, it was a lucky thing we got to Peg Bowen's," said Dan.

"Miss Marwood says there is no such thing as luck," protested Cecily.
"We ought to say it was Providence instead."

"Well, Peg and Providence don't seem to go together very well, somehow,"
retorted Dan. "If Peg is a witch it must be the Other One she's in co.
with."

"Dan, it's getting to be simply scandalous the way you talk," said
Felicity. "I just wish ma could hear you."

"Is soap in porridge any worse than tooth-powder in rusks, lovely
creature?" asked Dan.

"Dan, Dan," admonished Cecily, between her coughs, "remember it's
Sunday."

"It seems hard to remember that," said Peter. "It doesn't seem a mite
like Sunday and it seems awful long since yesterday."

"Cecily, you've got a dreadful cold," said the Story Girl anxiously.

"In spite of Peg's ginger tea," added Felix.

"Oh, that ginger tea was AWFUL," exclaimed poor Cecily. "I thought I'd
never get it down--it was so hot with ginger--and there was so much of
it! But I was so frightened of offending Peg I'd have tried to drink it
all if there had been a bucketful. Oh, yes, it's very easy for you all
to laugh! You didn't have to drink it."

"We had to eat two meals, though," said Felicity with a shiver. "And I
don't know when those dishes of hers were washed. I just shut my eyes
and took gulps."

"Did you notice the soapy taste in the porridge?" asked the Story Girl.

"Oh, there were so many queer tastes about it I didn't notice one more
than another," answered Felicity wearily.

"What bothers me," remarked Peter absently, "is that skull. Do you
suppose Peg really finds things out by it?"

"Nonsense! How could she?" scoffed Felix, bold as a lion in daylight.

"She didn't SAY she did, you know," I said cautiously.

"Well, we'll know in time if the things she said were going to happen
do," mused Peter.

"Do you suppose your father is really coming home?" queried Felicity.

"I hope not," answered Peter decidedly.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," said Felicity severely.

"No, I oughtn't. Father got drunk all the time he was home, and wouldn't
work and was bad to mother," said Peter defiantly. "She had to support
him as well as herself and me. I don't want to see any father coming
home, and you'd better believe it. Of course, if he was the right sort
of a father it'd be different."

"What I would like to know is if Aunt Olivia is going to be married,"
said the Story Girl absently. "