Part 6 (1/2)
”Not a bit,” said Milly, merrily skipping along beside him. ”Hide again, father.”
”Another day, not now, for we want to get to Aunt Emma's. But tomorrow, if you like, we'll come up here and have a capital game. Only we must choose a nice dry place where there are no bogs.”
”What are bogs?” asked Olly.
”Wet places, where your feet go sinking deeper and deeper into the mud, and you can't find any stiff firm bit to stand on. Sometimes people sink down and down into a bog till the mud comes right over their head and face and chokes them; but we haven't got any bogs as bad as that here.
Now, children, step along in front. Very soon we shall get to the top of the mountain, and then we shall see wonderful things on the other side.”
So Milly and Olly ran on, pus.h.i.+ng their way through the great tall fern, or scampering over the short green gra.s.s where the little mountain sheep were nibbling, and where a beautiful creeping moss grew all over the ground, which, mother told Milly, was called ”Stags' horn moss,” because its little green branches were so like stags' horns.
”Now look, children,” shouted their father to them from behind. ”Here we are at the top.”
And then, all of a sudden, instead of only the green mountain and the sheep, they could see far away on the other side of the mountain. There, all round them, were numbers of other mountains; and below, at their feet, were houses and trees and fields, while straight in front lay a great big blue lake stretching away ever so far, till it seemed to be lost in the sky.
”Look, look, mother!” cried Milly, clapping her hands, ”there's Windermere lake, the lake we saw when we were coming from the station.
Look at that steamer, with all the people on board! What funny little black people. And oh, mother, look at that little boat over there! How can people go out in such a weeny boat as that?”
”It isn't such a weeny boat, Milly. It only looks so small because it's such a long way off. When father and I take you and Olly on the lake, we shall go in a boat just like that. And now, instead of looking so far away, look just down here below you, and tell me what you see.”
”Some chimneys, and some trees, and some smoke, ever so far down,”
shouted the children. ”Is it a house, mother?”
”That's Aunt Emma's house, the old house where I used to come and stay when I was a little girl, and when your dear great-grandfather and great-grandmother were alive. I used to think it the nicest place in the world.”
”Were you a very little girl, mother, and were you ever naughty?” asked Milly, slipping her little hand into her mother's and beginning to feel rather tired with her long walk.
”I'm afraid I was very often naughty, Milly. I used to get into great rages and scream, till everybody was quite tired out. But Aunt Emma was very good to me, and took a great deal of pains to cure me of going into rages. Besides, it always did naughty children good to live in the same house with great-grandmamma, and so after a while I got better. Take care how you go, children, it's very steep just here, and you might soon tumble over on your noses. Olly, take care! take care! where _are_ you going?”
Where, indeed, was Olly going? Just the moment before the little man had spied a lovely flower growing a little way off the path, in the middle of some bright yellow-green moss. And without thinking of anything but getting it, off he rushed. But oh! splish, splash, splish, down went Olly's feet, up splashed the muddy water, and there was Olly stuck in a bog.
”Father, pull me out, pull me out!” cried the little boy in terror, as he felt his feet stuck fast. But almost before he could speak there was father close beside him, standing on a round little hump of dry gra.s.s which was sticking up out of the bog, and with one grip he got hold of Olly under his arm, and then jump! on to another little hump of gra.s.s, jump! on to another, and there they were safe on the path again.
”Oh, you black boy!” cried father and mother and Milly all together. Was there ever such a little object! All his nice clean holland frock was splashed with black mud; and what had happened to his stockings?
”I've got mud-stockings on,” shouted Olly, capering about, and pointing to his legs which were caked with mud up to his knees.
”You're a nice respectable boy to take out to dinner,” said Mrs. Norton.
”I think we'll leave you on the mountain to have dinner with the sheep.”
”Oh no, father,” pleaded Milly, taking Olly fast by the hand. ”We can wash him at Aunt Emma's, you know.”
”Don't go too close to him, Milly!” exclaimed Mrs. Norton, ”or you'll get as black as he is. We shall have to put him under the pump at Aunt Emma's, that's quite certain. But there's nothing to wash him with here, so he must just go as he is for a bit. Now, Olly, run along and your feet will soon dry. Father's going first, you go next, just where he goes, I'm coming after you, and Milly shall go last. Perhaps in that way we shall get you down safe.”
”Oh, but, mother, look at my flower,” said Olly, holding it up triumphantly. ”Isn't it a beauty?”
”Shall I tell you what it's called, Olly? It's called a b.u.t.terwort, and it always grows in boggy places; I wouldn't advise you to go after one again without asking father first.”
It was a very different thing going down the mountain from climbing up it. It seemed only a few minutes before they had got almost to the bottom, and there was a gate leading into a road, and a little village of white houses in front of them. They walked up the road a little way, and then father opened a big gate and let them into a beautiful garden full of rhododendrons like the Ravensnest garden. And who was this walking down the drive to meet them? Such a pretty little elderly lady, with gray hair and a white cap.