Milly felt a good deal puzzled. It must be funny to have no Nana.
“Will you and he,” said Becky, pointing to Olly, “come up this afternoon and help us call the cows?”
“If we may,” said Milly; “who calls them?”
“Tiza and I,” answered Becky; “when I’m a big girl I shall learn how to milk, but fayther says I’m too little yet.”
“I wish I lived at a farm,” said Milly disconsolately.
Becky didn’t quite know what to say to this, so she began to call Tiza again.
“Swish!” went something past them as quick as lightning. It was Tiza running to the house. Olly set out to run after her as fast as he could run, but he came bang up against his mother standing at the farmhouse door, just as Tiza got safely in and was seen no more.
“Ah, you won’t catch Tiza, master,” said Mrs. Backhouse, patting his head; “she’s a rough girl, always at some tricks or other—we think she ought to have been a boy, really.”
“Mother, isn’t Becky very nice?” said Milly, as they walked away. “Her mother lets her do such a lot of things—nurse the baby, and call the cows, and make pinafores. Oh, I wish father was a farmer.”
“Well, it’s not a bad kind of life when the sun shines, and everything is going right,” said Mrs. Norton; “but I think you had better wait a little bit till the rain comes before you quite make up your mind about it, Milly.”