oogh! Aha, I see that Brownies, like other folk,
when they get into trouble prefer the useful to the ornamental. Well,
well, you're right enough."

Whereupon the jolly, kind hearted Elf swung and rolled herself about and
made the leaves of the Lone Aspen fairly dance with the voice of her
laughter.

[Illustration: FIG. 26.--Captain Bruce Appeals to Madame Breeze.]

"Now to business!" Madam Breeze sobered down just one moment as she
spoke. "How did you come here? On the ponies, hey? Call Blythe."

Bruce blew his bugle. Presently Blythe clambered up the ladder and
saluted the Elf.

"How are the ponies, Blythe? Pretty well done out, hey? Not fit for the
journey back? In a pinch are you? So I thought. Well, you Brownies do
miss it sometimes, you must confess." Madam ran on asking and answering
her own questions without giving Blythe a chance to speak a word.
However, she seemed, through, some mysterious news agency of her own, to
know everything without information from the Brownies.

"Need fresh horses? Just as I supposed. Here,
here--Whirlit,--wheeze,--hoogh! (Confound that cough!) Blythe, call
Whirlit for me. The rascal!--he's always out of the way when I want
him."

Notwithstanding the bad character given him by his mistress, Whirlit was
at the window in a moment.

"There, keep still now, and listen!" Madam herself was quite as restless
as the frisky Whirlit while she gave her orders, bouncing back and forth
all the time among the leaves. "Still, I say! Put Swallowtail and
Blythe's pony in the stable, and get out my Goldtailed matches. Order
all hands to be ready to leave immediately. Quick! Off with you!"

Whirlit sprang from the window, turning a score of somersaults or more
on his way to the ground. He returned presently, leading a pair of
Goldtailed moths. They were beautiful insects with soft downy plumage,
snowy white color, and a tuft of yellow hair at the end of the tail.

"Aren't they beauties," cried Madam, casting an admiring glance at her
splendid matches. "And fast, too. And thoroughly trained. And what's
the strangest thing about them, they're not worth an old straw in the
day time. They hang around on the bark here as spiritless as a
toadstool. But the moment evening comes they spruce up, and hie--away!
they're brisk enough then. Queer, isn't it? But I keep 'em just for
night work. Now we're all ready for a bout with the Pixies. Pooh! the
nasty beasts! I hate to soil my breath with them and th