Mary took the food outside and found a spot among the trees that was less muddy. She sat down on a fallen tree trunk and unwrapped the parchment paper. She lifted a slice of bread off the top sandwich. What was the strange, smooth pink meat inside? She’d never seen anything like it. She pulled one of the slices off the bread and sniffed it warily. Putting out her tongue, she licked it and reacted with disgust. It tasted terrible! Was it even real meat?

She threw it away, but it landed quite close to her feet. Peeling the other slice off, she flung it farther. It sailed through the air and ended up near one of the other trees. Mary nibbled at a slice of bread. That at least was fresh—and tasty. She took a bigger bite.

A rustle made Mary look around. The branches of a bush were moving as if something was pushing its way through. Mary shrank back as a dog appeared, nose first, then muzzle, then a shaggy brown body.

“No! Go on! Go away!” Mary exclaimed, waving at it with a shooing motion. Most of the dogs in India were strays, and they were often dangerous.

The dog ignored her and trotted over to the piece of meat that had landed near the bushes. It sniffed it. “No! That’s not for you!” Mary cried. The dog gobbled the meat up hungrily. “Now you’re fed, you can go,” said Mary, pulling her feet underneath her in case she had to jump up quickly. “Go on.”

But the dog had spotted the second slice of meat that lay closer to her. “Oh, no,” Mary said anxiously. “Don’t you dare! It’s far too near. I want you to go!”

She squealed as the dog leaped at the meat. Grabbing it in its jaws, it turned and raced away. Mary watched it go. It had seemed almost as afraid of her as she had been of it. And it had looked as hungry as she was feeling too.

Finishing her bread and apple, she went around the back of the house and spent the afternoon exploring the grounds. Away from where the soldiers had camped, there were trees and ferns, overgrown shrubberies and winding gravel paths. Her boots were soon caked with mud, and her clothes were damp. Every so often, she heard a faint rustle behind her. The feeling she was being followed prickled her, and eventually, glancing over her shoulder, she saw the dog again. “Of all the silly things,” she said, her face breaking into a smile as it looked at her with its pink tongue hanging out. “Are you following me?”

It wagged its tail.

“Mary!” Mrs. Medlock was ringing a bell and calling sharply through an open window in the house. Her voice carried across the grounds. “Mary! Where are you, child? Come here this instant!”

The dog vanished at the sound of Mrs. Medlock’s voice.