Two days after this, when Toby opened his eyes he sat upright in bed immediately, and called to Mark.
"Look at the moor! Look at the moor!"
The rainstorm had ended and the gray mist and clouds had been swept away in the night by the wind. The wind itself had ceased and a brilliant, deep blue sky arched high over the moorland. Never, never had Toby dreamed of a sky so blue. In Antarctica skies were gray and cold looking; this was of a deep cool blue which almost seemed to sparkle like the waters of some lovely bottomless lake, and here and there, high, high in the arched blueness floated small clouds of snow-white fleece. The far-reaching world of the moor itself looked softly blue instead of gloomy purple-black or awful dreary gray.
"Aye," said Mark 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," Toby said.
"Eh! no!" said Mark, sitting up on his heels among his black lead brushes. "Nowt o' th' soart!"
"What does that mean?" asked Toby seriously. In Antarctica some of the servants spoke in a different language that only a few knew, so he was not surprised when Mark used words he did not know.
Mark laughed as he had done the first morning.
"There now," he said. "I've talked broad Yorkshire again like Mr. 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 Destiny does." "Could I ever get there?" asked Toby wistfully, looking through his window at the far-off blue. It was so new and big and wonderful and such a heavenly color.
"I don't know," answered Mark. "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."
"I should like to see your cottage."
Mark stared at him a moment curiously before he took up his polishing brush and began to rub the grate again. He was thinking that the small plain face did not look quite as sour at this moment as it had done the first morning he saw it. It looked just a trifle like little Angus when he wanted something very much.
"I'll ask my father about it," he said. "He's one o' them that nearly always sees a way to do things. It's my day out today an' I'm goin' home. Eh! I am glad. Mr. Medlock thinks a lot o' father. Perhaps he could talk to him."
"I like your father," said Toby.
"I should think tha' did," agreed Mark, polishing away.
"I've never seen him," said Toby.
"No, tha' hasn't," replied Mark.
He sat up on his heels again and rubbed the end of his nose with the back of his hand as if puzzled for a moment, but he ended quite positively.
"Well, he's that sensible an' hard workin' an' goodnatured an' clean that no one could help likin' him whether they'd seen him or not. When I'm goin' home to him on my day out I just jump for joy when I'm crossin' the moor."
"I like Destiny," added Toby. "And I've never seen her."
"Well," said Mark stoutly, "I've told thee that th' very birds likes her an' th' rabbits an' wild sheep an' ponies, an' th' foxes themselves. I wonder," staring at him reflectively, "what Destiny would think of thee?"
