"I don't know exactly what I shall tell you," said Aunt Mette, "but since we have commenced telling about the brownies, I think I will tell you something about them, too. You remember, of course, old Kari Gausdal, who came here and baked bread, and who always had so many tales to tell you."
"Oh, yes, yes!" shouted the children.
"Well, old Kari told me that she was in service at the orphan asylum some years ago, and at that time it was still more dreary and lonely in that part of the town than it is now. That asylum is a dark and dismal place, I can tell you. Well, when Kari came there she was cook, and a very smart and clever girl she was. She had, one day, to get up very early in the morning to brew, when the other servants said to her,—
"'You had better mind you don't get up too early, and you mustn't put any fire under the copper before two o'clock.'
"'Why?' she asked.
"'Don't you know there is a brownie here? And you ought to know that those people don't like to be disturbed so early,' they said; 'and before two o'clock you mustn't light the fire by any means.'
"'Is that all?' said Kari. She was anything but chicken-hearted. 'I have nothing to do with that brownie of yours, but if he comes in my way, why, by my faith, I will send him head over heels through the door.'
"The others warned her, but she did not care a bit, and next morning, just as the clock struck one, she got up and lighted the fire under the copper in the brewhouse; but the fire went out in a moment. Somebody appeared to be throwing the logs about on the hearth, but she could not see who it was. She gathered the logs together, one at a time, but it was of no use, and the chimney would not draw, either. She got tired of this at last, took a burning log and ran around the room with it, swinging it high and low while she shouted, 'Be gone, be gone whence you came! If you think you can frighten me you are mistaken.' 'Curse you!' somebody hissed in one of the darkest corners. 'I have had seven souls in this house; I thought I should have got eight in all!' 'But from that time nobody saw or heard the brownie in the asylum,' said Kari Gausdal."
"I am getting so frightened!" said one of the children. "No, you must tell us some more stories, Lieutenant; I never feel afraid when you tell us anything, because you tell us such jolly tales." Another proposed that I should tell them about the brownie who danced the Halling dance with the lassie. That was a tale I didn't care much about, as there was some singing in it. But they would on no account let me off, and I was going to clear my throat and prepare my exceedingly inharmonious voice to sing the Halling dance, which belongs to the story, when the pretty niece, whom I have already referred to, entered the room, to the great joy of the children and to my rescue.