s."

"I should like to hear if you please," said Tommy.

The Old Owl shook out a tuft or two of fluff, and set her eyes a-going
and began:

"The Brownies, or, as they are sometimes called, the Small Folk, the
Little People, or the Good People, are a race of tiny beings who
domesticate themselves in a house of which some grown-up human being
pays the rent and taxes. They are like small editions of men and women,
they are too small and fragile for heavy work; they have not the
strength of a man, but are a thousand times more fresh and nimble. They
can run and jump, and roll and tumble, with marvellous agility and
endurance, and of many of the aches and pains which men and women groan
under, they do not even know the names. They have no trade or
profession, and as they live entirely upon other people, they know
nothing of domestic cares; in fact, they know very little upon any
subject, though they are often intelligent and highly inquisitive. They
love dainties, play, and mischief. They are apt to be greatly beloved,
and are themselves capriciously affectionate. They are little people,
and can only do little things. When they are idle and mischievous, they
are called Boggarts, and are a curse to the house they live in. When
they are useful and considerate, they are Brownies, and are a
much-coveted blessing. Sometimes the Blessed Brownies will take up
their abode with some worthy couple, cheer them with their romps and
merry laughter, tidy the house, find things that have been lost, and
take little troubles out of hands full of great anxieties. Then in time
these Little People are Brownies no longer. They grow up into men and
women. They do not care so much for dainties, play, or mischief. They
cease to jump and tumble, and roll about the house. They know more, and
laugh less. Then, when their heads begin to ache with anxiety, and they
have to labour for their own living, and the great cares of life come
on, other Brownies come and live with them, and take up their little
cares, and supply their little comforts, and make the house merry once
more."

"How nice!" said Tommy.

"Very nice," said the Old Owl. "But what"--and she shook herself more
fiercely than ever, and glared so that Tommy expected nothing less than
that her eyes would set fire to her feathers and she would be burnt
alive. "But what must I say of the Boggarts? Those idle urchins who eat
the bread-and-milk, and don't do the work, who lie in bed without an