THE STORY OF BEOWULF
Once upon a time there was a great--"
"Father," interrupted Milly, "I shall soon be getting tired of 'Once
upon a time there was a great king.'"
"Don't cry till you're hurt, Milly; which means, wait till I get to the
end of my sentence. Well, once upon a time there was a great--hero."
"What is a hero?" asked Olly.
"I know," said Milly, eagerly, "it's a brave man that's always fighting
and killing giants and dragons and cruel people."
"That'll do to begin with," said Mr. Norton, "though, when you grow
older, you will find that people can be heroes without fighting or
killing. However, the man I am going to tell you about was just the kind
of hero you're thinking of, Milly. He loved fighting with giants and
dragons and wild people, and my story is going to be about two of his
fights--the greatest he ever fought. The name of this hero was Beowulf,
and he lived in a country called Sweden (Milly knows all about Sweden,
Olly, and you must get her to show it you on the map), with a number of
other brave men who were his friends, and helped him in his battles. And
one day a messenger came over the sea from another country close by,
called Denmark, and the messenger said, 'Which of all you brave men will
come over and help my master, King Hrothgar, who is in sore trouble?'
And the messenger told them how Hrothgar, for many years past, had been
plagued by a monster--the hateful monster Grendel--half a man and half a
beast, who lived at the bottom of a great bog near the king's palace.
Every night, he said, Grendel the monster came out of the bog with his
horrible mother beside him--a wolf-like creature, fearful to look
upon--and he and she would roam about the country, killing and slaying
all whom they met. Sometimes they would come stalking to the king's
palace, where his brave men were sleeping round the fire in the big
hall, and before anyone could withstand him Grendel would fall upon the
king's warriors, kill them by tens and twenties, and carry off their
dead bodies to his bog. Many a brave man had tried to slay the monster,
but none had been able so much as to wound him.
"When Beowulf and his friends had heard this story they thought a while,
and then each said to the other, 'Let us go across the sea and rid King
Hrothgar of this monster.' So they took ship and went across the sea to
Hrothgar's country, and Hrothgar welcomed them royally, and made a great
feast in their honour. And after the feast Hrothgar said to Beowulf,
'Now, I give over to you the hall of my palace, that you may guard it
against the monster.' So Beowulf and the brave men who had come over
with him made a great fire in the hall, and they all lay down to sleep
beside it. You may imagine that they did not find it very easy to get to
sleep, and some of them thought as they lay there that very likely they
should never see their homes in Sweden again. But they were tired with
journeying and feasting, and one after another they all fell asleep.
Then in the dead of the night, when all was still, Grendel rose up out
of the bog, and came stalking over the moor to the palace. His eyes
flamed with a kind of horrible light in the darkness, and his steps
seemed to shake the earth; but those inside the palace were sleeping so
heavily that they heard nothing, not even when Grendel burst open the
door of the hall and came in among them. Before anyone had wakened, the
monster had seized one of the sleeping men and torn him to pieces. Then
he came to Beowulf; but Beowulf sprang up out of his sleep and laid hold
upon him boldly. He used no sword to strike him, for there was no sword
which men could make was strong enough to hurt Grendel; but he seized
him with his strong hands, and the two struggled together in the palace.
And they fought till the benches were torn from the walls, and
everything in the hall was smashed and broken. The brave men, springing
up all round, seized their swords and would gladly have helped their
lord, but there was no one but Beowulf could harm Grendel.
"So they fought, till at last Beowulf tore away Grendel's hand and arm,
and the monster fled away howling into the darkness. Over the moor he
rushed till he came to his bog, and there he sank down into the middle
of the bog, wailing and shrieking like one whose last hour was come.
Then there was great rejoicing at Heorot, the palace, and King Hrothgar,
when he saw Grendel's hand which Beowulf had torn away, embraced him and
blessed him, and he and all his friends were laden with splendid gifts.
"But all was not over yet. When the next night came, and Hrothgar's men
and Beowulf's men were asleep together in the great hall, Grendel's
horrible mother, half a woman and half a wolf, came rushing to the
palace and while they were all asleep she carried off one of Hrothgar's
dearest friends--a young noble whom he loved best of all his nobles. And
she killed him, and carried his body back to the bog. Then the next
morning there was grief and weeping in Heorot; but Beowulf said to the
king, 'Grieve not, O king! till we have found out Grendel's mother and
punished her for her evil deeds. I promise you she shall give an account
for this. She shall not be able to hide herself in the water, nor under
the earth, nor in the forest, nor at the bottom of the sea; let her go
where she will, I will find a way after her.'
"So Beowulf and his friends put on their armour and mounted their
horses, and set out to look for her. And when they had ridden a long and
weary way over steep lonely paths and past caves where dragons and
serpents lived, they came at last to Grendel's bog--a fearful place
indeed. There in the middle of it lay a pool of black water, and over
the water hung withered trees, which seemed as if they had been poisoned
by the air rising from the water beneath them. No bird or beast would
ever come near Grendel's pool. If the hounds were hunting a stag, and
they drove him down to the edge, he would sooner let them tear him to
pieces than hide himself in the water. And every night the black water
seemed to burn and flame, and it hissed and bubbled and groaned as if
there were evil creatures tossing underneath. And now when Beowulf and
his men came near it, they saw fierce water dragons lying near the edge
or swimming about the pool. There also, beside the water, they found the
dead body of Hrothgar's friend, who had been killed by Grendel's mother,
and they took it up, and mourned over him afresh.
"But Beowulf took an old and splendid sword that Hrothgar had given him,
and he put on his golden helmet and his iron war shirt that no sword
could cut through, and when he had bade his friends farewell he leapt
straight into the middle of the bog. Down he sank, deeper and deeper
into the water, among strange water beasts that struck at him with their
tusks as he passed them, till at last Grendel's mother, the water-wolf,
looked up from the bottom and saw him coming. Then she sprang upon him,
and seized him, and dragged him down, and he found himself in a sort of
hall under the water, with a pale strange light in it. And then he
turned from the horrible water-wolf and raised his sword and struck her
on the head; but his blow did her no harm. No sword made by mortal men
could harm Grendel or his mother; and as he struck her Beowulf stumbled
and fell. Then the water-wolf rushed forward and sat upon him as he lay
there, and raised aloft her own sharp dagger to drive it into his
breast; but Beowulf shook her off, and sprang up, and there, on the
wall, he saw hanging a strange old sword that had been made in the old
times, long, long ago, when the world was full of giants. So he threw
his own sword aside and took down the old sword, and once more he smote
the water-wolf. And this time his sword did him good service, and
Grendel's fierce mother sank down dead upon the ground.
"Then Beowulf looked round him, and he saw lying in a corner the body of
Grendel himself. He cut off the monster's head, and lo and behold! when
he had cut it off the blade of the old sword melted away, and there was
nothing left in his hands but the hilt, with strange letters on it,
telling how it was made in old days by the giants for a great king. So
with that, and Hrothgar's sword and Grendel's head, Beowulf rose up
again through the bog, and just as his brave men had begun to think they
should never see their dear lord more he came swimming to land, bearing
the great head with him.
"Then Hrothgar and all his people rejoiced greatly, for they knew that
the land would never more be troubled by these hateful monsters, but
that the ploughers might plough, and the shepherds might lead their
sheep, and brave men might sleep at night, without fear any more of
Grendel and his mother."
"Oh, father!" said Milly, breathlessly, when he stopped. "Is that all?"
But Olly sat quite still, without speaking, gazing at his father with
wide open brown eyes, and a face as grave and terrified as if Grendel
were actually beside him.
"That's all for this time," said Mr. Norton. "Why, Olly, where are your
little wits gone to? Did it frighten you, old man?"
"Oh!" said Olly, drawing a long breath. "I did think he would never have
comed up out of that bog!"
"It was splendid," said Milly. "But, father, I don't understand about
that pool. Why didn't Beowulf get drowned when he went down under the
water?"
"The story doesn't tell us anything about that," said Mr. Norton. "But
heroes in those days, Milly, must have had something magical about them
so that they were able to do things that men and women can't do now. Do
you know, children, that this story that you have been listening to is
more than a thousand years old? Can you fancy that?"
"No," said Milly, shaking her head. "I can't fancy it a bit, father.
It's too long. It makes me puzzled to think of so many years."
"Years and years and years and _years_!" said Olly. "When father's
grandfather was a little boy."
Mr. Norton laughed. "Can't you think of anything farther back than that,
Olly? It would take a great many grandfathers, and grandfathers'
grandfathers, to get back to the time when the story of Beowulf was
made. And here am I telling it to you just in the same way as fathers
used to tell it to their children a thousand years ago."
"I suppose the children liked it so, they wouldn't let their fathers
forget it," said Milly. "And then when they grew up they told it to
their children. I shall tell it to my children when I grow up. I think I
shall tell it to Katie to-morrow."
"Father," said Olly, "did Beowulf die--ever?"
"Yes. When he was quite an old man he had another great fight with a
dragon, who was guarding a cave full of golden treasure on the
sea-shore; and though he killed the dragon, the dragon gave him a
terrible wound, so that when his friends came to look for him they found
him lying all but dead in the cave. He was just able to tell them to
make a great mound of earth over him when he was dead, on a high rock
close by, that sailors might see it from their ships and think of him
when they saw it, and then he died. And when he was dead they carried
him up to the rock, and there they burned his body, and then they built
up a great high mound of earth, and they put Beowulf's bones inside, and
all the treasure from the dragon's cave. They were ten days building up
the mound. Then when it was all done they rode around it weeping and
chanting sorrowful songs, and at last they left him there, saying as
they went away that never should they see so good a king or so true a
master any more. And for hundreds of years afterwards, when the sailors
out at sea saw the high mound rising on its point of rock, they said one
to another, 'There is Beowulf's Mount,' and they began to tell each
other of Beowulf's brave deeds--how he lived and how he died, and how he
fought with Grendel and the wild sea dragons. There, now, I have told
you all I know about Beowulf," said Mr. Norton, getting up and turning
the children off his knee, "and if it isn't somebody else's turn now it
ought to be."
"Aunt Emma! Aunt Emma!" shouted Olly, who was so greedy for stories that
he could almost listen all day long without being tired.
But Aunt Emma only smiled through her spectacles and pointed to the
window. The children ran to look out, and they could hardly believe
their eyes when they saw that it had actually stopped raining, and that
over the tree-tops was a narrow strip of blue sky, the first they had
seen for three whole days.
"Oh you nice blue sky!" exclaimed Milly, dancing up and down before the
window with a beaming face. "Mind you stay there and get bigger. We'll
get on our hats presently and come out to look at you. Oh! there's John
Backhouse coming down the hill with the dogs. Mother, may we go up
ourselves and ask Becky and Tiza to come to tea?"
"But Aunt Emma must tell us her story first," persisted Olly, who hated
being cheated out of a story by anything or anybody. "She promised."
"You silly boy!" said Aunt Emma, "as if I was going to keep you indoors
listening to stories just now, when the sun's shining for the first time
for three whole days. I promised you my story on a wet day, and you
shall have it--never fear. There'll be plenty more wet days before you
go away from Ravensnest, I'm afraid. There goes my knitting, and
mother's putting away her work, and father's stretching himself--which
means we're all going for a walk."
"To fetch Becky and Tiza, mother?" asked Milly; and when mother said
"Yes, if you like," the two children raced off down the long passage to
the nursery in the highest possible spirits.
Soon they were all walking along the dripping drive past high banks of
wet fern, and under trees which threw down showers of rain-drops at
every puff of wind. And when they got into the road beside the river the
children shouted with glee to see their brown shallow little river
turned into a raging flood of water, which went sweeping and hurrying
through the fields, and every now and then spreading itself over them
and making great pools among the poor drowned hay. They ran on to look
for the stepping-stones, but to their amazement there was not a stone to
be seen. The water was rushing over them with a great roar and swirl,
and Milly shivered a little bit when she remembered their bathe there a
week before.
"Well, old woman," said Mr. Norton, coming up to them, "I don't suppose
you'd like, a bathe to-day--quite."
"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 grass 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 muffetees, 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 godchild 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_ pussy 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 nobody 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.
"Oh, Tiza, how be--utiful! How did they get there?"
"It's old Sally, our white hen you know, laid them. I found them just
after dinner. Mother doesn't know nothing about them. I never told
Becky, nor nobody. Aren't they beauties?"
And Tiza took one up lovingly in her rough, little brown hands, and laid
it against her cheek, to feel how soft and satiny it was.
"Oh, and Tiza, I know," exclaimed Milly eagerly, "you meant these would
do for supper. That would be a lovely make up. There's three. One for
Mr. Backhouse, one for Mrs. Backhouse, and one for Becky.--There's none
for you, Tiza."
"Nor none for Becky neither," answered Tiza shortly. "Father'll want
two. Becky and me'll get bread and dripping."
"Well, come along, Tiza, let's take them in."
"No, you take them," said Tiza. "Mother won't want to see me no more,
and father'll perhaps be coming in."
"Oh, but, Tiza, you'll come to tea with us?"
"I don't know," said Tiza. "You ask."
And off she ran as quick as lightning, off to her hiding-place in the
cherry tree, while Milly was left with the three brown eggs, feeling
rather puzzled and anxious. However, she put them gently in the skirt of
her frock, and holding it up in both hands she picked her way through
the wet yard back to the house.
When she appeared at the kitchen door, Aunt Emma and Mrs. Backhouse were
chatting quietly. Mr. and Mrs. Norton, and Olly, had gone on for a
little stroll along the Wanwick road, and Becky was sitting on the
window-sill with the baby, who seemed very sleepy, but quite determined
not to go to sleep in spite of all Becky's rocking and patting.
"Oh, Mrs. Backhouse," began Milly, coming in with a bright flushed face,
"just look here, what I've brought. Tiza found them just after dinner
to-day. They were under the hayrick right away in the corner, and she
wanted to make up, so she showed me where they were, so I brought them
in, and there's two for Mr. Backhouse, and one for you, you know. And,
please, won't you let Tiza come to tea with us?"
Mrs. Backhouse looked in astonishment at the three eggs lying in Milly's
print skirt, and at Milly's pleading little face.
"Ay, that's Sally, I suppose. She's always hiding her eggs is Sally,
where I can't find them. So it was Tiza found them, was it, Missy? Well,
they will come, in very handy for supper as it happens. Thank you kindly
for bringing them in."
And Mrs. Backhouse took the eggs and put them safely away in a pie-dish,
while Becky secretly pulled Milly by the sleeve, and smiled up at her as
much as to say,
"Thank you for helping Tiza out of her scrape."
"And you'll let Becky and Tiza come to tea?" asked Milly again.
"Well, I'm sure, Miss, I don't know," said Mrs. Backhouse, looking
puzzled; "Becky may come and welcome, but perhaps it would do Tiza good
to stay at home."
"Don't you think she'd better have a little change?" said Aunt Emma in
her kind voice, which made Milly want to hug her. "I daresay staying
indoors so long made her restless. If you will let me carry them both
off, I daresay between us, Mrs. Backhouse, we can give Tiza a talking
to, and perhaps she'll come back in a more sensible mood."
"Well, Miss Elliot, she shall go if you wish it. Come Becky, give me the
baby, and go and put your things on." And then going to the door, Mrs.
Backhouse shouted "Tiza!" After a second or two a little figure dropped
down out of the cherry tree and came slowly up the walk. Tiza had shaken
her hair about her face so that it could hardly be seen, and she never
looked once at Aunt Emma and Milly as she came up to her mother.
"There, go along, Tiza, and get your things on," said Mrs. Backhouse,
taking her by the arm. "I wouldn't have let you go out to tea, you know,
if Miss Elliot and Missy hadn't asked particular. Mind you don't get
into no more mischief. And very like those eggs'll do for father's
supper; so, I daresay, I'll not say anything to him this time--just for
once. Now go up."
Tiza didn't want to be told twice, and presently, just as Mr. and Mrs.
Norton and Olly were coming back from their walk, they met Aunt Emma
coming back from the farm holding Becky's hand, while Milly and Tiza
walked in front.
"Well, Tiza," said Mr. Norton, patting her curly head, I declare I think
you beat Olly for mischief. Olly never spoilt my dinner yet, that I
remember. What should I do to him do you think, if he did?"
"Beat him," said Tiza, looking up at Mr. Norton with her quick birdlike
eyes.
"Oh dear, no!" said Mr. Norton, "that wouldn't do my dinner any good. I
should eat him up instead."
"I don't believe little boys taste good a bit," said Olly, who always
believed firmly in his father's various threats. "If you ettened me,
father, you'd be ill."
"Oh no," said Mr. Norton, "not if I eat you with plenty of bread-sauce.
That's the best way to cook little boys. Now, Milly, which of you three
girls can get to that gate first?"
Off ran the three little girls full tilt down the hill leading to
Ravensnest, with Olly puffing and panting after them. Milly led the way
at first, for she was light and quick, and a very fair runner for her
age; but Tiza soon got up to her and passed her, and it was Tiza's
little stout legs that arrived first at Ravensnest gate.
"Oh, Becky!" said Milly, putting her arm round Becky's neck as they went
into the house together, "I hope you 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.