Molly was growing healthy, but whether she was normal or not is another
point. It does not tend to make a child normal to change everything in
life at the age of seven. Not one person, hardly one thing was the same
to Molly since her father's death. The language of her _ayah_ had until
then been more familiar to her than any other language. The ayah's
thoughts had been her thoughts. The East had had in charge the first
years of Molly's dawning intelligence, and there seemed impressed, even
on her tiny figure, something that told of patience, scorn, and reserve.
And yet Mrs. Carteret was quite satisfied.

Once, indeed, the widow was puzzled. Molly had strayed away by herself,
and could not be found for nearly two hours. Provided with two figs and
several bits of biscuit, a half-crown and a shilling, she had started to
walk through the deep, heavy lanes between the great hills, with the
firm intention of taking ship to France. Mrs. Carteret treated the
escapade kindly and firmly; not making too much of it, but giving such
sufficient punishment as to prevent anything so silly happening again.
But she had no suspicion of what really had happened. Molly had, in
fact, started with the intention of finding her mother. It was two years
since she had come to live with Mrs. Carteret, and, if the child had
spoken her secret thought, she would have told you that throughout those
two years she had been meaning to run away and find her mother. In that
she would have fallen into an exaggeration not uncommon with some
grown-up people. It had been only at moments far apart, or occasionally
for quite a succession of nights in bed, that she had spent a brief
space before falling asleep in dreaming of going to seek her mother. But
whole months had passed without any such thought; and during these long
interludes the healthy country scenes about her, and the common causes
for smiles and tears in a child's life, filled her consciousness. Still,
the undercurrent of the deeper life was there, and very small incidents