“Oh, I don’t know,” said Becky.  “We go when fayther goes.”

“When fayther goes!” exclaimed Milly.  “Why, we go ever so long before father.  Why do you stay up so late?”

“Why, it isn’t late,” said Becky.  “Fayther goes to bed, now it’s summertime, about half-past eight; but in winter, of course, he goes earlier.  And we all goes together, except baby.  Mother puts him out of the way before supper.”

“Well, but how funny,” said Milly, “I can’t think why you should be so different from us.”

And Milly went on puzzling over Becky and her going to bed, till nurse drove it all out of her head by fetching them to tea.  Such a merry tea they had, and after tea a romp in the big kitchen with father, which delighted the little farm children beyond measure.  Some time in the evening, I believe, Aunt Emma managed to give Tiza a little talking to, but none of the other children knew anything about it, except perhaps Becky, who generally knew what was happening to Tiza.

CHAPTER IX

MILLY’S BIRTHDAY

Now we have come to a chapter which is going to be half merry and half sad.  I have not told you any sad things about Milly and Olly up till now, I think.  They were such happy little people, that there was nothing sad to tell you.  They cried sometimes, of course—­you remember Milly cried when Olly stickied her doll—­but generally, by the time they had dried up their tears they had quite forgotten what they were crying about; and as for any real trouble, why they didn’t know what it could possibly 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 at Ravensnest, but never so rainy as to keep the Nortons in all day.  And every now and then there were splendid days, when the children and their father 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 to Wanwick on one side, and the little village of Rydal and Rydal Lake on the 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 on Rydal Lake, the loveliest little lake in the world, lying softly in a green mountain cup, and dotted with islands, which seemed to the children when they landed on them like little bits of fairyland dropped into the blue water.

[Illustration:  “Haymaking”]

And then! crown of delights! came the haymaking.  There were long fine days, when the six small creatures—­Milly, Olly, Becky, Tiza, Bessie, and Charlie—­followed John Backhouse and his men about in the hayfields from early morning till evening, helping to make the hay, or simply rolling about like a parcel of kittens in the flowery fragrant heaps.