I began with trembling voice. I had gone over in my mind the night before all I would say, knowing it better to tell the tale from the beginning circumstantially. Before I had ended, Turkey made his appearance, ushered in by Allister. Both were out of breath with running. My father stopped me, and ordered Turkey away until I should have finished. I ventured to look up at the Kelpie once or twice. She had grown white, and grew whiter. When Turkey left the room, she would have gone too. But my father told her she must stay and hear me to the end. Several times she broke out, accusing me of telling a pack of wicked lies, but my father told her she should have an opportunity of defending herself, and she must not interrupt me. When I had done, he called Turkey, and made him tell the story. I need hardly say that, although he questioned us closely, he found no discrepancy between our accounts. He turned at last to Mrs. Mitchell, who, but for her rage, would have been in an abject condition. “Now, Mrs. Mitchell!” he said. She had nothing to reply beyond asserting that Turkey and I had always hated and persecuted her, and had now told a pack of lies which we had agreed upon, to ruin her, a poor lone woman, with no friends to take her part. “I do not think it likely they could be so wicked,” said my father. “So I’m to be the only wicked person in the world! Very well, sir! I will leave the house this very day.” “No, no, Mrs. Mitchell; that won’t do. One party or the other _is_ very wicked--that is clear; and it is of the greatest consequence to me to find out which. If you go, I shall know it is you, and have you taken up and tried for stealing. Meantime I shall go the round of the parish. I do not think all the poor people will have combined to lie against you.” “They all hate me,” said the Kelpie. “And why?” asked my father. She made no answer. “I must get at the truth of it,” said my father. “You can go now.” She left the room without another word, and my father turned to Turkey. “I am surprised at you, Turkey, lending yourself to such silly pranks. Why did you not come and tell me.” “I am very sorry, sir. I was afraid you would be troubled at finding how wicked she was, and I thought we might frighten her away somehow. But Ranald began his tricks without letting me know, and then I saw that mine could be of no use, for she would suspect them after his. Mine would have been better, sir.” “I have no doubt of it, but equally unjustifiable. And you as well as he acted the part of a four-footed animal last night.” “I confess I yielded to temptation then, for I knew it could do no good. It was all for the pleasure of frightening her. It was very foolish of me, and I beg your pardon, sir.”