it seemed quite proper that other people should wait on one.
The station was a small one and nobody but themselves seemed to be
getting out of the train. The station-master spoke to Mrs. Medlock in a
rough, good-natured way, pronouncing his words in a queer broad fashion
which Mary found out afterward was Yorkshire.
I see tha s got back, he said. An tha s browt th young un with
thee.
Aye, that s her, answered Mrs. Medlock, speaking with a Yorkshire
accent herself and jerking her head over her shoulder toward Mary.
How s thy Missus?
Well enow. Th carriage is waitin outside for thee.
A brougham stood on the road before the little outside platform. Mary
saw that it was a smart carriage and that it was a smart footman who
helped her in. His long waterproof coat and the waterproof covering of
his hat were shining and dripping with rain as everything was, the
burly station-master included.
When he shut the door, mounted the box with the coachman, and they
drove off, the little girl found herself seated in a comfortably
cushioned corner, but she was not inclined to go to sleep again. She
sat and looked out of the window, curious to see something of the road
over which she was being driven to the queer place Mrs. Medlock had
spoken of. She was not at all a timid child and she was not exactly
frightened, but she felt that there was no knowing what might happen in
a house with a hundred rooms nearly all shut up a house standing on the
edge of a moor.
What is a moor? she said suddenly to Mrs. Medlock.
Look out of the window in about ten minutes and you ll see, the woman
answered. We ve got to drive five miles across Missel Moor before we
get to the Manor. You won t see much because it s a dark night, but you
can see something.
Mary asked no more questions but waited in the darkness of her corner,
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