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.”
“If I had a raven or a fox cub I could play with it，”said Mary.“But I have nothing.”
Martha looked perplexed.
“Can tha’knit？”she asked.
“No，”answered Mary.
“Can tha’sew？”
“No.”
“Can tha’read？”
“Yes.”
“Then why doesn't tha，read somethin'，or learn a bit o'spellin'？Tha’st old enough to be learnin'thy book a good bit now.”
“I haven’t any books，”said Mary.“Those I had were left in India.”
“That's a pity，”said Martha.“If Mrs.Medlock'd let thee go into th'library，there's thousands o’books there.”