Mrs. Medlock looked pleased.  She was relieved to hear that she need not “look after” Mary too much.  She had felt her a tiresome charge and had indeed seen as little of her as she dared.  In addition to this she was fond of Martha’s mother.

“Thank you, sir,” she said.  “Susan Sowerby and me went to school together and she’s as sensible and good-hearted a woman as you’d find in a day’s walk.  I never had any children myself and she’s had twelve, and there never was healthier or better ones.  Miss Mary can get no harm from them.  I’d always take Susan Sowerby’s advice about children myself.  She’s what you might call healthy-minded—­if you understand me.”

“I understand,” Mr. Craven answered.  “Take Miss Mary away now and send Pitcher to me.”

When Mrs. Medlock left her at the end of her own corridor Mary flew back to her room.  She found Martha waiting there.  Martha had, in fact, hurried back after she had removed the dinner service.

“I can have my garden!” cried Mary.  “I may have it where I like!  I am not going to have a governess for a long time!  Your mother is coming to see me and I may go to your cottage!  He says a little girl like me could not do any harm and I may do what I like—­anywhere!”

“Eh!” said Martha delightedly, “that was nice of him wasn’t it?”

“Martha,” said Mary solemnly, “he is really a nice man, only his face is so miserable and his forehead is all drawn together.”

She ran as quickly as she could to the garden.  She had been away so much longer than she had thought she should and she knew Dickon would have to set out early on his five-mile walk.  When she slipped through the door under the ivy, she saw he was not working where she had left him.  The gardening tools were laid together under a tree.  She ran to them, looking all round the place, but there was no Dickon to be seen.  He had gone away and the secret garden was empty—­except for the robin who had just flown across the wall and sat on a standard rose-bush watching her.

“He’s gone,” she said wofully.  “Oh! was he—­was he—­was he only a wood fairy?”

Something white fastened to the standard rose-bush caught her eye.  It was a piece of paper—­in fact, it was a piece of the letter she had printed for Martha to send to Dickon.  It was fastened on the bush with a long thorn, and in a minute she knew Dickon had left it there.  There were some roughly printed letters on it and a sort of picture.  At first she could not tell what it was.  Then she saw it was meant for a nest with a bird sitting on it.  Underneath were the printed letters and they said: 

“I will cum bak.”

CHAPTER XIII

“I AM COLIN”

Mary took the picture back to the house when she went to her supper and she showed it to Martha.

“Eh!” said Martha with great pride.  “I never knew our Dickon was as clever as that.  That there’s a picture of a missel thrush on her nest, as large as life an’ twice as natural.”