“Tha’ll see him often enow after a bit,” answered Dickon.  “When th’ eggs hatches out th’ little chap he’ll be kep’ so busy it’ll make his head swim.  Tha’ll see him flyin’ backward an’ for’ard carryin’ worms nigh as big as himsel’ an’ that much noise goin’ on in th’ nest when he gets there as fair flusters him so as he scarce knows which big mouth to drop th’ first piece in.  An’ gapin’ beaks an’ squawks on every side.  Mother says as when she sees th’ work a robin has to keep them gapin’ beaks filled, she feels like she was a lady with nothin’ to do.  She says she’s seen th’ little chaps when it seemed like th’ sweat must be droppin’ off ’em, though folk can’t see it.”

This made them giggle so delightedly that they were obliged to cover their mouths with their hands, remembering that they must not be heard.  Colin had been instructed as to the law of whispers and low voices several days before.  He liked the mysteriousness of it and did his best, but in the midst of excited enjoyment it is rather difficult never to laugh above a whisper.

Every moment of the afternoon was full of new things and every hour the sunshine grew more golden.  The wheeled chair had been drawn back under the canopy and Dickon had sat down on the grass and had just drawn out his pipe when Colin saw something he had not had time to notice before.

“That’s a very old tree over there, isn’t it?” he said.

Dickon looked across the grass at the tree and Mary looked and there was a brief moment of stillness.

“Yes,” answered Dickon, after it, and his low voice had a very gentle sound.

Mary gazed at the tree and thought.

“The branches are quite gray and there’s not a single leaf anywhere,” Colin went on.  “It’s quite dead, isn’t it?”

“Aye,” admitted Dickon.  “But them roses as has climbed all over it will near hide every bit o’ th’ dead wood when they’re full o’ leaves an’ flowers.  It won’t look dead then.  It’ll be th’ prettiest of all.”

Mary still gazed at the tree and thought.

“It looks as if a big branch had been broken off,” said Colin.  “I wonder how it was done.”

“It’s been done many a year,” answered Dickon.  “Eh!” with a sudden relieved start and laying his hand on Colin.  “Look at that robin!  There he is!  He’s been foragin’ for his mate.”

Colin was almost too late but he just caught sight of him, the flash of red-breasted bird with something in his beak.  He darted through the greenness and into the close-grown corner and was out of sight.  Colin leaned back on his cushion again, laughing a little.

“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.