"If we were in there now," said Olly, watching the river with great excitement, "the water would push us down krick! and the fishes would come and etten us all up."

"They'd be a long time gobbling you up, Master Fatty," said his father.

"Come, run along; it's too cold to stand about."

But how brilliant and beautiful it was after the rain! Little tiny trickling rivers were running down all the roads, and sparkling in the sun; the wet leaves and gra.s.s were glittering, and the great mountains all around stood up green and fresh against the blue sky, as if the rain had washed the dust off them from top to toe, and left them clean and bright. Two things only seemed the worse for the rain--the hay and the wild strawberries. Milly peered into all the banks along the road where she generally found her favourite little red berries, but most of them were washed away, and the few miserable things that were left tasted of nothing but rain water. And as for the hay-fields, they looked so wet and drenched that it was hard to believe any sunshine could ever dry them.

"Poor John Backhouse!" said Aunt Emma; "I'm afraid his hay is a good deal spoilt. Aren't you glad father's not a farmer, Milly?"

"Why, Aunt Emma," said Milly, "I'm always wishing father _was_ a farmer.

I want to be like Becky, and call the cows, and mind the baby all by myself. It must be nice feeding the chickens, and making the hay, and taking the milk around."

"Yes, all that's very nice, but how would you like your hay washed away, and your corn beaten down, and your fruit all spoilt? Those are things that are constantly happening to John Backhouse, I expect, in the rainy country."

"Yes, and it won't always be summer," said Milly, considering. "I don't think I should like to stay in that little weeny house all the winter.

Is it very cold here in the winter, Aunt Emma?"

"Not very, generally. But last winter was very cold here, and the snow lay on the ground for weeks and weeks. On Christmas eve, do you know, Milly, I wanted to have a children's party in my kitchen, and what do you think I did? The snow was lying deep on the roads, so I sent out two sledges."

"What are sledges?" asked Olly.

"Carriages with the wheels taken off and two long pieces of wood fastened on instead, so that they slip along smoothly over the snow. And my old coachman drove one and my gardener the other, and they went round all the farmhouses near by, and gathered up the children, little and big, into the sledges, till the coachman had got eight in his sledge, and the gardener had got nine in his, and then they came trotting back with the bells round the horses' necks jingling and clattering, and two such merry loads of rosy-faced children. I wish you had been there; I gave them tea in the kitchen, and afterward we had a Christmas tree in the drawing-room."

"Oh what fun," said Milly. "Why didn't you ask us too, Aunt Emma? We could have come quite well in the train, you know. But how did the children get home?"

"We covered them up warm with rugs and blankets, and sent them back in the sledges. And they looked so happy with their toys and buns cuddled up in their arms, that it did one's heart good to see them."

"Mind you ask us next time, Aunt Emma," said Milly, hanging round her neck coaxingly.

"Mind you get two pairs of wings by that time, then," said Aunt Emma, "for mother's not likely to let you come to my Christmas tree unless you promise to fly there and back. But suppose, instead of your coming to me, I come to you next Christmas?"

"Oh yes! yes!" cried Olly, who had just joined Aunt Emma and Milly, "come to our Christmas tree, Aunt Emma. We'll give you ever such nice things--a ball and a top, and a train--perhaps--and--"

"As if Aunt Emma would care for those kind of things!" said Milly. "No, you shall give her some m.u.f.fetees, you know, to keep her hands warm, and I'll make her a needlebook. But, Aunt Emma, do listen! What can be the matter?"

They were just climbing the little bit of steep road which led to the farm, and suddenly they heard somebody roaring and screaming, and then an angry voice scolding, and then a great clatter, and then louder roaring than ever.

"What _is_ the matter?" cried Milly, running on to the farm door, which was open. But just as she got there, out rushed a tattered little figure with a tear-stained face, and hair flying behind.

"Tiza!" cried Milly, trying to stop her. But Tiza ran past her as quick as lightning down the garden path towards the cherry tree, and in another minute, in spite of the shower of wet she shook down on herself as she climbed up, she was sitting high and safe among the branches, where there was no catching her nor even seeing her.

"Ay, that's the best place for ye," said Mrs. Backhouse, appearing at the door with an angry face, "you'll not get into so much mischief there perhaps as you will indoors. Oh, is that you, Miss Elliot (that was Aunt Emma's surname)? Walk in please, ma'am, though you'll find me sadly untidy this afternoon. Tiza's been at her tricks again; she keeps me sweeping up after her all day. Just look here, if you please, ma'am."

Aunt Emma went in, and the children pressed in after her, full of curiosity to see what crime Tiza had been committing. Poor Mrs.

Backhouse! all over her clean kitchen floor there were streams of water running about, with little pieces of cabbage and carrot sticking up in them here and there, while on the kitchen table lay a heap of meat and vegetables, which Mrs. Backhouse had evidently just picked up out of the grate before Aunt Emma and the children arrived.

"Yes," said Mrs. Backhouse, pointing to the floor, "there's the supper just spoilt. Tiza's never easy but when she's in mischief. I'm sure these wet days I have'nt known what to do with her indoors all day. And what must she do this afternoon but tie her tin mug to the cat's tail, till the poor creature was nearly beside herself with fright, and went rushing about upstairs like a mad thing. And then, just when I happened to be out a minute looking after something, she lets the cat in here, and the poor thing jumps into the saucepan I had just put on with the broth for our supper, and in her fright and all turns it right over. And now look at my grate, and the fender, and the floor, and the meat there all messed! I expect her father'll give Tiza a good beating when he comes in, and I'm sure I shan't stand in the way."

"Oh no, please, Mrs. Backhouse!" said Milly, running up to her with a grave imploring little face. "Don't let Mr. Backhouse beat her; she didn't mean it, she was only in fun, I'm sure."

"Well, missy, it's very troiblesome fun I'm sure," said Mrs. Backhouse, patting Milly kindly on the shoulder, for she was a good-natured woman, and it wasn't her way to be angry long. "I don't know what I'm to give John for his supper, that I don't. I had nothing in the house but just those little odds and ends of meat, that I thought would make a nice bit of broth for supper. And now he'll come in wet and hungry, and there'll be nothing for him. Well, we must do with something else, I suppose, but I expect her father'll beat her."

Milly and Olly looked rather awestruck at the idea of a beating from John Backhouse, that great strong brawny farmer; and Milly, whispering something quickly to Aunt Emma, slipped out into the garden again. By this time father and mother had come up, and Becky appeared from the farmyard, wheeling the baby in a little wooden cart, and radiant with pleasure at the sight of Aunt Emma, whose G.o.dchild she was, so that Milly's disappearance was not noticed.

She ran down the garden path to the cherry tree, and as, in the various times they had been together, Becky and Tiza had taught her a good deal of climbing, she too clambered up into the wet branches, and was soon sitting close by Tiza, who had turned her cotton pinafore over her head and wouldn't look at Milly.

"Tiza," said Milly softly, putting her hand on Tiza's lap, "do you feel very bad?"

No answer.

"We came to take you down to have tea with us," said Milly, "do you think your mother will let you come?"

"Naw," said Tiza shortly, without moving from behind her pinafore.

It certainly wasn't very easy talking to Tiza. Milly thought she'd better try something else.

"Tiza," she began timidly, "do your father and mother tell you stories when it rains?"

"Naw," said Tiza, in a very astonished voice, throwing down her pinafore to stare at Milly.

"Then what do you do, Tiza, when it rains?"

"Nothing," said Tiza. "We has our dinners and tea, and sometimes Becky minds the baby and sometimes I do, and father mostly goes to sleep."

"Tiza," said Milly hurriedly, "did you _mean_ p.u.s.s.y to jump into the saucepan?"

Up went Tiza's pinafore again, and Milly was in dismay because she thought she had made Tiza cry; but to her great surprise Tiza suddenly burst into such fits of laughter, that she nearly tumbled off the cherry tree. "Oh, she did jump so, and the mug made such a rattling! And when she comed out there was just a little bit of carrot sticking to her nose, and her tail was all over cabbage leaf. Oh, she did look funny!"

Milly couldn't help laughing too, till she remembered all that Mrs.

Backhouse had been saying.

"Oh, but, Tiza, Mrs. Backhouse says your father won't have anything for his supper. Aren't you sorry you spoilt his supper?"

"Yis," said Tiza, quickly. "I know father'll beat me, he said he would next time I vexed mother."

And this time the pinafore went up in earnest, and Tiza began to cry piteously.

"Don't cry, Tiza," said Milly, her own little cheeks getting wet, too.

"I'll beg him not. Can't you make up anyway? Mother says we must always make up if we can when we've done any harm. I wish I had anything to give you to make up."

Tiza suddenly dried her eyes and looked at Milly, with a bright expression which was very puzzling.

"You come with me," she said suddenly, swinging herself down from the tree. "Come here by the hedge, don't let mother see us."

So they ran along the far side of the hedge till they got into the farmyard, and then Tiza led Milly past the hen-house, up to the corner where the hayricks were. In and out of the hayricks they went, till in the very farthest corner of all, where hardly anybody ever came, and which n.o.body could see into from the yard, Tiza suddenly knelt down and put her hand under the hay at the bottom of the rick.

"You come," she whispered eagerly to Milly, pulling her by the skirt, "you come and look here."

Milly stooped down, and there in a soft little place, just between the hayrick and the ground, what do you think she saw? Three large brownish eggs lying in a sort of rough nest in the hay, and looking so round and fresh and tempting, that Milly gave a little cry of delight.