"It's a clashy day," Thyrza ventured at last.
"It's a dreadful day," said Mrs. Melrose sharply. "Does it always rain like this?"
"Well, it do rain," was Thyrza's cautious reply. "But there that's better than snowin'—for t' shepherds."
Mrs. Melrose found the girl's voice pleasant, and could not deny that she was pretty, in her rustic way.
"Has your father many sheep?"
"Aye, but they're all gone up to t' fells for t' winter. We had a grand time here in September—at t' dippin'. Yo'd never ha' thowt there was so mony folk about"—the girl went on, civilly, making talk.
"I never saw a single house, or a single light, on the drive from the station last night," said Mrs. Melrose, in her fretful voice. "Where are all the people?"
"Well, there ain't many!" laughed Thyrza. "It's a lonesome place this is. But when it's a shearin', or a dippin', yo' unnerstand, farmin' folk'll coom a long way to help yan anuther."
"Are they all farmers about here?"
"Mostly. Well, there's Duddon Castle!" Thyrza's voice, a little muffled by the tin-tacks in the mouth, came from somewhere near the top of a tall window—"Oh—an' I forgot!—"