"I know Miss Surbiton, Granny. I think she was a goose. Why won't you tell us about the Fairies?" "Hush! hush! my dears. There's the Clerk and the Corpse-candles." "I know the Corpse-candles, Granny. Besides, they make Johnnie dream and he wakes me to keep him company. _Why_ won't you tell us about the Fairies?" "My dear, they don't like it," said the old lady. "O Granny dear, why don't they? Do tell! I shouldn't think of the bread a bit, if you told us about the Fairies. I know nothing about them." "He lived in this house long enough," said the old lady. "But it's not lucky to name him." "Oh Granny, we are so hungry and miserable, what can it matter?" "Well, that's true enough," she sighed. "Trouts' luck is gone; it went with the Brownie, I believe." "Was that _he_, Granny?" "Yes, my dear, he lived with the Trouts for several generations." "What was he like, Granny?" "Like a little man, they say, my dear." "What did he do?" "He came in before the family were up, and swept up the hearth, and lighted the fire, and set out the breakfast, and tidied the room, and did all sorts of house-work. But he never would be seen, and was off before they could catch him. But they could hear him laughing and playing about the house sometimes." "What a darling! Did they give him any wages, Granny?" "No! my dear. He did it for love. They set a pancheon of clear water for him over night, and now and then a bowl of bread and milk, or cream. He liked that, for he was very dainty. Sometimes he left a bit of money in the water. Sometimes he weeded the garden or threshed the corn. He saved endless trouble, both to men and maids." "O Granny! why did he go?" "The maids caught sight of him one night, my dear, and his coat was so ragged, that they got a new suit, and a linen shirt for him, and laid them by the bread and milk bowl. But when Brownie saw the things, he put them on, and dancing round the kitchen, sang, 'What have we here? Hemten hamten! Here will I never more tread nor stampen,' and so danced through the door and never came back again." "O Grandmother! But why not? Didn't he like the new clothes?" "The Old Owl knows, my dear; I don't." "Who's the Old Owl, Granny?" "I don't exactly know, my dear. It's what my mother used to say when we asked anything that puzzled her. It was said that the Old Owl was Nanny Besom, (a witch, my dear!) who took the shape of a bird, but couldn't change her voice, and that that's why the owl sits silent all day for fear she should betray herself by speaking, and has no singing voice like other birds. Many people used to go and consult the Old Owl at moon-rise, in my young days." "Did you ever go, Granny?" "Once, very nearly, my dear." "Oh! tell us, Granny dear.--There are no Corpse-candles, Johnnie; it's only moonlight," he added consolingly, as Johnnie crept closer to his knee and pricked his little red ears.