There s gardens enough. But when you re in the house don t go wandering
and poking about. Mr. Craven won t have it.
I shall not want to go poking about, said sour little Mary and just
as suddenly as she had begun to be rather sorry for Mr. Archibald
Craven she began to cease to be sorry and to think he was unpleasant
enough to deserve all that had happened to him.
And she turned her face toward the streaming panes of the window of the
railway carriage and gazed out at the gray rain-storm which looked as
if it would go on forever and ever. She watched it so long and steadily
that the grayness grew heavier and heavier before her eyes and she fell
asleep.
CHAPTER III.
ACROSS THE MOOR
She slept a long time, and when she awakened Mrs. Medlock had bought a
lunchbasket at one of the stations and they had some chicken and cold
beef and bread and butter and some hot tea. The rain seemed to be
streaming down more heavily than ever and everybody in the station wore
wet and glistening waterproofs. The guard lighted the lamps in the
carriage, and Mrs. Medlock cheered up very much over her tea and
chicken and beef. She ate a great deal and afterward fell asleep
herself, and Mary sat and stared at her and watched her fine bonnet
slip on one side until she herself fell asleep once more in the corner
of the carriage, lulled by the splashing of the rain against the
windows. It was quite dark when she awakened again. The train had
stopped at a station and Mrs. Medlock was shaking her.
You have had a sleep! she said. It s time to open your eyes! We re
at Thwaite Station and we ve got a long drive before us.
Mary stood up and tried to keep her eyes open while Mrs. Medlock
collected her parcels. The little girl did not offer to help her,
because in India native servants always picked up or carried things and
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