ad a very small appetite, and she looked with
something more than indifference at the first plate Martha set before
her.

"I don't want it," she said.

"Tha' doesn't want thy porridge!" Martha exclaimed incredulously.

"No."

"Tha' doesn't know how good it is. Put a bit o' treacle on it or a bit
o' sugar."

"I don't want it," repeated Mary.

"Eh!" said Martha. "I can't abide to see good victuals go to waste. If
our children was at this table they'd clean it bare in five minutes."

"Why?" said Mary coldly.

"Why!" echoed Martha. "Because they scarce ever had their stomachs full
in their lives. They're as hungry as young hawks an' foxes."

"I don't know what it is to be hungry," said Mary, with the indifference
of ignorance.

Martha looked indignant.

"Well, it would do thee good to try it. I can see that plain enough,"
she said outspokenly. "I've no patience with folk as sits an' just
stares at good bread an' meat. My word! don't I wish Dickon and Phil an'
Jane an' th' rest of 'em had what's here under their pinafores."

"Why don't you take it to them?" suggested Mary.

"It's not mine," answered Martha stoutly. "An' this isn't my day out. I
get my day out once a month same as th' rest. Then I go home an' clean
up for mother an' give her a day's rest."

Mary drank some tea and ate a little toast and some marmalade.

"You wrap up warm an' run out an' play you," said Martha. "It'll do you
good and give you some stomach for your meat."

Mary went to the window. There were gardens and paths and big trees, but
everything looked dull and wintry.

"Out? Why should I go out on a day like this?"

"Well, if tha' doesn't go out tha'lt have to stay in, an' what has tha'
got to do?"

Mary glanced about her. There was nothing to do. When Mrs. Medlock had
prepared the nursery she had not thought of amusement. Perhaps it would
be better to go and see what the gardens were like.

"Who will go with me?" she inquired.

Martha stared.

"You'll go by yourself," she answered. "You'll have to learn to play
like other children does when they haven't got sisters and brothers. Our
Dickon goes off on th' moor by himself an' plays for hours. That's how
he made friends with th' pony. He's got sheep on th' moor that knows
him, an' birds as comes an' eats out of his hand. However little there
is to eat, he always saves a bit o' his bread to coax his pets."

It was really this mention of Dickon which made Mary decide to go