CHAPTER VII 52
had never been here an ' never meant to come again. That ' s because th ' springtime ' s on its way. It ' s a long way off yet, but it ' s comin '."
" I thought perhaps it always rained or looked dark in England," Mary said.
" Eh! no!" said Martha, sitting up on her heels among her black lead brushes. " Nowt o ' th ' soart!"
" What does that mean?" asked Mary seriously. In India the natives spoke different dialects which only a few people understood, so she was not surprised when Martha used words she did not know.
Martha laughed as she had done the first morning.
" There now," she said. " I ' ve talked broad Yorkshire again like Mrs. Medlock said I mustn ' t. ' Nowt o ' th ' soart ' means ' nothin '-of-the-sort,'" slowly and carefully, " but it takes so long to say it. Yorkshire ' s th ' sunniest place on earth when it is sunny. I told thee tha ' d like th ' moor after a bit. Just you wait till you see th ' gold-colored gorse blossoms an ' th ' blossoms o ' th ' broom, an ' th ' heather flowerin ', all purple bells, an ' hundreds o ' butterflies flutterin ' an ' bees hummin ' an ' skylarks soarin ' up an ' singin '. You ' ll want to get out on it at sunrise an ' live out on it all day like Dickon does."
" Could I ever get there?" asked Mary wistfully, looking through her window at the far-off blue. It was so new and big and wonderful and such a heavenly color.
" I don ' t know," answered Martha. " Tha ' s never used tha ' legs since tha ' was born, it seems to me. Tha ' couldn ' t walk five mile. It ' s five mile to our cottage."
" I should like to see your cottage."
Martha stared at her a moment curiously before she took up her polishing brush and began to rub the grate again. She was thinking that the small