In the twinkling of an eye the fighting cats dropped into the bag, which shut up tight again, and Jock continued his journey.
But he was laughing so hard that he had to stand a moment to recover himself.
A little farther on he heard loud barking.
“’Tis the watch-dog’s honest bark,” quoted Jock; but just then he heard a terrible uproar and he realized his mistake.
He came upon a crowd of snapping, snarling, barking curs. He listened to their disputes for three minutes. “Ha-a, now I see,” said Jock with a chuckle; “these dogs, that I supposed were honest watch-dogs, are all politicians. ’Tis a meeting of their common council.”
Just then the chairman gave a fierce bark, whereupon all the others howled in concert and made a spring for the chairman’s collar. When the dismal yells were at the very worst Jock opened his bag. In a second every barking, snapping, snarling dog went head first into it. Not another sound out of them. Jock laughed heartily and hurried on.
You must not forget, little reader, that it was a fairy bag, and no matter how much went into it, it did not get an inch larger or an ounce heavier. In his path Jock met many other occupants for his bag. A scolding wife, a grouty husband, a croaking gossip all found their way into the wonderful bag, and after each addition Jock was merrier than ever.
He passed a church and heard music.
“That’s in my line,” said Jock with a grin, and he stole softly into the choir. The female soprano had the floor and the ceiling too, while a long-suffering congregation tried not to look grieved.
Just as she reached a top note with a shivering little curleycue attached, Jock saw a nervous brother clutch his seat and a sympathetic sister gasp. That note had been issued just thirty-seven years and Jock had come to collect it. The little bag opened and plumb into it went the shrieking soprano.