Meanwhile the poor Tailor came wearily down-stairs. Day after day, since his wife’s death, he had come down every morning to the same desolate sight—yesterday’s refuse and an empty hearth. This morning task of tidying was always a sad and ungrateful one to the widowed father. His awkward struggles with the house-work in which she had been so notable, chafed him. The dirty kitchen was dreary, the labor lonely, and it was an hour’s time lost to his trade. But life does not stand still while one is wishing, and so the Tailor did that for which there was neither remedy nor substitute; and came down this morning as other mornings to the pail and broom. When he came in he looked round, and started, and rubbed his eyes; looked round again, and rubbed them harder; then went up to the fire and held out his hand, (warm certainly)—then up to the table and smelt the mushrooms, (esculent fungi beyond a doubt) handled the loaf, stared at the open door and window, the swept floor, and the sunshine pouring in, and finally sat down in stunned admiration. Then he jumped up and ran to the foot of the stairs, shouting,—
“Mother! Mother! Trout’s luck has come again.” “And yet, no!” he thought, “the old lady’s asleep, it’s a shame to wake her, I’ll tell those idle rascally lads, they’ll be more pleased than they deserve. It was Tommy after all that set the water and caught him.” “Boys! boys!” he shouted at the foot of the ladder, “the Brownie has come!—and if he hasn’t found my measure!” he added on returning to the kitchen, “this is as good as a day’s work to me.”
There was great excitement in the small household that day. The boys kept their own counsel. The old Grandmother was triumphant, and tried not to seem surprised. The Tailor made no such vain effort, and remained till bed-time in a state of fresh and unconcealed amazement.
“I’ve often heard of the Good People,” he broke out towards the end of the evening. “And I’ve heard folk say they’ve known those that have seen them capering round the gray rocks on the moor at midnight: but this is wonderful! To come and do the work for a pan of cold water! Who could have believed it?”
“You might have believed it if you’d believed me, Son Thomas,” said the old lady tossily. “I told you so. But young people always know better than their elders!”
“I didn’t see him,” said the Tailor, beginning his story afresh; “but I thought as I came in I heard a sort of laughing and rustling.”
“My mother said they often heard him playing and laughing about the house,” said the old lady. “I told you so.”
“Well, he shan’t want for a bowl of bread and milk to-morrow, anyhow,” said the Tailor, “if I have to stick to Farmer Swede’s waistcoat till midnight.”
But the waistcoat was finished by bed-time, and the Tailor set the bread and milk himself, and went to rest.
“I say,” said Tommy, when both the boys were in bed, “the Old Owl was right, and we must stick to it. But I’ll tell you what I don’t like, and that is, father thinking we’re idle still. I wish he knew we were the Brownies.”