It was unpleasant, though the soft thing was nothing more than a mouse.
"Confound it!" he said.
Father Roland was listening to the slow, pendulum-like _thud_, _thud_, _thud_, against the logs of the cabin.

It seemed to come more distinctly as David crushed out the life of the mouse, as if pounding a protest upon the wall.
"Tavish has hung his meat low," he said concernedly.

"Quite careless of him, unless it is a very large quarter." He began slowly to undress.
"We might as well turn in," he suggested.

"When Tavish shows up the dogs will raise bedlam and wake us.

Throw out Tavish's blankets and put your own in his bunk.