“So it is you, is it?” said a voice. “Here, take hold of my wrist and then pull.”
Olaf caught sight of a long brown arm stretched down toward him. He caught hold of the wrist and pulled, and the next moment Olaf found himself scrambling over a thick mass of heather on to the top of the rocks. He lay sprawling on the edge of a little cleft in the rock with high walls on the sides. In one of these walls there was a little cave, and just in front of the cave was a little three-legged stool that had been upset, and a little set of bagpipes was lying on the ground beside it.
“So here you are!” said the little brown creature as he helped Olaf to his feet. “I’ve been waiting for you a long time. Look!” He ran into the cave and came out dragging a broom behind him, and holding a stone so polished that even in the dim light Olaf could see his face in it. And Olaf wondered and wondered.
“Look! I’ve worn out two hundred and thirty of these brooms, and polished that rough stone smooth—all for want of proper work, since I had to leave the village.”
“Are you the Brownie?” asked Olaf, joyfully.
“Yes,” was the answer.
“Are you Aiken-Drum?”
“Yes,” came the answer again.
“I’ve been looking for you ever since I can remember. That was why the sheep knew,—because you live on the moor.”
“Yes,” said the Brownie, “the sheep know me.”