Таинственный сад

XXI. Ben Weatherstaff

           Hegazedandgazedandgulpedalumpdownhisthroatanddidnotsayaword.

           “DoyouknowwhoIam?”demandedColinstillmoreimperiously.“Answer!”

           BenWeatherstaffputhisgnarledhandupandpasseditoverhiseyesandoverhisforeheadandthenhedidanswerinaqueershakyvoice.

           “Whotha’art?”hesaid.“Aye,thatIdo—wi’tha’mother’seyesstarin’atmeouto’tha’face.Lordknowshowtha’comehere.Buttha’rtth’poorcripple.”

           Colinforgotthathehadeverhadaback.Hisfaceflushedscarletandhesatboltupright.

           “I’mnotacripple!”hecriedoutfuriously.“I’mnot!”

           “He’snot!”criedMary,almostshoutingupthewallinherfierceindignation.“He’snotgotalumpasbigasapin!Ilookedandtherewasnonethere—notone!”

           BenWeatherstaffpassedhishandoverhisforeheadagainandgazedasifhecouldnevergazeenough.Hishandshookandhismouthshookandhisvoiceshook.Hewasanignorantoldmanandatactlessoldmanandhecouldonlyrememberthethingshehadheard.

           “Tha’—tha’hasn’tgotacrookedback?”hesaidhoarsely.

           “No!”shoutedColin.

           “Tha’—tha’hasn’tgotcrookedlegs?”quaveredBenmorehoarselyyet.

           Itwastoomuch.ThestrengthwhichColinusuallythrewintohistantrumsrushedthroughhimnowinanewway.Neveryethadhebeenaccusedofcrookedlegs—eveninwhispers—andtheperfectlysimplebeliefintheirexistencewhichwasrevealedbyBenWeatherstaff’svoicewasmorethanRajahfleshandbloodcouldendure.

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