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Perhaps
it
was
because
she
had
nothing
whatever
to
do
that
she
thought
so
much
of
the
deserted
garden
.
She
was
curious
about
it
and
wanted
to
see
what
it
was
like
.
Why
had
Mr
.
Archibald
Craven
buried
the
key
?
If
he
had
liked
his
wife
so
much
why
did
he
hate
her
garden
?
She
wondered
if
she
should
ever
see
him
,
but
she
knew
that
if
she
did
she
should
not
like
him
,
and
he
would
not
like
her
,
and
that
she
should
only
stand
and
stare
at
him
and
say
nothing
,
though
she
should
be
wanting
dreadfully
to
ask
him
why
he
had
done
such
a
queer
thing
.
“
People
never
like
me
and
I
never
like
people
,
”
she
thought
.
“
And
I
never
can
talk
as
the
Crawford
children
could
.
They
were
always
talking
and
laughing
and
making
noises
.
”
She
thought
of
the
robin
and
of
the
way
he
seemed
to
sing
his
song
at
her
,
and
as
she
remembered
the
tree
-
top
he
perched
on
she
stopped
rather
suddenly
on
the
path
.
“
I
believe
that
tree
was
in
the
secret
garden
—
I
feel
sure
it
was
,
”
she
said
.
“
There
was
a
wall
round
the
place
and
there
was
no
door
.
”
She
walked
back
into
the
first
kitchen
-
garden
she
had
entered
and
found
the
old
man
digging
there
.
She
went
and
stood
beside
him
and
watched
him
a
few
moments
in
her
cold
little
way
.
He
took
no
notice
of
her
and
so
at
last
she
spoke
to
him
.
“
I
have
been
into
the
other
gardens
,
”
she
said
.
“
There
was
nothin
’
to
prevent
thee
,
”
he
answered
crustily
.
“
I
went
into
the
orchard
.
”
“
There
was
no
dog
at
th
’
door
to
bite
thee
,
”
he
answered
.
