"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,