For the gate at the other end of the garden was locked, and as the gardener couldn’t be found, everybody had to scramble over, mother included.  However, Mr. Norton helped them all over, and then they found themselves on a path running along the green mountain side.  On they went, through pretty bits of steep hay-fields, where the grass seemed all clover and moon-daisies, till presently they came upon a small hunched-up house, with a number of sheds on one side of it and a kitchen-garden in front.  This was Uncle Richard’s farm; a very tiny farm, where a man called John Backhouse lived, with his wife and two little girls and a baby-boy.  Except just in the hay-time, John Backhouse had no men to help him, and he and his wife had to do all the work, to look after the sheep, and the cows, the pigs, the horse, and the chickens, to manage the garden and the hayfield, and to take the butter and milk to the people who wanted to buy it.  When their children grew up and were able to help, Backhouse and his wife would be able to do it all very well; but just now, when they were still quite small, it was very hard work; it was all the farmer and his wife could do to make enough to keep themselves and their children fed and clothed.

Milly and Olly were very anxious to see the farmer’s children and looked out for them in the garden as they walked up to the house, but there were no signs of them.  The door was opened by Mrs. Backhouse, the farmer’s wife, who held a fair-haired baby in her arms sucking a great crust of brown bread, and when Mr. and Mrs. Norton had shaken hands with her—­“I’m sure, ma’am, I’m very pleased to see you here,” said Mrs. Backhouse.  “John told me you were come (only Mrs. Backhouse said ’coom’), and Becky and Tiza went down with their father when he took the milk this morning, hoping they would catch a sight of your children.  They have been just wild to see them, but I told them they weren’t likely to be up at that time in the morning.”

“Where are they now?” asked Mrs. Norton.  “Mine have been looking out for them as we came along.”

“Well, ma’am, I can’t say, unless they’re in the cherry-tree.  Becky!  Tiza!”

A faint “Yis” came from the other end of the garden, but still Milly and Olly could see nothing but a big cherry-tree growing where the voice seemed to come from.

“You go along that path, missy, and call again.  You’ll be sure to find them,” said Mrs. Backhouse, pointing to the tree.  “And won’t you come in, ma’am, and rest a bit?  You’ll be maybe tired with walking this hot day.”

So Mr. and Mrs. Norton went into the farmhouse, and the children went hand-in-hand down the garden, looking for Becky and Tiza.