Таинственный сад
XXIII. Magic
ThereisMagicinthere—goodMagic,youknow,Mary.Iamsurethereis.”
“SoamI,”saidMary.
“Evenifitisn’trealMagic,”Colinsaid,“wecanpretenditis.Somethingisthere—something!”
“It’sMagic,”saidMary,“butnotblack.It’saswhiteassnow.”
TheyalwayscalleditMagicandindeeditseemedlikeitinthemonthsthatfollowed—thewonderfulmonths—theradiantmonths—theamazingones.Oh!thethingswhichhappenedinthatgarden!Ifyouhaveneverhadagardenyoucannotunderstand,andifyouhavehadagardenyouwillknowthatitwouldtakeawholebooktodescribeallthatcametopassthere.Atfirstitseemedthatgreenthingswouldneverceasepushingtheirwaythroughtheearth,inthegrass,inthebeds,eveninthecrevicesofthewalls.Thenthegreenthingsbegantoshowbudsandthebudsbegantounfurlandshowcolor,everyshadeofblue,everyshadeofpurple,everytintandhueofcrimson.Initshappydaysflowershadbeentuckedawayintoeveryinchandholeandcorner.BenWeatherstaffhadseenitdoneandhadhimselfscrapedoutmortarfrombetweenthebricksofthewallandmadepocketsofearthforlovelyclingingthingstogrowon.Irisandwhiteliliesroseoutofthegrassinsheaves,andthegreenalcovesfilledthemselveswithamazingarmiesoftheblueandwhiteflowerlancesoftalldelphiniumsorcolumbinesorcampanulas.
“Shewasmainfondo’them—shewas,”BenWeatherstaffsaid.“Shelikedthemthingsaswasalluspointin’uptoth’bluesky,sheusedtotell.
