LITMIR.BIZ

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y little baby she was kept out of the way[2]. And when she became a sickly, fretful, toddling girl she was kept out of the way also. She saw the dark faces of her nurse and the other native servants. They always obeyed her. So by the time the girl was six years old she was very tyrannical and selfish.

      The young English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked her so much that she left in three months. When other governesses came they always went away even sooner. So Mary learned letters herself.

      One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she awakened feeling very cross[3]. She became crosser when she saw that the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah.

      “Why did you come?” she said to the strange woman. “I will not let you stay. Send my Ayah to me.”

      The woman looked frightened. She only stammered that the Ayah could not come. Mary kicked her. The servant looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not possible for the Ayah to come.

      There was something mysterious in the air that morning. The servants hurried about with ashy and scared faces. But no one told the girl anything and her Ayah did not come. She was actually left alone. At last she wandered out into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near the veranda. She was growing more and more angry. She was muttering to herself,

      “Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!” she said, because to call a native a pig is the worst insult of all.

      She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she saw her mother. Her mother came out on the veranda with someone. She was with a fair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices. Mary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy. He was a very young officer from England. The child stared at him, but she stared most at her mother. She always did this when she had a chance to see her. Her mother was a tall, slim, pretty person and wore lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk and she had a delicate little nose and large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin and floating.

      But this morning, her eyes were not laughing at all. They were large and scared and lifted imploringly to the fair boy officer’s face.

      “Is it so very bad? Oh, is it?” she said.

      “Awfully,” the young man answered in a trembling voice. “Awfully, Mrs. Lennox. Why didn’t you go to the hills?”

      Mother wrung her hands.

      “Oh, I know!” she cried. “I only stayed to go to that silly dinner party. What a fool I was!”

      At that very moment a loud sound of wailing broke out from the servants’ quarters. The woman clutched the young man’s arm. The wailing grew wilder and wilder.

      “What is it? What is it?” Mrs. Lennox gasped.

      “Someone died,” answered the officer. “The epidemic broke out among your servants[4].”

      “I did not know!” Mother cried. “Come with me! Come with me!” and she turned and ran into the house.

      Soon Mary learned everything. The cholera has broken out and people were dying like flies. Her Ayah was ill, and then she died. That is why the servants were wailing. Before the next day three other servants were dead and others ran away in terror. There was panic on every side, and dying people in all the bungalows.

      During the confusion and bewilderment of the second day Mary hid herself in the nursery. Everyone forgot her. Nobody thought of her, nobody came to her, and strange things happened of which she knew nothing. Mary cried and slept. She only knew that people were ill and that she heard mysterious and frightening sounds. Once she crept into the dining-room and found it empty. A partly finished meal was on the table. The child ate some fruit and biscuits. She was thirsty, so she drank a glass of wine. It was sweet, and she did not know how strong it was. Very soon it made her intensely drowsy. She went back to her nursery and shut herself in again. The wine made her sleepy. She lay down on her bed and knew nothing more for a long time.

      Many things happened during the hours in which she slept so heavily, but she was not disturbed by the wails.

      When she awakened she lay and stared at the wall. The house was perfectly still. She heard neither voices nor footsteps. Who will take care of her now? Ayah was dead. There will be a new nurse, and perhaps she will know some new stories. Mary was rather tired of the old ones. She did not cry because her nurse was dead. She was not an affectionate child and never cared much for anyone. The noise and wailing over the cholera frightened her, and she was angry because no one remembered that she was alive. Everyone was too panic-stricken to think of a little girl. No one loved her. When people have the cholera they remember nothing but themselves.

      No one came. She lay waiting and the house was growing more and more silent. She heard something on the matting. When she looked down she saw a little snake. The snake was watching her with eyes like jewels. She was not frightened, because it was a harmless little thing. The snake slipped under the door as she watched it.

      “How queer and quiet it is,” she said. “Is there anyone in the bungalow?”

      Almost the next minute she heard footsteps in the compound, and then on the veranda. They were men’s footsteps, and the men entered the bungalow and talked in low voices. No one went to meet or speak to them. They opened doors and looked into rooms.

      “What desolation!” she heard one voice say. “That pretty, pretty woman! I suppose the child, too. I heard there was a child, though no one ever saw her.”

      Mary was standing in the middle of the nursery when they opened the door a few minutes later. She was frowning because she was hungry. The first man who came in was a large officer. He looked tired and troubled. When he saw her he was startled.

      “Barney!” he cried out. “There is a child here! A child alone! In a place like this!”

      “I am Mary Lennox,” the little girl said. She thought the man was very rude to call her father’s bungalow “a place like this”. “I fell asleep when everyone had the cholera. I have just wakened up. Why does nobody come?”

      “It is the child no one ever saw!” exclaimed the man, turning to his companions.

      “Why does nobody come?” Mary asked.

      The young man whose name was Barney looked at her very sadly.

      “Poor little kid!” he said. “There is nobody here.”

      Mary found out that she had neither father nor mother left. They died in the night, and the servants left the house quickly. That was why the place was so quiet. It was true that there was no one in the bungalow but herself and the little snake.

      Chapter II

      Mistress Mary quite contrary

      Mary knew very little of her mother. She did not miss her at all, in fact, she was a self-absorbed child.

      They took her to the English clergyman’s house. She knew that she was not going to stay there long. She did not want to stay. The English clergyman was poor and he had five children. They wore shabby clothes and were always quarreling and snatching toys from each other. Mary hated their untidy bungalow and was very disagreeable to them. Nobody wanted to play with her.

      Basil was a little boy with impudent blue eyes and a turned-up nose and Mary hated him. She was playing by herself under a tree. She was making heaps of earth and paths for a garden and Basil came and stood near to watch her. Suddenly he made a suggestion.

      “Why don’t you put a heap of stones there?” he said. “There in the middle,” and he leaned over her to point.

      “Go away!” cried Mary. “Go away!”

      For a moment Basil looked angry, and then he began to tease. He was always teasing his sisters. He danced round and round her and made faces[5] and sang and laughed:

      “Mistress Mary, quite contrary,

      How does your garden grow?

      With

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