THE BROWNIES IN THE ORCHARD. Another Brownie Book

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THE BROWNIES IN THE ORCHARD.

THE autumn nights began to fill

The mind with thoughts of winter chill,

When Brownies in an orchard met,

Where ripened fruit was hanging yet.

Said one, "The apples here, indeed,

Must now be mellow to the seed;

And, ere another night, should be

Removed at once from every tree.

For any evening now may call

The frost to nip and ruin all."

Another quickly answer made:

"This man is scarcely worthy aid;

'Tis said his harsh and cruel sway

Has turned his children's love away.

If frost should paint his orchard white."

"It matters not who owns the place,

Or why neglect thus shows its face,"

A third replied; "the fact is clear

That fruit should hang no longer here.

If worthy people here reside

Then will our hands be well applied;

And if unworthy folks we serve,

Still better notice we'll deserve."

"You speak our minds so full and fair,"

One loudly cried, "that speech we'll spare.

But like the buttons on your back,

We'll follow closely in your track,

And do our part with willing hand,

Without one doubting if or and."

Kind deeds the Brownies often do

Unknown to me as well as you;

The wounded hare, by hunters maimed,

Is sheltered and supplied and tamed.

The straying cat they sometimes find

Half-starved, and chased by dogs unkind,

And bring it home from many fears

To those who mourned its loss with tears.

And to the bird so young and bare,

With wings unfit to fan the air,

That preying owls had thought to rend

The Brownie often proves a friend.

Then bags and baskets were brought out

From barns and buildings round about,

With kettles, pans, and wooden-ware,

That prying eyes discovered there;

Nay, even blankets from the beds,

The pillow-slips, and table-spreads

Were in some manner brought to light

To render service through the night.

If there's a place where Brownies feel

At home with either hand or heel,

And seem from all restrictions free,

That place is in a branching tree.

At times, with balance fair and fine

They held their stations in a line;

At times, in rivalry and pride

To outer twigs they scattered wide;

And oft with one united strain

They shook the tree with might and main,

Till, swaying wildly to and fro,

It rocked upon the roots below.

So skilled at climbing were they all

The sum of accidents was small:

Some hats were crushed, some heads were sore,

Some backs were blue, ere work was o'er;

For hands will slip and feet will slide,

And boughs will break and forks divide,

And hours that promise sport sublime

May introduce a limping time.

So some who clambered up the tree

With ready use of hand and knee,

Found other ways they could descend

Than by the trunk, you may depend.

The startled birds of night came out

And watched them as they moved about;

Concluding thieves were out in force

They cawed around the place till hoarse.

But birds, like people, should be slow

To judge before the facts they know;

For neither tramps nor thieves were here,

But Brownies, honest and sincere,

Who worked like mad to strip the trees

Before they felt the morning breeze.

And well they gauged their task and time,

For ere the sun commenced to prime

The sky with faintest tinge of red

The Brownies from the orchard fled,

While all the fruit was laid with care

Beyond the reach of nipping air.

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