“Alwy, come inside, please. Egelric wants to ask you something.”

Uh oh, Alwy thought. Gunnie didn’t just yell out the door; instead she walked all the way around the house to tell him to come in. There must be something wrong. What could he have done? He had swapped one of his piglets for a puppy that Wynna had liked, but Gunnie had already yelled at him for that. Could one of his sows have escaped and dug up Elfleda’s garden like last month? He thought he closed that pen real tight…

“I’m sorry, Egelric, what did I do?” he asked contritely as he came into the house. Egelric looked real upset.

'What did I do?'

“Nothing, Alwy. I want to ask you about Bertie.”

“Uh oh! What did he do?”

“I don’t know, Alwy. I want to ask you: could Bertie – and would Bertie – kill my cat?”

“Bertie killed your cat?” Alwy wailed.

“No – listen, Alwy.” Egelric told him about the small animals he had found dead on his doorstep in the past weeks. “But this morning I found our old gray cat, dead, with her neck broken.”

Alwy shook his head. “No, Bertie would never kill your cat. He didn’t even want to let me drown them white kittens that our one cat had.”

'Bertie would never kill your cat.'

“He’s just a little boy, Egelric,” Gunnilda said. “I don’t think he could break a cat’s neck by himself. Least not without getting all scratched up, and he never was.”

Egelric nodded. “I didn’t think so either. I only wanted to – I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I suppose I just liked that old cat. We brought her with us when we came here.” He bid them good day and went away with a sigh.

“I don’t like that, Gunnie,” Alwy whimpered. “That was a real sweet cat.”

“Neither do I,” she frowned.