Craven’s-but I’m to do the housemaid’s work up here an’ wait on you a bit. “Are you going to be my servant?” Mary asked, still in her imperious little Indian way. She told me she could never have done it if Misselthwaite had been like other big houses.” Medlock gave me th’ place out o’ kindness. Craven, he won’t be troubled about anythin’ when he’s here, an’ he’s nearly always away. Seems like there’s neither Master nor Mistress except Mr. But this is a funny house for all it’s so grand. I’m too common an’ I talk too much Yorkshire. I might have been let to be scullerymaid but I’d never have been let upstairs. “If there was a grand Missus at Misselthwaite I should never have been even one of th’ under house-maids. Martha sat up on her heels, with her blacking-brush in her hand, and laughed, without seeming the least out of temper. “You are a strange servant,” she said from her pillows, rather haughtily. 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. She wondered a little what this girl would do if one slapped her in the face. 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. Indian servants were commanded to do things, not asked. They made salaams and called them “protector of the poor” and names of that sort. They were obsequious and servile and did not presume to talk to their masters as if they were their equals. The native servants she had been used to in India were not in the least like this. Mary listened to her with a grave, puzzled expression. Eh! I wouldn’t live away from th’ moor for anythin’.” 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’. It’s fair lovely in spring an’ summer when th’ gorse an’ broom an’ heather’s in flower. It’s covered wi’ growin’ things as smells sweet. “Aye, that I do,” answered Martha, cheerfully polishing away at the grate. “That’s because tha’rt not used to it,” Martha said, going back to her hearth. “That’s th’ moor,” with a good-natured grin. Martha, the young housemaid, who had just risen to her feet, looked and pointed also. “What is that?” she said, pointing out of the window. 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. Mary felt as if she were in the forest with them. There were hunters and horses and dogs and ladies. There were fantastically dressed people under the trees and in the distance there was a glimpse of the turrets of a castle. The walls were covered with tapestry with a forest scene embroidered on it. She had never seen a room at all like it and thought it curious and gloomy. Mary lay and watched her for a few moments and then began to look about the room. 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. You should visit Browse Happy and update your internet browser today! The embedded audio player requires a modern internet browser.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |