The Violation of a Secret Place

We had a secret place, Marie and I, a slabwood shack with a narrow door and a hole in the roof where the rain came in, the eaves unfinished where swallows built their nests. There was just one seat inside, a long and narrow seat boarded over, nailed there, both chair and table for little girl picnics. Behind the shack, a splashing brook carried our boats in water finger-deep; beyond the brook and ancient trees, a corn field marched to infinity. "Where do you go?" my brother asked, but we would never tell--until one day he followed us, sneaking catlike through the corn, trailing the trickle of our voices. He told on us at supper time and everybody laughed and said we had played in a privy. Marie touched my hand behind the chairs; we felt the tears we dare not shed, and knew that beyond the corn and through the woods we'd find another secret place.