The sound of her hoarse voice stirred Everett's senses. He gave one step forward, and the woman spoke again:
"I telled yer pappy that I'd bring ye!"
Brimbecomb shook his shoulders, his dread deepening. What was the witch-like woman saying to him, and why was she calling him by the name he now remembered she had used before? She crept nearer on her knees, her thin hands held up as if in prayer, and, with each swaying movement of her the cat shifted its position from one stooped shoulder to the other.
Everett found his voice, and asked sharply:
"How did you get into the house?"
Scraggy put up her arm, drew the snarling cat under it, and looked stupidly at the man. She was so close that he could see the steam rising from her wet clothes, and the hisses of the animal were audible above his own heavy breathing. Screech Owl smoothed the cat's bristling back.
"Pussy ain't to hiss at my own pretty boy!" she whispered. "He's my little 'un—he's my little 'un!"
A premonition, born of her words, goaded Everett to action.
"Get up!" he ordered. "Get up and get out of here! Do you want me to have you arrested?"
Scraggy smiled.