The Secret Garden | Page 9

live--and
you must keep to them. Don't you forget that!"
It was in this way Mistress Mary arrived at Misselthwaite Manor and
she had perhaps never felt quite so contrary in all her life.
CHAPTER IV
MARTHA
When she opened her eyes in the morning it was because a young
housemaid had come into her room to light the fire and was kneeling
on the hearth-rug raking out the cinders noisily. Mary lay and watched
her for a few moments and then began to look about the room. She had
never seen a room at all like it and thought it curious and gloomy. The
walls were covered with tapestry with a forest scene embroidered on it.
There were fantastically dressed people under the trees and in the
distance there was a glimpse of the turrets of a castle. There were
hunters and horses and dogs and ladies. Mary felt as if she were in the
forest with them. Out of a deep window she could see a great climbing
stretch of land which seemed to have no trees on it, and to look rather
like an endless, dull, purplish sea.
"What is that?" she said, pointing out of the window.
Martha, the young housemaid, who had just risen to her feet, looked
and pointed also.
"That there?" she said
"Yes."

"That's th' moor," with a good-natured grin. "Does tha' like it?"
"No," answered Mary. "I hate it."
"That's because tha'rt not used to it," Martha said, going back to her
hearth. "Tha' thinks it's too big an' bare now. But tha' will like it."
"Do you?" inquired Mary.
"Aye, that I do," answered Martha, cheerfully polishing away at the
grate. "I just love it. It's none bare. It's covered wi' growin' things as
smells sweet. It's fair lovely in spring an' summer when th' gorse an'
broom an' heather's in flower. It smells o' honey an' there's such a lot o'
fresh air--an' th' sky looks so high an' th' bees an' skylarks makes such a
nice noise hummin' an' singin'. Eh! I wouldn't live away from th' moor
for anythin'."
Mary listened to her with a grave, puzzled expression. The native
servants she had been used to in India were not in the least like this.
They were obsequious and servile and did not presume to talk to their
masters as if they were their equals. They made salaams and called
them "protector of the poor" and names of that sort. Indian servants
were commanded to do things, not asked. It was not the custom to say
"please" and "thank you" and Mary had always slapped her Ayah in the
face when she was angry. She wondered a little what this girl would do
if one slapped her in the face. She was a round, rosy, good-natured
looking creature, but she had a sturdy way which made Mistress Mary
wonder if she might not even slap back--if the person who slapped her
was only a little girl.
"You are a strange servant," she said from her pillows, rather haughtily.
Martha sat up on her heels, with her blacking-brush in her hand, and
laughed, without seeming the least out of temper.
"Eh! I know that," she said. "If there was a grand Missus at
Misselthwaite I should never have been even one of th' under
housemaids. I might have been let to be scullery-maid but I'd never

have been let up-stairs. I'm too common an' I talk too much Yorkshire.
But this is a funny house for all it's so grand. Seems like there's neither
Master nor Mistress except Mr. Pitcher an' Mrs. Medlock. Mr. Craven,
he won't be troubled about anythin' when he's here, an' he's nearly
always away. Mrs. Medlock gave me th' place out o' kindness. She told
me she could never have done it if Misselthwaite had been like other
big houses."
"Are you going to be my servant?" Mary asked, still in her imperious
little Indian way.
Martha began to rub her grate again.
"I'm Mrs. Medlock's servant," she said stoutly. "An' she's Mr.
Craven's--but I'm to do the housemaid's work up here an' wait on you a
bit. But you won't need much waitin' on."
"Who is going to dress me?" demanded Mary.
Martha sat up on her heels again and stared. She spoke in broad
Yorkshire in her amazement.
"Canna' tha' dress thysen!" she said.
"What do you mean? I don't understand your language," said Mary.
"Eh! I forgot," Martha said. "Mrs. Medlock told me I'd have to be
careful or you wouldn't know what I was sayin'. I mean can't you put on
your own clothes?"
"No," answered Mary, quite indignantly. "I never did in my life. My
Ayah dressed me, of course."
"Well," said Martha, evidently not in the least aware that