endless, dull, purplish sea.
What is that? she said, pointing out of the window.
Martha, the young housemaid, who had just risen to her feet, looked and
pointed also.
That there? she said.
Yes.
That s th moor, with a good-natured grin. Does tha like it?
No, answered Mary. I hate it.
That s because tha rt not used to it, Martha said, going back to her
hearth. Tha thinks it s too big an bare now. But tha will like it.
Do you? inquired Mary.
Aye, that I do, answered Martha, cheerfully polishing away at the
grate. I just love it. It s none bare. It s covered wi growin things
as smells sweet. It s fair lovely in spring an summer when th gorse
an broom an heather s in flower. It smells o honey an there s such
a lot o fresh air an th sky looks so high an th bees an skylarks
makes such a nice noise hummin an singin . Eh! I wouldn t live away
from th moor for anythin .
Mary listened to her with a grave, puzzled expression. The native
servants she had been used to in India were not in the least like this.
They were obsequious and servile and did not presume to talk to their
masters as if they were their equals. They made salaams and called them
protector of the poor and names of that sort. Indian servants were
commanded to do things, not asked. It was not the custom to say
please and thank you and Mary had always slapped her Ayah in the
face when she was angry. She wondered a little what this girl would do
if one slapped her in the face. She was a round, rosy, good-natured
looking creature, but she had a sturdy way which made Mistress Mary
wonder if she might not even slap back if the person who slapped her
was only a little girl.
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