Jims looked desperately at the unshuttered window . He must get to it ; once there , he could curl up in the window seat , his back to the wall , and forget the shadows by looking out into the sunshine and loveliness of the garden over the wall . Jims would have likely have been found dead of fright in that blue room some time had it not been for the garden over the wall . But to get to the window Jims must cross the room and pass by the bed . Jims held that bed in special dread . 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 XXXXX their former home better , but the Garden of Spices made up for all .
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