Chapter 6 Chapter 6 Crying Once

The next day it rained heavily again, and when Mary looked out the window, she saw the moors almost hidden in the gray mist.No one is going out tonight. "What are you doing in the farmhouse when it's raining like this?" she asked Martha. "Mainly trying not to step on each other," Martha answered. "Ah! We did seem to be too many people at that time. Mother was a good-natured woman, but she was also worried. The oldest child went out to the cowshed. Play. Dickon was not too wet. He went out as if the sun was good. He said he could see things in the rain that he couldn't see in the sun. Once he found a little fox cub, half-submerged in a hole, and he Warmed it in a chest coat and brought it back. Its mother was killed nearby and the whole hole was flooded and all the other cubs died. Now he has it at home. Another time he found a drowning heifer and brought it home and tamed it too. He named it Sooty because it was so dark. It hopped and hopped around him all day."

Gradually, Mary had forgotten to hate Martha's clichés.She even began to find Martha's small talk amusing, and it was a pity when Martha stopped and walked away.When she was in India, the nurse's stories were very different from those of Martha, who told stories about small cottages in the wilderness, where many people lived in a few small rooms and there was never enough to eat.The children were stumbling around, rough, good-natured, and enjoying themselves like collie puppies.Mary and Dickon were most attracted to these people.Martha always sounded so comfortable talking about what "Mother" had said and done.

"If I had a crow, or a little fox, I could play with it," said Mary, "but I have nothing." Martha looked confused. "Can you knit?" she asked. "No." Mary replied. "Can you sew?" "Won't." "Can you read?" "meeting." "Then why don't you read, or learn to spell? You're old enough to read well." "I have no books," said Mary. "My old books are left in India." "It's a pity," said Martha, "if Mrs. Medlock will let you in the study, there are thousands of books in there."

Mary did not ask where the study was, for a new idea had suddenly struck her.She decided to find the study by herself.Mrs. Medlock gave her no trouble.Mrs. Medlock always seemed to be in her comfortable sitting-room, which was reserved for the housekeeper, downstairs.This quirky place is often deserted.In fact, there is no one but servants.The servants lived in luxury downstairs while their master was away.Downstairs there was an enormous kitchen, with polished brass and pewter vessels hung here and there.There was also a large servants' hall, where four or five good meals were eaten every day.When Mrs. Medlock was not in the way, there was often good-natured banter.

Mary's food was served regularly, and Martha waited on her, but no one cared a little for her.Mrs. Medlock came to see her every day or two, but no one asked her what she had done, or told her what she was going to do.She guessed that this way of treating children might be British.In India, the nanny always waits on her hand and foot, follows her anytime and anywhere, and waits for her orders.She is often annoyed by the nanny.No one followed her now, and she was learning to dress herself, because when she wanted Martha to pass her things and dress herself, Martha looked at her like a fool.Once, Martha stood waiting for her to put gloves on herself. "Are you not good at your hands and feet?" Yes."

Mary's scowl hung for an hour afterwards, but it got her thinking about several new things. Martha swept the heather blanket one last time and went downstairs, while Mary stood at the window for ten minutes.She was thinking about the new idea that came to her when she heard about the study.She didn't care much about the study itself, since she had only read a few books, but hearing about the study reminded her of a hundred locked rooms.She wondered if they were really all locked, if she could go into any one, what would she find?Are there really a hundred?Why doesn't she count the number herself?She couldn't go out this morning, so there was something to do.She hadn't been taught to get permission to do things, she had no concept of "permission" at all, so she didn't feel the need to ask Mrs. Medlock if she could walk around the house, even though she saw her.

She opened the door of her room and went out into the hallway, and began her wandering.It was a long corridor, branching into other corridors, and one branch leading her up a short flight of stairs, one of which followed another.Door after door, there are pictures on the wall.Sometimes they were dark and mysterious landscapes, but mostly they were portraits of men and women, dressed in grotesque ornate costumes of satin and velvet.Before she knew it she came to a long gallery covered with such portraits.She never imagined that there were so many portraits in this house.She walked slowly down, staring at the faces that seemed to be staring at her too.She thought they were wondering what this little girl from India was doing in their house.Some of the portraits were of children—little girls in thick satin skirts that fell loose to their feet and stood around them.Boys with puffed sleeves, lace collars, long hair, or ruffs around their necks like big wheels.She was always stopping to look at the children, wondering what their names were, where they had gone, and why they were wearing such strange clothes.There was a little girl, with a tense, monotonous face, quite like herself.She was wearing a green dress with lamé embroidered flowers on the brocade, and she held a parrot on her finger.Her eyes were keen and curious.

"Where do you live now?" Mary called out to her. "I wish you were here." No other little girl had such a strange morning.The huge house sprawled all over the place, and there seemed to be no one in it, except for the little she alone, walking up and down, through narrow passages and wide passages.The aisles never seemed to be walked by anyone but her.Since so many rooms have been repaired, someone must have lived in them, but seeing that they were all empty, she couldn't believe it was true. It wasn't until she climbed up to the third floor that she thought of turning the doorknob.All the doors were shut, as Mrs. Medlock had said, but when at last she put her hand on a handle and turned it, and the handle turned effortlessly, she pushed the door, and it opened slowly and heavily by itself, She was momentarily frightened.The door was large and thick, leading to a large bedroom.There were embroidered hangings on the walls, and the room was surrounded by mosaic furniture like she had seen in India.A wide window of stained leaded glass looked out on the moor below; on the mantelpiece was another portrait of the tense, drab little girl staring at her with more curiosity than before.

"Maybe she slept here," thought Mary. "She stared at me to make me feel uncomfortable." Then she opened more and more doors.She saw so many rooms and began to feel a little tired, thinking that there must be a hundred of them here, though she hadn't counted them.All the rooms had old paintings, or old tapestries, with strange scenes woven on them.Almost all rooms have exquisite furniture and exquisite decoration. There was a room, which looked like a lady's sitting-room, all hung in embroidered velvet, and in a closet were about a hundred little ivory elephants.They come in different sizes, some with elephant drivers or sedan chairs on their backs.Some are much larger and some are as small as baby elephants.Mary had seen ivory carvings in India and knew all about them.She opened the closet door, stood on a step stool, and played for a long time.When she was tired, put the elephants in order and close the closet door.

She hadn't seen anything alive as she wandered through the long corridors and empty rooms, but in this room she did.She had just closed the closet door when she heard a faint rustling, jumped up and looked around at the sofa near the fire, where the sound seemed to be coming from.There was a pillow in one corner of the sofa, and a hole in the velvet fabric from which a tiny head poked out, with frightened eyes. Mary felt softly across the room to look.The bright eyes belonged to a little squirrel, who had already gnawed a hole in the pillow and made a comfortable nest.Six little mice curled up and slept next to her.If there is not a living person in these one hundred rooms, then there are seven mice here, and they are not alone.

"I would have taken you back if you hadn't been so frightened," said Mary. She had wandered long enough, and was too tired to wander any longer, so she turned back.Two or three times she got lost in the wrong corridor and was forced to scramble up and down until she found the right one, but at last she came to her own floor, which she didn't know where she was, even though it was some distance from her own room. exact location. "I believe I've turned the wrong turn again," she thought, standing motionless at the end of a short aisle with tapestries on the wall, "I don't know where to go. How quiet it all is!" Just the moment she stood there, just thinking about how quiet it was, the quiet was broken.It was crying, but not quite like what she had heard last night; it was just a short, restless, childish whine muffled as it passed through the wall. "Closer than last time," thought Mary, her heart racing. "It's crying." She happened to put her hand on the tapestry beside her, and it snapped open, to her great surprise.Behind the tapestry was a door, which swung back and opened, revealing another part of the corridor.From there Mrs. Medlock was coming, with her large bunch of keys in her hand, and a very displeased expression on her face. "What are you doing here?" she said, taking Mary's arm and walking away. "What did I tell you?" "I took a wrong turn," Mary explained, "I didn't know where to go, and then I heard someone crying." One moment she hated Mrs. Medlock, but she hated it even more in the next moment. "You didn't hear that sound at all," said the butler. "You go back to your own nursery, or I'll slap you." She grabbed her arm, half pushed, half pulled, up and down the many corridors, and finally pushed her into her room. "Now," she said, "you stay where you are told, or you will be locked up. The masters had better keep their word and get you a governess. You are a boy to be watched over. I There are enough things." She slammed the door on her way out.Mary went and sat down on the heather rug, white with rage.Instead of crying, she gritted her teeth. "Someone's crying—someone—someone!" she said to herself. Now that she's heard it twice, sooner or later she'll figure it out.She had figured out a lot this morning.She felt as if on a long journey, at least she always had something to entertain herself.She used to play with ivory elephants, and she used to see gray mice and her babies nestled in velvet pillows.