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Milly and Olly, and the four little Westmoreland children, had a very pleasant tea together in the afternoon of the Nortons’s first day at Ravensnest. Bessie and Charlie certainly didn’t talk much; but Tiza, when once her mother had made her come, thought proper to get rid of a great deal of her shyness, and to chatter and romp so much that they quite fell in love with her, and could not be persuaded to go anywhere or do anything without her. Nurse would not let Milly and Olly go to call the cows, though she promised they should some other day; but she took the whole party down to the stepping-stones after tea, and great fun it was to see Becky and Tiza running over the stepping-stones, and jumping from one stone to another like little fawns. Milly and Olly wanted sorely to go too, but there was no persuading Nana to let them go without their father to fish them out if they tumbled in, so they had to content themselves with dangling their legs over the first stepping-stone and watching the others. But perhaps you don’t quite known what stepping-stones are? They are large high stones, with flat tops, which people put in, a little way apart from each other, right across a river, so that by stepping from one to the other you can cross to the opposite side. Of course they only do for little rivers, where the water isn’t very deep. And they don’t always do even there. Sometimes in the river Thora, where Milly and Olly’s stepping-stones were, when it rained very much, the water rose so high that it dashed right over the stepping-stones and nobody could go across. Milly and Olly saw the stepping-stones covered with water once or twice while they were at Ravensnest; but the first evening they saw them the river was very low, and the stones stood up high and dry out of the water. Milly thought that stepping-stones were much nicer than bridges, and that it was the most amusing and interesting way of getting across a river that she knew. But then Milly was inclined to think everything wonderful and interesting at Ravensnest—from the tall mountains that seemed to shut them in all around like a wall, down to the tiny gleaming wild strawberries, that were just beginning to show their little scarlet balls on the banks in the Ravensnest woods. Both she and Olly went to bed after their first day at Ravensnest with their little hearts full of happiness, and their little heads full of plans. To-morrow they were to go to Aunt Emma’s, and perhaps the day after that father would take them to bathe in the river, and nurse would let them go and help Becky and Tiza call the cows. Holidayswerenice; still geography lessons were nice too sometimes, thought Milly sleepily, just as she was slipping, slipping away into dreamland, and in her dreams her faithful little thoughts went back lovingly to Fräulein’s kind old face, and to the capes and islands and seas she had been learning about a week ago.
“The flowers Milly gathered for her mother”“The flowers Milly gathered for her mother”
“The flowers Milly gathered for her mother”
The next morning Mr. and Mrs. Norton were busy indoors till about twelve o’clock; and the children wandered about the garden with nurse, finding out many new nooks and corners, especially a delightful steep path which led up and up into the woods, till at last it took the children to a little brown summer-house at the top, where they could sit and look over the trees below, away to the river and the hay-fields and the mountains. And between the stones and this path grew the prettiest wild strawberries, only, as Milly said, it was not much good looking for them yet, for there were so few red ones you could scarcely get enough to taste what they were like. But in a week or two, she and Olly planned that they would take up a basket with some green leaves in it, and gather a lot for father and mother—enough for regular dessert—and some wild raspberries too, for these also grew in the wood, to the great delight of the children, who had never seen any before. They began to feel presently as if it would be nothing very extraordinary to find trees covered with barley sugar or jam tarts in this wonderful wood. And as for the flowers Milly gathered for her mother, they were a sight to see—moon-daisies and meadow-sweet, wild roses and ragged-robins, and bright bits of rhododendrons. For both the woods and the garden at Ravensnest were full of rhododendrons of all colours, pink and red, and white and flame colour; and Milly and Olly amused themselves with making up bunches of different coloured flowers with as many different colours in them as they could find. There were no rhododendrons at Willingham; and the children thought them the loveliest, gayest things they had ever seen.
But at last twelve o’clock came. Nurse tidied the children, gave them some biscuits and milk, and then sent them to the drawing-room to find father and mother. Only Mrs. Norton was there, but she said there was no need to wait for father, as he was out already and would meet them on the way. They were to go straight over the mountain instead of walking round by the road, which would have taken much longer. So off they set—Olly skipping, and chattering as he always did; while Milly stuck close to her mother, telling her every now and then, when Olly left off talking, about their morning in the wood, the flowers they had gathered and the strawberries they had found. At the top of the garden was a little gate, and beside the gate stood Bessie and Charlie, who had really been watching for the children all the morning, though they didn’t dare to come into the garden without leave.
“Bessie, we are going to Aunt Emma’s,” said Milly, running up to them. “Where are you and Charlie going to?”
“Nawhere,” said Bessie, who, as usual, had her pinafore in her mouth, and never said more than one word at a time if she could help it.
“Nowhere! what do you do all the morning, Bessie?”
“I doan’t know,” said Bessie, gravely looking up at her; “sometimes I mind the baby.”
“Do you mind the baby, too? Dear, dear! And what does Charlie do?”
“Nawthing,” said Bessie again. “He only makes himself dirty.”
“Don’t you go to school ever?”
“No, but mother’s going to send us,” said Bessie, whose big eyes grew round and frightened at the idea, as if it was a dreadful prospect. “Are you going to be away for all day?”
“Yes; we shan’t be back till quite evening, mother says. Here she is. Good-bye, Bessie; good-bye, Charlie. Will you come and play with us to-morrow morning?”
Bessie nodded, but Charlie ran off without answering; for he saw Olly coming, and was afraid he might want to kiss him. On the other side of the gate they had to begin to climb up a steep bit of soft green grass; and very hard work it was. After quite a little way the children began to puff and pant like two little steam engines.
“Itisa little bit like going upstairs, don’t you think, Olly?” said Milly, sitting down by her mother on a flat bit of gray stone.
“No, it isn’t a bit like going upstairs,” said Olly, shaking his head; for Olly always liked contradicting Milly if he could. “It’s like—it’s like—walking up a house!”
Suddenly they heard far above them a shout of “Hullo!” Both the children started up and looked about them. It was like father’s voice, but they couldn’t see him anywhere.
“Where are you, father?”
“Hullo!” again. And this time it sounded much nearer to them. Where could it be? The children began to run about and look behind the bushes and the rocks, till all of a sudden, just as Milly got near a big rock, out jumped Mr. Norton from behind it with a great shout, and began to run after her. Away ran Milly and Olly as fast as their small feet could carry them, up and down, up and down, till at last there came a steep place—one of Milly’s feet tripped up, down she went, rolling over and over—down came Olly on the top of her, and the two of them rolled away together till they stopped at the bottom of the steep place, all mixed up in a heap of legs and arms and hats and pinafores.
“Here’s a boy and girl tied up in a knot,” said Mr. Norton, scrambling down after them and lifting them up. “There’s no harm done, is there?”
“I’ve got a bump on my arm,” said Milly, turning up her sleeve.
“And I’ve got a scratch on my nose,” said Olly, rubbing it.
“That’s not much for a nice tumble like that,” said Mr. Norton, “you wouldn’t mind another, would you, Milly?”
“Not a bit,” said Milly, merrily skipping along beside him. “Hide again, father.”
“Another day, not now, for we want to get to Aunt Emma’s. But tomorrow, if you like, we’ll come up here and have a capital game. Only we must choose a nice dry place where there are no bogs.”
“What are bogs?” asked Olly.
“Wet places, where your feet go sinking deeper and deeper into the mud, and you can’t find any stiff firm bit to stand on. Sometimes people sink down and down into a bog till the mud comes right over their head and face and chokes them; but we haven’t got any bogs as bad as that here. Now, children, step along in front. Very soon we shall get to the top of the mountain, and then we shall see wonderful things on the other side.”
So Milly and Olly ran on, pushing their way through the great tall fern, or scampering over the short green grass where the little mountain sheep were nibbling, and where a beautiful creeping moss grew all over the ground, which, mother told Milly, was called “Stags’ horn moss,” because its little green branches were so like stags’ horns.
“Now look, children,” shouted their father to them from behind. “Here we are at the top.”
And then, all of a sudden, instead of only the green mountain and the sheep, they could see far away on the other side of the mountain. There, all round them, were numbers of other mountains; and below, at their feet, were houses and trees and fields, while straight in front lay a great big blue lake stretching away ever so far, till it seemed to be lost in the sky.
“Look, look, mother!” cried Milly, clapping her hands, “there’s Windermere lake, the lake we saw when we were coming from the station. Look at that steamer, with all the people on board! What funny little black people. And oh, mother, look at that little boat over there! How can people go out in such a weeny boat as that?”
“It isn’t such a weeny boat, Milly. It only looks so small because it’s such a long way off. When father and I take you and Olly on the lake, we shall go in a boat just like that. And now, instead of looking so far away, look just down here below you, and tell me what you see.”
“Some chimneys, and some trees, and some smoke, ever so far down,” shouted the children. “Is it a house, mother?”
“That’s Aunt Emma’s house, the old house where I used to come and stay when I was a little girl, and when your dear great-grandfather and great-grandmother were alive. I used to think it the nicest place in the world.”
“Were you a very little girl, mother, and were you ever naughty?” asked Milly, slipping her little hand into her mother’s and beginning to feel rather tired with her long walk.
“I’m afraid I was very often naughty, Milly. I used to get into great rages and scream, till everybody was quite tired out. But Aunt Emma was very good to me, and took a great deal of pains to cure me of going into rages. Besides, it always did naughty children good to live in the same house with great-grandmamma, and so after a while I got better. Take care how you go, children, it’s very steep just here, and you might soon tumble over on your noses. Olly, take care! take care! whereareyou going?”
Where, indeed, was Olly going? Just the moment before the little man had spied a lovely flower growing a little way off the path, in the middle of some bright yellow-green moss. And without thinking of anything but getting it, off he rushed. But oh! splish, splash, splish, down went Olly’s feet, up splashed the muddy water, and there was Olly stuck in a bog.
“Father, pull me out, pull me out!” cried the little boy in terror, as he felt his feet stuck fast. But almost before he could speak there was father close beside him, standing on a round little hump of dry grass which was sticking up out of the bog, and with one grip he got hold of Olly under his arm, and then jump! on to another little hump of grass, jump! on to another, and there they were safe on the path again.
“Oh, you black boy!” cried father and mother and Milly all together. Was there ever such a little object! All his nice clean holland frock was splashed with black mud; and what had happened to his stockings?
“I’ve got mud-stockings on,” shouted Olly, capering about, and pointing to his legs which were caked with mud up to his knees.
“You’re a nice respectable boy to take out to dinner,” said Mrs. Norton. “I think we’ll leave you on the mountain to have dinner with the sheep.”
“Oh no, father,” pleaded Milly, taking Olly fast by the hand. “We can wash him at Aunt Emma’s, you know.”
“Don’t go too close to him, Milly!” exclaimed Mrs. Norton, “or you’ll get as black as he is. We shall have to put him under the pump at Aunt Emma’s, that’s quite certain. But there’s nothing to wash him with here, so he must just go as he is for a bit. Now, Olly, run along and your feet will soon dry. Father’s going first, you go next, just where he goes, I’m coming after you, and Milly shall go last. Perhaps in that way we shall get you down safe.”
“Oh, but, mother, look at my flower,” said Olly, holding it up triumphantly. “Isn’t it a beauty?”
“Shall I tell you what it’s called, Olly? It’s called a butterwort, and it always grows in boggy places; I wouldn’t advise you to go after one again without asking father first.”
It was a very different thing going down the mountain from climbing up it. It seemed only a few minutes before they had got almost to the bottom, and there was a gate leading into a road, and a little village of white houses in front of them. They walked up the road a little way, and then father opened a big gate and let them into a beautiful garden full of rhododendrons like the Ravensnest garden. And who was this walking down the drive to meet them? Such a pretty little elderly lady, with gray hair and a white cap.
“Dear Aunt Emma!” said Mrs. Norton, running up to her and taking both her hands and kissing her.
“Well, Lucy,” said the little lady, holding her hands and looking at her (Lucy was Mrs. Norton’s Christian name), “itisnice to see you all here. And there’s dear little Milly, I remember her. But where’s Olly? I’ve never seen that small creature, you know. Come, Olly, don’t be shy. Little boys are never shy with Aunt Emma.”
“Except when they tumble into bogs,” said Mr. Norton, laughing and pulling Olly forward, who was trying to hide his mud-stockings behind his mother. “There’s a clean tidy boy to bring to dinner, isn’t he, Aunt Emma? I think I’ll take him to the yard and pump on him a little before we bring him in.”
Aunt Emma put up her spectacles to look at Olly.
“Why, Olly, I think Mother Quiverquake has been catching hold of you. Don’t you know about old Mother Quiverquake, who lives in the bogs? Oh, I can tell you splendid stories about her some day. But now catch hold of my hand, and keep your little legs away from my dress, and we’ll soon make a proper boy of you again.”
And then Aunt Emma took one of Milly’s hands and one of Olly’s, and up they went to the house. But I must start another chapter before I begin to tell you what the children saw in Aunt Emma’s house, and of the happy time they spent there.
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Instead of taking them straight into the house, however, Aunt Emma took the children up a little shady path which very soon brought them to a white cottage covered with honeysuckle and climbing roses.
“This is where my coachman’s wife lives,” said Aunt Emma, “and she owns a small boy who might perhaps find you a pair of stockings, Olly, to put on while your own are washed.”
Olly opened his brown eyes very wide at the idea of wearing some other little boy’s stockings, but he said nothing.
Aunt Emma tapped at the door, and out came a stout kind-looking woman.
“Mrs. Tyson, do you think your Johnny could lend my little nephew a pair of his stockings while we get his own washed? Master Olly has been tumbling into a bog by way of making friends with the mountains, and I don’t quite know how I am to let those legs into my dining-room.”
“Dear me, ma’am, but Johnny’ll be proud if he’s got any clean, but I’ll not answer for it. Won’t ye come in?”
In they walked, and there was a nice tidy kitchen, with a wooden cradle in the corner, and a little fair-haired boy sitting by it and rocking the baby. This was Johnny, and Olly looked at him with great curiosity. “I’ve got bigger legs than Johnny,” he whispered solemnly at last to Aunt Emma, while they were waiting for Mrs. Tyson, who had gone upstairs to fetch the stockings.
“Perhaps you eat more bread and milk than Johnny does,” said Aunt Emma, very solemnly too, “However, most likely Johnny’s stockings will stretch. How’s the baby, Johnny?”
“She’s a great deal better, ma’am,” said the little boy, smiling at her. Milly and Olly made him feel shy, but he loved Aunt Emma.
“Have you been taking care of her all the morning for mother?”
“Yes, ma’am, and she’s never cried but once,” said Johnny proudly.
“Well done! Ah! there comes Mrs. Tyson. Now, Olly, sit up on that chair, and we’ll see to you.”
Off came the dirty stockings, and Mrs. Tyson slipped on a pair of woolen socks that tickled Olly very much. They were very thick, and not a bit like his own stockings; and when he got up again he kept turning round and round to look at his legs, as if he couldn’t make them out.
“Do they feel funny to you?” said Mrs. Tyson, patting his shoulder. “Never you mind, little master; I know they’re nice and warm, for I knitted them myself.”
“Mother buys our stockings in the shop,” said Olly, when they got outside again; “why doesn’t Mrs. Tyson?”
“Perhaps we haven’t so many shops, or such nice ones here, Olly, as you have at Willingham; and the people here have always been used to do a great many things for themselves. Some of them live in such lonely places among the mountains that it is very difficult for them to get to any shops. Not very long ago the mothers used to make all the stuffs for their own dresses and their children’s. What would you say, Milly, if mother had to weave the stuff for it every time you had a new dress?”
“Mother wouldn’t give me a great many new dresses,” said Milly, gravely, shaking her head. “I like shops best, Aunt Emma.”
“Well, I suppose it’s best to like what we’ve got,” said Aunt Emma, laughing.
Indoors, Olly’s muddy stockings were given to Aunt Emma’s maid, who promised to have them washed and dried by the time they had to go home, and then, when Mrs. Norton had covered up the black spots on his frock with a clean pinafore she had brought with her, Olly looked quite respectable again.
The children thought they had never seen quite such a nice house as Aunt Emma’s. First of all it had a large hall, with all kinds of corners in it, just made for playing hide-and-seek in; and the drawing-room was full of the most delightful things. There were stuffed birds in cases, and little ivory chessmen riding upon ivory elephants. There were picture-books, and there were mysterious drawers full of cards and puzzles, and glass marbles and old-fashioned toys, that the children’s mother and aunts and uncles, and their great-aunts and uncles before that, had loved and played with years and years ago. On the wall hung a great many pictures, some of them of funny little stiff boys in blue coats with brass buttons, and some of them of little girls with mob-caps and mittens, and these little boys and girls were all either dead now, or elderly men and women, for they were the great-aunts and uncles; and over the mantelpiece hung a picture of a lovely old lady, with bright, soft brown hair and smiling eyes and lips, that looked as if they were just going to speak to the two strange little children who had come for their first visit to their mother’s old home. Milly knew quite well that it was a picture of great-grandmamma. She had seen others like it before, only not so large as this one, and she looked at it quietly, with her grave blue eyes, while Olly was eagerly wandering round the room, spying into everything, and longing to touch this, that, and the other, if only mother would let go his hand.
“You know who that is, don’t you, little woman?” said Aunt Emma, taking her up on her knee.
“Yes,” said Milly, nodding, “it’s great-grandmamma. I wish we could have seen her.”
“I wish you could, Milly. She would have smiled at you as she is smiling in the picture and you would have been sure to have loved her; all little children did. I can remember seeing your mother, Milly, when she was about as old as you, cuddled up in a corner of that sofa over there, in ‘grandmamma’s pocket,’ as she used to call it, listening with all her ears to great-grandmamma’s stories. There was one story called ‘Leonora’ that went on for years and years, till all the little children in it—and the little children who listened to it—were almost grown up; and then great-grandmamma always carried about with her a wonderful blue-silk bag full of treasures, which we used to be allowed to turn out whenever any of us had been quite good at our lessons for a whole week.”
“Mother has a bag like that,” said Milly; “it has lots of little toys in it that father had when he was a little boy. She lets us look at it on our birthdays. Can you tell stories, Aunt Emma?”
“Tell us about old Mother Quiverquake,” cried Olly, running up and climbing on his aunt’s knee.
“Oh dear, no!” said Aunt Emma; “it’s much too fine to-day for stories—indoors, at any rate. Wait till we get a real wet day, and then we’ll see. After dinner to-day, what do you think we’re going to do? Suppose we have a row on the lake to get water-lilies, and suppose we take a kettle and make ourselves some tea on the other side of the lake. What would you say to that, Master Olly?”
The children began to dance about with delight at the idea of a row and a picnic both together, when suddenly there was a knock at the door, and when Aunt Emma said, “Come in!” what do you think appeared? Why, a great green cage, carried by a servant, and in it a gray parrot, swinging about from side to side, and cocking his head wickedly, first over one shoulder and then over the other.
“Now, children,” said Aunt Emma, while the children stood quite still with surprise, “let me introduce you to my old friend, Mr. Poll Parrot. Perhaps you thought I lived all alone in this big house. Not at all. Here is somebody who talks to me when I talk to him, who sings and chatters and whistles and cheers me up wonderfully in the winter evenings, when the rains come and make me feel dull. Put him down here, Margaret,” said Aunt Emma to the maid, clearing a small table for the cage. “Now, Olly, what do you think of my parrot?”
“Can it talk?” asked Olly, looking at it with very wide open eyes.
“Itcantalk; whether itwilltalk is quite another thing. Parrots are contradictious birds. I feel very often as if I should like to beat Polly, he’s so provoking. Now, Polly, how are you to-day?”
“Polly’s got a bad cold; fetch the doc—” said the bird at once, in such a funny cracked voice, that it made Olly jump as if he had heard one of the witches in Grimm’s “Fairy Tales” talking.
“Come, Polly, that’s very well behaved of you; but you mustn’t leave off in the middle, begin again. Olly, if you don’t keep your fingers out of the way Polly will snap them up for his dinner. Parrots like fingers very much.” Olly put his hands behind his back in a great hurry, and mother came to stand behind him to keep him quiet. By this time, however, Polly had begun to find out that there were some new people in the room he didn’t know, and for a long time Aunt Emma could not make him talk at all. He would do nothing but put his head first on one side and then on the other and make angry clicks with his beak.
“Come, Polly,” said Aunt Emma, “what a cross parrot you are. One—two—three—four. Now, Polly, count.”
“Polly’s got a bad cold, fetch the doc—” said Polly again while Aunt Emma was speaking. “One—two—six—seven—eight—nine—two—Quickmarch!”
And then Polly began to lift first one claw and then the other as if he were marching, while the children shouted with laughter at his ridiculous ways and his gruff cracked voice.
Then Aunt Emma went behind him and rapped gently on the table. The parrot stopped marching, stuck his head on one side and listened. Aunt Emma rapped again.
“Come in!” said the parrot suddenly, quite softly, as if he had turned into quite another person. “Hush—sh—sh, cat’s got a mouse!”
“Well, Polly,” said Aunt Emma, “I suppose she may have a mouse if she likes. Is that all you’ve got to tell us? Polly, where’s gardener?”
“Get away! get away!” screamed Polly, while all his feathers began to stand up straight, and his eyes looked fierce and red like two little live coals.
“That always makes him cross,” said Aunt Emma; “he can’t bear gardener. Come, Polly, don’t get in such a temper.”
“Oh, isn’t he like the witches on the broom-sticks in our fairy-book, Olly?” cried Milly. “Don’t you think, Aunt Emma, he must have been changed into something? Perhaps he was a wicked witch once, or a magician, you know, and the fairies changed him into a parrot.”
“Well, Milly, I can’t say. He was a parrot when I had him first, twelve years ago. That’s all I know about it. But I believe he’s very old. Some people say he’s older than I am—think of that! So you see he’s had time to be a good many things. Well, Polly, good-night. You’re not a nice bird to-night at all. Take him away, Margaret.”
“Jane! Jane!” screamed Polly, as the maid lifted up the cage again. “Make haste, Jane! cat’s in the larder!”
“Oh, you bad Polly,” said Aunt Emma, “you’re always telling tales. Jane’s my cook, Milly, and Polly doesn’t like cats, so you see he tries to make Jane believe that our old cat steals the meat out of the larder. Good-bye, Polly, good-bye. You’re an ill-natured old bird, but I’m very fond of you all the same.”
“Do get us a parrot, mother!” said Olly, jumping about round his mother, when Polly was gone.
“How many more things will you want before you get home, Olly, do you think?” asked his mother, kissing him. “Perhaps you’ll want to take home a few mountains, and two or three little rivers, and a bog or two, and a few sheep—eh, young man?”
By this time dinner was ready, and there was the dinner-bell ringing. Up ran the children to Aunt Emma’s room to get their hands washed and their hair brushed, and presently there were two tidy little folks sitting on either side of Aunt Emma’s chair, and thinking to themselves that they had never felt quite so hungry before. But hungry as Milly was she didn’t forget to look out of the window before she began her dinner, and it was worth while looking out of the window in Aunt Emma’s dining-room.
Before the windows was a green lawn, like the lawn at Ravensnest, only this lawn went sloping away, away till there was just a little rim of white beach, and then beyond came the wide, dancing blue lake, that the children had seen from the top of the mountain. Here it was close to them, so close that Milly could hear the little waves plashing, through the open window.
“Milly,” whispered Aunt Emma when they were all waiting for pudding, “do you see that little house down there by the water’s edge? That’s where the boat lives—we call it a boathouse. Do you think you’ll be frightened of the water, little woman?”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Milly, shaking her little wise head gravely. “I am frightened sometimes, very. Mother calls me a little goose because I run away from Jenny sometimes—that’s our cow at home, Aunt Emma, but then she’s got such long horns, and I can’t help feeling afraid.”
“Well, the lake hasn’t got horns, Milly,” said Aunt Emma, laughing, “so perhaps you will manage not to be afraid of it.”
How kind and nice Aunt Emma looked as she sat between the children, with her pretty soft gray hair, and her white cap and large white collar. Mrs. Norton could not help thinking of the times when she was a little girl, and used always to insist on sitting by Aunt Emma at dinner-time. That was before Aunt Emma’s hair had turned gray. And now here were her own little children sitting where she used to sit at their age, and stealing their small hands into Aunt Emma’s lap as she used to do so long ago.
After dinner the children had to sit quiet in the drawing-room for a time, while Aunt Emma and father and mother talked; but they had picture-books to look at, and Aunt Emma gave them leave to turn out everything in one of the toy-drawers, and that kept them busy and happy for a long time. But at last, just when Olly was beginning to get tired of the drawer, Aunt Emma called to them from the other end of the room to come with her into the kitchen for a minute. Up jumped the children and ran after their aunt across the hall into the kitchen.
“Now, children,” said Aunt Emma, pointing to a big basket on the kitchen table, “suppose you help me to pack up our tea-things. Olly, you go and fetch the spoons, and, Milly, bring the plates one by one.”
The tea things were all piled up on the kitchen table, and the children brought them one after another to Aunt Emma to pack them carefully into the big basket.
“Ain’t I a useful boy, Aunt Emma?” asked Olly proudly, coming up laden with a big table-cloth which he could scarcely carry.
“Very useful, Olly, though our table-cloth won’t look over tidy at tea if you crumple it up like that. Now, Milly, bring me that tray of bread and the little bundle of salt; and, Olly, bring me that bit of butter over there, done up in the green leaves, but mind you carry it carefully. Now for some knives too; and there are the cups and saucers, Milly, look, in that corner; and there is the cake all ready cut up, and there is the bread and butter. Now have we got everything? Everything, I think, but the kettle, and some wood and some matches, and these must go in another basket.”
“Aunt Emma,” said Milly, creeping up close to her, “were you ever a fairy godmother?”
“Not that I know of, Milly. Would you like me better if I had a wand and a pair of pet dragons, like old Fairy Blackstick?”
“No,” said Milly, stroking her aunt’s hand, “but you do such nice things, just like fairy godmothers do.”
“Do I, little woman? Aunt Emma likes doing nice things for good children. But now come along, it’s quite time we were off. Let us go and fetch father and mother. Gardener will bring the baskets.”
Such a merry party they were, trooping down to the boathouse. There lay the boat; a pretty new boat, painted dark blue, with a little red flag floating at her bows, and her name, “Ariel,” written in large white letters on the stern. And all around the boathouse stretched the beautiful blue water, so clear and sunny and sparkling that it dazzled Milly’s eyes to look at it. She and Olly were lifted into the boat beside Aunt Emma and mother, father sat in the middle and took the oars, while gardener put the baskets into the stern, and then, untying the rope which kept the boat tied into the boathouse, he gave it a good push with one hand and off she went out into the blue lake, rising up and down on the water like a swan.
“Oh! mother, mother, look up there,” shouted Olly, “there’s the mountain. Isn’t that where we climbed up this morning?”
Yes, there it was, the beautiful green rocky mountain, rising up above Aunt Emma’s house. They could see it all so clearly as they got farther out into the lake; first the blue sky, then the mountain with the little white dots on it, which Milly knew were sheep; then some trees, and in front, Aunt Emma’s house with the lawn and the boathouse. And as they looked all round them they could see far bigger and grander mountains than Brownholme, some near and green like Brownholme, and some far away and blue like the sky, while down by the edge of the lake were hayfields full of flowers, or bits of rock with trees growing on the top of them. The children hardly knew what it was made them so quiet; but I think it was because everything was so beautiful. They were really in the hill-fairies’ palace now.
“Aren’t there any water-fairies in this lake, mother?” whispered Milly, presently, looking down into the clear blue water, and trying to see the bottom.
“I can’t tell, Milly, I never saw any. But there used to be water-fairies in old days. After tea suppose we ask Aunt Emma to tell us a story about a king in olden times whom the water-fairies loved; she used to tell it to me when I was small, and I liked it best of all stories. But, Olly, you must sit still, or the boat will go tipping over to one side, and father won’t be able to row.”
“Do let me row, father,” begged Olly.
“Not yet, old man—I must get used to the boat first, and find out how to manage her, but presently you shall come and try, and so shall Milly if she likes.”
On they rowed, farther and farther from the shore, till Aunt Emma’s house began to look quite small, and they could hardly see the gardener working on the lawn.
“Father, what a long way we’ve come,” cried Milly, looking all round. “Where are we going to?”
“Well, presently, Milly, I am going to turn the boat a little bit, so as to make her go over to that side of the lake over there. Do you see a big rock with some trees on it, far away, sticking out into the lake?”
“Yes,” said the children, looking very hard.
“Well, that’s where we’re going to have tea. It’s called Birdsnest Point, because the rocks come out in a point into the lake. But first I thought I would bring you right out into the middle of the lake, that you might see how big it is, and look at the mountains all round.” “Father,” said Olly, “if a big stone fell down out of the sky and made ever such a big hole in the boat, and the water came into the hole, should we all be dead?”
“I daresay we should, Olly, for I don’t think I could carry mother, and Aunt Emma, and Milly, and you on my back, safe home again, and you see none of you can swim but me.”
“Then I hope a big stone won’t come,” said Milly, feeling just a little bit frightened at Olly’s suggestion.
“Well, big stones don’t grow in the sky generally, Milly, if that’s any comfort to you. But do you know, one day long ago, when I was out rowing on this lake, I thought all of a sudden I heard some one shouting and screaming, and for a long time I looked and waited, but could see nothing; till at last I fancied I could see, a long distance off, what looked like a pole, with something white tied to it. And I rowed, and rowed, and rowed, as fast as I could, and all the time the shouting and screaming went on, and at last what do you think I saw? I saw a boat, which looked as if something was dragging it down into the water. Part of it had already sunk down into the lake, and in the part which was still above the water there were three people sitting, a gentleman, and two little girls who looked about ten years old. And they were shouting ‘Help! help!’ at the top of their voices, and waving an oar with a handkerchief tied to it. And the boat in which they sat was sinking farther and farther into the water, and if I had’n’t come up just when I did, the gentleman and the two little girls would have been drowned.”
“Oh, father!” cried Milly, “what made their boat do like that? And did they get into yours?”
“There was a great hole in the bottom of their boat, Milly, and the water was coming through it, and making the boat so heavy that it was sinking down and down into the lake, just as a stone would sink if you threw it in. How the hole came there we never quite knew: I thought they must have knocked their boat against a sharp rock—in some parts of the lake there are rocks under the water which you can’t see—and the rock had made the hole; but other people thought it had happened in some other way. However, there they were, and when I took them all into my boat you never saw such miserable little creatures as the two little girls were. They were wet through, they were as white as little ghosts, and when they were safe in my boat they began to cry and shake so, poor little souls, though their father and I wrapped them up in our coats, that I did want their mother to come and comfort them.”
“Oh, but, father, you took them safe home to their mother, didn’t you? And do tell me what she said.”
“They had no mother, Milly, they had only their father, who was with them. But he was very good to them, and I think on the whole they were happy little girls. The Christmas after that I got a little parcel one morning, and what do you think was in it? Why, two photographs of the same little girls, looking so neat and tidy and happy, I could hardly believe they were really the same as the little drowned rats I had pulled out of the water. Ask mother to show you the pictures when we get home; she has them somewhere. Now, Olly, would you like to row?”
“Oh, father, don’t bump against any rocks,” said Milly, whose thoughts were very full of the little girls.
“Don’t you trouble your head about rocks, old woman. I know a good deal more about this lake than those little girls’ father did, and I won’t take you into any harm. Come along, Olly.”
Olly was helped along the boat by mother and Aunt Emma till his father caught hold of him and pulled him on to his seat, where he let him put his two small paws on one of the oars, and try what he could do with it. Mr. Norton pulled too; but Olly thought it was all his doing, and that it was really he who was making the boat go.
“Don’t we go fast, father?” he cried out presently, his little face flushed with pleasure and excitement. “You couldn’t row so fast without me, could you, father?”
“You little fly-on-the-wheel,” said his father, smiling at him.
“What does that mean, father?”
“Never mind, you’ll know when you’re bigger. But now look, children, how close we are coming to the shore. And quick, Milly, quick! What do you see over there?”
Mr. Norton pointed over the water to a place where some green rushes were standing up out of the water, not very far from the edge. What were those great white and gold things shining among the rushes; and what were those large round green leaves lying on the water all about them?
“Water-lilies! water-lilies!” cried Milly, stamping her little feet with delight. “Oh, mother, look! it was on one of those leaves that the old toad put little Tiny in my fairy-book, don’t you remember? Only the little fishes came and bit off the stalk and set her free. Oh, I wish we could see little Tiny sitting on one of those leaves!”
“Well,” said Aunt Emma, “there’s no saying what you may find in these parts if you look long enough. This is a very strange country. But now, Milly, look out for the lilies. Father’s going to take us in among them, and I’ll hold you, while you gather them.”
And presently, swish went the boat up against the rushes, and there were the lovely white lilies lying spread out on the water all round them, some quite open and showing their golden middles, and some still buds, with their wet green cases just falling off, and their white petals beginning to unclose. But what slippery stalks they had. Aunt Emma held Milly, and father held Olly, while they dived their hands under the water and pulled hard. And some of the lilies came out with such short bits of stalk you could scarcely hold them, and sometimes, flop! out came a long green stalk, like a long green snake curling and twisting about in the boat. The children dabbled, and splashed, and pulled, to their hearts’ content, till at last Mr. Norton told them they had got enough and now they must sit quite still while he rowed them in to the land.
“Oh, father, just those two over there!” pleaded Milly, who could not bear leaving so many beauties behind.
“No, Milly, no more. Look where the sun is now. If we don’t make haste and have our tea, we shall never get back to Ravensnest to-night.”
Milly’s face looked as if it would like to cry, as the boat began to move away from the rushes, and the beautiful lilies were left behind. I told you, to begin with, that Milly was ready to cry oftener than a sensible little girl should. But Aunt Emma was not going to have any crying at her picnic.
“Who’s going to gather me sticks to make my fire?” she said suddenly, in a solemn voice.
“I am! I am!” shouted both the children at once, and out came Milly’s smiles again, like the sun from behind a cloud.
“And who’s going to lay the table-cloth?”
“We are! we are!”
“And who’s going to hand the bread and butter?”
“I am!” exclaimed Milly, “and Olly shall hand the cake.”
“And who’s going toeatthe bread and butter?”
“All of us!” shouted the children, and Milly added, “Father will want abigplate of bread and butter, I daresay.”
“I should think he would, after all this rowing,” said Mr. Norton. “Now then, look out for a bump!”
“So they put Olly up on a tall piece of rock, and he sang.”“So they put Olly up on a tall piece of rock, and he sang.”
“So they put Olly up on a tall piece of rock, and he sang.”
Bump! Splash! there was the boat scraping along the pebbles near the shore; out sprang Mr. Norton, first on to a big stone, then on to the shore, and with one great pull he brought the boat in till it was close enough for Aunt Emma and Mrs. Norton to step on to the rocks, and for the children to be lifted out.
“Oh! what a nice place!” cried Milly, looking about her, and clapping her hands, as she always did when she was pleased. It was a point of rock running out into the lake, a “peninsula” Milly called it, when she had been all round it, and it was covered with brown heather spread all over the ground, and was delightfully soft and springy to sit upon. In the middle of the bit of rock there were two or three trees standing up together, birch trees with silvery stems, and on every side but one there was shallow brown water, so clear that they could see every stone at the bottom. And when they looked away across the lake, there were the grand old mountains pushing their heads into the clouds on the other side, and far away near the edge of the lake they saw a white dot which they knew was Aunt Emma’s house. How the sun shone on everything! How it made the water of the lake sparkle and glitter as if it were alive! And yet the air was not hot, for a little wind was coming to them across the water, and moving the trees gently up and down.
And what was this under the trees? Why, a kind of fireplace made of stones, and in front of it a round green bit of grass, with tufts of heather all round it, just like a table with seats.
“Who put these stones here, Aunt Emma?” asked Olly, as she and mother and Mr. Norton brought up the baskets, and put them in the green place by the stones.
“Well, Olly, long ago, when all your uncles and aunts were little, and they used to come here for picnics, they thought it would be very nice to have a stone fireplace, built up properly, so that they needn’t make one every time. It was Uncle Richard’s idea, and we had such fun building it up. The little ones brought the stones; and the big ones piled them together till you see we made quite a nice fireplace. And it has lasted ever since. Whenever I come here I mend it up if any of the stones have tumbled down. Numbers of little children come to picnic here every summer, and they always use our fireplace. But now, come along into the woods, children, and gather sticks.”
Off they ran after Aunt Emma, and soon they were scrambling about the wood which grew along the shore, picking up the dry sticks and dry fern under the trees. Milly filled her cotton frock full, and gathered it up with both her hands; while Olly of course went straight at the biggest branch he could see, and staggered along with it, puffing and panting.
“You grasshopper, you!” said Mr. Norton, catching hold of him, “don’t you think you’d better try a whole tree next time? There, let me break it for you.” Father broke it up into short lengths, and then off ran Olly with his little skirts full to Aunt Emma, who was laden too with an armful of sticks. “That’ll do to begin with, old man. Come along, and you and I’ll light the fire.”
What fun it was, heaping up the sticks on the stones, and how they did blaze and crackle away when Aunt Emma put a match to them. Puff! puff! out came the smoke; fizz—crack—sputter—went the dry fir branches, as if they were Christmas fireworks.
“Haven’t we made a blazey fire, Aunt Emma?” said Olly, out of breath with dragging up sticks, and standing still to look.
“Splendid,” said Mr. Norton, who had just come out of the wood with his bundle. “Now, Olly, let me just put you on the top of it to finish it off. How you would fizz!”
Off ran Olly, with his father after him, and they had a romp among the heather till Mr. Norton caught him, and carried him kicking and laughing under his arm to Aunt Emma.
“Now, Aunt Emma, shall I put him on?”
“Oh dear, no!” said Aunt Emma, “my kettle wouldn’t sit straight on him, and it’s just boiling beautifully. We’ll put him on presently when the fire gets low.”
“Olly, do come and help mother and me with the tea-things,” cried Milly, who was laying the cloth as busily and gravely as a little housemaid.
“Run along, shrimp,” said his father, setting him down.
And off ran Olly, while Mr. Norton and Aunt Emma heaped the wood on the fire, and kept the kettle straight, so that it shouldn’t tip over and spill.
Laying the cloth was delightful, Milly thought. First of all, they put a heavy stone on each corner of the cloth to keep it down, and prevent the wind from blowing it up, and then they put the little plates all round, and in the middle two piles of bread and butter and cake.
“But we haven’t got any flowers,” said Milly, looking at it presently, with a dissatisfied face, “you always have flowers on the table at home, mother.”
“Why, Milly, have you forgotten your water-lilies; where did you leave them?”
“Down by the water,” said Milly. “Father told me just to put their stalks in the water, and he put a stone to keep them safe. Oh! that’ll be splendid, mother. Do give me a cup, and we’ll get some water for them.”
Mother found a cup, and the children scrambled down to the edge of the lake. There lay the lilies with their stalks in the water, close to the boat.
“They look rather sad, mother, don’t they?” said Milly, gathering them up. “Perhaps they don’t like being taken away from their home.”
“They never look so beautiful out of the water,” said mother; “but when we get home we’ll put them into a soup-plate, and let them swim about in it. They’ll look very nice then. Now, Olly, fill the cup with water, and we’ll put five or six of the biggest in, and gather some leaves.”
“There, look! look! Aunt Emma,” shouted Milly, when they had put the lilies and some fern leaves in the middle of the table. “Haven’t we made it beautiful?”
“That you have,” said Aunt Emma, coming up with the kettle which had just boiled. “Now for the tea, and then we’re ready.”
“We never had such a nice tea as this before,” said Olly, presently looking up from a piece of bread and butter which had kept him quiet for some time. “It’s nicer than having dinner at the railway station even.”
Aunt Emma and mother laughed; for it doesn’t seem so delightful to grown-up people to have dinner at the railway station.
“Well, Olly,” said mother, “I hope we shall often have tea out of doors while we are at Ravensnest.”
Milly shook her head. “It’ll rain, mother. That old gentleman said it would be sure to rain.”
“That old gentleman is about right, Milly,” said Mr. Norton. “I think it rains dreadfully here, but mother doesn’t seem to mind it a bit. Once upon a time when mother was a little girl, there came a funny old fairy and threw some golden dust in her eyes, and ever since then she can’t see straight when she comes to the mountains. It’s all right everywhere else, but as soon as she comes here, the dust begins to fly about in her eyes, and makes the mountains look quite different to her from what they look to anybody else.”
“Let me look, mother,” said Olly, pulling her down to him.
Mrs. Norton opened her eyes at him, smiling.
“I can’t see any dust, father.”
“Ah, that’s because it’s fairy dust,” said Mr. Norton, gravely. “Now, Olly, don’t you eat too much cake, else you won’t be able to row.”
“It’ll be my turn first, father,” said Milly, “you know I haven’t rowed at all yet.”
“Well, don’t you catch any crabs, Milly,” said Aunt Emma.
“Catch crabs, Aunt Emma!” said Milly, very much puzzled. “Crabs are only in the sea, aren’t they?”
“There’s a very big kind just about here,” said Mr. Norton, “and they’re always looking out for little children, particularly little girls.”
“I don’t understand, father,” said Milly, opening her eyes very wide.
“Have some more tea, then,” said Mr. Norton, “that always makes people feel wiser.”
“Father, aren’t you talking nonsense?” said Olly, stopping in the middle of a piece of cake to think about what his father was saying.
“Very likely, Olly. People always do at picnics. Aunt Emma, when are you going to tell us your story?”
“When we’ve washed the things and put them away,” said Aunt Emma, “then Olly shall sing us two songs, and I’ll tell you my story.”
But the children were so hungry that it was a long time before they gave up eating bread and butter, and then, when at last tea was over, what fun it was washing the cups and plates in the lake! Aunt Emma and Olly washed, and mother and Milly dried the things on a towel, and then everything was packed away into the baskets, and mother and Aunt Emma folded up the table-cloth, and put it tidily on the top of everything.
“I did like that,” said Milly, sighing as the last basket was fastened down. “I wish you’d let me help Sarah wash up the tea-things at home, mother.”
“If Sarah liked to let you, I shouldn’t say no, Milly,” said Mrs. Norton. “How soon would you get tired of it, old woman, I wonder? But come along, let’s put Olly up on a rock, and make him sing, and then we’ll have Aunt Emma’s story.”
So they put Olly up on a tall piece of rock, and he sang “The Minstrel Boy,” and “Bonnie Dundee,” and “Hot Cross Buns,” just as if he were a little musical box, and you had nothing to do but to wind him up. He had a sweet, clear, little voice, and he looked a delightful brown gipsy, as he sat perched up on the rock with his long legs dangling, and his curls blowing about his face.
“There!” said Olly, when he had shouted out the last note of “Hot Cross Buns.” “I have singed three whole songs; and now, Aunt Emma, tell us about the king and the fairies. Krick, please.”
“It must be ‘krick’ indeed,” said Aunt Emma, “if we want to get home to-night.”
For the sun had almost sunk behind the mountains at their back, and the wind blowing across the lake was beginning to get a little cold, while over their heads the rooks went flying, singing “caw, caw,” on their way to bed. And how the sun was turning the water to gold! It seemed to be making a great golden pathway across the lake, and the mountains were turning a deep blue, and plash, plash, went the little waves on the rocks, so softly they seemed to be saying “Good-night! good-night!”
“Well,” said Aunt Emma, settling herself on a soft piece of heather, and putting her arms round Milly and Olly, “Once upon a time there was a great king. He was a good king and a wise man, and he tried to make all the people round about him wiser and better than they were before he came to rule over them; and for a long time he was very powerful and happy, and he and the brave men who helped him and were his friends did a great deal of good, and kept the savage people who lived all about him in order, and taught them a great many things. But at last some of the savage people got tired of obeying the king, and they said they would not have him to reign over them any more; so they made an army, and they came together against the king to try and kill him and his friends. And the king made an army too, and there was a great battle; and the savage people were the strongest, and they killed nearly all the king’s brave men, and the king himself was terribly hurt in the fight. And at last, when night came on, there were left only the king and one of his friends—his knights, as they were called. The king was hurt so much that he could not move, and his friend thought he was dying. They were left alone in a rocky desert place, and close by there was a great lake with mountains round it—like this, Olly. It was very cold, and the moon was shining, and the king lay so still that once or twice his friend almost thought that he was dead. But at last, about the middle of the night, he began to speak, and he told his friend to take his sword that was by his side and to go down to the side of the lake and throw it as far as he could into the water. Now, this sword was a magic sword. Long before, the king was once walking beside this lake, when he suddenly saw an arm in a long white sleeve rising out of the lake, and in the hand at the end of it was a splendid sword with a glistening handle. And the king got into a boat and rowed as fast as he could till he got near enough to take hold of the sword, and then the arm sank down under the water and was seen no more. And with the sword the king won a great many battles, and he loved it, and never would part with it; but now that he was dying, he told his friend to take the sword and throw it back into the lake where he had found it, and see what would happen. And his friend took it, and went away over the rocks till he came to the edge of the lake, and then he took the sword out of its case and swung it above his head that he might throw it far into the water; but as he lifted it up the precious stones in the handle shone so splendidly in the moonlight that he could not make up his mind to throw it into the water, it seemed such a pity. So he hid it away among the rushes by the water side, and went back to the king. And the king said, ‘What did you see by the lake?’
“And the knight said, ‘I saw nothing except the water, and the mountains, and the rushes.’
“And the king said, ‘Oh, unkind friend! Why will you not do as I ask you, now that I am dying and can do nothing for myself? Go back and throw the sword into the lake, as I told you.’
“And the knight went back, and once more he lifted the sword to throw it into the water but it looked so beautiful that hecouldnot throw it away. There would be nothing left, he thought, to remember the king by when he was dead if he threw away the sword; so again he hid it among the rushes, and then he went back to the king. And again the king asked, ‘What did you see by the lake?’ and again the knight answered, ‘I saw nothing except the water and the mountains.’
“‘Oh, unkind, false friend!’ cried the king, ‘you are crueller to me than those who gave me this wound. Go back and throw the sword into the water, or, weak as I am, I will rise up and kill you.’
“Back went the knight, and this time he seized the sword without looking at it, so that he should not see how beautiful it was, and then he swung it once, twice, thrice, round his head, and away it went into the lake. And as it fell, up rose a hand and arm in a long white sleeve out of the water, and the hand caught the sword and drew it down under the water. And then for a moment, all round the lake, the knight fancied he heard a sound of sobbing and weeping, and he thought in his heart that it must be the water-fairies weeping for the king’s death.
“‘What did you see by the lake?’ asked the king again, when he came back, and the knight told him. Then the king told him to lift him up and carry him on his back down to the edge of the lake, and when they got there, what do you think they saw?”
But the children could not guess, and Milly pressed Aunt Emma’s hand hard to make her go on.
“They saw a great black ship coming slowly over the water, and on the ship were numbers of people in black, sobbing and crying, so that the air was full of a sound of weeping, and in front sat three queens in long black dresses, and with gold crowns on their heads, and they, too, were weeping and wringing their hands.
“‘Lift me up,’ said the king, when the ship came close beside them, ‘and put me into the ship.’ And the knight lifted him up, while the three queens stretched out their hands and drew him into the ship.
“‘Oh, king! take me with you,’ said the knight, ‘take me too. What shall I do all alone without you?’ But the ship began to move away, and the knight was left standing on the shore. Only he fancied he heard the king’s voice saying, ‘Wait for me, I shall come again. Farewell!’
“And the ship went faster and faster away into the darkness, for it was a fairy ship, till at last the knight could see it no more. So then he knew that the king had been carried away by the fairies of the lake—the same fairies who had given him the sword in old days, and who had loved him and watched over him all his life. But what did the king mean by saying, ‘I shall come again’?”
Then Aunt Emma stopped and looked at the children.
“What did he mean, auntie?” asked Milly, who had been listening with all her ears, and whose little eyes were wet, “and did he ever come back again?”
“Not while the knight lived, Milly. He grew to be quite an old man, and was always hoping that the fairies would bring the king again. But the king never came, and his friend died without seeing him.”
“But did heevercome again?” asked Olly.
“I don’t know, Olly. Some people think that he is still hidden away somewhere by the kind water-fairies, and that some day, when the world wants him very much, he will come back again.”
“Do you think he is here in this lake?” whispered Milly, looking at the water.
“How can we tell what’s at the bottom of the lake?” said Aunt Emma, smiling. “But no, I don’t think the king is hidden in this lake. He didn’t live near here.”
“What was his name?” asked Milly.
“His name was King Arthur. But now, children, hurry; there is father putting all the baskets into the boat. We must get home as quick as we can.”
They rowed home very quickly, except just for a little time when Milly rowed, and they did not go quite so fast as if father were rowing alone. It was quite evening now on the lake, and there were great shadows from the mountains lying across the water. Somehow the children felt much quieter now than when they started in the afternoon. Milly had curled herself up inside mother’s arm, and was thinking a great deal about King Arthur and the fairy ship, while Olly was quite taken up with watching the oars as they dipped in and out of the water, and occasionally asking his father when he should be big enough to row quite by himself. It seemed a very little time after all before they were stepping out of the boat at Aunt Emma’s boathouse, and the picnic and the row were both over.
“Good-bye, dear lake,” said Milly, turning with her hands full of water-lilies to look back before they went up to the house. “Good-night, mountains; good-night, Birdsnest Point. I shall soon come and see you again.”
A few minutes more, and they were safely packed into a carriage which drove them back to Ravensnest, and Aunt Emma was saying good-bye to them.
“Next time, I shall come and see you, Milly,” she said, as she kissed Milly’s little sleepy face. “Don’t forget me till then.”
“Then you’ll tell us about old Mother Quiverquake,” said Olly, hugging her with his small arms. “Aunt Emma, I haven’t given Johnny back his stockings. They did tickle me so in the boat.”
“We’ll get them some time,” said Aunt Emma. “Good-night, good-night.”
It was a sleepy pair of children that nurse lifted out of the carriage at Ravensnest. And though they tried to tell her something about it, she had to wait till next morning before she could really understand anything about their wonderful day at Aunt Emma’s house.