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." "That's what I thought," said Mary.
Then there was a lovely breathless silence and the chair wheeled 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.