The Secret Garden - Chapter 5 The Cry in the Hallway

Frances Hodgson Burnett

In the beginning, for Mary Lennox, there was no difference between one day and another. Every morning, she woke up in her room with tapestries hanging and saw Mary kneeling in front of the fireplace and raising the fire; Every morning she ate her breakfast in the uninteresting toddler's room, and after each meal she gazed out the window at the vast wilderness that seemed to extend in every direction, climbing up into the sky, and when she stared at the wasteland for a moment, she realized that if she didn't go out, she would have nothing to do indoors—so she went out. She didn't know she had made the best choice. Little did she know that as she walked faster, even along the path leading to the main road, her slow blood stream was moving, and the wind blowing up from Mu'er was making her stronger. She ran just to keep warm, and she hated the prickly wind that roared and dragged her like an invisible giant. However, a large gush of fresh air gushing from the heather filled her lungs with something. This thing was good for her whole skinny body, stirring some red halo into her cheeks and making her godless eyes glow with nothing she knew.

　　But after spending a few days outdoors, she woke up one morning and knew what it meant to be hungry. She sat down for breakfast, no longer glancing disdainfully at her porridge and pushing it away, but picking up a spoon and eating it, and eating it until the bowl was empty.

　　"This morning's porridge is smooth to taste, isn't it?" Martha said.

　　"It tasted good today," mary said, feeling a little surprised.

　　"It is the air on the Mure that gives you an appetite," replied Martha, "and you are blessed, and you have an appetite and an appetite to eat." There were twelve of us in the house, and we had an appetite but nothing to feed them. You insist on going out and playing every day, and the bones will grow flesh, and it will not be so yellow. ”

　　"I didn't play," mary said, "I don't have something to play with. ”

　　"Nothing to play with!" Martha exclaimed, "Our children play with branches and stones. They just run around, shout, look at all kinds of things. Mary didn't shout, just looked at all sorts of things. There is nothing else to do. She circled the gardens one after another, wandering the paths in the courtyards. Sometimes she went to ji Yuanben, but the few times she saw him, he was too busy to dismiss her, or he was very obedient. Once she was walking toward him, he picked up the shovel and turned around, as if on purpose.

　　There was a place she visited more often. It was a long walkway outside the garden surrounded by walls. The walkway is flanked by exposed flower beds, and the walls are covered with dense ivy. There is one place on the wall where the spreading dark green leaves are thicker than elsewhere. It seems that this area has been ignored for a long time. Other places have been trimmed and neatly groomed, but the low end of the aisle has not been trimmed at all.

　　A few days after she had spoken to Ji Yuanben, Mary stopped to notice this and wondered why it was so. She stopped and looked up, watching a long plume of ivy swaying in the wind, when suddenly she saw a glimpse of bright red and heard a clear, short bird song—right there, on top of the wall, Ji Yuanben's red-breasted mockingbird, stopping there, leaning over her, with its little head tilted to the side.

　　"Oh!" She shouted out, "Is it you—is it you?" She didn't find it strange at all, and spoke to it herself, as if she were sure it would understand and would answer her.

　　It really answered. It was another gentle sound, another short cry, jumping around the wall, as if telling her all kinds of things. Miss Mary felt as if she understood him too, though it spoke not in words. As if it were saying:

　　"Good morning! Isn't that a good wind? Isn't that a good sun? Isn't everything okay? Let's chirp, jump, and chirp! Come on! Come on!"

　　Mary laughed, and it flew and jumped along the wall, and she ran after it. Poor skinny, ugly mary with a vegetable face—for a moment she looked good.

　　"I like you! I like you!" She shouted loudly and ran down the aisle; She chirped and tried to whistle. She doesn't whistle at all. But the robin seemed satisfied, chirping and whistling in response to her. Finally it spread its wings and flew to the top of a tree at once, stopping to sing loudly. This made Mary think about when she first saw it. That time it was swaying on top of a tree while she stood in the orchard. Now she was on the other side of the orchard, standing on the path outside the wall—a much lower wall, and inside was the same tree.

　　"This is the garden where no one is allowed to enter," she said to herself, "this is the garden without doors." It lives there. How nice it would be if I could see what's inside!"

　　She followed the path up to the green door she had entered the first morning. Then she ran along the path through another door into the orchard, where she stood and looked up and saw that on the other side of the wall was the tree, and the robin had just finished singing the song and began to comb its feathers with its beak.

　　"It's that garden," she said, "and I'm sure that's it." ”

She walked around, looking closely at the side of the orchard wall, but what she found was the same as before—there was no door on the wall. Then she ran through the vegetable garden again to the aisle outside the long wall covered with ivy, and she went to the end to check, but there was no door there. She walked to the other end again and looked again, but there was no door there.

　　"It's so strange," she said, "Ji Yuanben said there was no door, there really was no door." But there must have been a door ten years ago, because Mr. Cranvin had buried the key. ”

　　It was enough for her to think about it, and she began to feel very interested, thinking that it was a pity to come to The Midwell Manor. In India she always felt hot and tired enough not to care about anything. The reality was that the fresh air in the wilderness was already blowing away the cobwebs of this young mind, making her sober up a little.

　　She spent almost the whole day outdoors, and when she sat down for dinner, she felt hungry, dizzy and comfortable. When Martha was chatting, she didn't feel bad, and finally she thought she should ask Martha something. After dinner, she sat down on the heather blanket in front of the fire and asked.

　　"Why does Mr. Cranvin hate that garden?" She said.

　　She asked Martha to stay, and Martha didn't object in the slightest. Martha was young, accustomed to the farmhouse crowded with siblings, and felt that the servants' hall downstairs was dull. The porters and high maids in the hall teased her Yorkshire accent and saw her as an insignificant little fellow, and they sat there in groups whispering to themselves. Martha loves to chat, a quirky kid who lived in India and was served by "blacks", legendary enough to attract Martha.

　　She didn't wait for anyone to please, and sat down on the heather carpet herself.

　　"Are you thinking about that garden?" She said, "I knew you would." It was the same when I first heard about it. ”

　　"Why does he hate it?" Mary asked.

　　Martha folded her feet under her to make herself sit more comfortably.

　　"Listen to the howling of the wind around the house," she said, "and if you are outside tonight, Mul will not be able to stand steadily." ”

　　Mary didn't understand what "whining" meant until she went to listen, and then she didn't understand. It must have referred to the hollow, trembling roar that ran wildly around the house as if an invisible giant were slamming into walls and windows, trying to break in. But people know that it can't come in, and somehow this makes the people in the house feel very safe and warm in front of the red charcoal fire.

　　"But why does he hate it so much?" She listened to the wind and asked. She was going to see if Martha knew.

　　So Martha gave up her intelligence inventory.

　　"Seriously," she said, "Mrs. Mordlock said it couldn't be said. There are many things that cannot be said about this place. It was Mr. Crane's order. He said his troubles had nothing to do with any servant. But if it weren't for that garden, he wouldn't be like this. It turned out to be Mrs. Cranvin's garden, which she had made when they were first married. She loved that garden so much. They take care of the flowers and plants inside themselves. Not a single gardener has ever gone in. He and she used to go in and close the door, and stayed inside for hours, reading and talking. She was a little girl, there was an old tree, and a curved trunk looked like a seat. She let the roses grow all over the trunk, and she often sat there. But one day when she was sitting on it, the trunk of the tree broke, and she fell down, hurt very badly, and died the next day. The doctor thought Mr. Cranvin would go crazy and then he would die. That's why he hated that garden. No one has been in since then, and he doesn't allow anyone to mention it. ”

　　Mary asked any more. She looked at the red fire and listened to the wind "whine." It sounds like it doesn't have to be said that "whining" is louder than before. At that moment, something good was happening to her. In fact, since she came to Misser West Manor, several good things have happened to her. She felt that she understood the robin, and the robin understood her; She runs in the wind until the blood gets hot; For the first time in her life she felt healthy and hungry; Finally, she learned what it was to sympathize with a person.

　　However, as she listened to the wind, she gradually began to listen to other sounds. She didn't know what it was, because at first she could barely distinguish it from the sound of the wind. It was a strange sound—it sounded almost like a child crying somewhere. Sometimes the sound of the wind was very much like the cry of a child, but at this time Miss Mary was quite sure that the sound was in the house, not outside the house. Far away, but inside. She turned to look at Martha.

　　"Can you hear someone crying?" she asked.

　　Martha was suddenly confused.

　　"No," she replied, "that's the wind. Sometimes it sounds like someone is getting lost in the wilderness and crying. Wind can make all kinds of sounds. ”

　　"But you listen," said Mary, "it's inside the house—at the end of which long corridor." ”

　　At that moment, the door of the downstairs must have opened, because a fierce wind through the hall came along the aisle, and the door of their room was slammed open. They both jumped up, the lights were blown out, and the cries swept through the corridors in the distance, more clearly heard than ever.

　　"There!" Mary said, "I told you!" It was someone crying—and not an adult. ”

　　Martha ran to close the door and twist the key, but before she could close it, both of them heard the door of the far aisle slammed, and then everything fell silent, because even the wind stopped for a while without "whining."

　　"It's the wind," Martha said stubbornly, "if it's not the wind, it's little Betty." Butterworth, the handmaiden servant who washes the dishes. She had a toothache today. ”

　　But there was something worried and awkward in her look that made Miss Mary stare at her hard. She didn't believe Martha was telling the truth.