Mary Olivier: a Life. Sinclair May

like it," said Aunt Bella. "He wanted to give it her himself. It's his present."

      Mamma took her hand and they followed Aunt Bella through the servants'

       hall into the kitchen. The servants were all there, Rose and Annie and

       Cook, and Mrs. Fisher, the housekeeper, and Giles, the young footman.

       They all stared at her in a queer, kind way as she came in.

      A low screen was drawn close round one corner of the fireplace; Uncle Edward and Pidgeon, the bailiff, were doing something to it with a yellow horse-cloth.

      Uncle Edward came to her, looking down the side of his big nose. He led her to the screen and drew it away.

      Something lay on the floor wrapped in a piece of dirty blanket. When

       Uncle Edward pushed back the blanket a bad smell came out. He said,

       "Here's your lamb, Mary. You're just in time."

      She saw a brownish grey animal with a queer, hammer-shaped head and long black legs. Its body was drawn out and knotted like an enormous maggot. It lay twisted to one side and its eyes were shut.

      "That isn't my lamb."

      "It's the lamb I always said Miss Mary was to have, isn't it, Pidgeon?"

      "Yes, Squoire, it's the lamb you bid me set asoide for little Missy."

      "Then," said Mary, "why does it look like that?"

      "It's very ill," Mamma said gently. "Poor Uncle Edward thought you'd like to see it before it died. You are glad you've seen it, aren't you?"

      "No."

      Just then the lamb stirred in its blanket; it opened its eyes and looked at her.

      She thought: "It's my lamb. It looked at me. It's my lamb and it's dying. My lamb's dying."

      The bad smell came again out of the blanket. She tried not to think of it. She wanted to sit down on the floor beside the lamb and lift it out of its blanket and nurse it; but Mamma wouldn't let her.

      When she got home Mamma took down the toy lamb from the chest of drawers and brought it to her.

      She sat quiet a long time holding it in her lap and stroking it.

      The stiff eyes of the toy lamb stared away over its ears.

III

       Table of Contents

      I.

      Jenny was cross and tugged at your hair when she dressed you to go to

       Chadwell Grange.

      "Jenny-Wee, Mamma says if I'm not good Aunt Bella will be ill. Do you think it's really true?"

      Jenny tugged. "I'd thank you for some of your Aunt Bella's illness," she said.

      "I mean," Mary said, "like Papa was in the night. Every time I get 'cited and jump about I think she'll open her mouth and begin."

      "Well, if she was to you'd oughter be sorry for her."

      "I am sorry for her. But I'm frightened too."

      "That's not being good," said Jenny. But she left off tugging.

      Somehow you knew she was pleased to think you were not really good at Aunt Bella's, where Mrs. Fisher dressed and undressed you and you were allowed to talk to Pidgeon.

      Roddy and Dank said you ought to hate Uncle Edward and Pidgeon and Mrs. Fisher, and not to like Aunt Bella very much, even if she was Mamma's sister. Mamma didn't really like Uncle Edward; she only pretended because of Aunt Bella.

      Uncle Edward had an ugly nose and a yellow face widened by his black whiskers; his mouth stretched from one whisker to the other, and his black hair curled in large tufts above his ears. But he had no beard; you could see the whole of his mouth at once; and when Aunt Bella came into the room his little blue eyes looked up off the side of his nose and he smiled at her between his tufts of hair. It was dreadful to think that Mark and Dank and Roddy didn't like him. It might hurt him so much that he would never be happy again.

      About Pidgeon she was not quite sure. Pidgeon was very ugly. He had long stiff legs, and a long stiff face finished off with a fringe of red whiskers that went on under his chin. Still, it was not nice to think of Pidgeon being unhappy either. But Mrs. Fisher was large and rather like Aunt Bella, only softer and more bulging. Her round face had a high red polish on it always, and when she saw you coming her eyes twinkled, and her red forehead and her big cheeks and her mouth smiled all together a fat, simmering smile. When you got to the black and white marble tiles you saw her waiting for you at the foot of the stairs.

      She wanted to ask Mrs. Fisher if it was true that Aunt Bella would be ill if she were naughty; but a squeezing and dragging came under her waist whenever she thought about it, and that made her shy and ashamed. It went when they left her to play by herself on the lawn in front of the house.

      Aunt Bella's house was enormous. Two long rows of windows stared out at you, their dark green storm shutters folded back on the yellow brick walls. A third row of little squeezed-up windows and little squeezed-up shutters blinked in the narrow space under the roof. All summer a sweet smell came from that side of the house where cream-coloured roses hung on the yellow walls between the green shutters. There was a cedar tree on the lawn and a sun-dial and a stone fountain. Goldfish swam in the clear greenish water. The flowers in the round beds were stiff and shining, as if they had been cut out of tin and freshly painted. When you thought of Aunt Bella's garden you saw calceolarias, brown velvet purses with yellow spots.

      She could always get away from Aunt Bella by going down the dark walk between the yew hedge and the window of Mrs. Fisher's room, and through the stable-yard into the plantation. The cocks and hens had their black timber house there in the clearing, and Ponto, the Newfoundland, lived all by himself in his kennel under the little ragged fir trees.

      When Ponto saw her coming he danced on his hind legs and strained at his chain and called to her with his loud, barking howl. He played with her, crawling on his stomach, crouching, raising first one big paw and then the other. She put out her foot, and he caught it and held it between his big paws, and looked at it with his head on one side, smiling. She squealed with delight, and Ponto barked again.

      The stable bell would ring while they played in the plantation, and Uncle Edward or Pidgeon or Mrs. Fisher would come out and find her and take her back into the house. Ponto lifted up his head and howled after her as she went.

      At lunch Mary sat quivering between Mamma and Aunt Bella. The squeezing and dragging under her waist had begun again. There was a pattern of green ivy round the dinner plates and a pattern of goats round the silver napkin rings. She tried to fix her mind on the ivy and the goats instead of looking at Aunt Bella to see whether she were going to be ill. She would be if you left mud in the hall on the black and white marble tiles. Or if you took Ponto off the chain and let him get into the house. Or if you spilled the gravy.

      Aunt Bella's face was much pinker and richer and more important than

       Mamma's face. She thought she wouldn't have minded quite so much if

       Aunt Bella had been white and brown and pretty, like Mamma.

      There—she had spilled the gravy.

      Little knots came in Aunt Bella's pink forehead. Her face loosened and swelled with a red flush; her mouth pouted and drew itself in again, pulled out of shape by something that darted up the side of her nose and made her blink.

      She thought: "I know—I know—I know it's going to happen."

      It didn't. Aunt Bella only said, "You should look at your plate and spoon, dear."

      After lunch, when they were resting, you