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 Jims had n't known existed , with dear little paths twisting about among the bushes . It seemed to be a garden where no frost could blight or rough wind blow . When rain fell it must fall very gently . Past the roses one saw a green lawn , sprinkled over now with the white ghosts of dandelions , and dotted with ornamental trees . The trees grew so thickly that they almost hid the house to which the garden pertained . It was a large one of grey-black stone , with stacks of huge chimneys . Jims had no idea who lived there . He had asked Aunt Augusta and Aunt Augusta had frowned and told him it did not matter who lived there and that he must never , on any account , mention the next house or its occupant to Uncle Walter . Jims would never have thought of mentioning them to Uncle Walter . But the prohibition filled him with an unholy and unsubduable curiosity .
He was devoured by the desire to find out who the folks XXXXX that tabooed house were .
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