ere--there couldna' be."

He drew himself up straighter than ever.

"I'm going to walk to that tree," he said, pointing to one a few feet
away from him. "I'm going to be standing when Weatherstaff comes here.
I can rest against the tree if I like. When I want to sit down I will
sit down, but not before. Bring a rug from the chair."

He walked to the tree and though Dickon held his arm he was wonderfully
steady. When he stood against the tree trunk it was not too plain that
he supported himself against it, and he still held himself so straight
that he looked tall.

When Ben Weatherstaff came through the door in the wall he saw him
standing there and he heard Mary muttering something under her breath.

"What art sayin'?" he asked rather testily because he did not want his
attention distracted from the long thin straight boy figure and proud
face.

But she did not tell him. What she was saying was this:

"You can do it! You can do it! I told you you could! You can do it!
You can do it! You can!" She was saying it to Colin because she wanted
to make Magic and keep him on his feet looking like that. She could
not bear that he should give in before Ben Weatherstaff. He did not
give in. She was uplifted by a sudden feeling that he looked quite
beautiful in spite of his thinness. He fixed his eyes on Ben
Weatherstaff in his funny imperious way.

"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