The Secret Garden - Chapter 6 The Weeping That We Once Had

　　Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　The next day it was pouring rain again, and when Mary looked out the window, she saw that the wilderness was almost hidden in the gray mist. No one will go out tonight.

　　"What do you do in the farmhouse when it rains like this?" She asked Martha.

　　"The main thing is to find a way not to step on each other," Martha replied, "ah! At that time, we really seemed to have too many people

　　。 Mom was a good-tempered woman, but she was also worried. The oldest child would go out and play in the cowshed. Deacon is not too wet. He went out as if the sun were shining. He said that on rainy days he could see things he couldn't see on sunny days. Once he found a little fox cub, half-submerged in the hole, and he put it in his chest to warm up in his clothes and brought it back. Its mother was killed in a nearby place, the whole hole was flattened, and the other cubs were dead. Now he keeps it at home. Another time he found a cow that was drowning and brought it home to be domesticated. It was called soot because it was dark. It jumped and jumped around him all day. ”

　　Gradually, Mary had forgotten to hate Martha's clichés. She even began to find Martha's small talk amusing, and she felt sorry when Martha stopped and walked away. When she was in India, the story told by the wet nurse was very different from that told by Martha, whose story was a small farmhouse in the wilderness, and many people lived in a few small rooms, and there was never enough to eat. The children stumbled everywhere, like the cubs of the long-haired shepherds, rough, good-natured, and self-indulgent. The ones who attracted Mary the most were Mom and Deacon. Martha always sounds so comfortable talking about what "Mom" has said and done.

"If I had a crow, or a little fox, I could play with it," said Mary, "but I have nothing." ”

　　Martha looked confused.

　　"Do you knit something?" she asked.

　　"No." Mary replied.

　　"Do you sew things?"

　　"No."

　　"Do you read?"

　　"Yes."

　　"Then why don't you read a book, or learn to spell words?" You're old enough to read some books. ”

　　"I don't have books," said Mary, "and all my previous books have been left in India." ”

　　"It's a pity," said Martha, "if Mrs. Mordrock had let you into the study, there would have been thousands of books." ”

　　Mary didn't ask where the study was, because a new idea suddenly lit up her mind. She decided to find the study herself. Mrs. Moodlawk didn't give her any trouble. Mrs. Mordlock always seemed to be in her comfortable living room, which was reserved for the housekeeper, downstairs. This quirky place is often missing. In fact, there is no one but servants. In the absence of their masters, the servants enjoyed a life of luxury downstairs. Downstairs, there was an oddly large kitchen, surrounded by polished bronze and pewter utensils. There was also a spacious servants' hall where four or five sumptuous meals were eaten every day. When mrs. Mordlock did not stand in the way, there was often a jubilant joke there.

　　Mary's food was served on time, and Martha served her, but no one cared about her in the slightest. Every day or two, Mrs. Mordrock came to see her, but no one asked her what she had done, told her what she was going to do. She suspected that this way of treating children might be British. In India, the nurse always served her hand by foot, following her at all times and waiting for her orders. She was often annoyed by her wet nurse. Now that no one was following her, she was still learning to dress herself, because when she wanted Martha to hand her something and put it on for herself, Martha looked at her like a fool and a fool. Once, Martha stood waiting for her to put gloves on herself, "Don't you have your hands and feet?" She said, "Our family Susan Ann is only four years old, twice as smart as you." Sometimes it's hard to look at your brain. ”

　　Mary's anger hung for an hour, but it made her think about something completely new.

　　Martha swept the heather blanket one last time and went downstairs, where Mary stood at the window for ten minutes. She was contemplating the new idea that came to mind when she heard about the study. She didn't care much about the study itself, for she had read only a few books, but hearing the study reminded her of the hundred rooms that had been locked. She wondered curiously if they were really all locked, and if she could go in and have a random one, what would she find? Is there really a hundred? Why didn't she count how many she had? She couldn't go out this morning, so she had something to do. No one had taught her permission to do things, and she had no concept of "permission" at all, so she didn't feel the need to ask Mrs. Mordlock if she could walk around the house herself, even though she had seen her.

　　She opened the room door and walked down the hallway and began her wandering. The corridor was long, and the bifurcations connected to the other corridors, and one bifurcation led her up a small ascending step, which took another section. Door after door, painting after painting on the wall. Paintings are sometimes dark and mysterious landscapes, but most often portraits of men and women, dressed in quirky ornate costumes made of satin and velvet. Unconsciously, she came to a long gallery with such portraits hanging on the walls. She had never imagined that there were so many portraits in this house. She walked down slowly, staring at those faces, which seemed to stare at her as well. She felt like they were wondering what this little girl from India was doing in their house. Some of the portraits were of children—little girls wearing thick satin skirts with loose skirts that dragged to their feet and stood around them. The boys' sleeves were swollen, their ties were laceed, and they had long hair, or they would have a large wheel-like crumpled collar around their necks. She always stopped to look at the children, wondering what their names were, where they had gone, and why they were wearing these strange clothes. There was a little girl with a tense face and a monotonous face, quite like herself. She wore a green dress with brocade woven with floating flowers in filigree and a parrot at her fingers. Her eyes were sharp and curious.

　　"Where do you live now?" Mary said aloud to her, "I wish you were here." ”

　　The other little girls certainly hadn't had such a strange morning. This huge house was scattered everywhere, and it seemed to be empty inside, only the small shadow of her, walking up and down, through narrow aisles, wide aisles. Except for her, these aisles never seemed to have been walked. Since so many rooms had been built, someone must have lived there, but looking at all the empty, she couldn't believe that it was true.

　　It wasn't until she climbed up to the third floor that she remembered to twist the doorknob. All the doors were closed, as Mrs. Mordlock had said, but when she finally put her hand on one of the handles and turned them effortlessly, she pushed the door, and the door opened slowly and heavily on its own, and she was momentarily frightened. The doors are large and thick and lead to a large bedroom. There were embroidered hangings on the walls, and the room was littered with inlaid furniture, like she had seen in India. A wide window with stained leaded glass, facing the Murr below; On the mantelpiece was another portrait of the tight, monotonous little girl, who stared at her with more curious eyes than before.

　　"Maybe she slept here." Mary thought, "She's staring at me so that I don't feel comfortable." ”

　　Then she opened more and more doors. She saw many rooms and began to feel a little tired, thinking that there must be a hundred rooms here, although she had not counted them. All the rooms had old paintings, otherwise there were old tapestries with strange scenes woven on them. Almost all the rooms have exquisite furniture and exquisite decoration.

　　There was a room that looked like a lady's living room, all decorated with embroidered velvet, and in the closet there were about a hundred baby elephants made of ivory. Some vary in size, some with elephant herders or in palanquins. Some are much larger, some are as small as baby elephants. Mary had seen ivory carvings in India and knew everything about it. She opened the closet door and stood on a stepping stool and played for a long time. When she was tired, she put the elephant in turn and closed the closet door.

　　As she wandered through those long corridors and empty rooms, she didn't see anything alive, but in this room she did. As soon as she closed the closet door, she heard a crackling sound, and she jumped up and looked around at the couch near the stove, where the sound seemed to come from there. There was a pillow in the corner of the sofa, a hole in the velvet fabric, and a little head protruded from the hole, with a pair of frightened eyes.

　　Mary gently touched the room to see. The bright eyes belonged to a small gray rat, and the little gray mouse had already bitten a hole in the pillow and made a comfortable nest. Six little mice huddled together and slept next to her. If there is not a single living person in these hundred rooms, there are seven rats here, and there is no alone.

　　"If you hadn't been so scared, I'd have brought you back." Mary said.

　　She had been wandering long enough, so tired that she didn't want to wander anymore, so she walked back. Two or three times she got lost in the wrong corridor and was forced to scurry up and down until she found the right hallway, but finally she came to her own floor, and although she was still a little far from her own room, she did not know exactly where she was.

"I believe I've made another wrong turn," she thought, standing motionless at the end of a short aisle with tapestries on the wall, "I don't know where to go." How quiet everything is!"

　　At the moment when she stood there, just thinking about how quiet it was, the silence was broken. It was crying, but not much like what she had heard last night; This was only a short, anxious, childish cry of mourning, muffled and obscured as it passed through the wall.

　　"Closer than last time," Mary thought, her heart racing, "it's a cry. ”

　　She happened to put her hand on the tapestry next to her, and the tapestry immediately popped up, and she was taken aback. Behind the tapestry there is a door, which sinks backwards and opens to reveal another part of the corridor. Mrs. Mordrock was coming from there, her large string of keys in her hand, and a very unpleasant expression on her face.

　　"What are you doing here?" When she finished, she grabbed Mary's arm and left, "What did I tell you?"

　　"I made the wrong turn," Mary explained, "and I didn't know where to go, and then I heard someone crying." At this moment she hated Mrs. Mordlock, but she hated it even more in the next moment.

　　"You didn't hear that sound at all," said the butler, "and you're going back to your own toddler's room, or I'm going to slap you." ”

　　She grabbed her arm, half pushed and half pulled, up and down the numerous aisles, and finally pushed her into her room.

　　"Now," she said, "you stay where you are, or you will be locked up." The host family is better off doing what it says and finding you a tutor. You're a kid who wants someone to watch you. I have enough things. ”

　　She slammed the door shut as she went out. Mary went to the heather carpet and sat down, her face white with anger. Instead of crying, she gritted her teeth.

　　"Someone is crying — someone — someone!" She talked to herself.

　　Now that she had heard it twice, sooner or later she would figure it out. She had figured out a lot this morning. She felt as if she had been on a long journey, at least she had something to entertain herself. She had played with ivory elephants, and had seen gray mice and her babies nestled in velvet pillows.