ke as if
some one was lost on th' moor an' wailin'. It's got all sorts o'
sounds."

"But listen," said Mary. "It's in the house--down one of those long
corridors."

And at that very moment a door must have been opened somewhere
downstairs; for a great rushing draft blew along the passage and the
door of the room they sat in was blown open with a crash, and as they
both jumped to their feet the light was blown out and the crying sound
was swept down the far corridor so that it was to be heard more plainly
than ever.

"There!" said Mary. "I told you so! It is some one crying--and it
isn't a grown-up person."

Martha ran and shut the door and turned the key, but before she did it
they both heard the sound of a door in some far passage shutting with a
bang, and then everything was quiet, for even the wind ceased
"wutherin'" for a few moments.

"It was th' wind," said Martha stubbornly. "An' if it wasn't, it was
little Betty Butterworth, th' scullery-maid. She's had th' toothache
all day."

But something troubled and awkward in her manner made Mistress Mary
stare very hard at her. She did not believe she was speaking the truth.

CHAPTER VI

"THERE WAS SOME ONE CRYING--THERE WAS!"

The next day the rain poured down in torrents again, and when Mary
looked out of her window the moor was almost hidden by gray mist and
cloud. There could be no going out today.

"What do you do in your cottage when it rains like this?" she asked
Martha.

"Try to keep from under each other's feet mostly," Martha answered.
"Eh! there does seem a lot of us then. Mother's a good-tempered woman
but she gets fair moithered. The biggest ones goes out in th' cow-shed
and plays there. Dickon he doesn't mind th' wet. He goes out just th'
same as if th' sun was shinin'. He says he sees things on rainy days as
doesn't show when it's fair weather. He once found a little fox cub
half drowned in its hole and he brought it home in th' bosom of his
shirt to keep it warm. Its mother had been killed nearby an' th' hole
was swum out an' th' rest o' th' litter was dead. He's got it at home
now. He found a half-drowned young crow another time an' he brought it
home, too, an' tamed it. It's named Soot because it's so black, an' it
hops an' flies about with him everywhere."

The time had come when Mary had forgotten to resent Martha's familiar
talk. She had even begun to find it interesting and to be sorry when
she stopped or went