The kitchen in its primeval condition of chaos, the untidy particulars of which were the less apparent, as everything was more or less obscured by the clouds of dust, where Johnnie reigned triumphant, like a witch with her broomstick; and, to crown all, Tommy capering and singing in the Brownie's bottle-green suit, brass buttons and all. "What's this?" shouted the astonished Tailor, when he could find breath to speak. "It's the Brownies," sang the boys; and on they danced, for they had worked themselves up into a state of excitement from which it was not easy to settle down. "Where _is_ Brownie?" shouted the father. "He's here," said Tommy; "we are the Brownies." "Can't you stop that fooling?" cried the Tailor, angrily. "This is past a joke. Where is the real Brownie, I say?" "We are the only Brownies, really, father," said Tommy, coming to a full stop, and feeling strongly tempted to run down from laughing to crying. "Ask the Old Owl. It's true, really." The Tailor saw the boy was in earnest, and passed his hand over his forehead. "I suppose I'm getting old," he said; "I can't see daylight through this. If you are the Brownie, who has been tidying the kitchen lately?" "We have," said they. "But who found my measure?" "I did," said Johnnie. "And who sorts your grandmother's scraps?" "We do," said they. "And who sets breakfast, and puts my things in order?" "We do," said they. "But when do you do it?" asked the Tailor. "Before you come down," said they. "But I always have to call you," said the Tailor. "We get back to bed again," said the boys. "But how was it you never did it before?" asked the Tailor doubtfully. "We were idle, we were idle," said Tommy. The Tailor's voice rose to a pitch of desperation-- "But if you do the work," he shouted, "_Where is the Brownie?_" "Here!" cried the boys, "and we are very sorry we were Boggarts so long." With which the father and sons fell into each other's arms and fairly wept. * * * * * It will be believed that to explain all this to the Grandmother was not the work of a moment. She understood it all at last, however, and the Tailor could not restrain a little good-humored triumph on the subject. Before he went to work he settled her down in the window with her knitting, and kissed her. "What do you think of it all, Mother?" he inquired. "Bairns are a blessing," said the old lady tartly, "_I told you so._" * * * * * "That's not the end, is it?" asked one of the boys in a tone of dismay, for the Doctor had paused here. "Yes it is," said he. "But couldn't you make a little more end?" asked Deordie, "to tell us what became of them all?" "I don't see what there is to tell," said the Doctor. "Why, there's whether they ever saw the Old Owl again, and whether Tommy and Johnnie went on being Brownies," said the children. The Doctor laughed. "Well, be quiet for five minutes," he said.