“There!” said Mary. “I told you so! It is someone crying—and it isn’t a grown-up person.”
Martha ran and shut the door and turned the key, but before she did it they both heard the sound of a door in some far passage shutting with a bang, and then everything was quiet, for even the wind ceased “wutherin’ ” for a few moments.
“It was th’ wind,” said Martha stubbornly. “An’ if it wasn’t, it was little Betty Butterworth, th’ scullery-maid. She’s had th’ toothache all day.”
But something troubled and awkward in her manner made Mistress Mary stare very hard at her. She did not believe she was speaking the truth.