Mary knew she had to answer Colin's questions about the secret garden, but she didn't want to.
"Your father hated the garden. He locked the door," she said nervously.
"No one knew where he buried the key."
"What sort of garden is it?" Colin asked eagerly.
"No one has been allowed to go inside for ten years," Mary said carefully.
But it was too late to be careful. Colin was just like Mary.
He'd had nothing to think about for years.
So the idea of a hidden garden interested him, just as it had interested her.
He asked question after question. Where was it?
Had she looked for the door? Had she asked the gardeners?
"I think they've been told not to answer questions about it," said Mary.
"I would make them answer."
"You would?" Mary began to feel frightened.
If Colin could force people to answer, who knew what might happen!
"I told you that everyone must please me.
If I were to live, this place would someday belong to me. They all know that."
In the past people had said that Mary was spoiled.
She had never seen this in herself.
But now she could see it quite plainly in Colin.
He thought the whole world belonged to him.
How mysterious he was and how coolly he spoke about dying.
"Do you really think you're going to die?"
Mary was curious about this, but she also wanted to distract him from the garden.
"That's what people have been saying for a long time.
My doctor is my father's cousin. He's quite poor.
If I die, he'll have Misselthwaite Manor when my father is dead.
I don't think he wants me to live."
"Do you want to live?"
"No." Colin sounded tired and angry. "But I don't want to die.
When I'm ill, I lie here and think about dying until I cry."
"I've heard you crying three times."
"Let's talk about something else.
Let's talk about that garden. Don't you want to see it?"
"Yes," Mary said.
"I want the key dug up. I'm going to make the servants open the door.
I'll make them take me there in my wheelchair. And I will let you come too."
Mary clutched her hands tightly. Everything would be ruined—everything!
Dickon would never come back.
She would never again feel as safe as a bird on her nest.
"Oh, don't do that!" she cried.
Colin stared at her. "Why?"
"If you make them take you there, it'll never be a secret again.
You see, if no one knows but us, and if we could find the hidden door, we could slip through it together."
Mary's words came tumbling out.
"We could play there every day and pretend we're birds and it's our nest.
We could watch the flowers growing in the spring and see how many roses are alive.
Don't you see how much nicer it would be if it were a secret?"
There was an odd expression on his face. "I've never had a secret before."
"Perhaps I could find the door.
Then we could find some boy to take you out in your wheelchair."
"I wouldn't mind fresh air in a secret garden."
Colin suddenly looked pleased. "I'm going to show you something.
Do you see that curtain hanging above the fireplace? Open it."
Mary got up and pulled open the curtain.
Underneath was a painting of a beautiful woman.
"That's my mother. Sometimes I hate her for dying.
If she were alive, maybe I wouldn't always be sick.
And my father wouldn't hate to look at me. Draw the curtain again."
Mary noticed that Colin's large, dark eyes were just like his mother's.
She drew the curtain and sat down by the bed. "Why is the curtain closed?"
"I don't like to see her looking at me. She smiles too much when I'm sick.
Besides, she's mine, and I don't want everyone to see her."
They were quiet for a few moments.
"What would Mrs. Medlock do if she found out I was here?" asked Mary.
"She'd do as I say. And I'd tell her that I want you to come every day.
I'm glad you came."
"So am I."
"But for now I think I'll keep you a secret.
I'll tell Martha when I want you to come. Do you know Martha?"
Mary nodded. Now she understood Martha's troubled look when she asked about the crying.
"Martha takes care of me when my nurse has the night off.
She's sleeping in the next room right now." Colin yawned.
"You're tired. I think I'd better go."
"Oh, please don't go until I fall asleep."
Somehow Mary felt sorry for this strange boy.
So she sang softly until he fell asleep.
Then she picked up her candle and crept away.