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Mary
’
s
hands
clutched
each
other
.
Everything
would
be
spoiled
—
everything
!
Dickon
would
never
come
back
.
She
would
never
again
feel
like
a
missel
thrush
with
a
safe
-
hidden
nest
.
“
Oh
,
don
’
t
—
don
’
t
—
don
’
t
—
don
’
t
do
that
!
”
she
cried
out
.
He
stared
as
if
he
thought
she
had
gone
crazy
!
“
Why
?
”
he
exclaimed
.
“
You
said
you
wanted
to
see
it
.
”
“
I
do
,
”
she
answered
almost
with
a
sob
in
her
throat
,
“
but
if
you
make
them
open
the
door
and
take
you
in
like
that
it
will
never
be
a
secret
again
.
”
He
leaned
still
farther
forward
.
“
A
secret
,
”
he
said
.
“
What
do
you
mean
?
Tell
me
.
”
Mary
’
s
words
almost
tumbled
over
one
another
.
“
You
see
—
you
see
,
”
she
panted
,
“
if
no
one
knows
but
ourselves
—
if
there
was
a
door
,
hidden
somewhere
under
the
ivy
—
if
there
was
—
and
we
could
find
it
;
and
if
we
could
slip
through
it
together
and
shut
it
behind
us
,
and
no
one
knew
anyone
was
inside
and
we
called
it
our
garden
and
pretended
that
—
that
we
were
missel
thrushes
and
it
was
our
nest
,
and
if
we
played
there
almost
every
day
and
dug
and
planted
seeds
and
made
it
all
come
alive
—
”
