Parcie would sit by the fireside, maybe listening while his mother told him one of the old tales, or perhaps just drowsily watching the changing patterns in the glowing fire. By and by - but always too soon for Parcie's liking - his mother would say: "It's time you were away to your bed, Parcie," and after Parcie had protested a dozen times or more that it was too early yet, away he would go to his wee box-bed, to fall asleep as soon as he laid down his head.
One night, however, Parcie's mother got out of patience with listening to his protests, and as he obstinately refused to move from the fireside, she at last took up the candle and went off to bed herself, leaving him to his own devices.
"Very well; stay there if you will, Parcie," she said as she went out the room. "And if the auld faery-wife comes to take you away, it will be your own fault for disobeying me."
"Faugh, what do I care for the auld faery-wife?" Parcie thought scornfully; and still he stayed where he was.
Now in common with many homesteads and farmhouses in those days, there was a brownie who use to come down the chimney of the cottage everynight, to sweep the room and make everythng spick and span. Parcie's mother always placed a bowl of goat's cream by the cottage door in return for the brownie's service, and in the morning it would be quite empty. These house-brownies were friendly creatures, though quick to take offence if they imagined themselves slighted in any way. Alas for the housewife who forgot to leave the brownie his bowl of cream! For the next morning she would find a room turned topsy-turvy, and the brownie would never return to help her again.
But the brownie who came to help Parcie's mother always found his bowl of cream waiting for him; and so he never failed to do his work neatly and silently while Parcie and his mother were fast asleep. He had, however, a cross-tempered old faery mother, who was always at odds with the mortal race; and it was this auld faery-wife that Parcie's mother had spoken of when she went off to bed.
For a while Parcie remained contentedly by the hearthside, happy to have won his own way; but when the fire began to lose its brightness, he shivered a little and thought longingly of his warm bed. He was just about to get up from the fireside when there was a sudden scuffling and scraping in the chimney, and down into the room jumped the brownie. Parcie was as suprised to see him appear so unexpectedly as the brownie was astonished to find Parcie not yet in his bed. After staring at the spindl-legged, pointy-eared creature for a few moments, Parcie said; "What's your name?"
"Ainsel (own self)," replied the brownie with a mischievous grin. "What's yours?"
Parcie knew the brownie was joking, and he decided to be cleverer still.
"My Ainsel," he answered.
Then Parcie and the brownie played together by the fireside. Ainsel was a lively creature, and Parcie watched in amazement as he jumped from the high wooden dresser on to the table, agile as a cat, and tumbled his creels all over the floor. After a while Parcie stirred up the remains of the fire, and to his dismay a glowing cinder fell out on to the brownie's foot. At once Ainsel set up such a yelling and screechng that he auld faery-wife heard him and called down the chimney.
"Tell me who has hurt you," she shouted fiercely, "and I'll come down and do for him."
At this Parcie ran out of the door and crept into his wee box-bed in the adjoining room, pulling the blanket over his head and quaking with fright.
"It was My Ainsel!" shrieked the brownie.
"Then what's all the fussing about?" the auld faery-wife demanded, "and how dare you disturb me with your noise all over nothing? There's no one to blame but thine ainsel!"
And a long, scrawny arm with claw-like fingers reached down the chimney and snatched up the brownie from the hearth-side.
In the morning, Parcie's mother found the bowl of goat's cream she had set by the door untouched; and much to her bewilderment, the brownie never came to the cottage again. But although she had lost her wee faery helper, she was delighted to find that after that night Parcie never had to be told twice to go to bed. For who knows? The next time that long, scrawny arm with the claw-like fingers reached down the chimney it might be to snatch his own self up and away!
