"No," answered Mary, quite indignantly.  "I never did
in my life.  My Ayah dressed me, of course."

"Well," said Martha, evidently not in the least aware
that she was impudent, "it's time tha' should learn. 
Tha' cannot begin younger.  It'll do thee good to wait
on thysen a bit.  My mother always said she couldn't
see why grand people's children didn't turn out fair
fools--what with nurses an' bein' washed an' dressed an'
took out to walk as if they was puppies!"

"It is different in India," said Mistress Mary disdainfully. 
She could scarcely stand this. 

But Martha was not at all crushed. 

"Eh! I can see it's different," she answered almost
sympathetically.  "I dare say it's because there's such
a lot o' blacks there instead o' respectable white people. 
When I heard you was comin' from India I thought you was a black too."

Mary sat up in bed furious. 

"What!" she said.  "What! You thought I was a native. 
You--you daughter of a pig!"

Martha stared and looked hot. 

"Who are you callin' names?" she said.  "You needn't be
so vexed.  That's not th' way for a young lady to talk. 
I've nothin' against th' blacks.  When you read about 'em
in tracts they're always very religious.  You always read
as a black's a man an' a brother.  I've never seen a black an'
I was fair pleased to think I was goin' to see one close. 
When I come in to light your fire this mornin' I crep'
up to your bed an' pulled th' cover back careful to look
at you.  An' there you was," disappointedly, "no more black
than me--for all you're so yeller."

Mary did not even try to control her rage and humiliation. 
"You thought I was a native! You dared! You don't know
anything about natives! They are not people--they're servants
who must salaam to you.  You know nothing about India. 
You know nothing about anything!"

She was in such a rage and felt so helpless before the girl's
simple stare, and somehow she suddenly felt so horribly
lonely and far away from everything she understood
and which understood her, that she threw herself face
downward on the pillows and burst into passionate sobbing. 
She sobbed so unrestrainedly that good-natured Yorkshire
Martha was a little frightened and quite sorry for her. 
She went to the bed and bent over her. 

"Eh! you mustn't cry like that there!" she begged. 
"You mustn't for sure.  I didn't know you'd be vexed. 
I don't know anythin' about anythin'--just like you said. 
I beg your pardon, Miss. Do stop cryin'."

There was something comforting and really friendly in her
queer Yorkshire speech and sturdy way which had a good effect
on Mary.  She gradually ceased crying and became quiet. 
Martha looked relieved. 

"It's time for thee to get up now," she said. 
"Mrs. Medlock said I was to carry tha' breakfast an'
tea an' dinner into th' room next to this.  It's been
made into a nursery for thee.  I'll help thee on with thy
clothes if tha'll get out o' bed.  If th' buttons are at th'
back tha' cannot button them up tha'self."

When Mary at last decided to get up, the clothes Martha
took from the wardrobe were not the ones she had worn
when she arrived the night before with Mrs. Medlock. 

"Those are not mine," she said.  "Mine are black."

She looked the thick white wool coat and dress over,
and added with cool approval:

"Those are nicer than mine."

"These are th' ones tha' must put on," Martha answered. 
"Mr. Craven ordered Mrs. Medlock to get 'em in London. 
He said `I won't have a child dressed in black wanderin'
about like a lost soul,' he said.  `It'd make the place
sadder than it is.  Put color on her.' Mother she said she
knew what he meant.  Mother always knows what a body means. 
She doesn't hold with black hersel'."

"I hate black things," said Mary. 

The dressing process was one which taught them both something. 
Martha had "buttoned up" her little sisters and brothers but she
had never seen a child who stood still and waited for another
person to do things for her as if she had neither hands nor feet of her own. 

"Why doesn't tha' put on tha' own shoes?" she said
when Mary quietly held out her foot.