They both laughed but it was not because the idea was laughable but because they both so liked it.

A little later the nurse made Colin ready.  She noticed that instead of lying like a log while his clothes were put on he sat up and made some efforts to help himself, and he talked and laughed with Mary all the time.

“This is one of his good days, sir,” she said to Dr. Craven, who dropped in to inspect him.  “He’s in such good spirits that it makes him stronger.”

“I’ll call in again later in the afternoon, after he has come in,” said Dr. Craven.  “I must see how the going out agrees with him.  I wish,” in a very low voice, “that he would let you go with him.”

“I’d rather give up the case this moment, sir, than even stay here while it’s suggested,” answered the nurse with sudden firmness.

“I hadn’t really decided to suggest it,” said the doctor, with his slight nervousness.  “We’ll try the experiment.  Dickon’s a lad I’d trust with a new-born child.”

The strongest footman in the house carried Colin down-stairs and put him in his wheeled chair near which Dickon waited outside.  After the manservant had arranged his rugs and cushions the Rajah waved his hand to him and to the nurse.

“You have my permission to go,” he said, and they both disappeared quickly and it must be confessed giggled when they were safely inside the house.

Dickon began to push the wheeled chair slowly and steadily.  Mistress Mary walked beside it and Colin leaned back and lifted his face to the sky.  The arch of it looked very high and the small snowy clouds seemed like white birds floating on outspread wings below its crystal blueness.  The wind swept in soft big breaths down from the moor and was strange with a wild clear scented sweetness.  Colin kept lifting his thin chest to draw it in, and his big eyes looked as if it were they which were listening—­listening, instead of his ears.

“There are so many sounds of singing and humming and calling out,” he said.  “What is that scent the puffs of wind bring?”

“It’s gorse on th’ moor that’s openin’ out,” answered Dickon.  “Eh! th’ bees are at it wonderful to-day.”

Not a human creature was to be caught sight of in the paths they took.  In fact every gardener or gardener’s lad had been witched away.  But they wound in and out among the shrubbery and out and round the fountain beds, following their carefully planned route for the mere mysterious pleasure of it.  But when at last they turned into the Long Walk by the ivied walls the excited sense of an approaching thrill made them, for some curious reason they could not have explained, begin to speak in whispers.

“This is it,” breathed Mary.  “This is where I used to walk up and down and wonder and wonder.”

“Is it?” cried Colin, and his eyes began to search the ivy with eager curiousness.  “But I can see nothing,” he whispered.  “There is no door.”