"No," said Tommy, "I could find no word that rhymes with 'elf' except 'myself.'"
"Well, that is the word! Now, do you know where your brother is?"
"In bed in the loft," said Tommy.
"Then all your questions are answered. Good night;" and the Old Owl began to shake her feathers.
"Don't go yet," said Tommy, humbly; "I don't understand you. I am not a brownie, am I?"
"Yes, you are, and a very idle one, too," said the Old Owl. "All children are brownies."
"But are there really any brownies except children?" inquired Tommy, in a dismal tone.
"No, there are not. Now listen to me, Tommy. Little people can do only little things. When they are idle and mischievous, they are called boggarts, and they are a burden to the house they live in. When they are thoughtful and useful, they are brownies, and are a blessing to every one."
"I'll be a brownie," said Tommy. "I won't be a boggart. Now I'll go home and tell Johnny."
"I'll take you home," said the Owl, and in a moment Tommy found himself in bed, with Johnny sleeping by his side.