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It was laughter which roused the Tailor that morning, laughter coming through the floor from the kitchen below. He scrambled on his things and stole down-stairs. "It's the Brownie," he thought; "I must look, if it's for the last time." At the door he paused and listened. The laughter was mixed with singing, and he heard the words "What have we here? Hemten hamten!
'What have we here? Hemten hamten! Here will I never more tread nor stampen, and so danced through the door, and never came back again." "O Grandmother! But why not? Didn't he like the new clothes?" "The Old Owl knows, my dear; I don't." "Who's the Old Owl, Granny?" "I don't exactly know, my dear. It's what my mother used to say when we asked anything that puzzled her.
"Hurrah!" he shouted, "I feel just like the Brownie. What was it Granny said he sang when he got his clothes? Oh, I know 'What have we here? Hemten hamten! Here will I never more tread nor stampen." And on he danced, regardless of the clouds of dust raised by Johnnie, as he drove the broom indiscriminately over the floor, to the tune of his own laughter.
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