“Hoot! hoot!” said a voice from the fir plantation behind him.  Somebody else was awake, then.  “It’s the Old Owl,” said Tommy; and there she came, swinging heavily across the moor with a flapping stately flight, and sailed into the shed by the mere.  The old lady moved faster than she seemed to do, and though Tommy ran hard she was in the shed some time before him.  When he got in, no bird was to be seen, but he heard a crunching sound from above, and looking up, there sat the Old Owl, pecking and tearing and munching at some shapeless black object, and blinking at him—­Tommy—­with yellow eyes.

“Oh dear!” said Tommy, for he didn’t much like it.

The Old Owl dropped the black mass on to the floor; and Tommy did not care somehow to examine it.

“Come up! come up!” said she hoarsely.

She could speak, then!  Beyond all doubt it was the Old Owl, and none other.  Tommy shuddered.

“Come up here! come up here!” said the Old Owl.

The Old Owl sat on a beam that ran across the shed.  Tommy had often climbed up for fun; and he climbed up now, and sat face to face with her, and thought her eyes looked as if they were made of flame.

“Kiss my fluffy face,” said the Owl.

Her eyes were going round like flaming catherine wheels, but there are certain requests which one has not the option of refusing.  Tommy crept nearer, and put his lips to the round face out of which the eyes shone.  Oh! it was so downy and warm, so soft, so indescribably soft.  Tommy’s lips sank into it, and couldn’t get to the bottom.  It was unfathomable feathers and fluffiness.

“Now, what do you want?” said the Owl.

“Please,” said Tommy, who felt rather re-assured, “can you tell me where to find the Brownies, and how to get one to come and live with us?”

“Oohoo!” said the Owl, “that’s it, is it?  I know of three Brownies.”

“Hurrah!” said Tommy.  “Where do they live?”

“In your house,” said the Owl.

Tommy was aghast.

“In our house!” he exclaimed.  “Whereabouts?  Let me rummage them out.  Why do they do nothing?”

“One of them is too young,” said the Owl.

“But why don’t the others work?” asked Tommy.

“They are idle, they are idle,” said the Old Owl, and she gave herself such a shake as she said it, that the fluff went flying through the shed, and Tommy nearly tumbled off the beam in his fright.

“Then we don’t want them,” said he.  “What is the use of having Brownies if they do nothing to help us?”

“Perhaps they don’t know how, as no one has told them,” said the Owl.

“I wish you would tell me where to find them,” said Tommy; “I could tell them.”

“Could you?” said the Owl.  “Oohoo! oohoo!” and Tommy couldn’t tell whether she were hooting or laughing.

“Of course I could,” he said.  “They might be up and sweep the house, and light the fire, and spread the table, and that sort of thing, before Father came down.  Besides, they could see what was wanted.  The Brownies did all that in Granny’s mother’s young days.  And then they could tidy the room, and fetch the turf, and pick up my chips, and sort Granny’s scraps.  Oh! there’s lots to do.”