daughter in Dame Clementina. She recognized him at the same moment. "O
my dear daughter!" said he. "O my dear father!" said she.
"And this is my little grandchild?" said the count; and he took Nan
upon his knee, and covered her with caresses.
Then the story of the dill and the verse was told. "Yes," said the
count, "I truly was envious of you, Clementina, when I saw Nan."
After a little, he looked at his daughter sorrowfully. "I should
dearly love to take you up to the castle with me, Clementina," said
he, "and let you live there always, and make you and the little child
my heirs. But how can I? You are disinherited, you know?"
"I don't see any way," assented Dame Clementina, sadly.
Dame Elizabeth was still there, and she spoke up to the count with a
curtesy. "Noble sir," said she, "why don't you make another will?"
"Why, sure enough," cried the count with great delight, "why don't I?
I'll have my lawyer up to the castle to-morrow."
He did immediately alter his will, and his daughter was no longer
disinherited. She and Nan went to live at the castle, and were very
rich and happy. Nan learned to play on the harp, and wore
snuff-colored satin gowns. She was called Lady Nan, and she lived a
long time, and everybody loved her. But never, so long as she lived,
did she pin the sprig of dill and the verse over the door again. She
kept them at the very bottom of a little satinwood box--the faded
sprig of dill wrapped round with the bit of paper on which was written
the charm-verse:
"Alva, aden, winira mir,
Villawissen lingen;
Sanchta, wanchta, attazir,
Hor de mussen wingen."
BROWNIE AND THE COOK
By Mrs. Dinah Mulock Craik
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 anybody 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 anybody 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 once
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 everything.
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 anything. "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 rim, 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 anything
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.
"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 everything 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 anybody 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 ever, and began jumping about on
the table 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 tablecloth--oh, my clean white tablecloth! 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 tablecloth with your dirty
paws."
They were white paws, and as clean as possible; but 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 too 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 tablecloth; 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 tablecloth blacker than
ever with the extraordinary footmarks, she was greatly puzzled. Who
could have done all this? 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'll 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 tablecloth, 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 anybody--till the next
time.
BROWNIE AND THE CHERRY TREE
By Mrs. Dinah Mulock Craik
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 blossoms, 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 baskets 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!"
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 anybody who ties him up, except me."
"Hadn't you better go and see after him?"
Gardener thought it was the eldest boy who spoke, and turned around
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 that 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?"
They all looked blank; for the tree was so high to where the branches
sprung, and besides, their mother had said that 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 had 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 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.