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The
robin
flew
from
his
swinging
spray
of
ivy
on
to
the
top
of
the
wall
and
he
opened
his
beak
and
sang
a
loud
,
lovely
trill
,
merely
to
show
off
.
Nothing
in
the
world
is
quite
as
adorably
lovely
as
a
robin
when
he
shows
off
—
and
they
are
nearly
always
doing
it
.
Mary
Lennox
had
heard
a
great
deal
about
Magic
in
her
Ayah
’
s
stories
,
and
she
always
said
that
what
happened
almost
at
that
moment
was
Magic
.
One
of
the
nice
little
gusts
of
wind
rushed
down
the
walk
,
and
it
was
a
stronger
one
than
the
rest
.
It
was
strong
enough
to
wave
the
branches
of
the
trees
,
and
it
was
more
than
strong
enough
to
sway
the
trailing
sprays
of
untrimmed
ivy
hanging
from
the
wall
.
Mary
had
stepped
close
to
the
robin
,
and
suddenly
the
gust
of
wind
swung
aside
some
loose
ivy
trails
,
and
more
suddenly
still
she
jumped
toward
it
and
caught
it
in
her
hand
.
This
she
did
because
she
had
seen
something
under
it
—
a
round
knob
which
had
been
covered
by
the
leaves
hanging
over
it
.
It
was
the
knob
of
a
door
.
She
put
her
hands
under
the
leaves
and
began
to
pull
and
push
them
aside
.
Thick
as
the
ivy
hung
,
it
nearly
all
was
a
loose
and
swinging
curtain
,
though
some
had
crept
over
wood
and
iron
.
Mary
’
s
heart
began
to
thump
and
her
hands
to
shake
a
little
in
her
delight
and
excitement
.
The
robin
kept
singing
and
twittering
away
and
tilting
his
head
on
one
side
,
as
if
he
were
as
excited
as
she
was
.
What
was
this
under
her
hands
which
was
square
and
made
of
iron
and
which
her
fingers
found
a
hole
in
?
It
was
the
lock
of
the
door
which
had
been
closed
ten
years
and
she
put
her
hand
in
her
pocket
,
drew
out
the
key
and
found
it
fitted
the
keyhole
.
She
put
the
key
in
and
turned
it
.
It
took
two
hands
to
do
it
,
but
it
did
turn
.
And
then
she
took
a
long
breath
and
looked
behind
her
up
the
long
walk
to
see
if
anyone
was
coming
.
No
one
was
coming
.
No
one
ever
did
come
,
it
seemed
,
and
she
took
another
long
breath
,
because
she
could
not
help
it
,
and
she
held
back
the
swinging
curtain
of
ivy
and
pushed
back
the
door
which
opened
slowly
—
slowly
Then
she
slipped
through
it
,
and
shut
it
behind
her
,
and
stood
with
her
back
against
it
,
looking
about
her
and
breathing
quite
fast
with
excitement
,
and
wonder
,
and
delight
.
She
was
standing
inside
the
secret
garden
.
It
was
the
sweetest
,
most
mysterious
-
looking
place
anyone
could
imagine
.
The
high
walls
which
shut
it
in
were
covered
with
the
leafless
stems
of
climbing
roses
which
were
so
thick
that
they
were
matted
together
.
Mary
Lennox
knew
they
were
roses
because
she
had
seen
a
great
many
roses
in
India
.
All
the
ground
was
covered
with
grass
of
a
wintry
brown
and
out
of
it
grew
clumps
of
bushes
which
were
surely
rosebushes
if
they
were
alive
.
There
were
numbers
of
standard
roses
which
had
so
spread
their
branches
that
they
were
like
little
trees
.
There
were
other
trees
in
the
garden
,
and
one
of
the
things
which
made
the
place
look
strangest
and
loveliest
was
that
climbing
roses
had
run
all
over
them
and
swung
down
long
tendrils
which
made
light
swaying
curtains
,
and
here
and
there
they
had
caught
at
each
other
or
at
a
far
-
reaching
branch
and
had
crept
from
one
tree
to
another
and
made
lovely
bridges
of
themselves
.
There
were
neither
leaves
nor
roses
on
them
now
and
Mary
did
not
know
whether
they
were
dead
or
alive
,
but
their
thin
gray
or
brown
branches
and
sprays
looked
like
a
sort
of
hazy
mantle
spreading
over
everything
,
walls
,
and
trees
,
and
even
brown
grass
,
where
they
had
fallen
from
their
fastenings
and
run
along
the
ground
.
It
was
this
hazy
tangle
from
tree
to
tree
which
made
it
all
look
so
mysterious
.
Mary
had
thought
it
must
be
different
from
other
gardens
which
had
not
been
left
all
by
themselves
so
long
;
and
indeed
it
was
different
from
any
other
place
she
had
ever
seen
in
her
life
.
