Milly and Olly Part 3

"I can climb up three, four, six, seven mountains," said Olly stoutly; "mountains aren't a bit hard. Mother says they're meant to climb up."

"Well, I suppose it's like going up stairs a long way," said Milly, thoughtfully, pulling on her stockings. "You didn't like going up the stairs in Auntie Margaret's house, Olly."

Auntie Margaret's house was a tall London house, with ever so many stairs. The children when they were staying there were put to sleep at the top, and Olly used to sit down on the stairs and pout and grumble every time they had to go up.

But Olly shook his obstinate little head.

"I don't believe it's a bit like going up stairs."

However, as they couldn't know what it was like before they tried, nurse told them it was no good talking about it. So they hurried on with their dressing, and presently there stood as fresh a pair of morning children as anyone could wish to see, with rosy cheeks, and smooth hair, and clean print frocks--for Olly was still in frocks--though when the winter came mother said she was going to put him into knickerbockers.

And then nurse took them each by the hand and led them through some long pa.s.sages, down a pretty staircase, and through a swing door, into what looked like a great nagged kitchen, only there was no fireplace in it.

The real kitchen opened out of it at one side, and through the door came a smell of coffee and toast that made the children feel as hungry as little hunters. But their own room was straight in front, across the kitchen without a fireplace, a tiny room with one large window hung round with roses, and looking out on to a green lawn.

"Nana, isn't it pretty? Nana, I think it's lovely!" said Milly, looking out and clapping her hands. And it _was_ a pretty garden they could see from the window. An up-and-down garden, with beds full of bright flowers, and gra.s.s which was nearly all moss, and so soft that no cus.h.i.+on could be softer. In the distance they could hear a little splish-splash among the trees, which came, Milly supposed, from the river mother had told them about; while, reaching up all round the house, so that they could not see the top of it from the window, was the green wild mountain itself, the mountain of Brownholme, under which Uncle Richard's house was built.

The children hurried through their breakfast, and then nurse covered them up with garden pinafores, and took them to the dining-room to find father and mother. Mr. and Mrs. Norton were reading letters when the children's curly heads appeared at the open door, and Mrs. Norton was just saying to her husband:

"Aunt Emma sends a few lines just to welcome us, and to say that she can't come over to us to-day, but will we all come over to her to-morrow and have early dinner, and perhaps a row afterward--"

"Oh, a row, mother, a row!" shouted Olly, clambering on to his mother's knee and half-strangling her with his strong little arms; "I can row, father said I might. Are we going to-day?"

"No, to-morrow, Olly, when we've seen a little bit of Ravensnest first.

Which of you remembers Aunt Emma, I wonder?"

"I remember her," said Milly, nodding her head wisely, "she had a big white cap, and she told me stories. But I don't quite remember her face, mother--not _quite_."

"I don't remember her, not one bit," said Olly. "Mother, does she keep saying, 'Don't do that;' 'Go up stairs, naughty boys,' like Jacky's aunt does?"

For the children's playfellows, Jacky and Francis, had an aunt living with them whom Milly and Olly couldn't bear. They believed that she couldn't say anything else except "Don't!" and "Go up stairs!" and they were always in dread lest they should come across an aunt like her.

"She's the dearest aunt in the whole world," said mother, "and she never says, 'Don't,' except when she's obliged, but when she does say it little boys have to mind. When I was a little girl I thought there was n.o.body like Aunt Emma, n.o.body who could make such plans or tell such splendid stories."

"And, mother, can't she cut out card dolls? asked Milly. Don't you know those beautiful card dolls you have in your drawer at home--didn't Aunt Emma make them?"

"Yes, of course she did. She made me a whole family once for my birthday, a father and a mother, and two little girls and two little boys. And each of the children had two paper dresses and two hats, one for best and one for every day--and the mother had a white evening dress trimmed with red, and a hat and a bonnet."

"I know, mother! they're all in your drawer at home, only one of the little boys has his head broken off. Do you think Aunt Emma would make me a set if I asked her?"

"I can't say, Milly. But I believe Aunt Emma's fingers are just as quick as ever they were. Now, children, father says he will take you out while I go and speak to cook. Olly, how do you think we're going to get any meat for you and Milly here? There are no shops on the mountains."

"Then we'll eat fisses, little fisses like those!" cried Olly, pointing to a plate of tiny red-spotted fish that father and mother had been having for breakfast.

"Thank you, Olly," said Mr. Norton, laughing; "it would cost a good deal to keep you in trout, sir. I think we'll try for some plain mutton for you, even if we have to catch the sheep on the mountains ourselves. But now come along till mother is ready, and I'll show you the river where those little fishes lived."

Out ran the children, ready to go anywhere and see anything in this beautiful new place, which seemed to them a palace of wonders. And presently they were skipping over the soft green gra.s.s, each holding one of father's hands, and chattering away to him as if their little tongues would never stop. What a hot day it was going to be! The sky overhead was deep blue, with scarcely a cloud, they could hear nothing in the still air but the sleepy cooing of the doves in the trees by the gate, and the trees and flowers all looked as if they were going to sleep in the heat.

"Father, why did that old gentleman at Willingham last week tell mother that it always rained in the mountains?" asked Milly, looking up at the blue sky.

"Well, Milly, I'm afraid you'll find out before you go home that it does know how to rain here. Sometimes it rains and rains as if the sky were coming down and all the world were going to turn into water. But never mind about that now--it isn't going to rain to-day."

Down they went through the garden, across the road, and into a field on the other side of it, a beautiful hay-field full of flowers, with just a narrow little path through it where the children and Mr. Norton could walk one behind another. And at the end of the path what do you think they found? Why, a chattering sparkling river, running along over hundreds and thousands of brown and green pebbles, so fast that it seemed to be trying to catch the birds as they skimmed across it. The children had never seen a river like this before, where you could see right to the very bottom, and count the stones there if you liked, and which behaved like a river at play, scrambling and dancing and rus.h.i.+ng along as if it were out for a holiday, like the children themselves.

"What do you think of that for a river, children?" said Mr. Norton.

"Very early this morning, when you little sleepyheads were in bed, I got up and came down here, and had my bath over there, look--in that nice brown pool under the tree."

"Oh, father!" cried both children, dancing round him. "Let us have our baths in the river too. Do ask Nana--do, father! We can have our bathing things on that we had at the sea, and you can come too and teach us to swim."

"Well, just once perhaps, if mother says yes, and it's very warm weather, and you get up very _very_ early. But you won't like it quite as much as you think. Rivers are very cold to bathe in, and those pretty stones at the bottom won't feel at all nice to your little toes."

"Oh, but, father," interrupted Milly, "we could put on our sand shoes."

"And wouldn't we splas.h.!.+" said Olly. "Nurse won't let us splash in our bath, father, she says it makes a mess. I'm sure it doesn't make a _great_ mess."

"What do you know about it, shrimp?" said Mr. Norton, "you don't have to tidy up. Hush, isn't that mother calling? Let's go and fetch her, and then we'll go and see Uncle Richard's farm, where the milk you had for breakfast came from. There are three children there, Milly, besides cows and pigs, and ducks and chickens."

Back ran Milly and Olly, and there was mother watching for them with a basket on her arm which had already got some roses lying in it.

"Oh, mother! where did you get those roses?" cried Milly.

"Wheeler, the gardener, gave them to me. And now suppose we go first of all to see Mrs. Wheeler, and gardener's two little children. They live in that cottage over there, across the brook, and the two little ones have just been peeping over the wall to try and get a look at you."

Up clambered Milly and Olly along a steep path that seemed to take them up into the mountain, when suddenly they turned, and there was another river, but such a tiny river, Milly could almost jump across it, and it was tumbling and leaping down the rocks on its way to the big river which they had just seen, as if it were a little child hurrying to its mother.

"Why, mother, what a lot of rivers," said Olly, running on to a little bridge that had been built across the little stream, and looking over.

"Just to begin with," said Mrs. Norton. "You'll see plenty more before you've done. But I can't have you calling this a river, Olly. These baby rivers are called becks in Westmoreland--some of the big ones, too, indeed."

On the other side of the little bridge was the gardener's cottage, and in front of the door stood two funny fair-haired little children with their fingers in their mouths, staring at Milly and Olly. One was a little girl who was really about Milly's age, though she looked much younger, and the other was a very shy small boy, with blue eyes and straggling yellow hair, and a face that might have been pretty if you could have seen it properly. But Charlie seemed to have made up his mind that n.o.body ever should see it properly. However often his mother might wash him, and she was a tidy woman, who liked to see her children look clean and nice, Charlie was always black. His face was black, his hands were black, his pinafore was sure to be covered with black marks ten minutes after he had put it on. Do what you would to him, it was no use, Charlie always looked as if he had just come out of the coal-hole.

"Well, Bessie," said Mrs. Norton to the little girl, "is your mother in?"

"Naw," said Bessie, without taking her fingers out of her mouth.

"Oh, I'm sorry for that. Do you know when she's likely to be in?"

"Naw," said Bessie again, beginning to eat her pinafore as well as her fingers. Meanwhile Charlie had been creeping behind Bessie to get out of Olly's way; for Olly, who always wanted to make friends, was trying to shake hands with him, and Charlie was dreadfully afraid that he wanted to kiss him too.

"What a pity," said Mrs. Norton, "I wanted to ask her a question. Come away, Olly, and don't tease Charlie if he doesn't want to shake hands.

Can you remember, Bessie, to tell your mother that I came to see her?"

"Yis," said Bessie.

"And can you remember, too, to ask her if she will let you and Charlie come down to tea with Miss Milly and Master Olly, this afternoon, at five o'clock?"

"Yis," said Bessie, getting shyer and shyer, and eating up her pinafore faster than ever.

"Good-bye, then," said Mrs. Norton.