The Brownies and Other Tales | Page 4

in black
silk, and looks as if she had no meaner occupation than to sit in a
rocking-chair, and dream of damson cheese.
Rustling, hospitable, and subservient, this one retired at last, and--
"Now," said the Doctor, "for the verandah; and to look at the moon."
The company adjourned with a rush, the rear being brought up by the
poodle, who seemed quite used to the proceedings; and there under the
verandah, framed with passion-flowers and geraniums, the Doctor had

gathered mats, rugs, cushions, and arm-chairs, for the party; while far
up in the sky, a yellow-faced harvest moon looked down in awful
benignity.
"Now!" said the Doctor. "Take your seats. Ladies first, and gentlemen
afterwards. Mary and Tiny, race for the American rocking-chair. Well
done! Of course it will hold both. Now, boys, shake down. No one is to
sit on the stone, or put his feet on the grass: and when you're ready, I'll
begin."
"We're ready," said the girls.
The boys shook down in a few minutes more, and the Doctor began the
story of
"THE BROWNIES."
"Bairns are a burden," said the Tailor to himself as he sat at work. He
lived in a village on some of the glorious moors of the north of England;
and by bairns he meant children, as every Northman knows.
"Bairns are a burden," and he sighed.
"Bairns are a blessing," said the old lady in the window. "It is the
family motto. The Trouts have had large families and good luck for
generations; that is, till your grandfather's time. He had one only son. I
married him. He was a good husband, but he had been a spoilt child.
He had always been used to be waited upon, and he couldn't fash to
look after the farm when it was his own. We had six children. They are
all dead but you, who were the youngest. You were bound to a tailor.
When the farm came into your hands, your wife died, and you have
never looked up since. The land is sold now, but not the house. No! no!
you're right enough there; but you've had your troubles, son Thomas,
and the lads are idle!"
It was the Tailor's mother who spoke. She was a very old woman, and
helpless. She was not quite so bright in her intellect as she had been,
and got muddled over things that had lately happened; but she had a
clear memory for what was long past, and was very pertinacious in her
opinions. She knew the private history of almost every family in the
place, and who of the Trouts were buried under which old stones in the
churchyard; and had more tales of ghosts, doubles, warnings, fairies,
witches, hobgoblins, and such like, than even her grandchildren had
ever come to the end of. Her hands trembled with age, and she regretted
this for nothing more than for the danger it brought her into of spilling

the salt. She was past housework, but all day she sat knitting
hearth-rugs out of the bits and scraps of cloth that were shred in the
tailoring. How far she believed in the wonderful tales she told, and the
odd little charms she practised, no one exactly knew; but the older she
grew, the stranger were the things she remembered, and the more testy
she was if any one doubted their truth. "Bairns are a blessing!" said she.
"It is the family motto."
"_Are they_?" said the Tailor emphatically.
He had a high respect for his mother, and did not like to contradict her,
but he held his own opinion, based upon personal experience; and not
being a metaphysician, did not understand that it is safer to found
opinions on principles than on experience, since experience may alter,
but principles cannot.
"Look at Tommy," he broke out suddenly. "That boy does nothing but
whittle sticks from morning till night. I have almost to lug him out of
bed o' mornings. If I send him an errand, he loiters; I'd better have gone
myself. If I set him to do anything, I have to tell him everything; I
could sooner do it myself. And if he does work, it's done so unwillingly,
with such a poor grace; better, far better, to do it myself. What
housework do the boys ever do but looking after the baby? And this
afternoon she was asleep in the cradle, and off they went, and when she
awoke, I must leave my work to take her. I gave her her supper, and put
her to bed. And what with what they want and I have to get, and what
they take out to play with and lose, and what they bring in to play with
and leave about, bairns give some trouble, Mother,