ignon, a ring in her nose, jewelled rings in
her ears, wearing a handsome blue-and-gold saree, coquettishly draped
round her ample form, the usual short silk bodice, or _choli_, and
numerous heavy bangles. She salaamed to Sophy with both hands, and
Sophy, who had never before beheld such an apparition, gazed in
admiring silence; the ayah's carriage, her gait and sheeny
protuberance, recalled to mind a prosperous pouter pigeon.

"My missis plenty sick to-day," said Lily, "never seeing people--that
no good; to-morrow, she may be arl right, but _now_ she must sleep, and
I will take the new missy to her room."

Sophy's room, which was large and, rather bare, overlooked the stables,
cook-house and servants' quarters, and here she was introduced to her
own attendant Motee, a timid creature in white, who seemed to rise, as
it were, out of the floor.

"Motee is the best lady's ayah in Rangoon," explained Lily with an
offhand air, "she understands Miss Sahibs, she will pack and unpack,
dress hair--and hold her tongue."

After giving Motee some directions, unpacking her favourite hats and
changing her dress, Sophy went forth in order to explore her new home.
The whole establishment had a squalid, neglected appearance and sadly
lacked the eye of the mistress. The compound or garden, with its
masses of gorgeous tropical trees and plants, was overgrown and jungly,
poultry wandered about at their own sweet will, and even invaded the
veranda--yet apparently there was no lack of staff. On the contrary,
from her bedroom window she had observed groups of men talking and
smoking, presumably servants, as several wore silver badges on their
turbans, and soiled white linen coats, and among these were some jovial
Burmans and one or two wide-trousered Chinamen.

No doubt Fernanda, the treasure, had kept the house in working order,
and now that she had abdicated, her sceptre lay in the dust--in every
sense of the word. Was it her, Sophy's, duty to raise it? She noticed
quantities of litter and cobwebs in the drawing-room, but there were no
flowers or knick-knacks; the silver teapot that appeared with tea at
five o'clock was nearly black. It was not a luxurious meal, a weak
Chinese mixture, and a plate of fossilised biscuits.

The morning after her arrival Sophy was awakened by a soft tremulous
touch on her hand; she opened her eyes and beheld her aunt stooping
over her. She was clad in a shabby, splendidly embroidered red kimono,