Her uncle studied her and then nodded. “Very well. I’ve reached a decision. You do not have to go to school. But if you cause me any trouble, I will send you away in an instant, do you understand?”

Mary nodded calmly although inside she felt like she was jumping with excitement at having gotten her own way. “Yes, sir,” she said politely.

“You won’t be here long anyway,” her uncle sighed. “All women are destined to leave Misselthwaite, one way or another.” He turned away and waved a hand at her. “Go on. Off you go.”

When Mary left the study, Mrs. Medlock was waiting outside. Mary walked straight past her. “I am not to be sent to school,” she said over her shoulder. “And I’m not to have a governess.” She bit back her grin.

Mrs. Medlock hurried after her. “Are you not?” she said in surprise.

“No,” Mary said. “Mr. Craven’s orders. He doesn’t want me to leave this house like all the other womenfolk.”

“What?” Mrs. Medlock threw an astonished glance back at the study door.

“Please be sure to have Mrs. Pitcher supply me with my special sandwiches,” Mary said firmly. “I need extra meat because I need to grow.”

Mrs. Medlock gaped, and unable to hide her smile, Mary dashed away to her room.

Later that morning, Mary returned to the fallen tree trunk where she had first met Jemima the dog. It was a bright day and the sky had hints of blue, although thick white clouds still scudded across it. Mary peeled apart the sandwiches that Cook had given her and took out one of the pieces of Spam. “I know you’re there!” she called, looking at the bushes, but the branches didn’t move.

“If you think I’m throwing any of the pieces today, you’re wrong. You’ll come out and eat like a polite animal—from my hand,” Mary said.

The dog poked her brown head out from behind a tree stump.

Mary smiled and held out the meat. The dog came over, slowly at first, but breaking into a trot as she got closer. Wagging her shaggy tail, she ate the Spam from Mary’s hand, licking her fingers as she did so. Mary giggled as she felt Jemima’s rough tongue. She fed her more of the slices, and then Jemima let her stroke her ears and face.

“You are a very nice dog, Jemima. Where have you come from?”

Jemima backed away. Cocking her head to one side, she looked at Mary and barked.

“Do you want to play again? Come on, then!” said Mary eagerly. Shoving the remains of the sandwich in her leather bag, she raced away with the dog at her heels. They charged through the gardens and down the grassy paths toward the moors.