“Come in,” he said.  “I’ve been thinking about you all morning.”

“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” answered Mary.  “You don’t know how frightened Martha is.  She says Mrs. Medlock will think she told me about you and then she will be sent away.”

He frowned.

“Go and tell her to come here,” he said.  “She is in the next room.”

Mary went and brought her back.  Poor Martha was shaking in her shoes.  Colin was still frowning.

“Have you to do what I please or have you not?” he demanded.

“I have to do what you please, sir,” Martha faltered, turning quite red.

“Has Medlock to do what I please?”

“Everybody has, sir,” said Martha.

“Well, then, if I order you to bring Miss Mary to me, how can Medlock send you away if she finds it out?”

“Please don’t let her, sir,” pleaded Martha.

“I’ll send her away if she dares to say a word about such a thing,” said Master Craven grandly.  “She wouldn’t like that, I can tell you.”

“Thank you, sir,” bobbing a curtsy, “I want to do my duty, sir.”

“What I want is your duty,” said Colin more grandly still.  “I’ll take care of you.  Now go away.”

When the door closed behind Martha, Colin found Mistress Mary gazing at him as if he had set her wondering.

“Why do you look at me like that?” he asked her.  “What are you thinking about?”

“I am thinking about two things.”

“What are they?  Sit down and tell me.”

“This is the first one,” said Mary, seating herself on the big stool.  “Once in India I saw a boy who was a Rajah.  He had rubies and emeralds and diamonds stuck all over him.  He spoke to his people just as you spoke to Martha.  Everybody had to do everything he told them—­in a minute.  I think they would have been killed if they hadn’t.”

“I shall make you tell me about Rajahs presently,” he said, “but first tell me what the second thing was.”

“I was thinking,” said Mary, “how different you are from Dickon.”

“Who is Dickon?” he said.  “What a queer name!”

She might as well tell him, she thought.  She could talk about Dickon without mentioning the secret garden.  She had liked to hear Martha talk about him.  Besides, she longed to talk about him.  It would seem to bring him nearer.

“He is Martha’s brother.  He is twelve years old,” she explained.  “He is not like any one else in the world.  He can charm foxes and squirrels and birds just as the natives in India charm snakes.  He plays a very soft tune on a pipe and they come and listen.”

There were some big books on a table at his side and he dragged one suddenly toward him.

“There is a picture of a snake-charmer in this,” he exclaimed.  “Come and look at it.”

The book was a beautiful one with superb colored illustrations and he turned to one of them.