There is a ladder against the wall, set for the gardener to replace it.
"Is it difficult to get up a ladder, Bobby ?" ask I, standing still.
"Difficult! Bless your heart, no! Why ?" "One can see nothing here," I answer.

"I should like to climb up and sit on the top of the wall, where one can look about one." My wish is easy of gratification.

Bobby holds the ladder, and I climb cautiously, rung by rung.

Having reached the summit, I sit at ease, with my legs loosely dangling.

There is no broken glass, there are no painful bottoms of bottles to disturb my ruminant quiet.