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The Brownies and Other Tales by Juliana Horatia Gatty Ewing
page 15 of 183 (08%)
His brother led him in as the Tailor spoke, not literally by his snub,
though, but by the hand. They were a handsome pair, this lazy couple.
Johnnie especially had the largest and roundest of foreheads, the
reddest of cheeks, the brightest of eyes, the quaintest and most
twitchy of chins, and looked altogether like a gutta-percha cherub in a
chronic state of longitudinal squeeze. They were locked together by two
grubby paws, and had each an armful of moss, which they deposited on
the floor as they came in.

"I've swept this floor once to-day," said the father, "and I'm not
going to do it again. Put that rubbish outside." "Move it, Johnnie!"
said his brother, seating himself on a stool, and taking out his knife
and a piece of wood, at which he cut and sliced; while the
apple-cheeked Johnnie stumbled and stamped over the moss, and scraped
it out on the doorstep, leaving long trails of earth behind him, and
then sat down also.

"And those chips the same," added the Tailor; "I will _not_ clear up the
litter you lads make."

"Pick 'em up, Johnnie," said Thomas Trout, junior, with an exasperated
sigh; and the apple tumbled up, rolled after the flying chips, and
tumbled down again.

"Is there any supper, Father?" asked Tommy.

"No, there is not, Sir, unless you know how to get it," said the
Tailor; and taking his pipe, he went out of the house.

"Is there really nothing to eat, Granny?" asked the boy.
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