Maia by Richard Adams

was mystified and much intrigued. She could imagine neither the use of such a vehicle-for some special use
    it must obviously have-nor why it should be visiting their home. Who owned it? Why had he come? Obviously, whoever he was, Morca must know, and presumably he was indoors with her now, unless they were out looking at cattle or something like that. To dwellers in remote places, any visitor or unexpected event brings welcome variety to the monotony of the day's routine. Maia felt excited. Jumping down from the bank, she ran across the lane and in at the door.
    The only person to be seen in the room, however, was Morca, sitting on a stool by the fire, plucking a fowl. Handfuls of feathers, brown and white, lay round her feet. Some had found their way into the fire, and Maia wrinkled her nose at the acrid smell.
    Morca rose clumsily, smoothing her sacking apron over her belly, laid the fowl on one side and stood looking at her daughter with a smile.
    "Well-you got back all right, then?" she asked. "You're not too tired? Did Tharrin catch the boat? On his way now, is he?"
    Something in her manner puzzled Maia and made her hesitate before replying. Morca was no more-indeed, was even less-given than most peasant mothers to asking her daughters polite questions about their welfare, and Maia- just as unused to receiving them-hardly knew how to answer.
    "Tired? Oh, no, I'm fine, no danger," she said after a moment. "Mum, what's that cart-"
    "And he got the boat all right, did he?" interrupted Morca. "He's gone off?"
    "Well, 'course he did," answered Maia with a touch of impatience. "Why wouldn't he?" Then, impudently, "Hadn't, I shouldn't be here. The cart, mum, what's that queer-looking cart outside? Who's brought it?"
    "Ah!" said Morca, still smiling. "Strikes me some people's left their eyes outside in the sun, or maybe they're just not very bright today. Haven't you seen-"
    "What's up with that curtain, then?" asked Maia suddenly, looking across at the screened-off sleeping place on the other side of the room."Hens got in behind it or something?"
    "Oh, cat's been asleep in there all morning," answered Morca quickly. "But never you mind that now, Miss Maia;
    just look behind you at what's laying on the table. Walked right past it, didn't you?"
    "On the table? Oh!" Maia, having turned about, stood staring, fingers on either side of her open mouth.
    Lying across the table-otherwise bare and unusually clean-was a cream-colored dress made of some smooth, softly-shining material, its bodice embroidered with blue and green flowers. Displayed thus in the center of the squalid, smoky room it appeared marvellously beautiful and so inexplicably out of place as almost to seem unreal- a vision or an illusion. Maia, gazing at it speechlessly, felt a kind of alarm. If something like this could materialize out of nowhere, then almost anything could happen. But what?
    Walking over to the table, she looked at the dress more closely. Of course, she thought with some chagrin, she could hardly expect to be much of a judge of such things. The effect of its beauty was to subdue her, making her feel grubby and ignorant.
    "D'you like it?" asked Morca from behind her.
    "Like it?" echoed Maia abstractedly. The question seemed to have no meaning. It was rather as though her mother had asked her whether she liked the lake or the stars. Tentatively, she put out a hand towards the thick, creamy material of the skirt.
    "Better not touch it just yet, Maia dear," said Morca. "Not until you've had a wash. There's some nice hot water ready for you on the fire, look."
    Her mother's unusually amiable and coaxing manner- certainly she did not normally go out of her way to encourage the girls to wasli-following upon the apparition of the strange cart and the dress, completed Maia's bewilderment. She sat down on the bench beside the table.
    "What's it all mean, then, mum? Who's brought that cart and what for? Where is he now? Did he bring this dress and all?"
    Morca