I Scheme Too
I began a series of persecutions of the Kelpie on my own account. I
was doubtful whether Turkey would approve of them, so I did not tell
him for some time; but I was ambitious of showing him that I could do
something without him. I doubt whether it is worth while to relate the
silly tricks I played her--my father made me sorry enough for them
afterwards. My only excuse for them is, that I hoped by them to drive
the Kelpie away.
There was a closet in the hall, the floor of which was directly over
the Kelpie’s bed, with no ceiling between. With a gimlet I bored a
hole in the floor, through which I passed a piece of string. I had
already got a bit of black cloth, and sewed and stuffed it into
something of the shape of a rat. Watching an opportunity, I tied this
to the end of the string by the head, and hid it under her bolster.
When she was going to bed, I went into the closet, and, laying my
mouth to the floor, began squeaking like a rat, and scratching with my
nails. Knowing by the exclamation she made that I had attracted her
attention, I tugged at the string; this lifted the bolster a little,
and of course out came my rat. I heard her scream, and open her door.
I pulled the rat up tight to the ceiling. Then the door of the
nursery, where we slept only in the winter, opened and shut, and I
concluded she had gone to bed there to avoid the rat. I could hardly
sleep for pleasure at my success.
As she waited on us at breakfast next morning, she told my father that
she had seen in her bed the biggest rat she ever saw in her life, and
had not had a wink of sleep in consequence.
“Well,” said my father, “that comes of not liking cats. You should get
a pussy to take care of you.”
She grumbled something and retired.
She removed her quarters to the nursery. But there it was yet easier
for me to plague her. Having observed in which bed she lay, I passed
the string with the rat at the end of it over the middle of a bar that
ran across just above her head, then took the string along the top of
the other bed, and through a little hole in the door. As soon as I
judged her safe in bed, I dropped the rat with a plump. It must have
fallen on or very near her face. I heard her give a loud cry, but
before she could reach the door, I had fastened the string to a nail
and got out of the way.
It was not so easy in those days to get a light, for the earliest form
of lucifer match was only just making its appearance in that part of
the country, and was very dear: she had to go to the kitchen, where
the fire never went out summer or winter. Afraid lest on her return
she should search the bed, find my harmless animal suspended by the
neck, and descend upon me with all the wrath generated of needless
terror, I crept into the room, got down my rat, pulled away the
string, and escaped. The next morning she said nothing about the rat,
but went to a neighbour’s and brought home a fine cat. I laughed in my
sleeve, thinking how little her cat could protect her from my rat.
Once more, however, she changed her quarters, and went into a sort of
inferior spare room in the upper part of the house, which suited my
operations still better, for from my own bed I could now manage to
drop and pull up the rat, drawing it away beyond the danger of
discovery. The next night she took the cat into the room with her, and
for that one I judged it prudent to leave her alone, but the next,
having secured Kirsty’s cat, I turned him into the room after she was
in bed: the result was a frightful explosion of feline wrath.
I now thought I might boast of my successes to Turkey, but he was not
pleased.
“She is sure to find you out, Ranald,” he said, “and then whatever
else we do will be a failure. Leave her alone till we have her quite.”
I do not care to linger over this part of my story. I am a little
ashamed of it.
We found at length that her private reservoir was quite full of meal.
I kept close watch still, and finding one night that she was not in
the house, discovered also that the meal-tub was now empty. I ran to
Turkey, and together we hurried to Betty’s cottage.
It was a cloudy night with glimpses of moonlight. When we reached the
place, we heard voices talking, and were satisfied that both the
Kelpie and Wandering Willie were there.
“We must wait till she comes out,” said Turkey. “We must be able to
say we saw her.”
There was a great stone standing out of the ground not far from the
door, just opposite the elder-tree, and the path lay between them.
“You get behind that tree--no, you are the smaller object--you get
behind that stone, and I’ll get behind the tree,” said Turkey; “and
when the Kelpie comes out, you make a noise like a beast, and rush at
her on all-fours.”
“I’m good at a pig, Turkey,” I said. “Will a pig do?”
“Yes, well enough.”
“But what if she should know me, and catch me, Turkey?”
“She will start away from you to my side; I shall rush out like a mad
dog, and then she’ll run for it.”
We waited a long time--a very long time, it seemed to me. It was well
it was summer. We talked a little across, and that helped to beguile
the weary time; but at last I said in a whisper:
“Let’s go home, Turkey, and lock the doors, and keep her out.”
“You go home then, Ranald, and I’ll wait. I don’t mind if it be till
to-morrow morning. It is not enough to be sure ourselves; we must be
able to make other people sure.”
“I’ll wait as long as you do, Turkey; only I’m very sleepy, and she
might come out when I was asleep.”
“Oh, I shall keep you awake!” replied Turkey; and we settled down
again for a while.
At the long last the latch of the door was lifted. I was just falling
asleep, but the sound brought me wide awake at once. I peeped from
behind my shelter. It was the Kelpie, with an empty bag--a
pillow-case, I believe--in her hand. Behind her came Wandering Willie,
but did not follow her from the door. The moment was favourable, for
the moon was under a thick cloud. Just as she reached the stone, I
rushed out on hands and knees, grunting and squeaking like a very wild
pig indeed. As Turkey had foretold, she darted aside, and I retreated
behind my stone. The same instant Turkey rushed at her with such
canine fury, that the imitation startled even me, who had expected
it. You would have thought the animal was ready to tear a whole army
to pieces, with such a complication of fierce growls and barks and
squeals did he dart on the unfortunate culprit. She took to her heels
at once, not daring to make for the cottage, because the enemy was
behind her. But I had hardly ensconced myself behind the stone,
repressing my laughter with all my might, when I was seized from
behind by Wandering Willie, who had no fear either of pig or dog. He
began pommelling me.
[Illustration]
“Turkey! Turkey!” I cried.
The cry stopped his barking pursuit of the Kelpie. He rose to his
feet and rushed to my aid. But when he saw the state of affairs, he
turned at once for the cottage, crying:
“Now for a kick at the bagpipes!”
Wandering Willie was not too much a fool to remember and understand.
He left me instantly, and made for the cottage. Turkey drew back and
let him enter, then closed the door, and held it.
“Get away a bit, Ranald. I can run faster than Willie. You’ll be out
of sight in a few yards.”
But instead of coming after us, Wandering Willie began playing a most
triumphant tune upon his darling bagpipes. How the poor old woman
enjoyed it, I do not know. Perhaps she liked it. For us, we set off to
outstrip the Kelpie. It did not matter to Turkey, but she might lock
me out again. I was almost in bed before I heard her come in. She went
straight to her own room.