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“‘Here’s luck!’ said the wise birds. ‘That is exactly the man for us; he is neither two-winged nor four-legged, so he will be quite safe.’

“They flew down at once to the rat-catcher and made their proposition. He laughed softly and pleasantly to himself, and accepted their invitation without any demur, and started at once with a light step and lighter heart for Hencastle.

“Two days after this, the fowls heard Mark, the watchman, crowing away lustily from his chimney-pot,

“‘What do I see?
Here come the three!
And the black beast they bring
Has no tail and no wing.’

“‘But,’ added the sentinel in less official language, ‘he carries a bundle of things that look like little houses made of wire.’

“The gipsy was at once taken up to the loft, and having, luckily, a few scraps of strong-smelling bacon left over from his last night’s supper, he struck a light and managed to make a small fire in the long-disused grate with some bits of dry grass and chips. He then frizzled some bacon and baited his traps, and in less than ten minutes he had filled them all, for the mice had never smelt such a delicious thing as fried bacon before, and besides, they were new to the wiles of man.

“The fowls were wild with delight, and in their thankfulness they bethought them of a special mark of favour, and every hen came clucking up to him and laid an egg at his feet.

“For about a week the gipsy did nothing but catch mice and eat eggs; but all things must have an end, and the bacon ran out, just when the gipsy had come to the conclusion that he was heartily sick of egg-diet. Being a man of action, he put out his hand suddenly and caught the fattest and nicest young chicken within reach, and promptly wrung its neck.

“Oh, what a row there was in the henroost! The cocks began to crow loud enough to split their throats, and the hens to fly about and cackle. The man was nearly deafened, and yelled out at the top of his voice, ‘What do you expect, you fools? Mice can only be caught with meat, and meat I must and will have too.’ He then let them rave on, and quietly and methodically continued to pluck his chicken. When it was ready, he made a fire and began to roast it.

“In the meanwhile, Flaps had heard all the noise and outcry, and as it showed no signs of abating, he thought the man was most likely in mischief, so he went into the castle.

“‘Oh! Woe! Misery! Horror! Despair!’ cried all the fowls at once as soon as they saw him. ‘The murderer has slain young Scratchfoot the cock, and is just going to roast him!’

“‘You’re a dead man,’ growled Flaps to the rat-catcher, as soon as he got up to the loft.

“‘I’m not so sure of that, my fine cur,’ said the man, taking hold of the cudgel he had brought with him, and tucking up his sleeves.

“But the brave old dog sprang at him and bit him so severely that he uttered a savage groan, and dealt Flaps a heavy blow with his cudgel. This nearly broke the dog’s leg and obliged him to relax his hold, on which the gipsy dashed down-stairs and ran away with such speed that Flaps on three legs had no chance of overtaking him.

“‘Wait a bit!’ cried the man from afar. ‘I’ll remember you!’ And then his retreating figure became smaller and smaller on the heath until at last it disappeared altogether.

“This time the fowls had no heart for a feast. They sat brooding and moping in rows on the rafters, for they began to see very clearly that it was quite hopeless to try and get rid of the mice.

“Poor old Flaps, too, was very ill. A good many days elapsed before he could get about, and for years he walked lame on his injured leg.