The next day the rain poured down in torrents again, and when Toby looked out of his window the moor was almost hidden by gray mist and cloud. There could be no going out to-day.
"What do you do in your cottage when it rains like this?" he asked Mark.
"Try to keep from under each other's feet mostly," Mark answered. "Eh! there does seem a lot of us then. Father's a good-tempered man but he gets fair moithered. The biggest ones goes out in th' cow-shed and plays there. Destiny she doesn't mind th' wet. She goes out just th' same as if th' sun was shinin'. She says she sees things on rainy days as doesn't show when it's fair weather. She once found a little fox cub half drowned in its hole and she brought it home in th' bosom of her 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. She's got it at home now. She found a half-drowned young crow another time an' she brought it home, too, an' tamed it. It's named Soot because it's so black, an' it hops an' flies about with her everywhere."
The time had come when Toby had forgotten to resent Mark's familiar talk. He had even begun to find it interesting and to be sorry when he stopped or went away. The stories he had been told by his nurse when he lived in Antarctica had been quite unlike those Mark had to tell about the moorland cottage which held fourteen people who lived in four little rooms and never had quite enough to eat. The children seemed to tumble about and amuse themselves like a litter of rough, good-natured collie puppies. Toby was most attracted by the father and Destiny. When Mark told stories of what "father" said or did they always sounded comfortable.
"If I had a raven or a fox cub I could play with it," said Toby. "But I have nothing."
Mark looked perplexed.
"Can tha' paint?" he asked.
"Not really," answered Toby.
"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 Toby. "Those I had were left in Antarctica."
"That's a pity," said Mark. "If Mr. Medlock'd let thee go into th' library, there's thousands o' books there."
Toby did not ask where the library was, because he was suddenly inspired by a new idea. He made up his mind to go and find it himself. He was not troubled about Mr. Medlock. Mr. Medlock seemed always to be in his comfortable housekeeper's sitting-room down-stairs. In this queer place one scarcely ever saw any one at all. In fact, there was no one to see but the servants, and when their master was away they lived a luxurious life below stairs, where there was a huge kitchen hung about with shining brass and pewter, and a large servants' hall where there were four or five abundant meals eaten every day, and where a great deal of lively romping went on when Mr. Medlock was out of the way.
Toby's meals were served regularly, and Mark waited on him, but no one troubled themselves about him in the least. Mr. Medlock came and looked at him every day or two, but no one inquired what he did or told him what to do. He supposed that perhaps this was the English way of treating children. In Antarctica he had always been attended by his nurse, who had followed him about and waited on him, hand and foot. He had often been tired of his company. Now he was followed by nobody and was learning to dress himself because Mark looked as though he thought he was silly and stupid when he wanted to have things handed to him and put on.
"Hasn't tha' got good sense?" he said once, when Toby had stood waiting for him to put on his gloves for him. "Our Susan Ann is twice as sharp as thee an' she's only four year' old. Sometimes tha' looks fair soft in th' head."
