been in it for ten years."

"Why?" asked Mary in spite of herself. Here was another locked door
added to the hundred in the strange house.

"Mr. Craven had it shut when his wife died so sudden. He won't let no
one go inside. It was her garden. He locked th' door an' dug a hole and
buried th' key. There's Mrs. Medlock's bell ringing--I must run."

After she was gone Mary turned down the walk which led to the door in
the shrubbery. She could not help thinking about the garden which no one
had been into for ten years. She wondered what it would look like and
whether there were any flowers still alive in it. When she had passed
through the shrubbery gate she found herself in great gardens, with wide
lawns and winding walks with clipped borders. There were trees, and
flower-beds, and evergreens clipped into strange shapes, and a large
pool with an old gray fountain in its midst. But the flower-beds were
bare and wintry and the fountain was not playing. This was not the
garden which was shut up. How could a garden be shut up? You could
always walk into a garden.

She was just thinking this when she saw that, at the end of the path she
was following, there seemed to be a long wall, with ivy growing over it.
She was not familiar enough with England to know that she was coming
upon the kitchen-gardens where the vegetables and fruit were growing.
She went toward the wall and found that there was a green door in the
ivy, and that it stood open. This was not the closed garden, evidently,
and she could go into it.

She went through the door and found that it was a garden with walls all