had always been a bowl of milk put behind the
coal-cellar door for the Brownie's supper. Perhaps he drank it--perhaps
he didn't: anyhow, the bowl was always found empty next morning. The old
Cook, who had lived all her life in the family, had never forgotten to
give Brownie his supper; but at last she died, and a young cook came in
her stead, who was very apt to forget every thing. She was also both
careless and lazy, and disliked taking the trouble to put a bowl of milk
in the same place every night for Mr. Nobody. "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 any thing. '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 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 th