“She is the one who is asleep in the other room.
The nurse went away yesterday to stay all night with
her sister and she always makes Martha attend to me
when she wants to go out. Martha shall tell you
when to come here.”
Then Mary understood Martha’s troubled look
when she had asked questions about the crying.
“Martha knew about you all the time?”
she said.
“Yes; she often attends to me. The nurse
likes to get away from me and then Martha comes.”
“I have been here a long time,” said Mary.
“Shall I go away now? Your eyes look sleepy.”
“I wish I could go to sleep before you leave
me,” he said rather shyly.
“Shut your eyes,” said Mary, drawing her
footstool closer, “and I will do what my Ayah
used to do in India. I will pat your hand and
stroke it and sing something quite low.”
“I should like that perhaps,” he said
drowsily.
Somehow she was sorry for him and did not want him
to lie awake, so she leaned against the bed and began
to stroke and pat his hand and sing a very low little
chanting song in Hindustani.
“That is nice,” he said more drowsily
still, and she went on chanting and stroking, but
when she looked at him again his black lashes were
lying close against his cheeks, for his eyes were shut
and he was fast asleep. So she got up softly,
took her candle and crept away without making a sound.
A YOUNG RAJAH
The moor was hidden in mist when the morning came
and the rain had not stopped pouring down. There
could be no going out of doors. Martha was so
busy that Mary had no opportunity of talking to her,
but in the afternoon she asked her to come and sit
with her in the nursery. She came bringing the
stocking she was always knitting when she was doing
nothing else.
“What’s the matter with thee?” she
asked as soon as they sat down. “Tha’
looks as if tha’d somethin’ to say.”
“I have. I have found out what the crying
was,” said Mary.
Martha let her knitting drop on her knee and gazed
at her with startled eyes.
“Tha’ hasn’t!” she exclaimed.
“Never!”
“I heard it in the night,” Mary went on.
“And I got up and went to see where it came
from. It was Colin. I found him.”
Martha’s face became red with fright.
“Eh! Miss Mary!” she said half crying.
“Tha’ shouldn’t have done it—tha’
shouldn’t! Tha’ll get me in trouble.
I never told thee nothin’ about him—but
tha’ll get me in trouble. I shall lose my
place and what’ll mother do!”
“You won’t lose your place,” said
Mary. “He was glad I came. We talked
and talked and he said he was glad I came.”
“Was he?” cried Martha. “Art
tha’ sure? Tha’ doesn’t know
what he’s like when anything vexes him.
He’s a big lad to cry like a baby, but when
he’s in a passion he’ll fair scream just
to frighten us. He knows us daren’t call
our souls our own.”
