He wandered through the strawberry-beds,
and, finding nothing there but disappointment, allowed himself to run
lazily after a white butterfly, which led him down to the front of
the pavilion, over the parterres of budding tulips and across to an
east border gay with heart's-ease, bachelor's buttons, forget-me-nots
and purple honesty. The scent of budding yews met him here, blown
softly across from Captain Runacles' garden. The white butterfly
balanced himself on this odorous breeze, and, rising against it,
skimmed suddenly over the hedge and dropped out of sight.
Now there was set, under an archway in this hedge, a blue door, the
chinks of which were veiled with cobwebs and the panels streaked with
the silvery tracks of snails. By this _pervius usus_ (as Captain
Runacles called it) the two friends had been used to visit each
other, but since the quarrel it had never been opened. 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.
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