his paws!" commanded Mittens, without so much as a look at
Rudolf. "There--that's a nice bit of string hanging out of his
pocket--take that. Now--chuck him in the boat!"

In a trice the black and white spotted cats, who seemed to be common
sailors, had tied the False Hare's paws behind him with his own
string, lowered him into the mice's little boat from which they had
already removed the oars, gave it a push, and sent him cruelly adrift!

"Oh, Rudolf," cried tender-hearted Ann, "what will become of him? Poor
old Hare!"

"Po-o-o-r old Hare," came back a dismal echo from the little boat
already some distance away. Then they saw that the False Hare had
freed his paws--that string must have been made of paper like his
clothes and his umbrella--and was standing up in his boat waving a
gay farewell to all aboard the _Merry Mouser_.

"Good-by, kidlets!" he called in mocking tones. "Hope you have a good
time with the tabbies!" And then to Mittens, "Good-by, old Whiskers!"

At this insult to their Chief all the pirate cats began firing their
revolvers, but their aim must have been very poor indeed, as none of
their shots came anywhere near the Hare's boat. Indeed, a great many
of the cats had forgotten to load their weapons, though they kept
snapping away at their triggers as if that did not matter in the
slightest. The False Hare merely bowed, kissed his paw to Captain
Mittens, and then began using his silk hat as a paddle so skilfully
that in a few moments he was far beyond their range.

Growler edged up to Prowler. "I say, old chap," he chuckled, "I
s'pose that's what they mean by a hare-breadth escape?"

Prowler grinned. "It's one on the Chief, anyway," said he joyfully.
"Not a breath of wind, ye know, not so much as a cats-paw--no chance
of a chase."

"What's that?" Captain Mittens had crept up behind the two mates and
bawled in Prowler's ear. "What's that? No wind? Why not, I'd like to
know? What d'ye mean by running out o' wind? Head her for Catnip
Island this instant, or I'll have ye skinned!"

"Yes, sir, I'll do my best, sir," answered Prowler meekly. "But you
see, sir, the breeze havin' died, sir, it'll be a tough job to get the
_Merry Mouser_--"

"Prowler!" The chief, who had been standing close beside the unlucky
mate while he spoke, now came closer yet and fixed his terrible eye
on Prowler's shining whiskers. "How long," he asked, speaking very
slowly and distinctly, "is--it--since--you--have--tasted m