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Mary
began
to
laugh
,
and
as
he
hopped
and
took
little
flights
along
the
wall
she
ran
after
him
.
Poor
little
thin
,
sallow
,
ugly
Mary
—
she
actually
looked
almost
pretty
for
a
moment
.
“
I
like
you
!
I
like
you
!
”
she
cried
out
,
pattering
down
the
walk
;
and
she
chirped
and
tried
to
whistle
,
which
last
she
did
not
know
how
to
do
in
the
least
.
But
the
robin
seemed
to
be
quite
satisfied
and
chirped
and
whistled
back
at
her
.
At
last
he
spread
his
wings
and
made
a
darting
flight
to
the
top
of
a
tree
,
where
he
perched
and
sang
loudly
.
That
reminded
Mary
of
the
first
time
she
had
seen
him
.
He
had
been
swinging
on
a
tree
-
top
then
and
she
had
been
standing
in
the
orchard
.
Now
she
was
on
the
other
side
of
the
orchard
and
standing
in
the
path
outside
a
wall
—
much
lower
down
—
and
there
was
the
same
tree
inside
.
“
It
’
s
in
the
garden
no
one
can
go
into
,
”
she
said
to
herself
.
“
It
’
s
the
garden
without
a
door
.
He
lives
in
there
.
How
I
wish
I
could
see
what
it
is
like
!
”
She
ran
up
the
walk
to
the
green
door
she
had
entered
the
first
morning
.
Then
she
ran
down
the
path
through
the
other
door
and
then
into
the
orchard
,
and
when
she
stood
and
looked
up
there
was
the
tree
on
the
other
side
of
the
wall
,
and
there
was
the
robin
just
finishing
his
song
and
beginning
to
preen
his
feathers
with
his
beak
.
“
It
is
the
garden
,
”
she
said
.
“
I
am
sure
it
is
.
”
She
walked
round
and
looked
closely
at
that
side
of
the
orchard
wall
,
but
she
only
found
what
she
had
found
before
—
that
there
was
no
door
in
it
.
Then
she
ran
through
the
kitchen
-
gardens
again
and
out
into
the
walk
outside
the
long
ivy
-
covered
wall
,
and
she
walked
to
the
end
of
it
and
looked
at
it
,
but
there
was
no
door
;
and
then
she
walked
to
the
other
end
,
looking
again
,
but
there
was
no
door
.
“
It
’
s
very
queer
,
”
she
said
.
“
Ben
Weatherstaff
said
there
was
no
door
and
there
is
no
door
.
But
there
must
have
been
one
ten
years
ago
,
because
Mr
.
Craven
buried
the
key
.
”
This
gave
her
so
much
to
think
of
that
she
began
to
be
quite
interested
and
feel
that
she
was
not
sorry
that
she
had
come
to
Misselthwaite
Manor
.
In
India
she
had
always
felt
hot
and
too
languid
to
care
much
about
anything
.
The
fact
was
that
the
fresh
wind
from
the
moor
had
begun
to
blow
the
cobwebs
out
of
her
young
brain
and
to
waken
her
up
a
little
.
