Constable Nightingale, for the second time that night pulled out his dark lantern, and cast its light upon the door. And there, imbedded in the circle of light, was the cat which had already twice before alarmed Constable Wigg. They uttered a cry of horror, and indeed they were justified by the picture which presented itself. The cat was _red_. Every bristle, sticking up on its skin, was luminous with horrible color. It was a perfect ball of blood. CHAPTER IV. A DISCUSSION ABOUT RED CATS AND WHITE SNOW. In a fit of terror the constable dropped the lantern, and the cat, unseen by the occupants of the kitchen, scuttled away. "If you don't light the candle," gasped Mrs. Middlemore, "I shall go off." And she forthwith proceeded to demonstrate by screaming, "Oh, oh, oh!" "She's done it, Wigg," said Constable Nightingale. "Strike a light, there's a good fellow, and pick up the lantern. I can't do it myself; I've got my arms full." Constable Wigg had now recovered his courage, and inspired by jealousy, quickly struck a match and lit the candle. Mrs. Middlemore lay comfortably in the arms of Constable Nightingale, who did not seem anxious to rid himself of his burden. Stirred to emulative sympathy, Constable Wigg took possession of one of Mrs. Middlemore's hands, and pressed and patted it with a soothing, "There, there, there! What has made you come over like this? There's nothing to be frightened of, is there, Nightingale?" "Nothing at all," replied Constable Nightingale, irascibly, for he by no means relished his comrade's insidious attempt to slide into Mrs. Middlemore's affections. "You're better now, ain't you?" "A little," murmured Mrs. Middlemore, "a very little." "Take a sip of this," said Constable Wigg, holding a glass to her lips, "it'll bring you round." Ignoring her previous declaration that she did not "drink sperrits," Mrs. Middlemore sipped the glass of whiskey, and continued to sip, with intermittent shudders, till she had drained the last drop. Then she summoned sufficient strength to raise herself languidly from Constable Nightingale's arms, and look toward the door. "Where's it gone to?" she asked, in a trembling voice. "What's become of the 'orrid creature?" "What horrid creature, my dear?" inquired Constable Nightingale, winking at his comrade. "The cat! The red cat!" "A red cat!" exclaimed Constable Nightingale, in a jocular voice; "who ever heard of such a thing? Who ever saw such a thing?" "Why, I did--and you did, too." "Not me," said Constable Nightingale, with another wink at Constable Wigg. "Nor me," said that officer, following the lead. "Do you mean to tell me you didn't see a cat, and that the cat you sor wasn't red?" "I saw a cat, yes," said Constable Nightingale, "but not a red 'un--no, not a red un'. What do you say, Wigg?" "I say as you says, Nightingale."