Chapter 4 — CHAPTER IV

When she opened her eyes in the morning it was because a young housemaid
had come into her room to light the fire and was kneeling on the
hearth-rug raking out the cinders noisily. Mary lay and watched her for
a few moments and then began to look about the room. She had never seen
a room at all like it and thought it curious and gloomy. The walls were
covered with tapestry with a forest scene embroidered on it. There were
fantastically dressed people under the trees and in the distance there
was a glimpse of the turrets of a castle. There were hunters and horses
and dogs and ladies. Mary felt as if she were in the forest with them.
Out of a deep window she could see a great climbing stretch of land
which seemed to have no trees on it, and to look rather like an 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'."