The robin was evidently in a fascinating, bold mood. He hopped closer and closer and looked at Ben Weatherstaff more and more engagingly. He flew on to the nearest currant bush and tilted his head and sang a little song right at him.

“Tha’ thinks tha’ll get over me by doin’ that,” said Ben, wrinkling his face up in such a way that Mary felt sure he was trying not to look pleased. “Tha’ thinks no one can stand out against thee⁠—that’s what tha’ thinks.”

The robin spread his wings⁠—Mary could scarcely believe her eyes. He flew right up to the handle of Ben Weatherstaff’s spade and alighted on the top of it. Then the old man’s face wrinkled itself slowly into a new expression. He stood still as if he were afraid to breathe⁠—as if he would not have stirred for the world, lest his robin should start away. He spoke quite in a whisper.

“Well, I’m danged!” he said as softly as if he were saying something quite different. “Tha’ does know how to get at a chap⁠—tha’ does! Tha’s fair unearthly, tha’s so knowin’.”