This is it

　　"This is it," breathed Mary. "This is where I usedto walk up and down and wonder and wonder." "Is it?"cried Colin, and his eyes began to search the ivy witheager curiousness. "But I can see nothing," he whispered.
　　"There is no door.""That's what I thought," said Mary.
　　Then there was a lovely breathless silence and the chairwheeled on.
　　"That is the garden where Ben Weatherstaff works,"said Mary.
　　"Is it?" said Colin.
　　A few yards more and Mary whispered again.
　　"This is where the robin flew over the wall," she said.
　　"Is it?" cried Colin. "Oh! I wish he'd come again!""And that," said Mary with solemn delight, pointing undera big lilac bush, "is where he perched on the littleheap of earth and showed me the key."Then Colin sat up.
　　"Where? Where? There?" he cried, and his eyes were as bigas the wolf's in Red Riding-Hood, when Red Riding-Hoodfelt called upon to remark on them. Dickon stood stilland the wheeled chair stopped.
　　"And this," said Mary, stepping on to the bed close to the ivy,"is where I went to talk to him when he chirped at mefrom the top of the wall. And this is the ivy the windblew back," and she took hold of the hanging green curtain.
　　"Oh! is it--is it!" gasped Colin.
　　"And here is the handle, and here is the door.
　　Dickon push him in--push him in quickly!"And Dickon did it with one strong, steady, splendid push.
　　But Colin had actually dropped back against his cushions,even though he gasped with delight, and he had coveredhis eyes with his hands and held them there shuttingout everything until they were inside and the chairstopped as if by magic and the door was closed.
　　Not till then did he take them away and look roundand round and round as Dickon and Mary had done.
　　And over walls and earth and trees and swinging spraysand tendrils the fair green veil of tender little leaveshad crept, and in the grass under the trees and the grayurns in the alcoves and here and there everywherewere touches or splashes of gold and purple and whiteand the trees were showing pink and snow above his headand there were fluttering of wings and faint sweet pipesand humming and scents and scents. And the sun fellwarm 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 glowof color had actually crept all over him--ivory faceand 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 foreverand ever and ever!"
Chapter 21 Ben Weatherstaff
One of the strange things about living in the world isthat it is only now and then one is quite sure one isgoing to live forever and ever and ever. One knows itsometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-timeand goes out and stands alone and throws one's head farback and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowlychanging and flushing and marvelous unknown things happeninguntil the East almost makes one cry out and one's heartstands still at the strange unchanging majesty of therising of the sun--which has been happening every morningfor thousands and thousands and thousands of years.