into
appearing at a prayer-meeting. Ordinarily he was very fixed in being
what he called "agen' prayer-meetin's" but this being the Rajah's affair
he did not resent it and was indeed inclined to be gratified at being
called upon to assist. Mistress Mary felt solemnly enraptured. Dickon
held his rabbit in his arm, and perhaps he made some charmer's signal no
one heard, for when he sat down, cross-legged like the rest, the crow,
the fox, the squirrels and the lamb slowly drew near and made part of
the circle, settling each into a place of rest as if of their own
desire.

"The 'creatures' have come," said Colin gravely. "They want to help us."

Colin really looked quite beautiful, Mary thought. He held his head high
as if he felt like a sort of priest and his strange eyes had a wonderful
look in them. The light shone on him through the tree canopy.

"Now we will begin," he said. "Shall we sway backward and forward, Mary,
as if we were dervishes?"

"I canna' do no swayin' back'ard and for'ard," said Ben Weatherstaff.
"I've got th' rheumatics."

"The Magic will take them away," said Colin in a High Priest tone, "but
we won't sway until it has done it. We will only chant."

"I canna' do no chantin'," said Ben Weatherstaff a trifle testily. "They
turned me out o' th' church choir th' only time I ever tried it."

No one smiled. They were all too much in earnest. Colin's face was not
even crossed by a shadow. He was thinking only of the Magic.

"Then I will chant," he said. And he began, looking like a strange boy
spirit. "The sun is shining--the sun is shining. That is the Magic. The
flowers are growing--the roots are stirring. That is the Magic. Being
alive is the Magic--being strong is the Magic. The Magic is in me--the
Magic is in me. It is in me--it is in me. It's in every one of us. It's
in Ben Weatherstaff's back. Magic! Magic! Come and help!"

He said it a great many times--not a thousand times but quite a goodly
number. Mary listened entranced. She felt as if it were at once queer
and beautiful and she wanted him to go on and on. Ben Weatherstaff began
to feel soothed into a sort of dream which was quite agreeable. The
humming of the bees in the blossoms mingled with the chanting voice and
drowsily melted into a doze. Dickon sat cross-legged with his rabbit
asleep on his arm and a hand resting on the lamb's back. Soot had
pushed away a squirrel and huddled close to him on his shoulder, the
gray film dropped o