Secret Garden - Deacon

Frances Hodgson Burnett

The sun had been shining in the secret garden for a week. The Secret Garden was Mary's name when she remembered it. She liked the name, and she liked the feeling even more: the beautiful old wall that surrounded her, and no one knew where she was. It's like being locked up in an isolated fairy tale world. Several of the books she had read were fairy tales, and in some of them she had read about the secret garden. Sometimes people go inside and sleep for a hundred years, and she thinks it's really stupid. She was sleepless, in fact, she was getting more awake day by day at The Midwest Estate. She gradually loved to be outdoors, and she no longer hated the wind, but enjoyed it. She ran faster than before, farther away, and could jump a hundred ropes. The bulbs in the secret garden must have been very consternationful. There is such a clean open space around them,

　　They had all the breathing space they wanted, and really, if Mary could know, they were getting more excited in the dark soil and working energetically. The sun can shine on them, warm them, and when the rain falls, it can reach them directly, so they gradually feel very alive.

Mary was a strange, determined little person, and now that there were things that interested her with determination, she was really attracted to it. She worked, dug, pulled out weeds vigorously, only to be more and more pleased with her work, rather than feeling tired. It was a kind of enchanting play for her. She noticed more gray-green dots coming out of her, which she had never expected to spot. They seemed to spring up everywhere, and every day she was sure that she had found new little dots, some small enough to barely reach out of the dirt to peek. So much, she remembered what Martha said about "thousands of snowflakes," and how the bulbs extended to sow new ones. These bulbs have been abandoned for a decade, and perhaps they have spread — like snowflake lotuses — in the thousands. She wondered how long it would take for them to show herself as a flower. Sometimes she stopped digging and looked at the garden, trying to imagine what it would be like, covered with thousands of cute things blooming and covering.

　　In the sunshine of that week, she and Ji Yuanben became intimate. Several times she popped up from him, as if she had come out of the ground. The reality was that she was afraid that when he saw her coming, she would pick up his tools and walk away, so she always walked toward him as quietly as possible. However, in fact, he no longer resented her as much as Kaichu. Maybe she obviously wanted him as an old man's companion and secretly pleased him. In addition, she is also more civilized than before. He did not know that she had seen him for the first time and had spoken to him in the manner of an Indian native, that a twisted, determined Yorkshire man was unaware of the custom of hand-bowing to his master, of accepting orders to do things.

　　"You are like a robin," he said to her one morning when he looked up and saw her standing beside her, "I never knew when I would see you or where you would come from. ”

　　"It's my friend now." Mary said.

　　"It's like it," Ji Yuanben snapped, "flattering women, vanity and frivolity." In order to show the hair on the tail, it did not refuse to dry. It fills pride, like an egg fills the flesh. ”

　　He never spoke much, sometimes did not even answer Mary's questions, but only muttered, but this morning he said more than usual. He stood up, rested one of his spiked boots on the shovel, and looked at her closely.

　　"How long have you been here?" He rushed out a sentence.

　　"I think it's about a month." She answered.

　　"You're starting to bring a good name to Miserwest," he said, "and you're a little fatter than you were when you first came, and you're not so yellow." You're like a plucked crow when you first enter this garden. I said in my heart that I had never seen an uglier, more sour baby's face in my eyes. ”

　　Mary was not vain, for she never thought much about her appearance, and she did not feel much unbalanced.

　　"I know I'm fat," she said, "my socks are getting tighter." The past is wrinkled. The robin is coming, Ji Yuanben. ”

　　Over there, it was really a robin, and she thought it was prettier than ever. Its red vest was smooth as satin, and it toyed with its wings and tail, tilted its head, jumped around, and made all kinds of lively and elegant gestures. It seems determined to make Ji Yuanben admire. But the old season was indifferent.

　　"Of course, it's your art!" He said, "There is no better person, and you can still take me for a while." You've been redning your vests and combing your feathers for the last two weeks. I know what you're going to do. You are currying favor with the brash young lady, fooling her about what she is the number one exquisite kondo on Misermuel, ready to fight with all the kondo. ”

　　"Oh! Look at it!" Mary exclaimed.

　　The robin is clearly in the mood to charm and take bold adventures. It jumped closer and closer, looking more and more intently at Ji Yuanben. It flew up the nearest donggyard bush, tilted its head, and sang a song directly at him.

　　"You think you'll make me count it out if you do this," said Old Ji, frowning, and Mary felt that he must have tried not to show pleasure. "No one else else is going to stand up against you — that's what you think."

　　The robin spread its wings—Mary couldn't believe her eyes. It flew up to ji Yuanben's shovel handle and stopped at the top. The old man's face then slowly wrinkled into another expression. He stood motionless, as if he did not dare to breathe—as if to give him the whole world, and he would not move slightly, lest his robin suddenly fly away. He was completely whispering.

　　"Well, I'm cursed!" He spoke so softly, as if he were saying something very different. "You do know how to buy people—you know! You don't look like a human being, you know things too well. ”

　　He stood motionless—barely inhaling—until the robin played with its wings and flew away. Then he stood and looked at the shovel handle as if there was magic in it, and then he began to dig the ground again, without speaking for a few minutes.

　　But he kept grinning slowly, so Mary wasn't afraid to speak to him.

　　"Do you have your own garden?" she asked.

　　"Nothing. I was single and lived with Martin at the gates. ”

　　"If you had one," said Mary, "what would you plant?"

　　"Cabbage, potatoes, onions."

　　"But if you want to plant a garden," asked Mary, "what would you plant?"

　　"Bulbs and good smelling stuff — but mostly roses."

　　Mary's face lit up.

　　"Do you like roses?" She said.

　　Ji Yuanben uprooted a weed and threw it aside before answering.

　　"Well, yes, I like it. Taught by a young lady, I was her gardener. She had a lot there, she doted on them, she loved them like children—not like the Achilles. I've seen her bend over and kiss the rose. "He slowly pulled out another weed and frowned at it." That's been ten years. ”

　　"Where is she now?" Mary asked with great interest.

　　"Heaven," he replied, pushing the shovel deep into the soil, "according to man." ”

　　"What happened to the rose?" Mary asked again, more interested.

　　"They stay with themselves."

　　Mary became quite agitated.

　　"Are they all dead?" Will Rose die if she stays by herself?" She took a risk.

　　"Well, I used to like them a lot—I liked her—she liked them," Ji Yuanben reluctantly admitted, "once or twice a year, I do a little—pruning, loosening the soil around the roots." They grew crazy, but they were planted in the fertile soil, so some survived. ”

　　"They have no leaves, they're gray and brown and dry, how do you know if they're dead or alive?" Mary inquired.

　　"Wait for spring to come to them — wait for the sun to shine in the rain, the rain to fall into the sun, and then you'll know."

"How to do it — how to do it?" Mary shouted, forgetting to be careful.

　　"Look at the twigs and branches, and if you see a little brown bag bulging everywhere, come back after the spring rains and see what happens." He stopped abruptly and looked at her eager face curiously, "Why are you so concerned about roses or something, all of a sudden?" He asked for an answer.

　　Miss Mary felt her face flush. She was almost afraid to answer.

　　"I—I want to play with that—that I have a garden of my own," she stammered, "and I—I have nothing to do here." I have nothing — no one. ”

　　"Well," Ji Yuanben said slowly, while glaring at her, "that's true. You don't. ”

　　He said in a strange tone that Mary wondered if he had actually pitied her a little. She never pitied herself, she was just tired and unhappy, because she hated people and things so much. But now the world seems to be changing, getting better. If no one had discovered the secret garden, she would have been enjoying herself.

　　She stayed with him for another ten or fifteen minutes, asking all the questions she dared to ask. He answered all the questions, with his odd muttering, which he didn't seem really unhappy with, and didn't pick up the shovel and leave her. Just as she was leaving, he said something about roses, reminding her of the roses he had once loved.

　　"Are you going to see those roses?" she asked.

　　"Not this year. My rheumatism made my joints stiff and unbearable. ”

　　He muttered in a voice, very abruptly, and he seemed to be furious with Mary, though she couldn't see why he wanted to.

　　"Listen!" He said sternly, "You ask so much less. I've come across dolls who have the most problems counting you. Go away and play. Enough is enough with you today. ”

　　His tone was very unpleasant, and she knew there was no need to stay any longer. She walked slowly along the outer walkway, pondering him repeatedly, saying to herself, strangely enough, that there was another person in him that she liked, no matter how well-behaved he was. She likes the old Ji Yuanben. Yes, she did like him. She always tried to get him to talk to herself. And she began to believe that he knew everything about flowers and plants in the world.

　　Outside the secret garden winds around a path with a laurel fence, ending in a door that leads to a grove of trees on the commons. She thought maybe she could sneak along the trail to see if there were any rabbits bouncing around in the woods. She enjoyed the skipping rope, and when she came to the little door, she opened it and walked through it, because she heard a low, strange whistle and tried to find out what it was. That's really a weird thing. When she stopped to look, she almost stopped breathing. A boy sat under a tree, his back against the tree, blowing a rough wooden flute. He was a happy-looking boy, about twelve years old. He looked clean, his nose cocked, his face as deep red as a poppy. Miss Mary had never seen such round, blue eyes on a boy's face. On the trunk of the tree he was leaning against, he was clinging to a brown squirrel and observing him, and behind the bushes nearby, a rooster was gracefully stretching its neck to look out, and very close to him were two rabbits sitting up, their noses twitching and inhaling—they were all drawn closer to him, listening to the strange whispering call of his flute.

　　When he saw Mary, he held out his hand and spoke to her, his voice almost as low as his flute.

　　"Don't move," he said, "it will scare them away." ”

　　Mary remained motionless. He stopped playing the flute and got up from the ground. He moved so slowly that he couldn't see that he was moving, but finally he stood up, and then the squirrels swooped into the branches above, the pheasant retracted its head, and the rabbit landed on all fours and jumped away, but they did not look afraid at all.

　　"I'm Deacon." The boy said, "I know you're Miss Mary." ”

　　Then Mary realized that somehow she had already known he was Deacon at first. Who can confuse rabbits and pheasants like the indigenous indian snakes? He had a wide, curved red mouth, and his smile spread all over his face.

　　"I slowly got up," he explained, "because if you make a quick move, you'll startle them." There are wild animals around, the body should move slowly, and the speech should be low. ”

　　He spoke to her not like they had never met before, but like he knew her well. Mary didn't understand boys at all, and she spoke to him a little stiffly, because she felt shy.

　　"Did you receive Martha's letter?" she asked.

　　He nodded his reddish-brown curls, "That's why I came." ”

　　He stopped to pick up what was on the ground, and placed it beside him as he played the flute.

　　"I brought gardening tools. This has a small shovel, rake, fork and hoe. yes! It's all good. And a mud knife. When I bought the other seeds, the woman in the shop gave me a packet of white poppies and a packet of blue flying swallow grass. ”

　　"Can you show me the seeds?" Mary said.

　　She wished she could speak like he did. He spoke quickly and easily. It sounded as if he liked her and was not at all worried that she would dislike him, even though he was just an ordinary Shepherd boy, dressed in patched clothes, with a funny face and a rough brown head.

　　"Let's sit on this round head and look at the flower seeds." She said.

　　They sat down, and he took out a bulky little kraft paper pocket from his coat pocket. He untied the rope, and inside were many neat little bags, each with a figure of a flower on it.

　　"There are a lot of wood rhinos and poppies," he said, "and wood rhinos are the most fragrant of all the things that can grow, and it will grow wherever you sprinkle them, just like poppies can grow." As long as you whistle at them, they can blossom and they look great. ”

　　He stopped and quickly turned around, his poppy-like crimson face lit up.

　　"Where are the robins that call us?" He said.

　　The short cry came from the holly bushes, the scarlet berries bright, and Mary thought she knew who it was.

　　"Is it really calling us?" she asked.

　　"Oh yes," said Deacon, as if it were the most common thing in the world, "which friend it is calling it." It's like saying, 'I'm here.' Look at me. I want to talk. It's in the bushes. Who is it?"

　　"It's Ji Yuanben's, but I think it knows a little bit about me." Mary replied.

　　"Oh yes, it knows you," Deacon whispered again, "and it likes you." It has made you its own. It will tell me everything about you in no time. ”

　　It moved close to the bush, moving slowly, as Mary had noticed earlier, and then it made a sound, almost like the mockingbird's own chirp. The robin listened attentively for a few seconds, then responded as if it were answering a question.

　　"Oh yes, it's your friend." Deacon chuckled softly.

　　"What do you think it is?" Mary cried eagerly. She really wanted to know. "Do you think it really likes me?"

　　"If it doesn't like you, it won't come near you," replied Deacon, "and birds are picky, and robins are more powerful than humans when they despise a man." Lo and behold, it's currying favor with you. 'Didn't you see a guy?' He was talking. ”

It seems that this must be true. It was jumping on the bushes, walking sideways in one way or another, whimpering, tilting its head,

　　"Do you understand everything the bird says?" Mary said.

　　Deacon's smile spread across his face until all he had left was a wide, crooked red mouth, and he rubbed his rough head.

　　"I think I know, they think I know," he said, "I've been with them on the Shepherd for so long. I've seen them break out of their shells, grow their hair, learn to fly, and start singing until I feel like I'm one of them too. Sometimes I feel like I might be a bird, a fox, a rabbit, a squirrel, or even a beetle, but I just don't know it. ”

　　He laughed, returned to the log, and began to speak of flower seeds again. He told her what they looked like when they bloomed, how to plant them, how to take care of them, how to fatten them and water them.

　　"You see," he said suddenly, "I can plant these flowers for you myself." Where is the garden?"

　　Mary's slender hands clung together in her thighs. She didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything for a whole minute. She never thought of this. She felt unlucky. She felt her face turn red and white.

　　"You have a little garden, don't you?" Deacon said.

　　She did turn red and white. Deacon watched her change like this, and she still didn't say a word, and he began to be confused.

　　"They won't give you a little?" He asked, "Haven't you got it yet?"

　　She squeezed her hand tighter and turned her eyes to him.

　　"I don't understand boys at all," she said slowly, "can you keep a secret, if I tell you?" It's a big secret. If someone finds out, I don't know what to do. I'm sure I'm going to die!" She said the last sentence very fiercely.

　　Deacon was even more confused, rubbing his entire rough head again with his hand, but he replied with a good temper.

　　"I've kept secrets," he said, "if I can't keep secrets from the other brothers, the secrets of the fox cubs, the nests of the birds, the holes of the wild animals, the safety of the shepherds is equal to zero." Heck, I can keep it a secret. ”

　　Miss Mary didn't want that, but she did reach out and grab his sleeve.

　　"I stole a garden," she said quickly, "and it's not mine. It's not anyone's. Nobody wants it, nobody cares about it, nobody even goes in. Maybe everything inside is dead. I do not know. ”

　　She gradually felt hot, and felt that her heart was as obedient as it had once been.

　　"I don't care, I don't care! No one can take it away from me, I care about it, they don't. They let it die and let it lock itself up. She finished speaking with rage, threw her hands in her face, and cried loudly—poor little Miss Mary.

　　Deacon's curious blue eyes grew rounder and rounder.

　　"Ah-ah-ah!" He said, slowly dragging out an exclamation, expressing both surprise and sympathy.

　　"I have nothing to do," said Mary, "I have nothing." I discovered it myself, I got into it myself. I'm just like the robin, they're not going to take the garden away from the robin. ”

　　"Where is it?" Deacon said in a low voice.

　　Miss Mary stood up from the log at once. She knew she was being obedient again, and stubborn, and she didn't care. She was arrogant, Indian, and at the same time angry and sad.

　　"Come with me and I'll show you." She said.

　　She led him around the laurel path to the ivy-thick walkway. Deacon followed her, with a strange expression of near pity on his face. He felt that he had been led to see the nest of a strange bird and had to move gently. As she stepped against the wall and lifted the hanging ivy, he was shocked. There was a door there, and Mary slowly pushed it open, and they entered together, and then Mary stood up and waved her hands defiantly.

　　"This is it." "It's a secret garden, and I'm the only person in the world who wants to keep it alive," she said. ”

　　Deacon looked around at it again and again.

　　"Ah!" He almost whispered, "This is a strange and beautiful place!" It was as if a man was dreaming. ”