The secret garden was not the only one Dickon worked in.Round the cottage on the moor there was a piece of ground enclosed by a low wall of rough stones.Early in the morning and late in the fading twilight and on all the days Colin and Mary did not see him，Dickon worked there planting or tending potatoes and cabbages，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 weeded he whistled or sang bits of Yorkshire moor songs or talked to Soot or Captain or the brothers and sisters he had taught to help him.
“We’d never get on as comfortable as we do，”Mrs.Sowerby said，“if it wasn’t for Dickon’s garden.Anything’ll grow for him.His’taters and cabbages is twice th’size of any one else’s an’they’ve got a flavor with’em as nobody’s has.”
It was in these twilight hours that Mrs.Sowerby heard of all that happened at Misselthwaite Manor.At first she was only told that“Mester Colin”had taken a fancy to going out into the grounds with Miss Mary and that it was doing him good.But it was not long before it was agreed between the two children that Dickon’s mother might“come into the secret.”Somehow it was not doubted that she was“safe for sure.”
So one beautiful still evening Dickon told the whole story，with all the thrilling details of the buried key and the robin and the gray haze which had seemed like deadness and the secret Mistress Mary had planned never to reveal.The coming of Dickon and how it had been told to him，the doubt of Mester Colin and the final drama of his introduction to the hidden domain，combined with the incident of Ben Weatherstaff’s angry face peering over the wall and Mester Colin’s sudden indignant strength，made Mrs.Sowerby’s nice-looking face quite change color several times.
“My word！”she said.“It was a good thing that little lass came to th’Manor.It’s been th’makin’o’her an’th’savin，o’him.Standin’on his feet！An’us all thinkin’he was a poor half-witted lad with not a straight bone in him.”