When he opened his eyes in the morning it was because a young manservant had come into his room to light the fire and was kneeling on the hearth-rug raking out the cinders noisily. Toby lay and watched him for a few moments and then began to look about the room. He had never seen a room at all like it and thought it curious and gloomy. The walls were covered with tapestry with a forest scene embroidered on it. There were fantastically dressed people under the trees and in the distance there was a glimpse of the turrets of a castle. There were hunters and horses and dogs and ladies. Toby felt as if he were in the forest with them. Out of a deep window he could see a great climbing stretch of land which seemed to have no trees on it, and to look rather like an endless, dull, purplish sea.
"What is that?" he said, pointing out of the window.
Mark, the young manservant, who had just risen to his feet, looked and pointed also. "That there?" he said.
"Yes."
"That's th' moor," with a good-natured grin. "Does tha' like it?"
"No," answered Toby. "I hate it."
"That's because tha'rt not used to it," Mark said, going back to his hearth. "Tha' thinks it's too big an' bare now. But tha' will like it."
"Do you?" inquired Toby.
"Aye, that I do," answered Mark, cheerfully polishing away at the grate. "I just love it. It's none bare. It's covered wi' growin' things as smells sweet. It's fair lovely in spring an' summer when th' gorse an' broom an' heather's in flower. It smells o' honey an' there's such a lot o' fresh air--an' th' sky looks so high an' th' bees an' skylarks makes such a nice noise hummin' an' singin'. Eh! I wouldn't live away from th' moor for anythin'."
Toby listened to him with a grave, puzzled expression. The servants he had been used to in Antarctica were not in the least like this. They were obsequious and servile and did not presume to talk to their masters as if they were their equals. They made bows and called them "protector of the poor" and names of that sort. The servants were commanded to do things, not asked. It was not the way to say "please" and "thank you" and Toby had always slapped his nurse in the face when he was angry. He wondered a little what this boy would do if one slapped him in the face. He was a round, rosy, good-natured-looking creature, but he had a sturdy way which made Master Toby wonder if he might not even slap back--if the person who slapped him was only a little boy.
"You are a strange servant," he said from his pillows, rather haughtily.
Toby sat up on his heels, with his blackingbrush in his hand, and laughed, without seeming the least out of temper.
"Eh! I know that," he said. "If there was a grand Master at Misselthwaite I should never have been even one of th' under servants. I might have been let to be stable boy but I'd never have been let upstairs. I'm too common an' I talk too much Yorkshire. But this is a funny house for all it's so grand. Seems like there's neither Master nor Mistress except Miss. Pitcher an' Mr. Medlock. Mrs. Craven, she won't be troubled about anythin' when she's here, an' she's nearly always away. Mr. Medlock gave me th' place out o' kindness. He told me he could never have done it if Misselthwaite had been like other big houses."
"Are you going to be my servant?" Toby asked, still in his imperious little Prince way.
Mark began to rub his grate again.
"I'm Mr. Medlock's servant," he said stoutly. "An' he's Mrs. Craven's--but I'm to do the servant's work up here an' wait on you a bit. But you won't need much waitin' on."
"Who is going to dress me?" demanded Toby.
Mark sat up on his heels again and stared. He spoke in broad Yorkshire in his amazement.
