“We mun look as if it wasn’t no different from th’ other trees,” he had said.  “We couldn’t never tell him how it broke, poor lad.  If he says anything about it we mun—­we mun try to look cheerful.”

“Aye, that we mun,” had answered Mary.

But she had not felt as if she looked cheerful when she gazed at the tree.  She wondered and wondered in those few moments if there was any reality in that other thing Dickon had said.  He had gone on rubbing his rust-red hair in a puzzled way, but a nice comforted look had begun to grow in his blue eyes.

“Mrs. Craven was a very lovely young lady,” he had gone on rather hesitatingly.  “An’ mother she thinks maybe she’s about Misselthwaite many a time lookin’ after Mester Colin, same as all mothers do when they’re took out o’ th’ world.  They have to come back, tha’ sees.  Happen she’s been in the garden an’ happen it was her set us to work, an’ told us to bring him here.”

Mary had thought he meant something about Magic.  She was a great believer in Magic.  Secretly she quite believed that Dickon worked Magic, of course good Magic, on everything near him and that was why people liked him so much and wild creatures knew he was their friend.  She wondered, indeed, if it were not possible that his gift had brought the robin just at the right moment when Colin asked that dangerous question.  She felt that his Magic was working all the afternoon and making Colin look like an entirely different boy.  It did not seem possible that he could be the crazy creature who had screamed and beaten and bitten his pillow.  Even his ivory whiteness seemed to change.  The faint glow of color which had shown on his face and neck and hands when he first got inside the garden really never quite died away.  He looked as if he were made of flesh instead of ivory or wax.

They saw the robin carry food to his mate two or three times, and it was so suggestive of afternoon tea that Colin felt they must have some.

“Go and make one of the men servants bring some in a basket to the rhododendron walk,” he said.  “And then you and Dickon can bring it here.”

It was an agreeable idea, easily carried out, and when the white cloth was spread upon the grass, with hot tea and buttered toast and crumpets, a delightfully hungry meal was eaten, and several birds on domestic errands paused to inquire what was going on and were led into investigating crumbs with great activity.  Nut and Shell whisked up trees with pieces of cake and Soot took the entire half of a buttered crumpet into a corner and pecked at and examined and turned it over and made hoarse remarks about it until he decided to swallow it all joyfully in one gulp.

The afternoon was dragging toward its mellow hour.  The sun was deepening the gold of its lances, the bees were going home and the birds were flying past less often.  Dickon and Mary were sitting on the grass, the tea-basket was re-packed ready to be taken back to the house, and Colin was lying against his cushions with his heavy locks pushed back from his forehead and his face looking quite a natural color.