Look at me! he commanded. Look at me all over! Am I a hunchback?
Have I got crooked legs?
Ben Weatherstaff had not quite got over his emotion, but he had
recovered a little and answered almost in his usual way.
Not tha , he said. Nowt o th sort. What s tha been doin with
thysel hidin out o sight an lettin folk think tha was cripple an
half-witted?
Half-witted! said Colin angrily. Who thought that?
Lots o fools, said Ben. Th world s full o jackasses brayin an
they never bray nowt but lies. What did tha shut thysel up for?
Everyone thought I was going to die, said Colin shortly. I m not!
And he said it with such decision Ben Weatherstaff looked him over, up
and down, down and up.
Tha die! he said with dry exultation. Nowt o th sort! Tha s got
too much pluck in thee. When I seed thee put tha legs on th ground in
such a hurry I knowed tha was all right. Sit thee down on th rug a
bit young Mester an give me thy orders.
There was a queer mixture of crabbed tenderness and shrewd
understanding in his manner. Mary had poured out speech as rapidly as
she could as they had come down the Long Walk. The chief thing to be
remembered, she had told him, was that Colin was getting well getting
well. The garden was doing it. No one must let him remember about
having humps and dying.
The Rajah condescended to seat himself on a rug under the tree.
What work do you do in the gardens, Weatherstaff? he inquired.
Anythin I m told to do, answered old Ben. I m kep on by
favor because she liked me.
She? said Colin.
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