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ONE evening, with the falling dew,
Some Brownies 'round a cottage drew.
Said one: "I've learned the reason why
We miss the 'Biddy, Biddy!' cry,
That every morning brought a score
Of fowls around this cottage door;
'T is rheumatism most severe
That keeps the widow prisoned here.
Her sheep go bleating through the field,
In quest of salt no herb can yield,
To early roost the fowls withdraw
While each bewails an empty craw.
And sore neglect you may discern
On every side, where'er you turn.
If aid come to the widow's need,
From Brownies' hands it must proceed."
Another said: "The wool, I know,
Went through the mill a month ago.
I saw them when they bore the sack
Tip yonder hill, a wondrous pack
That caught the branches overhead,
And round their heels the gravel spread.
Her spinning-wheel is lying there
In fragments quite beyond repair.
A passing goat, with manners bold,
Mistook it for a rival old,
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And knocked it 'round for half an hour
With all his noted butting power.
They say it was a striking scene,
That twilight conflict on the green;
The wheel was resting on the shed,
The frame around the garden spread,
Before the goat had gained his sight,
And judged the article aright."
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A third remarked: "I call to mind
Another wheel that we may find.
Though somewhat worn by use and time,
It seems to be in order prime;
Now, night is but a babe as yet,
The dew has scarce the clover wet;
By running fast and working hard
We soon can bring it to the yard;
Then stationed here in open air
The widow's wool shall be our care."
This suited all, and soon with zeal
They started off to find the wheel;
Their course across the country lay
Where great obstructions barred the way;
But Brownies seldom go around
However rough or wild the ground.
O'er rocky slope and marshy bed,
With one accord they pushed ahead,Across
the tail-race of a mill,
And through a churchyard on the hill.
They found the wheel, with head and feet,
And band and fixtures, all complete;
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And soon beneath the trying load
Were struggling on the homeward road.
They had some trouble, toil, and care,
Some hoisting here, and hauling there;
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At times, the wheel upon a fence
Defied them all to drag it thence,
As though determined to remain
And serve the farmer, guarding grain.
But patient head and willing hand
Can wonders work in every land;
And cunning Brownies never yield,
But aye as victors leave the field.
Some ran for sticks, and some for pries,
And more for blocks on which to rise,
That every hand or shoulder there,
In such a pinch might do its share.
Before the door they set the wheel,
And near at hand the winding reel,
That some might wind while others spun,
And thus the task be quickly done.
No time was wasted, now, to find
What best would suit each hand or mind.
Some through the cottage crept about
To find the wool and pass it out;
With some to turn, and some to pull,
And some to shout, "The spindle's full!"
The wheel gave out a droning song,--
The work in hand was pushed along.
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Their mode of action and their skill
With wonder might a spinster fill;
For out across the yard entire
They spun the yarn like endless wire,--
Beyond the well with steady haul,
Across the patch of beans and all,
Until the walls, or ditches wide,
A greater stretch of wool denied.
The widow's yarn was quickly wound
In tidy balls, quite large and round.
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And ere the night began to fade,
The borrowed wheel at home was laid;
And none the worse for rack or wear,
Except a blemish here and there,
A spindle bent, a broken band,--
'T was ready for the owner's hand.
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