old fellow, after all. In the house he had never done any harm, and
often some good, for he frightened away all the rats, mice, and black
beetles. Not the crickets--he liked them, as the old Cook had done:
she said they were such cheerful creatures, and always brought luck to
the house. But the young Cook could not bear them, and used to pour
boiling water down their holes, and set basins of beer for them with
little wooden bridges up to the rim, that they might walk up, tumble
in, and be drowned.

So there was not even a cricket singing in the silent house when
Brownie put his head out of his coal-cellar door, which, to his
surprise, he found open. Old Cook used to lock it every night, but the
young Cook had left that key, and the kitchen and pantry keys, too,
all dangling in the lock, so that any thief might have got in, and
wandered all over the house without being found out.

"Hurrah, here's luck!" cried Brownie, tossing his cap up in the air,
and bounding right through the scullery into the kitchen. It was quite
empty, but there was a good fire burning itself out--just for its own
amusement, and the remains of a capital supper spread on the
table--enough for half a dozen people being left still.

Would you like to know what there was? Devonshire cream, of course;
and part of a large dish of junket, which is something like curds and
whey. Lots of bread and butter and cheese, and half an apple pudding.
Also a great jug of cider and another of milk, and several half-full
glasses, and no end of dirty plates, knives, and forks. All were
scattered about the table in the most untidy fashion, just as the
servants had risen from their supper, without thinking to put anything
away.