THERE IS NO ONE LEFT
When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin
face and a little thin
light hair and a sour expression
. Her hair was yellow, and her face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse
herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to understand
that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the child out of sight
as much as possible
. So when she was a sickly
, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she became a sickly
, toddling thing she was kept out of the way also. She never remembered seeing familiarly
anything but the dark faces of her Ayah and the other native
servants, and as they always obeyed her and gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be angry
if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years old she was as tyrannical
and a selfish
little pig as ever lived. The young English governess
who came to teach her to read and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to know how to read books she would never have learned
her letters at all.
One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she awakened feeling very cross
, and she became crosser still 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
, but she only stammered that the Ayah could not come and when Mary threw herself into a passion
and beat and kicked her, she looked only more frightened
that it was not possible
for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib.
There was something mysterious
in the air that morning. Nothing was done in its regular order and several
of the native
servants seemed missing, while those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared
faces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She was actually
left alone as the morning went on, and at last she wandered out into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near the veranda
. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuck big scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth
, all the time growing more and more angry
and muttering to herself the things she would say and the names she would call Saidie when she returned.
"Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!" she said, because to call a native
a pig is the worst insult
She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she heard her mother come out on the veranda
with some one. 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. She had heard that he was a very young officer who had just come 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, because the Mem Sahib—Mary used to call her that oftener than anything else—was such a tall, slim
, pretty person and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk
and she had a delicate
little nose which seemed to be disdaining things, and she had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin
and floating, and Mary said they were "full of lace
." They looked fuller of lace
than ever this morning, but 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?" Mary heard her say.
"Awfully," the young man answered in a trembling voice. "Awfully, Mrs. Lennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago."
The Mem Sahib wrung her hands.
"Oh, I know I ought!" she cried. "I only stayed to go to that silly dinner party. What a fool I was!"
At that very moment
such a loud sound
of wailing broke out from the servants' quarters that she clutched the young man's arm, and Mary stood shivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder. "What is it? What is it?" Mrs. Lennox gasped.
"Some one has died," answered the boy officer. "You did not say it had broken out among your servants."
"I did not know!" the Mem Sahib cried. "Come with me! Come with me!" and she turned and ran into the house.