ou did that night," Mrs. Medlock said once.
"But there's no saying it's not been a sort of blessing to the lot of
us. He's not had a tantrum or a whining fit since you made friends. The
nurse was just going to give up the case because she was so sick of
him, but she says she doesn't mind staying now you've gone on duty with
her," laughing a little.

In her talks with Colin, Mary had tried to be very cautious about the
secret garden. There were certain things she wanted to find out from
him, but she felt that she must find them out without asking him direct
questions. In the first place, as she began to like to be with him, she
wanted to discover whether he was the kind of boy you could tell a
secret to. He was not in the least like Dickon, but he was evidently so
pleased with the idea of a garden no one knew anything about that she
thought perhaps he could be trusted. But she had not known him long
enough to be sure. The second thing she wanted to find out was this: If
he could be trusted--if he really could--wouldn't it be possible to take
him to the garden without having any one find it out? The grand doctor
had said that he must have fresh air and Colin had said that he would
not mind fresh air in a secret garden. Perhaps if he had a great deal of
fresh air and knew Dickon and the robin and saw things growing he might
not think so much about dying. Mary had seen herself in the glass
sometimes lately when she had realized that she looked quite a different
creature from the child she had seen when she arrived from India. This
child looked nicer. Even Martha had seen a change in her.

"Th' air from th' moor has done thee good already," she had said.
"Tha'rt not nigh so yeller and tha'rt not nigh so scrawny. Even tha'
hair doesn't slamp down on tha' head so flat. It's got some life in it
so as it sticks out a bit."

"It's like me," said Mary. "It's growing stronger and fatter. I'm sure
there's more of it."

"It looks it, for sure," said Martha, ruffling it up a little round her
face. "Tha'rt not half so ugly when it's that way an' there's a bit o'
red in tha' cheeks."

If gardens and fresh air had been good for her perhaps they would be
good for Colin. But then, if he hated people to look at him, perhaps he
would not like to see Dickon.

"Why does it make you angry when you are looked at?" she inquired one
day.

"I always hated it," he answered, "even when I was very little. Then
when they took me to the seaside