ws to try to break in.
But one knew he could not get in, and somehow it made one feel very
safe and warm inside a room with a red coal fire.

"But why did he hate it so?" she asked, after she had listened. She
intended to know if Martha did.

Then Martha gave up her store of knowledge.

"Mind," she said, "Mrs. Medlock said it's not to be talked about.
There's lots o' things in this place that's not to be talked over.
That's Mr. Craven's orders. His troubles are none servants' business,
he says. But for th' garden he wouldn't be like he is. It was Mrs.
Craven's garden that she had made when first they were married an' she
just loved it, an' they used to 'tend the flowers themselves. An' none
o' th' gardeners was ever let to go in. Him an' her used to go in an'
shut th' door an' stay there hours an' hours, readin' and talkin'. An'
she was just a bit of a girl an' there was an old tree with a branch
bent like a seat on it. An' she made roses grow over it an' she used
to sit there. But one day when she was sittin' there th' branch broke
an' she fell on th' ground an' was hurt so bad that next day she died.
Th' doctors thought he'd go out o' his mind an' die, too. That's why
he hates it. No one's never gone in since, an' he won't let any one
talk about it."

Mary did not ask any more questions. She looked at the red fire and
listened to the wind "wutherin'." It seemed to be "wutherin'" louder
than ever. At that moment a very good thing was happening to her.
Four good things had happened to her, in fact, since she came to
Misselthwaite Manor. She had felt as if she had understood a robin and
that he had understood her; she had run in the wind until her blood had
grown warm; she had been healthily hungry for the first time in her
life; and she had found out what it was to be sorry for some one.

But as she was listening to the wind she began to listen to something
else. She did not know what it was, because at first she could
scarcely distinguish it from the wind itself. It was a curious
sound--it seemed almost as if a child were crying somewhere. Sometimes
the wind sounded rather like a child crying, but presently Mistress
Mary felt quite sure this sound was inside the house, not outside it.
It was far away, but it was inside. She turned round and looked at
Martha.

"Do you hear any one crying?" she said.

Martha suddenly looked confused.

"No," she answered. "It's th' wind. Sometimes it sounds li