Suddenly, as they came close to the cherry-tree, they heard a laugh and a little scuffling, and looking up, what should they see but two little girls perched up on one of the cherry-tree branches, one of them sewing, the other nursing a baby kitten.  Both of them had coloured print bonnets, but the smaller had taken hers off and was rolling the kitten up in it.  The little girl sewing had a sensible, sober face; as for the other, she could not have looked sober if she had tried for a week of Sundays.  It made you laugh only to look at Tiza.  From the top of her curly head to the soles of her skipping little feet, she was the sauciest, merriest, noisiest creature.  It was she who was always playing tricks on the cows and the horse, and the big sheep-dogs; who liked nothing so well as teasing Becky and dressing up the kittens, and who was always tumbling into the milkpail, or rolling downstairs, or losing herself in the woods, without somehow ever coming to any harm.  If she and Olly had been left alone in the world together they must have come to a bad end, but luckily each of them had wiser people to take care of them.

“Becky,” said Milly, shyly, looking up into the tree, “will you come down and say how do you do to us?”

Becky stuck her needle in her work and scrambled down with a red shy face to shake hands; but Tiza, instead of coming down, only climbed a little higher, and peeped at the others between the branches.

“We came down to the house when fayther took the milk this morning,” said Becky.  “We thought maybe we’d see you in the garden.  Only Tiza said she’d run away if she did see you.”

“Why doesn’t Tiza come down?” asked Olly, looking hard up into the tree.  “I want to see her.”

Thump!  What was that rattling down on Olly’s head?  He looked down at his feet very much astonished, and saw a bunch of green cherries which Tiza had just thrown at him.

“Throw some more!  Throw some more!” he cried out, and Tiza began to pelt him fast, while Olly ran here and there picking them up, and every now and then trying to throw them back at Tiza; but she was too high up for him to reach, and they only came rattling about his head again.

“She won’t come down,” said Becky, looking up at her sister.  “Maybe she won’t speak to you for two or three days.  And if you run after her she hides in such queer places you can never find her.”

“But mother wants you and her to come to tea with us this afternoon,” said Milly; “won’t Tiza come?”

“I suppose mother’ll make her,” said Becky, “but she doesn’t like it.  Have you been on the fell?”

Milly looked puzzled.  “Do you mean on the mountain?  No, not yet.  We’re going to-morrow when we go to Aunt Emma’s.  But we’ve been to the river with father.”

“Did you go over the stepping-stones?”

“No,” said Milly, “I don’t know what they are.  Can we go this evening after tea?”