"It was when your grandfather was courting me, my dears," said the old lady, "and I couldn't quite make up my mind. So I went to my mother, and said, 'He's this on the one side, but then he's that on the other, and so on. Shall I say yes or no?' And my mother said, 'The Old Owl knows;' for she was fairly puzzled. So says I, 'I'll go and ask her to-night, as sure as the moon rises.' "So at moon-rise I went, and there in the white light by the gate stood your grandfather. 'What are you doing here at this time o' night?' says I. 'Watching your window,' says he. 'What are _you_ doing here at this time o' night?' 'The Old Owl knows,' said I, and burst out crying." "What for?" said Johnnie. "I can't rightly tell you, my dear," said the old lady, "but it gave me such a turn to see him. And without more ado your grandfather kissed me. 'How dare you?' said I. 'What do you mean?' 'The Old Owl knows,' said he. So we never went." "How stupid!" said Tommy. "Tell us more about Brownie, please," said Johnnie. "Did he ever live with anybody else?" "There are plenty of Brownies," said the old lady, "or used to be in my mother's young days. Some houses had several." "Oh! I wish ours would come back!" cried both the boys in chorus. "He'd-- "tidy the room," said Johnnie; "fetch the turf," said Tommy; "pick up the chips," said Johnnie; "sort your scraps," said Tommy; "and do everything. Oh! I wish he hadn't gone away." "What's that?" said the Tailor coming in at this moment. "It's the Brownie, Father," said Tommy. "We are so sorry he went, and do so wish we had one." "What nonsense have you been telling them, Mother?" asked the Tailor. "Heighty teighty," said the old lady, bristling. "Nonsense, indeed! As good men as you, Son Thomas, would as soon have jumped off the crags, as spoken lightly of _them_, in my mother's young days." "Well, well," said the Tailor, "I beg their pardon. They never did aught for me, whatever they did for my forbears; but they're as welcome to the old place as ever, if they choose to come. There's plenty to do." "Would you mind our setting a pan of water, Father?" asked Tommy very gently. "There's no bread and milk." "You may set what you like, my lad," said the Tailor; "and I wish there were bread and milk for your sakes, Bairns. You should have it, had I got it. But go to bed now." They lugged out a pancheon, and filled it with more dexterity than usual, and then went off to bed, leaving the knife in one corner, the wood in another, and a few splashes of water in their track.