ned, plastered walls of which were
well-nigh covered with a motley assortment of pictures, chromos, and
advertisements, pasted on without much regard for order or character.

We had heard much of Peg's pets and now we saw them. Six cats occupied
various cosy corners; one of them, the black goblin which had so
terrified us in the summer, blinked satirically at us from the centre of
Peg's bed. Another, a dilapidated, striped beastie, with both ears and
one eye gone, glared at us from the sofa in the corner. A dog, with only
three legs, lay behind the stove; a crow sat on a roost above our
heads, in company with a matronly old hen; and on the clock shelf were
a stuffed monkey and a grinning skull. We had heard that a sailor had
given Peg the monkey. But where had she got the skull? And whose was it?
I could not help puzzling over these gruesome questions.

Presently tea was ready and we gathered around the festal board--a board
literally as well as figuratively, for Peg's table was the work of her
own unskilled hands. The less said about the viands of that meal, and
the dishes they were served in, the better. But we ate them--bless you,
yes!--as we would have eaten any witch's banquet set before us. Peg
might or might not be a witch--common sense said not; but we knew she
was quite capable of turning every one of us out of doors in one of
her sudden fierce fits if we offended her; and we had no mind to trust
ourselves again to that wild forest where we had fought a losing fight
with the demon forces of night and storm.

But it was not an agreeable meal in more ways than one. Peg was not
at all careful of anybody's feelings. She hurt Felix's cruelly as she
passed him his cup of tea.

"You've gone too much to flesh, boy. So the magic seed didn't work,
hey?"

How in the world had Peg found out about that magic seed? Felix looked
uncommonly foolish.

"If you'd come to me in the first place I'd soon have told you how to
get thin," said Peg, nodding wisely.

"Won't you tell me now?" asked Felix eagerly, his desire to melt his too
solid flesh overcoming his dread and shame.

"No, I don't like being second fiddle," answered Peg with a crafty
smile. "Sara, you're too scrawny and pale--not much like your ma. I knew
her well. She was counted a beauty, but she made no great things of a
match. Your father had some money but he was a tramp like meself. Where
is he now?"

"In Rome," said the Story Girl rather shortly.

"Peop