“I dare you to come in!” replied Mrs. Merillia, in an almost formidable manner. “I dare you to do it.”
“I am not coming in, grannie,” said the Prophet.
“Then go away!” said Mrs. Merillia. “Go away—and let me hear you going.”
A sudden idea struck the Prophet. He did not say another word, but immediately walked downstairs, tramping heavily and shaking the wood balusters violently at every step he took. His ruse succeeded. Hearing the intruder depart, Mrs. Merillia’s curious courage deserted her, she dropped the poker into the grate, and once more set both bells going with all her might and main. The Prophet let her ring for nearly five minutes, then he bounded once more upstairs and tapped very gently on the door.
“Grannie,” he cried, “are you ringing? What is it?”
This time Mrs. Merillia recognised his voice, tottered to the door, unlocked it, and fell, trembling, into his anxious arms.
“Oh, Hennessey!” she gasped. “Oh—Hennessey!”
“Grannie, what is it? What on earth is the matter?”
“The ratcatcher! The ratcatcher!”
“The ratcatcher!” cried the Prophet.