"No, you won't," said the rat. "You don't know who I am. I'm the rat 'that ate the malt that lay in the house that Jack built.'"
"Oh, you are, are you?" said Puss. "Well, what are you doing here?"
"Making a visit," replied the rat.
"Look out," advised Puss, "or you may not find it a pleasant one."
"Nonsense!" replied the rat with a loud laugh. "Who's afraid of three little kittens? They can't even find their mittens." Before he had time to say another word Puss, Junior, sprang on top of the corn bin. Away went the rat, over the barn floor, out through the open door, down the path to the road. Puss, Junior, kicked off his red-topped boots and went after him.
"Go it, Puss, dear!" screamed three little kittens. "Catch him!"
The ground was covered with a light fall of snow, but this made no difference to Puss, Junior. He was a big, strong, healthy cat, and he didn't mind running barefoot in the snow. This was not the case with Mr. Rat, however. Very soon his feet became so cold that he could hardly run, and before he reached the gate Puss pounced upon him.
"Look here," said Puss, fiercely, holding him down on the frozen ground—"look here, Mr. Rat, we don't want you around here any longer. Do you understand?"
"I'll promise to go back to Jack's house if you'll let me up."
"All right," said Puss. "Now go!" And away went the frightened rat.