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 an’ there’s a lot o’ afternoons in thirteen years, but seems to me like I never seed one as graidely as this ’ere.”

“Aye, it is a graidely one,” said Mary, and she sighed for mere joy.  “I’ll warrant it’s th’ graidelest one as ever was in this world.”

“Does tha’ think,” said Colin with dreamy carefulness, “as happen it was made loike this ‘ere all o’ purpose for me?”

“My word!” cried Mary admiringly, “that there is a bit o’ good Yorkshire.  Tha’rt shapin’ first-rate—­that tha’ art.”

And delight reigned.

They drew the chair under the plum-tree, which was snow-white with blossoms and musical with bees.  It was like a king’s canopy, a fairy king’s.  There were flowering cherry-trees near and apple-trees whose buds were pink and white, and here and there one had burst open wide.  Between the blossoming branches of the canopy bits of blue sky looked down like wonderful eyes.

Mary and Dickon worked a little here and there and Colin watched them.  They brought him things to look at—­buds which were opening, buds which were tight closed, bits of twig whose leaves were just showing green, the feather of a woodpecker which had dropped on the grass, the empty shell of some bird early hatched.  Dickon pushed the chair slowly round and round the garden, stopping every other moment to let him look at wonders springing out of the earth or trailing down from trees.  It was like being taken in state round the country of a magic king and queen and shown all the mysterious riches it contained.

“I wonder if we shall see the robin?” said Colin.