thing shall be written
without your permission. You are too sensitive about things. You must
not undo the good which has been done."

He said no more about writing to Mr. Craven and when he saw the nurse he
privately warned her that such a possibility must not be mentioned to
the patient.

"The boy is extraordinarily better," he said. "His advance seems almost
abnormal. But of course he is doing now of his own free will what we
could not make him do before. Still, he excites himself very easily and
nothing must be said to irritate him."

Mary and Colin were much alarmed and talked together anxiously. From
this time dated their plan of "play actin'."

"I may be obliged to have a tantrum," said Colin regretfully. "I don't
want to have one and I'm not miserable enough now to work myself into a
big one. Perhaps I couldn't have one at all. That lump doesn't come in
my throat now and I keep thinking of nice things instead of horrible
ones. But if they talk about writing to my father I shall have to do
something."

He made up his mind to eat less, but unfortunately it was not possible
to carry out this brilliant idea when he wakened each morning with an
amazing appetite and the table near his sofa was set with a breakfast of
home-made bread and fresh butter, snow-white eggs, raspberry jam and
clotted cream. Mary always breakfasted with him and when they found
themselves at the table--particularly if there were delicate slices of
sizzling ham sending forth tempting odors from under a hot silver
cover--they would look into each other's eyes in desperation.

"I think we shall have to eat it all this morning, Mary," Colin always
ended by saying. "We can send away some of the lunch and a great deal of
the dinner."

But they never found they could send away anything and the highly
polished condition of the empty plates returned to the pantry awakened
much comment.

"I do wish," Colin would say also, "I do wish the slices of ham were
thicker, and one muffin each is not enough for any one."

"It's enough for a person who is going to die," answered Mary when first
she heard this, "but it's not enough for a person who is going to live.
I sometimes feel as if I could eat three when those nice fresh heather
and gorse smells from the moor come pouring in at the open window."

The morning that Dickon--after they had been enjoying themselves in the
garden for about two hours--went behind a big rose-bush and brought
forth two tin