"Where is it?" asked Dickon in a dropped
voice.

Mistress Mary got up from the log at once.
She knew she felt contrary again, and obstinate,
and she did not care at all. She was imperious
and Indian, and at the same time hot and sorrowful.

"Come with me and I'll show you," she said.

She led him round the laurel path and to the
walk where the ivy grew so thickly. Dickon followed
her with a queer, almost pitying, look on his
face. He felt as if he were being led to look at
some strange bird's nest and must move softly.
When she stepped to the wall and lifted the hanging
ivy he started. There was a door and Mary
pushed it slowly open and they passed in together,
and then Mary stood and waved her hand round
defiantly.

"It's this," she said. "It's a secret garden,
and I'm the only one in the world who wants it
to be alive."

Dickon looked round and round about it, and
round and round again.

"Eh!" he almost whispered, "it is a queer,
pretty place! It's like as if a body was in a
dream."

[[127]]

p126 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p127w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p128

v?