CHAPTER IX
MILLY'S BIRTHDAY
Now we have come to a chapter which is going to be half merry and halfsad. I have not told you any sad things about Milly and Olly up tillnow, I think. They were such happy little people, that there was nothingsad to tell you. They cried sometimes, of course--you remember Millycried when Olly stickied her doll--but generally, by the time they haddried up their tears they had quite forgotten what they were cryingabout; and as for any real trouble, why they didn't know what it couldpossibly be like. But now, just as they were going away from Ravensnest,came a real sad thing, and you'll hear very soon how it happened.
After those three wet days it was sometimes fine and sometimes rainy atRavensnest, but never so rainy as to keep the Nortons in all day. Andevery now and then there were splendid days, when the children and theirfather and mother were out all day long, wandering over the mountains,or walking over to Aunt Emma's or tramping along the well-known roads toWanwick on one side, and the little village of Rydal and Rydal Lake onthe other. They had another row on Windermere; and one fine evening Mr.Norton borrowed a friend's boat, and they went out fishing for perch onRydal Lake, the loveliest little lake in the world, lying softly in agreen mountain cup, and dotted with islands, which seemed to thechildren when they landed on them like little bits of fairyland droppedinto the blue water.
"Haymaking"]
And then! crown of delights! came the haymaking. There were long finedays, when the six small creatures--Milly, Olly, Becky, Tiza, Bessie,and Charlie--followed John Backhouse and his men about in the hayfieldsfrom early morning till evening, helping to make the hay, or simplyrolling about like a parcel of kittens in the flowery fragrant heaps.
Aunt Emma was often at Ravensnest, and the children learned to love herbetter and better, so that even wild little Olly would remember to bringher stool, and carry her shawl, and change her plate at dinner; andMilly, who was always clinging to somebody, was constantly puzzled toknow whose pocket to sit in, mother's or Aunt Emma's.
Then there was the farmyard, the cows, and the milking, and thechickens. Everything about them seemed delightful to Milly and Olly, andthe top of everything was reached when one evening John Backhousemounted both the children on his big carthorse Dobbin, and they andDobbin together dragged the hay home in triumph.
And now they had only one week more to stay at Ravensnest. But that weekwas a most important week, for it was to contain no less a day thanMilly's birthday. Milly would be seven years old on the 15th of July,and for about a week before the 15th, Milly's little head could think ofnothing else. Olly too was very much excited about it, for though Millyof course was the queen of the day, and all the presents were for her,not for him, still it was good times for everybody on Milly's birthday;besides which, he had his own little secret with mother about hispresent to Milly, a secret which made him very happy, but which he wason the point of telling at least a hundred times a day.
"Father," said Milly, about four days before the birthday, when theywere all wandering about after tea one evening in the high garden whichwas now a paradise of ripe red strawberries and fruit of every kind,"does everybody have birthdays? Do policemen have birthdays?"
"I expect so, Milly," said Mr. Norton, laughing, "but they haven't anytime to remember them."
"But, father, what's the good of having birthdays if you don't keepthem, and have presents and all that? And do cats and dogs havebirthdays? I should like to find out Spot's birthday. We'd give hercream instead of milk, you know, and I'd tie a blue ribbon round herneck, and one round her tail like the queen's sheep in mother's story."
"I don't suppose Spot would thank you at all," said Mr. Norton. "Thecream would make her ill, and the ribbon would fidget her dreadfullytill she pulled it off."
"Oh dear!" sighed Milly. "Well, I suppose Spot had better not have anybirthday then. But, father, what do you think? Becky and Tiza don't careabout their birthdays a bit. Becky could hardly remember when hers was,and they never have any presents unless Aunt Emma gives them one, orpeople to tea, or anything.'
"Well, you see, Milly, when people have only just pennies and shillingsenough to buy bread and meat to eat, and clothes to put on, they can'tgo spending money on presents; and when they're very anxious and busyall the year round they can't be remembering birthdays and taking painsabout them like richer people can, who have less to trouble them, andwhose work does not take up quite so much time."
"Well, but why don't the rich people remember the poor people'sbirthdays for them, father? Then they could give them presents, and askthem to tea and all, you know."
"Yes, that would be a very good arrangement," said Mr. Norton, smilingat her eager little face. "Only, somehow, Milly, things don't come rightlike that in this world."
"Well, I'm going to try and remember Becky's and Tiza's birthdays," saidMilly. "I'll tell mother to put them down in her pocket-book--won't you,mother? Oh, what fun! I'll send them birthday cards, and they'll be sosurprised, and wonder why; and then they'll say, 'Oh, why, of courseit's our birthday!'--No, not _our_ birthday--but you know what I mean,father."
"Well, but, Milly," asked Mrs. Norton, "have you made up your mind whatyou want to do this birthday?"
Milly stopped suddenly, with her hands behind her, opposite her mother,with her lips tightly pressed together, her eyes smiling, as if therewas a tremendous secret hidden somewhere.
"Well, monkey, out with it. What have you got hidden away in your littlehead?"
"Well, mother," said Milly, slowly, "I don't want to _have_ anybody totea. I want to go out to tea with somebody. Now can you guess?"
"With Aunt Emma?"
"Oh no, Aunt Emma's coming over here all day. She promised she would."
"With Becky and Tiza?"
Milly nodded, and screwed up her little lips tighter than ever.
"But I don't expect Mrs. Backhouse will want the trouble of having youtwo to tea.
"Oh mother, she won't mind a bit. I know she won't; because Becky toldme one day her mother would like us very much to come some time if you'dlet us. And Nana could come and help Mrs. Backhouse, and we could allwash up the tea-things afterwards, like we did at the picnic."
"Then Tiza mustn't sit next me," said Olly, who had been listening insilence to all the arrangements. "She takes away my bread and butterwhen I'm not looking, and I don't like it, not a bit."
"No, Olly dear, she shan't," said Milly, taking his hand and fondlingit, as if she were at least twenty years older. "I'll sit on one side ofyou and Becky on the other," a prospect with which Olly was apparentlysatisfied, for he made no more objections.
"Well, you must ask Mrs. Backhouse yourselves," said Mrs. Norton. "Andif it is her washing-day, or inconvenient to her at all, you mustn'tthink of going, you know."
So early next morning, Milly and Nana and Olly went up to the farm, andcame back with the answer that Mrs. Backhouse would be very pleased tosee them at tea on Thursday, the 15th, and that John Backhouse wouldhave cut the hay-field by the river by then, and they could have a rompin the hay afterwards.
Wednesday was a deeply interesting day to Olly. He and his mother wentover by themselves to Wanwick, and they bought something which theshopwoman at the toy-shop wrapped up in a neat little parcel, and whichOlly carried home, looking as important as a little king.
"Milly," he began at dinner, "_wouldn't_ you like to know about yourpresents? But of course I shan't tell you about mine. Perhaps I'm notgoing to give you one at all. Oh, mother," in a loud whisper to Mrs.Norton, "did you put it away safe where she can't see?"
"Oh, you silly boy," said Milly, "you'll tell me if you don't takecare."
"No, I shan't. I wouldn't tell you if you were to go on asking me allday. It isn't very big, you know, Milly, and--and--it isn't prettyoutside--only--"
"Be quiet, chatterbox," said Mr. Norton putting his hand over Olly'smouth, "you'll tell in another minute, and then there'll be no funto-morrow."
So Olly with great difficulty kept qui
et, and began eating up hispudding very fast, as if that was the only way of keeping his littletongue out of mischief.
"Father," he said after dinner, "do take Milly out for a walk, andmother shall take me. Then I can't tell, you know."
So the two went out different ways, and Olly kept away from Milly allday, in great fear lest somehow or other his secret should fly out ofhim in spite of all his efforts to keep it in. At night the childrenmade nurse hurry them to bed, so that when mother came to tuck them up,as she generally did, she found the pair fast asleep, and nothing leftto kiss but two curly heads buried in the pillows.
"Bless their hearts," said nurse to Mrs. Norton, "they can think ofnothing but to-morrow. They'll be sadly disappointed if it rains."
But the stars came out, and the new moon shone softly all night on thegreat fir trees and the rosebuds and the little dancing beck in theRavensnest garden; and when Milly awoke next morning the sun wasshining, and Brownholme was towering up clear and high into the breezyblue sky, and the trees were throwing cool shadows on the dewy lawnaround the house.
"Oh dear!" said Milly, jumping up, her face flushing with joy "it's mybirthday, and it's fine. Nana, bring me my things, please.--But where'sOlly?"
Where indeed was Olly? There was his little bed, but there was anightdress rolled up in it, and not a wisp of his brown curls was to beseen anywhere.
"Why, Miss Milly, are you woke up at last? I hardly thought you'd haveslept so late this morning. Many happy returns of the day to you," saidnurse, giving her a hearty hug.
"Thank you, _dear_ nurse. Oh, it is so nice having birthdays. But wherecan Olly be?"
"Don't you trouble your head about him," said nurse mysteriously, andnot another word could Milly get out of her. She had just slipped on herwhite cotton frock when mother opened the door.
"Well, birthday-girl! The top of the morning to you, and many, manyhappy returns of the day."
Whereupon Milly and mother went through a great deal of kissing whichneed not be described, and then mother helped her brush her hair, andput on her ribbon and tie her sash, so that in another minute or two shewas quite ready to go down.
"Now, Milly, wait one minute till you hear the bell ring, and then youmay come down as fast as you like."
So Milly waited, her little feet dancing with impatience, till the bellbegan to ring as if it had gone quite mad.
"Oh, that's Olly ringing," cried Milly, rushing off. And sure enoughwhen she got to the hall there was Olly ringing as if he meant to bringthe house down. He dropped the bell when he saw Milly, and dragged herbreathlessly into the dining-room.
And what did Milly see there I wonder? Why, a heap of red and whiteroses lying on the breakfast table, a big heap, with odd corners andpoints sticking up all over it, and under the roses a white napkin, andunder the napkin treasures of all sorts--a book from father, a littlework-box from mother, with a picture of Windermere on the outside, andinside the most delightful cottons and needles and bits ofbright-coloured stuffs; a china doll's dinner-service from Aunt Emma, amug from nurse, a little dish full of big red strawberries fromgardener, and last, but not least, Olly's present--a black paint-box,with colours and brushes and all complete, and tied up with a littledrawing-book which mother had added to make it really useful. At the topof the heap, too, lay two letters addressed in very big round hand to"Miss Milly Norton," and one was signed Jacky and the other signedFrancis. Each of these presents had neat little labels fastened on tothem, and they were smothered in roses--deep red and pale pink roses,with the morning dew sprinkled over them.
"We got all those roses, mother and me, this morning, when you was fastasleep, Milly," shouted Olly, who was capering about like a madcreature. "Mother pulled me out of bed ever so early, and I putted on mygoloshes, and didn't we get wet just! Milly, _isn't_ my paint-box abeauty?"
But it's no good trying to describe what Milly felt. She felt as everyhappy little girl feels on a happy birthday, just a little bitbewitched, as if she had got into another kind of world altogether.
"Now," said father, after breakfast, "I'm yours, Milly, for all thismorning. What are you going to do with me?"
"Make you into a tiger, father, and shoot you," said Olly, who wouldhave liked to play at hunting and shooting games all day long.
"I didn't ask you, sir," said Mr. Norton, "I'm not yours, I'm Milly's.Now, Milly, what shall we do?"
"Will you take us right to the top of Brownholme, father? You know wehaven't been to the very top yet."
"Very well, we'll go if your legs will carry you. But you must ask themvery particularly first how they feel, for it'll be stiff work forthem."
Not very long after breakfast, and before they started for their walk,Aunt Emma's pony carriage came rattling up the drive, and she, too,brought flowers for Milly, above all a bunch of water-lilies all wetfrom the lake; and then she and mother settled under the trees withtheir books and work while the children started on their walk.
But first Milly had drawn mother into a corner where no one could see,and there, with a couple of tears in her two blue eyes, she hadwhispered in a great hurry, so that Mrs. Norton could scarcely hear, "Idon't want to have everything just as _I_ like, to-day, mother. Can't Ido what somebody else likes? I'd rather."
Which means that Milly was a good deal excited, and her heart very full,and that she was thinking of how, a year before, her birthday had beenrather spoilt toward the end of it by a little bit of crossness andself-will, that she remembered afterward with a pang for many a longday. Since then, Milly had learnt a good deal more of that long, longlesson, which we go on learning, big people and little people, all ourlives--the lesson of self-forgetting--of how love brings joy, and to beselfish is to be sad; and her birthday seemed to bring back to her allthat she had been learning.
"Dear little woman," said Mrs. Norton, putting back her tangled hairfrom her anxious little face, "go and be happy. That's what we all liketo-day. Besides, you'll find plenty of ways of doing what other peoplelike before the end of the day without my inventing any. Run along now,and climb away. Mind you don't let Olly tumble into bogs, and mind youbring me a bunch of ferns for the dinner-table--and there'll be twothings done at any rate."
So away ran Milly; and all the morning she and Olly and father scrambledand climbed, and raced and chatted, on the green back of old Brownholme.They went to say good-morning to John Backhouse's cows in the "intake,"as he called his top field, and they just peeped over the wall at thefierce young bull he had bought at Penrith fair a few days before, andwhich looked as if, birthdays or no birthdays, he could have eaten Millyat two mouthfuls, and swallowed Olly down afterwards without knowing it.
Then they climbed and climbed after father, till, just as Olly wasbeginning to feel his legs to make sure they weren't falling off, theywere so tired and shaky--there they were standing on the great pile ofstones which marks the top of the mountain--the very tip-top of all itsgreen points and rocks and grassy stretches. By this time the childrenknew the names of most of the mountains around, and of all the lakes.They went through them now like a lesson with their father; and evenOlly remembered a great many, and could chatter about Helvellyn, andFairfield, and Langdale Pikes, as if he had trudged to the top of themall himself.
Then came the getting down again. Father and Milly and Ollyhand-in-hand, racing over the short fine grass, startling the littleblack-faced sheep, and racing down the steep bits, where Milly and Ollygenerally tumbled over in some sort of a heap at the bottom. As for theflowers they gathered, there were so many I have no time to tell youabout them--wood-flowers and bog-flowers and grass-flowers, and ferns ofall sizes to mix with them, from the great Osmunda, which grew along theRavensnest Beck, down to the tiny little parsley fern. It was alldelightful--the sights and the sounds, and the fresh mountain wind thatblew them about on the top so that long afterward Milly used to lookback to that walk on Brownholme when she was seven years old as one ofthe merriest times she ever spent.
Dinner was very welcome a
fter all this scrambling; and after dinner camea quiet time in the garden, when father read aloud to mother and AuntEmma, and the children kept still and listened to as much as they couldunderstand, at least until they went to sleep, which they both did lyingon a rug at Aunt Emma's feet. Milly couldn't understand how this hadhappened at all, when she found herself waking up and rubbing her eyes,but I think it was natural enough after their long walk in the sun andwind.
At four o'clock nurse came for them, and when they had been put intoclean frocks and pinafores, she took them up to the farm. Milly and Ollyfelt that this was a very solemn occasion, and they walked up to thefarmhouse door hand-in-hand, feeling as shy as if they had never beenthere before. But at the door were Becky and Tiza waiting for them, assmart as new pins, with shining hair, and red ribbons under their littlewhite collars; and the children no sooner caught sight of one anotherthan all their shyness flew away, and they began to chatter as usual.
In the farmhouse kitchen were Bessie and Charlie, and such a comfortabletea spread out on a long table, covered with a red and black woollentable-cloth instead of a white one. Becky and Tiza had filled twotumblers with meadow-sweet and blue campanula, which stood up grandly inthe middle, and there were two home-made cakes at each end, and some ofSally's brown eggs, and piles of tempting bread and butter.
Each of the children had their gift for Milly too: Becky had plaited hera basket of rushes, a thing she had often tried to teach Milly how tomake for herself, and Tiza pushed a bunch of wild raspberries into herhand, and ran away before Milly could say thank you; Bessie shylyproduced a Christmas card that somebody had once sent to her; and evenCharlie had managed to provide himself with a bunch of the wild yellowpoppies which grew on the wall of the Ravensnest garden, and were a joyto all beholders.
Then Mrs. Backhouse put Milly at one end of the table, while she beganto pour out tea at the other, and the feast began. Certainly, Millythought, it was much more exciting going out to tea at a farmhouse thanhaving children to tea with you at home, just as you might anywhere, onany day in the year. There were the big hens coming up to the door andpoking in their long necks to take a look at them; there were thepigeons circling round and round in the yard; there was the sound ofmilking going on in the shed close by, and many other sights and soundswhich were new and strange and delightful.
As for Olly, he was very much taken up for a time with the red and blacktable-cloth, and could not be kept from peering underneath it from timeto time, as if he suspected that the white table-cloth he was generallyaccustomed to had been hidden away underneath for a joke. But when thetime for cake came, Olly forgot the table-cloth altogether. He had neverseen a cake quite like the bun-loaf, which kind Mrs. Backhouse had madeherself for the occasion, and of which she had given him a hunch, so inhis usual inquisitive way he began to turn it over and over, as if bylooking at it long enough he could find out how it was made and allabout it. Presently, when the others were all quietly enjoying theirbun-loaf, Olly's shrill little voice was heard saying--while he put twoseparate fingers on two out of the few currants in his piece:
"_This_ currant says to _that_ currant, 'I'm here, where are you? You'reso far off I can't see you nowhere.'"
"Olly, be quiet," said Milly.
"Well, but, Milly, I can't help it; it's so funny. There's only threecurrants in my bit, and cookie puts such a lot in at home. I'mpretending they're little children wanting to play, only they can't,they're so far off. There, I've etten one up. Now there's only two.That's you and me, Milly. I'll eat you up first--krick!"
"Never mind about the currants, little master," said Mrs. Backhouse,laughing at him. "It's nice and sweet any way, and you can eat as muchof it as you like, which is more than you can of rich cakes."
Olly thought there was something in this, and by the time he had gotthrough his second bit of bun-loaf he had quite made up his mind that hewould get Susan to make bun-loaves at home too.
They were just finishing tea when there was a great clatter outside, andby came the hay-cart with John Backhouse leading the horse, and two menwalking beside it.
"We're going to carry all the hay in yon lower field presently," heshouted to his wife as he passed. "Send the young 'uns down to see."
Up they all started, and presently the whole party were racing down thehill to the riverfield, with Mrs. Backhouse and her baby walking soberlywith nurse behind them. Yes, there lay the hay piled up in large cockson the fresh clean-swept carpet of bright green grass, and in the middleof the field stood the hay-cart with two horses harnessed, one manstanding in it to press down and settle the hay as John Backhouse andtwo other men handed it up to him on pitchforks. Olly went head overheels into the middle of one of the cocks, followed by Charlie, andwould have liked to go head over heels into all the rest, but Mr.Norton, who had come into the field with mother and Aunt Emma, told himhe must be content to play with two cocks in one of the far corners ofthe field without disturbing the others, which were all ready forcarrying, and that if he and Charlie strewed the hay about they musttidy it up before John Backhouse wanted to put it on the cart. So Ollyand Charlie went off to their corner, and for a little while all theother children played there too. Milly had invented a game called the"Babes in the Wood," in which two children were the babes and pretendedto die on the grass, and all the rest were the robins, and covered themup with hay instead of leaves. She and Tiza made beautiful babes: theyput their handkerchiefs over their faces and lay as still as mice, tillOlly had piled so much hay on the top of them that there was not a bitof them to be seen anywhere, while Bessie began to cry out as if she wassuffocated before they had put two good armfuls over her.
Presently, however, Milly got tired; and she and Tiza walked off bythemselves and sat down by the river to get cool. The water in the riverwas quite low again now, and the children could watch the tiny minnowsdarting and flashing about by the bank, and even amuse themselves byfancying every now and then that they saw a trout shooting across theclear brown water. Tiza had quite left off being shy now with Milly, andthe two chattered away, Milly telling Tiza all about her school, andJacky and Francis, and Spot and the garden at home; and Tiza tellingMilly about her father's new bull, how frightened she and Becky were ofhim, and how father meant to make the fence stronger for fear he shouldget out and toss people.
"What a happy little party," said Aunt Emma to mother looking round thefield; "there's nothing like hay for children."
By this time the hay-cart was quite full, and crack went JohnBackhouse's whip, as he took hold of the first horse's head and gave hima pull forward to start the cart on its way to the farm.
"Gee-up," shouted John in his loud cheery voice, and the horse made astep forward, while the children round cried "Hurrah!" and waved theirhands. But suddenly there was a loud piteous cry which made John givethe horse a sudden push back and drop his whip, and then, from wherethey sat, Milly and Tiza heard a sound of crying and screaming, whileeverybody in the field ran toward the hay-cart. They ran too; what couldhave happened?
Just as they came up to the crowd of people round the cart, Milly sawher father with something in his arms. And this something wasBecky--poor little Becky, with a great mark on her temple, and her eyesquite shut, and such a white face!
"Oh, mother! mother!" cried Milly, rushing up to her, "tell me, mother,what is the matter with Becky?"
But Mrs. Norton had no time to attend to her. She was running to meetMrs. Backhouse, who had come hurrying up from another part of the fieldwith the baby in her arms.
"She was under the cart when it moved on," said Mrs. Norton, taking thebaby from her. "We none of us know how it happened. She must have beentrying to hand up some hay at the last moment and tumbled under. I don'tthink her head is much hurt."
On ran Mrs. Backhouse, and Milly and her mother followed.
"Better let me carry her up now without moving her," said Mr. Norton, asMrs. Backhouse tried to take the little bundle from him. "She hasfainted, I think. We must get some water at the
stream." So on he went,with the pale frightened mother, while the others followed. Aunt Emmahad got Tiza and Milly by the hand, and was trying to comfort them.
"We hope she is not much hurt, darlings; the wheel did not go over her,thank God. It was just upon her when her father backed the horse. But itmust have crushed her I'm afraid, and there was something hanging underthe cart which gave her that knock on the temple. Look, there is one ofthe men starting off for the doctor."
Whereupon Tiza, who had kept quiet till then, burst into a loud fit ofcrying, and threw herself down on the grass.
"Nurse," called Aunt Emma, "stay here with these two poor little oneswhile I go and see if I can be of any use."
So nurse came and sat beside them, and Milly crept up to her forcomfort. But poor little Tiza lay with her face buried in the grass andnothing they could say to her seemed to reach her little deaf ears.
Meanwhile, Aunt Emma hurried after the others, and presently caught themup at a stream where Mr. Norton had stopped to bathe Becky's head andface. The cold water had just revived her when Aunt Emma came up, andfor one moment she opened her heavy blue eyes and looked at her mother,who was bending over her, and then they shut again. But her little handwent feebly searching for her mother, who caught it up and kissed it.
"Oh, Miss Emma, Miss Emma," she said, pointing to the child, "I'm afeardbut she's badly hurt."
"I hope not, with all my heart," said Aunt Emma, gently taking her arm."But the doctor will soon be here; we must get her home before hecomes."
So on they went again, Mr. Norton still carrying Becky, and Mr.Backhouse helping his wife along. Mrs. Norton had got the baby safe inher motherly arms, and so they all toiled up the hill to the farmhouse.What a difference from the merry party that ran down the hill only anhour before!
They laid Becky down on her mother's bed, and then Aunt Emma, findingthat Mrs. Norton wished to stay till the doctor came, went back to thechildren. She found a sad little group sitting in the hay-field; Millyin nurse's lap crying quietly every now and then; Tiza still sobbing onthe grass, and Olly who had just crept down from the farmhouse, where heand Charlie had seen Becky carried in, talking to nurse in eagerwhispers, as if he daren't talk out loud.
"Oh, Aunt Emma," cried Milly, when she opened the gate, "is she better?"
"A little, I think, Milly, but the doctor will soon be here, and then weshall know all about it. Tiza, you poor little woman, Mrs. Wheeler saysyou must sleep with them to-night. Your mother will want the house veryquiet, and to-morrow, you know, you can go and see Becky if the doctorsays you may."
At this Tiza began to cry again more piteously than ever. It seemed sodreary and terrible to her to be shut out from home without Becky. ButAunt Emma sat down on the grass beside her, and lifted her up and talkedto her; with anybody else Tiza would have kicked and struggled, for shewas a curious, passionate child, and her grief was always wild andangry, but nobody could struggle with Aunt Emma, and at last she letherself be comforted a little by the tender voice and soft caressinghand. She stopped crying, and then they all took her up to theWheelers's cottage, where Mrs. Wheeler, a kind motherly body, took herin, and promised that she should know everything there was to be knownabout Becky.
"Aunt Emma," said Milly, presently, when they were all sitting in theconservatory which ran round the house, waiting for Mr. Norton to bringthem news from the farm, "how did Becky tumble under the cart?"
"She was lifting up some hay, I think, which had fallen off, and one ofthe men was stooping down to take it on his fork, and then she must haveslipped and fallen right under the cart, just as John Backhouse told thehorse to go on."
"Oh, if the wheel _had_ gone over!" said Milly, shuddering. "Isn't it asad birthday, Aunt Emma, and we were so happy a little while ago? Andthen I can't understand. I don't know why it happens like this."
"Like what, Milly?"
"Why, Aunt Emma, always in stories, you know, it's the bad people gethurt and die. And now it's poor little Becky that's hurt. And she's sucha dear little girl, and helps her mother so. I don't think she ought tohave been hurt."
"We don't know anything about 'oughts,' Milly, darling, you and I. Godknows, we trust, and that helps many people who love God to be patientwhen they are in trouble or pain. But think if it had been poormischievous little Tiza who had been hurt, how she would have fretted.And now very likely Becky will bear it beautifully, and so, withoutknowing it, she will be teaching Tiza to be patient, and it will do Tizagood to have to help Becky and take care of her for a bit, instead ofletting Becky always look after her and get her out of scrapes."
"Oh, and Aunt Emma, can't we all take care of Becky? What can Olly and Ido?" said Milly, imploringly.
"I can go and sing all my songs to Becky," said Olly, looking upbrightly.
"By-and-by, perhaps," said Aunt Emma, smiling and patting his head. "Buthark! isn't that father's step?"
It had grown so dark that they could hardly see who it was opening thegate.
"Oh yes, it is," cried Milly. "It's father and mother." Away they ran tomeet them, and Mrs. Norton took Milly's little pale face in both herhands and kissed it.
"She's not _very_ badly hurt, darling. The doctor says she must liequite quiet for two or three weeks, and then he hopes she'll be allright. The wheel gave her a squeeze, which jarred her poor little backand head very much, but it didn't break anything, and if she lies veryquite the doctor thinks she'll get quite well again." "Oh mother! anddoes Tiza know?"
"Yes, we have just been to tell her. Mrs. Wheeler had put her to bed,but she went up to give her our message, and she said poor little Tizabegan to cry again, and wanted us to tell her mother she would be _so_quiet if only they would let her come back to Becky."
"Will they, mother?"
"In a few days, perhaps. But she is not to see anybody but Mrs.Backhouse for a little while."
"Oh dear!" sighed Milly, while the tears came into her eyes again. "Weshall be going away so soon, and we can't say good-bye. Isn't it sad,mother, just happening last thing? and we've been so happy all thetime."
"Yes, Milly," said Mr. Norton, lifting her on to his knee. "This is thefirst really sad thing that ever happened to you in your little life Ithink. Mother, and I, and Aunt Emma, tell you stories about sad things,but that's very different, isn't it?"
"Yes," said Milly, thinking. "Father, are there as many sad thingsreally as there are in stories?--you know what I mean."
"There are a great many sad things and sad people in the world, Milly.We don't have monsters plaguing us like King Hrothgar, but every daythere is trouble and grief going on somewhere, and we happy and strongpeople must care for the sad ones if we want to do our duty and help tostraighten the world a little."
"Father," whispered Milly, softly, "will you tell us how--Olly and me?We would if we knew how."
"Well, Milly, suppose you begin with Becky, and poor Tiza too, indeed. Iwonder whether a pair of little people could make a scrap-book for Beckyto look at when she is getting better?"
"Oh yes, yes!" said Milly, joyfully, "I've got ever so many pictures inmother's writing-book, she let me cut out of her 'Graphics,' and Ollycan help paste; can't you, Olly?"
"Olly generally pastes his face more than anything else," said Mr.Norton, giving a sly pull at his brown curls. "If I'm not very muchmistaken, there is a little fairy pasting up your eyes, old man."
"I'm not sleepy, not a bit," said Olly, sitting bolt upright andblinking very fast.
"I think you're not sleepy, but just asleep," said Mr. Norton, catchinghim up in his arms, and carrying him to his mother to say good-night.
Milly went very soberly and quietly up to bed, and for some little timeshe lay awake, her little heart feeling very sore and heavy about the"sad things" in the world. Then with her thoughts full of Becky she fellasleep.
So ended Milly's birthday, a happy day and a sorrowful day, all in one.When Milly grew older there was no birthday just before or after it sheremembered half so clearly as that on whi
ch she was seven years old.
CHAPTER X
LAST DAYS AT RAVENSNEST
On Friday morning the children and their father trudged up very early tothe farm to get news of Becky. She had had a bad night Mr. Backhousesaid, but she had taken some milk and beef-tea; she knew her father andmother quite well, and she had asked twice for Tiza. The doctor saidthey must just be patient. Quiet and rest would make her well again, andnothing else, and Tiza was not to go home for a day or two.
As for poor Tiza, a long sleep had cheered her up greatly, and whenMilly and Olly went to take her out with them after breakfast, theyfound her almost as merry and chatty as usual. But she didn't like beingkept at the Wheelers's, though they were very kind to her; and it wasall Mrs. Wheeler could do to prevent her from slipping up to the farmunknown to anybody.
"They don't have porridge for breakfast," said Tiza, tossing her head,when she and Milly were out together. "Mother always gives us porridge.And I won't sit next Charlie. He's always dirtying hisself. He stickiedhisself just all over this morning with treacle. Mother would have givenhim a clout."
However, on the whole, she was as good as such a wild creature could be,and the children and she had some capital times together. Wheeler thegardener let them gather strawberries and currants for making jam, adelightful piece of work, which helped to keep Tiza out of mischief andmake her contented with staying away from home more than anything else.At last, after three days, the doctor said she might come home if shewould promise to be quiet in the house. So one bright evening Tizaslipped into the farmhouse and squeezed in after her mother to thelittle room where Becky was lying, a white-faced feverish littlecreature, low down among the pillows.
"Becky," said Tiza, sitting down beside her sister, as if nothing hadhappened, "here's some strawberries. Wheeler gave me some. You can havesome if you want."
"Just one," said Becky, in her weak shaky voice, smiling at her; andTiza knelt on the bed and stuffed one softly into her mouth.
"You'll have to nurse baby now, Tiza," said Becky presently; "he's beenunder mother's feet terrible. Mind you don't let him eat nasty things.He'll get at the coals if you don't mind him."
"I'll not let him," said Tiza shortly, setting to work on her ownstrawberries.
All this didn't sound very affectionate; but I think all the same Tizadid love Becky, and I believe she tried to do her best in her own funnyway while Becky was ill. Baby screamed a good deal certainly when shenursed him, and it was quite impossible of course for Tiza to keep outof mischief altogether for two or three weeks. Still, on the whole, shewas a help to her mother; while as for Becky she was never quite happywhen Tiza was out of the house. Becky, like Milly, had a way of lovingeverybody about her, and next to her mother she loved Tiza best ofanybody.
After all, the children were able to say good-bye to Becky. Just the daybefore they were to go away Mr. Backhouse came down to say that Beckywould like to see them very much if they could come, and the doctor saidthey might.
So up they went; Milly a good deal excited, and Olly very curious to seewhat Becky would look like. Mr. Backhouse took them in, and they foundBecky lying comfortably on a little bed, with a patchwork counterpane,and her shoulders and arms covered up in a red flannel dressing-gownthat Aunt Emma had sent her.
"'Haven't you got a bump?' asked Olly"]
Milly kissed her, and Olly shook her hand, and they didn't all quiteknow what to say.
"Is your back better?" said Milly at last. "I'm so glad the doctor letus come."
"Haven't you got a bump?" asked Olly, looking at her with all his eyes."We thought you'd have a great black bump on your fore-head, youknow--ever so big."
"No, it's a cut," said Becky; "there now, you can see how it's plasteredup."
"Did it hurt?" said Olly, "did you kick? I should have kicked. And doesthe doctor give you nasty medicine?"
"No," said Becky, "I don't have any now. And it wasn't nasty at all whatI had first. And now I may have strawberries and raspberries, and Mr.Wheeler sends mother a plate everyday."
"I don't think it's fair that little boys shouldn't never be ill," saidOlly, with his eyes fastened on Becky's plate of strawberries, which wason the chest of drawers.
"Oh, you funny boy," said Milly, "why, mother gives you some every daythough you aren't ill; and I'm sure you wouldn't like staying in bed."
"Yes, I should," said Olly, just for the sake of contradicting. "Do youknow, Becky, we've got a secret, and we're not to tell it you, onlyMilly and I are going to--"
"Don't!" said Milly, putting her hand over, his mouth. "You'll tell in aminute. You're always telling secrets."
"Well, just half, Milly, I won't tell it all you know. It's just likesomething burning inside my mouth. We're going to make you something,Becky, when we get home. Something be--ootiful, you know. And you canlook at it in bed, and we won't make it big, so you can turn over thepages, and--"
"Be quiet, Olly," said Milly, "I should think Becky'll guess now. It'llcome by post, Becky. Mother's going to help us make it. You'll like itI know."
"It's--it's--a picture-book!" said Olly, in a loud whisper, putting hishead down to Becky. "You won't tell, will you?"
"Oh, you unkind boy," said Milly, pouting. "I'll never have a secretwith you again."
But Becky looked very pleased, and said she would like a picture-bookshe thought very much, for it was dull sometimes when mother was busyand Tiza was nursing baby. So perhaps, after all, it didn't matterhaving told her.
"I'm going to write to you, Becky," said Milly, when the time came to goaway, "and at Christmas I'll send you a Christmas card, and perhapssome day we'll come here again you know."
"And then we'll milk the cows," said Olly, "won't we, Becky? And I'llride on your big horse. Mr. Backhouse says I may ride all alone some daywhen I'm big; when I'm sixty--no, when I'm ninety-five you know."
And then Milly and Olly kissed Becky's pale little face and went away,while poor little Becky looked after them as if she was _very_ sorry tosee the last of them; and outside there were Tiza and baby and Mrs.Backhouse and even John Backhouse himself, waiting to say good-bye tothem. It made Milly cry a little bit, and she ran away fast down thehill, while Tiza and Olly were still trying which could squeeze handshardest.
"Oh, you dear mountains," said Milly, as she and nurse walked alongtogether. "Look Nana, aren't they lovely?"
They did look beautiful this last evening. The sun was shining on themso brightly that everything on them, up to the very top, was clear andplain, and high up, ever so far away, were little white dots moving,which Milly knew were cows feeding.
"Good-bye river, good-bye stepping-stones, good-bye doves, good-byefly-catchers! Mind you don't any of you go away till we come backagain."
But I should find it very hard to tell you all the good-byes that Millyand Olly said to the places and people at Ravensnest, to the woods andthe hay-fields, and the beck, to Aunt Emma's parrot, John Backhouse'scows, to Windermere Lake and Rydal Lake, above all to dear Aunt Emmaherself.
"Mind you come at Christmas," shouted both the children, as the trainmoved away from Windermere station and left Aunt Emma standing on theplatform; and Aunt Emma nodded and smiled and waved her handkerchief tothem till they were quite out of sight.
"Mother," said Milly, when they could not see Aunt Emma any more, andthe last bit of Brownholme was slipping away, away, quite out of sight,"I think Ravensnest is the nicest place we ever stopped at. And I don'tthink the rain matters either. I'm going to tell your old gentleman so.He said it rained in the mountains, and it does, mother--doesn't it? buthe said the rain spoilt everything, and it doesn't--not a bit."
"Why, there's that curious old fairy been sprinkling dust in your eyestoo, Milly!"
But something or other had been sprinkling tears in mother's. For to theold people there is nothing sweeter than to see the young ones openingtheir hearts to all that they themselves have loved and rejoiced over.So the chain of life goes on, and joy gives birth to joy and l
ove tolove.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net Share this book with friends