"He camed up this way.

I'm sure he did, for he called me all the way." "He's not here," said Griselda, shaking her head; "and this is my aunts' garden.

No one is allowed to come here but friends of theirs.

You had better go home; and you have torn your clothes so." "This aren't a garden," replied the little fellow undauntedly, looking round him; "this are a wood.

There are blue-bells and primroses here, and that shows it aren't a garden--not anybody's garden, I mean, with walls round, for nobody to come in." "But it _is_," said Griselda, getting rather vexed.
"If it isn't a garden it's _grounds_, private grounds, and nobody should come without leave.