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He
stood
up
to
answer
her
.
“
Ben
Weatherstaff
,
”
he
answered
,
and
then
he
added
with
a
surly
chuckle
,
“
I
’
m
lonely
mysel
’
except
when
he
’
s
with
me
,
”
and
he
jerked
his
thumb
toward
the
robin
.
“
He
’
s
th
’
only
friend
I
’
ve
got
.
”
“
I
have
no
friends
at
all
,
”
said
Mary
.
“
I
never
had
.
My
Ayah
didn
’
t
like
me
and
I
never
played
with
anyone
.
”
It
is
a
Yorkshire
habit
to
say
what
you
think
with
blunt
frankness
,
and
old
Ben
Weatherstaff
was
a
Yorkshire
moor
man
.
“
Tha
’
an
’
me
are
a
good
bit
alike
,
”
he
said
.
“
We
was
wove
out
of
th
’
same
cloth
.
We
’
re
neither
of
us
good
lookin
’
an
’
we
’
re
both
of
us
as
sour
as
we
look
.
We
’
ve
got
the
same
nasty
tempers
,
both
of
us
,
I
’
ll
warrant
.
”
This
was
plain
speaking
,
and
Mary
Lennox
had
never
heard
the
truth
about
herself
in
her
life
.
Native
servants
always
salaamed
and
submitted
to
you
,
whatever
you
did
.
She
had
never
thought
much
about
her
looks
,
but
she
wondered
if
she
was
as
unattractive
as
Ben
Weatherstaff
and
she
also
wondered
if
she
looked
as
sour
as
he
had
looked
before
the
robin
came
.
She
actually
began
to
wonder
also
if
she
was
“
nasty
tempered
.
”
She
felt
uncomfortable
.
Suddenly
a
clear
rippling
little
sound
broke
out
near
her
and
she
turned
round
.
She
was
standing
a
few
feet
from
a
young
apple
-
tree
and
the
robin
had
flown
on
to
one
of
its
branches
and
had
burst
out
into
a
scrap
of
a
song
.
Ben
Weatherstaff
laughed
outright
.
“
What
did
he
do
that
for
?
”
asked
Mary
.
“
He
’
s
made
up
his
mind
to
make
friends
with
thee
,
”
replied
Ben
.
“
Dang
me
if
he
hasn
’
t
took
a
fancy
to
thee
.
”
