“‘Well, sir,’ says he, ‘what can I do for you?’
“‘It’s not much as I want with you,’ says the cat, ‘but it’s better it’ll be with you if you do what I tell you. Tell Dan Ratcliffe that Peggy Poyson’s dead.’
“‘I will, sir,’ says Johnny, wondering at the same time how he was to do it, for who Dan Ratcliffe was he knew no more than the dead. Well, with that all the cats vanished, and Johnny, running the rest of the way home, rushes into his house, smoking hot from the fright and the distance he had to go over.
“‘Nan,’ says he to his wife, the first words he spoke, ‘who’s Dan Ratcliffe?’
“‘Dan Ratcliffe,’ says she. ‘I never heard of him, and don’t know there’s any one such living about here.’
“‘No more do I,’ says he, ‘but I must find him wherever he is.’
“Then he tells his wife all about how he had met the cats, and how they had stopped him and given him the message. Well, his cat sits there in front of the fire looking as snug and comfortable as a cat could be, and nearly half-asleep, but when Johnny comes to telling his wife the message the cats had given him, then it jumped up on its feet, and looks at Johnny, and says—
“‘What! is Peggy Poyson dead? Then it’s no time for me to be here;’ and with that it springs through the door and vanishes, nor was ever seen again from that day to this.”
“And did the sexton ever find Dan Ratcliffe,” I asked.
“Never. He searched high and low for him about, but no one could tell him of such a person, though Johnny looked long enough, thinking it might be the worse for him if he didn’t do his best to please the cats. At last, however, he gave the matter up.”