the
orchards into water-gardens.

"I am going out in my chair this afternoon," said Colin.  "If the fresh
air agrees with me I may go out every day.  When I go, none of the
gardeners are to be anywhere near the Long Walk by the garden walls.
No one is to be there.  I shall go out about two o'clock and everyone
must keep away until I send word that they may go back to their work."

"Very good, sir," replied Mr. Roach, much relieved to hear that the
oaks might remain and that the orchards were safe.  "Mary," said Colin,
turning to her, "what is that thing you say in India when you have
finished talking and want people to go?"

"You say, 'You have my permission to go,'" answered Mary.

The Rajah waved his hand.

"You have my permission to go, Roach," he said.  "But, remember, this
is very important."

"Caw--Caw!" remarked the crow hoarsely but not impolitely.

"Very good, sir.  Thank you, sir," said Mr. Roach, and Mrs. Medlock
took him out of the room.

Outside in the corridor, being a rather good-natured man, he smiled
until he almost laughed.

"My word!" he said, "he's got a fine lordly way with him, hasn't he?
You'd think he was a whole Royal Family rolled into one--Prince Consort
and all.".

"Eh!" protested Mrs. Medlock, "we've had to let him trample all over
every one of us ever since he had feet and he thinks that's what folks
was born for."

"Perhaps he'll grow out of it, if he lives," suggested Mr. Roach.

"Well, there's one thing pretty sure," said Mrs. Medlock.  "If he does
live and that Indian child stays here I'll warrant she teaches him that
the whole orange does not belong to him, as Susan Sowerby says.  And
he'll be likely to find out the size of his own quarter."

Inside the room Colin was leaning back on his cushions.

"It's all safe now," he said.  "And this afternoon I shall see it--this
afternoon I shall be in it!"

Dickon went back to the garden with his creatures and Mary stayed with
Colin.  She did not think he looked tired but he was very quiet before
their lunch came and he was quiet while they were eating it.  She
wondered why and asked him about it.

"What big eyes you've got, Colin," she said.  "When you are thinking
they get as big as saucers.  What are you thinking about now?"

"I can't help thinking about what it will look like," he answered.

"The garden?" asked Mary.

"The springtime," he said.  "I was thinking that I've really never seen
it before.  I scarcely ever went out and when I did go I never looked
at it.  I didn't even think about it."

"I never saw it in India because there wasn't any," said Mary.

Shut in and morbid as his life had been, Colin had more imagination
than she had and at least he had spent a good deal of time looking at
wonderful books and pictures.

"That morning when you ran in and said 'It's come! It's come!', you made
me feel quite queer.  It sounded as if things were coming with a great
procession and big bursts and wafts of music.  I've a picture like it
in one of my books--crowds of lovely people and children with garlands
and branches with blossoms on them, everyone laughing and dancing and
crowding and playing on pipes.  That was why I said, 'Perhaps we shall
hear golden trumpets' and told you to throw open the window."

"How funny!" said Mary.  "That's really just what it feels like.  And
if all the flowers and leaves and green things and birds and wild
creatures danced past at once, what a crowd it would be! I'm sure
they'd dance and sing and flute and that would be the wafts of music."

They both laughed but it was not because the idea was laughable but
because they both so liked it.

A little later the nurse made Colin ready.  She noticed that instead of
lying like a log while his clothes were put on he sat up and made some
efforts to help himself, and he talked and laughed with Mary all the
time.

"This is one of his good days, sir," she said to Dr. Craven, who
dropped in to inspect him.  "He's in such good spirits that it makes
him stronger."

"I'll call in again later in the afternoon, after he has come in," said
Dr. Craven.  "I must see how the going out agrees with him.  I wish,"
in a very low voice, "that he would let you go with him."

"I'd rather give up the case this moment, sir, than even stay here
while it's suggested," answered the nurse.  With sudden firmness.

"I hadn't really decided to suggest it," said the doctor, with his
slight nervousness.  "We'll try the experiment.  Dickon's a lad I'd
trust with a new-born child."

The strongest footman in the house carried Colin down stairs and put
him in his wheeled chair near which Dickon waited outside.  After the
manservant had arranged his rugs and cushions the Rajah waved his hand
to him and to the nurse.

"You have my permission to go," he said, and they both disappeared
quickly and it must be confessed giggled when they were safely inside
the house.

Dickon began to push the wheeled chair slowly and steadily.  Mistress
Mary walked beside it and Colin leaned back and lifted his face to the
sky.  The arch of it looked very high and the small snowy clouds seemed
like white birds floating on outspread wings below its crystal
blueness.  The wind swept in soft big breaths down from the moor and
was strange with a wild clear scented sweetness.  Colin kept lifting
his thin chest to draw it in, and his big eyes looked as if it were
they which were listening--listening, instead of his ears.

"There are so many sounds of singing and humming and calling out," he
said.  "What is that scent the puffs of wind bring?"

"It's gorse on th' moor that's openin' out," answered Dickon.  "Eh! th'
bees are at it wonderful today."

Not a human creature was to be caught sight of in the paths they took.
In fact every gardener or gardener's lad had been witched away.  But
they wound in and out among the shrubbery and out and round the
fountain beds, following their carefully planned route for the mere
mysterious pleasure of it.  But when at last they turned into the Long
Walk by the ivied walls the excited sense of an approaching thrill made
them, for some curious reason they could not have explained, begin to
speak in whispers.

"This is it," breathed Mary.  "This is where I used to walk up and down
and wonder and wonder." "Is it?" cried Colin, and his eyes began to
search the ivy with eager curiousness.  "But I can see nothing," he
whispered.  "There is no door."

"That's what I thought," said Mary.

Then there was a lovely breathless silence and the chair wheeled on.

"That is the garden where Ben Weatherstaff works," said Mary.

"Is it?" said Colin.

A few yards more and Mary whispered again.

"This is where the robin flew over the wall," she said.

"Is it?" cried Colin.  "Oh! I wish he'd come again!"

"And that," said Mary with solemn delight, pointing under a big lilac
bush, "is where he perched on the little heap of earth and showed me
the key."

Then Colin sat up.

"Where? Where? There?" he cried, and his eyes were as big as the wolf's
in Red Riding-Hood, when Red Riding-Hood felt called upon to remark on
them.  Dickon stood still and the wheeled chair stopped.

"And this," said Mary, stepping on to the bed close to the ivy, "is
where I went to talk to him when he chirped at me from the top of the
wall.  And this is the ivy the wind blew back," and she took hold of
the hanging green curtain.

"Oh! is it--is it!" gasped Colin.

"And here is the handle, and here is the door.  Dickon push him
in--push him in quickly!"

And Dickon did it with one strong, steady, splendid push.

But Colin had actually dropped back against his cushions, even though
he gasped with delight, and he had covered his eyes with his hands and
held them there shutting out everything until they were inside and the
chair stopped as if by magic and the door was closed.  Not till then
did he take them away and look round and round and round as Dickon and
Mary had done.  And over walls and earth and trees and swinging sprays
and tendrils the fair green veil of tender little leaves had crept, and
in the grass under the trees and the gray urns in the alcoves and here
and there everywhere were touches or splashes of gold and purple and
white and the trees were showing pink and snow above his head and there
were fluttering of wings and faint sweet pipes and humming and scents
and scents.  And the sun fell warm upon his face like a hand with a
lovely touch.  And in wonder Mary and Dickon stood and stared at him.
He looked so strange and different because a pink glow of color had
actually crept all over him--ivory face and neck and hands and all.

"I shall get well! I shall get well!" he cried out.  "Mary! Dickon! I
shall get well! And I shall live forever and ever and ever!"

One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only
now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever
and ever.  One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn
dawn-time and goes out and stands alone and throws one's head far back
and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and
flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost
makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange
unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun--which has been happening
every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years.  One
knows it then for a moment or so.  And one knows it sometimes when one
stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold
stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying
slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much
one tries.  Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night
with millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and
sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look
in some one's eyes.

And it was like that with Colin when he first saw and heard and felt
the Springtime inside the four high walls of a hidden garden.  That
afternoon the whole world seemed to devote itself to being perfect and
radiantly beautiful and kind to one boy.  Perhaps out of pure heavenly
goodness the spring came and crowned everything it possibly could into
that one place.  More than once Dickon paused in what he was doing and
stood still with a sort of growing wonder in his eyes, shaking his head
softly.

"Eh! it is graidely," he said.  "I'm twelve goin' on thirteen an'
there's a lot o' afternoons in thirteen years, but seems to me like I
never seed one as graidely as this 'ere."

"Aye, it is a graidely one," said Mary, and she sighed for mere joy.
"I'll warrant it's the graidelest one as ever was in this world."

"Does tha' think," said Colin with dreamy carefulness, "as happen it
was made loike this 'ere all o' purpose for me?"

"My word!" cried Mary admiringly, "that there is a bit o' good
Yorkshire.  Tha'rt shapin' first-rate--that tha' art."

And delight reigned.  They drew the chair under the plum-tree, which
was snow-white with blossoms and musical with bees.  It was like a
king's canopy, a fairy king's. There were flowering cherry-trees near
and apple-trees whose buds were pink and white, and here and there one
had burst open wide.  Between the blossoming branches of the canopy
bits of blue sky looked down like wonderful eyes.

Mary and Dickon worked a little here and there and Colin watched them.
They brought him things to look at--buds which were opening, buds which
were tight closed, bits of twig whose leaves were just showing green,
the feather of a woodpecker which had dropped on the grass, the empty
shell of some bird early hatched.  Dickon pushed the chair slowly round
and round the garden, stopping every other moment to let him look at
wonders springing out of the earth or trailing down from trees.  It was
like being taken in state round the country of a magic king and queen
and shown all the mysterious riches it contained.

"I wonder if we shall see the robin?" said Colin.

"Tha'll see him often enow after a bit," answered Dickon.  "When th'
eggs hatches out th' little chap he'll be kep' so busy it'll make his
head swim.  Tha'll see him flyin' backward an' for'ard carryin' worms
nigh as big as himsel' an' that much noise goin' on in th' nest when he
gets there as fair flusters him so as he scarce knows which big mouth
to drop th' first piece in.  An' gapin' beaks an' squawks on every
side.  Mother says as when she sees th' work a robin has to keep them
gapin' beaks filled, she feels like she was a lady with nothin' to do.
She says she's seen th' little chaps when it seemed like th' sweat must
be droppin' off 'em, though folk can't see it."

This made them giggle so delightedly that they were obliged to cover
their mouths with their hands, remembering that they must not be heard.
Colin had been instructed as to the law of whispers and low voices
several days before.  He liked the mysteriousness of it and did his
best, but in the midst of excited enjoyment it is rather difficult
never to laugh above a whisper.

Every moment of the afternoon was full of new things and every hour the
sunshine grew more golden.  The wheeled chair had been drawn back under
the canopy and Dickon had sat down on the grass and had just drawn out
his pipe when Colin saw something he had not had time to notice before.

"That's a very old tree over there, isn't it?" he said.  Dickon looked
across the grass at the tree and Mary looked and there was a brief
moment of stillness.

"Yes," answered Dickon, after it, and his low voice had a very gentle
sound.

Mary gazed at the tree and thought.

"The branches are quite gray and there's not a single leaf anywhere,"
Colin went on.  "It's quite dead, isn't it?"

"Aye," admitted Dickon.  "But them roses as has climbed all over it
will near hide every bit o' th' dead wood when they're full o' leaves
an' flowers.  It won't look dead then.  It'll be th' prettiest of all."

Mary still gazed at the tree and thought.

"It looks as if a big branch had been broken off," said Colin.  "I
wonder how it was done."

"It's been done many a year," answered Dickon.  "Eh!" with a sudden
relieved start and laying his hand on Colin.  "Look at that robin!
There he is! He's been foragin' for his mate."

Colin was almost too late but he just caught sight of him, the flash of
red-breasted bird with something in his beak.  He darted through the
greenness and into the close-grown corner and was out of sight.  Colin
leaned back on his cushion again, laughing a little.  "He's taking her
tea to her.  Perhaps it's five o'clock. I think I'd like some tea
myself."

And so they were safe.

"It was Magic which sent the robin," said Mary secretly to Dickon
afterward.  "I know it was Magic." For both she and Dickon had been
afraid Colin might ask something about the tree whose branch had broken
off ten years ago and they had talked it over together and Dickon had
stood and rubbed his head in a troubled way.

"We mun look as if it wasn't no different from th' other trees," he had
said.  "We couldn't never tell him how it broke, poor lad.  If he says
anything about it we mun--we mun try to look cheerful."

"Aye, that we mun," had answered Mary.

But she had not felt as if she looked cheerful when she gazed at the
tree.  She wondered and wondered in those few moments if there was any
reality in that other thing Dickon had said.  He had gone on rubbing
his rust-red hair in a puzzled way, but a nice comforted look had begun
to grow in his blue eyes.

"Mrs. Craven was a very lovely young lady," he had gone on rather
hesitatingly.  "An' mother she thinks maybe she's about Misselthwaite
many a time lookin' after Mester Colin, same as all mothers do when
they're took out o' th' world.  They have to come back, tha' sees.
Happen she's been in the garden an' happen it was her set us to work,
an' told us to bring him here."

Mary had thought he meant something about Magic.  She was a great
believer in Magic.  Secretly she quite believed that Dickon worked
Magic, of course good Magic, on everything near him and that was why
people liked him so much and wild creatures knew he was their friend.
She wondered, indeed, if it were not possible that his gift had brought
the robin just at the right moment when Colin asked that dangerous
question.  She felt that his Magic was working all the afternoon and
making Colin look like an entirely different boy.  It did not seem
possible that he could be the crazy creature who had screamed and
beaten and bitten his pillow.  Even his ivory whiteness seemed to
change.  The faint glow of color which had shown on his face and neck
and hands when he first got inside the garden really never quite died
away.  He looked as if he were made of flesh instead of ivory or wax.

They saw the robin carry food to his mate two or three times, and it
was so suggestive of afternoon tea that Colin felt they must have some.

"Go and make one of the men servants bring some in a basket to the
rhododendron walk," he said.  "And then you and Dickon can bring it
here."

It was an agreeable idea, easily carried out, and when the white cloth
was spread upon the grass, with hot tea and buttered toast and
crumpets, a delightfully hungry meal was eaten, and several birds on
domestic errands paused to inquire what was going on and were led into
investigating crumbs with great activity.  Nut and Shell whisked up
trees with pieces of cake and Soot took the entire half of a buttered
crumpet into a corner and pecked at and examined and turned it over and
made hoarse remarks about it until he decided to swallow it all
joyfully in one gulp.

The afternoon was dragging towards its mellow hour.  The sun was
deepening the gold of its lances, the bees were going home and the
birds were flying past less often.  Dickon and Mary were sitting on the
grass, the tea-basket was repacked ready to be taken back to the house,
and Colin was lying against his cushions with his heavy locks pushed
back from his forehead and his face looking quite a natural color.

"I don't want this afternoon to go," he said; "but I shall come back
tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after, and the day after."

"You'll get plenty of fresh air, won't you?" said Mary.  "I'm going to
get nothing else," he answered.  "I've seen the spring now and I'm
going to see the summer.  I'm going to see everything grow here.  I'm
going to grow here myself."

"That tha' will," said Dickon.  "Us'll have thee walkin' about here an'
diggin' same as other folk afore long."

Colin flushed tremendously.

"Walk!" he said.  "Dig! Shall I?"

Dickon's glance at him was delicately cautious.  Neither he nor Mary
had ever asked if anything was the matter with his legs.

"For sure tha' will," he said stoutly.  "Tha--tha's got legs o' thine
own, same as other folks!"

Mary was rather frightened until she heard Colin's answer.

"Nothing really ails them," he said, "but they are so thin and weak.
They shake so that I'm afraid to try to stand on them."

Both Mary and Dickon drew a relieved breath.

"When tha' stops bein' afraid tha'lt stand on 'em," Dickon said with
renewed cheer.  "An' tha'lt stop bein' afraid in a bit."

"I shall?" said Colin, and he lay still as if he were wondering about
things.

They were really very quiet for a little while.  The sun was dropping
lower.  It was that hour when everything stills itself, and they really
had had a busy and exciting afternoon.  Colin looked as if he were
resting luxuriously.  Even the creatures had ceased moving about and
had drawn together and were resting near them.  Soot had perched on a
low branch and drawn up one leg and dropped the gray film drowsily over
his eyes.  Mary privately thought he looked as if he might snore in a
minute.

In the midst of this stillness it was rather startling when Colin half
lifted his head and exclaimed in a loud suddenly alarmed whisper:

"Who is that man?" Dickon and Mary scrambled to their feet.

"Man!" they both cried in low quick voices.

Colin pointed to the high wall.  "Look!" he whispered excitedly.  "Just
look!"

Mary and Dickon wheeled about and looked.  There was Ben Weatherstaff's
indignant face glaring at them over the wall from the top of a ladder!
He actually shook his fist at Mary.

"If I wasn't a bachelder, an' tha' was a wench o' mine," he cried, "I'd
give thee a hidin'!"

He mounted another step threateningly as if it were his energetic
intention to jump down and deal with her; but as she came toward him he
evidently thought better of it and stood on the top step of his ladder
shaking his fist down at her.

"I never thowt much o' thee!" he harangued.  "I couldna' abide thee th'
first time I set eyes on thee.  A scrawny buttermilk-faced young besom,
allus askin' questions an' pokin' tha' nose where it wasna, wanted.  I
never knowed how tha' got so thick wi' me.  If it hadna' been for th'
robin--  Drat him--"

"Ben Weatherstaff," called out Mary, finding her breath.  She stood
below him and called up to him with a sort of gasp.  "Ben Weatherstaff,
it was the robin who showed me the way!"

Then it did seem as if Ben really would scramble down on her side of
the wall, he was so outraged.

"Tha' young bad 'un!" he called down at her.  "Layin' tha' badness on a
robin--not but what he's impidint enow for anythin'. Him showin' thee
th' way! Him! Eh! tha' young nowt"--she could see his next words burst
out because he was overpowered by curiosity--"however i' this world did
tha' get in?"

"It was the robin who showed me the way," she protested obstinately.
"He didn't know he was doing it but he did.  And I can't tell you from
here while you're shaking your fist at me."

He stopped shaking his fist very suddenly at that very moment and his
jaw actually dropped as he stared over her head at something he saw
coming over the grass toward him.

At the first sound of his torrent of words Colin had been so surprised
that he had only sat up and listened as if he were spellbound.  But in
the midst of it he had recovered himself and beckoned imperiously to
Dickon.

"Wheel me over there!" he commanded.  "Wheel me quite close and stop
right in front of him!"

And this, if you please, this is what Ben Weatherstaff beheld and which
made his jaw drop.  A wheeled chair with luxurious cushions and robes
which came toward him looking rather like some sort of State Coach
because a young Rajah leaned back in it with royal command in his great
black-rimmed eyes and a thin white hand extended haughtily toward him.
And it stopped right under Ben Weatherstaff's nose.  It was really no
wonder his mouth dropped open.

"Do you know who I am?" demanded the Rajah.

How Ben Weatherstaff stared! His red old eyes fixed themselves on what
was before him as if he were seeing a ghost.  He gazed and gazed and
gulped a lump down his throat and did not say a word.  "Do you know who
I am?" demanded Colin still more imperiously.  "Answer!"

Ben Weatherstaff put his gnarled hand up and passed it over his eyes
and over his forehead and then he did answer in a queer shaky voice.

"Who tha' art?" he said.  "Aye, that I do--wi' tha' mother's eyes
starin' at me out o' tha' face.  Lord knows how tha' come here.  But
tha'rt th' poor cripple."

Colin forgot that he had ever had a back.  His face flushed scarlet and
he sat bolt upright.

"I'm not a cripple!" he cried out furiously.  "I'm not!"

"He's not!" cried Mary, almost shouting up the wall in her fierce
indignation.  "He's not got a lump as big as a pin! I looked and there
was none there--not one!"

Ben Weatherstaff passed his hand over his forehead again and gazed as
if he could never gaze enough.  His hand shook and his mouth shook and
his voice shook.  He was an ignorant old man and a tactless old man and
he could only remember the things he had heard.

"Tha'--tha' hasn't got a crooked back?" he said hoarsely.

"No!" shouted Colin.

"Tha'--tha' hasn't got crooked legs?" quavered Ben more hoarsely yet.
It was too much.  The strength which Colin usually threw into his
tantrums rushed through him now in a new way.  Never yet had he been
accused of crooked legs--even in whispers--and the perfectly simple
belief in their existence which was revealed by Ben Weatherstaff's
voice was more than Rajah flesh and blood could endure.  His anger and
insulted pride made him forget everything but this one moment and
filled him with a power he had never known before, an almost unnatural
strength.

"Come here!" he shouted to Dickon, and he actually began to tear the
coverings off his lower limbs and disentangle himself.  "Come here!
Come here! This minute!"

Dickon was by his side in a second.  Mary caught her breath in a short
gasp and felt herself turn pale.

"He can do it! He can do it! He can do it! He can!" she gabbled over to
herself under her breath as fast as ever she could.

There was a brief fierce scramble, the rugs were tossed on the ground,
Dickon held Colin's arm, the thin legs were out, the thin feet were on
the grass.  Colin was standing upright--upright--as straight as an
arrow and looking strangely tall--his head thrown back and his strange
eyes flashing lightning.  "Look at me!" he flung up at Ben
Weatherstaff.  "Just look at me--you!  Just look at me!"

"He's as straight as I am!" cried Dickon.  "He's as straight as any lad
i' Yorkshire!"

What Ben Weatherstaff did Mary thought queer beyond measure.  He choked
and gulped and suddenly tears ran down his weather-wrinkled cheeks as
he struck his old hands together.

"Eh!" he burst forth, "th' lies folk tells! Tha'rt as thin as a lath
an' as white as a wraith, but there's not a knob on thee.  Tha'lt make
a mon yet.  God bless thee!"

Dickon held Colin's arm strongly but the boy had not begun to falter.
He stood straighter and straighter and looked Ben Weatherstaff in the
face.

"I'm your master," he said, "when my father is away.  And you are to
obey me.  This is my garden.  Don't dare to say a word about it! You
get down from that ladder and go out to the Long Walk and Miss Mary
will meet you and bring you here.  I want to talk to you.  We did not
want you, but now you will have to be in the secret.  Be quick!"

Ben Weatherstaff's crabbed old face was still wet with that one queer
rush of tears.  It seemed as if he could not take his eyes from thin
straight Colin standing on his feet with his head thrown back.

"Eh! lad," he almost whispered.  "Eh! my lad!" And then remembering
himself he suddenly touched his hat gardener fashion and said, "Yes,
sir! Yes, sir!" and obediently disappeared as he descended the ladder.

That afternoon, Mary is busy with the garden and realizes she won't have time to see Colin. She tells Martha to let Colin know. When she returns later, Martha informs her that her absence has nearly caused Colin to throw a tantrum. Although Mary behaved in a similar way when she was in India, she has a hard time sympathizing with him in the moment. She goes to his room and they get into a big argument, with Colin accusing Mary of being selfish. Colin threatens to send away Dickon if Mary doesn't spend more time with him, which enrages Mary. She leaves the room feeling cross and unsympathetic for Colin. She returns to her room to find that Mr. Craven has sent her several nice gifts. She thinks of Colin again and remembers how often he frets about his illness and fears becoming a hunchback like his father. She decides that she will try to go to his room in the morning again to talk to him. That night, Mary wakes up to hear Colin wailing and screaming for what seems like ages. She becomes angry at his tantrum and at the fact that none of the adults have the courage to stop him. Mary, her temper rising, goes to his room and screams at the boy to stop his crying. Colin reveals that he has felt another lump in his back, which has set him off in the tantrum. Mary demands to see his back and together with the nurse they look at it and see that there is no lump. Mary tells him directly that there is nothing wrong with him and that his hysterics are what cause all his illnesses. Mary's words help Colin to snap out of his tantrum. The caretakers are amazed and let Mary put Colin to sleep. Mary tells Colin in a quiet voice about all the things she saw in the garden the day before. Her soothing stories puts him to sleep in an instant. The next day, Mary meets up with Dickon in the garden, who is accompanied by a crow, a fox, and two tame squirrels. Mary tells Dickon about the episode with Colin, and Dickon feels quite sorry for the boy. Dickon insists that they have to get Colin to come outside, where he will feel happier and be less likely to think about negative things. Mary makes Dickon laugh by trying to speak in a Yorkshire dialect. Later, she goes to see Colin. They talk about how they, along with Ben Weatherstaff, have an unpleasant look and sour demeanor in common. Colin apologizes for threatening to send Dickon away before. At that moment, Mary decides to reveal to Colin that Dickon will come to see him the next day with his animal companions. She also tells him that she found the door to the secret garden and that he will get to see the garden at last. Later that day, Dr. Craven comes to visit Colin. Mrs. Medlock tells him about Mary calming him down. The doctor is surprised to find Colin with Mary and asking if he can go out soon to get some fresh air. The doctor agrees but warns him to be careful, thinking to himself that if Colin is to get well, he will lose his inheritance of the manor. Colin says he does not want to constantly be reminded that he is sick, as this only makes him feel worse. Dr. Craven ends up staying for a very short time and not giving Colin any of the usual medicine. The next day, Mary runs into Colin's room declaring that it is spring. She excitedly tells Colin about all of the spring scenery. This morning Dickon and his animal companions--a newborn lamb, the fox, the crow, and the two squirrels--come to visit Colin in his room. Colin is delighted and amazed at the sight of Dickon and his creatures. Dickon shows Colin the animals and they look at picture books. Colin declares soon he will come to see the garden. It is over a week until the weather permits the children to return to their garden. They spend this time making preparations so that Colin is able to be transported to the garden in secrecy. One day, Colin calls for Mr. Roach, the head gardener, to come to his room for the first time. Mr. Roach is curious at this request, as he has never even seen the boy's face before. When he enters Colin's room, he is surprised by Dickon's animals. Colin gives Mr. Roach the order to keep all gardeners away from the garden walls while he is out for the day. Mr. Roach agrees. Later, the nurse prepares Colin to go outside and he is left with Dickon and Mary, who push him in his wheelchair out into the gardens. The children show Colin all around the estate, pointing out plants and animals, which delights Colin. Enlivened by the vibrancy of nature, Colin exclaims that he will get well and that he will live forever. The whole afternoon is spent enjoying themselves in the secret garden in the particularly beautiful weather. There, Colin notices the big tree, the branch of which had killed his mother 10 years earlier. He asks if it is dead and Dickon says that it is, but that the roses growing over it make it look alive again. The robin appears just then and takes Colin's attention away from the tree. As the day winds down, Colin vows to return to the garden every day. Dickon suggests that soon Colin will be well enough to walk beside them instead of being pushed in a chair. Suddenly, they see Ben Weatherstaff's face appear above the garden wall. He is very angry to find them and starts screaming at Mary. When Ben spots Colin in the garden, he is extremely surprised. He had always thought he was a "cripple," and Colin firmly tells him he is not. In his anger, Colin remarkably stands up from his chair to everyone's shock. Ben responds in tears. Colin tells Ben that he must obey him and that now he must be in on the secret of the garden.

These chapters are marked by the expansion of Mary's secret as she opens up to new relationships with those around her. The garden is no longer her special spot alone but is now also in the hands of Dickon and Colin. In this way, we can really witness the way Mary has grown since the start of the novel, when she was in India. Mary has become a force for bringing people together, such as the way she introduces Dickon and Colin to much success. Yet the other side of Mary--her spoiled and angry nature--still comes out in certain moments, such as when she sees Colin at the peak of his tantrum. For a split second, Mary withholds her empathy, for in Colin's hysterics she can recognize her own past behavior, her sense of entitlement that ultimately made her quite lonely. Yet it is also Mary's own deep experience of being misunderstood and isolated from life that allows her to show much compassion for the upset boy. In a great moment of irony, Mary becomes the only one in the whole manor, amidst trained nurses and other adults, who can bring Colin out of his temper tantrum and talk some sense into him, making him realize that he is not the sick and disfigured person that he has been labeled as for his entire life. This is a major theme coursing through the story: sickness cannot be healed through more fear and more despair. We are shown how it is Colin's dwelling on the possibility of developing a humpback that launches him into an emotional outburst. This is the mistake of the manor staff and the doctor: instead of providing Colin with encouragement to get better, they constantly reinforce his illness to the point that it has become his sole identity. Even through the language of the characters we can see the derogatory attitude towards the sick and disabled in the way that Colin is constantly called an "invalid." This point is emphasized through the character of Dickon, who serves as a force of joy and light in what are often heavy circumstances. It is Dickon who points out to Mary that Colin's experience of not being wanted by his parents is "the worst thing on earth for a child." When Dickon hears about Colin's major tantrum, he is overcome with sadness for the boy and insists that they must bring Colin out in the garden so he can reconnect with nature and the happiness it can inspire. Mary and Dickon show much effort and dedication in executing the plan to bring Colin outside, which requires coordinating with the servants so they do not discover the children in the secret garden. The plan ends up being a great triumph, with Colin completely entranced and delighted by the magic of the beautiful spring weather and the diverse plants and animals that populate the gardens. In this way, the narrative emphasizes how it is the simple things in life--a blue sky, a nice sunset, fresh air--that can revive people so completely that they break away from patterns of sickness and apathy. Although Dr. Craven has warned Colin not to spend too much time outdoors, it is exactly this decision that makes Colin feel better, vowing to return to the garden every day, and even finding the strength to stand up from his wheelchair. Colin's newfound happiness is not something that can be suppressed or debated; even when Ben Weatherstaff catches the children in the garden, his initial anger changes into awe when he sees how enlivened Colin has become by his presence in the long-hidden space. The secret garden, once the site of a tragic occurrence, is transforming into a refuge for healing and reconnection with life, where those who have been steeped in defeat can reencounter the sensation that they will "live forever and ever and ever," as Colin declares. This is further symbolized in the way that the old dying tree, whose branch killed Mrs. Craven 10 years earlier, is now covered with vibrantly growing roses.