"He's taking her tea to her. Perhaps it's
five o'clock. I think I'd like some tea myself."

And so they were safe.

"It was Magic which sent the robin," said Mary
secretly to Dickon afterward. "I know it was
Magic." For both she and Dickon had been
afraid Colin might ask something about the tree
whose branch had broken off ten years ago and
they had talked it over together and Dickon had
stood and rubbed his head in a troubled way.

"We mun look as if it wasn't no different from
th' other trees," he had said. "We couldn't never
tell him how it broke, poor lad. If he says anything
about it we mun -- we mun try to look cheerful."

"Aye, that we mun," had answered Mary.

But she had not felt as if she looked cheerful
when she gazed at the tree. She wondered
and wondered in those few moments if there was
any reality in that other thing Dickon had said.
He had gone on rubbing his rust-red hair in a
puzzled way, but a nice comforted look had begun
to grow in his blue eyes.

"Mrs. Craven was a very lovely young lady,"
he had gone on rather hesitatingly. "An' mother
she thinks maybe she's about Misselthwaite many
a time lookin' after Mester Colin, same as all

[[273]]

p272 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p273w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p274

v?