She advanced towards the fireplace, and glanced down at Squarky-woo. "Where's that blessed cat?" she inquired.
"Dunno," said the scullery-maid.
"What's the good of you?" demanded the cook scornfully.
Being apparently unable to find any satisfactory solution to this problem, the scullery-maid only glanced nervously at Squarky-woo and murmured, "Pore little thing."
"Pore little thing!" shouted the cook indignantly; "p'r'aps ye'd like to make a pet of it. 'Ere, there's Jaimes. Jaimes! Jaimes!"
The footman—a tall, pale-faced young man—sauntered in in a state of some incompleteness with regard to costume.
"What are you 'ollerin' about?" he inquired.
"You might tike and drown this 'ere mouse like a good feller," said the cook.
"Mouse," he echoed sarcastically. "Lor' bless us! it might 'a bin a tiger from the row you was makin'."
He picked up the trap with a brutal indifference and strolled towards the door. Trembling with excitement, Mammy-ana slipped along the wall after him. He strode down the passage whistling to himself, and, turning the corner, came to a standstill just alongside of a large tin bucket full of water. "Let's see yer swim," he remarked to Squarky-woo, and, lifting the trap, placed his thumb upon the spring. With a prayer in her heart, Mammy-ana leapt forward and struck in with her sharp little teeth upon the calf of his leg, which was only protected by a thin white stocking. With an exclamation of pain he started back, and unconsciously pressed the spring. Up went the flap, and out went Squarky-woo, just missing the bucket by the eighth of an inch. He came down with a terrible bang upon the stone floor, but was up again in an instant, and, before the astonished footman had recovered his composure, both he and Mammy-ana had disappeared down a neighbouring hole.