The relief was certainly great, and as I drank the cool liquid, I felt my spirits revive.
“I wonder where we are now!” said I.
“I have no doubt on the subject,—we are in old England again! The look of the house, the hedges, the fields, that young fellow—”
“Oh! don’t speak of him!” I exclaimed, “cruel, barbarous monster that he is!”
“You are too hard on him,” said Whiskerandos, in his own frank, good-humoured manner. “He may be no worse than the rest of his species, who think that there is no harm in being cruel to a rat. I suspect that even your blue-eyed friend would shout with joy to see a cat worry a mouse!”
“I don’t believe it!” I replied indignantly; “a generous and noble heart can never take pleasure in seeing pain inflicted on a poor defenceless creature!”
“Ah, but—” Whiskerandos commenced, but our conversation was suddenly interrupted by a little squeak from the hedge close behind us.
“I think that I know that voice!” exclaimed I, and I had hardly uttered the sentence ere from the thick covert sprang the well-remembered form of Bright-eyes!
[ CHAPTER XXI.]
A NEW KIND OF WATCH-DOG.
What a rubbing of noses ensued! after all my travels and perils it was such joy to see again the face of a friend! I had so much also to relate, (I have ever been a loquacious rat,) that I almost lost breath in my long narration. I wound up my account with a description of the last adventure of Whiskerandos, who was now, in my eyes, ten times more a hero than before.