"It's nicer like this with things runnin' wild, an' swingin' an' catchin' hold of each other." "Don't let us make it tidy," said Mary anxiously.

"It wouldn't seem like a secret garden if it was tidy." Dickon stood rubbing his rusty-red head with a rather puzzled look.
"It's a secret garden sure enough," he said, "but seems like some one besides th' robin must have been in it since it was shut up ten year' ago." "But the door was locked and the key was buried," said Mary.

"No one could get in." "That's true," he answered.

"It's a queer place.

Seems to me as if there'd been a bit o' prunin' done here an' there, later than ten year' ago." "But how could it have been done ?" said Mary.
He was examining a branch of a standard rose and he shook his head.
"Aye! how could it!" he murmured.