Two days after this，when Mary opened her eyes she sat upright in bed immediately，and called to Martha.
“Look at the moor！Look at the moor！”
Aye，said Martha with a cheerful grin.Th'storm's over for a bit.It does like this at this time o'th'year.It goes off in a night like it was pretendin’it 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 as 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.”