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.