Milly and Olly

by Mrs. Humphry Ward

Dinner was very welcome after all this scrambling; and after dinner came a quiet time in the garden, when father read aloud to mother and Aunt Emma, and the children kept still and listened to as much as they could understand, at least until they went to sleep, which they both did lying on a rug at Aunt Emma’s feet. Milly couldn’t understand how this had happened at all, when she found herself waking up and rubbing her eyes, but I think it was natural enough after their long walk in the sun and wind.

At four o’clock nurse came for them, and when they had been put into clean frocks and pinafores, she took them up to the farm. Milly and Olly felt that this was a very solemn occasion, and they walked up to the farmhouse door hand-in-hand, feeling as shy as if they had never been there before. But at the door were Becky and Tiza waiting for them, as smart as new pins, with shining hair, and red ribbons under their little white collars; and the children no sooner caught sight of one another than all their shyness flew away, and they began to chatter as usual.

In the farmhouse kitchen were Bessie and Charlie, and such a comfortable tea spread out on a long table, covered with a red and black woollen table-cloth instead of a white one. Becky and Tiza had filled two tumblers with meadow-sweet and blue campanula, which stood up grandly in the middle, and there were two home-made cakes at each end, and some of Sally’s brown eggs, and piles of tempting bread and butter.

Each of the children had their gift for Milly too: Becky had plaited her a basket of rushes, a thing she had often tried to teach Milly how to make for herself, and Tiza pushed a bunch of wild raspberries into her hand, and ran away before Milly could say thank you; Bessie shyly produced a Christmas card that somebody had once sent to her; and even Charlie had managed to provide himself with a bunch of the wild yellow poppies which grew on the wall of the Ravensnest garden, and were a joy to all beholders.

Then Mrs. Backhouse put Milly at one end of the table, while she began to pour out tea at the other, and the feast began. Certainly, Milly thought, it was much more exciting going out to tea at a farmhouse than having children to tea with you at home, just as you might anywhere, on any day in the year. There were the big hens coming up to the door and poking in their long necks to take a look at them; there were the pigeons circling round and round in the yard; there was the sound of milking going on in the shed close by, and many other sights and sounds which were new and strange and delightful.

As for Olly, he was very much taken up for a time with the red and black table-cloth, and could not be kept from peering underneath it from time to time, as if he suspected that the white table-cloth he was generally accustomed to had been hidden away underneath for a joke. But when the time for cake came, Olly forgot the table-cloth altogether. He had never seen a cake quite like the bun-loaf, which kind Mrs. Backhouse had made herself for the occasion, and of which she had given him a hunch, so in his usual inquisitive way he began to turn it over and over, as if by looking at it long enough he could find out how it was made and all about it. Presently, when the others were all quietly enjoying their bun-loaf, Olly’s shrill little voice was heard saying—while he put two separate fingers on two out of the few currants in his piece:

“This currant says to that currant, ‘I’m here, where are you? You’re so far off I can’t see you nowhere.’”

“Olly, be quiet,” said Milly.

“Well, but, Milly, I can’t help it; it’s so funny. There’s only three currants in my bit, and cookie puts such a lot in at home. I’m pretending they’re little children wanting to play, only they can’t, they’re so far off. There, I’ve etten one up. Now there’s only two. That’s you and me, Milly. I’ll eat you up first—krick!”

“Never mind about the currants, little master,” said Mrs. Backhouse, laughing at him. “It’s nice and sweet any way, and you can eat as much of it as you like, which is more than you can of rich cakes.”