I was, however, meditating a strict search for the wimble carved on the knight's tomb.

All at once came the sound of a latch lifted in vain, followed by a thundering at the outer door, which Kirsty had prudently locked.

Allister, Turkey, and I started to our feet, Allister with a cry of dismay, Turkey grasping his stick.
"It's the kelpie!" cried Allister.
But the harsh voice of the old witch followed, something deadened by the intervening door.
"Kirsty! Kirsty!" it cried; "open the door directly." "No, no, Kirsty!" I objected.

"She'll shake wee Davie to bits, and haul Allister through the snow.

She's afraid to touch me." Turkey thrust the poker in the fire; but Kirsty snatched it out, threw it down, and boxed his ears, which rough proceeding he took with the pleasantest laugh in the world.