“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 down-stairs.  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 waiting for her to put on her gloves for her.  “Our Susan Ann is twice as sharp as thee an’ she’s only four year’ old.  Sometimes tha’ looks fair soft in th’ head.”

Mary had worn her contrary scowl for an hour after that, but it made her think several entirely new things.

She stood at the window for about ten minutes this morning after Martha had swept up the hearth for the last time and gone down-stairs.  She was thinking over the new idea which had come to her when she heard of the library.  She did not care very much about the library itself, because she had read very few books; but to hear of it brought back to her mind the hundred rooms with closed doors.  She wondered if they were all really locked and what she would find if she could get into any of them.  Were there a hundred really?  Why shouldn’t she go and see how many doors she could count?  It would be something to do on this morning when she could not go out.  She had never been taught to ask permission to do things, and she knew nothing at all about authority, so she would not have thought it necessary to ask Mrs. Medlock if she might walk about the house, even if she had seen her.