“I don’t believe it would be right to pray about a cat.”

“I’d like to know why not,” retorted Cecily, “God made Paddy just as much as He made you, Felicity King, though perhaps He didn’t go to so much trouble.  And I’m sure He’s abler to help him than Peg Bowen.  Anyhow, I’m going to pray for Pat with all my might and main, and I’d like to see you try to stop me.  Of course I won’t mix it up with more important things.  I’ll just tack it on after I’ve finished asking the blessings, but before I say amen.”

More petitions than Cecily’s were offered up that night on behalf of Paddy.  I distinctly heard Felix—­who always said his prayers in a loud whisper, owing to some lasting conviction of early life that God could not hear him if he did not pray audibly—­mutter pleadingly, after the “important” part of his devotions was over, “Oh, God, please make Pat better by the morning.  PLEASE do.”

And I, even in these late years of irreverence for the dreams of youth, am not in the least ashamed to confess that when I knelt down to say my boyish prayer, I thought of our little furry comrade in his extremity, and prayed as reverently as I knew how for his healing.  Then I went to sleep, comforted by the simple hope that the Great Father would, after “important things” were all attended to, remember poor Pat.

As soon as we were up the next morning we rushed off to Uncle Roger’s.  But we met Peter and the Story Girl in the lane, and their faces were as the faces of those who bring glad tidings upon the mountains.

“Pat’s better,” cried the Story Girl, blithe, triumphant.  “Last night, just at twelve, he began to lick his paws.  Then he licked himself all over and went to sleep, too, on the sofa.  When I woke Pat was washing his face, and he has taken a whole saucerful of milk.  Oh, isn’t it splendid?”

“You see Peg Bowen did put a spell on him,” said Peter, “and then she took it off.”

“I guess Cecily’s prayer had more to do with Pat’s getting better than Peg Bowen,” said Felicity.  “She prayed for Pat over and over again.  That is why he’s better.”

“Oh, all right,” said Peter, “but I’d advise Pat not to scratch Peg Bowen again, that’s all.”

“I wish I knew whether it was the praying or Peg Bowen that cured Pat,” said Felix in perplexity.

“I don’t believe it was either of them,” said Dan.  “Pat just got sick and got better again of his own accord.”

“I’m going to believe that it was the praying,” said Cecily decidedly.  “It’s so much nicer to believe that God cured Pat than that Peg Bowen did.”

“But you oughtn’t to believe a thing just ’cause it would be more comfortable,” objected Peter.  “Mind you, I ain’t saying God couldn’t cure Pat.  But nothing and nobody can’t ever make me believe that Peg Bowen wasn’t at the bottom of it all.”

Thus faith, superstition, and incredulity strove together amongst us, as in all history.