I would try it on Rebecca.

When I re-entered the window, the dominie still slept. Rebecca, the
demure monkey, bent over her lesson book as innocently as though there
were no turnstiles.

"Rebecca," I whispered, leaning across the bench, "you are big enough
to have a--what? Guess."

"Go away, Ramsay Stanhope!" snapped Rebecca, grown mighty good of a
sudden, with glance fast on her white stomacher.

"O-ho! Crosspatch," thought I; and from no other motive than
transgressing the forbidden, I reached across to distract the attentive
goodness of the prim little baggage; but--an iron grip lifted me bodily
from the bench.

It was Eli Kirke, wry-faced, tight-lipped. He had seen all! This was
the secret of Mistress Rebecca's new-found diligence. No syllable was
uttered, but it was the awfullest silence that ever a lad heard. I was
lifted rather than led upstairs and left a prisoner in locked room with
naught to do but gnaw my conscience and gaze at the woods skirting the
crests of the inland hills.

Those rats in the attic grew noisier, and presently sounds a mighty
hallooing outside, with a blowing of hunting-horns and baying of
hounds. What ado was this in Boston, where men were only hunters of
souls and chasers of devils? The rats fell to sudden quiet, and from
the yells of the rabble crowd I could make out only "King-killers!
King-killers!" These were no Puritans shouting, but the blackguard