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“
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
.
