“Oh yes,” said Johnnie.  “But I thought it was perhaps only a true story, like Granny’s true stories.  I believe all those, you know.  But if you were there, you know, it is different—­”

“I was there,” said Tommy, “and it’s all just as I tell you:  and I tell you what, if we mean to do anything we must get up:  though, oh dear!  I should like to stay in bed.  I say,” he added, after a pause, “suppose we do.  It can’t matter being Boggarts for one night more.  I mean to be a Brownie before I grow up, though.  I couldn’t stand boggarty children.”

“I won’t be a Boggart at all,” said Johnnie, “it’s horrid.  But I don’t see how we can be Brownies, for I’m afraid we can’t do the things.  I wish I were bigger!”

“I can do it well enough,” said Tommy, following his brother’s example and getting up.  “Don’t you suppose I can light a fire?  Think of all the bonfires we have made!  And I don’t think I should mind having a regular good tidy-up either.  It’s that stupid putting-away-things-when-you’ve-done-with-them that I hate so!”

The Brownies crept softly down the ladder and into the kitchen.  There was the blank hearth, the dirty floor, and all the odds and ends lying about, looking cheerless enough in the dim light.  Tommy felt quite important as he looked round.  There is no such cure for untidiness as clearing up after other people; one sees so clearly where the fault lies.

“Look at that door-step, Johnnie,” said the Brownie-elect, “what a mess you made of it!  If you had lifted the moss carefully, instead of stamping and struggling with it, it would have saved us ten minutes’ work this morning.”

This wisdom could not be gainsaid, and Johnnie only looked meek and rueful.

“I am going to light the fire,” pursued his brother;—­“the next turfs, you know, we must get—­you can tidy a bit.  Look at that knife I gave you to hold last night, and that wood—­that’s my fault though, and so are those scraps by Granny’s chair.  What are you grubbing at that rat-hole for?”

Johnnie raised his head somewhat flushed and tumbled.

“What do you think I have found?” said he triumphantly.  “Father’s measure that has been lost for a week!”

“Hurrah!” said Tommy, “put it by his things.  That’s just a sort of thing for a Brownie to have done.  What will he say?  And I say, Johnnie, when you’ve tidied, just go and grub up a potato or two in the garden, and I’ll put them to roast for breakfast.  I’m lighting such a bonfire!”

The fire was very successful.  Johnnie went after the potatoes, and Tommy cleaned the door-step, swept the room, dusted the chairs and the old chest, and set out the table.  There was no doubt he could be handy when he chose.

“I’ll tell you what I’ve thought of, if we have time,” said Johnnie, as he washed the potatoes in the water that had been set for Brownie.  “We might run down to the South Pasture for some mushrooms.  Father said the reason we found so few was that people go by sunrise for them to take to market.  The sun’s only just rising, we should be sure to find some, and they would do for breakfast.”