She was always sure you would be good. And Mamma was sure you wouldn't
be, or that if you were it would be for some bad reason like being
sorry for Miss Thompson.
As long as Roddy was in the room Mary was sorry for Miss Thompson. And
when she was left alone with her she was frightened. The squeezing and
dragging under her waist began when Miss Thompson pushed her gentle,
mournful face close up to see what she was doing.
She was afraid of Miss Thompson because her mother was dead.
She kept on thinking about Miss Thompson's mother. Miss Thompson's
mother would be like Jenny in bed with her cap off; and she would be
like the dead field mouse that Roddy found in the lane. She would lie
on the bed with her back bent and her head hanging loose like the dear
little field mouse; and her legs would be turned up over her stomach
like his, toes and fingers clawing together. When you touched her she
would be cold and stiff, like the field mouse. They had wrapped her up
in a white sheet. Roddy said dead people were always wrapped up in
white sheets. And Mr. Chapman had put her into a coffin like the one he
was making when he gave Dank the wood for the rabbit's house.
Every time Miss Thompson came near her she saw the white sheet and
smelt the sharp, bitter smell of the coffin.
If she was naughty Miss Thompson (who seemed to have forgotten) would
remember that her mother was dead. It might happen any minute.
It never did. For Miss Thompson said you were good if you knew your
lessons; and at the same time you were not naughty if you didn't know
them. You might not know them to-day; but you would know them to-morrow
or the next day.
By midsummer Mary could read the books that Dank read. If it had not
been for Mr. Sippett and "_Mensa_: a table," she would have known as
much as Roddy.
Almost before they had time to be naughty Miss Thompson had gone. Mamma
said that Roddy was not getting on fast enough.
V