She unchained and unbolted and unlocked and when the door was open she sprang across the step with one bound, and there she was standing on the grass, which seemed to have turned green, and with the sun pouring down on her and warm sweet wafts about her and the fluting and twittering and singing coming from every bush and tree.

She clasped her hands for pure joy and looked up in the sky and it was so blue and pink and pearly and white and flooded with springtime light that she felt as if she must flute and sing aloud herself and knew that thrushes and robins and skylarks could not possibly help it.

She ran around the shrubs and paths toward the secret garden.
"It is all different already," she said.

"The grass is greener and things are sticking up everywhere and things are uncurling and green buds of leaves are showing.

This afternoon I am sure Dickon will come." The long warm rain had done strange things to the herbaceous beds which bordered the walk by the lower wall.