The Complete Works of Frances Hodgson Burnett. Frances Hodgson Burnett

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СКАЧАТЬ hair’s rough,” she said quickly. “Go and brush it. Martha, help her to slip on her best dress. Mr. Craven sent me to bring her to him in his study.”

      All the pink left Mary’s cheeks. Her heart began to thump and she felt herself changing into a stiff, plain, silent child again. She did not even answer Mrs. Medlock, but turned and walked into her bedroom, followed by Martha. She said nothing while her dress was changed, and her hair brushed, and after she was quite tidy she followed Mrs. Medlock down the corridors, in silence. What was there for her to say? She was obliged to go and see Mr. Craven and he would not like her, and she would not like him. She knew what he would think of her.

      She was taken to a part of the house she had not been into before. At last Mrs. Medlock knocked at a door, and when some one said, “Come in,” they entered the room together. A man was sitting in an armchair before the fire, and Mrs. Medlock spoke to him.

      “This is Miss Mary, sir,” she said.

      “You can go and leave her here. I will ring for you when I want you to take her away,” said Mr. Craven.

      When she went out and closed the door, Mary could only stand waiting, a plain little thing, twisting her thin hands together. She could see that the man in the chair was not so much a hunchback as a man with high, rather crooked shoulders, and he had black hair streaked with white. He turned his head over his high shoulders and spoke to her.

      “Come here!” he said.

      Mary went to him.

      He was not ugly. His face would have been handsome if it had not been so miserable. He looked as if the sight of her worried and fretted him and as if he did not know what in the world to do with her.

      “Are you well?” he asked.

      “Yes,” answered Mary.

      “Do they take good care of you?”

      “Yes.”

      He rubbed his forehead fretfully as he looked her over.

      “You are very thin,” he said.

      “I am getting fatter,” Mary answered in what she knew was her stiffest way.

      What an unhappy face he had! His black eyes seemed as if they scarcely saw her, as if they were seeing something else, and he could hardly keep his thoughts upon her.

      “I forgot you,” he said. “How could I remember you? I intended to send you a governess or a nurse, or some one of that sort, but I forgot.”

      “Please,” began Mary. “Please—” and then the lump in her throat choked her.

      “What do you want to say?” he inquired.

      “I am—I am too big for a nurse,” said Mary. “And please—please don’t make me have a governess yet.”

      He rubbed his forehead again and stared at her.

      “That was what the Sowerby woman said,” he muttered absentmindedly.

      Then Mary gathered a scrap of courage.

      “Is she—is she Martha’s mother?” she stammered.

      “Yes, I think so,” he replied.

      “She knows about children,” said Mary. “She has twelve. She knows.”

      He seemed to rouse himself.

      “What do you want to do?”

      “I want to play out of doors,” Mary answered, hoping that her voice did not tremble. “I never liked it in India. It makes me hungry here, and I am getting fatter.”

      He was watching her.

      “Mrs. Sowerby said it would do you good. Perhaps it will,” he said. “She thought you had better get stronger before you had a governess.”

      “It makes me feel strong when I play and the wind comes over the moor,” argued Mary.

      “Where do you play?” he asked next.

      “Everywhere,” gasped Mary. “Martha’s mother sent me a skipping-rope. I skip and run—and I look about to see if things are beginning to stick up out of the earth. I don’t do any harm.”

      “Don’t look so frightened,” he said in a worried voice. “You could not do any harm, a child like you! You may do what you like.”

      Mary put her hand up to her throat because she was afraid he might see the excited lump which she felt jump into it. She came a step nearer to him.

      “May I?” she said tremulously.

      Her anxious little face seemed to worry him more than ever.

      “Don’t look so frightened,” he exclaimed. “Of course you may. I am your guardian, though I am a poor one for any child. I cannot give you time or attention. I am too ill, and wretched and distracted; but I wish you to be happy and comfortable. I don’t know anything about children, but Mrs. Medlock is to see that you have all you need. I sent for you to-day because Mrs. Sowerby said I ought to see you. Her daughter had talked about you. She thought you needed fresh air and freedom and running about.”

      “She knows all about children,” Mary said again in spite of herself.

      “She ought to,” said Mr. Craven. “I thought her rather bold to stop me on the moor, but she said—Mrs. Craven had been kind to her.” It seemed hard for him to speak his dead wife’s name. “She is a respectable woman. Now I have seen you I think she said sensible things. Play out of doors as much as you like. It’s a big place and you may go where you like and amuse yourself as you like. Is there anything you want?” as if a sudden thought had struck him. “Do you want toys, books, dolls?”

      “Might I,” quavered Mary, “might I have a bit of earth?”

      In her eagerness she did not realize how queer the words would sound and that they were not the ones she had meant to say. Mr. Craven looked quite startled.

      “Earth!” he repeated. “What do you mean?”

      “To plant seeds in—to make things grow—to see them come alive,” Mary faltered.

      He gazed at her a moment and then passed his hand quickly over his eyes.

      “Do you—care about gardens so much,” he said slowly.

      “I didn’t know about them in India,” said Mary. “I was always ill and tired and it was too hot. I sometimes made little beds in the sand and stuck flowers in them. But here it is different.”

      Mr. Craven got up and began to walk slowly across the room.

      “A bit of earth,” he said to himself, and Mary thought that somehow she must have reminded him of something. When he stopped and spoke to her his dark eyes looked almost soft and kind.

      “You can have as much earth as you want,” he said. “You remind СКАЧАТЬ