"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.