[Illustration]
THE ADVENTURES OF
A BROWNIE
AS TOLD TO MY CHILD
BY MISS MULOCK
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
McLOUGHLIN BROTHERS
COPYRIGHTED--1908--BY McLOUGHLIN BROS.
CONTENTS
ADVENTURE THE FIRST
Brownie and the Cook 5
ADVENTURE THE SECOND
Brownie and the Cherry-tree 17
ADVENTURE THE THIRD
Brownie in the Farmyard 26
ADVENTURE THE FOURTH
Brownie's Ride 41
ADVENTURE THE FIFTH
Brownie on the Ice 58
ADVENTURE THE SIXTH AND LAST
Brownie and the Clothes 73
POEMS
The Blackbird and the Rooks 88
The Shaking of the Pear-tree 91
The Wonderful Apple-tree 95
The Jealous Boy 98
The Story of the Birkenhead 99
Birds in the Snow 105
The Little Comforter 107
Don't Be Afraid 108
Girl and Boy 109
Agnes at Prayer 110
Going to Work 111
Three Companions 112
The Motherless Child 113
The Wren's Nest 115
A Child's Smile 116
Over the Hills and Far Away 118
The Two Raindrops 119
The Year's End 120
Running After the Rainbow 121
Dick and I 123
Grandpapa 124
Monsieur et Mademoiselle 125
Young Dandelion 127
A September Robin 128
[Illustration]
THE ADVENTURES OF A BROWNIE
ADVENTURE THE FIRST
BROWNIE AND THE COOK
THERE was once a little Brownie, who lived--where do you think he lived?
in a coal-cellar.
Now a coal-cellar may seem a most curious place to choose to live in;
but then a Brownie is a curious creature--a fairy, and yet not one of
that sort of fairies who fly about on gossamer wings, and dance in the
moonlight, and so on. He never dances; and as to wings, what use would
they be to him in a coal-cellar? He is a sober, stay-at-home, household
elf--nothing much to look at, even if you did see him, which you are not
likely to do--only a little old man, about a foot high, all dressed in
brown, with a brown face and hands, and a brown peaked cap, just the
color of a brown mouse. And, like a mouse, he hides in corners--especially
kitchen corners, and only comes out after dark when nobody is about, and
so sometimes people call him Mr. Nobody.
I said you were not likely to see him. I never did, certainly, and never
knew any body that did; but still, if you were to go into Devonshire,
you would hear many funny stories about Brownies in general, and so I
may as well tell you the adventures of this particular Brownie, who
belonged to a family there; which family he had followed from house to
house, most faithfully, for years and years.
A good many people had heard him--or supposed they had--when there were
extraordinary noises about the house; noises which must have come from a
mouse or a rat--or a Brownie. But nobody had ever seen him except the
children--the three little boys and three little girls--who declared he
often came to play with them when they were alone, and was the nicest
companion in the world, though he was such an old man--hundreds of years
old! He was full of fun and mischief, and up to all sorts of tricks, but
he never did any body any harm unless they deserved it.
Brownie was supposed to live under one particular coal, in the darkest
corner of the cellar, which was never allowed to be disturbed. Why he
had chosen it nobody knew, and how he lived there, nobody knew either,
nor what he lived upon. Except that, ever since the family could
remember, there had always been a bowl of milk put behind the
coal-cellar door for the Brownie's supper. Perhaps he drank it--perhaps
he didn't: anyhow, the bowl was always found empty next morning. The old
Cook, who had lived all her life in the family, had never forgotten to
give Brownie his supper; but at last she died, and a young cook came in
her stead, who was very apt to forget every thing. She was also both
careless and lazy, and disliked taking the trouble to put a bowl of milk
in the same place every night for Mr. Nobody. "She didn't believe in
Brownies," she said; "she had never seen one, and seeing's believing."
So she laughed at the other servants, who looked very grave, and put
the bowl of milk in its place as often as they could, without saying
much about it.
But once, when Brownie woke up, at his usual hour for rising--ten
o'clock at night, and looked round in search of his supper--which was,
in fact, his breakfast--he found nothing there. At first he could not
imagine such neglect, and went smelling and smelling about for his bowl
of milk--it was not always placed in the same corner now--but in vain.
"This will never do," said he; and being extremely hungry, began running
about the coal-cellar to see what he could find. His eyes were as useful
in the dark as in the light--like a pussy-cat's; but there was nothing
to be seen--not even a potato paring, or a dry crust, or a well-gnawed
bone, such as Tiny the terrier sometimes brought into the coal-cellar
and left on the floor--nothing, in short, but heaps of coals and
coal-dust; and even a Brownie cannot eat that, you know.
"Can't stand this; quite impossible!" said the Brownie, tightening his
belt to make his poor little inside feel less empty. He had been asleep
so long--about a week, I believe, as was his habit when there was
nothing to do--that he seemed ready to eat his own head, or his boots,
or any thing. 'What's to be done? Since nobody brings my supper, I must
go and fetch it.'
He spoke quickly, for he always thought quickly, and made up his mind in
a minute. To be sure it was a very little mind, like his little body;
but he did the best he could with it, and was not a bad sort of old
fellow, after all. In the house he had never done any harm, and often
some good, for he frightened away all the rats, mice, and black-beetles.
Not the crickets--he liked them, as the old Cook had done: she said
they were such cheerful creatures, and always brought luck to the house.
But the young Cook could not bear them, and used to pour boiling water
down their holes, and set basins of beer for them with little wooden
bridges up to the brim, that they might walk up, tumble in, and be
drowned.
So there was not even a cricket singing in the silent house when Brownie
put his head out of his coal-cellar door, which, to his surprise, he
found open. Old Cook used to lock it every night, but the young Cook had
left that key, and the kitchen and pantry keys too, all dangling in the
lock, so that any thief might have got in, and wandered all over the
house without being found out.
"Hurrah, here's luck!" cried Brownie, tossing his cap up in the air, and
bounding right through the scullery into the kitchen. It was quite
empty, but there was a good fire burning itself out--just for its own
amusement, and the remains of a capital supper spread on the
table--enough for half a dozen people being left still.
Would you like to know what there was? Devonshire cream, of course; and
part of a large dish of junket, which is something like curds and whey.
Lots of bread-and-butter and cheese, and half an apple-pudding. Also a
great jug of cider and another of milk, and several half-full glasses,
and no end of dirty plates, knives, and forks. All were scattered about
the table in the most untidy fashion, just as the servants had risen
from their supper, without thinking to put any thing away.
Brownie screwed up his little old face and turned up his button of a
nose, and gave a long whistle. You might not believe it, seeing he lived
in a coal-cellar; but really he liked tidiness, and always played his
pranks upon disorderly or slovenly folk.
[Illustration: He wanted his supper, and oh! what a supper he did
eat!--Page 11]
"Whew!" said he; "here's a chance. What a supper I'll get now!"
And he jumped on to a chair and thence to the table, but so quietly that
the large black cat with four white paws, called Muff, because she was
so fat and soft and her fur so long, who sat dozing in front of the
fire, just opened one eye and went to sleep again. She had tried to get
her nose into the milk-jug, but it was too small; and the junket-dish
was too deep for her to reach, except with one paw. She didn't care much
for bread and cheese and apple-pudding, and was very well fed besides;
so, after just wandering round the table, she had jumped down from it
again, and settled herself to sleep on the hearth.
But Brownie had no notion of going to sleep. He wanted his supper, and
oh! what a supper he did eat! first one thing and then another, and then
trying every thing all over again. And oh! what a lot he drank--first
milk and then cider, and then mixed the two together in a way that would
have disagreed with any body except a Brownie. As it was, he was obliged
to slacken his belt several times, and at last took it off altogether.
But he must have had a most extraordinary capacity for eating and
drinking--since, after he had nearly cleared the table, he was just as
lively as if he had had no supper at all.
Now his jumping was a little awkward, for there happened to be a clean
white tablecloth: as this was only Monday, it had had no time to get
dirty--untidy as the Cook was. And you know Brownie lived in a
coal-cellar, and his feet were black with running about in coal dust. So
wherever he trod, he left the impression behind, until at last the whole
tablecloth was covered with black marks.
Not that he minded this; in fact, he took great pains to make the cloth
as dirty as possible; and then laughing loudly, "Ho, ho, ho!" leaped on
to the hearth, and began teasing the cat; squeaking like a mouse, or
chirping like a cricket, or buzzing like a fly; and altogether
disturbing poor Pussy's mind so much, that she went and hid herself in
the farthest corner, and left him the hearth all to himself, where he
lay at ease till daybreak.
Then, hearing a slight noise overhead, which might be the servants
getting up, he jumped on to the table again--gobbled up the few
remaining crumbs for his breakfast, and scampered off to his
coal-cellar; where he hid himself under his big coal, and fell asleep
for the day.
Well, the Cook came downstairs rather earlier than usual, for she
remembered she had to clear off the remains of supper; but lo and
behold, there was nothing left to clear. Every bit of food was eaten
up--the cheese looked as if a dozen mice had been nibbling at it, and
nibbled it down to the very rind; the milk and cider were all drunk--and
mice don't care for milk and cider, you know. As for the apple-pudding,
it had vanished altogether; and the dish was licked as clean as if
Boxer, the yard-dog, had been at it in his hungriest mood.
"And my white table-cloth--oh, my clean white table-cloth! What can have
been done to it?" cried she, in amazement. For it was all over little
black footmarks, just the size of a baby's foot--only babies don't wear
shoes with nails in them, and don't run about and climb on kitchen
tables after all the family have gone to bed.
Cook was a little frightened; but her fright changed to anger when she
saw the large black cat stretched comfortably on the hearth. Poor Muff
had crept there for a little snooze after Brownie went away.
"You nasty cat! I see it all now; it's you that have eaten up all the
supper; it's you that have been on my clean table-cloth with your dirty
paws."
[Illustration: Cook beat poor Pussy till the creature ran mewing away]
They were white paws, and as clean as possible; but the Cook never
thought of that, any more than she did of the fact that cats don't
usually drink cider or eat apple-pudding.
"I'll teach you to come stealing food in this way; take that--and
that--and that!"
Cook got hold of a broom and beat poor Pussy till the creature ran
mewing away. She couldn't speak, you know--unfortunate cat! and tell
people that it was Brownie who had done it all.
Next night Cook thought she would make all safe and sure; so, instead of
letting the cat sleep by the fire, she shut her up in the chilly
coal-cellar, locked the door, put the key in her pocket, and went off to
bed--leaving the supper as before.
When Brownie woke up and looked out of his hole, there was, as usual, no
supper for him, and the cellar was close shut. He peered about, to try
and find some cranny under the door to creep out at, but there was none.
And he felt so hungry that he could almost have eaten the cat, who kept
walking to and fro in a melancholy manner--only she was alive, and he
couldn't well eat her alive: besides, he knew she was old, and had an
idea she might be tough; so he merely said, politely, "How do you do,
Mrs. Pussy?" to which she answered nothing--of course.
Something must be done, and luckily Brownies can do things which nobody
else can do. So he thought he would change himself into a mouse, and
gnaw a hole through the door. But then he suddenly remembered the cat,
who, though he had decided not to eat her, might take this opportunity
of eating him. So he thought it advisable to wait till she was fast
asleep, which did not happen for a good while. At length, quite tired
with walking about, Pussy turned round on her tail six times, curled
down in a corner, and fell fast asleep.
Immediately Brownie changed himself into the smallest mouse possible;
and, taking care not to make the least noise, gnawed a hole in the door,
and squeezed himself through, immediately turning into his proper shape
again, for fear of accidents.
The kitchen fire was at its last glimmer; but it showed a better supper
than even last night, for the Cook had had friends with her--a brother
and two cousins--and they had been exceedingly merry. The food they had
left behind was enough for three Brownies at least, but this one managed
to eat it all up. Only once, in trying to cut a great slice of beef, he
let the carving-knife and fork fall with such a clatter, that Tiny the
terrier, who was tied up at the foot of the stairs, began to bark
furiously. However, he brought her her puppy, which had been left in a
basket in a corner of the kitchen, and so succeeded in quieting her.
After that he enjoyed himself amazingly, and made more marks than ever
on the white table-cloth; for he began jumping about like a pea on a
trencher, in order to make his particularly large supper agree with him.
Then, in the absence of the cat, he teased the puppy for an hour or two,
till hearing the clock strike five, he thought it as well to turn into a
mouse again, and creep back cautiously into his cellar. He was only just
in time, for Muff opened one eye, and was just going to pounce upon him,
when he changed himself back into a Brownie. She was so startled that
she bounded away, her tail growing into twice its natural size, and her
eyes gleaming like round green globes. But Brownie only said, "Ha, ha,
ho!" and walked deliberately into his hole.
When Cook came downstairs and saw that the same thing had happened
again--that the supper was all eaten, and the table-cloth blacker than
ever with the extraordinary footmarks, she was greatly puzzled. Who
could have done it all? Not the cat, who came mewing out of the
coal-cellar the minute she unlocked the door. Possibly a rat--but then
would a rat have come within reach of Tiny?
"It must have been Tiny herself, or her puppy," which just came rolling
out of its basket over Cook's feet. "You little wretch! You and your
mother are the greatest nuisance imaginable. I'll punish you!"
And, quite forgetting that Tiny had been safely tied up all night, and
that her poor little puppy was so fat and helpless it could scarcely
stand on its legs, to say nothing of jumping on chairs and tables, she
gave them both such a thrashing that they ran howling together out of
the kitchen door, where the kind little kitchen-maid took them up in her
arms.
"You ought to have beaten the Brownie, if you could catch him," said
she, in a whisper. "He will do it again and again, you'll see, for he
can't bear an untidy kitchen. You'd better do as poor old Cook did, and
clear the supper things away, and put the odds and ends safe in the
larder; also," she added, mysteriously, "if I were you, I'd put a bowl
of milk behind the coal-cellar door."
"Nonsense!" answered the young Cook, and flounced away. But afterward
she thought better of it, and did as she was advised, grumbling all the
time, but doing it.
Next morning the milk was gone! Perhaps Brownie had drunk it up, anyhow
nobody could say that he hadn't. As for the supper, Cook having safely
laid it on the shelves of the larder, nobody touched it. And the
table-cloth, which was wrapped up tidily and put in the dresser drawer,
came out as clean as ever, with not a single black footmark upon it. No
mischief being done, the cat and the dog both escaped beating, and
Brownie played no more tricks with any body--till the next time.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ADVENTURE THE SECOND
BROWNIE AND THE CHERRY-TREE
THE "next time" was quick in coming, which was not wonderful,
considering there was a Brownie in the house. Otherwise the house was
like most other houses, and the family like most other families. The
children also: they were sometimes good, sometimes naughty, like other
children; but, on the whole, they deserved to have the pleasure of a
Brownie to play with them, as they declared he did--many and many a
time.
A favorite play-place was the orchard, where grew the biggest
cherry-tree you ever saw. They called it their "castle," because it rose
up ten feet from the ground in one thick stem, and then branched out
into a circle of boughs, with a flat place in the middle, where two or
three children could sit at once. There they often did sit, turn by
turn, or one at a time--sometimes with a book, reading; and the biggest
boy made a sort of rope-ladder by which they could climb up and
down--which they did all winter, and enjoyed their "castle" very much.
But one day in spring they found their ladder cut away! The Gardener
had done it, saying it injured the tree, which was just coming into
blossom. Now this Gardener was a rather gruff man, with a growling
voice. He did not mean to be unkind, but he disliked children; he said
they bothered him. But when they complained to their mother about the
ladder, she agreed with Gardener that the tree must not be injured, as
it bore the biggest cherries in all the neighborhood--so big that the
old saying of "taking two bites at a cherry," came really true.
"Wait till the cherries are ripe," said she; and so the little people
waited, and watched it through its leafing and blossoming--such sheets
of blossom, white as snow!--till the fruit began to show, and grew large
and red on every bough.
At last one morning the mother said, "Children, should you like to help
gather the cherries to-day?"
"Hurrah!" they cried, "and not a day too soon; for we saw a flock of
starlings in the next field--and if we don't clear the tree, they will."
"Very well; clear it, then. Only mind and fill my basket quite full, for
preserving. What is over you may eat, if you like."
"Thank you, thank you!" and the children were eager to be off; but the
mother stopped them till she could get the Gardener and his ladder.
"For it is he must climb the tree, not you; and you must do exactly as
he tells you; and he will stop with you all the time and see that you
don't come to harm."
This was no slight cloud on the children's happiness, and they begged
hard to go alone.
"Please, might we? We will be so good!"
[Illustration: When the Gardener was steadying his ladder against the
trunk of the cherry-tree]
The mother shook her head. All the goodness in the world would not help
them if they tumbled off the tree, or ate themselves sick with cherries.
"You would not be safe, and I should be so unhappy!"
To make mother "unhappy" was the worst rebuke possible to these
children; so they choked down their disappointment, and followed the
Gardener as he walked on ahead, carrying his ladder on his shoulder. He
looked very cross, and as if he did not like the children's company at
all.
They were pretty good, on the whole, though they chattered a good deal;
but Gardener said not a word to them all the way to the orchard. When
they reached it, he just told them to "keep out of his way and not
worrit him," which they politely promised, saying among themselves that
they should not enjoy their cherry-gathering at all. But children who
make the best of things, and try to be as good as they can, sometimes
have fun unawares.
When the Gardener was steadying his ladder against the trunk of the
cherry-tree, there was suddenly heard the barking of a dog, and a very
fierce dog, too. First it seemed close beside them, then in the
flower-garden, then in the fowl-yard.
Gardener dropped the ladder out of his hands. "It's that Boxer! He has
got loose again! He will be running after my chickens, and dragging his
broken chain all over my borders. And he is so fierce, and so delighted
to get free. He'll bite any body who ties him up, except me."
"Hadn't you better you go and see after him?"
Gardener thought it was the eldest boy who spoke, and turned round
angrily; but the little fellow had never opened his lips.
Here there was heard a still louder bark, and from a quite different
part of the garden.
"There he is--I'm sure of it! jumping over my bedding-out plants, and
breaking my cucumber frames. Abominable beast!--just let me catch him!"
Off Gardener darted in a violent passion, throwing the ladder down upon
the grass, and forgetting all about the cherries and the children.
The instant he was gone, a shrill laugh, loud and merry, was heard close
by, and a little brown old man's face peeped from behind the
cherry-tree.
"How d'ye do?--Boxer was me. Didn't I bark well? Now I'm come to play
with you."
The children clapped their hands; for they knew they were going to have
some fun if Brownie was there--he was the best little playfellow in the
world. And then they had him all to themselves. Nobody ever saw him
except the children.
"Come on!" cried he, in his shrill voice, half like an old man's, half
like a baby's. "Who'll begin to gather the cherries?"
[Illustration: A little brown old man's face peeped from behind the
cherry-tree.--Page 20]
They all looked blank; for the tree was so high to where the branches
sprang, and besides, their mother had said they were not to climb. And
the ladder lay flat upon the grass--far too heavy for little hands to
move.
"What! you big boys don't expect a poor little fellow like me to lift
the ladder all by myself? Try! I'll help you."
Whether he helped or not, no sooner had they taken hold of the ladder
than it rose up, almost of its own accord, and fixed itself quite safely
against the tree.
"But we must not climb--mother told us not," said the boys, ruefully.
"Mother said we were to stand at the bottom and pick up the cherries."
"Very well. Obey your mother. I'll just run up the tree myself."
Before the words were out of his mouth Brownie darted up the ladder like
a monkey, and disappeared among the fruit-laden branches.
The children looked dismayed for a minute, till they saw a merry brown
face peeping out from the green leaves at the very top of the tree.
"Biggest fruit always grows highest," cried the Brownie. "Stand in a
row, all you children. Little boys, hold out your caps: little girls,
make a bag of your pinafores. Open your mouths and shut your eyes, and
see what the queen will send you."
They laughed and did as they were told; whereupon they were drowned in a
shower of cherries--cherries falling like hailstones, hitting them on
their heads, their cheeks, their noses--filling their caps and
pinafores, and then rolling and tumbling on to the grass, till it was
strewn thick as leaves in autumn with the rosy fruit.
What a glorious scramble they had--these three little boys and three
little girls! How they laughed and jumped and knocked their heads
together in picking up the cherries, yet never quarreled--for there were
such heaps, it would have been ridiculous to squabble over them; and
besides, whenever they began to quarrel, Brownie always ran away. Now he
was the merriest of the lot; ran up and down the tree like a cat, helped
to pick up the cherries, and was first-rate at filling the large
market-basket.
"We were to eat as many as we liked, only we must first fill the
basket," conscientiously said the eldest girl; upon which they all set
to at once, and filled it to the brim.
"Now we'll have a dinner-party," cried the Brownie; and squatted down
like a Turk, crossed his queer little legs, and sticking his elbows upon
his knees, in a way that nobody but a Brownie could manage. "Sit in a
ring! sit in a ring! and we'll see who can eat fastest."
The children obeyed. How many cherries they devoured, and how fast they
did it, passes my capacity of telling. I only hope they were not ill
next day, and that all the cherry-stones they swallowed by mistake did
not disagree with them. But perhaps nothing does disagree with one when
one dines with a Brownie. They ate so much, laughing in equal
proportion, that they had quite forgotten the Gardener--when, all of a
sudden, they heard him clicking angrily the orchard gate, and talking to
himself as he walked through.
"That nasty dog! It wasn't Boxer, after all. A nice joke! to find him
quietly asleep in his kennel after having hunted him, as I thought, from
one end of the garden to the other! Now for the cherries and the
children--bless us, where are the children? And the cherries? Why, the
tree is as bare as a blackthorn in February! The starlings have been at
it, after all. Oh dear! oh dear!"
"Oh dear! oh dear!" echoed a voice from behind the tree, followed by
shouts of mocking laughter. Not from the children--they sat as demure as
possible, all in a ring, with their hands before them, and in the centre
the huge basket of cherries, piled as full as it could possibly hold.
But the Brownie had disappeared.
"You naughty brats, I'll have you punished!" cried the Gardener, furious
at the laughter, for he never laughed himself. But as there was nothing
wrong; the cherries being gathered--a very large crop--and the ladder
found safe in its place--it was difficult to say what had been the harm
done and who had done it.
So he went growling back to the house, carrying the cherries to the
mistress, who coaxed him into good temper again, as she sometimes did;
bidding also the children to behave well to him, since he was an old
man, and not really bad--only cross. As for the little folks, she had
not the slightest intention of punishing them; and, as for Brownie, it
was impossible to catch him. So nobody was punished at all.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ADVENTURE THE THIRD
BROWNIE IN THE FARMYARD
WHICH was a place where he did not often go, for he preferred being warm
and snug in the house. But when he felt himself ill-used, he would
wander anywhere, in order to play tricks upon those whom he thought had
done him harm; for, being only a Brownie, and not a man, he did not
understand that the best way to revenge yourself upon your enemies is
either to let them alone or to pay them back good for evil--it
disappoints them so much, and makes them so exceedingly ashamed of
themselves.
One day Brownie overheard the Gardener advising the Cook to put sour
milk into his bowl at night, instead of sweet.
"He'd never find out the difference, no more than the pigs do. Indeed,
it's my belief that a pig, or dog, or something, empties the bowl, and
not a Brownie, at all. It's just clean waste--that's what I say."
"Then you'd better hold your tongue, and mind your own business,"
returned the Cook, who was of a sharp temper, and would not stand being
meddled with. She began to abuse the Gardener soundly; but his wife, who
was standing by, took his part, as she always did when any third party
scolded him. So they all squabbled together, till Brownie, hid under his
coal, put his little hands over his little ears.
"Dear me, what a noise these mortals do make when they quarrel! They
quite deafen me. I must teach them better manners."
But when the Cook slammed the door to, and left Gardener and his wife
alone, they too began to dispute between themselves.
"You make such a fuss over your nasty pigs, and get all the scraps for
them," said the wife. "It's of much more importance that I should have
everything Cook can spare for my chickens. Never were such fine chickens
as my last brood!"
"I thought they were ducklings."
"How you catch me up, you rude old man! They are ducklings, and
beauties, too--even though they have never seen water. Where's the pond
you promised to make for me, I wonder?"
"Rubbish, woman! If my cows do without a pond, your ducklings may. And
why will you be so silly as to rear ducklings at all? Fine fat chickens
are a deal better. You'll find out your mistake some day."
"And so will you when that old Alderney runs dry. You'll wish you had
taken my advice, and fattened and sold her."
"Alderney cows won't sell for fattening, and women's advice is never
worth twopence. Yours isn't worth even a half-penny. What are you
laughing at?"
"I wasn't laughing," said the wife, angrily; and, in truth, it was not
she, but little Brownie, running under the barrow which the Gardener was
wheeling along, and very much amused that people should be so silly as
to squabble about nothing.
It was still early morning; for, whatever this old couple's faults might
be, laziness was not one of them. The wife rose with the dawn to feed
her poultry and collect her eggs; the husband also got through as much
work by breakfast-time as many an idle man does by noon. But Brownie had
been beforehand with them this day.
When all the fowls came running to be fed, the big Brahma hen who had
watched the ducklings was seen wandering forlornly about, and clucking
mournfully for her young brood--she could not find them anywhere. Had
she been able to speak, she might have told how a large white Aylesbury
duck had waddled into the farmyard, and waddled out again, coaxing them
after her, no doubt in search of a pond. But missing they were, most
certainly.
"Cluck, cluck, cluck!" mourned the miserable hen-mother--and, "Oh, my
ducklings, my ducklings!" cried the Gardener's wife--"Who can have
carried off my beautiful ducklings?"
"Rats, maybe," said the Gardener, cruelly, as he walked away. And as he
went he heard the squeak of a rat below his wheelbarrow. But he could
not catch it, any more than his wife could catch the Aylesbury duck. Of
course not. Both were--the Brownie!
Just at this moment the six little people came running into the
farmyard. When they had been particularly good, they were sometimes
allowed to go with Gardener a-milking, each carrying his or her own mug
for a drink of milk, warm from the cow. They scampered after him--a
noisy tribe, begging to be taken down to the field, and holding out
their six mugs entreatingly.
"What! six cupfuls of milk, when I haven't a drop to spare, and Cook is
always wanting more? Ridiculous nonsense! Get along with you; you may
come to the field--I can't hinder that--but you'll get no milk to-day.
Take your mugs back again to the kitchen."
[Illustration: A noisy tribe, holding out their six mugs entreatingly.]
The poor little folks made the best of a bad business, and obeyed; then
followed Gardener down to the field, rather dolefully. But it was such a
beautiful morning that they soon recovered their spirits. The grass
shone with dew, like a sheet of diamonds, the clover smelled so sweet,
and two skylarks were singing at one another high up in the sky. Several
rabbits darted past, to their great amusement, especially one very large
rabbit--brown, not gray--which dodged them in and out, and once nearly
threw Gardener down, pail and all, by running across his feet; which set
them all laughing, till they came where Dolly, the cow, lay chewing the
cud under a large oak-tree.
It was great fun to stir her up, as usual, and lie down, one after the
other, in the place where she had lain all night long, making the grass
flat, and warm, and perfumy with her sweet breath. She let them do it,
and then stood meekly by; for Dolly was the gentlest cow in the world.
But this morning something strange seemed to possess her. She altogether
refused to be milked--kicked, plunged, tossed over the pail, which was
luckily empty.
"Bless the cow! what's wrong with her? It's surely you children's fault.
Stand off, the whole lot of you. Soh, Dolly! good Dolly!"
But Dolly was any thing but good. She stood switching her tail, and
looking as savage as so mild an animal possibly could look.
"It's all your doing, you naughty children! You have been playing her
some trick, I know," cried the Gardener, in great wrath.
They assured him they had done nothing, and indeed, they looked as quiet
as mice and as innocent as lambs. At length the biggest boy pointed out
a large wasp which had settled in Dolly's ear.
"That accounts for everything," said the Gardener.
But it did not mend everything; for when he tried to drive it away it
kept coming back and back again, and buzzing round his own head and the
cow's with a voice that the children thought was less like a buzz of a
wasp than the sound of a person laughing. At length it frightened Dolly
to such an extent that, with one wild bound she darted right away, and
galloped off to the farther end of the field.
"I'll get a rope and tie her legs together," cried the Gardener,
fiercely. "She shall repent giving me all this trouble--that she shall!"
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed somebody. The Gardener thought it was the
children, and gave one of them an angry cuff as he walked away. But they
knew it was somebody else, and were not at all surprised when, the
minute his back was turned, Dolly came walking quietly back, led by a
little wee brown man who scarcely reached up to her knees. Yet she let
him guide her, which he did as gently as possible, though the string he
held her by was no thicker than a spider web, floating from one of her
horns.
"Soh, Dolly! good Dolly!" cried Brownie, mimicking the Gardener's voice.
"Now we'll see what we can do. I want my breakfast badly--don't you,
little folks?"
Of course they did, for the morning air made them very hungry.
"Very well--wait a bit, though. Old people should be served first, you
know. Besides, I want to go to bed."
"Go to bed in the daylight!" The children all laughed, and then looked
quite shy and sorry, lest they might have seemed rude to the little
Brownie. But he--he liked fun; and never took offence when none was
meant.
He placed himself on the milking-stool, which was so high that his
little legs were dangling half-way down, and milked and milked--Dolly
standing as still as possible--till he had filled the whole pail. Most
astonishing cow! she gave as much as two cows; and such delicious milk
as it was--all frothing and yellow--richer than even Dolly's milk had
ever been before. The children's mouths watered for it, but not a word
said they--even when, instead of giving it to them, Brownie put his own
mouth to the pail, and drank and drank, till it seemed as if he were
never going to stop. But it was decidedly a relief to them when he
popped his head up again, and lo! the pail was as full as ever!
"Now, little ones, now's your turn. Where are your mugs?"
All answered mournfully, "We've got none. Gardener made us take them
back again."
"Never mind--all right. Gather me half a dozen of the biggest buttercups
you can find."
"What nonsense!" thought the children; but they did it. Brownie laid the
flowers in a row upon the eldest girl's lap--blew upon them one by one,
and each turned into the most beautiful golden cup that ever was seen!
"Now, then, every one take his own mug, and I'll fill it."
He milked away--each child got a drink, and then the cups were filled
again. And all the while Dolly stood as quiet as possible--looking
benignly round, as if she would be happy to supply milk to the whole
parish, if the Brownie desired it.
"Soh, Dolly! Thank you, Dolly!" said he, again, mimicking the Gardener's
voice, half growling, half coaxing. And while he spoke, the real voice
was heard behind the hedge. There was a sound as of a great wasp flying
away, which made Dolly prick up her ears, and look as if the old
savageness was coming back upon her. The children snatched up their
mugs, but there was no need, they had all turned into buttercups again.
Gardener jumped over the stile, as cross as two sticks, with an old rope
in his hand.
"Oh, what a bother I've had! Breakfast ready, and no milk yet--and such
a row as they are making over those lost ducklings. Stand back, you
children, and don't hinder me a minute. No use begging--not a drop of
milk shall you get. Hillo, Dolly? Quiet old girl!"
Quiet enough she was this time--but you might as well have milked a
plaster cow in a London milking-shop. Not one ringing drop resounded
against the empty pail; for, when they peeped in, the children saw, to
their amazement, that it was empty.
[Illustration: Each child got a drink, and then the cups were filled
again.--Page 32]
"The creature's bewitched!" cried the Gardener, in a great fury. "Or
else somebody has milked her dry already. Have you done it? or you?" he
asked each of the children.
They might have said No--which was the literal truth--but then it would
not have been the whole truth, for they knew quite well that Dolly had
been milked, and also who had done it. And their mother had always
taught them that to make a person believe a lie is nearly as bad as
telling him one. Yet still they did not like to betray the kind little
Brownie. Greatly puzzled, they hung their heads and said nothing.
"Look in your pail again," cried a voice from the other side of Dolly.
And there at the bottom was just the usual quantity of milk--no more and
no less.
The Gardener was very much astonished. "It must be the Brownie!"
muttered he, in a frightened tone; and, taking off his hat, "Thank you,
sir," said he to Mr. Nobody--at which the children all burst out
laughing. But they kept their own counsel, and he was afraid to ask them
any more questions.
By-and-by his fright wore off a little. "I only hope the milk is good
milk, and will poison nobody," said he, sulkily. "However, that's not my
affair. You children had better tell your mother all about it. I left
her in the farmyard in a pretty state of mind about her ducklings."
Perhaps Brownie heard this, and was sorry, for he liked the children's
mother, who had always been kind to him. Besides, he never did any body
harm who did not deserve it; and though, being a Brownie, he could
hardly be said to have a conscience, he had something which stood in the
place of one--a liking to see people happy rather than miserable.
So, instead of going to bed under his big coal for the day, when, after
breakfast, the children and their mother came out to look at a new brood
of chickens, he crept after them and hid behind the hencoop where the
old mother-hen was put, with her young ones round her.
There had been great difficulty in getting her in there, for she was a
hen who hatched her brood on independent principles. Instead of sitting
upon the nice nest that the Gardener made for her, she had twice gone
into a little wood close by and made a nest for herself, which nobody
could ever find; and where she hatched in secret, coming every second
day to be fed, and then vanishing again, till at last she re-appeared in
triumph, with her chickens running after her. The first brood there had
been twelve, but of this there were fourteen--all from her own eggs, of
course, and she was uncommonly proud of them. So was the Gardener, so
was the mistress--who liked all young things. Such a picture as they
were! fourteen soft, yellow, fluffy things, running about after their
mother. It had been a most troublesome business to catch--first her, and
then them, to put them under the coop. The old hen resisted, and pecked
furiously at Gardener's legs, and the chickens ran about in frantic
terror, chirping wildly in answer to her clucking.
At last, however, the little family was safe in shelter, and the
chickens counted over, to see that none had been lost in the scuffle.
How funny they were! looking so innocent and yet so wise, as chickens
do--peering out at the world from under their mother's wing, or hopping
over her back, or snuggled all together under her breast, so that
nothing was seen of them but a mass of yellow legs, like a great
centiped.
"How happy the old hen is," said the children's mother, looking on, and
then looking compassionately at that other forlorn old hen, who had
hatched the ducklings, and kept wandering about the farmyard, clucking
miserably, "Those poor ducklings, what can have become of them? If rats
had killed them, we should have found feathers or something; and weasels
would have sucked their brains and left them. They must have been
stolen, or wandered away, and died of cold and hunger--my poor
ducklings!"
The mistress sighed, for she could not bear any living thing to suffer.
And the children nearly cried at the thought of what might be happening
to their pretty ducklings. That very minute a little wee brown face
peered through a hole in the hencoop, making the old mother-hen fly
furiously at it--as she did at the slightest shadow of an enemy to her
little ones. However, no harm happened--only a guinea-fowl suddenly ran
across the farmyard, screaming in its usual harsh voice. But it was not
the usual sort of guinea-fowl, being larger and handsomer than any of
theirs.
"Oh, what a beauty of a creature! how did it ever come into our
farmyard," cried the delighted children; and started off after it, to
catch it if possible.
But they ran, and they ran--through the gate and out into the lane; and
the guinea-fowl still ran on before them, until, turning round a corner,
they lost sight of it, and immediately saw something else, equally
curious. Sitting on the top of a big thistle--so big that he must have
had to climb it just like a tree--was the Brownie. His legs were
crossed, and his arms too, his little brown cap was stuck knowingly on
one side, and he was laughing heartily.
"How do you do? Here I am again. I thought I wouldn't go to bed after
all. Shall I help you to find the ducklings? Very well! come along."
They crossed the field, Brownie running beside them, and as fast as they
could, though he looked such an old man; and sometimes turning over on
legs and arms like a Catherine wheel--which they tried to imitate, but
generally failed, and only bruised their fingers and noses.
He lured them on and on till they came to the wood, and to a green path
in it, which well as they knew the neighborhood, none of the children
had ever seen before. It led to a most beautiful pond, as clear as
crystal and as blue as the sky. Large trees grew round it, dipping their
branches in the water, as if they were looking at themselves in a glass.
And all about their roots were quantities of primroses--the biggest
primroses the little girls had ever seen. Down they dropped on their fat
knees, squashing more primroses than they gathered, though they tried to
gather them all; and the smallest child even began to cry because her
hands were so full that the flowers dropped through her fingers. But the
boys, older and more practical, rather despised primroses.
"I thought we had come to look for ducklings," said the eldest. "Mother
is fretting dreadfully about her ducklings. Where can they be?"
"Shut your eyes, and you'll see," said the Brownie, at which they all
laughed, but did it; and when they opened their eyes again, what should
they behold but a whole fleet of ducklings sailing out from the roots of
an old willow-tree, one after the other, looking as fat and content as
possible, and swimming as naturally as if they had lived on a pond--and
this particularly pond, all their days.
"Count them," said the Brownie, "the whole eight--quite correct. And
then try and catch them--if you can."
Easier said than done. The boys set to work with great
satisfaction--boys do so enjoy hunting something. They coaxed them--they
shouted at them--they threw little sticks at them; but as soon as they
wanted them to go one way the fleet of ducklings immediately turned
round and sailed another way, doing it so deliberately and majestically,
that the children could not help laughing. As for little Brownie, he sat
on a branch of the willow-tree, with his legs dangling down to the
surface of the pond, kicking at the water-spiders, and grinning with all
his might. At length, quite tired out, in spite of their fun, the
children begged for his help, and he took compassion on them.
"Turn round three times and see what you can find," shouted he.
Immediately each little boy found in his arms, and each little girl in
her pinafore, a fine fat duckling. And there being eight of them, the
two elder children had each a couple. They were rather cold and damp,
and slightly uncomfortable to cuddle, ducks not being used to cuddling.
Poor things! they struggled hard to get away. But the children hugged
them tight, and ran as fast as their legs could carry them through the
wood, forgetting, in their joy, even to say "Thank you" to the little
Brownie.
When they reached their mother she was as glad as they, for she never
thought to see her ducklings again; and to have them back alive and
uninjured, and watch them running to the old hen, who received them with
an ecstasy of delight, was so exciting, that nobody thought of asking a
single question as to where they had been found.
When the mother did ask, the children told her about Brownie's taking
them to the beautiful pond--and what a wonderful pond it was; how green
the trees were round it; and how large the primroses grew. They never
tired of talking about it and seeking for it. But the odd thing was
that, seek as they might, they never could find it again. Many a day did
the little people roam about one by one, or all together, round the
wood, often getting themselves sadly draggled with mud and torn with
brambles--but the beautiful pond they never found again.
Nor did the ducklings, I suppose; for they wandered no more from the
farmyard, to the old mother-hen's great content. They grew up into fat
and respectable ducks--five white ones and three gray ones--waddling
about, very content, though they never saw water, except the tank which
was placed for them to paddle in. They lived a lazy, peaceful, pleasant
life for a long time, and were at last killed and eaten with green peas,
one after the other, to the family's great satisfaction, if not to their
own.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
ADVENTURE THE FOURTH
BROWNIE'S RIDE
FOR the little Brownie, though not given to horsemanship, did once take
a ride, and a very remarkable one it was. Shall I tell you all about it?
The six little children got a present of something they had longed for
all their lives--a pony. Not a rocking-horse, but a real live pony--a
Shetland pony, too, which had traveled all the way from the Shetland
Isles to Devonshire--where every body wondered at it, for such a
creature had not been seen in the neighborhood for years and years. She
was no bigger than a donkey, and her coat, instead of being smooth like
a horse's, was shaggy like a young bear's. She had a long tail, which
had never been cut, and such a deal of hair in her mane and over her
eyes that it gave her quite a fierce countenance. In fact, among the
mild and tame Devonshire beasts, the little Shetland pony looked almost
like a wild animal. But in reality she was the gentlest creature in the
world. Before she had been many days with them, she began to know the
children quite well; followed them about, ate corn out of the bowl they
held out to her; nay, one day, when the eldest little girl offered her
bread-and-butter, she stooped her head and took it from the child's
hand, just like a young lady. Indeed, Jess--that was her name--was
altogether so lady-like in her behavior, that more than once Cook
allowed her to walk in at the back-door, when she stood politely warming
her nose at the kitchen-fire for a minute or two, then turned round and
as politely walked out again. But she never did any mischief; and was so
quiet and gentle a creature that she bade fair soon to become as great a
pet in the household as the dog, the cat, the kittens, the puppies, the
fowls, the ducks, the cow, the pig, and all the other members of the
family.