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The next day dawned clear and bright. A fresh breeze unfurled fluffy cloud ribbons across a pale blue sky. After a hasty breakfast, the children hurried Miss Edmonds outside. They ran ahead down the garden paths, urging their tutor to hurry. Dickon, always up with the sun, was waiting for them, piping a merry tune on his wooden fife as they pushed their way through the gate into the Secret Garden.
The earth was pungent from the rains, everything bright and fresh, the air sweetened with rose perfumes. Mary and Colin imagined they could smell each color in the garden: purple, yellow, green, blue, orange, and more. The flowers seeming to open their petals wider as they watched.
Dickon set his fife down and spread his arms, tipping his face to the sky.
“Eh! I loves the world after a good rain scrubs th’ colors bright an’ wakes the earth!”
“As long as the rain doesn’t last for days and days!” Mary laughed
“Well,” mused Colin, “we have lessons now to keep us busy while it rains.”
“Indeed!” agreed Miss Edmonds. “And then some, if I have my way.”
“Do you mean we will have to study on sunny days?” asked Mary, alarmed.
“Yes,” Miss Edmonds replied, trying to soften the blow of reality. “There will be days when we must attend to our studies before anything else, even a sunlight garden. There should be plenty of time for both, however.”
The children sighed.
“Don’ be like tha’,” gently scolded Dickon. “Tha’s got a right good gov’ness and the chance to learn an’ better tha’ selves.”
“Dickon’s right,” Mary agreed as Colin nodded. “There will be plenty of time for everything.”
During the morning hours, Miss Edmonds proved Mary correct, as she explained how plants grew and how bees and worms helped them reproduce and thrive. Dickon also listened intently from his seat in the grass. As the children searched for leaf samples, Miss Edmonds waited by the small lily pond, watching the breeze ripple the water and the lily pads bob up and down like small boats. Dickon put his fingers to his lips and produced a tinkling twitter. A moment later, their friend the robin lit on a nearby holly branch and twittered right back, bobbing his head and puffing his chest out. Miss Edmonds’ eyes grew large with surprise.
“You can speak with birds!” she exclaimed, delighted.
“Aye. I can speak wi’ most anythin’ has fur or feathers,” Dickon replied with a smile. “Just like breathin’ or singin’ is to other folk.”
The robin twittered again and Dickon listened carefully.
“Says he’s built a nest nearby, an’ he an’ his mate are expectin’ a bigger family than last year,” Dickon translated as the robin began preening his feathers.
“Amazing!” Miss Edmonds sighed. “Do you know where the nest is?”
“I never ask such things, they must be offered. It’s not right for a fella to be so forward,” Dickon gently explained. “It’s best if none know ‘till the time’s right.”
“I see,” said Miss Edmonds, “That’s very wise. Would you speak to him again so I can listen?”
Dickon nodded with a broad smile and twittered again. The robin cocked his head and watched them with tiny black eyes that sparkled in the sunlight. The robin twittered back. Dickon twittered in reply. As the charming conversation continued, Mary and Colin joined them, their hands full of leaves and other interesting tidbits the children had found and wanted to share with their tutor. The children still delighted in watching Dickon work his special magic, and Miss Edmonds was so charmed, she found it hard not to giggle like a delighted school girl.
Finally, Miss Edmonds took the leaves from her pupils and told them the names of each one and their parts and how they worked as part of a tree. Afterwards, Mary and Colin told Miss Edmonds what they had done in the garden, how they tended it and what they had planted.
“The first time I stepped through the gate,” Mary remembered, “it was like fairy magic. Like an enchanted castle that had been spelled to sleep for many years—quiet and mysterious, and. . .and. . . waiting.”
Miss Edmonds smiled and looked around her at the moss-covered statues and hidden benches, the vine draped walls and entwined flowers.
“It still is,” she observed.
