Once more, however, she changed her quarters, and went into a sort of inferior spare room in the upper part of the house, which suited my operations still better, for from my own bed I could now manage to drop and pull up the rat, drawing it away beyond the danger of discovery. The next night she took the cat into the room with her, and for that one I judged it prudent to leave her alone, but the next, having secured Kirsty’s cat, I turned him into the room after she was in bed: the result was a frightful explosion of feline wrath.
I now thought I might boast of my successes to Turkey, but he was not pleased.
“She is sure to find you out, Ranald,” he said, “and then whatever else we do will be a failure. Leave her alone till we have her quite.”
I do not care to linger over this part of my story. I am a little ashamed of it.
We found at length that her private reservoir was quite full of meal. I kept close watch still, and finding one night that she was not in the house, discovered also that the meal-tub was now empty. I ran to Turkey, and together we hurried to Betty’s cottage.
It was a cloudy night with glimpses of moonlight. When we reached the place, we heard voices talking, and were satisfied that both the Kelpie and Wandering Willie were there.
“We must wait till she comes out,” said Turkey. “We must be able to say we saw her.”
There was a great stone standing out of the ground not far from the door, just opposite the elder-tree, and the path lay between them.
“You get behind that tree—no, you are the smaller object—you get behind that stone, and I’ll get behind the tree,” said Turkey; “and when the Kelpie comes out, you make a noise like a beast, and rush at her on all-fours.”
“I’m good at a pig, Turkey,” I said. “Will a pig do?”