“All right.  But wait till I tell you.  When Peg Bowen was leaving Pat stretched out on the steps.  She tramped on his tail.  You know Pat doesn’t like to have his tail meddled with.  He slewed himself round and clawed her bare foot.  If you’d just seen the look she gave him you’d know whether she was a witch or not.  And she went off down the lane, muttering and throwing her hands round, just like she did in Lem Hill’s cow pasture.  She put a spell on Pat, that’s what she did.  He was sick the next morning.”

We looked at each other in miserable, perplexed silence.  We were only children—­and we believed that there had been such things as witches once upon a time—­and Peg Bowen WAS an eerie creature.

“If that’s so—­though I can’t believe it—­we can’t do anything,” said the Story Girl drearily.  “Pat must die.”

Cecily began to weep afresh.

“I’d do anything to save Pat’s life,” she said.  “I’d BELIEVE anything.”

“There’s nothing we can do,” said Felicity impatiently.

“I suppose,” sobbed Cecily, “we might go to Peg Bowen and ask her to forgive Pat and take the spell off him.  She might, if we apologized real humble.”

At first we were appalled by the suggestion.  We didn’t believe that Peg Bowen was a witch.  But to go to her—­to seek her out in that mysterious woodland retreat of hers which was invested with all the terrors of the unknown!  And that this suggestion should come from timid Cecily, of all people!  But then, there was poor Pat!

“Would it do any good?” said the Story Girl desperately.  “Even if she did make Pat sick I suppose it would only make her crosser if we went and accused her of bewitching him.  Besides, she didn’t do anything of the sort.”

But there was some uncertainty in the Story Girl’s voice.

“It wouldn’t do any harm to try,” said Cecily.  “If she didn’t make him sick it won’t matter if she is cross.”

“It won’t matter to Pat, but it might to the one who goes to her,” said Felicity.  “She isn’t a witch, but she’s a spiteful old woman, and goodness knows what she’d do to us if she caught us.  I’m scared of Peg Bowen, and I don’t care who knows it.  Ever since I can mind ma’s been saying, ’If you’re not good Peg Bowen will catch you.’”

“If I thought she really made Pat sick and could make him better, I’d try to pacify her somehow,” said the Story Girl decidedly.  “I’m frightened of her, too—­but just look at poor, darling Paddy.”

We looked at Paddy who continued to stare fixedly before him with unwinking eyes.  Uncle Roger came out and looked at him also, with what seemed to us positively brutal unconcern.

“I’m afraid it’s all up with Pat,” he said.

“Uncle Roger,” said Cecily imploringly, “Peter says Peg Bowen has bewitched Pat for scratching her.  Do you think it can be so?”

“Did Pat scratch Peg?” asked Uncle Roger, with a horror-stricken face.  “Dear me!  Dear me!  That mystery is solved.  Poor Pat!”