Wheeler, a kind motherly body, took her
in, and promised that she should know everything there was to be known
about Becky.
"Aunt Emma," said Milly, presently, when they were all sitting in the
conservatory which ran round the house, waiting for Mr. Norton to bring
them news from the farm, "how did Becky tumble under the cart?"
"She was lifting up some hay, I think, which had fallen off, and one of
the men was stooping down to take it on his fork, and then she must have
slipped and fallen right under the cart, just as John Backhouse told the
horse to go on."
"Oh, if the wheel _had_ gone over!" said Milly, shuddering. "Isn't it a
sad birthday, Aunt Emma, and we were so happy a little while ago? And
then I can't understand. I don't know why it happens like this."
"Like what, Milly?"
"Why, Aunt Emma, always in stories, you know, it's the bad people get
hurt and die. And now it's poor little Becky that's hurt. And she's such
a dear little girl, and helps her mother so. I don't think she ought to
have been hurt."
"We don't know anything about 'oughts,' Milly, darling, you and I. God
knows, we trust, and that helps many people who love God to be patient
when they are in trouble or pain. But think if it had been poor
mischievous little Tiza who had been hurt, how she would have fretted.
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