that--that I have a garden of my own," she
stammered. "I--there is nothing for me to do. I have nothing--and no
one."

"Well," said Ben Weatherstaff slowly, as he watched her, "that's true.
Tha' hasn't."

He said it in such an odd way that Mary wondered if he was actually a
little sorry for her. She had never felt sorry for herself; she had
only felt tired and cross, because she disliked people and things so
much. But now the world seemed to be changing and getting nicer. If
no one found out about the secret garden, she should enjoy herself
always.

She stayed with him for ten or fifteen minutes longer and asked him as
many questions as she dared. He answered every one of them in his
queer grunting way and he did not seem really cross and did not pick up
his spade and leave her. He said something about roses just as she was
going away and it reminded her of the ones he had said he had been fond
of.

"Do you go and see those other roses now?" she asked.

"Not been this year. My rheumatics has made me too stiff in th'
joints."

He said it in his grumbling voice, and then quite suddenly he seemed to
get angry with her, though she did not see why he should.

"Now look here!" he said sharply. "Don't tha' ask so many questions.
Tha'rt th' worst wench for askin' questions I've ever come a cross.
Get thee gone an' play thee. I've done talkin' for today."

And he said it so crossly that she knew there was not the least use in
staying another minute. She went skipping slowly down the outside
walk, thinking him over and saying to herself that, queer as it was,
here was another person whom she liked in spite of his crossness. She
liked old Ben Weatherstaff. Yes, she did like him. She always wanted
to try to make him talk to her. Also she began to believe that he knew
everything in the world about flowers.

There was a laurel-hedged walk which curved round the secret garden and
ended at a gate which opened into a wood, in the park. She thought she
would slip round this walk and look into the wood and see if there were
any rabbits hopping about. She enjoyed the skipping very much and when
she reached the little gate she opened it and went through because she
heard a low, peculiar whistling sound and wanted to find out what it
was.

It was a very strange thing indeed. She quite caught her breath as she
stopped to look at it. A boy was sitting under a tree, with his back
against it, playing on a rough w