The gardens were big and grey. Old Ben Weatherstaff was digging near the wall, and a little robin sat on a spade and sang. Ben said the bird was the only friend he had. Mary asked about a garden with no door. Ben's face went hard. It has been shut for ten years, he said, and nobody goes in. Mr Craven locked it when his wife died, and he buried the key. That night the wind cried round the house. Then Mary heard another sound, a thin, fretful crying far away down the corridors. It was a child. She opened her door and looked out, but Mrs Medlock came quickly and shut her in again. There is nobody crying, said Mrs Medlock. Go back to bed. Mary knew that it was not true.