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“
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
.
“
Tha
’
mother
,
”
answered
Ben
Weatherstaff
.
“
My
mother
?
”
said
Colin
,
and
he
looked
about
him
quietly
.
“
This
was
her
garden
,
wasn
’
t
it
?
”
