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The Secret Garden Kindle Edition
Frances Hodgson Burnett (Author) Find all the books, read about the author, and more. See search results for this author |
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When Mary Lennox, the unloved, contrary and spoiled ten-year-old, is found alone in the deserted house after her parents’ death, she is sent to live with an uncle whom she has never known.
In Yorkshire, England, at his secluded Misselthwaite Manor, Martha Sowerby, a warm-hearted chambermaid, introduces Mary to the late Mrs. Craven and her private walled garden, which has been locked for years.
As Mary becomes curious to explore this secret garden, will she be able to find the key?
Published more than a hundred years ago, The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett is a prominent children’s classic. It is regarded as one of the best works of the twentieth century children’s literature.
- LanguageEnglish
- PublisherDelhi Open Books
- Publication dateOctober 25, 2020
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Copyright 2003 Reed Business Information, Inc. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
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From School Library Journal
Leigh Ann Rumsey, Penn Yan Academy, NY
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
There Is No One Left
When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the child out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces of her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always obeyed her and gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be angry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years old she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The young English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to know how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all.
One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she awakened feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she saw that the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah.
“Why did you come?” she said to the strange woman. “I will not let you stay. Send my Ayah to me.”
The woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah could not come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat and kicked her, she looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not possible for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib.
There was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was done in its regular order and several of the native servants seemed missing, while those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared faces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She was actually left alone as the morning went on, and at last she wandered out into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near the veranda. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuck big scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth, all the time growing more and more angry and muttering to herself the things she would say and the names she would call Saidie when she returned.
“Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!” she said, because to call a native a pig is the worst insult of all.
She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she heard her mother come out on the veranda with some one. She was with a fair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices. Mary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy. She had heard that he was a very young officer who had just come from England. The child stared at him, but she stared most at her mother. She always did this when she had a chance to see her, because the Mem Sahib—Mary used to call her that oftener than anything else—was such a tall, slim, pretty person and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk and she had a delicate little nose which seemed to be disdaining things, and she had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin and floating, and Mary said they were “full of lace.” They looked fuller of lace than ever this morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all. They were large and scared and lifted imploringly to the fair boy officer’s face.
“Is it so very bad? Oh, is it?” Mary heard her say.
“Awfully,” the young man answered in a trembling voice. “Awfully, Mrs. Lennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago.”
The Mem Sahib wrung her hands.
“Oh, I know I ought!” she cried. “I only stayed to go to that silly dinner party. What a fool I was!”
At that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from the servants’ quarters that she clutched the young man’s arm, and Mary stood shivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder.
“What is it? What is it?” Mrs. Lennox gasped.
“Some one has died,” answered the boy officer. “You did not say it had broken out among your servants.”
“I did not know!” the Mem Sahib cried. “Come with me! Come with me!” and she turned and ran into the house.
After that appalling things happened, and the mysteriousness of the morning was explained to Mary. The cholera had broken out in its most fatal form and people were dying like flies. The Ayah had been taken ill in the night, and it was because she had just died that the servants had wailed in the huts. Before the next day three other servants were dead and others had run away in terror. There was panic on every side, and dying people in all the bungalows.
During the confusion and bewilderment of the second day Mary hid herself in the nursery and was forgotten by every one. Nobody thought of her, nobody wanted her, and strange things happened of which she knew nothing. Mary alternately cried and slept through the hours. She only knew that people were ill and that she heard mysterious and frightening sounds. Once she crept into the dining-room and found it empty, though a partly finished meal was on the table and chairs and plates looked as if they had been hastily pushed back when the diners rose suddenly for some reason. The child ate some fruit and biscuits, and being thirsty she drank a glass of wine which stood nearly filled. It was sweet, and she did not know how strong it was. Very soon it made her intensely drowsy, and she went back to her nursery and shut herself in again, frightened by cries she heard in the huts and by the hurrying sound of feet. The wine made her so sleepy that she could scarcely keep her eyes open and she lay down on her bed and knew nothing more for a long time.
Many things happened during the hours in which she slept so heavily, but she was not disturbed by the wails and the sound of things being carried in and out of the bungalow.
When she awakened she lay and stared at the wall. The house was perfectly still. She had never known it to be so silent before. She heard neither voices nor footsteps, and wondered if everybody had got well of the cholera and all the trouble was over. She wondered also who would take care of her now her Ayah was dead. There would be a new Ayah, and perhaps she would know some new stories. Mary had been rather tired of the old ones. She did not cry because her nurse had died. She was not an affectionate child and had never cared much for any one. The noise and hurrying about and wailing over the cholera had frightened her, and she had been angry because no one seemed to remember that she was alive. Every one was too panic-stricken to think of a little girl no one was fond of. When people had the cholera it seemed that they remembered nothing but themselves. But if every one had got well again, surely some one would remember and come to look for her.
But no one came, and as she lay waiting the house seemed to grow more and more silent. She heard something rustling on the matting and when she looked down she saw a little snake gliding along and watching her with eyes like jewels. She was not frightened, because he was a harmless little thing who would not hurt her and he seemed in a hurry to get out of the room. He slipped under the door as she watched him.
“How queer and quiet it is,” she said. “It sounds as if there was no one in the bungalow but me and the snake.”
Almost the next minute she heard footsteps in the compound, and then on the veranda. They were men’s footsteps, and the men entered the bungalow and talked in low voices. No one went to meet or speak to them and they seemed to open doors and look into rooms.
“What desolation!” she heard one voice say. “That pretty, pretty woman! I suppose the child, too. I heard there was a child, though no one ever saw her.”
Mary was standing in the middle of the nursery when they opened the door a few minutes later. She looked an ugly, cross little thing and was frowning because she was beginning to be hungry and feel disgracefully neglected. The first man who came in was a large officer she had once seen talking to her father. He looked tired and troubled, but when he saw her he was so startled that he almost jumped back.
“Barney!” he cried out. “There is a child here! A child alone! In a place like this! Mercy on us, who is she!”
“I am Mary Lennox,” the little girl said, drawing herself up stiffly. She thought the man was very rude to call her father’s bungalow “A place like this!” “I fell asleep when every one had the cholera and I have only just wakened up. Why does nobody come?”
“It is the child no one ever saw!” exclaimed the man, turning to his companions. “She has actually been forgotten!”
“Why was I forgotten?” Mary said, stamping her foot. “Why does nobody come?”
The young man whose name was Barney looked at her very sadly. Mary even thought she saw him wink his eyes as if to wink tears away.
“Poor little kid!” he said. “There is nobody left to come.”
It was in that strange and sudden way that Mary found out that she had neither father nor mother left; that they had died and been carried away in the night, and that the few native servants who had not died also had left the house as quickly as they could get out of it, none of them even remembering that there was a Missie Sahib. That was why the place was so quiet. It was true that there was no one in the bungalow but herself and the little rustling snake. --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
About the Author
Frances Hodgson Burnett wrote over forty books; the two that are best-known today are The Secret Garden and Little Lord Fauntleroy. In later life she became rather eccentric, turned to spiritualism and mystic cults and took to wearing frilly clothes and titian-coloured wigs – this earned her the nickname ‘Fluffy’.
--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.From the Back Cover
"One of th' gardens is locked up. No one has been in it for ten years."
When orphaned Mary Lennox comes to live at her uncle's great house on the Yorkshire Moors, she finds it full of mysterious secrets. There are nearly one hundred rooms, most of which are locked, and the house is filled with creepy old portraits and suits of armor. Mary rarely sees her uncle, and perhaps most unsettling of all is that at night she hears the sound of someone crying down one of the long corridors.
The gardens surrounding the odd property are Mary's escape and she explores every inch of them—all except for the mysterious walled-in, locked garden. Then one day, Mary discovers a key. Could it open the door to the garden?
--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.From the Publisher
But Missalthwaite hides another secret, as Mary discovers one night. High in a dark room, away from the rest of the house, lies her young cousin Colin, who believes he is an incurable invalid, destined to die young. His tantrums are so frightful, no one can reason with him. If only, Mary hopes, she can get Colin to love the secret garden as much as she does, its magic wil work wonders on him.
--This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.From the Inside Flap
But Missalthwaite hides another secret, as Mary discovers one night. High in a dark room, away from the rest of the house, lies her young cousin Colin, who believes he is an incurable invalid, destined to die young. His tantrums are so frightful, no one can reason with him. If only, Mary hopes, she can get Colin to love the secret garden as much as she does, its magic wil work wonders on him.
Book Description
Review
Review
''It will rapt most children away, for after fifty years its spell is still as strong; a blend of power, beauty, vivid interest and honest goodness. Yes, if this is magic, it is good magic.'' --New York Times Book Review --This text refers to an alternate kindle_edition edition.
From Kirkus Reviews
Product details
- ASIN : B08LW3V3G7
- Publisher : Delhi Open Books; 1st edition (October 25, 2020)
- Publication date : October 25, 2020
- Language : English
- File size : 1049 KB
- Text-to-Speech : Enabled
- Screen Reader : Supported
- Enhanced typesetting : Enabled
- X-Ray : Enabled
- Word Wise : Enabled
- Print length : 221 pages
- Lending : Not Enabled
- Best Sellers Rank: #63,961 in Kindle Store (See Top 100 in Kindle Store)
- #7,176 in Action & Adventure Fiction (Kindle Store)
- #7,622 in Action & Adventure Fiction (Books)
- Customer Reviews:
About the authors
Paper Mill Press is proud to present a timeless collection of unabridged literary classics to a twenty-first century audience. Each original master work is reimagined into a sophisticated yet modern format with custom suede-like metallic foiled covers.
Frances Eliza Hodgson Burnett (24 November 1849 – 29 October 1924) was an American-English novelist and playwright. She is best known for the three children's novels Little Lord Fauntleroy (published in 1885–1886), A Little Princess (1905), and The Secret Garden (1911).
Frances Eliza Hodgson was born in Cheetham, England. After her father died in 1852, the family fell on straitened circumstances and in 1865 immigrated to the United States, settling near Knoxville, Tennessee. There Frances began writing to help earn money for the family, publishing stories in magazines from the age of 19. In 1870 her mother died, and in 1872 Frances married Swan Burnett, who became a medical doctor. The Burnetts lived for two years in Paris, where their two sons were born, before returning to the United States to live in Washington, D.C., Burnett then began to write novels, the first of which (That Lass o' Lowrie's), was published to good reviews. Little Lord Fauntleroy was published in 1886 and made her a popular writer of children's fiction, although her romantic adult novels written in the 1890s were also popular. She wrote and helped to produce stage versions of Little Lord Fauntleroy and A Little Princess.
Burnett enjoyed socializing and lived a lavish lifestyle. Beginning in the 1880s, she began to travel to England frequently and in the 1890s bought a home there where she wrote The Secret Garden. Her oldest son, Lionel, died of tuberculosis in 1890, which caused a relapse of the depression she had struggled with for much of her life. She divorced Swan Burnett in 1898, married Stephen Townsend in 1900, and divorced Townsend in 1902. A few years later she settled in Nassau County, Long Island, where she died in 1924 and is buried in Roslyn Cemetery.
In 1936 a memorial sculpture by Bessie Potter Vonnoh was erected in her honour in Central Park's Conservatory Garden. The statue depicts her two famous Secret Garden characters, Mary and Dickon.
Bio from Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Photo by Herbert Rose Barraud (1845-1896) (scan by Phrood) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
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Reviewed in the United States on July 26, 2020
Top reviews from the United States
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This is NOT "The Secret Garden". It is "A CONSIDERABLY ABRIDGED Cliff's Notes style childrens re-enactment of The Secret Garden". Nowhere in the description did it say that this was not the real book. It's like half an inch think written in 25 pt. font. My 10 year old daughter read it in less than an hour. Her last book.... Little Women. The real one. 800 pages. I promised her she would like this. Instead she just looked at me like..."really?". And I don't blame her. Seller should update the description.
Sorry, but anyone else leaving a higher rating may simply not realize that they received a fraud.
PROS: Very pretty cover. Hardback.
CONS: See everything I wrote above.
Meets all this criteria, making it an ideal edition for anyone:
1. Hardcover
2. Unabridged (Not a synthesized, easy reader, learn-to-read, edited or watered-down version)
3. Illustrated (nicely)
4. Big enough "read-aloud edition" (not a pocket book)
5. Illustrations, layout, fonts, covers and presentation capture a reader's imagination.
My little kids (5 & 7) have been enjoying my reading a non-illustrated version nightly, but were so excited when this arrived today and are looking forward to tonight’s continued reading moreso now that I have this copy!

Reviewed in the United States on July 26, 2020
Meets all this criteria, making it an ideal edition for anyone:
1. Hardcover
2. Unabridged (Not a synthesized, easy reader, learn-to-read, edited or watered-down version)
3. Illustrated (nicely)
4. Big enough "read-aloud edition" (not a pocket book)
5. Illustrations, layout, fonts, covers and presentation capture a reader's imagination.
My little kids (5 & 7) have been enjoying my reading a non-illustrated version nightly, but were so excited when this arrived today and are looking forward to tonight’s continued reading moreso now that I have this copy!


Some reviewers complained about the fact that many of the characters speak with a Yorkshire accent and Frances Hodgson Burnett wrote it phonetically the way the characters pronounced the words. I thought it added to the fun! I tried to speak with the broad Yorkshire accent as I read it out loud and changed my voice for the different characters. My daughter and I both loved it. The Yorkshire dialect was interesting and we have been trying to throw some of the words we learned into conversation such as “wick” meaning alive or lively. From my point of view, that beats trying to throw something modern like “on fleek” into conversation!
You can sample the book as a Kindle freebie or in some other downloadable form, since it's out of copyright and readily available. Then, and better yet, after you read it and discover its pleasures, look for a nice edition to give to each young reader you know. There are easy to read books that are shallow, and there are harder to read books with considerable depth, but this one manages to be accessible to a fairly young reader and yet still loaded with fine writing, style, character, mystery, romance, adventure and inspiration. An excellent choice.
And while you're at it, take a look at Burnett's "Little Lord Fauntleroy". He's gotten a bad rap, (probably as a result of those Fauntleroy suits and haircuts that were the rage in the twenties), but he's actually smart , level headed, and shrewdly decent in unexpected ways. So go and get your Burnett on.
This was my first ever kindle in motion ebook and it was good enough not know what exactly to expect. Say 10-15 pictures with motion in a book with around 21 chapters and over 250 pages. There were very few pages with illustration in motion (not many) and others with sketches of flowers. There were branches on all corners of each page and i loved that as the story proceeds, those blanches are full of leaves and flowers.
I enjoyed reading this book and I hope you do too. Please hit the like button if you found my review helpful. Thank you.
Top reviews from other countries

But on a second note I think maybe there really are a thousand Secret Gardens already and only because it must be a secret, no one can tell. All we need is to believe in 'magic' to uncover them and make them burst forth with energy and spirit that it will become so hard not to live.
This book makes me believe there is magic, even as an adult - not of fairylands or elves but of a kind which can be made quite possible in today's world. There's no better way to end this decade. Cheers Frances H. Brunett!


Reviewed in India on December 29, 2019
But on a second note I think maybe there really are a thousand Secret Gardens already and only because it must be a secret, no one can tell. All we need is to believe in 'magic' to uncover them and make them burst forth with energy and spirit that it will become so hard not to live.
This book makes me believe there is magic, even as an adult - not of fairylands or elves but of a kind which can be made quite possible in today's world. There's no better way to end this decade. Cheers Frances H. Brunett!



I would like to have my money back.

However despite my original disappointment I would urge you to obtain a copy that appeals to you for there are some editions with very nice illustrations too for this classic story is a wonderful read of a nostalgic world that has long disappeared. With the strong elements of children bonding with each other through animals & nature, the transformation of a hidden garden & the endearing company of the robin Frances Hodgson Burnett's story will appeal to any generation.

Marysaid, thegardener, whereis, Marthawent ect... the text is a little muddle also with sentences back to front.
If you are after the kindle edition, pay for it and swerve the amazon classic version at all costs.