een her," said Mary.

"No, tha' hasn't," replied Martha.

She sat up on her heels again and rubbed the end of her nose with the
back of her hand as if puzzled for a moment, but she ended quite
positively.

"Well, she's that sensible an' hard workin' an' good-natured an' clean
that no one could help likin' her whether they'd seen her or not. When
I'm goin' home to her on my day out I just jump for joy when I'm
crossin' th' moor."

"I like Dickon," added Mary. "And I've never seen him."

"Well," said Martha stoutly, "I've told thee that th' very birds likes
him an' th' rabbits an' wild sheep an' ponies, an' th' foxes themselves.
I wonder," staring at her reflectively, "what Dickon would think of
thee?"

"He wouldn't like me," said Mary in her stiff, cold little way. "No one
does."

Martha looked reflective again.

"How does tha' like thysel'?" she inquired, really quite as if she were
curious to know.

Mary hesitated a moment and thought it over.

"Not at all--really," she answered. "But I never thought of that
before."

Martha grinned a little as if at some homely recollection.

"Mother said that to me once," she said. "She was at her wash-tub an' I
was in a bad temper an' talkin' ill of folk, an' she turns round on me
an' says: 'Tha' young vixon, tha'! There tha' stands sayin' tha'
doesn't like this one an' tha' doesn't like that one. How does tha' like
thysel'?' It made me laugh an' it brought me to my senses in a minute."

She went away in high spirits as soon as she had given Mary her
breakfast. She was going to walk five miles across the moor to the
cottage, and she was going to help her mother with the washing and do
the week's baking and enjoy herself thoroughly.

Mary felt lonelier than ever when she knew she was no longer in the
house. She went out into the garden as quickly as possible, and the
first thing she did was to run round and round the fountain flower
garden ten times. She counted the times carefully and when she had
finished she felt in better spirits. The sunshine made the whole place
look different. The high, deep, blue sky arched over Misselthwaite as
well as over the moor, and she kept lifting her face and looking up into
it, trying to imagine what it would be like to lie down on one of the
little snow-white clouds and float about. She went into the first
kitchen-garden and found Ben Weatherstaff working there with two other
gardeners. The change in the weather seemed to have do