“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.” “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.