The Secret Garden HTML version
7. The Key To The Garden
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'
"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."