upset
me, one day, when Measles got talking at dinner about Lizzy Green, Miss
Ross's maid, and, what was a wonderful thing for him, not finding fault.
He got saying that she was a nice girl, and would make a soldier as
wanted one a good wife; when Mrs Bantem fires up as spiteful as could
be--I think, mind you, there'd been something wrong with the cooking
that day, which had turned her a little--and she says that Lizzy was
very well, but looks weren't everything, and that she was raw as raw,
and would want no end of dressing before she would be good for anything;
while, as to making a soldier's wife, soldiers had no business to have
wives till they could buy themselves off, and turn civilians. Then,
again, she seemed to have taken a sudden spite against Mrs Maine,
saying that she was a poor, little, stuck-up, fine lady, and she could
never have forgiven her if it had not been for those two beautiful
children; though what Mrs Bantem had got to forgive the colonel's wife,
I don't believe she even knew herself.

The old black ayah, too, got very much put out about this time, and all
on account of the two new-comers; for when Miss Ross hadn't got the
children with her, they were along with Lizzy, who, like her mistress,
was new to the climate, and hadn't got into that dull listless way that
comes to people who have been some time up the country. They were all
life, and fun, and energy, and the children were never happy when they
were away; and of a morning, more to please Lizzy, I used to think, than
the children, Harry Lant used to pick out a shady place, and then drive
Chunder Chow, who was the mahout of _Nabob_, the principal elephant,
half-wild, by calling out his beast, and playing with him all sorts of
antics. Chunder tried all he could to stop it, but it was of no use,
for Harry had got such influence over that animal that when one day he
was coaxing him out to lead him under some trees, and the mahout tried
to stop him, _Nabob_ makes no more ado, but lifts his great soft trunk,
and rolls Mr Chunder Chow over into the grass, where he lay screeching
like a parrot, and chattering like a monkey, rolling his opal eyeballs,
and shewing his white teeth with fear, for he expected that _Nabob_ was
going to put his foot on him, and crush him to death, as is the nature
of those great beasts. But not he: he only lays his trunk gently on
Harry's shoulder, and follows him across the open like a great
flesh-mountain, winking