When they had told the secret they were merrier than ever. They all took hands and with Jock in the middle, danced a jolly ring around him.
“Jock o’ the pipes, Jock o’ the pipes,” sang the merry elves, as they tripped round and round, stopping now and then to whisper some new idea. Jock laughed himself to sleep. Then the fairies left him.
When Jock awoke, he rubbed his eyes and looked around him. His late adventure was still fresh in his mind and he laughed aloud. Just then he spied a small bag made of skin, on the ground at his feet.
“I know what that is for,” said Jock with a broad grin. He recalled the secrets that the merry elves had whispered.
Jock slung the bag across his shoulder and away he ran out of the woods with peals of laughter waiting on his steps.
He traveled fast and at moonlight stood near a fence in a big city laughing softly to himself.
Suddenly strange sounds filled the still air.
Jock looked up and beheld a band of cats on the fence. At first he thought they were merely giving a concert to the good people of the neighborhood, but very soon he saw his mistake.
As he looked they began to slap each other right in the face, with uplifted paws and spat at each other with angry jaws. Suddenly a battered, yellow, one-eyed, tailless Tommy got his back up about something and cried like a baby. His granddaughter rebuked him with a gentle scratch. Then there was a rush, and instead of thirty-two cats in a line there were thirty-two cats in a ball. And it wasn’t football either.
There were howls, shrieks, moans, and cat-calls. In the very midst of it all Jock opened his bag.