ou may stay a good long time. What
time do you go to bed?"

"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 b