Marjory did not much like the idea of killing even a rat. She was not quite sure that it was right, but Peter had no such compunctions.
"Vermin o' the land, an' mischeevious reptiles they are, an' the mair deid rats we see the morn's mornin' the better pleased Peter'll be," said the old man as they were planning the hunt.
Alan kept a ferret, which he offered to bring, and he thought he could borrow his brother Herbert's fox-terrier, which was a famous ratter.
"That's a' richt," agreed the old man. "An' I can get the loan o' anither dog frae the village, an' atween them a' they should create a bit disturbance amang they lang-tailed rascals."
Alan looked at Marjory and grinned, remembering yesterday's conversation.
Poor Peter's heart had been sorely tried by the depredations of his long-tailed enemies. The hen-house, the barn, even the apple storehouse had been visited by them with disastrous results, so he rejoiced at the prospect of the coming conflict. The next morning, a stout stick in his hand and war in his eye, he stood awaiting the arrival of the party. Silky had been tied up, so that the ratters might have a clear field for action.
Marjory went down the hill to meet Blanche, and they arrived upon the scene just as Alan, punctual to the appointed time, came up with his ferret in a small bag, and his brother's dog, Jock, on a leash.
"He's awfully keen," Alan explained. "He only had half his usual last night, and nothing this morning; so I put him on the leash in case he might go tearing off after some rabbit, and I couldn't get him back again."
There was some hitch about getting the other dog; it could not be found when the time came. Alan was secretly pleased that Jock should have to fight single-handed, for then all the honour and glory would fall to his share.
As for Jock, he was indeed keen. He seemed to know that there was excitement in store for him, and he was pulling and straining at the leash, jumping up and down, and giving little short yelps and barks.