Таинственный сад
XXVII. In The Garden
“OurDickon,”theyvolunteered,wasoverattheManorworkinginoneofthegardenswherehewentseveraldayseachweek.
Mr.Cravenlookedoverthecollectionofsturdylittlebodiesandroundred-cheekedfaces,eachonegrinninginitsownparticularway,andheawoketothefactthattheywereahealthylikablelot.Hesmiledattheirfriendlygrinsandtookagoldensovereignfromhispocketandgaveitto“our’LizabethEllen”whowastheoldest.
“Ifyoudividethatintoeightpartstherewillbehalfacrownforeachof,you,”hesaid.
Thenamidgrinsandchucklesandbobbingofcurtsieshedroveaway,leavingecstasyandnudgingelbowsandlittlejumpsofjoybehind.
Thedriveacrossthewonderfulnessofthemoorwasasoothingthing.Whydiditseemtogivehimasenseofhomecomingwhichhehadbeensurehecouldneverfeelagain—thatsenseofthebeautyoflandandskyandpurplebloomofdistanceandawarmingoftheheartatdrawing,nearertothegreatoldhousewhichhadheldthoseofhisbloodforsixhundredyears?Howhehaddrivenawayfromitthelasttime,shudderingtothinkofitsclosedroomsandtheboylyinginthefour-postedbedwiththebrocadedhangings.Wasitpossiblethatperhapshemightfindhimchangedalittleforthebetterandthathemightovercomehisshrinkingfromhim?Howrealthatdreamhadbeen—howwonderfulandclearthevoicewhichcalledbacktohim,“Inthegarden—Inthegarden!”
“Iwilltrytofindthekey,”hesaid.“Iwilltrytoopenthedoor.Imust—thoughIdon’tknowwhy.
