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----- {{sgfhbp115.png}} || Dickon ||


put up with me for a bit sometimes when tha's
got no one better. Tha's been reddinin' up thy
waistcoat an' polishin' thy feathers this two weeks.
I know what tha's up to. Tha's courtin' some
bold young madam somewhere, tellin' thy lies to
her about bein' th' finest cock robin on Missel
Moor an' ready to fight all th' rest of 'em."

"Oh! look at him!" exclaimed Mary.

The robin was evidently in a fascinating, bold
mood. He hopped closer and closer and looked
at Ben Weatherstaff more and more engagingly.
He flew on to the nearest currant bush and tilted
his head and sang a little song right at him.

"Tha' thinks tha'll get over me by doin' that,"
said Ben, wrinkling his face up in such a way that
Mary felt sure he was trying not to look pleased.
"Tha' thinks no one can stand out against thee --
that's what tha' thinks."

The robin spread his wings -- Mary could
scarcely believe her eyes. He flew right up to the
handle of Ben Weatherstaff's spade and alighted
on the top of it. Then the old man's face wrinkled
itself slowly into a new expression. He stood
still as if he were afraid to breathe -- as if he
would not have stirred for the world, lest his robin
should start away. He spoke quite in a whisper.

"Well, I'm danged!" he said as softly as if


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