The Secret Garden Frances Hodgson Burnett (recommended reading .TXT) đ
- Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett
Book online «The Secret Garden Frances Hodgson Burnett (recommended reading .TXT) đ». Author Frances Hodgson Burnett
âPerhaps,â said Colin, prompted by a sudden inspiration, âperhaps it is an unnatural appetite.â
âI do not think so, as your food seems to agree with you,â said Dr. Craven. âYou are gaining flesh rapidly and your color is better.â
âPerhapsâ âperhaps I am bloated and feverish,â said Colin, assuming a discouraging air of gloom. âPeople who are not going to live are oftenâ âdifferent.â
Dr. Craven shook his head. He was holding Colinâs wrist and he pushed up his sleeve and felt his arm.
âYou are not feverish,â he said thoughtfully, âand such flesh as you have gained is healthy. If we can keep this up, my boy, we need not talk of dying. Your father will be very happy to hear of this remarkable improvement.â
âI wonât have him told!â Colin broke forth fiercely. âIt will only disappoint him if I get worse againâ âand I may get worse this very night. I might have a raging fever. I feel as if I might be beginning to have one now. I wonât have letters written to my fatherâ âI wonâtâ âI wonât! You are making me angry and you know that is bad for me. I feel hot already. I hate being written about and being talked over as much as I hate being stared at!â
âHush-h! my boy,â Dr. Craven soothed him. âNothing shall be written without your permission. You are too sensitive about things. You must not undo the good which has been done.â
He said no more about writing to Mr. Craven and when he saw the nurse he privately warned her that such a possibility must not be mentioned to the patient.
âThe boy is extraordinarily better,â he said. âHis advance seems almost abnormal. But of course he is doing now of his own free will what we could not make him do before. Still, he excites himself very easily and nothing must be said to irritate him.â
Mary and Colin were much alarmed and talked together anxiously. From this time dated their plan of âplay actinâ.â
âI may be obliged to have a tantrum,â said Colin regretfully. âI donât want to have one and Iâm not miserable enough now to work myself into a big one. Perhaps I couldnât have one at all. That lump doesnât come in my throat now and I keep thinking of nice things instead of horrible ones. But if they talk about writing to my father I shall have to do something.â
He made up his mind to eat less, but unfortunately it was not possible to carry out this brilliant idea when he wakened each morning with an amazing appetite and the table near his sofa was set with a breakfast of homemade bread and fresh butter, snow-white eggs, raspberry jam and clotted cream. Mary always breakfasted with him and when they found themselves at the tableâ âparticularly if there were delicate slices of sizzling ham sending forth tempting odors from under a hot silver coverâ âthey would look into each otherâs eyes in desperation.
âI think we shall have to eat it all this morning, Mary,â Colin always ended by saying. âWe can send away some of the lunch and a great deal of the dinner.â
But they never found they could send away anything and the highly polished condition of the empty plates returned to the pantry awakened much comment.
âI do wish,â Colin would say also, âI do wish the slices of ham were thicker, and one muffin each is not enough for anyone.â
âItâs enough for a person who is going to die,â answered Mary when first she heard this, âbut itâs not enough for a person who is going to live. I sometimes feel as if I could eat three when those nice fresh heather and gorse smells from the moor come pouring in at the open window.â
The morning that Dickonâ âafter they had been enjoying themselves in the garden for about two hoursâ âwent behind a big rosebush and brought forth two tin pails and revealed that one was full of rich new milk with cream on the top of it, and that the other held cottage-made currant buns folded in a clean blue and white napkin, buns so carefully tucked in that they were still hot, there was a riot of surprised joyfulness. What a wonderful thing for Mrs. Sowerby to think of! What a kind, clever woman she must be! How good the buns were! And what delicious fresh milk!
âMagic is in her just as it is in Dickon,â said Colin. âIt makes her think of ways to do thingsâ ânice things. She is a Magic person. Tell her we are grateful, Dickonâ âextremely grateful.â
He was given to using rather grownup phrases at times. He enjoyed them. He liked this so much that he improved upon it.
âTell her she has been most bounteous and our gratitude is extreme.â
And then forgetting his grandeur he fell to and stuffed himself with buns and drank milk out of the pail in copious draughts in the manner of any hungry little boy who had been taking unusual exercise and breathing in moorland air and whose breakfast was more than two hours behind him.
This was the beginning of many agreeable incidents of the same kind. They actually awoke to the fact that as Mrs. Sowerby had fourteen people to provide food for she might not have enough to satisfy two extra appetites every day. So they asked her to let them send some of their shillings to buy things.
Dickon made the stimulating discovery that in the wood in the park outside the garden where Mary had first found him piping to the wild creatures there was a deep little hollow where you could build a sort of tiny oven with stones and roast potatoes and eggs in it. Roasted eggs were a previously unknown luxury and very hot potatoes with salt and fresh butter in them were fit for a woodland kingâ âbesides being deliciously satisfying. You could buy both potatoes and eggs and eat as many
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