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out of a sound sleep.” His voice was as deep as the hum of bees.
    â€œSorry,” said Lord Schofield, without sounding apologetic in the least. “Not such a waste of time after all, it seems. Do you know this fellow? You may speak now, Frederick.”
    Frederick rubbed his eyes and took a long look. It was the little man he’d dreamed of, no question. He thought carefully about the question he had been asked. Lord Schofield was nothing like as cross as Mr. Makepeace had been. But still, dreaming of the little man was not the same as knowing him. “My lord, we have not been formally introduced.”
    â€œOh, haven’t you?” Lord Schofield turned his attention to the little man. “Do you know this young chop-logic, fellow?”
    The little man studied Frederick with interest. “I might.”
    â€œSuppose you introduce yourself to him properly, then,” said Lord Schofield.
    â€œSuppose I don’t?” the little man replied. “Names are powerful things. I don’t introduce myself lightly.”
    â€œDon’t you, indeed?” Lord Schofield moved his hand in the air.
    â€œOw!” The little man rubbed his left elbow. “That pinches, you know.” To Frederick, he said, “My name is Billy Bly.”
    Frederick studied the little man before he answered. Billy Bly gave him back look for look, bright and friendly. Frederick trusted him at once. He reminded himself to be careful and go slowly. He was almost sure Billy Bly had saved him from a day locked in the orphanage still room, but he had been wrong about trusting people before. “How do you do?” Frederick gave the little man a polite bow. “My name is Frederick Lincoln.”
    Billy Bly looked pleased. “Very civil of you, I’m sure.”
    Hesitantly, Frederick went on. “Did we meet at the orphanage? I seem to remember seeing you once before. In the kitchen there.”
    â€œI know. Vardle wasn’t so bad, though the things he did to good honest food ought to be a crime. He meant well. But that Makepeace was a right swine, wasn’t he? How did he ever come by a good name like that? He should be called something far more like his nature.” Billy Bly made a very rude noise. “Something like that. Horrible man.”
    â€œYou helped me sort the peas and beans,” Frederick said. He opened his mouth to thank the little man, but Lord Schofield held up an index finger to hush him.
    â€œThink carefully before you speak,” Lord Schofield advised. “Fellows like Billy Bly sometimes react with unexpected violence to being thanked for their help. If he is under a spell, it may free him. Beware. Brownies can be unpredictable.”
    â€œ Are you under a spell?” Frederick asked Billy Bly.
    â€œThank you for your kind concern, I’m sure. As it happens, I’m not. Though if I were under a spell,” Billy Bly added, with a superior glance at Lord Schofield, “I wouldn’t be allowed to say.”
    â€œThen I thank you for your help,” said Frederick. “And did you black the boots as well?”
    Billy Bly beamed at Frederick. “Not bad, eh?”
    â€œPerfect,” said Frederick. “I never saw leather with such a shine. I wish you’d show me how to do it.”
    â€œIf he hadn’t made those boots shine so, I might not have noticed he was here. At least not until this came to my attention.” From a silver tray on his worktable, Lord Schofield picked up a blackened rag.
    To Frederick’s horror, he recognized that the black rag had once been one of the fine damask napkins used by the guests who dined with his lordship. Now it was crumpled and stained with what looked very much like boot polish.
    Billy Bly took no notice of the rag. “Yes, I noticed the protective charms you and your family have put on the place,” he said airily. “Nice work indeed. Very sound, very