At first every day was the same for Mary.
Every morning she awoke and found Martha kneeling upon the hearth building her fire.
After breakfast she gazed out the window at the huge moor.
And every day she realized that if she did not go outside, she would have to stay in and do nothing.
So she went outside.
Mary ran only to make herself warm.
But the big breaths of fresh air filled her lungs with something that was good for her whole body.
The air brought color into her cheeks and brightened her eyes.
After a few days, she began to wake up hungry and eat her porridge.
When she went outside, there was one place she went to most often: the long path outside the walled gardens.
One day she noticed that the ivy grew more thickly on one part of the wall.
She was just wondering why this was so, when she heard a chirp.
She looked up and saw Ben Weatherstaff's robin perched on top of the wall.
"Oh!" she cried. "Is it you?"
She spoke to him as if she expected him to answer.
And he did answer. He chirped and hopped along the wall.
He might as well have been saying, "Good morning! Isn't the sun nice?
Let's chirp and hop together."
Mary began to laugh.
As the bird hopped and took little flights along the wall, she ran after him.
"I like you! I like you!" she cried as she ran down the path.
The robin spread his wings and flew to the top of a tree.
This reminded Mary of the first time she saw him.
She had been standing in the orchard, and he had been at the top of a tree.
Suddenly she realized that she was standing outside the orchard.
"He's in the garden without a door," Mary said.
"Oh, I wish I could see that garden!"
She ran up the path to the green door that led into the kitchen gardens.
Then she ran through the walled gardens and into the orchard.
When she stopped and looked up, there was the tree on the other side of the wall.
The robin was just finishing his song.
"That's the secret garden," she said. "I'm sure it is."
She looked closely but could not find a door.
Then she ran through the kitchen gardens again and out onto the path outside the wall.
She studied the long, ivy-covered wall from end to end.
"It's very strange," she said. "Ben Weatherstaff said there was no door.
But there must have been one because Mr. Craven buried the key."
Mary was quite interested in this mystery.
She stayed outdoors nearly all day, and when she sat down to her supper that night, she felt hungry and sleepy.
After supper she sat with Martha in front of the fire.
"Why did Mr. Craven hate the garden?" asked Mary.
"Are you still thinking about that garden?" Martha asked in surprise.
"Yes, and I want to know why Mr. Craven hated it."
"Oh, listen to the wind!
You could barely stand up on the moor if you went out tonight."
"Yes, I hear it. Answer my question. Why did he hate the garden?"
"All right, I'll tell you.
But Mrs. Medlock says we're not supposed to talk about this."
Martha shifted on the hearth rug and began her story.
"It was Mrs. Craven's garden, and she loved it.
She used to tend the flowers with Mr. Craven.
There was an old tree with a branch built like a seat.
And she made roses grow over it, and she used to sit there.
But one day the branch broke, and she fell to the ground.
She was hurt so badly that she died the next day.
The doctors thought Mr. Craven would go out of his mind with grief and die too.
No one has gone into that garden since."
Mary felt sorry for Mr. Craven.
She didn't ask any more questions, but sat staring at the fire and listening to the wind.
Suddenly she heard a strange sound almost as if a child were crying.
"Do you hear someone crying?"
"No." Martha looked upset. "It's the wind.
Sometimes it sounds as if someone is lost on the moor and wailing."
At that very moment, a gust of wind came rushing down the corridor and blew open their door with a crash.
Now the mysterious sound was louder than ever.
"Someone is crying!" Mary insisted.
"Oh no. It's the wind," Martha said stubbornly.
"Or it's the kitchen maid. She's had a toothache all day."
Something in Martha's manner was strange.
Mary kept quiet, but she did not believe that Martha was telling the truth.