He didn’t think playing was wonderful.  He thought the things that Jerrold did were wonderful.  With his child’s legs and arms he tried to do the things that Jerrold did.  They told him he would have to wait nine years before he could do them.  He was always talking about what he would do in nine years’ time.

And there was the day of the walk to High Slaughter, through the valley of the Speed to the valley of the Windlode, five miles there and back.  Eliot and Jerrold and Anne had tried to sneak out when Colin wasn’t looking; but he had seen them and came running after them down the field, calling to them to let him come.  Eliot shouted “We can’t, Col-Col, it’s too far,” but Colin looked so pathetic, standing there in the big field, that Jerrold couldn’t bear it.

“I think,” he said, “we might let him come.”

“Yes.  Let him,” Anne said.

“Rot.  He can’t walk it.”

“I can,” said Colin.  “I can.”

“I tell you he can’t.  If he’s tired he’ll be sick in the night and then he’ll say it’s ghosts.”

Colin’s mouth trembled.

“It’s all right, Col-Col, you’re coming.”  Jerrold held out his hand.

“Well,” said Eliot, “if he crumples up you can carry him.”

“I can,” said Jerrold.

“So can I,” said Anne.

“Nobody,” said Colin “shall carry me.  I can walk.”

Eliot went on grumbling while Colin trotted happily beside them.  “You’re a fearful ass, Jerrold.  You’re simple ruining that kid.  He thinks he can come butting into everything.  Here’s the whole afternoon spoiled for all three of us.  He can’t walk.  You’ll see he’ll drop out in the first mile.”

“I shan’t, Jerrold.”

And he didn’t.  He struggled on down the fields to Upper Speed and along the river-meadows to Lower Speed and Hayes Mill, and from Hayes Mill to High Slaughter.  It was when they started to walk back that his legs betrayed him, slackening first, then running, because running was easier than walking, for a change.  Then dragging.  Then being dragged between Anne and Jerrold (for he refused to be carried).  Then staggering, stumbling, stopping dead; his child’s mouth drooping.

Then Jerrold carried him on his back with his hands clasped under Colin’s soft hips.  Colin’s body slipped every minute and had to be jerked up again; and when it slipped his arms tightened round Jerrold’s neck, strangling him.

At last Jerrold, too, staggered and stumbled and stopped dead.

“I’ll take him,” said Eliot.  He forbore, nobly, to say “I told you so.”

And by turns they carried him, from the valley of the Windlode to the valley of the Speed, past Hayes Mill, through Lower Speed, Upper Speed, and up the fields to Wyck Manor.  Then up the stairs to the schoolroom, pursued by their mother’s cries.

“Oh Col-Col, my little Col-Col!  What have you done to him, Eliot?”

Eliot bore it like a lamb.