“What were you crying for, then?” I said.

“I’m crying because—­because my Aunt Jane is dead,” said Peter defiantly.

“But your Aunt Jane died two years ago,” I said skeptically.

“Well, ain’t that all the more reason for crying?” retorted Peter.  “I’ve had to do without her for two years, and that’s worse than if it had just been a few days.”

“I believe you were crying because Pat is so sick,” I said firmly.

“As if I’d cry about a cat!” scoffed Peter.  And he marched off whistling.

Of course we had tried the lard and powder treatment again, smearing Pat’s paws and sides liberally.  But to our dismay, Pat made no effort to lick it off.

“I tell you he’s a mighty sick cat,” said Peter darkly.  “When a cat don’t care what he looks like he’s pretty far gone.”

“If we only knew what was the matter with him we might do something,” sobbed the Story Girl, stroking her poor pet’s unresponsive head.

“I could tell you what’s the matter with him, but you’d only laugh at me,” said Peter.

We all looked at him.

“Peter Craig, what do you mean?” asked Felicity.

“’Zackly what I say.”

“Then, if you know what is the matter with Paddy, tell us,” commanded the Story Girl, standing up.  She said it quietly; but Peter obeyed.  I think he would have obeyed if she, in that tone and with those eyes, had ordered him to cast himself into the depths of the sea.  I know I should.

“He’s BEWITCHED—­that’s what’s the matter with him,” said Peter, half defiantly, half shamefacedly.

“Bewitched?  Nonsense!”

“There now, what did I tell you?” complained Peter.

The Story Girl looked at Peter, at the rest of us, and then at poor Pat.

“How could he be bewitched?” she asked irresolutely, “and who could bewitch him?”

“I don’t know HOW he was bewitched,” said Peter.  “I’d have to be a witch myself to know that.  But Peg Bowen bewitched him.”

“Nonsense!” said the Story Girl again.

“All right,” said Peter.  “You don’t have to believe me.”

“If Peg Bowen could bewitch anything—­and I don’t believe she could—­why should she bewitch Pat?” asked the Story Girl.  “Everybody here and at Uncle Alec’s is always kind to her.”

“I’ll tell you why,” said Peter.  “Thursday afternoon, when you fellows were all in school, Peg Bowen came here.  Your Aunt Olivia gave her a lunch—­a good one.  You may laugh at the notion of Peg being a witch, but I notice your folks are always awful good to her when she comes, and awful careful never to offend her.”

“Aunt Olivia would be good to any poor creature, and so would mother,” said Felicity.  “And of course nobody wants to offend Peg, because she is spiteful, and she once set fire to a man’s barn in Markdale when he offended her.  But she isn’t a witch—­that’s ridiculous.”