For outside you have to creep on the ground, and everything is green
instead of yellow.
But here I can creep smoothly on the floor, and my shoulder just fits
in that long smooch around the wall, so I cannot lose my way.
Why, there’s John at the door!
It is no use, young man, you can’t open it!
How he does call and pound!
Now he’s crying for an axe.
It would be a shame to break down that beautiful door!
“John dear!” said I in the gentlest voice, “the key is down by the
front steps, under a plantain leaf!”
That silenced him for a few moments.
Then he said—very quietly indeed, “Open the door, my darling!”
“I can’t,” said I. “The key is down by the front door under a plantain
leaf!”
And then I said it again, several times, very gently and slowly, and
said it so often that he had to go and see, and he got it, of course,
and came in. He stopped short by the door.
“What is the matter?” he cried. “For God’s sake, what are you doing!”