o 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 and I used to lie in my carriage
everybody used to stare and ladies would stop and talk to my nurse and
then they would begin to whisper and I knew then they were saying I
shouldn't live to grow up. Then sometimes the ladies