"Mind you ask us next time, Aunt Emma," said Milly, hanging round her neck coaxingly. "Mind you get two pairs of wings by that time, then," said Aunt Emma, "for mother's not likely to let you come to my Christmas tree unless you promise to fly there and back. But suppose, instead of your coming to me, I come to you next Christmas?" "Oh yes! yes!" cried Olly, who had just joined Aunt Emma and Milly, "come to our Christmas tree, Aunt Emma. We'll give you ever such nice things--a ball and a top, and a train--perhaps--and--" "As if Aunt Emma would care for those kind of things!" said Milly. "No, you shall give her some muffetees, you know, to keep her hands warm, and I'll make her a needlebook. But, Aunt Emma, do listen! What can be the matter?" They were just climbing the little bit of steep road which led to the farm, and suddenly they heard somebody roaring and screaming, and then an angry voice scolding, and then a great clatter, and then louder roaring than ever. "What _is_ the matter?" cried Milly, running on to the farm door, which was open. But just as she got there, out rushed a tattered little figure with a tear-stained face, and hair flying behind. "Tiza!" cried Milly, trying to stop her. But Tiza ran past her as quick as lightning down the garden path towards the cherry tree, and in another minute, in spite of the shower of wet she shook down on herself as she climbed up, she was sitting high and safe among the branches, where there was no catching her nor even seeing her. "Ay, that's the best place for ye," said Mrs. Backhouse, appearing at the door with an angry face, "you'll not get into so much mischief there perhaps as you will indoors. Oh, is that you, Miss Elliot (that was Aunt Emma's surname)? Walk in please, ma'am, though you'll find me sadly untidy this afternoon. Tiza's been at her tricks again; she keeps me sweeping up after her all day. Just look here, if you please, ma'am." Aunt Emma went in, and the children pressed in after her, full of curiosity to see what crime Tiza had been committing. Poor Mrs. Backhouse! all over her clean kitchen floor there were streams of water running about, with little pieces of cabbage and carrot sticking up in them here and there, while on the kitchen table lay a heap of meat and vegetables, which Mrs. Backhouse had evidently just picked up out of the grate before Aunt Emma and the children arrived.