"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.

[[280]]

p279 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p280w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p281

v?