“I did not know birds could be like that,” he said.  “But if you stay in a room you never see things.  What a lot of things you know.  I feel as if you had been inside that garden.”

She did not know what to say, so she did not say anything.  He evidently did not expect an answer and the next moment he gave her a surprise.

“I am going to let you look at something,” he said.  “Do you see that rose-colored silk curtain hanging on the wall over the mantel-piece?”

Mary had not noticed it before, but she looked up and saw it.  It was a curtain of soft silk hanging over what seemed to be some picture.

“Yes,” she answered.

“There is a cord hanging from it,” said Colin.  “Go and pull it.”

Mary got up, much mystified, and found the cord.  When she pulled it the silk curtain ran back on rings and when it ran back it uncovered a picture.  It was the picture of a girl with a laughing face.  She had bright hair tied up with a blue ribbon and her gay, lovely eyes were exactly like Colin’s unhappy ones, agate gray and looking twice as big as they really were because of the black lashes all round them.

“She is my mother,” said Colin complainingly.  “I don’t see why she died.  Sometimes I hate her for doing it.”

“How queer!” said Mary.

“If she had lived I believe I should not have been ill always,” he grumbled.  “I dare say I should have lived, too.  And my father would not have hated to look at me.  I dare say I should have had a strong back.  Draw the curtain again.”

Mary did as she was told and returned to her footstool.

“She is much prettier than you,” she said, “but her eyes are just like yours—­at least they are the same shape and color.  Why is the curtain drawn over her?”

He moved uncomfortably.

“I made them do it,” he said.  “Sometimes I don’t like to see her looking at me.  She smiles too much when I am ill and miserable.  Besides, she is mine and I don’t want every one to see her.”

There were a few moments of silence and then Mary spoke.

“What would Mrs. Medlock do if she found out that I had been here?” she inquired.

“She would do as I told her to do,” he answered.  “And I should tell her that I wanted you to come here and talk to me every day.  I am glad you came.”

“So am I,” said Mary.  “I will come as often as I can, but”—­she hesitated—­“I shall have to look every day for the garden door.”

“Yes, you must,” said Colin, “and you can tell me about it afterward.”

He lay thinking a few minutes, as he had done before, and then he spoke again.

“I think you shall be a secret, too,” he said.  “I will not tell them until they find out.  I can always send the nurse out of the room and say that I want to be by myself.  Do you know Martha?”

“Yes, I know her very well,” said Mary.  “She waits on me.”

He nodded his head toward the outer corridor.