THERE IS NO ONE LEFT

When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her unclerneverybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. Itrnwas true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thinrnlight hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face wasrnyellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in onernway or another. Her father had held a position under the EnglishrnGovernment and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother hadrnbeen a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herselfrnwith gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Maryrnwas born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made tornunderstand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep thernchild out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly,rnfretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when shernbecame a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the wayrnalso. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark facesrnof her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always obeyed herrnand gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would bernangry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six yearsrnold she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. Thernyoung English governess who came to teach her to read and write dislikedrnher so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when otherrngovernesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorterrntime than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want tornknow how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all.rnrnOne frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, shernawakened feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she sawrnthat the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah.rnrn"Why did you come?" she said to the strange woman. "I will not let yournstay. Send my Ayah to me."rnrnThe woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah couldrnnot come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat and kickedrnher, she looked only more frightened and repeated that it was notrnpossible for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib.rnrnThere was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was donernin its regular order and several of the native servants seemed missing,rnwhile those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scaredrnfaces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. Shernwas actually left alone as the morning went on, and at last she wanderedrnout into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near thernveranda. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuckrnbig scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth, all the timerngrowing more and more angry and muttering to herself the things shernwould say and the names she would call Saidie when she returned.rnrn"Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!" she said, because to call a native a pigrnis the worst insult of all.rnrnShe was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when shernheard her mother come out on the veranda with some one. She was with arnfair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices.rnMary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy. She had heard thatrnhe was a very young officer who had just come from England. The childrnstared at him, but she stared most at her mother. She always did thisrnwhen she had a chance to see her, because the Mem Sahib--Mary used torncall her that oftener than anything else--was such a tall, slim, prettyrnperson and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk andrnshe had a delicate little nose which seemed to be disdaining things, andrnshe had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin and floating, andrnMary said they were "full of lace." They looked fuller of lace than everrnthis morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all. They were large andrnscared and lifted imploringly to the fair boy officer's face.rnrn"Is it so very bad? Oh, is it?" Mary heard her say.rnrn"Awfully," the young man answered in a trembling voice. "Awfully, Mrs.rnLennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago."rnrnThe Mem Sahib wrung her hands.rnrn"Oh, I know I ought!" she cried. "I only stayed to go to that sillyrndinner party. What a fool I was!"rnrnAt that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from thernservants' quarters that she clutched the young man's arm, and Mary stoodrnshivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder.rnrn"What is it? What is it?" Mrs. Lennox gasped.rnrn"Some one has died," answered the boy officer. "You did not say it hadrnbroken out among your servants."rnrn"I did not know!" the Mem Sahib cried. "Come with me! Come with me!" andrnshe turned and ran into the house.rnrnAfter that appalling things happened, and the mysteriousness of thernmorning was explained to Mary. The cholera had broken out in its mostrnfatal form and people were dying like flies. The Ayah had been taken illrnin the night, and it was because she had just died that the servants hadrnwailed in the huts. Before the next day three other servants were deadrnand others had run away in terror. There was panic on every side, andrndying people in all the bungalows.rnrnDuring the confusion and bewilderment of the second day Mary hid herselfrnin the nursery and was forgotten by every one. Nobody thought of her,rnnobody wanted her, and strange things happened of which she knewrnnothing. Mary alternately cried and slept through the hours. She onlyrnknew that people were ill and that she heard mysterious and frighteningrnsounds. Once she crept into the dining-room and found it empty, though arnpartly finished meal was on the table and chairs and plates looked asrnif they had been hastily pushed back when the diners rose suddenly forrnsome reason. The child ate some fruit and biscuits, and being thirstyrnshe drank a glass of wine which stood nearly filled. It was sweet, andrnshe did not know how strong it was. Very soon it made her intenselyrndrowsy, and she went back to her nursery and shut herself in again,rnfrightened by cries she heard in the huts and by the hurrying sound ofrnfeet. The wine made her so sleepy that she could scarcely keep her eyesrnopen and she lay down on her bed and knew nothing more for a long time.rnrnMany things happened during the hours in which she slept so heavily, butrnshe was not disturbed by the wails and the sound of things being carriedrnin and out of the bungalow.rnrnWhen she awakened she lay and stared at the wall. The house wasrnperfectly still. She had never known it to be so silent before. Shernheard neither voices nor footsteps, and wondered if everybody had gotrnwell of the cholera and all the trouble was over. She wondered also whornwould take care of her now her Ayah was dead. There would be a new Ayah,rnand perhaps she would know some new stories. Mary had been rather tiredrnof the old ones. She did not cry because her nurse had died. She was notrnan affectionate child and had never cared much for any one. The noisernand hurrying about and wailing over the cholera had frightened her, andrnshe had been angry because no one seemed to remember that she was alive.rnEvery one was too panic-stricken to think of a little girl no one wasrnfond of. When people had the cholera it seemed that they rememberedrnnothing but themselves. But if every one had got well again, surely somernone would remember and come to look for her.rnrnBut no one came, and as she lay waiting the house seemed to grow morernand more silent. She heard something rustling on the matting and whenrnshe looked down she saw a little snake gliding along and watching herrnwith eyes like jewels. She was not frightened, because he was a harmlessrnlittle thing who would not hurt her and he seemed in a hurry to get outrnof the room. He slipped under the door as she watched him.rnrn"How queer and quiet it is," she said. "It sounds as if there was no onernin the bungalow but me and the snake."rnrnAlmost the next minute she heard footsteps in the compound, and then onrnthe veranda. They were men's footsteps, and the men entered the bungalowrnand talked in low voices. No one went to meet or speak to them and theyrnseemed to open doors and look into rooms.rnrn"What desolation!" she heard one voice say. "That pretty, pretty woman!rnI suppose the child, too. I heard there was a child, though no one everrnsaw her."rnrnMary was standing in the middle of the nursery when they opened the doorrna few minutes later. She looked an ugly, cross little thing and wasrnfrowning because she was beginning to be hungry and feel disgracefullyrnneglected. The first man who came in was a large officer she had oncernseen talking to her father. He looked tired and troubled, but when hernsaw her he was so startled that he almost jumped back.rnrn"Barney!" he cried out. "There is a child here! A child alone! In arnplace like this! Mercy on us, who is she!"rnrn"I am Mary Lennox," the little girl said, drawing herself up stiffly.rnShe thought the man was very rude to call her father's bungalow "A placernlike this!" "I fell asleep when every one had the cholera and I havernonly just wakened up. Why does nobody come?"rnrn"It is the child no one ever saw!" exclaimed the man, turning to hisrncompanions. "She has actually been forgotten!"rnrn"Why was I forgotten?" Mary said, stamping her foot. "Why does nobodyrncome?"rnrnThe young man whose name was Barney looked at her very sadly. Mary evenrnthought she saw him wink his eyes as if to wink tears away.rnrn"Poor little kid!" he said. "There is nobody left to come."rnrnIt was in that strange and sudden way that Mary found out that she hadrnneither father nor mother left; that they had died and been carried awayrnin the night, and that the few native servants who had not died also hadrnleft the house as quickly as they could get out of it, none of them evenrnremembering that there was a Missie Sahib. That was why the place was sornquiet. It was true that there was no one in the bungalow but herself andrnthe little rustling snake.