So Boxer never forgave the scratch on his nose, nor yet Mrs Puss’s boast that he was afraid of her; so he walked softly along the wall, and on to the tool-shed, and with one bouncing leap came down plop upon the treacherous old grimalkin.
“Worry-worry-worry-ur–r–r–ry,” said Boxer, as he got hold of Pussy’s thick skin at the nape of her neck, and shook away at it as hard as he could.
“Wow-wow-wiau-au-au-aw,” yelled Puss, wakened out of her sleep, and in vain trying to escape.
“Hooray!” said the birds, flying round and round in a state of the greatest excitement.
“Give it her, Boxer,” shouted Mr Specklems, remembering the morning’s treachery.
And then off they rolled on to the ground, and over and over, righting, howling, and yelling, till Mrs Puss made a desperate rush through a gooseberry bush, and a thorn went so sharply into Boxer’s nose that he left go, and away went Puss across the garden till she came to the wall, and was scrambling up it, when Boxer had her by the tail and dragged her down again. But Puss made another rush towards the gate, dragging Boxer after her, till she came to the trellis-work opening, through which she dragged herself, and a moment after Boxer stood looking very foolish, with a handful of fur off Puss’s tail in his mouth; while she, with her ragged ornament, was glad enough to sneak in-doors frightened to death, and get to the bottom of the cellar, where she scared cook almost into fits, by sitting upon a great lump of coal, with her eyes glaring like a couple of green stars in the dark.
“Wow-wow-wow—bow-wow-wuff,” said Boxer at last, when he found that his enemy had gone. “Wuff-wuff,” he said again, trying to get rid of the fur sticking about his mouth. “Wuff-wuff,” he said, “that’s better.”
“Bravo!” chorused the birds, in a state of high delight; “well done, Boxer!”
“Ha-ha-ha; phut-phut-phut—wizzle-wizzle,” said the starling off the top of the wall.
“Wizzle-wizzle, indeed,” said Boxer grumpily; “why don’t you come down, old sharp-bill, and pull this thorn out of my nose?”