Music Welcome to Snewscast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us on Snewscast.com and now also on the Snewscast YouTube channel. If you'd like to get an email once a week with upcoming sleep stories and other news, subscribe to the Snewsletter at snewscast.com. This episode is brought to you by the most magic boy in the world. Tonight, we'll read the next part to the secret garden, a novel by Francis Hodgson Bernat, published in 1911. In the last episode, Colin claims the secret garden as his own, and in doing so, Colin chooses to follow in his mother's footsteps and dedicate himself to nature and happiness. He is inspired by Mary and Dickon and decides to become a scientist who devotes his life to the study of magic. We will resume our story with a gathering of Ben, Dickon and Mary, led by Colin. It is part lecture, part ministry, part mystical right, held in the secret garden. Let's get cozy.

Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now, take a few deep breaths. Colin really looked quite beautiful, Mary thought. He held his head high as if he felt like a sort of priest and his strange eyes had a wonderful look in them. The light shone on him through the tree canopy. Now we will begin, he said. Shall we sway backward and forward Mary as if as if we were durvishes? I cannot do no sway in backward and forward," said Ben Weatherstaff. I've got the Romatics. The magic will take them away," said Colin, in a high-priest tone. But we won't sway until it has done it. We will only chant. I cannot do no chanton," said Ben weather staff, a trifle testly. They turned me out of the church choir the only time I ever tried it. No one smiled. They were all too much in earnest. Colin's face was not even crossed by a shadow. He was thinking only of the magic. Then I will chant, he said, and he began looking like a strange boy spirit. The sun is shining, the sun is shining, that is the magic. The flowers are growing, the roots are stirring, that is the magic. Being alive is the magic. Being strong is the magic. The magic is in me. The magic is in me. It is in me. It is in me. It's in every one of us. It's in Ben Weatherstaff's back. Magic. Magic. Come and help. He said it a great many times. Not a thousand times, but quite a goodly number. Mary listened and tranced. She felt as if it were at one square and beautiful, and she wanted him to go on and on. Benweather's staff began to feel soothed into a sort of dream which was quite agreeable. The humming of the bees in the blossoms mingled with the chanting voice and drowsily melted into a dose. Dick and sat cross-legged with his rabbit asleep on his arm and a hand resting on the lambs back.

Soot had pushed away a squirrel and huddled close to him on his shoulder. The grey film dropped over his eyes. At last, Colin stopped. Now, I am going to walk around the garden.

He announced... Colin stopped. Now I am going to walk round the garden," he announced. Ben weatherstaff's head had just dropped forward and he lifted it with a jerk. You have been asleep, said Colin.

Not of the sort.

Mumbled Ben. "'The sermon was good enough, but I'm bound to get out of for the collection.' "'He was not quite awake yet. "'You're not in church,' said Colin. "'Not me,' said Ben, straightening himself. Who said I were? I heard every bit of it. You said the magic was in my back. The doctor calls it Romatics. The Raja waved his hand. That was the wrong magic. He said,You will get better. You have my permission to go to your work. But come back tomorrow.' "'I'd like to see the walk around the garden,' grunted Ben. "'It was not an unfriendly grunt, but it was a grunt. In fact, being a stubborn old party and not having entire faith in magic, he had made up his mind that if he were sent away, he would climb his ladder and look over the wall so that he might be ready to hobble back if there were any stumbling. The Raja did not object to his staying and so the procession was formed. It really did look like a procession. Colin was at its head with Dickon on one side and Mary on the other. Benweather staff walked behind, and the creatures trailed after them. The lamb and the fox cub, keeping close to Dickon. The white rabbit hopping along or stopping to nibble and so it following with the solemnity of a person who felt himself in charge. It was a procession which moved slowly but with dignity. Every few yards it stopped to rest. in leaned on Dickens' arm and and privately Ben Weatherstaff kept a sharp look out. But now and then Cullen took his hand from its support and walked a few steps alone. His head was held up all the time and he looked very grand. The magic is in me, he kept saying.

The magic is in me, he kept saying. The magic is making me strong. I can feel it. I can feel it. It seemed very certain that something was up holding and uplifting him. He sat on the seats in the alcoves, and once or twice he sat down on the grass, and several times he paused in the path and leaned on Dickin, but he would not give up until he had gone all round the garden. When he returned to the canopy tree, his cheeks were flushed, and he looked triumphant. "'I did it! The magic worked,' he cried. That is my first scientific discovery. What Will Dr. Craven say, Procout Mary?

He won't say anything, Colin answered, because he will not be told. This is to be the biggest secret of all. No one is to know anything about it until I have grown so strong that I can walk and run like any other boy. I shall come here every day in my chair, and I shall be taken back in it. I won't have people whispering and asking questions, and I won't let my father hear about it until the experiment has quite succeeded. Then sometime, when he comes back to Missilethweightweight I shall just walk into his study and say, here I am, I am like any other boy, I am quite well and I shall live to be a man. It has been done by a scientific experiment. He will think he is in a dream, cried Mary. He won't believe his eyes. Colin flush triumphantly. He had made himself believe that he was going to get well, which was really more than half the battle, if he had been aware of it. And the thought which stimulated him more than any other was this imagining what his father would look like when he saw that he had a son who had a straight back and was strong as other father's sons. One of his darkest miseries in the unhealthy morbid past days had been his hatred of being a sickly, weak-backed boy whose father was afraid to look at him. He'll be obliged to believe them," he said. One of the things I am going to do after the magic works and before I begin to make scientific discoveries is to be an athlete. We shall have the take into box and in a week or so said Benwetherstaff, the helltend with win in the belt and being champion prize fighter of all England. Colin fixed his eyes on him sternly. Whether staff, he said, that is disrespectful. You must not take liberties because you are in the secret. However much the magic works, I shall not be a prize fighter, I shall be a scientific discoverer. Axe pardon, Axe pardon sir. Answered Ben, touching his forehead in salute. I ought to have seen it wasn't a joking matter but his eyes twinkled and secretly he was immensely

pleased. He really did not mind being snubbed since the snubbing meant that the lad was gaining strength and spirit. Chapter 24.

Let them laugh.

The secret garden was not the only one Dick and worked in. Round the cottage on the more, there was a piece of ground enclosed by a low wall of rough stones. in the morning and late in the fading twilight, and on all the days Colin and Mary did not see him, Dickin worked there, planting or tending potatoes and capuches, turnips and carrots and herbs for his mother. In the company of his creatures, he did wonders there, and was never tired of doing them, it seemed. While he dug or weated, he whizzled or sang bits of Yorkshire more songs, or talked to soot, or captain, or the brothers and sisters he had taught to help him. We never get on as comfortable as we do," Mrs. Sourby said. If it wasn't for Dickens Garden, anything will grow for him. His taters and cabbages is twice the size of anyone else's, and they've got a flavor with them as nobody has. When she found a moment to spare, she liked to go out and talk to him. After supper, there was still a long, clear twilight to work in, and that was her quiet time. She could sit upon the low rough wall and look on and hear stories of the day. She loved this time. There were not only vegetables in this garden. Dickin had bought penny packages of flower seeds now and then, and sown bright, sweet-cented things among gooseberry bushes, and even capuches, and he grew borders of minunette and pinks and pansies, and things who seed he could save year after year, or whose roots would bloom each spring, and spread in time, into fine clumps. The low wall was one of the prettiest things in Yorkshire, because he had tucked moralin fox glove and ferns and rock-crusts and hedgerow flowers into every crevice, until only here and there glimpses of the stones were to be seen. All a chap's got to do to make him thrive, mother, he would say, is to be friends with them for sure. They're just like the creatures. If they're thirsty, give them a drink, and if they're hungry, give them a bit of food. They want to live same as we do. If they died, I should feel as if I'd been a bad lad and somehow treated them heartless. It was in these twilight hours that Mrs. Sourbe heard of all that happened at Missoth Waitmanor. At first she was only told that Mr. Colin had taken a fancy to go in out into the grounds with Miss Mary and that he was doing him good. But it was not long before it was agreed between the two children that Dickens' mother might come onto the secret. Somehow it was not doubted that she was safe for sure. So one beautiful, still evening, Dickens told the whole story with all the thrilling details of the Buried Key and robin and the grey haze which had seemed like deadness and the secret Mistress Mary had plans never to reveal. The coming of Dickin and how it had been told to him, the doubt of Mr. Colin and the final drama of his introduction to the hidden domain, combined with the incident of Ben Weather's staff's angry face peering over the wall, and Mr. Colin's sudden indignant strength made Mrs. Sourbees' nice-looking face quite change color several times. "'My word,' she said. It was a good thing that little lass came to the more. It's been the makin' on her and the savin' of him. Standin' on his feet and us all thinkin' he was a poor half-wooded lad with not a straight bone in him. She asked a great many questions, and her blue eyes were full of deep thinking. What do they make of it at the manner, him being so well and cheerful and never complainin', she inquired.

They don't know what to make of it. Answered Dickin, every day as comes round his face looks different. It's filling out and doesn't look so sharp and the waxy color is going. What What he has to do a bit of complaining with a highly entertained grin.

What for, I mercy's name, asked Mrs. Sourby. Dickon chuckled. He does it to keep them from guessing what's happened. If the doctor knew he'd found out he could stand on his feet, he'd likely write and tell Mr. Craven. Mr. Collins saven the secret to tell himself. He's going to practice his magic on his legs every day, till his father comes back, and then he's going to march into his room and show him as he's straight as all other lats. But him and Miss Mary thinks it's the best plan to do a bit of grown-in and fret in now and then to throw folk off the scent. Mrs. Sourby was laughing a low, comfortable laugh long before he had finished just laugh sentence. She said, that bears enjoying themselves all-warrant. They'll get a good bit of acting out of it, and there's nothing children like so much as play acting. Let's hear what they do, Dick and Lad. Dick and stopped weeding and sat up on his heels to tell her. His eyes were twinkling with fun. Mr. Colin is carried down to his chair every time he goes out. He explained, and he flies out at John, a footman, for not carrying him careful enough. He makes himself as helpless looking as he can, and never lifts his head until we're out of sight of the house. And he grunts and frats a good bit when he's been settled into his chair. Him and Miss Mary's both got to enjoy in it, and when he groans and complains she'll say, poor Colin, does it hurt you so much? Are you so weak as that poor Colin? But the trouble is that sometimes they can't scarce keep from bursting out laughing. When we get safe into the garden, they laugh till they have no breath left to laugh with. And they have to stuff their faces into Master Collins' cushions to keep the gardeners from hearing, if any of them was about. The more they laugh, the better for him, said Mrs. Sourby, still laughing herself. Good, healthy child laughings better than pills any day of the year, that peril plump up for sure. They are plumping up," said Dickin. They're that hungry, they don't know how to get enough to eat without making talk. Mr. Collins says if he keeps sending for more food, they won't believe he's an invalid at all. Miss Mary says she'll let him eat her share, but he says that if she goes hungry, she'll get thin, and they might get both fat at once. Mrs. Sauer be laughed so heartily at the revelation of this difficulty that she quite rocked backward and forward in her blue coat and Dickin laughed with her. He'll tell the what lad? Mrs. Sourby said when she could speak. I've thought of a way to help him. the ghost to them in the mornings, that she'll take a pale, a good new milk, and I'll bake them a crusty cottage loaf or some buns with currants in them, same as you children like. But then so good as fresh milk and bread. Then they could take off the edge of their hunger, while they were in the garden, and the fine food they get indoors had polished off the corners. "'Aah, mother,' said Dickin, admiringly, "'what a wonder thou art! They're always seeing the way out of things. They was quite in a pothole yesterday. They didn't see how they was to manage without ordering up more food. They felt that empty inside. There two youngins growing fast, and health coming back to both of them. Children like that feels like young wolves and foods flesh and blood to them," said Mrs. Sourby. Then she smiled Dickens' own curving smile. "'Ehh, but they're enjoying themselves for sure,' she said. She was quite right, the comfortable, wonderful mother-creature. And she had never been more so than when she said they are play-acting would be their joy. Colin and Mary found it one of the most thrilling sources of entertainment. The idea of protecting themselves from suspicion had been unconsciously suggested to them first by the puzzled nurse and then by Dr. Craven himself. Your appetite is improving very much, Master Colin. The nurse had said one day, you used to eat nothing and so many things disagreed with you. Nothing disagrees with me now," replied Colin, and then seeing the nurse looking at him curiously, he suddenly remembered that perhaps he ought not to appear too well just yet. At least things don't so often disagree with me. It's the fresh air. "'Perhaps it is,' said the nurse, still looking at him with a mystified expression. But I must talk to Dr. Craven about it. How she stared at you,' said Mary when she went away, as if she thought there must be something to find out. I won't have her finding out things," said Colin. No one must begin to find out yet. When Dr. Craven came that morning, he seemed puzzled also. He asked a number of questions to Colin's great annoyance. You stay out in the garden a great deal, he suggested. Where do you go? Colin put on his favorite air of dignified indifference to opinion. I will not let anyone know where I go, he answered. I go to a place I like. Everyone has orders to keep out of the way. I won't be watched and stared at. You know that. You seem to be out all day, but I do not think it has done you harm. I do not think so. The nurse says that you eat much more than you have ever done before. Perhaps, said Colin, prompted by a sudden inspiration. perhaps it is an unnatural appetite.

I do not think so, as your food seems to agree with you," said Dr. Craven. You are gaining flesh rapidly, and your color is better. Perhaps, I am bloated and feverish," said Colin, assuming a discouraging air of gloom. People who are not going to live are often different. Dr. Craven shook his head. He was holding Colin's wrist, and he pushed up his sleeve and felt his arm. "'You are not feverish,' he said thoughtfully. "'And such flesh as you have gained is healthy. "'If you can keep this up, my boy, we need not talk of dying. Your father will be happy to hear of this remarkable improvement. "'I won't have him told,' Colin broke forth fiercely. It will only disappoint him if I get worse again, and I may get worse this very night. I might have a raging fever. I feel as if I might be beginning to have one now. I won't have

letters written to my father. I won't. I won't. You are making me angry and you know that is bad for me. I feel hot already. I hate being written about and being talked over as much as I hate being stared at.

Hush, my boy.

Dr. Craven soothed him. Nothing shall be written without your permission. You are too sensitive about things. You must not undo the good which has been done." He said no more about writing to Mr. Craven, and when he saw the nurse, he privately warned her that such a possibility must not be mentioned to the patient. The boy is extraordinarily better, he said. His advance seems almost abnormal. But of course, he is doing now of his own free will what he could not make him do before. Still, he excites himself very easily and nothing must be said to irritate him. Mary and Colin were much alarmed and talked together anxiously. From this time dated their plan of play actin. I may be obliged to have a tantrum," said Colin regretfully. I don't want to have one, and I'm not miserable enough now to work myself into a big one. Perhaps I couldn't have one at all. That lump doesn't come in my throat now, and I keep thinking of nice things instead of horrible ones. But if they talk about writing to my father, I shall have to do something. He made up his mind to eat less, but unfortunately it was not possible to carry out this brilliant idea when he waked each morning with an amazing appetite. the table near his sofa was set with a breakfast of homemade bread and fresh butter, snow white eggs, raspberry jam, and clotted cream. Mary always breakfasted with him and when they found themselves at the table. Particularly if there were delicate slices of sizzling ham, sending forth tempting odors from under a hot silver cover.

They would look into each other's eyes in desperation. Thank you.