But instead of coming after us, Wandering Willie began playing a most triumphant tune upon his darling bagpipes. How the poor old woman enjoyed it, I do not know. Perhaps she liked it. For us, we set off to outstrip the Kelpie. It did not matter to Turkey, but she might lock me out again. I was almost in bed before I heard her come in. She went straight to her own room. CHAPTER XXIX A Double Exposure Whether the Kelpie had recognized us I could not tell, but not much of the next morning passed before my doubt was over. When she had set our porridge on the table, she stood up, and, with her fists in her sides, addressed my father: “I’m very sorry, sir, to have to make complaints. It’s a thing I don’t like, and I’m not given to. I’m sure I try to do my duty by Master Ranald as well as everyone else in this house.” I felt a little confused, for I now saw clearly enough that my father could not approve of our proceedings. I whispered to Allister-- “Run and fetch Turkey. Tell him to come directly.” Allister always did whatever I asked him. He set off at once. The Kelpie looked suspicious as he left the room, but she had no pretext for interference. I allowed her to tell her tale without interruption. After relating exactly how we had served her the night before, when she had gone on a visit of mercy, as she represented it, she accused me of all my former tricks--that of the cat having, I presume, enlightened her as to the others; and ended by saying that if she were not protected against me and Turkey, she must leave the place. “Let her go, father,” I said. “None of us like her.” “I like her,” whimpered little Davie. “Silence, sir!” said my father, very sternly. “Are these things true?” “Yes, father,” I answered. “But please hear what _I_‘ve got to say. She’s only told you _her_ side of it.” “You have confessed to the truth of what she alleges,” said my father. “I did think,” he went on, more in sorrow than in anger, though a good deal in both, “that you had turned from your bad ways. To think of my taking you with me to the death-bed of a holy man, and then finding you so soon after playing such tricks!--more like the mischievousness of a monkey than of a human being!” “I don’t say it was right, father; and I’m very sorry if I have offended you.” “You _have_ offended me, and very deeply. You have been unkind and indeed cruel to a good woman who has done her best for you for many years!” I was not too much abashed to take notice that the Kelpie bridled at this. “I can’t say I’m sorry for what I’ve done to her,” I said. “Really, Ranald, you are impertinent. I would send you out of the room at once, but you must beg Mrs. Mitchell’s pardon first, and after that there will be something more to say, I fear.” “But, father, you have not heard my story yet.” “Well--go on. It is fair, I suppose, to hear both sides. But nothing can justify such conduct.”