The Secret Garden

You can lose a friend in springtime easier than any other season

while those whom Mary saw slunk or hur­ried about with ashy and scared faces

One of the new things peo­ple be­gan to find out in the last cen­tury was that thoughts—just mere thoughts—are as pow­er­ful as elec­tric bat­ter­ies—as good for one as sun­light is, or as bad for one as poi­son.

"Mistress Mary, quite contrary,

How does your garden grow? With silver bells, and cockle shells, And marigolds all in a row."

. It is very sad, now the poor beautiful thing is gone

It is very sad, now the poor beautiful thing is gone

"Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With silver bells, and cockle shells, And marigolds all in a row."

mother’s hot oat cake, an’ but­ter, an’ a glass o’ milk.”

dis­grace­fully

whin­ing fit