Таємничий 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.
