air green veil of tender little leaves had crept, and in
the grass under the trees and the gray urns in the alcoves and here and
there everywhere were touches or splashes of gold and purple and white
and the trees were showing pink and snow above his head and there were
fluttering of wings and faint sweet pipes and humming and scents and
scents. And the sun fell warm upon his face like a hand with a lovely
touch. And in wonder Mary and Dickon stood and stared at him. He looked
so strange and different because a pink glow of color had actually
crept all over him--ivory face and neck and hands and all.

"I shall get well! I shall get well!" he cried out. "Mary! Dickon! I
shall get well! And I shall live forever and ever and ever!"

CHAPTER XXI

BEN WEATHERSTAFF

One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only
now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and
ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn
dawn-time and goes out and stands alone and throws one's head far back
and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and
flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost
makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange unchanging
majesty of the rising of the sun--which has been happening every morning
for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then
for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by
oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness
slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again
and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then
sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with millions of
stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of
far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in some one's eyes.

And it was like that with Colin when he first saw and heard and felt the
Springtime inside the four high walls of a hidden garden. That afternoon
the whole world seemed to devote itself to being perfect and radiantly
beautiful and kind to one boy. Perhaps out of pure heavenly goodness the
spring came and crowded everything it possibly could into that one
place. More than once Dickon paused in what he was doing and stood still
with a sort of growing wonder in his eyes, shaking his head softly.

"Eh! it is graidely," he said. "I'm twelve goin' on thirteen