“I don’t think there are any, really,” he said, with a kindly smile into the eagerly inquiring little face; “but in old times it was a very common belief that there were people—­generally some withered-up old women—­who had dealings with Satan, and were given power by him to torment, or bring losses and various calamities upon any one whom they disliked.

“When you are a little older you shall hear more about it, and how that foolish belief led to great crimes and cruelties inflicted upon many innocent, harmless people.  But now, while my Gracie is so young and timid, I do not want her to know too much about such horrors.”

“Yes, papa,” she responded; “I won’t try to know till you think I’m quite old enough.”

Several vehicles drew up at the same moment in front of Mrs. Mack’s door, and greetings and some introductions were exchanged on the sidewalk and door-steps.  Edward introduced his mother and Mrs. Fry to each other, and the latter presented to them a Mrs. Glenn, who, she said, was a native of Nantucket, but had only recently returned after an absence of many years.

“Mrs. Mack knew me as a young girl,” Mrs. Glenn remarked, “and I am quite curious to see whether she will recognize me.”

At that instant the door was opened in answer to their ring, and they were invited to enter and walk into the parlor.

They found it comfortably furnished and neat as wax.  Seating themselves they waited patiently for some moments the coming of the lady of the house.

At length she made her appearance; a little old lady, neatly attired, and with a pleasant countenance.

Mrs. Fry saluted her with a good-afternoon, adding, “I have brought some friends with me to look at your curiosities.  This lady,” indicating Mrs. Glenn, “you ought to know, as you were acquainted with her in her girlhood.”

“Do you know me, Mrs. Mack?” asked Mrs. Glenn, offering her hand.

“Yes, you look as natural as the pigs,” was the rather startling reply; accompanied, however, by a smile and cordial shake of the offered hand.

“Now, we’ll take the money first to make sure of it,” was the next remark, addressed to the company in general.

“What is your admission fee?” asked Mr. Dinsmore, producing his pocketbook.

“Fifteen cents apiece.”

“By no means exorbitant if your collection is worth seeing,” he returned, good-humoredly.  “Never mind your purses, Elsie, Raymond, Ned, I’ll act as paymaster for the party.”

The all-important business of collecting the entrance fees having been duly attended to, Mrs. Mack led the way to an upper room where minerals, shells, sharks’ teeth, and various other curiosities and relics were spread out upon tables and shelves, ranged along the sides and in the centre of the apartment.

“Now,” she said, “the first thing is to register your names.  You must all register.  You begin,” handing the book to Mr. Dinsmore, “you seem to be the oldest.”