away. The stories she had been told by her Ayah
when she lived in India had been quite unlike those Martha had to tell
about the moorland cottage which held fourteen people who lived in four
little rooms and never had quite enough to eat. The children seemed to
tumble about and amuse themselves like a litter of rough, good-natured
collie puppies. Mary was most attracted by the mother and Dickon.
When Martha told stories of what "mother" said or did they always
sounded comfortable.

"If I had a raven or a fox cub I could play with it," said Mary. "But
I have nothing."

Martha looked perplexed.

"Can tha' knit?" she asked.

"No," answered Mary.

"Can tha' sew?"

"No."

"Can tha' read?"

"Yes."

"Then why doesn't tha, read somethin', or learn a bit o' spellin'?
Tha'st old enough to be learnin' thy book a good bit now."

"I haven't any books," said Mary. "Those I had were left in India."

"That's a pity," said Martha. "If Mrs. Medlock'd let thee go into th'
library, there's thousands o' books there."

Mary did not ask where the library was, because she was suddenly
inspired by a new idea. She made up her mind to go and find it
herself. She was not troubled about Mrs. Medlock. Mrs. Medlock seemed
always to be in her comfortable housekeeper's sitting-room downstairs.
In this queer place one scarcely ever saw any one at all. In fact,
there was no one to see but the servants, and when their master was
away they lived a luxurious life below stairs, where there was a huge
kitchen hung about with shining brass and pewter, and a large servants'
hall where there were four or five abundant meals eaten every day, and
where a great deal of lively romping went on when Mrs. Medlock was out
of the way.

Mary's meals were served regularly, and Martha waited on her, but no
one troubled themselves about her in the least. Mrs. Medlock came and
looked at her every day or two, but no one inquired what she did or
told her what to do. She supposed that perhaps this was the English
way of treating children. In India she had always been attended by her
Ayah, who had followed her about and waited on her, hand and foot. She
had often been tired of her company. Now she was followed by nobody
and was learning to dress herself because Martha looked as though she
thought she was silly and stupid when she wanted to have things handed
to her and put on.

"Hasn't tha' got good sense?" she said once, when Mary had stood
w