Whilethesecretgardenwasreturningtolife,amanwithhighcrookedshoulderswaswanderingroundthemostbeautifulplacesinEurope. Fortenyearshehadlivedthislonelylifehisheartfullofsadnessandhisheadfullofdarkdreams. Everywherehewent,hecarriedhisunhappinesswithhimlikeablackcloud.Othertravelersthoughthewashalfmadoramanwhocouldnotforgetsometerriblecrime.HisnamewasArchibaldCraven. Butoneday,ashesatbyamountainstream,heactuallylookedataflower,andforthefirsttimeintenyearsherealizedhowbeautifulsomethinglivingcouldbe. Thevalleyseemedveryquietashesatthere,staringattheMower.Hefeltstrangelycalm. Butoneday,ashesatbyamountainstream,heactuallylookedataflower. ‘Whatishappeningtome?’hewhispered.‘Ifeeldifferent-IalmostfeelI’maliveagain!’ Atthatmoment,hundredsofmilesawayinYorkshire,Colinwasseeingthesecretgardenforthefirsttime,andsaying,‘I’mgoingtoliveforeverandeverandever!’ButMr.Cravendidnotknowthis. Thatnight,inhishotelroom,hesleptbetterthanusual.Astheweekspassed,heevenbegantothinkalittleabouthishomeandhisson. Oneeveninginlatesummer,ashewassittingquietlybesidealake,hefeltthestrangecalmnessagain. Hefellasleep,andhadadreamthatseemedveryreal.Heheardavoicecallinghim. Itwassweetandclearandhappy,thevoiceofhisyoungwife. ‘Mydear!’Hejumpedup.‘Whereareyou?’ ‘Inthegarden!’calledthebeautifulvoice. Andthenthedreamended.Inthemorning,whenhewoke,herememberedthedream. ‘Shesaysshe’sinthegarden!’hethought.‘Butthedoor’s lockedandthekey’sburied.’ ThatmorninghereceivedaletterfromSusanSowerby.Initsheaskedhimtocomehome,butshedidnotgiveareason. Mr.Craventhoughtofhisdream,anddecidedtoreturntoEnglandimmediately.OnthelongjourneybacktoYorkshire,hewasthinkingaboutColin. ‘Iwonderhowheis!Iwantedtoforgethim,becausehemakesmethinkofhismother.Helived,andshedied!ButperhapsI’vebeenwrong. SusanSowerbysaysIshouldgohome,soperhapsshethinksIcanhelphim.’ Whenhearrivedhome,hefoundthehousekeeperveryconfusedaboutColin’shealth. ‘He’sverystrange,sir,’saidMrs.Medlock.‘Helooksbetter,it’strue,butsomedaysheeatsnothingatall,andotherdaysheeatsjustlikeahealthyboy. Heusedtoscreamevenattheideaoffreshair,butnowhespendsallhistimeoutsideinhiswheelchair,withMissMaryandDickonSowerby.He’sinthegardenatthemoment.’ ‘Inthegarden!’repeatedMr.Craven.Thosewerethewordsofthedream! Hehurriedoutofthehouseandtowardstheplacewhichhehadnotvisitedforsolong. Hefoundthedoorwiththeclimbingplantoverit,andstoodoutside,listening,foramoment. ‘SurelyIcanhearvoicesinsidethegarden?’hethought.‘Aren’ttherechildrenwhispering,laughing,runninginthere?OramIgoingmad?’ Andthenthemomentcame,whenthechildrencouldnotstayquiet. Therewaswildlaughingandshouting,andthedoorwasthrownopen. Aboyranout,atall,healthy,handsomeboy,straightintotheman’sarms. Mr.Cravenstaredintotheboy’slaughingeyes. Colinhadnotplannedtomeethisfatherlikethis.Butperhapsthiswasthebestway,tocomerunningoutwithhiscousinandhisfriend. ‘Father,’hesaid,‘I’mColin.Youcan’tbelieveit!Ican’tbelieveitmyself. Itwasthegarden,andMaryandDickonandthemagic,thatmademewell.We’vekeptitasecretuptonow.Aren’tyouhappy,Father? I’mgoingtoliveforeverandeverandever!’ MrCravenputhishandsontheboy’sshoulders.Foramomenthecouldnotspeak.‘Takemeintothegarden,myboy,’hesaidatlast,‘andtellmeallaboutit.’ Andinthesecretgarden,wheretheroseswereattheirbest,andthebutterflieswereflyingfromflowertoflowerinthesummersunshine,theytoldColin’sfathertheirstory. Sometimeshelaughedandsometimeshecried,butmostofthetimehejustlooked,unbelieving,intothehandsomefaceofthesonthathehadalmostforgotten. ‘Now,’saidColinattheend,‘itisn’tasecretanymore.I’llneverusethewheelchairagain.I’mgoingtowalkbackwithyou,Father–tothehouse.’ Andso,thatafternoon,Mrs.Medlock,Martha,andtheotherservantshadthegreatestshockoftheirlives. ThroughthegardenstowardsthehousecameMr.Craven,lookinghappierthantheyhadeverseenhim. Andbyhisside,withhisshouldersstraight,hisheadheldhighandasmileonhislips,walkedyoungColin! 
