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Frankenstein İngilizce Kitap Özeti

Frankenstein

Henri Clerval who was born in the city of Geneva in 1775,was a good man . He wanted to go to the university .His best friend’s name was Victor Frankenstein .The Frankenstien’s family were a rich merchant and lived in Geneva .They were Swiss .Frankenstein had a sister.Her name was Elizabeth and Victor’s parents brang her from Italy at farm .Her father died when she was born .Victor worried about natural secrets .he thought there were a lot of secret in the deep of water of the lake ,on the glacier and in the things.
One day Henri and Victor Frankenstein were visiting when the thunder storm broke a line of fruit tree. Suddenly They blinded and were unable to horror .then they were able to see and hear again .They saw the first thing a remains of a tree black and smoking .That Henri thought that an idea lightened in Victor’s mind.Several times later Victor decided to go to the university at seventeen years in German .His father Dr. Krempe taught at the University of Ingolstadt .Henry wanted to go to the there but Henri’s father didn’t want . Victor’s mother was very ill then she called Elizabeth and Victor .She wanted to marry them .Henri and the Frankenstein’s family hadn’t been seeing Victor for two years.Then Henri went to Ingolstadt .Victor’s letter stopped completely about September of the following year .Victor had indeed left the university and he was following some studies of his experiment. Dr. Krempe wanted Henri to go to the university to find Victor.Krempe paid for his studies . Henri left Geneva late afternoon .He went to Ingolstadt by many vehicles .After he arrived the city ,he started to seek Victor .Several times later Henri Found Victor’s house .Henri knocked the door .Then Victor opened it but he was changed. He was very different

.His face was old with wild eyes .Henri got into the house there was disgusting smell in it. Henri and Victor went down a long ,dark passage .A bed stood on the floor and there was a table near the window.The evening shone with diffucty through the dirty windows.Victor did some experiment about alive and death.He tought that,a person alike a clock .If a clock shoked it to work again.If a person died ,you would shaked it with lightining to live again.Victor took away Henri a room.It was dark and scary. There was a smell rotten meat in the room.There were a lot of copper ,glaspipes and a kind of basin in the middel of the room.Henri looked into basin but at first he didn’t see anythings .Then he saw some hair and a shadow .Secondly he understood a death man in it so he was afraid.He thought Victor was a madman .Henri thought The man who was adeath in the basin was more than two metres tall lang ,golde hair .

After this shocking times,Victor wanted some help to Henri about to do this experiment and Henri accepted.Victor used lightning for enliven the death .They finished all preparation .Only They had to fly the kite . There was a big windw on the work-room’s wall.A minute later they flied the kite far and far.Then the lightning had hit the work-room.Henri and Victor lay onthe floor.All things was broken and the basin was ,too…..the death man lay on the floor .Victor thought was the experiment failed and his hopes was the end . They felth tired so they decided to go to bed .In the morning Henri woke up and saw a shadow at the door then he saw a monster a bit.It wasn’t perfect man as they thought his face was ugly but on the other hand It was very strange and very tall.His arms long in front of him .Henri couldn’t say anythings because he was terribly worried .

ThenVictor woke up and he saw the monster ,too. He stare at the monster .Henri thought the monster wasn’t a wild man because he didn’t attack them.Suddenly Victor rebeled and walked near it. Victor became irriteated because the monster wasn’t beuaty and perfect man for him.Victor ran after it.He didn’t accept to make it.He went back his house in geneva .Henri didn’t go with him.Because he didn’t finish his duty .He had to find the monster . But there weren’t news about it. One day Henri heard a new .There was a monster in the forest so he went to see it.The monster wasn’t a bad man .It was tiding some food for a blind and old man.Later he went again the forest but It wasn’t there.

Henri arrived in Geneva ,there was a hanging .Geneva’s person was there to see the Justine’s die .Henri didn’t know why Justine was hanged .Then he saw The Frankenstein’s family was there and he went near them and talked .Then he learned that Justine killed William but it wasn’t true.After Several times Henri learned How William was killed .The monster strangled him.After this event Victor decided to destroy the monster .There was a new in the city that “A monster had been seen at Mant Blonc” so Victor and Henri went there .They saw it on a glacier .They talked with it .They learned that the monster wanted to marry as ugly a woman as it self.It would believe to be happy If It married a woman .Victor accepted to make a woman for it.After that day he started to create another monster.Some days later the monster came Victor’s house and climped up Elizabeth’s room .

Elizabeth had gone to for a minute so she still didn’t slept.She saw a shadow at the window then she saw the monster and shouted .Henry and Victor came her room but no body at the window . Victor undrestood that It was monster.Victor a mounted a guards for Elizabeth .Victor looked for a body for an other monster but the policeman caught him so he went to prison .His father tried to extracty him from the prison .Then Victor was extracted . One day when Elizabeth and Victor were in thier hut .

The monster came there and destroyed all things in the hut and kidnaped Elizabeth.Henri and Victor looked for every where to find him ,they couldn’t find her.The monster postponed a piece colth for them to fin itself.Then they found iy on the edge of the cliff.It was carrying Elizabeth .Victor and Henri climped up for save her .They climbed uo edge of the cliff and Victor wanted to kill the monster with a knife.The monster took the knife on Victor’s hand .Suddenly alight flashed and a great noise.The monster and Henri died.Ther were ashes and charcoal everwhere . Henri saved Elizabeth .They went back their house and .

Old Frankenstein gave Elizabeth to Henri .They got married .Their first son given the name of Vİcto

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Beyaz Gemi – Cengiz Aytmatov

beyaz gemi-Cengiz Aytmatov


ROMANIN KONUSU:
Roman, San-Taş Vadisi’nde etrafındaki beş-altı insanla yaşamak zorunda olan, dedesinden başka seveni olmayan, gerçek hayatında mutsuz olan fakat hayal dünyasında mutlu olmaya çalışan bir çocuğun psikolojisini konu almakyadır.
ROMANIN ÖZETİ:

Çocuk San-Yaş Vadisi’nde dedesi, üvey ninesi, Orozkul, Bekey hala, Seydahmet, Gülcemal ve köpeği Beltek ile berabar yaşamaktadır. Vadide sadece üç ev vardır. İlk evde dedesi ve üvey ninesi ile çocuk;ikincide Mümin dedenin büyük kızı Bekey hala ile kocası korucubaşı Orozkul; üçüncüde ise tembel işçi Seydahmet ile karısı Gülcemal ve küçük kızları yaşamaktadırlar.Çocuk bu küçük dünyada mutlu olmaya çalışmaktadır. Hiç arkadaşı yoktur ve okula henüz başlamamıştır. En büyük zevkleri dedesinin kendisine dere kıyısında yaptığı gölette yüzmek; “Deve, Kurt, Eyer ve Tank” isimlerini verdiği kayalarıyla konuşmak; dedesinden masal dinlemek ve dağa çıkıp dedesinin dürbünüyle kasabaya, Isık Göl’e ve San-Taş Vadisi’ne daha yakından bakmaktır. Her akşam eline dürbününü alıp, dağ başına çıkar ve Isık Göl’de ancak beş-altı dakika görünüp kaybolan beyaz gemiye bakar.
Annesi ve babası onu çok küçük yaşlarda terketmişlerdir. Annesi şehirde kendine yeni bir yaşam kurmuştur. Çocuk babsının beyaz geminin kaptanı olduğuna, bir gün başı insan başı olan bir balık olup beyaz gemiye kadar yüzeceğine ve babasıyla konuşacağına inanmaktadır. Dedesi çok iyi kalpli, çalışkan,köse bir insandır. Çevresindekiler ona Kıvrak Mümin lakabını takmışlardır. Damadı Orozkul’un yanında çalışır ve onun emirlerini yerine getirir. Orozkul şişman, koca kafalı içki içmeyi çok seven, çabuk sinirlenen bir korucubaşıdır. Mümin’in kızı ve Orozkul’un karısı olan Bekey kısır bir kadındır. Orozkul bunu Bekey’in suçu olarak bilir ve her akşam içip onu döver. Orozkul arada bir arkadaşlarıyla içmeye gider ve sarhoş olunca yanındakilere birer tomruk sözü verir. Tomruğu kesip dağdan indirme, çayın karşısına geçirme ve kamyona yükleme zamanı gelince de verdiği söze pişman olur ama iş işten geçmiştir. Arada bir vadiye şehirden “Maşin Mağaza” denilen içi ıvır zıvır dolu bir araba gelir. Bir gün yine Maşin Mağaza geldiğinde dedesi çocuğa bir okul çantası alır. Ertesi yıl çocuk okula başlar. Çocuk dedesinden masal dinlemeye bayılır. Her akşam artık ezberlediği “Boynuzlu Maral Ana” masalını dinler . Dedesine göre hepsi Boynuzlu Maral Ana’nın soyundan gelmektedirler. Çocuk da buna inanmaktadır. Masala göre maral ana San-Taş Vadisi’ni terketmiştir ama onları sürekli korumaktadır. Mümin çocuğu her gün atıyla okula göyürüp getirmektedir. Okul çok uzaktadır ama hiç geç kalmamıştır.
Çocuk bir gün yol kenarındaki kayalarıyla oynarken San-Taş yakınlarından kuru ot almaya gelen beş-altı kamyonluk bir konvoy görmüştür. Çocuk en öndeki kamyonun peşine takılıp koşmaya başlar. Çocuğu gören şoför durur ve çocukla biraz konuşur. Şoför genç ve yakışıklı biridir. Adı Kulubeg’dir. Çocuğa dedesini tanıdığını, kendisinin de Boynuzlu Maral Ana’nın soyundan geldiğini söyler ve ayrılır.
Ertesi gün Mümin dede ile Orozkul yine dağdan bir ağaç indirirler. Bu sırada uzun zamandan beri ormanda görülmeyen maralları görürler fakat işleri olduğundan onlarla ilgilenemezler. Akşam olmuştur. Dede, Orozkul’a söyleyip çocuğu okuldan almaya gitmek ister fakat Orozkul ağacı indirmeleri gerektiğini söyleyip izin vermez. Tomruğu çaydan geçirirlerken tomruk çayda kayalara takılır. Çıkarmak için çok uğraşırlar ama çıkaramazlar. Dede vaktin çok ilerlediğini farkeder, daha fazla dayanamaz ve daha önce hiç yapmadığı bir şey yapıp Orozkul’dan izin almadan çocuğu almaya gider. Çocuk akşama kadar okulun kapısında dedesini beklemiş ve ağlamaktan gözleri şişmiştir. Dede yolda çocukla öğretmenine rastlar. Çocuğu öğretmeni eve getirmektedir. Dede öğretmenden özür dileyip çocuğu alır ve yola koyulurlar. Çocuk dedesine küsmüştür. Hiç konuşmamaktadır. Dede çocuğun gönlünü almak için Boynuzlu Maral Ana’yı gördüğünü söyler. Çocuk bu habere çok sevinir. Dedesine ormana gitmek için yalvarır fakat akşam olduğu için eve dönerler. Eve geldiklerinde Orozkul’u sabahki olaydan dolayı çok sinirlenmiş bulurlar. Orozkul o gün Bekey halayı yine dövmüştür. Çocuk evin bu durumuna çok üzülür ve yatmaya gider.
O gece müthiş bir dipi çıkar. Gece yarısı Kulubeg ve arkadaşları yolda kaldıkları için Mümin dedenin evine sığınırlar. Kulubeg ve arkadaşlarının gelmesiyle evdeki hava biraz yumuşar. Sabah kamyoncular evden ayrılırlar. Aynı gün Orozkul’un tomruk sözü verdiği arkadaşı tomruğu almak için gelir. Adı Koketay’dır. İri yapılı, esmer biridir. Tomruk ise hala önceki gün bıraktılları yerde çayın içinde beklemektedir. Tomruğu almak için Orozkul, Koketay ve Seydahmet yola koyulurlar. Dede de Orozkul’un kendini affedeceği düşüncesiyle peşlerine takılır. Orozkul kıyıda emirler yağdırırken Mümin dede, Seydahmet ve Koketay tomruğu çıkarmaya çalışmaktadırlar. O sırada çayın karşısında birkaç tane maral görürler ama işlerini bırakamayacaklarından marallarla ilgilenemezler. Biraz uğraştıktan sonra tomruğu çıkarıp kamyona yüklerler.
Çocuk o gün hastadır ve önceki gün akşamdan beri evde yatmaktadır. Akşam üzeri kahkaha sesleriyle uyanır ve bahçeye çıkar . Herkes neşe içindedir ve hepsi de sarhoştur. Dede ise et dolu bir kazanın yanına çökmüş sessizce kazanın altındaki ateşle oynamaktadır. Çocuk hemen dedesinin yanına gider. Ona seslenir fakat dede duymaz. Birkaç defa daha seslenir fakat dede hiç cevap vermez. Çocuk kötü birşeyler olduğu hissine kapılır. Az ilerde Bekey’i, Seydahmet’i,Gülcemal’i ve Koketay’ı görür. Hepsi de yiyip içmekte ve eğlenmektedirler. Çocuk önce neler olduğunu anlamaz. Avlunun dışında henüz kanı kurumamış geyik derisini, bağırsak eşeleyen Beltek’i ve elindeki baltayla Maral Ana’nın boynuzlarını kırmaya çalışan Orozkul’u görünce neler olduğunu tahmin eder. Çocuk bu korkunç manzara karşısında dayanamayıp içeri kaçar ve yorganın altına girip ağlamaya başlar. Bu arada Kulubeg’in gelip onu kurtaracağını ve Orozkul’a haddini bildireceğini hayal etmektedir. Az sonra sofra içeri kurulur. Çocuk hayalinden yine kahkahalarla uyanır. O sırada Seydahmet olanları anlatmaktadır. Çocuğun bir türlü anlam veremediği olaylar şöyle cereyan etmiştir: Tomruğu çıkardıktan sonra Seydahmet ile Mümin dede ormana çalışmaya giderler. Bu arada maralları yine görürler. Seydahmet onları vurmak ister, dede ise buna karşı çıkar. Seydahmet dedeyi dinlemeyip maralların peşine düşer. Dede de Seydahmet’in arkasından gider. Seydahmet maralları vuracaktır ama sarhoş olduğu için nişan alamaz ve tüfeği dedeye verip maralları vurması gerektiğini, vurmazlarsa kaçıracaklarını ve Orozkul’un dedeyi affetmeyeceğini söyleyip dedeyi kandırır. Dede ise maralları vurursa Orozkul’un onu affedeceğini ve herşeyin düzeleceğini düşünerek marallardan birini istemeye istemeye vurur.
Çocuk bunları duyunca çıldıracakmış gibi olur ve dışarı kaçar.Dedesini yerde toz toprak içinde yatarken bulur. Ona birkaç defa yine seslenir ama dede yine duymaz. Olanlara dede kendi de inanamamaktadır. Çocuk dedesinden bir tepki alamayınca balık adam olup babasına ulaşacağını düşünerek koşar ve kendini dereye atar. Hızla akan su çocuğu alıp götürür fakat çocuk hiç bir zaman balık olmayacaktır.

ROMANIN ANAFİKRİ
İnsanları güçsüz ya da hoşgörülü oldukları için ezmeye çalışmamalı ve küçük çıkarlar uğrunda doğaya zarar vermemeliyiz.

(1)MÜMİN DEDE : Çok iyi kalpli, yardımsever,çalışkan bir insandır. 60-70 yaşlarında köse bir ihtiyardır.Damadı Orozkul’un yanında çalışmaktadır. Vadideki üç evin birinde ikinci karısı ve torunu ile yaşamaktadır.
(2)ÇOCUK : 5-6 yaşlarında, kısa boylu, kepçe kulaklı, çirkin bir çocuktur.Hiç arkadaşı yoktur. Hayalperest ve mutsuzdur. Doğayı çok sever.
(3)OROZKUL : Şişman, koca kafalı, içki içmeyi çok seven, insanlardan ve doğadan nefret eden, sinirli,umursamaz biridir. Korucubaşıdır fakat ormana en çok o zarar vermektedir.
(4)BEKEY : Orozkul’un karısı ve Mümin’in kızıdır.Kısırdır,sabırlı ve hoşgörülü bir kadındır.
(5)SEYDAHMET : Uzun boylu, çirkin biridir.Tembeldir. Orozkul’un ve dedenin yanında çalışmaktadır. Bir karısı ve bir kızı vardır.
(6)GÜLCEMAL : Seydahmet’in karısıdır. Günlerini genelde çocuğun ninesine ve Bekey’e yardım etmekle ve kızına bakmakla geçirir.
(7)KULUBEG : Genç , yakışıklı ve güçlü bir şofördür.Mümin dede ve çocuk gibi boynuzlu maral ananın soyundan geldiğine inanmaktadır.
(8)KOKETAY : Orozkul’un arkadaşıdır. İri yapılı ,esmer tenli bir adamdır.
Romanda ayrıca çocuğun annesi, babası,boynuzlu maral ana, köpeği Beltek, kayaları “Eyer, Tank, Deve, Kurt” karakterlerinden de bahsedilmektedir ama bu karakterler hakkında çok fazla bilgi sunulmamıştır.

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RAILWAY CHILDREN Kitap Özeti

1
They weren’t living at the railway at the beginning. They lived in London.They were three.Bobbie was oldest.Then Peter and Phyllis.
Mother was always at home.She has played with children and she has written the stories.They have everything that they needed.They also had wonderful Father.They were very happy.
Suddenly their life had changed
*****
It was Peter’s birthday.There was steam engine in his presents.But it was broken.When Father came,Father looked Peter’s engine.And “I will make ıts”said.
Then the door was knocked.There were two men in front of the door.Mother went to room with children. Father talked with them.And Father went away.Then Mother “Father has to go away.”said.Someweeks were awful
One morning Mother came down to breakfast.”We have to leave our house.We are going to live little house.” Said mother.”We can’t take everything.We have to play ‘being poor’ ”.
They went to railway.The house was cold.Mrs Viney wasn’t there(maid).
2
They didn’t have a supper.They ate meal in box.They sleept on floor.Morning the children prepared breakfast.But before they went out.They saw a hill,a bridge,a tunel and railway.They sleept in grass.
Then Mother came “There was letter from Mrs Viney”said.”Her son broke his arm.She went home early.I found another rooms.”They helped mother to unpuck and arrange everything in the rooms.
Then the children went to station.They went Porter’s room.Then They went to near coal heap.Peter asked about coal heap.There is white line.Peter asked about white line.
“It show how much coal”said Porter.”We shall know İf anybody steals some.”
*****
It was rainy.”Can we light a fire?”asked Bobbie”No. We haven’t got coal.Because Coal is expensive.”
Then Peter told his idea to girls.Peter went and stealed coal from station.Then station master was waiting for Peter.He caught his.Peter told every thing to him.Then They went house.
3
There was the 9:15,10:07 and the midnight train.
When the 9:15 train came out of tunel,The children waved.And Hand waved back.It belonged to an old gentleman.He travelled 9:15 everyday.
Peter didn’t go station after the coal.Master saw Peter and”You didn’t came to station”
*****
The next day Mother was ill.She was very hot.They called the doctor Forrest.
“She must stay bed.I’ll send medicines.But She will need fruit.I’ll write these to paper.”said Dr.Forrest.
They hadn’t got money.So They thought and…
When 9:15 train came Peter was showing him the large white sheet; LOOK OUT AT THE STATION.Phyllis was at the station.Phyllis gave a letter to him.
The old gentleman opened the letter.’My mother is ill.And We haven’t got enough money.The needs is end of letter.’
The Old gentleman gave a box to master.The three children went the room.They opened the box.There were everything and a letter in the box.Bobbie opened the letter.”Here are the things you need.Tell your mother they were sent by friend”
4
Someweeks later When the old gentleman looked out of the train.He saw sheet.On the sheet”She is nearly well.Thank you”
Mother was angry and mother wrote “thank” letter to old gentleman .
It was Bobbie’s birthday.Bobbie went out of house. Others prepared.She had got very nice presents.Peter gave sweets full of engine.
At night Bobbie went other room.Her mother was writing story.But at that time Her mother wasn’t writing She was sleeping on the table.Bobbie went back.
*****
Bobbie put Peter’s engine in box and took down to railway.
She gave Peter’s engine to driver and fireman.She talked with them The men repaired the Peter’s engine.It was as good as new again
5
The children were looking to railway.
Suddenly They heard a noise.It was soft.The Trees were moving.Then the big rock began to move and Trees and rocks fell on the railway.
Peter researched red things for giving new to driver.”If We don’t give new ,most people will be dead” said Peter
They found red petticoats.They cut the petticoats in to six pieces and They found braches.Peter unite the red petticoats with the branches.Peter took two flag.Two of flag were between the lines.The train stopped very difficulty.The train was at the 20 metres distance to the Bobbie.
*****
One day was ‘red petticoatsday ‘and the children were called to the station.They went to station. The old gentleman was there ,too.Important people gave gold watch to them.
They went to house with old gentleman.The old gentleman talk with mother and then he went
6
“I send some stories”said mother “We have got a cake in thuesday.”said Bobbie.Because Thuesday was Perks’s (station master)birthday.They prepared cake and presents.They gave news to perks’s friend.
They went to Perks’s house and talked with his wife.They put presents into the box and put box on the table.
And They passed behind the door.When Perk came They would shouted ‘happy birthday’.
Perks came but he didn’t please.
“We are poor but We didn’t needy”said Perks
The children told everything “People of neighborhood like you So they wanted to celebrate your birthday” said Bobbie.
“Thank you” said Perks and He invited them to tea.
7
When The children first went to live at the white house,they talked about father a lot and were always asking questions about him.
But then They didin’t ask about Father.Her mother was unhappy.”Why are my father “away” thought Bobbie.
She went to station to fetch the magazines.They were old magazines .Passangers put them.
One day Bobbie went to station to fetch them.While Bobbie was taking away to house Bobbie put the magazines on the grass.She looked the words;
FİVE YEARS IN PRISON FOR SPY
This spy was her father.
Bobbie took the magazine and showed to her
“You don’t belive it”cried mother
“What happened”said Bobbie
“Two men came and They said he was a spy.There were some letters in Dadds desk at the office.When the police saw them, they were sure Daddy was a spy.”
“Who put this letters there.”
“Somebody “And Person is the real spy.
“Can we explain all of this someone”
“I have tired.But nobody will listen.”
So Bobbie wrote a letter to old gentleman.She put the page of the newspaper with her letter.And She give letter to station master.

8
The boys were coming from the school in Maidbridge.”They are having a paper-chase today.” Said Bobbie.”We could go and watch”
There were men working on the railway line.A voice came”Let me pass,please”He was the first boy.
He was the ‘hare’,others were ‘hounds’Then hounds came.They went to tunel.The last boy was wearing a red shirt.”Let’s go across the top of the hill and see them come out end of the tunel”Peter said.
The last boy didn’t came.They waited ,but the last boy didn’t came And they came mouth of the tunel.But they didn’t see a boy in a red shirt”Let’s go and look.”
“The tunel was dark”
“If a train comes, stand near the wall”said Peter.There was a low noise on the railway line.
“what’s that”said Peter.
“It’s a train”said Bobbie.The train went.
Peter took a candle from his pocket.And he lit it with a match.The boy was on the ground.His name is jim.His eyes were closed.
The boy opened his eyes.”I have broken my leg ”he said and he couldn’t walk
Phyllis and Peter went to took help.The men came and the men carried Jim on a piece of flat wood.
“A doctor ought to see you first”said the man
“Take away him to our house “said Bobbie
“I will send Doctor Forrest”said mother.
Mother sent a message to Jim’s school.
“My grandfather lives near here”said Jim.
“Then I will write and tell him,too”said mother.
****
Next morning the door was knocked
It wasn’t the doctor.The children listened them and the visitor went upstairs.But who was it?
Then mother called the children to room.They went.
The man was old gentleman”You aren’t going to take Jim away ,are you?”said Peter.
“No.I will send a nurse but your mother was good enough”said old gentleman.
Mother become head a nurse of his hospitel “Will mother start writing again?”asked children.
“Perhaps something nice will happen ,and won’t have to write the story”said old gentleman

9
Mother was giving the lesson.Bobbie was feeling something but she didn’t know What she was feeling?
They went to railway and they waved the 9:15 train. But this time most of train waved hands and newspapers.
They went to house “you don’t feel ill,do you?” asked mother.”I don’t know I must go the garden”said Bobbie.And Bobbie went station for talk with Perks.She went and It was 11:54
The train came.First person was a voman.Second person was a voman.Third person
“Daddy ,my daddy”
When they went in front of house.Daddy waited.Bobbie went into the house.
When daddy op

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The Da Vinci Code – Da Vinci Şifresi (ingilizce Kitap Özeti)

The Da Vinci Code is a fictionalized account of the search for the Holy Grail. Although the events outlined in the novel are the product of the author’s imagination, many of the claims and clues included in the novel have long been advanced by art historians, symbologists, and conspiracy theorists.

Harvard professor Robert Langdon is in Paris presenting a lecture. He is awakened in the middle of the night by a call from Paris police, who inform him that Jacques Saunière, the famous curator of the Louvre, has been found murdered. Langdon is asked to assist the investigation, beginning with the cryptic messages and bizarre placement of the body, much of which the victim appears to have arranged himself in the moments before his death.

Saunière’s granddaughter, police cryptographer Sophie Neveu, arrives on the scene and clandestinely lures Langdon into a secret meeting, in which she reveals that he is the prime suspect and that her grandfather identified him by name in another cryptic message. Sophie and Langdon pretend to have escaped the museum by throwing a GPS tracking device planted on Langdon out a window. They continue their search, eventually finding a golden key that they use to open a safety deposit box at a Swiss bank. The box yields a strange device called a cryptex, which is used to store secret documents.

The bank is soon surrounded by police, and the bank president agrees to help the two escape in an armored car in order to minimize media coverage of the institution’s involvement. The pair eventually leave the bank president on the roadside and travel to the country estate of a renowned British Grail historian, Sir Leigh Teabing, who offers them more information about the history of the Grail. He claims that the Grail is not an object, but rather, a long-suppressed secret: Jesus Christ was married to Mary Magdalene and had at least one child with her. Jacques Saunière is revealed as the leader of the secretive group charged with the responsibility of protecting this knowledge, the Priory of Sion.

The albino lay monk responsible for Saunière’s death has followed them to the estate, and he attacks them, only to be ambushed by the disabled Teabing. The group escapes from the police who have descended on the estate, eventually making their way to London on Teabing’s private jet. They follow a sequential series of clues found in the cryptex, all of which lead to more clues. They are again attacked by the lay monk, who works in tandem with Teabing’s manservant to kidnap Teabing, along with the cryptex.

Sophie and Langdon research the remaining clues, eventually arriving at Westminster Abbey to seek the answer to one of the final puzzles stored in the cryptex. It is revealed that the mastermind behind the plot to kill Saunière was actually Teabing, who faked his own kidnapping in order to complete the subterfuge. After a tense stand-off, the police arrive and Teabing is arrested.

The remaining clues lead Sophie and Langdon to an ancient church in Scotland, where they find the grandmother and brother that she had long believed to be dead. Sophie is, in fact, the heir to Christ’s royal bloodline, and her family was divided and denied knowledge of one another in order to protect and conceal their true identities.

At the conclusion of the novel, Langdon finally recognizes that the Grail is buried beneath the glass pyramids at the entrance of the Louvre. He allows the secret to remain hidden.

The Da Vinci Code Characters

* Robert Langdon — Harvard professor of Religious Symbology, art historian
* Sophie Neveu — Paris police cryptologist, granddaughter of Jacques Saunière
* Jacques Saunière — world renowned curator of the Louvre museum in Paris, later determined to be the Grand Master of the Priory of Sion, a secretive group involved in the protection of the Holy Grail
* Silas — an albino devotee of Catholic conservative sect Opus Dei
* Bishop Manuel Aringarosa — leader of Opus Dei
* Sir Leigh Teabing/The Teacher — Teabing is a wealthy historian who invested much of his life in a search for the Grail. He assumes a secret identity as “the Teacher” in order to have Opus Dei identify and kill the leaders of the Priory of Sion.
* Rèmy — Teabing’s manservant and accomplice
* Vernet — President of the Swiss bank where the Priory of Sion’s coded key device has long been held for safekeeping.
* Captain Fache — top-ranking Paris police official
* Detective Collet — Paris police detective under Captain Fache

The Da Vinci Code Chapter Summaries
Prologue

Famous Louvre curator Jacques Saunière is ambushed in the darkened halls of the museum by an armed albino man who demands to know the location of an unidentified object. In the minutes before he dies, Saunière sets into motion the central mystery of the book in the form of a coded message.
Chapter 1

Visiting Harvard art history expert Robert Langdon is awakened in his Paris hotel room by a midnight phone call, and summoned to help decipher the code at the scene of Saunière’s murder. Langdon had originally been scheduled to have a meeting with the curator that night, but Saunière never arrived.
Chapter 2

The murderer, an albino lay monk named Silas, is revealed as a member of the radically fundamentalist Catholic sect, Opus Dei. He was ordered to assassinate Saunière as part of a secret plot to locate a mysterious keystone.
Chapter 3

Langdon surveys the Paris landscape as he is driven to the crime scene by a local detective, mourning the loss of the legendary curator Saunière.
Chapter 4

At the Louvre, Langdon is introduced to the lead investigator, the irascible Captain Bezu Fache. He begins to question Langdon, and the professor senses that the interaction is fraught with tension and unspoken undercurrents of hostility on the detective’s part.
Chapter 5

At the Opus Dei headquarters in New York City, Bishop Manuel Aringarosa thinks about past encounters with aggressive reporters questioning the legitimacy of the sect. He mentally defends many of the group’s more controversial practices, including self-mortification.
Chapter 6

Langdon surveys the bizarre crime scene in the Louvre’s grand gallery. Clues include the placement of the body and a pentacle drawn by the victim in his own blood. The investigators also reveal a secret message written in black-light marker.
Chapter 7

A nun at the Church of Saint-Sulpice is awakened by an unusual request to allow a late night visitor tour the church.
Chapter 8

Langdon studies the cryptic messages left by Saunière at the crime scene. It is also revealed that Langdon is under audio and GPS surveillance, and that he may be a suspect in the murder.
Chapter 9

Police cryptographer Sophie Neveu arrives on the scene, agitated and acting strangely. She communicates to Langdon that he may be in danger by using a cell phone message as a pretext.
Chapter 10

The lay monk Silas pays a pre-dawn visit to the Church of Saint-Sulpice. His troubled childhood as an abused and abandoned street urchin is revealed in a series of flashbacks. A large sum of money is transferred to Opus Dei as payment for a service, the nature of which is not yet revealed.
Chapter 11

Sophie attempts to decipher a numeric sequence that was part of Saunière’s cryptic dying message. She postulates that it is a garbled version of the Fibonacci sequence, a famous mathematical value. Following Sophie’s clandestine instructions, Langdon visits the museum’s public restroom, unaware that his movements are being tracked by a GPS device the investigators have planted on him.
Chapter 12

Sophie meets with Langdon in the men’s restroom. She informs him that he is under surveillance, and that he is the prime suspect in Saunière’s murder. She also shows Langdon that he was cited by name in Saunière’s cryptic message, a fact that had been kept from him by the other investigators.
Chapter 13

Sophie tells Langdon that the numeric sequence found near Saunière’s body is likely meaningless, that it was just a ploy to ensure her own involvement in the investigation, because she is Saunière’s estranged granddaughter. She also tells Langdon she is helping him because she believes he is innocent.
Chapter 14

The police continue to watch Langdon’s movements. They receive word that Sophie’s presence at the crime scene is unofficial.
Chapter 15

The lay monk Silas mentally prepares himself to carry out his orders in the Church of Saint-Sulpice in the search for the keystone.
Chapter 16

Sophie thinks back upon the circumstances of parents’ deaths in an automobile accident, as well as her later estrangement from her grandfather, Saunière, after she inadvertently witnessed him engaged in a mysterious, unsettling act. Convinced of Langdon’s innocence, she decides to help him escape from the Louvre.
Chapter 17

The French investigators realize that Saunière is Sophie Neveu’s grandfather as attempts to reach her by cell phone are unsuccessful. The GPS tracking device indicates that Langdon had jumped from the second floor of the museum, possibly to his death.
Chapter 18

The GPS tracker indicates that Langdon survived the jump and has entered a car, prompting the police to begin pursuit. In truth, Sophie has thrown the tracking device on to a truck driving on the street below the museum. Langdon and Sophie plan a route out of the museum as most of the police leave the facility.
Chapter 19

Silas tours the storied Saint-Sulpice church with the nun who lives on site. He requests solitude to pray, but the nun experiences a sense of dread and decides to watch him from the shadows.
Chapter 20

Moving through the darkened museum, Langdon and Sophie continue to consider the mysterious code left by the dying Saunière. The symbolic significance of pentacles and the Fibonacci sequence are related to the concept of the sacred feminine and goddess worship, both of which figure heavily in the entire book. At the end of the chapter, Langdon decodes part of Saunière’s message as “Leonardo Da Vinci” and “The Mona Lisa.”
Chapter 21

Sophie recalls her grandfather’s lifelong fascination with Da Vinci, as well as his longstanding interest in anagrams and wordplay. She convinces Langdon to escape to the U.S. embassy, but as he is leaving the building, he decodes another part of Saunière’s message and returns to find Sophie.
Chapter 22

Silas surveys the sanctuary of the Saint-Sulpice church, thinking of the strange history of the church and its former role as the site of the prime meridian. As Silas begins to search the church for the keystone, Bishop Aringarosa touches down in Rome to attend a meeting.
Chapter 23

Sophie and Langdon are reunited in front of the Mona Lisa. In response to his query as to the personal significance of the letters P.S., Sophie recalls a strange key-like object emblazoned with the letters that she found in Saunière’s things when she was a child. Langdon contends that this may signal Saunière’s membership in a centuries-old, secretive group known as the Priory of Sion, which is involved in goddess worship and other esoteric affairs.
Chapter 24

Silas digs in search of the keystone under an obelisk in the Saint-Sulpice sanctuary. His behavior prompts the nun to initiate a long-established procedure notifying a secret network of his actions.
Chapter 25

Sophie’s ruse of a cell phone message for Langdon earlier in the evening is revealed to the detectives as a falsehood, as has the thrown GPS device. Detective Fache realizes Sophie used the ploy to deliver her own message to Langdon.
Chapter 26

Langdon recalls the goddess worship undertones of the Mona Lisa painting. He and Sophie find a message written in black-light pen at the site of the Mona Lisa in the Louvre.
Chapter 27

The police realize Sophie’s deception and recognize that she and Langdon are likely still in the museum, prompting a return of the detectives to the facility in pursuit of the fugitives.
Chapter 28

Sophie and Langdon consider the implications of Saunière’s subsequent message, “so dark the con of man.” Langdon contends that this proves Saunière’s membership in the Priory of Sion, because that group has long protested the Catholic Church’s denigration of the sacred feminine. They are found by museum security, and Langdon is forced to lie down on the floor in a position of surrender.
Chapter 29

Silas digs further within the church’s sanctuary, but realizes he has been thwarted by a false lead. The nun, recognizing by his self-inflicted wounds that Silas is likely a member of Opus Dei, begins to call four Paris phone numbers to report this turn of events.
Chapter 30

Sophie attempts to intervene in Langdon’s arrest, while also scanning another Da Vinci work for clues. She finds a metal key engraved with “PS” at the base of the painting. She rips the priceless art work from the wall, using it as body armor to aid her and Langdon in their escape. Sophie reveals that “so dark the con of man” was actually an anagram for Madonna of the Rocks, the painting where she found the hidden key.
Chapter 31

The nun realizes that all of the four Paris contacts have been killed, indicating that the upper echelons of the secret organization have been breached by an outsider. Silas hears her making the phone calls and beats her to death.
Chapter 32

Sophie and Langdon escape from the Louvre in her car, discussing the implications of Saunière’s clues. Sophie reveals the key that she found to Langdon. She also recalls the secret ritual that she witnessed during a surprise visit to her grandfather’s home a decade ago, which prompted her estrangement from Saunière. The pair finds the area surrounding the U.S. embassy to be blocked by Paris police.
Chapter 33

Barred from the embassy, Sophie and Langdon mull their escape options and head for a train station. They also try to determine what type of key they have found, speculating about what it might open.
Chapter 34

Bishop Aringarosa arrives in Vatican City and is transported to a meeting, mentally preparing his defense for the continued existence of Opus Dei. He thinks back to a prior meeting held at the Church’s astronomy center, during which he was given six months to carry out an unnamed task.
Chapter 35

Sophie and Langdon buy train tickets to confuse the police, and then take a taxi out of Paris. They find an address written in black-light pen on the back of the key and direct the driver to take them there.
Chapter 36

The detectives learn of the fugitives’ decoy tactics and initiate more thorough search procedures. Arrest bulletins are issued for both Sophie and Langdon.
Chapter 37

As Sophie and Langdon travel through a part of the city overrun with prostitutes and other forms of public debauchery, Langdon provides her with a detailed account of the Priory of Sion’s formation and activities throughout history. He notes that the protection of a cache of secret documents is the mission of the group, and that these documents constitute the “Holy Grail” of lore.
Chapter 38

Langdon relates more details of the Holy Grail and its relationship to the sacred feminine, a topic which happens to be the subject matter of the book he is in the process of completing. The pair is forced to hijack the taxi at gunpoint after the driver recognizes them and attempts to report their location by radio.
Chapter 39

Ensconced in a room at the Paris Opus Dei boardinghouse, Silas regrets his impulsive murder of the nun and worries that his actions will endanger Bishop Aringarosa. He engages in more of the self-mortification that is a central pillar of the controversial Opus Dei rites.
Chapter 40

Langdon reflects on Da Vinci’s past involvement with the Priory of Sion. He and Sophie discover that the address written on the key is a Swiss-style bank, which allows customers to access their safety deposit boxes in complete anonymity.
Chapter 41

At his meeting with Church leaders, Bishop Aringarosa is given a large sum of currency in Vatican-issued bonds. The implication is that Opus Dei is to carry out an important task in return for the payment, although the exact nature of the task is not yet revealed to the reader.
Chapter 42

Langdon and Sophie use the golden key to open several gates and doors, finally entering the Swiss bank. They are immediately recognized as the two fugitives the guards have seen described on Paris television. The two are led to a private room and instructed on how to access their deposit box, but are prompted for an account number that they cannot provide. Bank employees clandestinely alert the police to Langdon and Sophie’s presence.
Chapter 43

The bank president arrives on the scene, seeking to remove the fugitives from the premises before the police arrive in order to keep the bank out of the media spotlight. He recognizes Sophie and is shocked when he is told that her grandfather has been murdered, but tells them he has no access to account number information. Langdon suggests using the numeric code that was part of Saunière’s message.
Chapter 44

Before entering the number into the bank computer, Sophie realizes it is too simple. After discussing possible alternatives, they decide to try the Fibonacci sequence, instead, which uses the digits of the original number in a slightly rearranged order. This proves to be correct, and the automated safety box retrieval system is activated. However, the box that is brought to them does not contain the Holy Grail chalice they had expected to find.
Chapter 45

The police have barricaded the roads outside the bank, and Vernet, the bank president, seeks a way to smuggle the two fugitives out of the facility undetected. They escape in the back of an armored truck, which is driven by the bank president himself disguised as a truck driver.
Chapter 46

Silas thinks back on the chain of events that led to his current predicament. Opus Dei was prompted by a mysterious figure called the Teacher to seek the keystone that would lead to the Holy Grail. Although Silas believes he has failed the Bishop, he is told that the secret location of the keystone may have been passed on before Saunière died.
Chapter 47

Inside the cargo hold of the armored truck, Sophie and Langdon survey the object they took from the safety deposit box, which appears similar to a wooden jewelry box. They determine that it is actually a locked device called a cryptex, originally devised by Da Vinci. A cryptex is a device used to carry secret messages. It destroys the sensitive documents encased in it if tampered with or broken. Langdon thinks it may be the keystone that will lead to the Holy Grail.
Chapter 48

Sophie and Langdon discuss his conclusion, also addressing the way that the keystone fits into the organizational structure of the Priory of Sion. Sophie remarks that her grandfather may have been the leader of the group, based on the troubling scene she witness years ago. As they contemplate the mystery, they are confronted at gunpoint by Vernet, the bank president who was driving the vehicle.
Chapter 49

Vernet demands the box from Sophie and Langdon, claiming that he is attempting to protect Saunière’s assets. He claims that the fugitives have been accused of three other murders, in addition to Saunière’s. After a scuffle, Langdon and Sophie escape with the box and the armored car, leaving Vernet on the side of the road.
Chapter 50

Aringarosa leaves the meeting, contemplating the implications of the massive payoff he has received from the Church. He begins to feel anxious that the mysterious figure known as the Teacher has not contacted him.
Chapter 51

Sophie and Langdon make their getaway in the badly damaged armored truck. Sophie attempts to open the cryptex, with no luck. Langdon convinces Sophie that they should travel to the estate of a British historian who is very knowledgeable about the legend of the Holy Grail, and after some persuasion, she finally agrees.
Chapter 52

Sophie and Langdon travel to Versailles and arrive at the sprawling estate of British historian Sir Leigh Teabing.
Chapter 53

Stranded bank president Vernet contacts his facility and asks them to track the missing armored truck using the GPS system installed on the undercarriage of all of the bank’s vehicles.
Chapter 54

Sophie and Langdon are brought into the parlor of Teabing’s estate by his butler. Langdon prompts Teabing to tell Sophie the full story of the Holy Grail.
Chapter 55

Teabing, a renowned Grail historian, begins to regale Langdon and Sophie with a history of the development and spread of Christianity. He contends that little of the organized institution of religion reflects the beliefs and values of Christ. Teabing further asserts that the Grail is not an object, but rather, a person.
Chapter 56

Teabing goes on to explain that in ancient astronomical symbology, the symbol for female was called a chalice. Ancient Christianity revered the sacred feminine, particularly the embodiment of this spirit in a particular historical woman. The identity of this person and the documentation of her role in Church history, Teabing explains, is the Holy Grail.
Chapter 57

The police are prevented from searching the bank facility until they produce a search warrant. They are finally given the coordinates to the current location of the armored truck, and the gathered force rushes off to pursue this lead. Meanwhile, Silas arrives at Teabing’s estate with a loaded gun and stealthily surveys the scene.
Chapter 58

Teabing leads Sophie and Langdon to a large-scale print of Da Vinci’s The Last Supper as part of his explanation. Although it is commonly believed that the painting depicts Christ and his 12 male disciples, Teabing makes a convincing case that a central figure in the painting is actually a woman. He also points out numerous other clues that support his shocking central argument: Mary Magdalene and Jesus were married and had a child.
Chapter 59

Bishop Aringarosa calls the New York Opus Dei headquarters to check his messages. The number he is given connects him to the police headquarters in Paris where the investigation of Saunière’s death is ongoing. A detective asks the Bishop to answer some questions.
Chapter 60

Teabing and Langdon further explain some of the symbols associated with Mary Magdalene, including the rose that features so prominently in discussion of the Holy Grail. Teabing tells Sophie that the Holy Grail is the physical body of Mary Magdalene, along with a vast array of documents that provide her personal account of her life with Christ. He also explains that part of the responsibility of the Priory of Sion is protecting the royal bloodline of Christ, known as the Merovingians. Sophie suspects that she may be a member of this line.
Chapter 61

Langdon tells Sophie that she is probably not of the Merovingian blood line, because her surname does not match those known to be affiliated with Christ’s progeny. Langdon recounts some of the many cultural artifacts that refer to Mary Magdalene’s true identity, ranging from art to classical music to cinema. Their discussion is interrupted when Teabing returns from a discussion with his butler, angered and accusatory, demanding an explanation from the two fugitives about the true nature of their visit.
Chapter 62

Sophie and Langdon tell Teabing about the series of events that led them to his estate. Teabing is shocked to hear of the deaths of Saunière and the three other leaders of the Priory. He tells the pair that the Church may be trying to locate and destroy the Grail documents before the Priory makes public the secret history of Christ. Silas enters the estate, seeking the keystone.
Chapter 63

The police arrive at Teabing’s estate and find the discarded armored truck. They also find the black Audi Silas arrived in, but are unsure as to its ownership. Following a conversation with the Paris detectives, Bishop Aringarosa is anxious about the ominous turn of events in France. He reveals an inside connection with lead detective Captain Fache, but is uncertain whether this relationship will be sufficient to protect both Opus Dei and himself from suspicion in the case.
Chapter 64

Teabing gingerly opens the box holding the cryptex, savoring the fruition of years of Grail research. Meanwhile, Langdon examines the box, studying its construction carefully. He removes a carved rose and finds four lines of text in an unfamiliar language. Then, Silas suddenly appears, striking Langdon with enough force to render him unconscious.
Chapter 65

After Silas’ ambush, he tries to compel Sophie and Teabing to hand over the keystone. Teabing, who is disabled and uses crutches to walk, cleverly disarms Silas by hitting him with a crutch. The police in the driveway hear the weapon being discharged, and decide to enter the estate. Langdon, Sophie, and Teabing decide to leave the estate, along with the butler and a restrained Silas.
Chapter 66

Using the house’s intercom system, the escaping party tricks the police into thinking they are upstairs, when they are actually in the garage selecting a suitable vehicle in which to escape the estate.
Chapter 67

Rolling across the darkened fields of Teabing’s estate in a custom-equipped Range Rover, Teabing calls ahead to have his private jet prepared for immediate take-off. He then unsuccessfully attempts to interrogate Silas as to his motives. Langdon calls his New York publisher to ask an important question.
Chapter 68

After speaking to his publisher, Langdon determines that Saunière found out about his expertise on the subject of the Holy Grail when a manuscript copy of his book was sent to the curator for a pre-publication review. The group arrives at the air field and, with some persuasion, convince the pilot to fly all of them to England.
Chapter 69

On the plane, the group once again turns to the puzzle of the cryptex. Teabing tells Sophie that her possession of the keystone confers upon her a grave responsibility. He urges her to make the Grail documents known to the world as soon as they are discovered.
Chapter 70

The police are told that bank president Vernet is willing to admit to abetting the fugitives in exchange for no media coverage and a return of the property that Langdon and Sophie took from the safety deposit box. They also discover that Teabing’s private jet has taken off en route to England.
Chapter 71

Langdon and the others attempt to decipher, or even to recognize, the strange text beneath the inlaid rose on the cryptex box. Finally, Sophie recognizes it as English written in reverse, similar to a technique Da Vinci used to render his private journals illegible to outsiders.
Chapter 72

The reversed text is revealed to be a kind of riddle in verse. Teabing, Langdon, and Sophie attempt to decipher it.
Chapter 73

The French police interrogate the employees of the private airfield from which Teabing’s jet took off. They determine that it is extremely likely that the aircraft will be landing in Kent within 15 minutes. The police attempt to contact local law enforcement in the Kent area.
Chapter 74

Langdon presses Sophie to tell him more about the incident that estranged her from her grandfather years ago. He guesses, correctly, that she witnessed him participating in a sex rite. He identifies the ceremony as Heiros Gamos, an ancient ritual held in the spring as a celebration of the eternal recurrence of the sacred feminine. Langdon points out that the ancient view of sex was very different from our own, and that this ritual had more to do with religious mysticism than eroticism.
Chapter 75

After receiving a clandestine update from Captain Fache when he is mid-flight, a shaken Bishop Aringarosa implores the pilot of his plane to change directions. He is forced to give up his cherished golden ring to get the pilot to agree. He returns to his seat, dejected and worried about the unforeseen course of events that has unfolded.
Chapter 76

Once again tackling the cryptic poem, the group determines that the “headstone praised by Templars” is probably a stone head called “Baphomet.” They then use a decoding method called the Atbash cipher, also named in the poem, to try to translate “Baphomet” into a five-letter word that will fit in the space provided on the cryptex.
Chapter 77

The group applies the Atbash cipher, which is based on the Hebrew alphabet, to the word “Baphomet.” They discover that the code word is “Sofia,” the Greek rendering of Sophie’s name, meaning “wisdom.” This matches the poem’s call for an “ancient word of wisdom,” while also reinforcing the fact that Saunière did, in fact, intend for the keystone to go to his granddaughter.
Chapter 78

When the group opens the cryptex, they find, instead of a map to the Holy Grail, a second, smaller cryptex, wrapped in a paper scroll upon which is written another code in verse. It mentions London, indicating that they are headed in the correct direction. Meanwhile, Kent police begin to arrive at the local airfield where Teabing’s jet is headed.
Chapter 79

At Teabing’s estate, detectives peruse his vast library of Grail research materials, bagging some of his documents as evidence. Bank president Vernet calls Detective Collet, who recognizes his voice as being the same of the driver whose armor truck was later discovered to have helped the fugitives escape.
Chapter 80

Teabing indicates his plan is to bribe the airport officials to allow Sophie and Langdon’s undocumented entry into England. An unusual delay at the Kent airport makes the group suspicious that they are going to be met by law enforcement officers, and Teabing begins to devise a plan.
Chapter 81

After landing at the Kent airport, Teabing feigns bemusement and outrage when faced with the police and officials waiting there for him. He allows a friendly airport employee to check the plan for fugitives. When no sign of Langdon or Sophie is found, Teabing is allowed to leave. The others have managed to hide in Teabing’s limousine. The group safely escapes the airport and heads toward London.
Chapter 82

Arriving in town, the group continues to attempt to decipher the coded poem, particularly a reference to a “knight interred by a pope.” Teabing suggests a Templar church in the city as a possible site. They discuss the potential ramifications of the release of the Grail documents for Christianity and for the world.

Chapter 83

At the Temple Church, which is a circular medieval edifice, Teabing uses deception to convince the staff to allow them to tour the crypt before official visiting hours have begun. Viewing the eerie burial chamber, Langdon is convinced they have found the site that will yield more clues to the location of the Grail.
Chapter 84

Waiting in the car outside the church, Teabing’s manservant Rémy wields a knife at the bound Silas, who remains captive with the group. However, he does not stab the lay monk, but instead, releases him from his bonds and offers him a shot of vodka. Teabing’s manservant reveals himself to be a friend of Opus Dei. At the Kent airport, Captain Fache speaks with Bishop Aringarosa and urges him to direct the pilot of his plane to the same airport. Aringarosa expresses concern that Fache has not yet rescued Silas.
Chapter 85

Sophie and Langdon closely scrutinize the tombs in the Temple Church. Something appears to be amiss, and they are informed by an altar boy that the tombs are effigies, rather than actual burial sites. As he leaves the building, the altar boy is ambushed and threatened by Rèmy, who is wielding a gun.
Chapter 86

Silas and Rèmy confront Sophie, Teabing, and Langdon, demanding the keystone. They threaten Teabing with death, and Langdon surrenders the cryptex. Silas and Rèmy take Teabing with them as a hostage when they leave the church.
Chapter 87

The detectives searching Teabing’s villa run a background check on Rèmy, finding that he has a history of petty crime, as well as a peanut allergy. They also discover a state-of-the-art surveillance center on the second story of a barn on the property.
Chapter 88

Langdon travels to a historical library to research knights’ tombs in London. Sophie decides to report Teabing’s kidnapping to the authorities. Her call is immediately patched through to Captain Fache, who tells her that he knows they are innocent and that she and Langdon must turn themselves in.
Chapter 89

Vernet contacts Fache and asks that the stolen property be returned to the bank. Fache assures him that the bank will not be mentioned in press reports, and that the stolen property is secure.
Chapter 90

It is discovered that the surveillance center in Teabing’s barn contains audio files of conversations in Saunière’s office, as well as the offices of several other curators and historians around Paris. The surveillance device was hidden in a knight figure on Saunière’s desk.

Chapter 91

Rèmy ties and gags Teabing in the back of the limousine. Soon afterwards, Silas receives a phone call from the Teacher. He tells Silas that Rèmy will deliver the keystone to him. Then, talking to Rèmy, the Teacher orders that Silas be dropped off at the London Opus Dei Residence.

Chapter 92

Langdon and Sophie enlist the help of a research librarian to search the massive electronic databases at King’s College, seeking reference to the tomb of a knight interred by a pope.
Chapter 93

Silas arrives at the London Opus Dei Center. Soon after his arrival, the police contact the front desk personnel and confirm his presence at the center.
Chapter 94

Rèmy meets the Teacher at St. James’s Park in the middle of London. After handing the Teacher the cryptex, the two celebrate with a shared sip of cognac from the Teacher’s flask. Rèmy soon enters anaphylactic shock, as the peanut particles mixed in the cognac causes his throat to swell shut. As Rèmy dies, the Teacher relishes the fact that he, alone, knows the answer to the coded challenge set forth in the poem’s reference to a knight’s tomb. Aringarosa, arriving in Kent, directs the driver of the car Fache arranged for him to take him to London’s Opus Dei center.
Chapter 95

At the library, Langdon realizes that the knight in question is Sir Isaac Newton, who was buried in London not by a Catholic Pope, but by the famous English poet Alexander Pope. The two rush to the site of his tomb in Westminster Abbey.
Chapter 96

Silas is attacked in his room at the Opus Dei Center by police. In the confusion of the scuffle, Bishop Aringarosa, who had just arrived to try to find Silas, is shot.
Chapter 97

Sophie and Langdon arrive at Westminster Abbey and begin searching for Newton’s tomb. The Teacher, who is there lying in wait, sees them and plans an ambush in order to eliminate all witnesses who know about the cryptex. He tries to develop a plan to lure the two to a less public part of the grounds.
Chapter 98

Arriving finally at the tomb, the two find a message indicating that Teabing’s kidnappers are on site, and that they should walk to the public garden to negotiate with the captors for his release. In a deserted area closed for renovations, Sophie and Langdon meet Leigh Teabing himself.
Chapter 99

Faced with Langdon and Sophie’s shock and betrayal, Teabing attempts to justify his actions. He claims that Saunière shirked his duty to the Grail by failing to release the documents to the world. Teabing also tells Sophie that the deaths of her family when she was a child were murders committed by the Church to pressure Saunière into remaining quiet. Teabing refuses Langdon’s request to release Sophie, but gives Langdon the cryptex. Sophie vows never to help Teabing.
Chapter 100

After being shot, Bishop Aringarosa tells Silas they were both betrayed by the Teacher. He reveals that at his first meeting at the Vatican five months ago, he received word that Opus Dei would have its preferential title revoked, and would no longer be regarded as a prelature of the Vatican, within six months’ time. On his deathbed, Aringarosa urges Silas to forgive, rather than seek revenge against his killers.
Chapter 101

Langdon takes a moment to think carefully about his course of action. He decides to try to break the code to help Sophie’s chances of escape. Sophie resists, holding fast to her vow to refuse help to Teabing. At an impasse, Langdon launches the cryptex into the air, and its landing initiates the self-destruct process built into the device. However, it is soon revealed that Langdon had already removed the innermost scroll, having figured out that the code word was “apple.” The police arrive, and Teabing is detained.

Chapter 102

Silas prays and asks for forgiveness in Kensington Gardens.
Chapter 103

The police continue to unravel the complex details of Teabing’s surveillance operation. Bishop Aringarosa makes a miraculous recovery from his gunshot wound. He asks Captain Fache to distribute the Vatican bonds among the victims of Silas’ murderous rampage in Paris. Fache returns the ring with which Aringarosa bribed the pilot.
Chapter 104

The final clues in the search for the Grail lead Sophie and Langdon to Rosslyn Chapel in Scotland. Sophie remembers visiting the church as a very young girl. There, the two find Sophie’s brother and grandmother, whom she had believed to be dead, living in a house on the church property.
Chapter 105

It is learned that Sophie’s family had to be separated in order to protect their true identity as descendents of Christ. Sophie’s grandmother reveals that the Grail documents are not, in fact, hidden underneath the church at Rosslyn. Langdon and Sophie agree to meet in Florence later in the year to get to know each other better.
Epilogue

After returning to Paris, Langdon has a revelation about the location of the Grail documents. Remembering that Paris, too, was once the location of the prime meridian, or “rose line,” he considers a new interpretation of the last clue from the cryptex. Although it is not fullly confirmed, Langdon strongly suspects that the Grail is hidden beneath the two glass pyramids at the entrance of the Louvre.

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The End (ingilizce Kitap Özeti)

THE END?

‘You know, I have been thinking about this for a long time. I want to start a new life, with a new you,’ she said.

‘New me?’ I asked.

‘Yes, as my best friend,’ she gave me a smile. I have always loved the way she smiles. Somehow though, for this time, it seemed different.

I was not sure how to react. Deep down in my heart, I thought, friends huh? Ha ha. After three years, friends huh?

‘I was happy with you, honestly. However, I believe I will be happier with Lawrence. He gave me a sense of belonging. He made me laugh when I was sad. He accompanied me to the library whenever you are not around. He took me to see comedies and he laughed at the same time as me. He even peeled oranges faster than you’.

Wow, that was quite a lot of things I never knew before. Do I really need all (these) this new general knowledge about myself? For a while, I thought this was just a dream. However, it was a bit too real. I had expected something like this to happen. I had known that Lawrence was always looking for chances. I had known that by taking on the post of Student Council Vice President, I was bound to be bind by all the activities. I mean, how could a VP escape from activities of over 30 clubs and societies? He had to make sacrifices. He had to balance his time. He had to have an understanding girl friend. My last thought finally awakened me.
‘Is there no turning back?’ I asked, half expecting what she would say.

‘We do not need to turn back. I just want to move forward with you but we would no longer be in the same vehicle. Our destination may even be different but I still want to move forward. Perhaps you may want a new passenger. I am not sure but I hope that when I need a driver, you would still be there for me, IF you still remember me. I just hope that when you see me in another vehicle, you would not ram me from behind but would honk and let me know you still remember me. Can you do that?’

I smiled painfully. She made it sound so realistic, so easy and philosophical! I had never rejected her demands before. We had had no arguments recently. Now was that not a good sign? Okay, I have to admit that we seldom see each other these days. We did not even have lunch together for this whole week!

‘Okay, perhaps my car needs some maintenance,’ finally I admitted.

‘You car needs no maintenance, you just need a new passenger, someone who would be able to wait for you when your car breaks down, someone who would ride with you even though you have no air-conditioning in your car.’
‘Is my car that bad?’ I asked, feeling better as I expected her to say no.

‘No, of course not. Just that I feel happier with my new driver and his new car.’

‘Ha ha…. Emily, here’s my best wishes to you and your new driver.’ I offered my right hand and we shook hands. I felt lonely. For the first time in my life since I assumed the post of VP, I felt lonely. Perhaps it is time that I take a new turn? Perhaps it is time I start afresh. Perhaps our relationship was not as durable as I had thought. Perhaps it is more of an ordinary battery instead of an alkaline one. Ha ha. Perhaps I asked for it. I agreed totally with my last thought. I asked for it. It seemed funny but somehow I could not laugh. I could not even see the floor clearly anymore. Everything was blur. Perhaps it is the time to change spectacles?

‘Here, take this tissue. You know, whenever I cry, you try your best to soothe me? I am sorry, I do not know how to do the same. However, I DO have only one Hacks left. Do you want it?’

I looked at her. How could she say things like this in a moment such as this?

Both of us burst out laughing. One Hacks. I gave her a hug, said goodbye and took many thousands of heavy steps back to my house in SS14. The walk which would normally have taken 10 minutes seemed to last forever. People say, sometimes you are up and sometimes you are down, now that is life. I believed that then but I believed it unwillingly, now. I really do.
‘Help!’ I heard a frantic cry for help. A girl was pointing towards the direction of a guy who was running away from her. He had taken her purse! The first thought that came into my mind was, run. I was not much of a runner and not much of a fighter. So, what would I do even if I caught up with him? Kick him? My thoughts ran even faster than my feet. The snatcher was fast, there was no way I was going to catch up with him. However, looking back at the girl who was now running behind me, I knew that I had the obligation to keep on running. I had to keep on chasing this guy until someone stops him. The road was empty of people that day. He kept on running until he turned a corner. I was already soaked with my sweat and my stamina was giving up. Again I glanced back and there she was, slow but she was still running. Again, I pushed myself further. If I caught up with that guy, I will register for the Half Marathon held next month.
As soon as I turned the corner, I shouted for joy. There he was, pinned to the ground by a policeman. Apparently, he had raised too much suspicion.

‘We have waited for him for many days. We thought that he would not be so stupid to try again but he did. These drug addicts never change’ the policeman said while handcuffing him.

‘Drug addict? I could not even catch up with a drug addict? Now, this is bad. I laughed but as I was also panting for breath at the same time, I choked and coughed. Here was I, dumped just 20 minutes ago and now I was told that the guy whom I tried so hard in catching up with is a drug addict? The policeman held the man up. Finally the girl arrived. Her face was red and yes, she was sweating as well.

‘Wo…w, y..ou caught up wi…th him huh?’ she said amidst her gasps for air.

‘Actually, the policeman here did,’ I tried my best to keep the sound of my breathing down.

We followed the policeman to the nearby police station where a report was lodged against the man and then we were allowed to leave.
‘You do run quite fast, were you a school runner previously?’ she asked.

Her facial expression did not show that she was joking.

‘Ha ha…. I would have given up in the next ten seconds if the policeman is not here to apprehend him.’

‘Actually, I was just joking. I knew that he was too far away from you and besides, these drug addicts can really run fast, ’ this time I believe she is telling the truth.

‘Really? Was the sentence just now a compliment that I ran well or was that just a sentence to help me regain some sense of pride?’ I said, noticing that she was not that tall, maybe around 155cm.

‘Ha ha…. Well, what do you think then? Would you mind if I treat you to a lunch tomorrow?’ she gave me a nice smile. I have always loved it when Emily smiled to me. Her smile is definitely much sweeter than Emily’s.

‘How could I reject? You sound so sincere. Aiks! I have a meeting tomorrow from 1 to 3 p.m. Would you like to have the lunch earlier, say at twelve or maybe we have tea at three? I hoped that she would opt for the latter as my class would finish at 12 and meeting at 1 p.m. meant that I have to be in earlier. If we have tea together, I can then ask her for dinner!

‘We will make it twelve then. I still have a bus to catch. See you tomorrow.’
For a while, I stood there. Something was amiss. What? I remembered. There are three colleges together here in Subang Jaya. How am I supposed to know which one is she studying in? She had a bus to catch. That may even mean that she was studying in colleges outside SS15! It was too late. She was no longer in my view.

Perhaps I would meet her again? I hoped so as I walked slowly back to my house. I slept soundly that night. It was not due to my happiness in this chanced meeting. I was tired. Nevertheless, I smiled.

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the Enemy Comes (ingilizce Kitap Özeti)

THE ENEMY COMES

It had all happened so fast. Lee looked quickly through his father’s desk to see if he had forgotten anything. There was so little time, but he would need anything of value, anything they might be able to sell later.

Lee went to the garden door. Opening it, he felt the cool air against his face. The candle went out. Somewhere in the night an enemy was moving toward the city. The sound of heavy guns came through the rain. Somewhere in the darkness Mr.Lee was working to burn records that might help the enemy when the city fell. Lee remembered his father’s words just before he had left to join the other men. “You are the man of the house, now. You must take my place.”

“I have locked all the doors. If anyone tries to come in while we are gone, he will not have an easy time,” Choo said as she pushed Yung Sin before her. “I will put the keys in the place we know so Father can find them if he should come back here before leaving the city.” He held onto those last words, looking at his watch. Nine-thirty. The army couldn’t cross the bridge with all its equipment before daybreak. It would take him and his family three hours, maybe more, to getto the bridge. There should be time. Lee tried to push faster, but he could only move with the people. He looked back again. Lee could not see their faces in the darkness. He said, “ I don’t think that we can go on. The people are moving so slowly that we may still be on the bridge when the soldiers blow it up.” “But the communists are almost here!” Choo cried. “We will all be killed.” She twisted her hands, trying to make Lee see their danger. Heknew. Many stories had come down from North Korea describing what the Communists did.

Near an overturned truck, Lee and his mother and brother pressed together in the cold, watching the people fighting their way on to the bridge. The last of the army trucks pushed through the center. Lighting struck thorugh the rain, hitting the bridge. A shout went up. “Bombs…..Bombs!” The people went wild with fear and began jumping from the bridge. Their white-clothed bodies could be seen for a second, their cries heard, and then the black waters caried them away…
CITY UNDER ATTACK

As August moved into September, the war took a new turn. News came of the Inchon Landing led by General MacArthur, and stories were told of how the Communists had taken crushing losses in the South. Mr. Ko kept the Lees informed of army movements as they came near Seoul. This was the news that all the city had been waiting for. Women from the houses nearby came to Lee’s house to talk of it. Mrs. Kim, the women taking care of Lee’s mother, stopped to talk to him before joining the others.
“ They are coming soon. I can feel it. The fortuneteller told me that the signs said we would be soon free.”
“ But it will get much worse before it gets better,” Lee said quietly.
“She said that too. She said that much blood would run.”
“Mrs. Kim, how is my mother?”
“She is doing well. I don’t really understand why. A woman with child needs rest and quiet and good food. Choo gets none of these things. Oh, I know that you do your best, but what can you do in times like these?” Seeing that Lee was worried at her words, she added, “ If your mother wasn’t really strong, then I would worry. But she is made of iron. I have never seen one so strong. She will have the baby. It will be a good one, too. I know. I can tell.”

The sound of guns had been growing all day, but now there was a strange quiet. Lee had been reading, but he blew out his candle and went into the garden. He could hear only the sound of the woman singing as she worked in the kitchen. Another explosion shook the house, and this time some of the windows blew in. Glass fell through the room. Lee ran to uncover the shelter door. He went back to the shelter. More bombs fell. Hour after hour passed. They put out the candles to save them, and waited in the dark.

Lee went across the alley, stopping to look back at his house. In his mind he could still hear the falling bombs. None of them had hit his house. And none of them would hit tonight. He through that again and again, pushing fear away.

Three days later the guns stopped. Throughout the city, people raised their heads to listen. Only a death-like quiet came to their ears. In the shelter at Lee’s house, looking at each other, they were afraid to speak. Lee heard someone coming. He raised the door a little.
“ Choo, Choo! Are you there?” It was Mrs. Kim. She pulled the door open and shouted, “ They are coming. The tanks , the army… They are coming. The Americans.”

……………….

Less than two days later many American soldiers came into Seoul. Crowds in the streets waved little American and Korean flags and shouted for the big men riding by in trucks and jeeps. Lee watched. His hands were deep in his pockets, his face tired. Yes, it was good that the enemy was gone, that Seoul was free again. But he could not still the pain in his heart at the cost of these last months… his lost father, the empty house, the city destroyed. And the thought of that early morning when he had killed a man.

TO REBUILD A LIFE

The excitement of the bombing was over. Lee could not leave the house, and most of the day he had to stay in the shelter. Anyone who saw him might talk. That would be dangerous. If the police heard one word, they would not take much thought to put the bombing and his return from the South together and get the right answer. So, day after day, the slow minutes went by. Always he asked Mr. Ko for the latest war news, and always there was nothing new to report.

Two weeks later, guns began. This time the attack was short. In a few days the enemy was driven out. The United Nations soldiers came through the streets. But the question still hung in the city: “ Would the enemy come back again?” No person could tell. The guns slowly moved farther and farther north. But the question stayed with the people. Lee was happy to be free, and daily he went into the streets to watch the soldiers go past. Then the streets began to fill with refugees coming back to their homes. Shops began to open. Trains began travel between Seoul and Pusan.

Lee wanted to get a job to help support the family. He went to see all his father’s friens, but no one wanted him. As he listened to their reasons, he understood that before one of them would give him a job he would have to pay back the money he had been given for the journey south. This would be easier than before. Because of the war, money was worth less, and there would be more of it. But that still did not give him a job. One day while he was watching the jeeps and trucks going by, he suddenly thought that the best thing to do would be to work for the army. They paid better than any other job he might find, and he would be able to practise his English. But eveeeryone wanted a job with the army. He would have to hurry to find one. Then he rmembered Pahk from the South. Surely he would be somewhere in Seoul either now or soon. He would be able to help.

Walking or driving around Seoul, working in the house at nigh, sometimes seeing a moving picture, these were the things that Lee did now. He wanted to go back to school, but his family needed the money he earned. There was no night school. He told Bill this, and Bill understood. There wasn’t much of a future for one who was trained. Lee told more and more of himself and what he had done during the war. He told of the intelligence men that he knew.

………………………………..

And at last he reached the top and slowly stood straight. He brushed the snow from his eyes and walked forward to look into the valley. A great cry came from his throat when he saw Bill’s truck, destroyed, burned, standing below him. He half fell down the hill. Words, Korean and English, formed soundlessly on his lips. He saw a few dead Communist soldiers lying in the snow. Reaching the valley floor, he ran to the truck and forced himself to look at the four bodies inside. He did not see Bill. Another body lay in the snow. No, it was not he. And there was another …… No, that one was too short. Had Bill escaped?
Then he saw.
A little higher a shape was hanging over a rock. Lee slowly went up to it. He knelt and raised the dead man’s head.
Yes.
He shut the eyes. Sitting there he held Bill’s head and listened to the guns. He looked up at the far mountains that rose through the falling snow. He could see the sharp-branched trees, dark against the white world. The valley was so very beautiful. The snow had begun to cover him. He drank in the hard beauty of the valley and the mountains.

Then he shut his eyes, waiting . . .

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the Girl with Large Eyes (ingilizce Kitap Özeti)

The GIRL with The LARGE EYES

Few years ago in a San Francisco, there lived a girl with large eyes. She had the most beatiful eyes of any girl in the city, whenever one of the young men looked at her, he wish to marry with her .

Wedding was the biggest desire for her. But her family is very strict and many years ago they also said her “we won’t let you marry until you finish your school”. She studied very well and graduated from the university with a good degree in that year, so she hasn’t got any obstacle for marriage. While these happened , one day she got up in a terrible condition. All parts of her body with a big and black spots.Espicially on her face there were big ones, her beatiful eyes didn’t set any attention because of the spots. Her family took her to the doctor and learned about the illness and the bad point was:it was not a treatable one.While she learned this condition, she became depressed,she refused to talk with anyone.Her family didn’t know how to cope with this situation because she didn’t eat anything,she didn’t smile etc.. Every morning she was going for walking.She walked around the city center with a big mask on her face.She always sits on a bench in city park and looked around. But nobody looked at her wheras before the illness, everbody looked her with admiration..All of her desires were finished…

One day in a city park , one young men asked her to sit alongside her.She accepted, than she started to talk.She didn’t believe this situation..She didn’t say a word for 6 months to anyone but she talked with the stranger. She felt confidence in him and told her story to him and he also told about his life to her.

Eveyday they met at the same time at the park. She started to smile,she changed her ideas about her illness, briefly eveything was good for her..After few days, her spots became less,she started to get well… She fell in love with him and the boy with her too, than they got secretly married in a short time.

Her family were also seeing the change and were aware of the event which was changed their doughter psychology.She smiled but said nothing..They were ver7y happy to see her like that. His father was a very famous politician in the city so he has got a lot of assistants.One day he told one of his assistants and wanted to find the event which made her doughter happy.When she went to the park, the assistant listened to the girl and the boy and watched them,and he ran quickly home to tell her father what he had heard. When the parents learned that their doughter had married with a boy, they were greatly shocked. If the famous families found out,they would not look to non of their faces ,because they were very ashamed about the secret marrige of their doughter.

The next morning, the father ordered the girl to stay home, and the assistant took him to the park. They called the boy and when he came up they took him to his car and killed him in the car and waited till midnight and put his corpse to the bench in the park.

The next morning girl went to park and faced up with her husband dead body.She didn’t understand anything at first but later after she thought about it,she understood that this was her father’s act.”If her parents had killed her husband, would they not kill her child when she was born?” and her eyes were filled with tears.

After a minute while she looked at his corpse,she told how she loved him and than she died fallowing a heart-attack. When people came to park,they ended up with two dead bodies. They knew them because everday they were at the park.Then they called the police.

But as she died,she gave birth to many children because people who always came to park opened a nursery-school for orphan children and called it “The girl with large Eyes”.. for her memory..

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the Secret Garden – Gizli Bahçe [özet & inceleme] (ingilizce Kitap Özeti)

THE SECRET GARDEN

When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the child out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces of her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always obeyed her and gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be angry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years old she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The young English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to know how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all.
One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she awakened feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she saw that the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah.
“Why did you come?” she said to the strange woman. “I will not let you stay. Send my Ayah to me.”
The woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah could not come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat and kicked her, she looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not possible for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib.
There was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was done in its regular order and several of the native servants seemed missing, while those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared faces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She was actually left alone as the morning went on, and at last she wandered out into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near the veranda. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuck big scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth, all the time growing more and more angry and muttering to herself the things she would say and the names she would call Saidie when she returned.
“Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!” she said, because to call a native a pig is the worst insult of all.
She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she heard her mother come out on the veranda with some one. She was with a fair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices. Mary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy. She had heard that he was a very young officer who had just come from England. The child stared at him, but she stared most at her mother. She always did this when she had a chance to see her, because the Mem Sahib–Mary used to call her that oftener than anything else–was such a tall, slim, pretty person and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk and she had a delicate little nose which seemed to be disdaining things, and she had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin and floating, and Mary said they were “full of lace.” They looked fuller of lace than ever this morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all. They were large and scared and lifted imploringly to the fair boy officer’s face.
“Is it so very bad? Oh, is it?” Mary heard her say.
“Awfully,” the young man answered in a trembling voice. “Awfully, Mrs. Lennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago.”
The Mem Sahib wrung her hands.
“Oh, I know I ought!” she cried. “I only stayed to go to that silly dinner party. What a fool I was!”
At that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from the servants’ quarters that she clutched the young man’s arm, and Mary stood shivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder. “What is it? What is it?” Mrs. Lennox gasped.
“Some one has died,” answered the boy officer. “You did not say it had broken out among your servants.”
“I did not know!” the Mem Sahib cried. “Come with me! Come with me!” and she turned and ran into the house.
After that, appalling things happened, and the mysteriousness of the morning was explained to Mary. The cholera had broken out in its most fatal form and people were dying like flies. The Ayah had been taken ill in the night, and it was because she had just died that the servants had wailed in the huts. Before the next day three other servants were dead and others had run away in terror. There was panic on every side, and dying people in all the bungalows.
During the confusion and bewilderment of the second day Mary hid herself in the nursery and was forgotten by everyone. Nobody thought of her, nobody wanted her, and strange things happened of which she knew nothing. Mary alternately cried and slept through the hours. She only knew that people were ill and that she heard mysterious and tightening sounds. Once she crept into the dining-room and found it empty, though a partly finished meal was on the table and chairs and plates looked as if they had been hastily pushed back when the diners rose suddenly for some reason. The child ate some fruit and biscuits, and being thirsty she drank a glass of wine which stood nearly filled. It was sweet, and she did not know how strong it was. Very soon it made her intensely drowsy, and she went back to her nursery and shut herself in again, frightened by cries she heard in the huts and by the hurrying sound of feet. The wine made her so sleepy that she could scarcely keep her eyes open and she lay down on her bed and knew nothing more for a long time.
Many things happened during the hours in which she slept so heavily, but she was not disturbed by the wails and the sound of things being carried in and out of the bungalow.
When she awakened she lay and stared at the wall. The house was perfectly still. She had never known it to be so silent before. She heard neither voices nor footsteps, and wondered if everybody had got well of the cholera and all the trouble was over. She wondered also who would take care of her now her Ayah was dead. There would be a new Ayah, and perhaps she would know some new stories. Mary had been rather tired of the old ones. She did not cry because her nurse had died. She was not an affectionate child and had never cared much for any one. The noise and hurrying about and wailing over the cholera had frightened her, and she had been angry because no one seemed to remember that she was alive. Everyone was too panic-stricken to think of a little girl no one was fond of. When people had the cholera it seemed that they remembered nothing but themselves. But if everyone had got well again, surely some one would remember and come to look for her.
But no one came, and as she lay waiting the house seemed to grow more and more silent. She heard something rustling on the matting and when she looked down she saw a little snake gliding along and watching her with eyes like jewels. She was not frightened, because he was a harmless little thing who would not hurt her and he seemed in a hurry to get out of the room. He slipped under the door as she watched him.
“How queer and quiet it is,” she said. “It sounds as if there were no one in the bungalow but me and the snake.”
Almost the next minute she heard footsteps in the compound, and then on the veranda. They were men’s footsteps, and the men entered the bungalow and talked in low voices. No one went to meet or speak to them and they seemed to open doors and look into rooms. “What desolation!” she heard one voice say. “That pretty, pretty woman! I suppose the child, too. I heard there was a child, though no one ever saw her.”
Mary was standing in the middle of the nursery when they opened the door a few minutes later. She looked an ugly, cross little thing and was frowning because she was beginning to be hungry and feel disgracefully neglected. The first man who came in was a large officer she had once seen talking to her father. He looked tired and troubled, but when he saw her he was so startled that he almost jumped back.
“Barney!” he cried out. “There is a child here! A child alone! In a place like this! Mercy on us, who is she!”
“I am Mary Lennox,” the little girl said, drawing herself up stiffly. She thought the man was very rude to call her father’s bungalow “A place like this!” “I fell asleep when everyone had the cholera and I have only just wakened up. Why does nobody come?”
“It is the child no one ever saw!” exclaimed the man, turning to his companions. “She has actually been forgotten!”
“Why was I forgotten?” Mary said, stamping her foot. “Why does nobody come?”
The young man whose name was Barney lookedat her very sadly. Mary even thought she saw him wink his eyes as if to wink tears away.
“Poor little kid!” he said. “There is nobody left to come.”
It was in that strange and sudden way that Mary found out that she had neither father nor mother left; that they had died and been carried away in the night, and that the few native servants who had not died also had left the house as quickly as they could get out of it, none of them even remembering that there was a Missie Sahib. That was why the place was so quiet. It was true that there was no one in the bungalow but herself and the little rustling snake.

Mary had liked to look at her mother from a distance and she had thought her very pretty, but as she knew very little of her she could scarcely have been expected to love her or to miss her very much when she was gone. She did not miss her at all, in fact, and as she was a self-absorbed child she gave her entire thought to herself, as she had always done. If she had been older she would no doubt have been very anxious at being left alone in the world, but she was very young, and as she had always been taken care of, she supposed she always would be. What she thought was that she would like to know if she was going to nice people, who would be polite to her and give her her own way as her Ayah and the other native servants had done.
She knew that she was not going to stay at the English clergyman’s house where she was taken at first. She did not want to stay. The English clergyman was poor and he had five children nearly all the same age and they wore shabby clothes and were always quarreling and snatching toys from each other. Mary hated their untidy bungalow and was so disagreeable to them that after the first day or two nobody would play with her. By the second day they had given her a nickname which made her furious.
It was Basil who thought of it first. Basil was a little boy with impudent blue eyes and a turned-up nose, and Mary hated him. She was playing by herself under a tree, just as she had been playing the day the cholera broke out. She was making heaps of earth and paths for a garden and Basil came and stood near to watch her. Presently he got rather interested and suddenly made a suggestion.
“Why don’t you put a heap of stones there and pretend it is a rockery?” he said. “There in the middle,” and he leaned over her to point.
“Go away!” cried Mary. “I don’t want boys. Go away!”
For a moment Basil looked angry, and then he began to tease. He was always teasing his sisters. He danced round and round her and made faces and sang and laughed.
“Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With silver bells, and cockle shells, And marigolds all in a row.”
He sang it until the other children heard and laughed, too; and the crosser Mary got, the more they sang “Mistress Mary, quite contrary”; and after that as long as she stayed with them they called her “Mistress Mary Quite Contrary” when they spoke of her to each other, and often when they spoke to her.
“You are going to be sent home,” Basil said to her, “at the end of the week. And we’re glad of it.”
“I am glad of it, too,” answered Mary. “Where is home?”
“She doesn’t know where home is!” said Basil, with seven-year-old scorn. “It’s England, of course. Our grandmama lives there and our sister Mabel was sent to her last year. You are not going to your grandmama. You have none. You are going to your uncle. His name is Mr. Archibald Craven.”
“I don’t know anything about him,” snapped Mary.
“I know you don’t,” Basil answered. “You don’t know anything. Girls never do. I heard father and mother talking about him. He lives in a great, big, desolate old house in the country and no one goes near him. He’s so cross he won’t let them, and they wouldn’t come if he would let them. He’s a hunchback, and he’s horrid.” “I don’t believe you,” said Mary; and she turned her back and stuck her fingers in her ears, because she would not listen any more.
But she thought over it a great deal afterward; and when Mrs. Crawford told her that night that she was going to sail away to England in a few days and go to her uncle, Mr. Archibald Craven, who lived at Misselthwaite Manor, she looked so stony and stubbornly uninterested that they did not know what to think about her. They tried to be kind to her, but she only turned her face away when Mrs. Crawford attempted to kiss her, and held herself stiffly when Mr. Crawford patted her shoulder.
“She is such a plain child,” Mrs. Crawford said pityingly, afterward. “And her mother was such a pretty creature. She had a very pretty manner, too, and Mary has the most unattractive ways I ever saw in a child. The children call her `Mistress Mary Quite Contrary,’ and though it’s naughty of them, one can’t help understanding it.”
“Perhaps if her mother had carried her pretty face and her pretty manners oftener into the nursery Mary might have learned some pretty ways too. It is very sad, now the poor beautiful thing is gone, to remember that many people never even knew that she had a child at all.”
“I believe she scarcely ever looked at her,” sighed Mrs. Crawford. “When her Ayah was dead there was no one to give a thought to the little thing. Think of the servants running away and leaving her all alone in that deserted bungalow. Colonel McGrew said he nearly jumped out of his skin when he opened the door and found her standing by herself in the middle of the room.”
Mary made the long voyage to England under the care of an officer’s wife, who was taking her children to leave them in a boarding-school. She was very much absorbed in her own little boy and girl, and was rather glad to hand the child over to the woman Mr. Archibald Craven sent to meet her, in London. The woman was his housekeeper at Misselthwaite Manor, and her name was Mrs. Medlock. She was a stout woman, with very red cheeks and sharp black eyes. She wore a very purple dress, a black silk mantle with jet fringe on it and a black bonnet with purple velvet flowers which stuck up and trembled when she moved her head. Mary did not like her at all, but as she very seldom liked people there was nothing remarkable in that; besides which it was very evident Mrs. Medlock did not think much of her.
“My word! she’s a plain little piece of goods!” she said. “And we’d heard that her mother was a beauty. She hasn’t handed much of it down, has she, ma’am?” “Perhaps she will improve as she grows older,” the officer’s wife said good-naturedly. “If she were not so sallow and had a nicer expression, her features are rather good. Children alter so much.”
“She’ll have to alter a good deal,” answered Mrs. Medlock. “And, there’s nothing likely to improve children at Misselthwaite–if you ask me!” They thought Mary was not listening because she was standing a little apart from them at the window of the private hotel they had gone to. She was watching the passing buses and cabs and people, but she heard quite well and was made very curious about her uncle and the place he lived in. What sort of a place was it, and what would he be like? What was a hunchback? She had never seen one. Perhaps there were none in India.
Since she had been living in other people’s houses and had had no Ayah, she had begun to feel lonely and to think queer thoughts which were new to her. She had begun to wonder why she had never seemed to belong to anyone even when her father and mother had been alive. Other children seemed to belong to their fathers and mothers, but she had never seemed to really be anyone’s little girl. She had had servants, and food and clothes, but no one had taken any notice of her. She did not know that this was because she was a disagreeable child; but then, of course, she did not know she was disagreeable. She often thought that other people were, but she did not know that she was so herself.
She thought Mrs. Medlock the most disagreeable person she had ever seen, with her common, highly colored face and her common fine bonnet. When the next day they set out on their journey to Yorkshire, she walked through the station to the railway carriage with her head up and trying to keep as far away from her as she could, because she did not want to seem to belong to her. It would have made her angry to think people imagined she was her little girl.
But Mrs. Medlock was not in the least disturbed by her and her thoughts. She was the kind of woman who would “stand no nonsense from young ones.” At least, that is what she would have said if she had been asked. She had not wanted to go to London just when her sister Maria’s daughter was going to be married, but she had a comfortable, well paid place as housekeeper at Misselthwaite Manor and the only way in which she could keep it was to do at once what Mr. Archibald Craven told her to do. She never dared even to ask a question.
“Captain Lennox and his wife died of the cholera,” Mr. Craven had said in his short, cold way. “Captain Lennox was my wife’s brother and I am their daughter’s guardian. The child is to be brought here. You must go to London and bring her yourself.”
So she packed her small trunk and made the journey.
Mary sat in her corner of the railway carriage and looked plain and fretful. She had nothing to read or to look at, and she had folded her thin little black-gloved hands in her lap. Her black dress made her look yellower than ever, and her limp light hair straggled from under her black crepe hat.
“A more marred-looking young one I never saw in my life,” Mrs. Medlock thought. (Marred is a Yorkshire word and means spoiled and pettish.) She had never seen a child who sat so still without doing anything; and at last she got tired of watching her and began to talk in a brisk, hard voice.
“I suppose I may as well tell you something about where you are going to,” she said. “Do you know anything about your uncle?”
“No,” said Mary.
“Never heard your father and mother talk about him?”
“No,” said Mary frowning. She frowned because she remembered that her father and mother had never talked to her about anything in particular. Certainly they had never told her things.
“Humph,” muttered Mrs. Medlock, staring at her queer, unresponsive little face. She did not say any more for a few moments and then she began again.
“I suppose you might as well be told something–to prepare you. You are going to a queer place.”
Mary said nothing at all, and Mrs. Medlock looked rather discomfited by her apparent indifference, but, after taking a breath, she went on.
“Not but that it’s a grand big place in a gloomy way, and Mr. Craven’s proud of it in his way–and that’s gloomy enough, too. The house is six hundred years old and it’s on the edge of the moor, and there’s near a hundred rooms in it, though most of them’s shut up and locked. And there’s pictures and fine old furniture and things that’s been there for ages, and there’s a big park round it and gardens and trees with branches trailing to the ground–some of them.” She paused and took another breath. “But there’s nothing else,” she ended suddenly.
Mary had begun to listen in spite of herself. It all sounded so unlike India, and anything new rather attracted her. But she did not intend to look as if she were interested. That was one of her unhappy, disagreeable ways. So she sat still.
“Well,” said Mrs. Medlock. “What do you think of it?”
“Nothing,” she answered. “I know nothing about such places.”
That made Mrs. Medlock laugh a short sort of laugh.
“Eh!” she said, “but you are like an old woman. Don’t you care?”
“It doesn’t matter” said Mary, “whether I care or not.”
“You are right enough there,” said Mrs. Medlock. “It doesn’t. What you’re to be kept at Misselthwaite Manor for I don’t know, unless because it’s the easiest way. He’s not going to trouble himself about you, that’s sure and certain. He never troubles himself about no one.”
She stopped herself as if she had just remembered something in time.
“He’s got a crooked back,” she said. “That set him wrong. He was a sour young man and got no good of all his money and big place till he was married.”
Mary’s eyes turned toward her in spite of her intention not to seem to care. She had never thought of the hunchback’s being married and she was a trifle surprised. Mrs. Medlock saw this, and as she was a talkative woman she continued with more interest. This was one way of passing some of the time, at any rate.
“She was a sweet, pretty thing and he’d have walked the world over to get her a blade o’ grass she wanted. Nobody thought she’d marry him, but she did, and people said she married him for his money. But she didn’t–she didn’t,” positively. “When she died–”
Mary gave a little involuntary jump.
“Oh! did she die!” she exclaimed, quite without meaning to. She had just remembered a French fairy story she had once read called “Riquet a la Houppe.” It had been about a poor hunchback and a beautiful princess and it had made her suddenly sorry for Mr. Archibald Craven.
“Yes, she died,” Mrs. Medlock answered. “And it made him queerer than ever. He cares about nobody. He won’t see people. Most of the time he goes away, and when he is at Misselthwaite he shuts himself up in the West Wing and won’t let any one but Pitcher see him. Pitcher’s an old fellow, but he took care of him when he was a child and he knows his ways.”
It sounded like something in a book and it did not make Mary feel cheerful. A house with a hundred rooms, nearly all shut up and with their doors locked–a house on the edge of a moor–whatsoever a moor was–sounded dreary. A man with a crooked back who shut himself up also! She stared out of the window with her lips pinched together, and it seemed quite natural that the rain should have begun to pour down in gray slanting lines and splash and stream down the window-panes. If the pretty wife had been alive she might have made things cheerful by being something like her own mother and by running in and out and going to parties as she had done in frocks “full of lace.” But she was not there any more.
“You needn’t expect to see him, because ten to one you won’t,” said Mrs. Medlock. “And you mustn’t expect that there will be people to talk to you. You’ll have to play about and look after yourself. You’ll be told what rooms you can go into and what rooms you’re to keep out of. There’s gardens enough. But when you’re in the house don’t go wandering and poking about. Mr. Craven won’t have it.”
“I shall not want to go poking about,” said sour little Mary and just as suddenly as she had begun to be rather sorry for Mr. Archibald Craven she began to cease to be sorry and to think he was unpleasant enough to deserve all that had happened to him.
And she turned her face toward the streaming panes of the window of the railway carriage and gazed out at the gray rain-storm which looked as if it would go on forever and ever. She watched it so long and steadily that the grayness grew heavier and heavier before her eyes and she fell asleep.

She slept a long time, and when she awakened Mrs. Medlock had bought a lunchbasket at one of the stations and they had some chicken and cold beef and bread and butter and some hot tea. The rain seemed to be streaming down more heavily than ever and everybody in the station wore wet and glistening waterproofs. The guard lighted the lamps in the carriage, and Mrs. Medlock cheered up very much over her tea and chicken and beef. She ate a great deal and afterward fell asleep herself, and Mary sat and stared at her and watched her fine bonnet slip on one side until she herself fell asleep once more in the corner of the carriage, lulled by the splashing of the rain against the windows. It was quite dark when she awakened again. The train had stopped at a station and Mrs. Medlock was shaking her.
“You have had a sleep!” she said. “It’s time to open your eyes! We’re at Thwaite Station and we’ve got a long drive before us.”
Mary stood up and tried to keep her eyes open while Mrs. Medlock collected her parcels. The little girl did not offer to help her, because in India native servants always picked up or carried things and it seemed quite proper that other people should wait on one.
The station was a small one and nobody but themselves seemed to be getting out of the train. The station-master spoke to Mrs. Medlock in a rough, good-natured way, pronouncing his words in a queer broad fashion which Mary found out afterward was Yorkshire.
“I see tha’s got back,” he said. “An’ tha’s browt th’ young ‘un with thee.”
“Aye, that’s her,” answered Mrs. Medlock, speaking with a Yorkshire accent herself and jerking her head over her shoulder toward Mary. “How’s thy Missus?”
“Well enow. Th’ carriage is waitin’ outside for thee.”
A brougham stood on the road before the little outside platform. Mary saw that it was a smart carriage and that it was a smart footman who helped her in. His long waterproof coat and the waterproof covering of his hat were shining and dripping with rain as everything was, the burly station-master included.
When he shut the door, mounted the box with the coachman, and they drove off, the little girlfound herself seated in a comfortably cushioned corner, but she was not inclined to go to sleep again. She sat and looked out of the window, curious to see something of the road over which she was being driven to the queer place Mrs. Medlock had spoken of. She was not at all a timid child and she was not exactly frightened, but she felt that there was no knowing what might happen in a house with a hundred rooms nearly all shut up–a house standing on the edge of a moor.
“What is a moor?” she said suddenly to Mrs. Medlock.
“Look out of the window in about ten minutes and you’ll see,” the woman answered. “We’ve got to drive five miles across Missel Moor before we get to the Manor. You won’t see much because it’s a dark night, but you can see something.”
Mary asked no more questions but waited in the darkness of her corner, keeping her eyes on the window. The carriage lamps cast rays of light a little distance ahead of them and she caught glimpses of the things they passed. After they had left the station they had driven through a tiny village and she had seen whitewashed cottages and the lights of a public house. Then they had passed a church and a vicarage and a little shop-window or so in a cottage with toys and sweets and odd things set our for sale. Then they were on the highroad and she saw hedges and trees. After that there seemed nothing different for a long time–or at least it seemed a long time to her.
At last the horses began to go more slowly, as if they were climbing up-hill, and presently there seemed to be no more hedges and no more trees. She could see nothing, in fact, but a dense darkness on either side. She leaned forward and pressed her face against the window just as the carriage gave a big jolt.
“Eh! We’re on the moor now sure enough,” said Mrs. Medlock.
The carriage lamps shed a yellow light on a rough-looking road which seemed to be cut through bushes and low-growing things which ended in the great expanse of dark apparently spread out before and around them. A wind was rising and making a singular, wild, low, rushing sound.
“It’s–it’s not the sea, is it?” said Mary, looking round at her companion.
“No, not it,” answered Mrs. Medlock. “Nor it isn’t fields nor mountains, it’s just miles and miles and miles of wild land that nothing grows on but heather and gorse and broom, and nothing lives on but wild ponies and sheep.”
“I feel as if it might be the sea, if there were water on it,” said Mary. “It sounds like the sea just now.”
“That’s the wind blowing through the bushes,” Mrs. Medlock said. “It’s a wild, dreary enough place to my mind, though there’s plenty that likes it–particularly when the heather’s in bloom.”
On and on they drove through the darkness, and though the rain stopped, the wind rushed by and whistled and made strange sounds. The road went up and down, and several times the carriage passed over a little bridge beneath which water rushed very fast with a great deal of noise. Mary felt as if the drive would never come to an end and that the wide, bleak moor was a wide expanse of black ocean through which she was passing on a strip of dry land.
“I don’t like it,” she said to herself. “I don’t like it,” and she pinched her thin lips more tightly together.
The horses were climbing up a hilly piece of road when she first caught sight of a light. Mrs. Medlock saw it as soon as she did and drew a long sigh of relief.
“Eh, I am glad to see that bit o’ light twinkling,” she exclaimed. “It’s the light in the lodge window. We shall get a good cup of tea after a bit, at all events.”
It was “after a bit,” as she said, for when the carriage passed through the park gates there was still two miles of avenue to drive through and the trees (which nearly met overhead) made it seem as if they were driving through a long dark vault.
They drove out of the vault into a clear space and stopped before an immensely long but low-built house which seemed to ramble round a stone court. At first Mary thought that there were no lights at all in the windows, but as she got out of the carriage she saw that one room in a corner upstairs showed a dull glow.
The entrance door was a huge one made of massive, curiously shaped panels of oak studded with big iron nails and bound with great iron bars. It opened into an enormous hall, which was so dimly lighted that the faces in the portraits on the walls and the figures in the suits of armor made Mary feel that she did not want to look at them. As she stood on the stone floor she looked a very small, odd little black figure, and she felt as small and lost and odd as she looked.
A neat, thin old man stood near the manservant who opened the door for them.
“You are to take her to her room,” he said in a husky voice. “He doesn’t want to see her. He’s going to London in the morning.”
“Very well, Mr. Pitcher,” Mrs. Medlock answered. “So long as I know what’s expected of me, I can manage.”
“What’s expected of you, Mrs. Medlock,” Mr. Pitcher said, “is that you make sure that he’s not disturbed and that he doesn’t see what he doesn’t want to see.”
And then Mary Lennox was led up a broad staircase and down a long corridor and up a short flight of steps and through another corridor and another, until a door opened in a wall and she found herself in a room with a fire in it and a supper on a table.
Mrs. Medlock said unceremoniously:
“Well, here you are! This room and the next are where you’ll live–and you must keep to them. Don’t you forget that!”
It was in this way Mistress Mary arrived at Misselthwaite Manor and she had perhaps never felt quite so contrary in all her life.
When she opened her eyes in the morning it was because a young housemaid had come into her room to light the fire and was kneeling on the hearth-rug raking out the cinders noisily. Mary lay and watched her for a few moments and then began to look about the room. She had never seen a room at all like it and thought it curious and gloomy. The walls were covered with tapestry with a forest scene embroidered on it. There were fantastically dressed people under the trees and in the distance there was a glimpse of the turrets of a castle. There were hunters and horses and dogs and ladies. Mary felt as if she were in the forest with them. Out of a deep window she could see a great climbing stretch of land which seemed to have no trees on it, and to look rather like an endless, dull, purplish sea.
“What is that?” she said, pointing out of the window.
Martha, the young housemaid, who had just risen to her feet, looked and pointed also. “That there?” she said.
“Yes.”
“That’s th’ moor,” with a good-natured grin. “Does tha’ like it?”
“No,” answered Mary. “I hate it.”
“That’s because tha’rt not used to it,” Martha said, going back to her hearth. “Tha’ thinks it’s too big an’ bare now. But tha’ will like it.”
“Do you?” inquired Mary.
“Aye, that I do,” answered Martha, cheerfully polishing away at the grate. “I just love it. It’s none bare. It’s covered wi’ growin’ things as smells sweet. It’s fair lovely in spring an’ summer when th’ gorse an’ broom an’ heather’s in flower. It smells o’ honey an’ there’s such a lot o’ fresh air–an’ th’ sky looks so high an’ th’ bees an’ skylarks makes such a nice noise hummin’ an’ singin’. Eh! I wouldn’t live away from th’ moor for anythin’.”
Mary listened to her with a grave, puzzled expression. The native servants she had been used to in India were not in the least like this. They were obsequious and servile and did not presume to talk to their masters as if they were their equals. They made salaams and called them “protector of the poor” and names of that sort. Indian servants were commanded to do things, not asked. It was not the custom to say “please” and “thank you” and Mary had always slapped her Ayah in the face when she was angry. She wondered a little what this girl would do if one slapped her in the face. She was a round, rosy, good-natured-looking creature, but she had a sturdy way which made Mistress Mary wonder if she might not even slap back–if the person who slapped her was only a little girl.
“You are a strange servant,” she said from her pillows, rather haughtily.
Martha sat up on her heels, with her blackingbrush in her hand, and laughed, without seeming the least out of temper.
“Eh! I know that,” she said. “If there was a grand Missus at Misselthwaite I should never have been even one of th’ under house-maids. I might have been let to be scullerymaid but I’d never have been let upstairs. I’m too common an’ I talk too much Yorkshire. But this is a funny house for all it’s so grand. Seems like there’s neither Master nor Mistress except Mr. Pitcher an’ Mrs. Medlock. Mr. Craven, he won’t be troubled about anythin’ when he’s here, an’ he’s nearly always away. Mrs. Medlock gave me th’ place out o’ kindness. She told me she could never have done it if Misselthwaite had been like other big houses.” “Are you going to be my servant?” Mary asked, still in her imperious little Indian way.
Martha began to rub her grate again.
“I’m Mrs. Medlock’s servant,” she said stoutly. “An’ she’s Mr. Craven’s–but I’m to do the housemaid’s work up here an’ wait on you a bit. But you won’t need much waitin’ on.”
“Who is going to dress me?” demanded Mary.
Martha sat up on her heels again and stared. She spoke in broad Yorkshire in her amazement.
“Canna’ tha’ dress thysen!” she said.
“What do you mean? I don’t understand your language,” said Mary.
“Eh! I forgot,” Martha said. “Mrs. Medlock told me I’d have to be careful or you wouldn’t know what I was sayin’. I mean can’t you put on your own clothes?”
“No,” answered Mary, quite indignantly. “I never did in my life. My Ayah dressed me, of course.”
“Well,” said Martha, evidently not in the least aware that she was impudent, “it’s time tha’ should learn. Tha’ cannot begin younger. It’ll do thee good to wait on thysen a bit. My mother always said she couldn’t see why grand people’s children didn’t turn out fair fools–what with nurses an’ bein’ washed an’ dressed an’ took out to walk as if they was puppies!”
“It is different in India,” said Mistress Mary disdainfully. She could scarcely stand this.
But Martha was not at all crushed.
“Eh! I can see it’s different,” she answered almost sympathetically. “I dare say it’s because there’s such a lot o’ blacks there instead o’ respectable white people. When I heard you was comin’ from India I thought you was a black too.”
Mary sat up in bed furious.
“What!” she said. “What! You thought I was a native. You–you daughter of a pig!”
Martha stared and looked hot.
“Who are you callin’ names?” she said. “You needn’t be so vexed. That’s not th’ way for a young lady to talk. I’ve nothin’ against th’ blacks. When you read about ‘em in tracts they’re always very religious. You always read as a black’s a man an’ a brother. I’ve never seen a black an’ I was fair pleased to think I was goin’ to see one close. When I come in to light your fire this mornin’ I crep’ up to your bed an’ pulled th’ cover back careful to look at you. An’ there you was,” disappointedly, “no more black than me–for all you’re so yeller.”
Mary did not even try to control her rage and humiliation. “You thought I was a native! You dared! You don’t know anything about natives! They are not people–they’re servants who must salaam to you. You know nothing about India. You know nothing about anything!”
She was in such a rage and felt so helpless before the girl’s simple stare, and somehow she suddenly felt so horribly lonely and far away from everything she understood and which understood her, that she threw herself face downward on the pillows and burst into passionate sobbing. She sobbed so unrestrainedly that good-natured Yorkshire Martha was a little frightened and quite sorry for her. She went to the bed and bent over her.
“Eh! you mustn’t cry like that there!” she begged. “You mustn’t for sure. I didn’t know you’d be vexed. I don’t know anythin’ about anythin’–just like you said. I beg your pardon, Miss. Do stop cryin’.”
There was something comforting and really friendly in her queer Yorkshire speech and sturdy way which had a good effect on Mary. She gradually ceased crying and became quiet. Martha looked relieved.
“It’s time for thee to get up now,” she said. “Mrs. Medlock said I was to carry tha’ breakfast an’ tea an’ dinner into th’ room next to this. It’s been made into a nursery for thee. I’ll help thee on with thy clothes if tha’ll get out o’ bed. If th’ buttons are at th’ back tha’ cannot button them up tha’self.”
When Mary at last decided to get up, the clothes Martha took from the wardrobe were not the ones she had worn when she arrived the night before with Mrs. Medlock.
“Those are not mine,” she said. “Mine are black.”
She looked the thick white wool coat and dress over, and added with cool approval:
“Those are nicer than mine.”
“These are th’ ones tha’ must put on,” Martha answered. “Mr. Craven ordered Mrs. Medlock to get ‘em in London. He said `I won’t have a child dressed in black wanderin’ about like a lost soul,’ he said. `It’d make the place sadder than it is. Put color on her.’ Mother she said she knew what he meant. Mother always knows what a body means. She doesn’t hold with black hersel’.”
“I hate black things,” said Mary.
The dressing process was one which taught them both something. Martha had “buttoned up” her little sisters and brothers but she had never seen a child who stood still and waited for another person to do things for her as if she had neither hands nor feet of her own.
“Why doesn’t tha’ put on tha’ own shoes?” she said when Mary quietly held out her foot.
“My Ayah did it,” answered Mary, staring. “It was the custom.”
She said that very often–”It was the custom.” The native servants were always saying it. If one told them to do a thing their ancestors had not done for a thousand years they gazed at one mildly and said, “It is not the custom” and one knew that was the end of the matter.
It had not been the custom that Mistress Mary should do anything but stand and allow herself to be dressed like a doll, but before she was ready for breakfast she began to suspect that her life at Misselthwaite Manor would end by teaching her a number of things quite new to her–things such as putting on her own shoes and stockings, and picking up things she let fall. If Martha had been a well-trained fine young lady’s maid she would have been more subservient and respectful and would have known that it was her business to brush hair, and button boots, and pick things up and lay them away. She was, however, only an untrained Yorkshire rustic who had been brought up in a moorland cottage with a swarm of little brothers and sisters who had never dreamed of doing anything but waiting on themselves and on the younger ones who were either babies in arms or just learning to totter about and tumble over things.
If Mary Lennox had been a child who was ready to be amused she would perhaps have laughed at Martha’s readiness to talk, but Mary only listened to her coldly and wondered at her freedom of manner. At first she was not at all interested, but gradually, as the girl rattled on in her good-tempered, homely way, Mary began to notice what she was saying.
“Eh! you should see ‘em all,” she said. “There’s twelve of us an’ my father only gets sixteen shilling a week. I can tell you my mother’s put to it to get porridge for ‘em all. They tumble about on th’ moor an’ play there all day an’ mother says th’ air of th’ moor fattens ‘em. She says she believes they eat th’ grass same as th’ wild ponies do. Our Dickon, he’s twelve years old and he’s got a young pony he calls his own.”
“Where did he get it?” asked Mary.
“He found it on th’ moor with its mother when it was a little one an’ he began to make friends with it an’ give it bits o’ bread an’ pluck young grass for it. And it got to like him so it follows him about an’ it lets him get on its back. Dickon’s a kind lad an’ animals likes him.”
Mary had never possessed an animal pet of her own and had always thought she should like one. So she began to feel a slight interest in Dickon, and as she had never before been interested in any one but herself, it was the dawning of a healthy sentiment. When she went into the room which had been made into a nursery for her, she found that it was rather like the one she had slept in. It was not a child’s room, but a grown-up person’s room, with gloomy old pictures on the walls and heavy old oak chairs. A table in the center was set with a good substantial breakfast. But she had always had a very small appetite, and she looked with something more than indifference at the first plate Martha set before her.
“I don’t want it,” she said.
“Tha’ doesn’t want thy porridge!” Martha exclaimed incredulously.
“No.”
“Tha’ doesn’t know how good it is. Put a bit o’ treacle on it or a bit o’ sugar.”
“I don’t want it,” repeated Mary.
“Eh!” said Martha. “I can’t abide to see good victuals go to waste. If our children was at this table they’d clean it bare in five minutes.”
“Why?” said Mary coldly. “Why!” echoed Martha. “Because they scarce ever had their stomachs full in their lives. They’re as hungry as young hawks an’ foxes.”
“I don’t know what it is to be hungry,” said Mary, with the indifference of ignorance.
Martha looked indignant.
“Well, it would do thee good to try it. I can see that plain enough,” she said outspokenly. “I’ve no patience with folk as sits an’ just stares at good bread an’ meat. My word! don’t I wish Dickon and Phil an’ Jane an’ th’ rest of ‘em had what’s here under their pinafores.”
“Why don’t you take it to them?” suggested Mary.
“It’s not mine,” answered Martha stoutly. “An’ this isn’t my day out. I get my day out once a month same as th’ rest. Then I go home an’ clean up for mother an’ give her a day’s rest.”
Mary drank some tea and ate a little toast and some marmalade.
“You wrap up warm an’ run out an’ play you,” said Martha. “It’ll do you good and give you some stomach for your meat.”
Mary went to the window. There were gardens and paths and big trees, but everything looked dull and wintry.
“Out? Why should I go out on a day like this?” “Well, if tha’ doesn’t go out tha’lt have to stay in, an’ what has tha’ got to do?”
Mary glanced about her. There was nothing to do. When Mrs. Medlock had prepared the nursery she had not thought of amusement. Perhaps it would be better to go and see what the gardens were like.
“Who will go with me?” she inquired.
Martha stared.
“You’ll go by yourself,” she answered. “You’ll have to learn to play like other children does when they haven’t got sisters and brothers. Our Dickon goes off on th’ moor by himself an’ plays for hours. That’s how he made friends with th’ pony. He’s got sheep on th’ moor that knows him, an’ birds as comes an’ eats out of his hand. However little there is to eat, he always saves a bit o’ his bread to coax his pets.”
It was really this mention of Dickon which made Mary decide to go out, though she was not aware of it. There would be, birds outside though there would not be ponies or sheep. They would be different from the birds in India and it might amuse her to look at them.
Martha found her coat and hat for her and a pair of stout little boots and she showed her her way downstairs.
“If tha’ goes round that way tha’ll come to th’ gardens,” she said, pointing to a gate in a wall of shrubbery. “There’s lots o’ flowers in summer-time, but there’s nothin’ bloomin’ now.” She seemed to hesitate a second before she added, “One of th’ gardens is locked up. No one has been in it for ten years.”
“Why?” asked Mary in spite of herself. Here was another locked door added to the hundred in the strange house.
“Mr. Craven had it shut when his wife died so sudden. He won’t let no one go inside. It was her garden. He locked th’ door an’ dug a hole and buried th’ key. There’s Mrs. Medlock’s bell ringing–I must run.”
After she was gone Mary turned down the walk which led to the door in the shrubbery. She could not help thinking about the garden which no one had been into for ten years. She wondered what it would look like and whether there were any flowers still alive in it. When she had passed through the shrubbery gate she found herself in great gardens, with wide lawns and winding walks with clipped borders. There were trees, and flower-beds, and evergreens clipped into strange shapes, and a large pool with an old gray fountain in its midst. But the flower-beds were bare and wintry and the fountain was not playing. This was not the garden which was shut up. How could a garden be shut up? You could always walk into a garden.
She was just thinking this when she saw that, at the end of the path she was following, there seemed to be a long wall, with ivy growing over it. She was not familiar enough with England to know that she was coming upon the kitchen-gardens where the vegetables and fruit were growing. She went toward the wall and found that there was a green door in the ivy, and that it stood open. This was not the closed garden, evidently, and she could go into it.
She went through the door and found that it was a garden with walls all round it and that it was only one of several walled gardens which seemed to open into one another. She saw another open green door, revealing bushes and pathways between beds containing winter vegetables. Fruit-trees were trained flat against the wall, and over some of the beds there were glass frames. The place was bare and ugly enough, Mary thought, as she stood and stared about her. It might be nicer in summer when things were green, but there was nothing pretty about it now.
Presently an old man with a spade over his shoulder walked through the door leading from the second garden. He looked startled when he saw Mary, and then touched his cap. He had a surly old face, and did not seem at all pleased to see her–but then she was displeased with his garden and wore her “quite contrary” expression, and certainly did not seem at all pleased to see him.
“What is this place?” she asked.
“One o’ th’ kitchen-gardens,” he answered.
“What is that?” said Mary, pointing through the other green door.
“Another of ‘em,” shortly. “There’s another on t’other side o’ th’ wall an’ there’s th’ orchard t’other side o’ that.”
“Can I go in them?” asked Mary.
“If tha’ likes. But there’s nowt to see.”
Mary made no response. She went down the path and through the second green door. There, she found more walls and winter vegetables and glass frames, but in the second wall there was another green door and it was not open. Perhaps it led into the garden which no one had seen for ten years. As she was not at all a timid child and always did what she wanted to do, Mary went to the green door and turned the handle. She hoped the door would not open because she wanted to be sure she had found the mysterious garden–but it did open quite easily and she walked through it and found herself in an orchard. There were walls all round it also and trees trained against them, and there were bare fruit-trees growing in the winter-browned grass–but there was no green door to be seen anywhere. Mary looked for it, and yet when she had entered the upper end of the garden she had noticed that the wall did not seem to end with the orchard but to extend beyond it as if it enclosed a place at the other side. She could see the tops of trees above the wall, and when she stood still she saw a bird with a bright red breast sitting on the topmost branch of one of them, and suddenly he burst into his winter song–almost as if he had caught sight of her and was calling to her.
She stopped and listened to him and somehow his cheerful, friendly little whistle gave her a pleased feeling–even a disagreeable little girl may be lonely, and the big closed house and big bare moor and big bare gardens had made this one feel as if there was no one left in the world but herself. If she had been an affectionate child, who had been used to being loved, she would have broken her heart, but even though she was “Mistress Mary Quite Contrary” she was desolate, and the bright-breasted little bird brought a look into her sour little face which was almost a smile. She listened to him until he flew away. He was not like an Indian bird and she liked him and wondered if she should ever see him again. Perhaps he lived in the mysterious garden and knew all about it.
Perhaps it was because she had nothing whatever to do that she thought so much of the deserted garden. She was curious about it and wanted to see what it was like. Why had Mr. Archibald Craven buried the key? If he had liked his wife so much why did he hate her garden? She wondered if she should ever see him, but she knew that if she did she should not like him, and he would not like her, and that she should only stand and stare at him and say nothing, though she should be wanting dreadfully to ask him why he had done such a queer thing.
“People never like me and I never like people,” she thought. “And I never can talk as the Crawford children could. They were always talking and laughing and making noises.”
She thought of the robin and of the way he seemed to sing his song at her, and as she remembered the tree-top he perched on she stopped rather suddenly on the path.
“I believe that tree was in the secret garden–I feel sure it was,” she said. “There was a wall round the place and there was no door.”
She walked back into the first kitchen-garden she had entered and found the old man digging there. She went and stood beside him and watched him a few moments in her cold little way. He took no notice of her and so at last she spoke to him.
“I have been into the other gardens,” she said.
“There was nothin’ to prevent thee,” he answered crustily.
“I went into the orchard.”
“There was no dog at th’ door to bite thee,” he answered.
“There was no door there into the other garden,” said Mary.
“What garden?” he said in a rough voice, stopping his digging for a moment.
“The one on the other side of the wall,” answered Mistress Mary. “There are trees there–I saw the tops of them. A bird with a red breast was sitting on one of them and he sang.”
To her surprise the surly old weather-beaten face actually changed its expression. A slow smile spread over it and the gardener looked quite different. It made her think that it was curious how much nicer a person looked when he smiled. She had not thought of it before.
He turned about to the orchard side of his garden and began to whistle–a low soft whistle. She could not understand how such a surly man could make such a coaxing sound. Almost the next moment a wonderful thing happened. She heard a soft little rushing flight through the air–and it was the bird with the red breast flying to them, and he actually alighted on the big clod of earth quite near to the gardener’s foot.
“Here he is,” chuckled the old man, and then he spoke to the bird as if he were speaking to a child.
“Where has tha’ been, tha’ cheeky little beggar?” he said. “I’ve not seen thee before today. Has tha, begun tha’ courtin’ this early in th’ season? Tha’rt too forrad.”
The bird put his tiny head on one side and looked up at him with his soft bright eye which was like a black dewdrop. He seemed quite familiar and not the least afraid. He hopped about and pecked the earth briskly, looking for seeds and insects. It actually gave Mary a queer feeling in her heart, because he was so pretty and cheerful and seemed so like a person. He had a tiny plump body and a delicate beak, and slender delicate legs.
“Will he always come when you call him?” she asked almost in a whisper.
“Aye, that he will. I’ve knowed him ever since he was a fledgling. He come out of th’ nest in th’ other garden an’ when first he flew over th’ wall he was too weak to fly back for a few days an’ we got friendly. When he went over th’ wall again th’ rest of th’ brood was gone an’ he was lonely an’ he come back to me.”
“What kind of a bird is he?” Mary asked.
“Doesn’t tha’ know? He’s a robin redbreast an’ they’re th’ friendliest, curiousest birds alive. They’re almost as friendly as dogs–if you know how to get on with ‘em. Watch him peckin’ about there an’ lookin’ round at us now an’ again. He knows we’re talkin’ about him.”
It was the queerest thing in the world to see the old fellow. He looked at the plump little scarlet-waistcoated bird as if he were both proud and fond of him.
“He’s a conceited one,” he chuckled. “He likes to hear folk talk about him. An’ curious–bless me, there never was his like for curiosity an’ meddlin’. He’s always comin’ to see what I’m plantin’. He knows all th’ things Mester Craven never troubles hissel’ to find out. He’s th’ head gardener, he is.”
The robin hopped about busily pecking the soil and now and then stopped and looked at them a little. Mary thought his black dewdrop eyes gazed at her with great curiosity. It really seemed as if he were finding out all about her. The queer feeling in her heart increased. “Where did the rest of the brood fly to?” she asked.
“There’s no knowin’. The old ones turn ‘em out o’ their nest an’ make ‘em fly an’ they’re scattered before you know it. This one was a knowin’ one an, he knew he was lonely.”
Mistress Mary went a step nearer to the robin and looked at him very hard.
“I’m lonely,” she said. She had not known before that this was one of the things which made her feel sour and cross. She seemed to find it out when the robin looked at her and she looked at the robin.
The old gardener pushed his cap back on his bald head and stared at her a minute.
“Art tha’ th’ little wench from India?” he asked.
Mary nodded.
“Then no wonder tha’rt lonely. Tha’lt be lonlier before tha’s done,” he said.
He began to dig again, driving his spade deep into the rich black garden soil while the robin hopped about very busily employed.
“What is your name?” Mary inquired.
He stood up to answer her.
“Ben Weatherstaff,” he answered, and then he added with a surly chuckle, “I’m lonely mysel’ except when he’s with me,” and he jerked his thumb toward the robin. “He’s th’ only friend I’ve got.”
“I have no friends at all,” said Mary. “I never had. My Ayah didn’t like me and I never played with any one.”
It is a Yorkshire habit to say what you think with blunt frankness, and old Ben Weatherstaff was a Yorkshire moor man.
“Tha’ an’ me are a good bit alike,” he said. “We was wove out of th’ same cloth. We’re neither of us good lookin’ an’ we’re both of us as sour as we look. We’ve got the same nasty tempers, both of us, I’ll warrant.”
This was plain speaking, and Mary Lennox had never heard the truth about herself in her life. Native servants always salaamed and submitted to you, whatever you did. She had never thought much about her looks, but she wondered if she was as unattractive as Ben Weatherstaff and she also wondered if she looked as sour as he had looked before the robin came. She actually began to wonder also if she was “nasty tempered.” She felt uncomfortable.
Suddenly a clear rippling little sound broke out near her and she turned round. She was standing a few feet from a young apple-tree and the robin had flown on to one of its branches and had burst out into a scrap of a song. Ben Weatherstaff laughed outright.
“What did he do that for?” asked Mary.
“He’s made up his mind to make friends with thee,” replied Ben. “Dang me if he hasn’t took a fancy to thee.”
“To me?” said Mary, and she moved toward the little tree softly and looked up.
“Would you make friends with me?” she said to the robin just as if she was speaking to a person. “Would you?” And she did not say it either in her hard little voice or in her imperious Indian voice, but in a tone so soft and eager and coaxing that Ben Weatherstaff was as surprised as she had been when she heard him whistle.
“Why,” he cried out, “tha’ said that as nice an’ human as if tha’ was a real child instead of a sharp old woman. Tha’ said it almost like Dickon talks to his wild things on th’ moor.”
“Do you know Dickon?” Mary asked, turning round rather in a hurry.
“Everybody knows him. Dickon’s wanderin’ about everywhere. Th’ very blackberries an’ heather-bells knows him. I warrant th’ foxes shows him where their cubs lies an’ th’ skylarks doesn’t hide their nests from him.”
Mary would have liked to ask some more questions. She was almost as curious about Dickon as she was about the deserted garden. But just that moment the robin, who had ended his song, gave a little shake of his wings, spread them and flew away. He had made his visit and had other things to do.
“He has flown over the wall!” Mary cried out, watching him. “He has flown into the orchard–he has flown across the other wall–into the garden where there is no door!”
“He lives there,” said old Ben. “He came out o’ th’ egg there. If he’s courtin’, he’s makin’ up to some young madam of a robin that lives among th’ old rose-trees there.”
“Rose-trees,” said Mary. “Are there rose-trees?”
Ben Weatherstaff took up his spade again and began to dig.
“There was ten year’ ago,” he mumbled.
“I should like to see them,” said Mary. “Where is the green door? There must be a door somewhere.”
Ben drove his spade deep and looked as uncompanionable as he had looked when she first saw him.
“There was ten year’ ago, but there isn’t now,” he said.
“No door!” cried Mary. “There must be.” “None as any one can find, an’ none as is any one’s business. Don’t you be a meddlesome wench an’ poke your nose where it’s no cause to go. Here, I must go on with my work. Get you gone an’ play you. I’ve no more time.”
And he actually stopped digging, threw his spade over his shoulder and walked off, without even glancing at her or saying good-by.
At first each day which passed by for Mary Lennox was exactly like the others. Every morning she awoke in her tapestried room and found Martha kneeling upon the hearth building her fire; every morning she ate her breakfast in the nursery which had nothing amusing in it; and after each breakfast she gazed out of the window across to the huge moor which seemed to spread out on all sides and climb up to the sky, and after she had stared for a while she realized that if she did not go out she would have to stay in and do nothing–and so she went out. She did not know that this was the best thing she could have done, and she did not know that, when she began to walk quickly or even run along the paths and down the avenue, she was stirring her slow blood and making herself stronger by fighting with the wind which swept down from the moor. She ran only to make herself warm, and she hated the wind which rushed at her face and roared and held her back as if it were some giant she could not see. But the big breaths of rough fresh air blown over the heather filled her lungs with something which was good for her whole thin body and whipped some red color into her cheeks and brightened her dull eyes when she did not know anything about it.
But after a few days spent almost entirely out of doors she wakened one morning knowing what it was to be hungry, and when she sat down to her breakfast she did not glance disdainfully at her porridge and push it away, but took up her spoon and began to eat it and went on eating it until her bowl was empty.
“Tha’ got on well enough with that this mornin’, didn’t tha’?” said Martha.
“It tastes nice today,” said Mary, feeling a little surprised her self.
“It’s th’ air of th’ moor that’s givin’ thee stomach for tha’ victuals,” answered Martha. “It’s lucky for thee that tha’s got victuals as well as appetite. There’s been twelve in our cottage as had th’ stomach an’ nothin’ to put in it. You go on playin’ you out o’ doors every day an’ you’ll get some flesh on your bones an’ you won’t be so yeller.”
“I don’t play,” said Mary. “I have nothing to play with.”
“Nothin’ to play with!” exclaimed Martha. “Our children plays with sticks and stones. They just runs about an’ shouts an’ looks at things.” Mary did not shout, but she looked at things. There was nothing else to do. She walked round and round the gardens and wandered about the paths in the park. Sometimes she looked for Ben Weatherstaff, but though several times she saw him at work he was too busy to look at her or was too surly. Once when she was walking toward him he picked up his spade and turned away as if he did it on purpose.
One place she went to oftener than to any other. It was the long walk outside the gardens with the walls round them. There were bare flower-beds on either side of it and against the walls ivy grew thickly. There was one part of the wall where the creeping dark green leaves were more bushy than elsewhere. It seemed as if for a long time that part had been neglected. The rest of it had been clipped and made to look neat, but at this lower end of the walk it had not been trimmed at all.
A few days after she had talked to Ben Weatherstaff, Mary stopped to notice this and wondered why it was so. She had just paused and was looking up at a long spray of ivy swinging in the wind when she saw a gleam of scarlet and heard a brilliant chirp, and there, on the top of the wall, forward perched Ben Weatherstaff’s robin redbreast, tilting forward to look at her with his small head on one side.
“Oh!” she cried out, “is it you–is it you?” And it did not seem at all queer to her that she spoke to him as if she were sure that he would understand and answer her.
He did answer. He twittered and chirped and hopped along the wall as if he were telling her all sorts of things. It seemed to Mistress Mary as if she understood him, too, though he was not speaking in words. It was as if he said:
“Good morning! Isn’t the wind nice? Isn’t the sun nice? Isn’t everything nice? Let us both chirp and hop and twitter. Come on! Come on!”
Mary began to laugh, and as he hopped and took little flights along the wall she ran after him. Poor little thin, sallow, ugly Mary–she actually looked almost pretty for a moment.
“I like you! I like you!” she cried out, pattering down the walk; and she chirped and tried to whistle, which last she did not know how to do in the least. But the robin seemed to be quite satisfied and chirped and whistled back at her. At last he spread his wings and made a darting flight to the top of a tree, where he perched and sang loudly. That reminded Mary of the first time she had seen him. He had been swinging on a tree-top then and she had been standing in the orchard. Now she was on the other side of the orchard and standing in the path outside a wall–much lower down–and there was the same tree inside.
“It’s in the garden no one can go into,” she said to herself. “It’s the garden without a door. He lives in there. How I wish I could see what it is like!”
She ran up the walk to the green door she had entered the first morning. Then she ran down the path through the other door and then into the orchard, and when she stood and looked up there was the tree on the other side of the wall, and there was the robin just finishing his song and, beginning to preen his feathers with his beak.
“It is the garden,” she said. “I am sure it is.”
She walked round and looked closely at that side of the orchard wall, but she only found what she had found before–that there was no door in it. Then she ran through the kitchen-gardens again and out into the walk outside the long ivy-covered wall, and she walked to the end of it and looked at it, but there was no door; and then she walked to the other end, looking again, but there was no door.
“It’s very queer,” she said. “Ben Weatherstaff said there was no door and there is no door. But there must have been one ten years ago, because Mr. Craven buried the key.”
This gave her so much to think of that she began to be quite interested and feel that she was not sorry that she had come to Misselthwaite Manor. In India she had always felt hot and too languid to care much about anything. The fact was that the fresh wind from the moor had begun to blow the cobwebs out of her young brain and to waken her up a little.
She stayed out of doors nearly all day, and when she sat down to her supper at night she felt hungry and drowsy and comfortable. She did not feel cross when Martha chattered away. She felt as if she rather liked to hear her, and at last she thought she would ask her a question. She asked it after she had finished her supper and had sat down on the hearth-rug before the fire.
“Why did Mr. Craven hate the garden?” she said.
She had made Martha stay with her and Martha had not objected at all. She was very young, and used to a crowded cottage full of brothers and sisters, and she found it dull in the great servants’ hall downstairs where the footman and upper-housemaids made fun of her Yorkshire speech and looked upon her as a common little thing, and sat and whispered among themselves. Martha liked to talk, and the strange child who had lived in India, and been waited upon by “blacks,” was novelty enough to attract her.
She sat down on the hearth herself without waiting to be asked.
“Art tha’ thinkin’ about that garden yet?” she said. “I knew tha’ would. That was just the way with me when I first heard about it.”
“Why did he hate it?” Mary persisted.
Martha tucked her feet under her and made herself quite comfortable.
“Listen to th’ wind wutherin’ round the house,” she said. “You could bare stand up on the moor if you was out on it tonight.”
Mary did not know what “wutherin’” meant until she listened, and then she understood. It must mean that hollow shuddering sort of roar which rushed round and round the house as if the giant no one could see were buffeting it and beating at the walls and windows to try to break in. But one knew he could not get in, and somehow it made one feel very safe and warm inside a room with a red coal fire.
“But why did he hate it so?” she asked, after she had listened. She intended to know if Martha did.
Then Martha gave up her store of knowledge.
“Mind,” she said, “Mrs. Medlock said it’s not to be talked about. There’s lots o’ things in this place that’s not to be talked over. That’s Mr. Craven’s orders. His troubles are none servants’ business, he says. But for th’ garden he wouldn’t be like he is. It was Mrs. Craven’s garden that she had made when first they were married an’ she just loved it, an’ they used to ‘tend the flowers themselves. An’ none o’ th’ gardeners was ever let to go in. Him an’ her used to go in an’ shut th’ door an’ stay there hours an’ hours, readin’ and talkin’. An, she was just a bit of a girl an’ there was an old tree with a branch bent like a seat on it. An’ she made roses grow over it an’ she used to sit there. But one day when she was sittin’ there th’ branch broke an’ she fell on th’ ground an’ was hurt so bad that next day she died. Th’ doctors thought he’d go out o’ his mind an’ die, too. That’s why he hates it. No one’s never gone in since, an’ he won’t let any one talk about it.”
Mary did not ask any more questions. She looked at the red fire and listened to the wind “wutherin’.” It seemed to be “wutherin’” louder than ever. At that moment a very good thing was happening to her. Four good things had happened to her, in fact, since she came to Misselthwaite Manor. She had felt as if she had understood a robin and that he had understood her; she had run in the wind until her blood had grown warm; she had been healthily hungry for the first time in her life; and she had found out what it was to be sorry for some one.
But as she was listening to the wind she began to listen to something else. She did not know what it was, because at first she could scarcely distinguish it from the wind itself. It was a curious sound–it seemed almost as if a child were crying somewhere. Sometimes the wind sounded rather like a child crying, but presently Mistress Mary felt quite sure this sound was inside the house, not outside it. It was far away, but it was inside. She turned round and looked at Martha.
“Do you hear any one crying?” she said.
Martha suddenly looked confused.
“No,” she answered. “It’s th’ wind. Sometimes it sounds like as if some one was lost on th’ moor an’ wailin’. It’s got all sorts o’ sounds.”
“But listen,” said Mary. “It’s in the house–down one of those long corridors.”
And at that very moment a door must have been opened somewhere downstairs; for a great rushing draft blew along the passage and the door of the room they sat in was blown open with a crash, and as they both jumped to their feet the light was blown out and the crying sound was swept down the far corridor so that it was to be heard more plainly than ever.
“There!” said Mary. “I told you so! It is some one crying–and it isn’t a grown-up person.”
Martha ran and shut the door and turned the key, but before she did it they both heard the sound of a door in some far passage shutting with a bang, and then everything was quiet, for even the wind ceased “wutherin’” for a few moments.
“It was th’ wind,” said Martha stubbornly. “An’ if it wasn’t, it was little Betty Butterworth, th’ scullery-maid. She’s had th’ toothache all day.”
But something troubled and awkward in her manner made Mistress Mary stare very hard at her. She did not believe she was speaking the truth.

The next day the rain poured down in torrents again, and when Mary looked out of her window the moor was almost hidden by gray mist and cloud. There could be no going out today.
“What do you do in your cottage when it rains like this?” she asked Martha.
“Try to keep from under each other’s feet mostly,” Martha answered. “Eh! there does seem a lot of us then. Mother’s a good-tempered woman but she gets fair moithered. The biggest ones goes out in th’ cow-shed and plays there. Dickon he doesn’t mind th’ wet. He goes out just th’ same as if th’ sun was shinin’. He says he sees things on rainy days as doesn’t show when it’s fair weather. He once found a little fox cub half drowned in its hole and he brought it home in th’ bosom of his shirt to keep it warm. Its mother had been killed nearby an’ th’ hole was swum out an’ th’ rest o’ th’ litter was dead. He’s got it at home now. He found a half-drowned young crow another time an’ he brought it home, too, an’ tamed it. It’s named Soot because it’s so black, an’ it hops an’ flies about with him everywhere.”
The time had come when Mary had forgotten to resent Martha’s familiar talk. She had even begun to find it interesting and to be sorry when she stopped or went away. The stories she had been told by her Ayah when she lived in India had been quite unlike those Martha had to tell about the moorland cottage which held fourteen people who lived in four little rooms and never had quite enough to eat. The children seemed to tumble about and amuse themselves like a litter of rough, good-natured collie puppies. Mary was most attracted by the mother and Dickon. When Martha told stories of what “mother” said or did they always sounded comfortable.
“If I had a raven or a fox cub I could play with it,” said Mary. “But I have nothing.”
Martha looked perplexed.
“Can tha’ knit?” she asked.
“No,” answered Mary.
“Can tha’sew?”
“No.”
“Can tha’ read?”
“Yes.”
“Then why doesn’t tha, read somethin’, or learn a bit o’ spellin’? Tha’st old enough to be learnin’ thy book a good bit now.”
“I haven’t any books,” said Mary. “Those I had were left in India.”
“That’s a pity,” said Martha. “If Mrs. Medlock’d let thee go into th’ library, there’s thousands o’ books there.”
Mary did not ask where the library was, because she was suddenly inspired by a new idea. She made up her mind to go and find it herself. She was not troubled about Mrs. Medlock. Mrs. Medlock seemed always to be in her comfortable housekeeper’s sitting-room downstairs. In this queer place one scarcely ever saw any one at all. In fact, there was no one to see but the servants, and when their master was away they lived a luxurious life below stairs, where there was a huge kitchen hung about with shining brass and pewter, and a large servants’ hall where there were four or five abundant meals eaten every day, and where a great deal of lively romping went on when Mrs. Medlock was out of the way.
Mary’s meals were served regularly, and Martha waited on her, but no one troubled themselves about her in the least. Mrs. Medlock came and looked at her every day or two, but no one inquired what she did or told her what to do. She supposed that perhaps this was the English way of treating children. In India she had always been attended by her Ayah, who had followed her about and waited on her, hand and foot. She had often been tired of her company. Now she was followed by nobody and was learning to dress herself because Martha looked as though she thought she was silly and stupid when she wanted to have things handed to her and put on.
“Hasn’t tha’ got good sense?” she said once, when Mary had stood waiting for her to put on her gloves for her. “Our Susan Ann is twice as sharp as thee an’ she’s only four year’ old. Sometimes tha’ looks fair soft in th’ head.”
Mary had worn her contrary scowl for an hour after that, but it made her think several entirely new things.
She stood at the window for about ten minutes this morning after Martha had swept up the hearth for the last time and gone downstairs. She was thinking over the new idea which had come to her when she heard of the library. She did not care very much about the library itself, because she had read very few books; but to hear of it brought back to her mind the hundred rooms with closed doors. She wondered if they were all really locked and what she would find if she could get into any of them. Were there a hundred really? Why shouldn’t she go and see how many doors she could count? It would be something to do on this morning when she could not go out. She had never been taught to ask permission to do things, and she knew nothing at all about authority, so she would not have thought it necessary to ask Mrs. Medlock if she might walk about the house, even if she had seen her.
She opened the door of the room and went into the corridor, and then she began her wanderings. It was a long corridor and it branched into other corridors and it led her up short flights of steps which mounted to others again. There were doors and doors, and there were pictures on the walls. Sometimes they were pictures of dark, curious landscapes, but oftenest they were portraits of men and women in queer, grand costumes made of satin and velvet. She found herself in one long gallery whose walls were covered with these portraits. She had never thought there could be so many in any house. She walked slowly down this place and stared at the faces which also seemed to stare at her. She felt as if they were wondering what a little girl from India was doing in their house. Some were pictures of children–little girls in thick satin frocks which reached to their feet and stood out about them, and boys with puffed sleeves and lace collars and long hair, or with big ruffs around their necks. She always stopped to look at the children, and wonder what their names were, and where they had gone, and why they wore such odd clothes. There was a stiff, plain little girl rather like herself. She wore a green brocade dress and held a green parrot on her finger. Her eyes had a sharp, curious look.
“Where do you live now?” said Mary aloud to her. “I wish you were here.”
Surely no other little girl ever spent such a queer morning. It seemed as if there was no one in all the huge rambling house but her own small self, wandering about upstairs and down, through narrow passages and wide ones, where it seemed to her that no one but herself had ever walked. Since so many rooms had been built, people must have lived in them, but it all seemed so empty that she could not quite believe it true.
It was not until she climbed to the second floor that she thought of turning the handle of a door. All the doors were shut, as Mrs. Medlock had said they were, but at last she put her hand on the handle of one of them and turned it. She was almost frightened for a moment when she felt that it turned without difficulty and that when she pushed upon the door itself it slowly and heavily opened. It was a massive door and opened into a big bedroom. There were embroidered hangings on the wall, and inlaid furniture such as she had seen in India stood about the room. A broad window with leaded panes looked out upon the moor; and over the mantel was another portrait of the stiff, plain little girl who seemed to stare at her more curiously than ever.
“Perhaps she slept here once,” said Mary. “She stares at me so that she makes me feel queer.”
After that she opened more doors and more. She saw so many rooms that she became quite tired and began to think that there must be a hundred, though she had not counted them. In all of them there were old pictures or old tapestries with strange scenes worked on them. There were curious pieces of furniture and curious ornaments in nearly all of them.
In one room, which looked like a lady’s sitting-room, the hangings were all embroidered velvet, and in a cabinet were about a hundred little elephants made of ivory. They were of different sizes, and some had their mahouts or palanquins on their backs. Some were much bigger than the others and some were so tiny that they seemed only babies. Mary had seen carved ivory in India and she knew all about elephants. She opened the door of the cabinet and stood on a footstool and played with these for quite a long time. When she got tired she set the elephants in order and shut the door of the cabinet.
In all her wanderings through the long corridors and the empty rooms, she had seen nothing alive; but in this room she saw something. Just after she had closed the cabinet door she heard a tiny rustling sound. It made her jump and look around at the sofa by the fireplace, from which it seemed to come. In the corner of the sofa there was a cushion, and in the velvet which covered it there was a hole, and out of the hole peeped a tiny head with a pair of tightened eyes in it.
Mary crept softly across the room to look. The bright eyes belonged to a little gray mouse, and the mouse had eaten a hole into the cushion and made a comfortable nest there. Six baby mice were cuddled up asleep near her. If there was no one else alive in the hundred rooms there were seven mice who did not look lonely at all.
“If they wouldn’t be so frightened I would take them back with me,” said Mary.
She had wandered about long enough to feel too tired to wander any farther, and she turned back. Two or three times she lost her way by turning down the wrong corridor and was obliged to ramble up and down until she found the right one; but at last she reached her own floor again, though she was some distance from her own room and did not know exactly where she was.
“I believe I have taken a wrong turning again,” she said, standing still at what seemed the end of a short passage with tapestry on the wall. “I don’t know which way to go. How still everything is!”
It was while she was standing here and just after she had said this that the stillness was broken by a sound. It was another cry, but not quite like the one she had heard last night; it was only a short one, a fretful childish whine muffled by passing through walls.
“It’s nearer than it was,” said Mary, her heart beating rather faster. “And it is crying.”
She put her hand accidentally upon the tapestry near her, and then sprang back, feeling quite startled. The tapestry was the covering of a door which fell open and showed her that there was another part of the corridor behind it, and Mrs. Medlock was coming up it with her bunch of keys in her hand and a very cross look on her face.
“What are you doing here?” she said, and she took Mary by the arm and pulled her away. “What did I tell you?”
“I turned round the wrong corner,” explained Mary. “I didn’t know which way to go and I heard some one crying.” She quite hated Mrs. Medlock at the moment, but she hated her more the next.
“You didn’t hear anything of the sort,” said the housekeeper. “You come along back to your own nursery or I’ll box your ears.”
And she took her by the arm and half pushed, half pulled her up one passage and down another until she pushed her in at the door of her own room.
“Now,” she said, “you stay where you’re told to stay or you’ll find yourself locked up. The master had better get you a governess, same as he said he would. You’re one that needs some one to look sharp after you. I’ve got enough to do.”
She went out of the room and slammed the door after her, and Mary went and sat on the hearth-rug, pale with rage. She did not cry, but ground her teeth.
“There was some one crying–there was–there was!” she said to herself.
She had heard it twice now, and sometime she would find out. She had found out a great deal this morning. She felt as if she had been on a long journey, and at any rate she had had something to amuse her all the time, and she had played with the ivory elephants and had seen the gray mouse and its babies in their nest in the velvet cushion.
Two days after this, when Mary opened her eyes she sat upright in bed immediately, and called to Martha.
“Look at the moor! Look at the moor!”
The rainstorm had ended and the gray mist and clouds had been swept away in the night by the wind. The wind itself had ceased and a brilliant, deep blue sky arched high over the moorland. Never, never had Mary dreamed of a sky so blue. In India skies were hot and blazing; this was of a deep cool blue which almost seemed to sparkle like the waters of some lovely bottomless lake, and here and there, high, high in the arched blueness floated small clouds of snow-white fleece. The far-reaching world of the moor itself looked softly blue instead of gloomy purple-black or awful dreary gray.
“Aye,” said Martha with a cheerful grin. “Th’ storm’s over for a bit. It does like this at this time o’ th’ year. It goes off in a night like it was pretendin’ it had never been here an’ never meant to come again. That’s because th’ springtime’s on its way. It’s a long way off yet, but it’s comin’.”
“I thought perhaps it always rained or looked dark in England,” Mary said.
“Eh! no!” said Martha, sitting up on her heels among her black lead brushes. “Nowt o’ th’ soart!”
“What does that mean?” asked Mary seriously. In India the natives spoke different dialects which only a few people understood, so she was not surprised when Martha used words she did not know.
Martha laughed as she had done the first morning.
“There now,” she said. “I’ve talked broad Yorkshire again like Mrs. Medlock said I mustn’t. `Nowt o’ th’ soart’ means `nothin’-of-the-sort,’” slowly and carefully, “but it takes so long to say it. Yorkshire’s th’ sunniest place on earth when it is sunny. I told thee tha’d like th’ moor after a bit. Just you wait till you see th’ gold-colored gorse blossoms an’ th’ blossoms o’ th’ broom, an’ th’ heather flowerin’, all purple bells, an’ hundreds o’ butterflies flutterin’ an’ bees hummin’ an’ skylarks soarin’ up an’ singin’. You’ll want to get out on it as sunrise an’ live out on it all day like Dickon does.” “Could I ever get there?” asked Mary wistfully, looking through her window at the far-off blue. It was so new and big and wonderful and such a heavenly color.
“I don’t know,” answered Martha. “Tha’s never used tha’ legs since tha’ was born, it seems to me. Tha’ couldn’t walk five mile. It’s five mile to our cottage.”
“I should like to see your cottage.”
Martha stared at her a moment curiously before she took up her polishing brush and began to rub the grate again. She was thining that the small plain face did not look quite as sour at this moment as it had done the first morning she saw it. It looked just a trifle like little Susan Ann’s when she wanted something very much.
“I’ll ask my mother about it,” she said. “She’s one o’ them that nearly always sees a way to do things. It’s my day out today an’ I’m goin’ home. Eh! I am glad. Mrs. Medlock thinks a lot o’ mother. Perhaps she could talk to her.”
“I like your mother,” said Mary.
“I should think tha’ did,” agreed Martha, polishing away.
“I’ve never seen her,” said Mary.
“No, tha’ hasn’t,” replied Martha.
She sat up on her heels again and rubbed the end of her nose with the back of her hand as if puzzled for a moment, but she ended quite positively.
“Well, she’s that sensible an’ hard workin’ an’ goodnatured an’ clean that no one could help likin’ her whether they’d seen her or not. When I’m goin’ home to her on my day out I just jump for joy when I’m crossin’ the moor.”
“I like Dickon,” added Mary. “And I’ve never seen him.”
“Well,” said Martha stoutly, “I’ve told thee that th’ very birds likes him an’ th’ rabbits an’ wild sheep an’ ponies, an’ th’ foxes themselves. I wonder,” staring at her reflectively, “what Dickon would think of thee?”
“He wouldn’t like me,” said Mary in her stiff, cold little way. “No one does.”
Martha looked reflective again.
“How does tha’ like thysel’?” she inquired, really quite as if she were curious to know.
Mary hesitated a moment and thought it over.
“Not at all–really,” she answered. “But I never thought of that before.”
Martha grinned a little as if at some homely recollection.
“Mother said that to me once,” she said. “She was at her wash- tub an’ I was in a bad temper an’ talkin’ ill of folk, an’ she turns round on me an’ says: `Tha’ young vixen, tha’! There tha’ stands sayin’ tha’ doesn’t like this one an’ tha’ doesn’t like that one. How does tha’ like thysel’?’ It made me laugh an’ it brought me to my senses in a minute.”
She went away in high spirits as soon as she had given Mary her breakfast. She was going to walk five miles across the moor to the cottage, and she was going to help her mother with the washing and do the week’s baking and enjoy herself thoroughly.
Mary felt lonelier than ever when she knew she was no longer in the house. She went out into the garden as quickly as possible, and the first thing she did was to run round and round the fountain flower garden ten times. She counted the times carefully and when she had finished she felt in better spirits. The sunshine made the whole place look different. The high, deep, blue sky arched over Misselthwaite as well as over the moor, and she kept lifting her face and looking up into it, trying to imagine what it would be like to lie down on one of the little snow-white clouds and float about. She went into the first kitchen-garden and found Ben Weatherstaff working there with two other gardeners. The change in the weather seemed to have done him good. He spoke to her of his own accord. “Springtime’s comin,’” he said. “Cannot tha’ smell it?”
Mary sniffed and thought she could.
“I smell something nice and fresh and damp,” she said.
“That’s th’ good rich earth,” he answered, digging away. “It’s in a good humor makin’ ready to grow things. It’s glad when plantin’ time comes. It’s dull in th’ winter when it’s got nowt to do. In th’ flower gardens out there things will be stirrin’ down below in th’ dark. Th’ sun’s warmin’ ‘em. You’ll see bits o’ green spikes stickin’ out o’ th’ black earth after a bit.”
“What will they be?” asked Mary.
“Crocuses an’ snowdrops an’ daffydowndillys. Has tha’ never seen them?”
“No. Everything is hot, and wet, and green after the rains in India,” said Mary. “And I think things grow up in a night.”
“These won’t grow up in a night,” said Weatherstaff. “Tha’ll have to wait for ‘em. They’ll poke up a bit higher here, an’ push out a spike more there, an’ uncurl a leaf this day an’ another that. You watch ‘em.”
“I am going to,” answered Mary.
Very soon she heard the soft rustling flight of wings again and she knew at once that the robin had come again. He was very pert and lively, and hopped about so close to her feet, and put his head on one side and looked at her so slyly that she asked Ben Weatherstaff a question.
“Do you think he remembers me?” she said.
“Remembers thee!” said Weatherstaff indignantly. “He knows every cabbage stump in th’ gardens, let alone th’ people. He’s never seen a little wench here before, an’ he’s bent on findin’ out all about thee. Tha’s no need to try to hide anything from him.”
“Are things stirring down below in the dark in that garden where he lives?” Mary inquired.
“What garden?” grunted Weatherstaff, becoming surly again.
“The one where the old rose-trees are.” She could not help asking, because she wanted so much to know. “Are all the flowers dead, or do some of them come again in the summer? Are there ever any roses?”
“Ask him,” said Ben Weatherstaff, hunching his shoulders toward the robin. “He’s the only one as knows. No one else has seen inside it for ten year’.”
Ten years was a long time, Mary thought. She had been born ten years ago.
She walked away, slowly thinking. She had begun to like the garden just as she had begun to like the robin and Dickon and Martha’s mother. She was beginning to like Martha, too. That seemed a good many people to like–when you were not used to liking. She thought of the robin as one of the people. She went to her walk outside the long, ivy-covered wall over which she could see the tree-tops; and the second time she walked up and down the most interesting and exciting thing happened to her, and it was all through Ben Weatherstaff’s robin.
She heard a chirp and a twitter, and when she looked at the bare flower-bed at her left side there he was hopping about and pretending to peck things out of the earth to persuade her that he had not followed her. But she knew he had followed her and the surprise so filled her with delight that she almost trembled a little.
“You do remember me!” she cried out. “You do! You are prettier than anything else in the world!”
She chirped, and talked, and coaxed and he hopped, and flirted his tail and twittered. It was as if he were talking. His red waistcoat was like satin and he puffed his tiny breast out and was so fine and so grand and so pretty that it was really as if he were showing her how important and like a human person a robin could be. Mistress Mary forgot that she had ever been contrary in her life when he allowed her to draw closer and closer to him, and bend down and talk and try to make something like robin sounds.
Oh! to think that he should actually let her come as near to him as that! He knew nothing in the world would make her put out her hand toward him or startle him in the least tiniest way. He knew it because he was a real person–only nicer than any other person in the world. She was so happy that she scarcely dared to breathe.
The flower-bed was not quite bare. It was bare of flowers because the perennial plants had been cut down for their winter rest, but there were tall shrubs and low ones which grew together at the back of the bed, and as the robin hopped about under them she saw him hop over a small pile of freshly turned up earth. He stopped on it to look for a worm. The earth had been turned up because a dog had been trying to dig up a mole and he had scratched quite a deep hole.
Mary looked at it, not really knowing why the hole was there, and as she looked she saw something almost buried in the newly-turned soil. It was something like a ring of rusty iron or brass and when the robin flew up into a tree nearby she put out her hand and picked the ring up. It was more than a ring, however; it was an old key which looked as if it had been buried a long time.
Mistress Mary stood up and looked at it with an almost frightened face as it hung from her finger.
“Perhaps it has been buried for ten years,” she said in a whisper. “Perhaps it is the key to the garden!”
She looked at the key quite a long time. She turned it over and over, and thought about it. As I have said before, she was not a child who had been trained to ask permission or consult her elders about things. All she thought about the key was that if it was the key to the closed garden, and she could find out where the door was, she could perhaps open it and see what was inside the walls, and what had happened to the old rose-trees. It was because it had been shut up so long that she wanted to see it. It seemed as if it must be different from other places and that something strange must have happened to it during ten years. Besides that, if she liked it she could go into it every day and shut the door behind her, and she could make up some play of her own and play it quite alone, because nobody would ever know where she was, but would think the door was still locked and the key buried in the earth. The thought of that pleased her very much.
Living as it were, all by herself in a house with a hundred mysteriously closed rooms and having nothing whatever to do to amuse herself, had set her inactive brain to working and was actually awakening her imagination. There is no doubt that the fresh, strong, pure air from the moor had a great deal to do with it. Just as it had given her an appetite, and fighting with the wind had stirred her blood, so the same things had stirred her mind. In India she had always been too hot and languid and weak to care much about anything, but in this place she was beginning to care and to want to do new things. Already she felt less “contrary,” though she did not know why.
She put the key in her pocket and walked up and down her walk. No one but herself ever seemed to come there, so she could walk slowly and look at the wall, or, rather, at the ivy growing on it. The ivy was the baffling thing. Howsoever carefully she looked she could see nothing but thickly growing, glossy, dark green leaves. She was very much disappointed. Something of her contrariness came back to her as she paced the walk and looked over it at the tree-tops inside. It seemed so silly, she said to herself, to be near it and not be able to get in. She took the key in her pocket when she went back to the house, and she made up her mind that she would always carry it with her when she went out, so that if she ever should find the hidden door she would be ready.
Mrs. Medlock had allowed Martha to sleep all night at the cottage, but she was back at her work in the morning with cheeks redder than ever and in the best of spirits.
“I got up at four o’clock,” she said. “Eh! it was pretty on th’ moor with th’ birds gettin’ up an’ th’ rabbits scamperin’ about an’ th’ sun risin’. I didn’t walk all th’ way. A man gave me a ride in his cart an’ I did enjoy myself.”
She was full of stories of the delights of her day out. Her mother had been glad to see her and they had got the baking and washing all out of the way. She had even made each of the children a doughcake with a bit of brown sugar in it.
“I had ‘em all pipin’ hot when they came in from playin’ on th’ moor. An’ th’ cottage all smelt o’ nice, clean hot bakin’ an’ there was a good fire, an’ they just shouted for joy. Our Dickon he said our cottage was good enough for a king.”
In the evening they had all sat round the fire, and Martha and her mother had sewed patches on torn clothes and mended stockings and Martha had told them about the little girl who had come from India and who had been waited on all her life by what Martha called “blacks” until she didn’t know how to put on her own stockings.
“Eh! they did like to hear about you,” said Martha. “They wanted to know all about th’ blacks an’ about th’ ship you came in. I couldn’t tell ‘em enough.”
Mary reflected a little.
“I’ll tell you a great deal more before your next day out,” she said, “so that you will have more to talk about. I dare say they would like to hear about riding on elephants and camels, and about the officers going to hunt tigers.”
“My word!” cried delighted Martha. “It would set ‘em clean off their heads. Would tha’ really do that, Miss? It would be same as a wild beast show like we heard they had in York once.”
“India is quite different from Yorkshire,” Mary said slowly, as she thought the matter over. “I never thought of that. Did Dickon and your mother like to hear you talk about me?”
“Why, our Dickon’s eyes nearly started out o’ his head, they got that round,” answered Martha. “But mother, she was put out about your seemin’ to be all by yourself like. She said, ‘Hasn’t Mr. Craven got no governess for her, nor no nurse?’ and I said, ‘No, he hasn’t, though Mrs. Medlock says he will when he thinks of it, but she says he mayn’t think of it for two or three years.’”
“I don’t want a governess,” said Mary sharply.
“But mother says you ought to be learnin’ your book by this time an’ you ought to have a woman to look after you, an’ she says: `Now, Martha, you just think how you’d feel yourself, in a big place like that, wanderin’ about all alone, an’ no mother. You do your best to cheer her up,’ she says, an’ I said I would.”
Mary gave her a long, steady look.
“You do cheer me up,” she said. “I like to hear you talk.”
Presently Martha went out of the room and came back with something held in her hands under her apron.
“What does tha’ think,” she said, with a cheerful grin. “I’ve brought thee a present.”
“A present!” exclaimed Mistress Mary. How could a cottage full of fourteen hungry people give any one a present!
“A man was drivin’ across the moor peddlin’,” Martha explained. “An’ he stopped his cart at our door. He had pots an’ pans an’ odds an’ ends, but mother had no money to buy anythin’. Just as he was goin’ away our ‘Lizabeth Ellen called out, `Mother, he’s got skippin’-ropes with red an’ blue handles.’ An’ mother she calls out quite sudden, `Here, stop, mister! How much are they?’ An’ he says `Tuppence’, an’ mother she began fumblin’ in her pocket an’ she says to me, `Martha, tha’s brought me thy wages like a good lass, an’ I’ve got four places to put every penny, but I’m just goin’ to take tuppence out of it to buy that child a skippin’-rope,’ an’ she bought one an’ here it is.”
She brought it out from under her apron and exhibited it quite proudly. It was a strong, slender rope with a striped red and blue handle at each end, but Mary Lennox had never seen a skipping-rope before. She gazed at it with a mystified expression.
“What is it for?” she asked curiously.
“For!” cried out Martha. “Does tha’ mean that they’ve not got skippin’-ropes in India, for all they’ve got elephants and tigers and camels! No wonder most of ‘em’s black. This is what it’s for; just watch me.”
And she ran into the middle of the room and, taking a handle in each hand, began to skip, and skip, and skip, while Mary turned in her chair to stare at her, and the queer faces in the old portraits seemed to stare at her, too, and wonder what on earth this common little cottager had the impudence to be doing under their very noses. But Martha did not even see them. The interest and curiosity in Mistress Mary’s face delighted her, and she went on skipping and counted as she skipped until she had reached a hundred.
“I could skip longer than that,” she said when she stopped. “I’ve skipped as much as five hundred when I was twelve, but I wasn’t as fat then as I am now, an’ I was in practice.”
Mary got up from her chair beginning to feel excited herself.
“It looks nice,” she said. “Your mother is a kind woman. Do you think I could ever skip like that?”
“You just try it,” urged Martha, handing her the skipping- rope. “You can’t skip a hundred at first, but if you practice you’ll mount up. That’s what mother said. She says, `Nothin’ will do her more good than skippin’ rope. It’s th’ sensiblest toy a child can have. Let her play out in th’ fresh air skippin’ an’ it’ll stretch her legs an’ arms an’ give her some strength in ‘em.’”
It was plain that there was not a great deal of strength in Mistress Mary’s arms and legs when she first began to skip. She was not very clever at it, but she liked it so much that she did not want to stop.
“Put on tha’ things and run an’ skip out o’ doors,” said Martha. “Mother said I must tell you to keep out o’ doors as much as you could, even when it rains a bit, so as tha’ wrap up warm.”
Mary put on her coat and hat and took her skipping-rope over her arm. She opened the door to go out, and then suddenly thought of something and turned back rather slowly.
“Martha,” she said, “they were your wages. It was your two-pence really. Thank you.” She said it stiffly because she was not used to thanking people or noticing that they did things for her. “Thank you,” she said, and held out her hand because she did not know what else to do.
Martha gave her hand a clumsy little shake, as if she was not accustomed to this sort of thing either. Then she laughed.
“Eh! th’ art a queer, old-womanish thing,” she said. “If tha’d been our ‘Lizabeth Ellen tha’d have given me a kiss.”
Mary looked stiffer than ever.
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
Martha laughed again.
“Nay, not me,” she answered. “If tha’ was different, p’raps tha’d want to thysel’. But tha’ isn’t. Run off outside an’ play with thy rope.”
Mistress Mary felt a little awkward as she went out of the room. Yorkshire people seemed strange, and Martha was always rather a puzzle to her. At first she had disliked her very much, but now she did not. The skipping-rope was a wonderful thing. She counted and skipped, and skipped and counted, until her cheeks were quite red, and she was more interested than she had ever been since she was born. The sun was shining and a little wind was blowing–not a rough wind, but one which came in delightful little gusts and brought a fresh scent of newly turned earth with it. She skipped round the fountain garden, and up one walk and down another. She skipped at last into the kitchen-garden and saw Ben Weatherstaff digging and talking to his robin, which was hopping about him. She skipped down the walk toward him and he lifted his head and looked at her with a curious expression. She had wondered if he would notice her. She wanted him to see her skip.
“Well!” he exclaimed. “Upon my word. P’raps tha’ art a young ‘un, after all, an’ p’raps tha’s got child’s blood in thy veins instead of sour buttermilk. Tha’s skipped red into thy cheeks as sure as my name’s Ben Weatherstaff. I wouldn’t have believed tha’ could do it.”
“I never skipped before,” Mary said. “I’m just beginning. I can only go up to twenty.”
“Tha’ keep on,” said Ben. “Tha’ shapes well enough at it for a young ‘un that’s lived with heathen. Just see how he’s watchin’ thee,” jerking his head toward the robin. “He followed after thee yesterday. He’ll be at it again today. He’ll be bound to find out what th’ skippin’-rope is. He’s never seen one. Eh!” shaking his head at the bird, “tha’ curiosity will be th’ death of thee sometime if tha’ doesn’t look sharp.”
Mary skipped round all the gardens and round the orchard, resting every few minutes. At length she went to her own special walk and made up her mind to try if she could skip the whole length of it. It was a good long skip and she began slowly, but before she had gone half-way down the path she was so hot and breathless that she was obliged to stop. She did not mind much, because she had already counted up to thirty. She stopped with a little laugh of pleasure, and there, lo and behold, was the robin swaying on a long branch of ivy. He had followed her and he greeted her with a chirp. As Mary had skipped toward him she felt something heavy in her pocket strike against her at each jump, and when she saw the robin she laughed again.
“You showed me where the key was yesterday,” she said. “You ought to show me the door today; but I don’t believe you know!”
The robin flew from his swinging spray of ivy on to the top of the wall and he opened his beak and sang a loud, lovely trill, merely to show off. Nothing in the world is quite as adorably lovely as a robin when he shows off–and they are nearly always doing it.
Mary Lennox had heard a great deal about Magic in her Ayah’s stories, and she always said that what happened almost at that moment was Magic.
One of the nice little gusts of wind rushed down the walk, and it was a stronger one than the rest. It was strong enough to wave the branches of the trees, and it was more than strong enough to sway the trailing sprays of untrimmed ivy hanging from the wall. Mary had stepped close to the robin, and suddenly the gust of wind swung aside some loose ivy trails, and more suddenly still she jumped toward it and caught it in her hand. This she did because she had seen something under it–a round knob which had been covered by the leaves hanging over it. It was the knob of a door.
She put her hands under the leaves and began to pull and push them aside. Thick as the ivy hung, it nearly all was a loose and swinging curtain, though some had crept over wood and iron. Mary’s heart began to thump and her hands to shake a little in her delight and excitement. The robin kept singing and twittering away and tilting his head on one side, as if he were as excited as she was. What was this under her hands which was square and made of iron and which her fingers found a hole in?
It was the lock of the door which had been closed ten years and she put her hand in her pocket, drew out the key and found it fitted the keyhole. She put the key in and turned it. It took two hands to do it, but it did turn.
And then she took a long breath and looked behind her up the long walk to see if any one was coming. No one was coming. No one ever did come, it seemed, and she took another long breath, because she could not help it, and she held back the swinging curtain of ivy and pushed back the door which opened slowly–slowly.
Then she slipped through it, and shut it behind her, and stood with her back against it, looking about her and breathing quite fast with excitement, and wonder, and delight.
She was standing inside the secret garden.
It was the sweetest, most mysterious-looking place any one could imagine. The high walls which shut it in were covered with the leafless stems of climbing roses which were so thick that they were matted together. Mary Lennox knew they were roses because she had seen a great many roses in India. All the ground was covered with grass of a wintry brown and out of it grew clumps of bushes which were surely rosebushes if they were alive. There were numbers of standard roses which had so spread their branches that they were like little trees. There were other trees in the garden, and one of the things which made the place look strangest and loveliest was that climbing roses had run all over them and swung down long tendrils which made light swaying curtains, and here and there they had caught at each other or at a far-reaching branch and had crept from one tree to another and made lovely bridges of themselves. There were neither leaves nor roses on them now and Mary did not know whether they were dead or alive, but their thin gray or brown branches and sprays looked like a sort of hazy mantle spreading over everything, walls, and trees, and even brown grass, where they had fallen from their fastenings and run along the ground. It was this hazy tangle from tree to tree which made it all look so mysterious. Mary had thought it must be different from other gardens which had not been left all by themselves so long; and indeed it was different from any other place she had ever seen in her life.
“How still it is!” she whispered. “How still!”
Then she waited a moment and listened at the stillness. The robin, who had flown to his treetop, was still as all the rest. He did not even flutter his wings; he sat without stirring, and looked at Mary.
“No wonder it is still,” she whispered again. “I am the first person who has spoken in here for ten years.”
She moved away from the door, stepping as softly as if she were afraid of awakening some one. She was glad that there was grass under her feet and that her steps made no sounds. She walked under one of the fairy-like gray arches between the trees and looked up at the sprays and tendrils which formed them. “I wonder if they are all quite dead,” she said. “Is it all a quite dead garden? I wish it wasn’t.”
If she had been Ben Weatherstaff she could have told whether the wood was alive by looking at it, but she could only see that there were only gray or brown sprays and branches and none showed any signs of even a tiny leaf-bud anywhere.
But she was inside the wonderful garden and she could come through the door under the ivy any time and she felt as if she had found a world all her own.
The sun was shining inside the four walls and the high arch of blue sky over this particular piece of Misselthwaite seemed even more brilliant and soft than it was over the moor. The robin flew down from his tree-top and hopped about or flew after her from one bush to another. He chirped a good deal and had a very busy air, as if he were showing her things. Everything was strange and silent and she seemed to be hundreds of miles away from any one, but somehow she did not feel lonely at all. All that troubled her was her wish that she knew whether all the roses were dead, or if perhaps some of them had lived and might put out leaves and buds as the weather got warmer. She did not want it to be a quite dead garden. If it were a quite alive garden, how wonderful it would be, and what thousands of roses would grow on every side!
Her skipping-rope had hung over her arm when she came in and after she had walked about for a while she thought she would skip round the whole garden, stopping when she wanted to look at things. There seemed to have been grass paths here and there, and in one or two corners there were alcoves of evergreen with stone seats or tall moss-covered flower urns in them.
As she came near the second of these alcoves she stopped skipping. There had once been a flowerbed in it, and she thought she saw something sticking out of the black earth- -some sharp little pale green points. She remembered what Ben Weatherstaff had said and she knelt down to look at them.
“Yes, they are tiny growing things and they might be crocuses or snowdrops or daffodils,” she whispered.
She bent very close to them and sniffed the fresh scent of the damp earth. She liked it very much.
“Perhaps there are some other ones coming up in other places,” she said. “I will go all over the garden and look.”
She did not skip, but walked. She went slowly and kept her eyes on the ground. She looked in the old border beds and among the grass, and after she had gone round, trying to miss nothing, she had found ever so many more sharp, pale green points, and she had become quite excited again.
“It isn’t a quite dead garden,” she cried out softly to herself. “Even if the roses are dead, there are other things alive.”
She did not know anything about gardening, but the grass seemed so thick in some of the places where the green points were pushing their way through that she thought they did not seem to have room enough to grow. She searched about until she found a rather sharp piece of wood and knelt down and dug and weeded out the weeds and grass until she made nice little clear places around them.
“Now they look as if they could breathe,” she said, after she had finished with the first ones. “I am going to do ever so many more. I’ll do all I can see. If I haven’t time today I can come tomorrow.”
She went from place to place, and dug and weeded, and enjoyed herself so immensely that she was led on from bed to bed and into the grass under the trees. The exercise made her so warm that she first threw her coat off, and then her hat, and without knowing it she was smiling down on to the grass and the pale green points all the time.
The robin was tremendously busy. He was very much pleased to see gardening begun on his own estate. He had often wondered at Ben Weatherstaff. Where gardening is done all sorts of delightful things to eat are turned up with the soil. Now here was this new kind of creature who was not half Ben’s size and yet had had the sense to come into his garden and begin at once.
Mistress Mary worked in her garden until it was time to go to her midday dinner. In fact, she was rather late in remembering, and when she put on her coat and hat, and picked up her skipping-rope, she could not believe that she had been working two or three hours. She had been actually happy all the time; and dozens and dozens of the tiny, pale green points were to be seen in cleared places, looking twice as cheerful as they had looked before when the grass and weeds had been smothering them.
“I shall come back this afternoon,” she said, looking all round at her new kingdom, and speaking to the trees and the rose-bushes as if they heard her.
Then she ran lightly across the grass, pushed open the slow old door and slipped through it under the ivy. She had such red cheeks and such bright eyes and ate such a dinner that Martha was delighted.
“Two pieces o’ meat an’ two helps o’ rice puddin’!” she said. “Eh! mother will be pleased when I tell her what th’ skippin’-rope’s done for thee.”
In the course of her digging with her pointed stick Mistress Mary had found herself digging up a sort of white root rather like an onion. She had put it back in its place and patted the earth carefully down on it and just now she wondered if Martha could tell her what it was.
“Martha,” she said, “what are those white roots that look like onions?”
“They’re bulbs,” answered Martha. “Lots o’ spring flowers grow from ‘em. Th’ very little ones are snowdrops an’ crocuses an’ th’ big ones are narcissuses an’ jonquils and daffydowndillys. Th’ biggest of all is lilies an’ purple flags. Eh! they are nice. Dickon’s got a whole lot of ‘em planted in our bit o’ garden.”
“Does Dickon know all about them?” asked Mary, a new idea taking possession of her.
“Our Dickon can make a flower grow out of a brick walk. Mother says he just whispers things out o’ th’ ground.”
“Do bulbs live a long time? Would they live years and years if no one helped them?” inquired Mary anxiously.
“They’re things as helps themselves,” said Martha. “That’s why poor folk can afford to have ‘em. If you don’t trouble ‘em, most of ‘em’ll work away underground for a lifetime an’ spread out an’ have little ‘uns. There’s a place in th’ park woods here where there’s snowdrops by thousands. They’re the prettiest sight in Yorkshire when th’ spring comes. No one knows when they was first planted.”
“I wish the spring was here now,” said Mary. “I want to see all the things that grow in England.”
She had finished her dinner and gone to her favorite seat on the hearth-rug.
“I wish–I wish I had a little spade,” she said. “Whatever does tha’ want a spade for?” asked Martha, laughing. “Art tha’ goin’ to take to diggin’? I must tell mother that, too.”
Mary looked at the fire and pondered a little. She must be careful if she meant to keep her secret kingdom. She wasn’t doing any harm, but if Mr. Craven found out about the open door he would be fearfully angry and get a new key and lock it up forevermore. She really could not bear that.
“This is such a big lonely place,” she said slowly, as if she were turning matters over in her mind. “The house is lonely, and the park is lonely, and the gardens are lonely. So many places seem shut up. I never did many things in India, but there were more people to look at–natives and soldiers marching by–and sometimes bands playing, and my Ayah told me stories. There is no one to talk to here except you and Ben Weatherstaff. And you have to do your work and Ben Weatherstaff won’t speak to me often. I thought if I had a little spade I could dig somewhere as he does, and I might make a little garden if he would give me some seeds.”
Martha’s face quite lighted up.
“There now!” she exclaimed, “if that wasn’t one of th’ things mother said. She says, `There’s such a lot o’ room in that big place, why don’t they give her a bit for herself, even if she doesn’t plant nothin’ but parsley an’ radishes? She’d dig an’ rake away an’ be right down happy over it.’ Them was the very words she said.”
“Were they?” said Mary. “How many things she knows, doesn’t she?”
“Eh!” said Martha. “It’s like she says: `A woman as brings up twelve children learns something besides her A B C. Children’s as good as ‘rithmetic to set you findin’ out things.’”
“How much would a spade cost–a little one?” Mary asked.
“Well,” was Martha’s reflective answer, “at Thwaite village there’s a shop or so an’ I saw little garden sets with a spade an’ a rake an’ a fork all tied together for two shillings. An’ they was stout enough to work with, too.”
“I’ve got more than that in my purse,” said Mary. “Mrs. Morrison gave me five shillings and Mrs. Medlock gave me some money from Mr. Craven.”
“Did he remember thee that much?” exclaimed Martha. “Mrs. Medlock said I was to have a shilling a week to spend. She gives me one every Saturday. I didn’t know what to spend it on.”
“My word! that’s riches,” said Martha. “Tha’ can buy anything in th’ world tha’ wants. Th’ rent of our cottage is only one an’ threepence an’ it’s like pullin’ eye-teeth to get it. Now I’ve just thought of somethin’,” putting her hands on her hips.
“What?” said Mary eagerly.
“In the shop at Thwaite they sell packages o’ flower-seeds for a penny each, and our Dickon he knows which is th’ prettiest ones an, how to make ‘em grow. He walks over to Thwaite many a day just for th’ fun of it. Does tha’ know how to print letters?” suddenly.
“I know how to write,” Mary answered.
Martha shook her head.
“Our Dickon can only read printin’. If tha’ could print we could write a letter to him an’ ask him to go an’ buy th’ garden tools an’ th’ seeds at th’ same time.”
“Oh! you’re a good girl!” Mary cried. “You are, really! I didn’t know you were so nice. I know I can print letters if I try. Let’s ask Mrs. Medlock for a pen and ink and some paper.”
“I’ve got some of my own,” said Martha. “I bought ‘em so I could print a bit of a letter to mother of a Sunday. I’ll go and get it.” She ran out of the room, and Mary stood by the fire and twisted her thin little hands together with sheer pleasure.
“If I have a spade,” she whispered, “I can make the earth nice and soft and dig up weeds. If I have seeds and can make flowers grow the garden won’t be dead at all–it will come alive.”
She did not go out again that afternoon because when Martha returned with her pen and ink and paper she was obliged to clear the table and carry the plates and dishes downstairs and when she got into the kitchen Mrs. Medlock was there and told her to do something, so Mary waited for what seemed to her a long time before she came back. Then it was a serious piece of work to write to Dickon. Mary had been taught very little because her governesses had disliked her too much to stay with her. She could not spell particularly well but she found that she could print letters when she tried. This was the letter Martha dictated to her: “My Dear Dickon:
This comes hoping to find you well as it leaves me at present. Miss Mary has plenty of money and will you go to Thwaite and buy her some flower seeds and a set of garden tools to make a flower-bed. Pick the prettiest ones and easy to grow because she has never done it before and lived in India which is different. Give my love to mother and every one of you. Miss Mary is going to tell me a lot more so that on my next day out you can hear about elephants and camels and gentlemen going hunting lions and tigers.
“Your loving sister, Martha Phoebe Sowerby.”
“We’ll put the money in th’ envelope an’ I’ll get th’ butcher boy to take it in his cart. He’s a great friend o’ Dickon’s,” said Martha.
“How shall I get the things when Dickon buys them?”
“He’ll bring ‘em to you himself. He’ll like to walk over this way.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Mary, “then I shall see him! I never thought I should see Dickon.”
“Does tha’ want to see him?” asked Martha suddenly, for Mary had looked so pleased.
“Yes, I do. I never saw a boy foxes and crows loved. I want to see him very much.”
Martha gave a little start, as if she remembered something. “Now to think,” she broke out, “to think o’ me forgettin’ that there; an’ I thought I was goin’ to tell you first thing this mornin’. I asked mother–and she said she’d ask Mrs. Medlock her own self.”
“Do you mean–” Mary began.
“What I said Tuesday. Ask her if you might be driven over to our cottage some day and have a bit o’ mother’s hot oat cake, an’ butter, an’ a glass o’ milk.”
It seemed as if all the interesting things were happening in one day. To think of going over the moor in the daylight and when the sky was blue! To think of going into the cottage which held twelve children!
“Does she think Mrs. Medlock would let me go?” she asked, quite anxiously.
“Aye, she thinks she would. She knows what a tidy woman mother is and how clean she keeps the cottage.”
“If I went I should see your mother as well as Dickon,” said Mary, thinking it over and liking the idea very much. “She doesn’t seem to be like the mothers in India.”
Her work in the garden and the excitement of the afternoon ended by making her feel quiet and thoughtful. Martha stayed with her until tea-time, but they sat in comfortable quiet and talked very little. But just before Martha went downstairs for the tea-tray, Mary asked a question.
“Martha,” she said, “has the scullery-maid had the toothache again today?”
Martha certainly started slightly.
“What makes thee ask that?” she said.
“Because when I waited so long for you to come back I opened the door and walked down the corridor to see if you were coming. And I heard that far-off crying again, just as we heard it the other night. There isn’t a wind today, so you see it couldn’t have been the wind.”
“Eh!” said Martha restlessly. “Tha’ mustn’t go walkin’ about in corridors an’ listenin’. Mr. Craven would be that there angry there’s no knowin’ what he’d do.”
“I wasn’t listening,” said Mary. “I was just waiting for you–and I heard it. That’s three times.”
“My word! There’s Mrs. Medlock’s bell,” said Martha, and she almost ran out of the room.
“It’s the strangest house any one ever lived in,” said Mary drowsily, as she dropped her head on the cushioned seat of the armchair near her. Fresh air, and digging, and skipping-rope had made her feel so comfortably tired that she fell asleep.

Aramalar:

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