"No, I am not," Mary answered, her own whisper sounding
half frightened. "Are you one?"
He stared and stared and stared. Mary could not help
noticing what strange eyes he had. They were agate
gray and they looked too big for his face because they
had black lashes all round them.
"No," he replied after waiting a moment or so.
"I am Colin."
"Who is Colin?" she faltered.
"I am Colin Craven. Who are you?"
"I am Mary Lennox. Mr. Craven is my uncle."
"He is my father," said the boy.
"Your father!" gasped Mary. "No one ever told me he
had a boy! Why didn't they?"
"Come here," he said, still keeping his strange eyes
fixed on her with an anxious expression.
She came close to the bed and he put out his hand
and touched her.
"You are real, aren't you?" he said. "I have such real
dreams very often. You might be one of them."
Mary had slipped on a woolen wrapper before she left
her room and she put a piece of it between his fingers.
"Rub that and see how thick and warm it is," she said.
"I will pinch you a little if you like, to show you how real
I am. For a minute I thought you might be a dream too."
|