She asked it after she had finished her supper and had sat down on the hearth-rug before the fire.
"Why did Mr.Craven hate the garden ?" she said.
She had made Martha stay with her and Martha had not objected at all.
She was very young, and used to a crowded cottage full of brothers and sisters, and she found it dull in the great servants' hall downstairs where the footman and upper-housemaids made fun of her Yorkshire speech and looked upon her as a common little thing, and sat and whispered among themselves.

Martha liked to talk, and the strange child who had lived in India, and been waited upon by "blacks," was novelty enough to attract her.
She sat down on the hearth herself without waiting to be asked.
"Art tha' thinkin' about that garden yet ?" she said.

"I knew tha' would.

That was just the way with me when I first heard about it." "Why did he hate it ?" Mary persisted.
Martha tucked her feet under her and made herself quite comfortable.
"Listen to th' wind wutherin' round the house," she said.

"You could bare stand up on the moor if you was out on it tonight." Mary did not know what "wutherin'" meant until she listened, and then she understood.