Sleep Story: The Secret Garden Ch 26

Enjoy this sleep story to help you drift off into a peaceful slumber. Tonight we read chapter 26 of the timeless classic, The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett. This chapter focuses on Dickon's mother coming to see the children and the garden. This audio is perfect for children or adults who want to relax or find adventure into a great night's sleep.

Transcript

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett Chapter 26 It's Mother Their belief in the magic was an abiding thing.

After the morning's incantations,

Colin sometimes gave them magic lectures.

I like to do it,

He explained,

Because when I grow up and make great scientific discoveries,

I shall be obliged to lecture about them.

And so this is practice.

I can only give short lectures now because I am very young.

And besides,

Ben Weatherstaff would feel as if he were in church and he would go to sleep.

The best thing about lecturing,

Said Ben,

Is that a chap can get up and say aught he pleases and no other chap can answer him back.

I want to be again lecturing a bit myself sometimes.

So when Colin held forth under his tree,

Old Ben fixed devouring eyes on him and kept them there.

He looked over with critical affection.

It was not so much the lecture which interested him as the legs which looked straighter and stronger each day.

The boyish head which held itself up so well,

The once sharp chin and hollow cheeks which had filled and rounded out,

And the eyes which had begun to hold the light he remembered in another pair.

Sometimes when Colin felt Ben's earnest gaze meant that he was much impressed,

He wondered what he was reflecting on and once,

When he had seemed quite entranced,

He questioned him.

What are you thinking about,

Ben Weatherstaff,

He asked.

I was thinking,

Answered Ben,

As I'd warrant the's gone up three or four pounds this week.

I was looking at the calves and the shoulders.

I'd like to get the on a pair of scales.

It's the magic end,

And Miss Sourby's buns and milk and things,

Said Colin.

You see,

The scientific experiment has succeeded.

That morning,

Dickon was too late to hear the lecture.

When he came,

He was ruddy with running,

And his funny face looked more twinkling than usual.

As they had a good deal of weeding to do after the rains,

They fell to work.

They always had plenty to do after a warm,

Deep,

Sinking rain.

The moisture which was good for the flowers was also good for the weeds,

Which thrust up tiny blades of grass and points of leaves,

Which must be pulled up before their roots took too firm hold.

Colin was as good as weeding as anyone in these days,

And he could lecture while he was doing it.

The magic works best when you work yourself,

He said this morning.

You can feel it in your bones and muscles.

I am going to read books about bones and muscles,

But I am going to write a book about magic.

I am making it up now.

I keep finding things out.

It was not long after he had said this that he laid down his trowel and stood up on his feet.

He had been silent for several minutes,

And they had seen that he was thinking out lectures as he often did.

When he dropped his trowel and stood upright,

It seemed a Marion Dickens,

As if a sudden strong thought had made him do it.

He stretched himself out to his tallest height,

And he threw out his arms exultantly.

Color glowed in his face,

And his strange eyes widened with joyfulness.

All at once he had realized something to the full.

Mary,

Dickens,

He cried,

Just look at me.

They stopped their weeding and looked at him.

Do you remember that first morning you brought me here,

He demanded?

Dickens was looking at him hard.

Being an animal charmer,

He could see more things than most people could,

And many of them were things he never talked about.

He saw some of them now in this boy.

Aye,

That we do,

He answered.

Mary looked hard,

Too.

But she said nothing.

Just this minute,

Said Colin,

All at once I remembered it myself,

When I looked at my hand digging with the trowel,

And I had to stand up on my feet to see if it was real.

And it is real.

I'm well.

I'm well.

Aye,

That the art,

Said Dickens.

I'm well,

I'm well,

Said Colin again,

And his face went quite red all over.

He had known it before in a way.

He had hoped it and felt it and thought about it,

But just at that minute something had rushed all through him.

A sort of rapturous belief and realization,

And it had been so strong that he could not help calling out.

I shall live forever and ever and ever,

He cried grandly.

I shall find out thousands and thousands of things.

I shall find out about people and creatures and everything that grows,

Like Dickens.

And I shall never stop making magic.

I'm well.

I'm well.

I feel as if I want to shout out something,

Something thankful and joyful.

Ben Weatherstaff,

Who had been working near a rose bush,

Glanced around at him.

The mite sing the doxology,

He suggested in his driest grunt.

He had no opinion of the doxology,

And he did not make the suggestion with any particular reverence.

But Colin was of an exploring mind,

And he knew nothing about the doxology.

What is that,

He inquired?

One can sing it for thee,

I'll warrant,

Replied Ben Weatherstaff.

Dickens answered with his all-perceiving animal charmer's smile.

They sing it at church,

He said.

Mother says she believes the skylarks sing it when they get up in the morning.

If she says that,

It must be a nice song,

Colin answered.

I've never been in a church myself.

I was always too ill.

Sing it,

Dickens,

I want to hear it.

Dickens was quite simple and unaffected about it.

He understood what Colin felt better than Colin did himself.

He understood by a sort of instinct so natural that he did not know it was understanding.

He pulled off his cap and looked round,

Still smiling.

The must take off the cap,

He said to Colin.

And so mon the,

Ben,

And the mon stand up,

You know.

Colin took off his cap,

And the sun shone on and warmed his thick hair as he watched Dickens intently.

Ben Weatherstaff scrambled up from his knees and bared his head,

Too,

With a sort of puzzled half resentful look on his old face,

As if he didn't know exactly why he was doing these remarkable things.

Dickens stood out among the trees and rose bushes and began to sing in quite a simple,

Matter of fact way,

And in a nice,

Strong boy voice.

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

Praise him all creatures here below.

Praise him above ye,

Heavenly host.

Praise Father,

Son,

And Holy Ghost.

Amen.

When he had finished,

Ben Weatherstaff was standing quite still with his jaws set obstinately,

But with a disturbed look in his eyes fixed on Colin.

Colin's face was thoughtful and appreciative.

It is a very nice song,

He said.

I like it.

Perhaps it means just what I mean when I want to shout out that I am thankful to the magic.

He stopped and thought in a puzzled way.

Perhaps they are both the same thing.

How can we know the exact names of everything?

Sing it again,

Dickens.

Let us try.

Let us try,

Mary.

I want to sing it,

Too.

It's my song.

How does it begin?

Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

And they sang it again.

And Mary and Colin lifted their voices as musically as they could.

And Dickens swelled quite loud and beautiful.

And at the second line,

Ben Weatherstaff raspingly cleared his throat.

And at the third line he joined in with such vigor that it seemed almost savage.

And when the amen came to an end,

Mary observed that the very same thing had happened to him,

Which had happened when he found out that Colin was not a cripple.

His chin was twitching and he was staring and winking and his leathery old cheeks were wet.

I never see no sense in the doxology of four,

He said hoarsely.

But I may change my mind in time.

I should say,

God got up five pounds this week,

Mr.

Colin,

Five of them.

Colin was looking across the garden at something attracting his attention,

And his expression had become a startled one.

Who is coming in here,

He asked quietly.

Who is it?

The door in the envied wall had been pushing gently open and a woman had entered.

She had come in with the last line of their song and she had stood still listening and looking at them.

With the ivy behind her,

The sunlight drifting through the trees and dappling her long blue cloak and her nice fresh face smiling across the greenery,

She was rather like a softly colored illustration in one of Colin's books.

She had wonderful affectionate eyes which seemed to take everything in,

All of them,

Even Ben Weatherstaff and the creatures and every flower that was in bloom.

Unexpectedly,

As she had appeared,

Not one of them felt that she was an intruder at all.

Dickens' eyes lit up like lamps.

It's Mother,

That's who it is,

He cried and went across the grass at a run.

Colin began to move toward her too and Mary went with him.

They both felt their pulses beat faster.

It's Mother,

Dickens said again when they met halfway.

I knowed the one at DeSere and I told her where the door was hid.

Colin held out his hand with a sort of flushed royal shyness,

But his eyes quite devoured her face.

Even when I was ill I wanted to see you,

He said.

You and Dickens in the secret garden.

I've never wanted to see anyone or anything before.

The sight of his uplifted face brought about a sudden change in her own.

She flushed and the corners of her mouth shook and a mist seemed to sweep over her eyes.

Hey dear lad,

She broke out tremulously.

Hey dear lad,

As if she had not known she were going to say it.

She did not say Mr.

Colin,

But just dear lad,

Quite suddenly.

She might have said it to Dickens in the same way,

If she had seen something in his face which touched her.

Colin liked it.

Are you surprised because I'm so well,

He asked.

She put her hand on his shoulder and smiled the mist out of her eyes.

Ay,

That I am,

She said.

But thart so like thy mother,

That made my heart jump.

Do you think,

Said Colin a little awkwardly,

That will make my father like me?

Ay,

For sure dear lad,

She answered,

And she gave his shoulder a soft quick pat.

He mun come home,

He mun come home.

Susan Sowerby,

Said Ben Weatherstaff,

Getting close to her.

Look at the lad's legs,

Wilt ya.

They're like drumsticks and stockin' two months ago,

And I heard Falk tell us they were as bandy and knock-kneed both at the same time.

Look at them now.

Susan Sowerby laughed a comfortable laugh.

They're going to be fine strong lad's legs in a bit,

She said.

Let him go on playin' and workin' in the garden,

And eatin' hearty and drinkin' plenty of good sweet milk,

And they'll not be a finer pair in Yorkshire.

Thank God for it.

She put both hands on Mistress Mary's shoulders,

And looked her little face over in a motherly fashion.

And thee too,

She said.

Thart grow near as hearty as our Elizabeth Ellen.

All warrant thart like thy mother too.

Our Martha told me,

As Miss Medlock heard,

She was a pretty woman.

That'll be like a blush rose when the grows up.

My little lass.

Bless thee.

She did not mention that when Martha came home on her day out,

And described the plain sallow child,

She had said that she had no confidence whatever in what Miss Medlock had heard.

It doesn't stand to reason that a pretty woman could be the mother of such a foul little lass,

She had added obstinately.

Mary had not had time to pay much attention to her changing face.

She had only known that she looked different,

And seemed to have a great deal more hair,

And that it was growing very fast.

But remembering her pleasure in looking at the Mem Sahib in the past,

She was glad to hear that she might someday look like her.

Susan Sowerby went round their garden with them,

And was told the whole story of it,

And shown every bush and tree which had come alive.

Colin walked on one side of her and Mary on the other.

Each of them kept looking up at her comfortable,

Rosy face,

Secretly curious about the delightful feeling she gave them.

A sort of warm,

Supported feeling.

It seemed as if she understood them as Dickon understood his creatures.

She stood over the flowers and talked about them as if they were children.

Soot followed her and once or twice caught at her,

And flew upon her shoulders as if it were Dickon's.

When they told her about the robin and the first flight of the young ones,

She laughed a motherly little mellow laugh in her throat.

I suppose learning them to fly is like learning children to walk.

But I'm feared I should be all in a worry that mine had legs instead of wings,

She said.

It was because she seemed such a wonderful woman in her nice,

Moorland cottage way that at last she was told about the magic.

Do you believe in magic?

Asked Colin after he explained about Indian fakirs.

I do hope you do.

That I do lad,

She answered.

I never note it by the name,

But what does the name matter?

I warrant they call it a different name in France and a different one in Germany.

The same thing as set the seeds swelling and the sun shining made thee a well lad and it's a good thing.

It isn't like us poor folks as think it matters if it is called out of our names.

The big good thing doesn't stop to worry,

Bless thee.

It goes on making worlds by the million,

Worlds like us.

Never thee stop believing in the big good thing and knowin' the world's full of it and call it what the likes.

But we're singin' to it when I came into the garden.

I felt so joyful said Colin opening his beautiful strange eyes at her.

Suddenly I felt how different I was,

How strong my arms and legs were,

You know,

And I could dig and stand and I jumped up and wanted to shout out something to anything that would listen.

The magic listened when this sung the doxology.

It would have listened to anything that sung.

It was the joy that mattered.

Eh lad,

Lad,

What's names to the joy maker?

And she gave his shoulders a quick soft pat again.

She had packed a basket which held a regular feast this morning and when the hungry hour came and Dickon brought it out from its hiding place she sat down with them under their tree and watched them devour their food,

Laughing and quite gloating over their appetites.

She was full of fun and made them laugh at all sorts of odd things.

She told them stories in broad Yorkshire and taught them new words.

She laughed as if she could not help it when they told her of the increasing difficulty there was in pretending that Colin was still a fretful invalid.

You see,

We can't help laughing nearly all the time when we're together,

Explained Colin,

And it doesn't sound ill at all.

We try to choke it back,

But it will burst out,

And that sounds worse than ever.

There's one thing that comes into mind so often,

Says Mary,

And I can scarcely ever hold it in when I think of it suddenly.

I keep thinking suppose Colin's face should get to look like a full moon.

It isn't like one yet,

But when he gets a tiny bit fatter every day.

And suppose some morning it should look like one.

What should we do?

Bless us all.

I can see there has a good bit of play in acting to do,

Said Susan Sowerby,

But they won't have to keep it up much longer.

Mr.

Craven will come home.

Do you think he will,

Asked Colin,

Why?

Susan Sowerby chuckled softly.

I suppose it didn't I break thy heart if he found out before the told him in the own way,

She said.

There's late awake nights planning it.

I couldn't bear anyone else to tell him,

Said Colin.

I think about different ways every day.

I think now I just want to run into his room.

That'll be a fine start for him,

Said Susan Sowerby.

I'd like to see his face lad.

I would that.

He mun come back.

That he mun.

One of the things they talked of was the visit they were to make in the cottage.

They planned it all.

They were to drive over the moor and lunch out of doors among the heather.

They would see all the twelve children and Dickens garden,

And would not come back until they were tired.

Susan Sowerby got up at last to return to the house and Miss Medlock.

It was time for Colin to be wheeled back also.

But before he got into his chair he stood quite close to Susan and fixed his eyes on her with a kind of bewildered adoration,

And he suddenly caught hold of the fold of her blue cloak and held it fast.

You are just what I,

What I wanted,

He said.

I wish you were my mother as well as Dickens.

All at once Susan Sowerby bent down and drew him with her warm arms close against the bosom under the blue cloak,

As if he had been Dickens' brother.

The quick miss swept over her eyes.

Eh,

Dear lad,

She said,

Thy own mother's in this air very garden,

I do believe.

She couldn't keep out of it.

Thy father Munn come back to thee.

He Munn.

And that is the end of our sleep story this evening.

Until next time,

Sweet dreams.

Reviews

Love her voice and cadence; it’s very soothing to go to sleep— it always does the trick

The gentle tone of your voice was very soothing and I fell asleep well before the end of the track. Thank you!

Thanks again Hilary. I stayed awake this time but I did miss one or two sentences. I wonder if that is normal as in the mind drifting when meditating? I guess so. I am enjoying this so much and loving the magic. Very much similar to a guided meditation. I’ve thought about that re watching films, listening to music etc. anyway 🙏🏼🙏🏼✌️

Thank you! Thoroughly enjoyed this chapter. I never read this book so I’ve really liked hearing you read it. 🥰

Thank you for making this wonderful story come alive! Blessings 🙏🐿🌸