One of the strange things about living in the world is
that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is
going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it
sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time
and goes out and stands alone and throws one's head far
back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly
changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening
until the East 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 crowned 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 the 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 litle 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.
"Tha'll see him often enow after a bit," answered Dickon.
"When th' eggs hatches out th' little chap he'll be kep'
so busy it'll make his head swim. Tha'll see him flyin'
backward an' for'ard carryin' worms nigh as big as himsel'
an' that much noise goin' on in th' nest when he gets
there as fair flusters him so as he scarce knows which big
mouth to drop th' first piece in. An' gapin' beaks an'
squawks on every side. Mother says as when she sees th'
work a robin has to keep them gapin' beaks filled,
she feels like she was a lady with nothin' to do.
She says she's seen th' little chaps when it seemed like th'
sweat must be droppin' off 'em, though folk can't see it."
This made them giggle so delightedly that they were obliged
to cover their mouths with their hands, remembering that
they must not be heard. Colin had been instructed as to
the law of whispers and low voices several days before.
He liked the mysteriousness of it and did his best,
but in the midst of excited enjoyment it is rather
difficult never to laugh above a whisper.
Every moment of the afternoon was full of new things
and every hour the sunshine grew more golden. The wheeled
chair had been drawn back under the canopy and Dickon
had sat down on the grass and had just drawn out his pipe
when Colin saw something he had not had time to notice before.
"That's a very old tree over there, isn't it?" he said.
Dickon looked across the grass at the tree and Mary looked
and there was a brief moment of stillness.
"Yes," answered Dickon, after it, and his low voice
had a very gentle sound.
Mary gazed at the tree and thought.
"The branches are quite gray and there's not a single
leaf anywhere," Colin went on. "It's quite dead,
isn't it?"
"Aye," admitted Dickon. "But them roses as has climbed
all over it will near hide every bit o' th' dead wood
when they're full o' leaves an' flowers. It won't look
dead then. It'll be th' prettiest of all."
Mary still gazed at the tree and thought.
"It looks as if a big branch had been broken off,"
said Colin. "I wonder how it was done."
"It's been done many a year," answered Dickon. "Eh!" with
a sudden relieved start and laying his hand on Colin.
"Look at that robin! There he is! He's been foragin'
for his mate."
Colin was almost too late but he just caught sight of him,
the flash of red-breasted bird with something in his beak.
He darted through the greenness and into the close-grown
corner and was out of sight. Colin leaned back on his
cushion again, laughing a little. "He's taking her tea
to her. Perhaps it's five o'clock. I think I'd like some
tea myself."
And so they were safe.
"It was Magic which sent the robin," said Mary secretly
to Dickon afterward. "I know it was Magic." For both she
and Dickon had been afraid Colin might ask something
about the tree whose branch had broken off ten years
ago and they had talked it over together and Dickon
had stood and rubbed his head in a troubled way.
"We mun look as if it wasn't no different from th'
other trees," he had said. "We couldn't never tell him
how it broke, poor lad. If he says anything about it we
mun--we mun try to look cheerful."
"Aye, that we mun," had answered Mary.
But she had not felt as if she looked cheerful when she gazed
at the tree. She wondered and wondered in those few moments
if there was any reality in that other thing Dickon had said.
He had gone on rubbing his rust-red hair in a puzzled way,
but a nice comforted look had begun to grow in his blue eyes.
"Mrs. Craven was a very lovely young lady," he had
gone on rather hesitatingly. "An' mother she thinks
maybe she's about Misselthwaite many a time lookin'
after Mester Colin, same as all mothers do when they're
took out o' th' world. They have to come back,
tha' sees. Happen she's been in the garden an'
happen it was her set us to work, an' told us to bring him here."
Mary had thought he meant something about Magic.
She was a great believer in Magic. Secretly she quite
believed that Dickon worked Magic, of course good Magic,
on everything near him and that was why people liked him
so much and wild creatures knew he was their friend.
She wondered, indeed, if it were not possible that his
gift had brought the robin just at the right moment
when Colin asked that dangerous question. She felt
that his Magic was working all the afternoon and making
Colin look like an entirely different boy. It did not
seem possible that he could be the crazy creature who had
screamed and beaten and bitten his pillow. Even his ivory
whiteness seemed to change. The faint glow of color
which had shown on his face and neck and hands when he
first got inside the garden really never quite died away.
He looked as if he were made of flesh instead of ivory
or wax.
They saw the robin carry food to his mate two or three times,
and it was so suggestive of afternoon tea that Colin
felt they must have some.
"Go and make one of the men servants bring some in a
basket to the rhododendron walk," he said. "And then
you and Dickon can bring it here."
It was an agreeable idea, easily carried out, and when
the white cloth was spread upon the grass, with hot tea
and buttered toast and crumpets, a delightfully hungry
meal was eaten, and several birds on domestic errands
paused to inquire what was going on and were led into
investigating crumbs with great activity. Nut and Shell
whisked up trees with pieces of cake and Soot took the
entire half of a buttered crumpet into a corner and pecked
at and examined and turned it over and made hoarse remarks
about it until he decided to swallow it all joyfully in one gulp.
The afternoon was dragging towards its mellow hour.
The sun was deepening the gold of its lances, the bees
were going home and the birds were flying past less often.
Dickon and Mary were sitting on the grass, the tea-basket
was repacked ready to be taken back to the house, and Colin
was lying against his cushions with his heavy locks
pushed back from his forehead and his face looking quite
a natural color.
"I don't want this afternoon to go," he said; "but I shall
come back tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after,
and the day after."
"You'll get plenty of fresh air, won't you?" said Mary.
"I'm going to get nothing else," he answered.
"I've seen the spring now and I'm going to see the summer.
I'm going to see everything grow here. I'm going to grow
here myself."
"That tha' will," said Dickon. "Us'll have thee walkin'
about here an' diggin' same as other folk afore long."
Colin flushed tremendously.
"Walk!" he said. "Dig! Shall I?"
Dickon's glance at him was delicately cautious.
Neither he nor Mary had ever asked if anything was
the matter with his legs.
"For sure tha' will," he said stoutly. "Tha--tha's got
legs o' thine own, same as other folks!"
Mary was rather frightened until she heard Colin's answer.
"Nothing really ails them," he said, "but they are so thin
and weak. They shake so that I'm afraid to try to stand
on them."
Both Mary and Dickon drew a relieved breath.
"When tha' stops bein' afraid tha'lt stand on 'em,"
Dickon said with renewed cheer. "An' tha'lt stop bein'
afraid in a bit."
"I shall?" said Colin, and he lay still as if he were
wondering about things.
They were really very quiet for a little while.
The sun was dropping lower. It was that hour when
everything stills itself, and they really had had a busy
and exciting afternoon. Colin looked as if he were
resting luxuriously. Even the creatures had ceased moving
about and had drawn together and were resting near them.
Soot had perched on a low branch and drawn up one leg
and dropped the gray film drowsily over his eyes.
Mary privately thought he looked as if he might snore
in a minute.
In the midst of this stillness it was rather startling
when Colin half lifted his head and exclaimed in a loud
suddenly alarmed whisper:
"Who is that man?" Dickon and Mary scrambled to their feet.
"Man!" they both cried in low quick voices.
Colin pointed to the high wall. "Look!" he whispered excitedly.
"Just look!"
Mary and Dickon wheeled about and looked. There was Ben
Weatherstaff's indignant face glaring at them over the wall
from the top of a ladder! He actually shook his fist at Mary.
"If I wasn't a bachelder, an' tha' was a wench o'
mine," he cried, "I'd give thee a hidin'!"
He mounted another step threateningly as if it were his
energetic intention to jump down and deal with her;
but as she came toward him he evidently thought better
of it and stood on the top step of his ladder shaking
his fist down at her.
"I never thowt much o' thee!" he harangued. "I couldna'
abide thee th' first time I set eyes on thee. A scrawny
buttermilk-faced young besom, allus askin' questions an'
pokin' tha' nose where it wasna, wanted. I never knowed
how tha' got so thick wi' me. If it hadna' been for th'
robin-- Drat him--"
"Ben Weatherstaff," called out Mary, finding her breath.
She stood below him and called up to him with a sort
of gasp. "Ben Weatherstaff, it was the robin who showed me
the way!"
Then it did seem as if Ben really would scramble down
on her side of the wall, he was so outraged.
"Tha' young bad 'un!" he called down at her. "Layin' tha'
badness on a robin--not but what he's impidint enow
for anythin'. Him showin' thee th' way! Him! Eh! tha'
young nowt"--she could see his next words burst out
because he was overpowered by curiosity-- "however i'
this world did tha' get in?"
"It was the robin who showed me the way," she protested
obstinately. "He didn't know he was doing it but he did.
And I can't tell you from here while you're shaking
your fist at me."
He stopped shaking his fist very suddenly at that very
moment and his jaw actually dropped as he stared over her
head at something he saw coming over the grass toward him.
At the first sound of his torrent of words Colin had
been so surprised that he had only sat up and listened
as if he were spellbound. But in the midst of it he
had recovered himself and beckoned imperiously to Dickon.
"Wheel me over there!" he commanded. "Wheel me quite
close and stop right in front of him!"
And this, if you please, this is what Ben Weatherstaff beheld
and which made his jaw drop. A wheeled chair with luxurious
cushions and robes which came toward him looking rather
like some sort of State Coach because a young Rajah leaned
back in it with royal command in his great black-rimmed
eyes and a thin white hand extended haughtily toward him.
And it stopped right under Ben Weatherstaff's nose.
It was really no wonder his mouth dropped open.
"Do you know who I am?" demanded the Rajah.
How Ben Weatherstaff stared! His red old eyes fixed
themselves on what was before him as if he were seeing
a ghost. He gazed and gazed and gulped a lump down his
throat and did not say a word. "Do you know who I am?"
demanded Colin still more imperiously. "Answer!"
Ben Weatherstaff put his gnarled hand up and passed it
over his eyes and over his forehead and then he did
answer in a queer shaky voice.
"Who tha' art?" he said. "Aye, that I do--wi' tha'
mother's eyes starin' at me out o' tha' face. Lord knows
how tha' come here. But tha'rt th' poor cripple."
Colin forgot that he had ever had a back. His face
flushed scarlet and he sat bolt upright.
"I'm not a cripple!" he cried out furiously. "I'm not!"
"He's not!" cried Mary, almost shouting up the wall
in her fierce indignation. "He's not got a lump as big
as a pin! I looked and there was none there--not one!"
Ben Weatherstaff passed his hand over his forehead
again and gazed as if he could never gaze enough.
His hand shook and his mouth shook and his voice shook.
He was an ignorant old man and a tactless old man and he
could only remember the things he had heard.
"Tha'--tha' hasn't got a crooked back?" he said hoarsely.
"No!" shouted Colin.
"Tha'--tha' hasn't got crooked legs?" quavered Ben more
hoarsely yet. It was too much. The strength which Colin
usually threw into his tantrums rushed through him now
in a new way. Never yet had he been accused of crooked
legs--even in whispers--and the perfectly simple belief
in their existence which was revealed by Ben Weatherstaff's
voice was more than Rajah flesh and blood could endure.
His anger and insulted pride made him forget everything
but this one moment and filled him with a power he had
never known before, an almost unnatural strength.
"Come here!" he shouted to Dickon, and he actually
began to tear the coverings off his lower limbs and
disentangle himself. "Come here! Come here! This minute!"
Dickon was by his side in a second. Mary caught her
breath in a short gasp and felt herself turn pale.
"He can do it! He can do it! He can do it! He can!"
she gabbled over to herself under her breath as fast
as ever she could.
There was a brief fierce scramble, the rugs were tossed
on the ground, Dickon held Colin's arm, the thin
legs were out, the thin feet were on the grass.
Colin was standing upright--upright--as straight as an
arrow and looking strangely tall--his head thrown back
and his strange eyes flashing lightning. "Look at me!"
he flung up at Ben Weatherstaff. "Just look at me--you!
Just look at me!"
"He's as straight as I am!" cried Dickon. "He's as
straight as any lad i' Yorkshire!"
What Ben Weatherstaff did Mary thought queer beyond measure.
He choked and gulped and suddenly tears ran down his
weather-wrinkled cheeks as he struck his old hands together.
"Eh!" he burst forth, "th' lies folk tells! Tha'rt
as thin as a lath an' as white as a wraith, but there's
not a knob on thee. Tha'lt make a mon yet. God bless thee!"
Dickon held Colin's arm strongly but the boy had not begun
to falter. He stood straighter and straighter and looked
Ben Weatherstaff in the face.
"I'm your master," he said, "when my father is away.
And you are to obey me. This is my garden. Don't dare
to say a word about it! You get down from that ladder
and go out to the Long Walk and Miss Mary will meet you
and bring you here. I want to talk to you. We did not
want you, but now you will have to be in the secret.
Be quick!"
Ben Weatherstaff's crabbed old face was still wet with
that one queer rush of tears. It seemed as if he could
not take his eyes from thin straight Colin standing
on his feet with his head thrown back.
"Eh! lad," he almost whispered. "Eh! my lad!" And then
remembering himself he suddenly touched his hat gardener
fashion and said, "Yes, sir! Yes, sir!" and obediently
disappeared as he descended the ladder.
CHAPTER XXII