Brothers -- Juvenile fiction; Christian life -- Juvenile fiction; Country life -- Juvenile fiction; Scotland -- Juvenile fiction
“Then she was down at old Betty’s cottage,” said Turkey, when I
communicated the suspicion, “and Wandering Willie was there too, and
Andrew was right about the pipes. Willie hasn’t been once to the house
ever since he took Davie, but she has gone to meet him at Betty’s.
Depend on it, Ranald, he’s her brother, or nephew, or something, as I
used to say. I do believe she gives him the meal to take home to her
family somewhere. Did you ever hear anything about her friends?”
“I never heard her speak of any.”
“Then I don’t believe they’re respectable. I don’t, Ranald. But it
will be a great trouble to the minister to have to turn her away. I
wonder if we couldn’t contrive to make her go of herself. I wish we
could scare her out of the country. It’s not nice either for a woman
like that to have to do with such innocents as Allister and Davie.”
“She’s very fond of Davie.”
“So she is. That’s the only good thing I know of her. But hold your
tongue, Ranald, till we find out more.”
Acting on the hint Davie had given me, I soon discovered the second
meal-tub. It was small, and carefully stowed away. It was now nearly
full, and every day I watched in the hope that when she emptied it, I
should be able to find out what she did with the meal. But Turkey’s
suggestion about frightening her away kept working in my brain.
CHAPTER XXVIII
I Scheme Too
I began a series of persecutions of the Kelpie on my own account. I
was doubtful whether Turkey would approve of them, so I did not tell
him for some time; but I was ambitious of showing him that I could do
something without him. I doubt whether it is worth while to relate the
silly tricks I played her--my father made me sorry enough for them
afterwards. My only excuse for them is, that I hoped by them to drive
the Kelpie away.
There was a closet in the hall, the floor of which was directly over
the Kelpie’s bed, with no ceiling between. With a gimlet I bored a
hole in the floor, through which I passed a piece of string. I had
already got a bit of black cloth, and sewed and stuffed it into
something of the shape of a rat. Watching an opportunity, I tied this
to the end of the string by the head, and hid it under her bolster.
When she was going to bed, I went into the closet, and, laying my
mouth to the floor, began squeaking like a rat, and scratching with my
nails. Knowing by the exclamation she made that I had attracted her
attention, I tugged at the string; this lifted the bolster a little,
and of course out came my rat. I heard her scream, and open her door.
I pulled the rat up tight to the ceiling. Then the door of the
nursery, where we slept only in the winter, opened and shut, and I
concluded she had gone to bed there to avoid the rat. I could hardly
sleep for pleasure at my success.
As she waited on us at breakfast next morning, she told my father that
she had seen in her bed the biggest rat she ever saw in her life, and
had not had a wink of sleep in consequence.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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