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“
I
’
ve
nothing
to
do
,
”
said
Mary
.
“
Nothing
belongs
to
me
.
I
found
it
myself
and
I
got
into
it
myself
.
I
was
only
just
like
the
robin
,
and
they
wouldn
’
t
take
it
from
the
robin
.
”
“
Where
is
it
?
”
asked
Dickon
in
a
dropped
voice
.
Mistress
Mary
got
up
from
the
log
at
once
.
She
knew
she
felt
contrary
again
,
and
obstinate
,
and
she
did
not
care
at
all
.
She
was
imperious
and
Indian
,
and
at
the
same
time
hot
and
sorrowful
.
“
Come
with
me
and
I
’
ll
show
you
,
”
she
said
.
She
led
him
round
the
laurel
path
and
to
the
walk
where
the
ivy
grew
so
thickly
.
Dickon
followed
her
with
a
queer
,
almost
pitying
,
look
on
his
face
.
He
felt
as
if
he
were
being
led
to
look
at
some
strange
bird
’
s
nest
and
must
move
softly
.
When
she
stepped
to
the
wall
and
lifted
the
hanging
ivy
he
started
.
There
was
a
door
and
Mary
pushed
it
slowly
open
and
they
passed
in
together
,
and
then
Mary
stood
and
waved
her
hand
round
defiantly
.
“
It
’
s
this
,
”
she
said
.
“
It
’
s
a
secret
garden
,
and
I
’
m
the
only
one
in
the
world
who
wants
it
to
be
alive
.
”
Dickon
looked
round
and
round
about
it
,
and
round
and
round
again
.
“
Eh
!
”
he
almost
whispered
,
“
it
is
a
queer
,
pretty
place
!
It
’
s
like
as
if
a
body
was
in
a
dream
.
”
For
two
or
three
minutes
he
stood
looking
round
him
,
while
Mary
watched
him
,
and
then
he
began
to
walk
about
softly
,
even
more
lightly
than
Mary
had
walked
the
first
time
she
had
found
herself
inside
the
four
walls
.
His
eyes
seemed
to
be
taking
in
everything
—
the
gray
trees
with
the
gray
creepers
climbing
over
them
and
hanging
from
their
branches
,
the
tangle
on
the
walls
and
among
the
grass
,
the
evergreen
alcoves
with
the
stone
seats
and
tall
flower
urns
standing
in
them
.
“
I
never
thought
I
’
d
see
this
place
,
”
he
said
at
last
,
in
a
whisper
.
