schoolmaster's press bed and called out: "Mr. Drever! Mr. Drever!"

The dominie opened the bed door and sprang out to the rescue, his
red woollen nightcap upon his head. But his help was of little use.
We managed to get the cat away from his prey; but the bird was
fatally injured, blood was dripping from his neck as the good man
took him up in his hands caressingly.

"Poor Peter, poor Peter!" said he; "who has done this thing?"

"William the Conqueror," faintly uttered the bird.

Then giving a few feeble croaks, he died in the schoolmaster's
hands.

Andrew Drever's tender emotion grew into anger as he thought of the
murderer of his pet jackdaw, and he paced the room vowing vengeance
against his mother's cat, which had now escaped into comparative
security on the top of the kitchen cupboard.

"Come down here, ye wretch!" he exclaimed, taking up a knife from
the table and holding it up threateningly. "Come down here, ye foul
fiend. How dare ye touch a feather o' my Peter's wing?"

"Dinna kill the cat, sir," I interposed, reminding him that I was
there to take the animal aboard the Lydia.

"Man, Halcro," said Andrew, sobering down, "I wish you had taken
him away yestreen. But come, let us catch the brute and away with
him, for he shall not bide in this house another hour."