rumbling walls were webbed with briars; their foundations were buried
in thickets of docks and nettles, and the fruit trees that grew against
them had long ago broken loose from any restraint. It was a garden that
must surely take a very long time to explore, so vast was it, so
trackless, so much did every corner demand a slow advance.

When the boys had unpacked and when they had been introduced to Mrs.
Wylde, the mistress of the house, and when they had presented to her the
packets of Mazawattee tea and when they themselves had eaten a
deliciously novel dinner at the unusual hour of six, they all set out to
explore the luxuriant wilderness behind the house. Mr. Vernon and Mr.
Lodge shouted to them to eat only the ripe fruit and with this solitary
injunction left them to their own amusements until bed-time. Rutherford,
Hargreaves and Jubb at once set out to find ripe fruit, and as the first
tree they came to was loaded with greengages, Rutherford, Hargreaves and
Jubb postponed all exploration for the present. Michael and Hands, who
was sleeping in his room and with whom he had already made friends,
left the others behind them. As they walked farther from the house, they
spoke in low tones, so silent was this old garden.

"I'm sure it's haunted," said Michael. "I never felt so funny, not
exactly frightened, you know, but sort of frightened."

"It's still quite light," squeaked the hopeful Hands.

"Yes, but the sun's behind all these trees and you can't hear anything,
but only us walking," whispered Michael.

However, they went on through a jungle of artichokes and through an
orchard of gnarled apple trees past a mildewed summer-house, until they
reached a serpentine path between privet bushes, strongly scented in the
dampness all around.

"Shall we?" murmured Hands doubtfully.

"Yes. We can bunk back if we see anything," said Michael. "I like this."

They walked on following the zigzags of the path, but stopped dead as a
blackbird shrilled and flapped into the bushes affrighted.

"By Jove, that beastly bird made me awfully funky," said Michael.

"Let's go back," said Hands. "Suppose we got murdered. People do in
France."

"Rot," said Michael. "Not in a private garden, you cuckoo."

With mutual encouragement the two boys wandered on, until they found
farther progress barred by a high hedge, impenetrable apparently and
viewless to Michael and Hands who were not very tall.

"What sucks!" said Michael. "I hate