IV. Martha

           Whensheopenedhereyesinthemorningitwasbecauseayounghousemaidhadcomeintoherroomtolightthefireandwaskneelingonthehearth-rugrakingoutthecindersnoisily.Marylayandwatchedherforafewmomentsandthenbegantolookabouttheroom.Shehadneverseenaroomatalllikeitandthoughtitcuriousandgloomy.Thewallswerecoveredwithtapestrywithaforestsceneembroideredonit.Therewerefantasticallydressedpeopleunderthetreesandinthedistancetherewasaglimpseoftheturretsofacastle.Therewerehuntersandhorsesanddogsandladies.Maryfeltasifshewereintheforestwiththem.Outofadeepwindowshecouldseeagreatclimbingstretchoflandwhichseemedtohavenotreesonit,andtolookratherlikeanendless,dull,purplishsea.

           “Whatisthat?”shesaid,pointingoutofthewindow.

           Martha,theyounghousemaid,whohadjustrisentoherfeet,lookedandpointedalso.

           “Thatthere?”shesaid.

           “Yes.”

           “That’sth’moor,”withagood-naturedgrin.“Doestha’likeit?”

           “No,”answeredMary.“Ihateit.”

           “That’sbecausetha’rtnotusedtoit,”Marthasaid,goingbacktoherhearth.“Tha’thinksit’stoobigan’barenow.Buttha’willlikeit.”

           “Doyou?”inquiredMary.

           “Aye,thatIdo,”answeredMartha,cheerfullypolishingawayatthegrate.“Ijustloveit.It’snonebare.It’scoveredwi’growin’thingsassmellssweet.It’sfairlovelyinspringan’summerwhenth’gorsean’brooman’heather’sinflower.