“Please yourself,” said the old lady, and she would say no more.

“I think you’re quite right, Father,” said Tommy, “and if I can, I’ll help you to make them.”

Next day the father and son set to work, and Tommy contrived to make himself so useful, that the Tailor hardly knew how he got through so much work.

“It’s not like the same thing,” he broke out at last, “to have some one a bit helpful about you; both for the tailoring and for company’s sake.  I’ve not done such a pleasant morning’s work since your poor mother died.  I’ll tell you what it is, Tommy,” he added, “if you were always like this, I shouldn’t much care whether Brownie stayed or went.  I’d give up his help to have yours.”

“I’ll be back directly,” said Tommy, who burst out of the room in search of his brother.

“I’ve come away,” he said, squatting down, “because I can’t bear it.  I very nearly let it all out, and I shall soon.  I wish the things weren’t going to come to me,” he added, kicking a stone in front of him.  “I wish he’d measured you, Johnnie.”

“I’m very glad he didn’t,” said Johnnie.  “I wish he’d kept them himself.”

“Bottle-green, with brass buttons,” murmured Tommy, and therewith fell into a reverie.

The next night the suit was finished, and laid by the bread-and-milk.

“We shall see,” said the old lady, in a withering tone.  There is not much real prophetic wisdom in this truism, but it sounds very awful, and the Tailor went to bed somewhat depressed.

Next morning the Brownies came down as usual.

“Don’t they look splendid?” said Tommy, feeling the cloth.  “When we’ve tidied the place I shall put them on.”

But long before the place was tidy, he could wait no longer, and dressed up.

“Look at me!” he shouted; “bottle-green and brass buttons!  Oh, Johnnie, I wish you had some.”

“It’s a good thing there are two Brownies,” said Johnnie, laughing, “and one of them in rags still.  I shall do the work this morning.”  And he went flourishing round with a broom, while Tommy jumped madly about in his new suit.  “Hurrah!” he shouted, “I feel just like the Brownie.  What was it Granny said he sang when he got his clothes?  Oh, I know—­

     ’What have we here?  Hemten hamten! 
     Here will I never more tread nor stampen.’”

And on he danced, regardless of the clouds of dust raised by Johnnie, as he drove the broom indiscriminately over the floor, to the tune of his own laughter.

It was laughter which roused the Tailor that morning, laughter coming through the floor from the kitchen below.  He scrambled on his things and stole down-stairs.

“It’s the Brownie,” he thought; “I must look, if it’s for the last time.”

At the door he paused and listened.  The laughter was mixed with singing, and he heard the words—­

     “What have we here?  Hemten hamten! 
     Here will I never more tread nor stampen.”