No lock had been fixed upon it, however.

Only the passions of two obstinate men had kept it shut for four years and more.
The child contemplated this door for a minute, then lifted himself on tip-toe and stretched his hand up towards the rusty latch.

It was a good six inches above his reach.
He glanced back over his shoulder.

Nobody was in sight.

His eyes fell on a stack of flower-pots left by Narcissus beside the path.
He fetched one, set it upside-down in front of the door and climbed atop of it.
This time he reached the latch and lifted it with some difficulty.
His weight pressed the door open and he fell forward, sprawling on hands and knees, into the next garden.
He picked himself up, and was on the point of fetching a prolonged howl, but suddenly thought better of it and began to stare instead.
Barely six paces in front of him, and in the centre of a round garden-bed, a small girl was kneeling.