GRIMALKIN THE CAT 163 
plays after the kill. He gambolled to and fro like 
a kitten for the joy of feeling the strong muscles 
swell in his limbs ; and growling, he dared any of 
the Wood People to snatch his prey from him. 
So absorbed was he in his game that he never heard 
a step on the close turf, and only when a blackbird 
chuckled an alarm did he look up to see Paddy 
Magragh standing watching him, with a bundle of 
rabbit snares in his hand. Then all make-believe 
was at an end. Should he, Grimalkin, Cat- King of 
Knockdane, give up his kill ? He growled menac- 
ingly, and dragged at the body, until the peg round 
which the wire was twisted, already loosened by 
the rabbit's death-struggles, was pulled out of the 
ground. 
' Drop it, ye thafe,' shouted Paddy Magragh, 
flinging his stick at the cat. It missed its mark, and 
Grimalkin merely glared as he dragged his kill 
towards the bushes a few yards away. Magragh 
had lost his cudgel, but he strode up to kick his 
antagonist aside with his heavy boots. However, 
Grimalkin turned upon him with such a ferocious 
snarl that he drew back, for no leather would have 
been proof against those teeth. By the time 
he had fetched his stick, Grimalkin, tripping over 
his burden, had almost gained the bushes. He 
gave chase instantly, but Grimalkin had never yet 
