"She didn't believe in Brownies," she said; "she had never seen one,
and seeing's believing." So she laughed at the other servants, who
looked very grave, and put the bowl of milk in its place as often as
they could, without saying much about it.

But once, when Brownie woke up, at his usual hour for rising--ten
o'clock at night, and looked round in search of his supper--which was,
in fact, his breakfast--he found nothing there. At first he could not
imagine such neglect, and went smelling and smelling about for his
bowl of milk--it was not always placed in the same corner now--but in
vain.

"This will never do," said he; and being extremely hungry, began
running about the coal cellar to see what he could find. His eyes were
as useful in the dark as in the light--like a pussy-cat's; but there
was nothing to be seen--not even a potato paring, or a dry crust, or a
well-gnawed bone, such as Tiny, the terrier, sometimes brought into
the coal cellar and left on the floor--nothing, in short, but heaps of
coals and coal-dust; and even a Brownie cannot eat that, you know.

"Can't stand this; quite impossible!" said the Brownie, tightening his
belt to make his poor little inside feel less empty. He had been
asleep so long--about a week I believe, as was his habit when there
was nothing to do--that he seemed ready to eat his own head, or his
boots, or anything. "What's to be done? Since nobody brings my supper,
I must go and fetch it."

He spoke quickly, for he always thought quickly, and made up his mind
in a minute. To be sure, it was a very little mind, like his little
body; but he did the best he could with it, and was not a bad sort of