It was the oldest fashioned thing in the old-fashioned , old-furnitured house . It was high and rigid , and hung with gloomy blue curtains . Anything might jump out of such a bed . Jims gave a gasp and ran madly across the room . He reached the window and flung himself upon the seat . With a sigh of relief he curled down in the corner . Outside , over the high brick wall , was a world where his imagination could roam , though his slender little body was pent a prisoner in the blue room . Jims had loved that garden from his first sight of it . He called it the Garden of Spices and wove all sorts of yarns in fancy -- yarns gay and tragic -- about it . He had only known it for a few weeks . Before that , they had lived in a much smaller house away at the other side of the town . Then Uncle Walter 's uncle -- who had brought him up just as he was bringing up Jims -- had died , and they had all come to live in Uncle Walter 's old home . Somehow , Jims had an idea that Uncle Walter was n't very glad to come back there . But he had to , according to great-uncle 's will . Jims himself did n't mind much . He liked the smaller rooms in their former home better , but the Garden of Spices made up for all . It was such a beautiful spot . Just inside the wall was a row of aspen poplars that always talked in silvery whispers and shook their dainty , heart-shaped leaves at him . Beyond them , under scattered pines , was a rockery where ferns and wild things grew . It was almost as good as a bit of woods -- and Jims loved the woods , though he scarcely ever saw them .
Then , past the pines , were roses just breaking into June bloom -- roses in such profusion as XXXXX had n't known existed , with dear little paths twisting about among the bushes .
Jims Spices Walter first great-uncle poplars rockery sight things weeks