A/N: Muses are strange things. You might desperately want to complete your current work-in-progress, but instead find that the only thing you can write about is something completely unrelated. Like the Secret Garden, for instance, when you really should be writing Harry Potter.

In any case, I have had this story sitting on my laptop for a while now. I decided not to ignore it any longer. So I'm going to start posting it. I don't know how many chapters there are in total, haven't counted them, but it's a long story, and I hope at least one person out there enjoys reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Housekeeping matters: This story will be divided year by year, as the children grow up. The timeframe of the novel was never 100% confirmed, so I've decided to do my own thing in this regard. So, presuming Colin and Mary were born in 1900, and Dickon in 1898, that makes C and M 12 when my story begins, and D 14. I've taken some minor liberties with other characters' ages throughout as well. Don't like it? Don't read it. :)

On that note, I hope you do read it. And I hope you enjoy it :)

Disclaimer: The genius of the Secret Garden belongs to Frances Hodgson Burnett alone. I, sadly, make no profit from this work.

1912.

Colin Craven felt like he was walking through quicksand. No matter how quickly he moved his legs or pumped his arms, his two companions only seemed to grow farther and farther away from him.

"Wait for me!" he called out loudly, not a request but an order. "Dickon… Mary… wait!"

They had been talking, but at the sound of his voice they turned around. Mary's cheeks were flushed from exercise and her honey-blonde hair was whipped to one side by the wind. She looked nothing at all like the sour little wench she had been when she first arrived at Misselthwaite. When her eyes came to rest on him Colin felt his heart clench and his stomach tie itself in familiar knots.

"Come on Colin," she laughed, waving at him encouragingly. "Dickon's going to show us the wild ponies!"

Colin shot a quick glance at the other boy. Dickon stood beside Mary, an easy smile on his face, his whole body radiating pleasure and ease. He didn't seem in the least bit tired from their long trek across the moor. Colin's eyes narrowed slightly and he straightened.

"We can see ponies every day in the stables," he said, trying not to show that he was still out of breath. He had nearly caught up with them now. "My father has dozens of ponies."

"Yes, but not wild ones," said Mary. She reached out and took Dickon's hand in her own. Colin's eyes darted to their entwined fingers.

"Mary…" he began, though he had not the slightest clue what he wanted to say. But she cut him off.

"Hurry up Colin," she said, turning and pulling Dickon along with her. "I don't want to miss them. Do let's come on."

And, because he could not refuse Mary anything, Colin swallowed his fatigue and the pain in his legs and hurried after them.

Reviews make the sun peep out on this dreary winter's morning. Happy Australia day everyone.