brownie and the clothes
till the next time; but when there is a brownie in the house, no one can say that any of his tricks will be the last. for there's no stopping a brownie, and no getting rid of him either. this one had followed the family from house to house, generation after generation—never any older, and sometimes seeming even to grow younger by the tricks he played. in fact, though he looked like an old man, he was a perpetual child.
to the children he never did any harm, quite the contrary. and his chief misdoings were against those who vexed the children. but he gradually made friends with several of his grown up enemies. cook, for instance, who had ceased to be lazy at night and late in the morning, found no more black footmarks on her white table cloth. and brownie found his basin of milk waiting for him, night after night, behind the coal-cellar door.
bill, too, got on well enough with his pony, and jess was taken no more night-rides. no ducks were lost; and dolly gave her milk quite comfortably to whoever milked her. alas! this was either bill or the gardener's wife now. after that adventure on the ice, poor gardener very seldom appeared; when he did, it was on two crutches, for he had had rheumatism in his feet, and could not stir outside his cottage door. bill, therefore, had double work; which was probably all the better for bill.
the garden had to take care of itself; but this being winter-time, it did not much signify. besides, brownie seldom went into the garden, except in summer; during the hard weather he preferred to stop in his coal-cellar. it might not have been a lively place, but it was warm, and he liked it.
he had company there, too; for when the cat had more kittens—the kitten he used to tease being grown up now—they were all put in a hamper in the coal-cellar; and of cold nights brownie used to jump in beside them, and be as warm and as cozy as a kitten himself. the little things never were heard to mew; so it may be supposed they liked his society. and the old mother-cat evidently bore him no malice for the whipping she had got by mistake; so brownie must have found means of coaxing her over. one thing you may be sure of—all the while she and her kittens were in his coal-cellar, he took care never to turn himself into a mouse.
he was spending the winter, on the whole, very comfortably, without much trouble either to himself or his neighbors, when one day, the coal-cellar being nearly empty, two men, and a great wagon-load of coals behind them, came to the door, gardener's wife following.
"my man says you're to give the cellar a good cleaning out before you put any more in," said she, in her sharp voice; "and don't be lazy about it. it'll not take you ten minutes, for it's nearly all coal-dust, except that one big lump in the corner—you might clear that out too."
"stop, it's the brownie's lump! better not meddle with it," whispered the little scullery-maid.
"don't you meddle with matters that can't concern you," said the gardener's wife, who had been thinking what a nice help it would be to her fire. to be sure, it was not her lump of coal, but she thought she might take it; the mistress would never miss it, or the brownie either. he must be a very silly old brownie to live under a lump of coal.
so she argued with herself, and made the men lift it. "you must lift it, you see, if you are to sweep the coal-cellar out clean. and you may as well put it on the barrow, and i'll wheel it out of your way."
this she said in quite a civil voice, lest they should tell of her, and stood by while it was being done. it was done without any thing happening, except that a large rat ran out of the coal-cellar door, bouncing against her feet, and frightening her so much that she nearly tumbled down.
"see what nonsense it is to talk of brownies living in a coal-cellar. nothing lives there but rats, and i'll have them poisoned pretty soon, and get rid of them."
but she was rather frightened all the same, for the rat had been such a very big rat, and had looked at her, as it darted past, with such wild, bright, mischievous eyes—brown eyes, of course—that she all but jumped with surprise.
however, she had got her lump of coal, and was wheeling it quietly away, nobody seeing, to her cottage at the bottom of the garden. she was a hard-worked woman, and her husband's illness made things harder for her. still, she was not quite easy at taking what did not belong to her.
"i don't suppose any body will miss the coal," she repeated. "i dare say the mistress would have given it to me if i had asked her; and as for its being the brownie's lump—fudge! bless us! what's that?"
for the barrow began to creak dreadfully, and every creak sounded like the cry of a child, just as if the wheel were going over its leg and crushing its poor little bones.
"what a horrid noise! i must grease the barrow. if only i knew where they keep the grease-box. all goes wrong, now my old man's laid up. oh, dear! oh dear!"
for suddenly the barrow had tilted over, though there was not a single stone near, and the big coal was tumbled on to the ground, where it broke into a thousand pieces. gathering it up again was hopeless, and it made such a mess on the gravel-walk, that the old woman was thankful her misfortune happened behind the privet hedge, where nobody was likely to come.
"i'll take a broom and sweep it up to-morrow. nobody goes near the orchard now, except me when i hang out the clothes; so i need say nothing about it to the old man or any body. but ah! deary me, what a beautiful lot of coal i've lost!"
she stood and looked at it mournfully, and then went into her cottage, where she found two or three of the little children keeping gardener company. they did not dislike to do this now; but he was so much kinder than he used to be—so quiet and patient, though he suffered very much. and he had never once reproached them for what they always remembered—how it was ever since he was on the ice with them that he had got the rheumatism.
suddenly the barrow had tilted over. suddenly the barrow had tilted over.
so, one or other of them made a point of going to see him every day, and telling him all the funny things they could think of—indeed, it was a contest among them who should first make gardener laugh. they did not succeed in doing that exactly; but they managed to make him smile; and he was always gentle and grateful to them; so that they sometimes thought it was rather nice his being ill.
but his wife was not pleasant; she grumbled all day long, and snapped at him and his visitors; being especially snappish this day, because she had lost her big coal.
"i can't have you children come bothering here," said she, crossly. "i want to wring out my clothes, and hang them to dry. be off with you!"
"let us stop a little—just to tell gardener this one curious thing about dolly and the pig—and then we'll help you to take your clothes to the orchard; we can carry your basket between us—we can, indeed."
that was the last thing the woman wished; for she knew the that the children would be sure to see the mess on the gravel-walk—and[78] they were such inquisitive children—they noticed every thing. they would want to know all about it, and how the bits of coal came there. it was very a awkward position. but people who take other people's property often do find themselves in awkward positions.
"thank you, young gentlemen," said she, quite politely; "but indeed the basket is too heavy for you. however, you may stop and gossip a little longer with my old man. he likes it."
and, while they were shut up with gardener in his bedroom, off she went, carrying the basket on her head, and hung her clothes carefully out—the big things on lines between the fruit trees, and the little things, such as stockings and pocket handkerchiefs, stuck on the gooseberry-bushes, or spread upon the clean green grass.
"such a fine day as it is! they'll dry directly," said she, cheerfully, to herself. "plenty of sun, and not a breath of wind to blow them about. i'll leave them for an hour or two, and come and fetch them in before it grows dark. then i shall get all my folding done by bedtime, and have a clear day for ironing to-morrow."
but when she did fetch them in, having bundled them all together in the dusk of the evening, never was such a sight as those clothes! they were all twisted in the oddest way—the stockings turned inside out, with the heels and toes tucked into the legs; the sleeves of the shirts tied together in double knots, the pocket-handkerchiefs made into round balls, so tight that if you had pelted a person with them they would have given very hard blows indeed. and the whole looked as if, instead of lying quietly on the grass and bushes, they had been dragged through heaps of mud and then stamped upon, so that there was not a clean inch upon them from end to end.
"what a horrid mess!" cried the gardener's wife, who had been at first very angry, and then very frightened. "but i know what it is; that nasty boxer has got loose again. it's he that has done it."
"boxer wouldn't tie shirt-sleeves in double knots, or make balls of pocket-handkerchiefs," gardener was heard to answer, solemnly.
"then it's those horrid children; they are always up to some mischief or other—just let me catch them!"
"you'd better not," said somebody in a voice exactly like gardener's, though he himself declared he had not spoken a word. indeed, he was fast asleep.
"well, it's the most extraordinary thing i ever heard of," the gardener's wife said, supposing she was talking to her husband all the time; but soon she held her tongue, for she found here and there among the clothes all sorts of queer marks—marks of fingers, and toes, and heels, not in mud at all, but in coal-dust, as black as black could be.
now, as the place where the big coal had tumbled out of the barrow was fully fifty yards from the orchard, and, as the coal could not come to the clothes, and the clothes could not go without hands, the only conclusion she could arrive at was—well, no particular conclusion at all!
it was too late that night to begin washing again; besides, she was extremely tired, and her husband woke up rather worse than usual, so she just bundled the clothes up anyhow in a corner, put the kitchen to rights, and went mournfully to bed.
next morning she got up long before it was light, washed her clothes through all over again, and, it being impossible to dry them by the fire, went out with them once more, and began spreading them out in their usual corner, in a hopeless and melancholy manner. while she was at it, the little folks came trooping around her. she didn't scold them this time, she was too low-spirited.
"no! my old man isn't any better, and i don't fancy he ever will be," said she, in answer to their questions. "and every thing's going wrong with us—just listen!" and she told the trick which had been played her about the clothes.
the little people tried not to laugh, but it was so funny; and even now, the minute she had done hanging them out, there was something so droll in the way the clothes blew about, without any wind; the shirts hanging with their necks downward, as if there was a man inside them; and the drawers standing stiffly astride on the gooseberry-bushes, for all the world as if they held a pair of legs still. as for gardener's night-caps—long, white cotton, with a tassel at the top—they were alarming to look at; just like a head stuck on the top of a pole.
the whole thing was so peculiar, and the old woman so comical in her despair, that the children, after trying hard to keep it in, at last broke into shouts of laughter. she turned furiously upon them.
"it was you who did it!"
"no, indeed it wasn't!" said they, jumping farther to escape her blows. for she had got one of her clothes-props, and was laying about her in the most reckless manner. however, she hurt nobody, and then she suddenly burst out, not laughing, but crying.
"it's a cruel thing, whoever has done it, to play such tricks on a poor old body like me, with a sick husband that she works hard for, and not a child to help her. but i don't care. i'll wash my clothes again, if it's twenty times over, and i'll hang them out again in the very place, just to make you all ashamed of yourselves."
perhaps the little people were ashamed of themselves, though they really had not done the mischief. but they knew quite well who had done it, and more than once they were about to tell; only they were afraid, if they did so, they should vex the brownie so much that he would never come and play with them any more.
so they looked at one another without speaking, and when the gardener's wife had emptied her basket and dried her eyes, they said to her, very kindly:
"perhaps no harm may come to your clothes this time. we'll sit and watch them till they are dry."
"just as you like; i don't care. them that hides can find, and them that plays tricks knows how to stop 'em."
it was not a civil speech, but then things were hard for the poor old woman. she had been awake nearly all night, and up washing at daybreak; her eyes were red with crying, and her steps weary and slow. the little children felt quite sorry for her, and, instead of going to play, sat watching the clothes as patiently as possible.
nothing came near them. sometimes, as before, the things seemed to dance about without hands, and turn into odd shapes, as if there were people inside them; but not a creature was seen and not a sound was heard. and though there was neither wind nor sun, very soon all the linen was perfectly dry.
"fetch one of mother's baskets, and we'll fold it up as tidily as possible—that is, the girls can do it, it's their business—and we boys will carry it safe to gardener's cottage."
so said they, not liking to say that they could not trust it out of their sight for fear of brownie, whom, indeed, they were expecting to see peer round from every bush. they began to have a secret fear that he was rather a naughty brownie; but then, as the eldest little girl whispered, "he was only a brownie, and knew no better." now they were growing quite big children, who would be men and women some time; when they hoped they would never do any thing wrong. (their parents hoped the same, but doubted it.)
in a serious and careful manner they folded up the clothes, and laid them one by one in the basket without any mischief, until, just as the two biggest boys were lifting their burden to carry it away, they felt something tugging at it from underneath.
"halloo! where are you taking all this rubbish? better give it to me."
"no, if you please," said they, very civilly, not to offend the little brown man. "we'll not trouble you, thanks! we'd rather do it ourselves; for poor gardener is very ill, and his wife is very miserable, and we are extremely sorry for them both."
"extremely sorry!" cried brownie, throwing up his cap in the air, and tumbling head over heels in an excited manner. "what in the world does extremely sorry mean?"
the children could not explain, especially to a brownie; but they thought they understood—anyhow, they felt it. and they looked so sorrowful that the brownie could not tell what to make of it.
he could not be said to be sorry, since, being a brownie, and not a human being, knowing right from wrong, he never tried particularly to do right, and had no idea that he was doing wrong. but he seemed to have an idea that he was troubling the children, and he never liked to see them look unhappy.
so he turned head over heels six times running, and then came back again.
"the silly old woman! i washed her clothes for her last night in a way she didn't expect. i hadn't any soap, so i used a little mud and coal-dust, and very pretty they looked. ha, ha, ha! shall i wash them over again to-night?"
"oh, no, please don't!" implored the children.
"shall i starch and iron them? i'll do it beautifully. one—two—three, five—six—seven, abracadabra, tum—tum—ti!" shouted he, jabbering all sorts of nonsense, as it seemed to the children, and playing such antics that they stood and stared in the utmost amazement, and quite forgot the clothes. when they looked round again, the basket was gone.
"seek till you find, seek till you find,
under the biggest gooseberry-bush, exactly to your mind."
they heard him singing this remarkable rhyme, long after they had lost sight of him. and then they all set about searching; but it was a long while before they found, and still longer before they could decide, which was the biggest gooseberry-bush, each child having his or her opinion—sometimes a very strong one—on the matter. at last they agreed to settle it by pulling half-a-dozen little sticks, to see which stick was the longest, and the child that held it was to decide the gooseberry-bush.
this done, underneath the branches what should they find but the identical basket of clothes! only, instead of being roughly dried, they were all starched and ironed in the most beautiful manner. as for the shirts, they really were a picture to behold, and the stockings were all folded up, and even darned in one or two places, as neatly as possible. and strange to tell, there was not a single black mark of feet or fingers on any one of them.
"kind little brownie! clever little brownie!" cried the children in chorus, and thought this was the most astonishing trick he had ever played.
what the gardener's wife said about it, whether they told her any thing, or allowed her to suppose that the clothes had been done in their own laundry instead of the brownie's (wherever that establishment might be), is more than i can tell. of one thing only i am certain—that the little people said nothing but what was true. also, that the very minute they got home they told their mother every thing.
but for a long time after that they were a good deal troubled. gardener got better, and went hobbling about the place again, to his own and every body's great content, and his wife was less sharp-tongued and complaining than usual—indeed, she had nothing to complain of. all the family were very flourishing, except the little brownie.
often there was heard a curious sound all over the house; it might have been rats squeaking behind the wainscot—the elders said it was—but the children were sure it was a sort of weeping and wailing.
"they've stolen my coal,
and i haven't a hole
to hide in;
not even a house
one could ask a mouse
to bide in."
a most forlorn tune it was, ending in a dreary minor key, and it lasted for months and months—at least the children said it did. and they were growing quite dull for want of a playfellow, when, by the greatest good luck in the world, there came to the house not only a new lot of kittens, but a new baby. and the new baby was everybody's pet, including the brownie's.
the new baby was everybody's pet.—page 87 the new baby was everybody's pet.
from that time, though he was not often seen, he was continually heard up and down the staircase, where he was frequently mistaken for tiny or the cat, and sent sharply down again, which was wasting a great deal of wholesome anger upon mr. nobody. or he lurked in odd corners of the nursery, whither the baby was seen crawling eagerly after nothing in particular, or sitting laughing with all her might at something—probably her own toes.
but, as brownie was never seen, he was never suspected. and since he did no mischief—neither pinched the baby nor broke the toys, left no soap in the bath and no footmarks about the room—but was always a well-conducted brownie in every way, he was allowed to inhabit the nursery (or supposed to do so, since, as nobody saw him, nobody could prevent him), until the children were grown up into men and women.
after that he retired into his coal-cellar, and, for all i know, he may live there still, and have gone through hundreds of adventures since; but as i never heard them, i can't tell them. only i think, if i could be a little child again, i should exceedingly like a brownie to play with me. should not you?
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