“Then they would put us into some black boxes,” said Olly, cheerfully, with his mouth full of bread and butter, “and they would put the black boxes into some boats, and take us right away and bury us krick—wouldn’t they, mother?”
“Well, but—” said Mr. Norton, who had by this time got rid of his wet coat, and was seated by Milly, helping himself to some tea, “suppose we got into the boats before we were dead, and rowed away to Windermere station?”
“Oh no! father,” said Milly, who always liked her stories to be as gloomy as possible, “they wouldn’t know anything about us till we were dead you know, and then they’d come and find us, and be very sorry for us, and say, ‘Oh dear! oh dear! what a pity!’”
Olly began to look so dismal as Milly’s fancies grew more and more melancholy, that Mrs. Norton took to laughing at them all. What did they know about Westmoreland rain indeed. This was nothing—just nothing at all; she could remember some floods in the wintertime, when she was a little girl, and used to stay with Aunt Emma and great-grandmamma; but as for this, why, it was a good summer wetting, and that was all.
A romp sent the children to bed in excellent spirits again. This time both Milly and Olly stood at the window together, and told the rain to be sure to go to Spain that night, and never come back again while they were at Ravensnest.
“Or you might go to Willingham, you know, dear Mr. Rain,” said Milly; “I daresay mother’s flowers want a good watering. And there’s Spot—you might give her a good washing—she can wash herself, but she won’t. Only we don’t want you here, Mr. Rain.”
But what an obstinate disagreeable Mr. Rain it was! All that night it went on pouring, till the little beck in the garden was so full it was almost choked, and could only get along by sputtering and foaming as if some wicked water-fairies were driving it along and tormenting it. And all the little pools on the mountain, the “tarns,” as Becky and Tiza called them, filled up, and the rain made the mountain itself so wet that it was like one big bog all over.
When the children woke up the flood on the lawn was growing bigger, and it seemed to them as if the house and garden were all wrapped up in a wet white cloud-blanket. They could not see the mountain at all from the window, it was all covered with a thick white mist, and the dark fir trees in the garden looked sad and drooping, as if the weight of raindrops was too much for them to carry.
The children had made up their minds so completely the night before that it couldn’t rain more than two days running, that they felt as if they could hardly be expected to bear this third wet morning cheerfully. Nurse found them cross and out of spirits at breakfast. Even a prospect of asking Becky and Tiza to tea did not bring any smiles to their forlorn little faces. It would be no fun having anybody to tea. They couldn’t go out, and there was nothing amusing indoors.
After breakfast, Olly set to work to get into mischief, as he generally did when he felt dull. Nurse discovered him smearing Katie’s cheeks with raspberry jam “to make them get red kricker” as he said, and alas! some of the jam had stuck to the new silk frock, and spoilt all its smart fresh look.