"Did ye fess this a' the road frae Spinnie to me, Curly?"
"Ay did I, Annie. Ye see I dinna like rottans. But ye maun haud it oot
o' their gait for a feow weeks, or they'll rive't a' to bits. It'll
sune be a match for them though, I s' warran'. She comes o' a killin'
breed."
Annie took the kitten home, and it shared her bed that night.
"What's that meowlin?" asked Bruce the next morning, the moment he rose
from the genuflexion of morning prayers.
"It's my kittlin'," answered Annie. "I'll lat ye see't."
"We hae ower mony mou's i' the hoose already," said Bruce, as she
returned with the little peering baby-animal in her arms. "We hae nae
room for mair. Here, Rob, tak the cratur, an' pit a tow aboot its neck,
an' a stane to the tow, an' fling't into the Glamour."
Annie, not waiting to parley, darted from the house with the kitten.
"Rin efter her, Rob," said Bruce, "an' tak' it frae her, and droon't.
We canna hae the hoose swarmin'."
Bob bolted after her, delighted with his commission. But instead of
finding her at the door, as he had expected, he saw her already a long
way up the street, flying like the wind. He started in keen pursuit. He
was now a great lumbering boy, and although Annie's wind was not equal
to his, she was more fleet.
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