“Well,” said my father, “that comes of not liking cats. You should get a pussy to take care of you.” She grumbled something and retired. She removed her quarters to the nursery. But there it was yet easier for me to plague her. Having observed in which bed she lay, I passed the string with the rat at the end of it over the middle of a bar that ran across just above her head, then took the string along the top of the other bed, and through a little hole in the door. As soon as I judged her safe in bed, I dropped the rat with a plump. It must have fallen on or very near her face. I heard her give a loud cry, but before she could reach the door, I had fastened the string to a nail and got out of the way. It was not so easy in those days to get a light, for the earliest form of lucifer match was only just making its appearance in that part of the country, and was very dear: she had to go to the kitchen, where the fire never went out summer or winter. Afraid lest on her return she should search the bed, find my harmless animal suspended by the neck, and descend upon me with all the wrath generated of needless terror, I crept into the room, got down my rat, pulled away the string, and escaped. The next morning she said nothing about the rat, but went to a neighbour’s and brought home a fine cat. I laughed in my sleeve, thinking how little her cat could protect her from my rat. Once more, however, she changed her quarters, and went into a sort of inferior spare room in the upper part of the house, which suited my operations still better, for from my own bed I could now manage to drop and pull up the rat, drawing it away beyond the danger of discovery. The next night she took the cat into the room with her, and for that one I judged it prudent to leave her alone, but the next, having secured Kirsty’s cat, I turned him into the room after she was in bed: the result was a frightful explosion of feline wrath. I now thought I might boast of my successes to Turkey, but he was not pleased. “She is sure to find you out, Ranald,” he said, “and then whatever else we do will be a failure. Leave her alone till we have her quite.” I do not care to linger over this part of my story. I am a little ashamed of it. We found at length that her private reservoir was quite full of meal. I kept close watch still, and finding one night that she was not in the house, discovered also that the meal-tub was now empty. I ran to Turkey, and together we hurried to Betty’s cottage. It was a cloudy night with glimpses of moonlight. When we reached the place, we heard voices talking, and were satisfied that both the Kelpie and Wandering Willie were there. “We must wait till she comes out,” said Turkey. “We must be able to say we saw her.” There was a great stone standing out of the ground not far from the door, just opposite the elder-tree, and the path lay between them.