Since then, Milly had learnt a good deal more of that long, long lesson, which we go on learning, big people and little people, all our lives--the lesson of self-forgetting--of how love brings joy, and to be selfish is to be sad; and her birthday seemed to bring back to her all that she had been learning.
"Dear little woman," said Mrs.Norton, putting back her tangled hair from her anxious little face, "go and be happy.

That's what we all like to-day.

Besides, you'll find plenty of ways of doing what other people like before the end of the day without my inventing any.

Run along now, and climb away.

Mind you don't let Olly tumble into bogs, and mind you bring me a bunch of ferns for the dinner-table--and there'll be two things done at any rate." So away ran Milly; and all the morning she and Olly and father scrambled and climbed, and raced and chatted, on the green back of old Brownholme.
They went to say good-morning to John Backhouse's cows in the "intake," as he called his top field, and they just peeped over the wall at the fierce young bull he had bought at Penrith fair a few days before, and which looked as if, birthdays or no birthdays, he could have eaten Milly at two mouthfuls, and swallowed Olly down afterwards without knowing it.
Then they climbed and climbed after father, till, just as Olly was beginning to feel his legs to make sure they weren't falling off, they were so tired and shaky--there they were standing on the great pile of stones which marks the top of the mountain--the very tip-top of all its green points and rocks and grassy stretches.