Worried that he was about to leave the room and see her, Mary hurried on. She was desperate to feel fresh air on her face, to get out of the bleak, gloomy house where people were cranky and rude and peculiar. There was an avenue of trees to one side that led out onto the mist-covered moors, and she headed for it. The grass was overgrown, but the ground was flat. Mary pulled out her jump rope and began to skip along the path, counting her steps out loud.

She had just reached seventy-five and had emerged from the trees onto the moors, when she stopped. Through the swirling mist she could see a boy. He looked about a year older than her. He had dark curly hair and was carrying a lamb around his neck. She remembered what Martha had said. Maybe this boy was Martha’s brother—Dickon.

Mary started toward the boy. “Hello? Are you Martha’s brother?” But as she spoke, he turned and disappeared into the mist.

“Come back!” Mary commanded.

She started to run after him, but he’d vanished as if he’d never been there, and the mist was looking thicker than ever. “Stay inside when the mist is rolling on the moors,” Mary whispered to herself, remembering Mrs. Medlock’s words. With one last look, she turned and headed back toward the house.

By the time Mary reached the house, her stomach was grumbling. She had only eaten a little of the porridge that morning, and she felt very hungry. She went inside and managed to find the kitchen. The cook, Mrs. Pitcher, was busy chopping vegetables.

“It’s time for my luncheon, I believe,” Mary announced. “Now I would like—”

The cook interrupted her with a good-natured smile. “Doesn’t matter what you’d like, lass. You’ll get what you’re given in this house.”

Mary looked at her in frustration. “You know, I really don’t understand you people at all!”

The cook laughed but it wasn’t a mean laugh, and Mary watched as she set to work making sandwiches with thickly cut white bread, a scraping of butter, and some sort of pink meat. She wrapped them in parchment paper and handed them and an apple to Mary. “There you go. Now out of my kitchen. I have too many things to do to have a young ’un like you cluttering up the place.” She winked. “Some of us have work to do.”