A woman-child is an odd thing. I remember being taken into a shop to
choose a doll, and I chose a most hideous thing with curly white hair.
No one could understand why, and I was too shy to tell. It was because
the doll was so ugly; I felt sure no one would buy her, and I couldn't
bear to think of her loneliness. The boys christened her "Mrs.
Smilie," after a lady of that name whom they thought she resembled,
and the poor thing came to a tragic end. They were playing at the
execution of Mary Queen of Scots, in the shrubbery, seized on "Mrs.
Smilie" to play the title rôle, and with brutal realism chopped off
her poor ugly head. I arrived just in time to see the deed, and rushed
swiftly, with fists and feet, to avenge her fate.

Well, we set off every morning on our pilgrimage, Jean calling herself
"Mrs. Jones," and walking primly till we reach what we pretend is the
seashore, where she forgets her dignity and rolls about in the sand.
A certain kind of tree that Dr. Russel has planted round about the
bungalow makes a noise exactly like waves, so it is easy to pretend
about the sea. We meet many pilgrims on their way to some holy place,
and we create quite a sensation in the little clusters of huts--they
could hardly be called villages--that we pass through. The inhabitants
crowd around us, saying "Johar," which I take it is Santali for
"Salaam," and we repeat "Johar" and grin broadly in reply; and the pie
dogs sniff round us in a friendly way. The other day we met a boy who,
on beholding me, stood stock still, threw back his head, and shouted
with laughter. I never heard more whole-hearted merriment. I had to
join in. Whether it was that he had never seen anyone with fair
hair before, or whether there is something particularly droll in my
appearance, I don't know, but he evidently found me the funniest thing
he had met with for a long time. It is generally Topsy who is the
centre of interest. They hustle one another to look at her and gurgle