We've got the same nasty tempers, both of us, I'll warrant." This was plain speaking, and Mary Lennox had never heard the truth about herself in her life.

Native servants always salaamed and submitted to you, whatever you did.

She had never thought much about her looks, but she wondered if she was as unattractive as Ben Weatherstaff and she also wondered if she looked as sour as he had looked before the robin came.

She actually began to wonder also if she was "nasty tempered." She felt uncomfortable.
Suddenly a clear rippling little sound broke out near her and she turned round.

She was standing a few feet from a young apple-tree and the robin had flown on to one of its branches and had burst out into a scrap of a song.