Crawshaw put in a word or so. Carnaby had got his game. I grew

excited and red-eared, and a little frightened, I behaved

altogether like a silly little chap, and the outcome of it all was

that instead of starting alone for my enchanted garden, I led the

way presently--cheeks flushed, ears hot, eyes smarting, and my soul

one burning misery and shame--for a party of six mocking, curious

and threatening school-fellows.

We never found the white wall and the green door . . ."

You mean?--"

I mean I couldn't find it. I would have found it if I could.

And afterwards when I could go alone I couldn't find it. I

never found it. I seem now to have been always looking for it

through my school-boy days, but I've never come upon it again."

Did the fellows--make it disagreeable?"

Beastly . . . . . Carnaby held a council over me for wanton

lying. I remember how I sneaked home and upstairs to hide the

marks of my blubbering. But when I cried myself to sleep at last

it wasn't for Carnaby, but for the garden, for the beautiful

afternoon I had hoped for, for the sweet friendly women and the

waiting playfellows and the game I had hoped to learn again, that

The Door in the Wall And Other Stories