When Milly found it out she began to cry, and when Mrs. Norton came in she saw a heap on the floor, which was Milly, sobbing, while Olly sat beside her with his mouth wide open, as if he was a good deal astonished at the result of his first attempt at doctoring.
“Pick up the pieces, old woman,” said Mrs. Norton, taking hold of the heap and lifting it up. “What’s the matter with you both?”
“Olly’s spoilt my doll,” sobbed Milly, “and it will go on raining—and I feel so—so—dull.”
“I didn’t spoil her doll, mother,” cried Olly, eagerly. “I only rubbed some jam on its cheeks to make them a nicey pink—only some of it would sticky her dress—I didn’t mean to.”
“How would you like some jam rubbed on your cheeks, sir?” said Mrs. Norton, who could scarcely help laughing at poor Katie’s appearance when nurse handed the doll to her. “Suppose you leave Milly’s dolls alone for the future; but cheer up, Milly! I think I can make Katie very nearly right again. Come upstairs to my room and we’ll try.”
After a good deal of sponging and rubbing, and careful drying by the kitchen fire, Katie came very nearly right again, and then Mrs. Norton tried whether some lessons would drive the rain out of the children’s heads. But the lessons did not go well. It was all Milly could do to help crying every time she got a figure wrong in her sum, and Olly took about ten minutes to read two lines of his reading-book. Olly had just begun his sums, and Milly was standing up to say some poetry to her mother, looking a woebegone little figure, with pale cheeks and heavy eyes, when suddenly there was a noise of wheels outside, and both the children turned to look out of the window.
“A carriage! a carriage!” shouted Olly, jumping down, and running to the window.
There, indeed, was one of the shut-up “cars,” as the Westmoreland people call them, coming up the Ravensnest drive.
“It’s Aunt Emma,” said Mrs. Norton, starting up, “how good of her to come over on such a day. Run, children, and open the front door.”
Down flew Milly and Olly, tumbling over one another in their hurry; but father had already thrown the door open, and who should they see stepping down the carriage-steps but Aunt Emma herself, with her soft gray hair shining under her veil, and her dear kind face as gentle and cheery as ever.