y's name, until Aunt
Janet grew exasperated and declared we must stop making such exhibitions
of ourselves. But we found and heard no trace of our lost pet. The Story
Girl moped and refused to be comforted; Cecily declared she could not
sleep at night for thinking of poor Paddy dying miserably in some corner
to which he had dragged his failing body, or lying somewhere mangled and
torn by a dog. We hated every dog we saw on the ground that he might be
the guilty one.

"It's the suspense that's so hard," sobbed the Story Girl. "If I just
knew what had happened to him it wouldn't be QUITE so hard. But I don't
know whether he's dead or alive. He may be living and suffering, and
every night I dream that he has come home and when I wake up and find
it's only a dream it just breaks my heart."

"It's ever so much worse than when he was so sick last fall," said
Cecily drearily. "Then we knew that everything was done for him that
could be done."

We could not appeal to Peg Bowen this time. In our desperation we would
have done it, but Peg was far away. With the first breath of spring she
was up and off, answering to the lure of the long road. She had not
been seen in her accustomed haunts for many a day. Her pets were gaining
their own living in the woods and her house was locked up.

CHAPTER XI. THE WITCH'S WISHBONE

When a fortnight had elapsed we gave up all hope.

"Pat is dead," said the Story Girl hopelessly, as we returned one
evening from a bootless quest to Andrew Cowan's where a strange gray
cat had been reported--a cat which turned out to be a yellowish brown
nondescript, with no tail to speak of.

"I'm afraid so," I acknowledged at last.

"If only Peg Bowen had been at home she could have found him for us,"
asserted Peter. "Her skull would have told her where he was."

"I wonder if the wishbone she gave me would have done any good," cried
Cecily suddenly. "I'd forgotten all about it. Oh, do you suppose it's
too late yet?"

"There's nothing in a wishbone," said Dan impatiently.

"You can't be sure. She TOLD me I'd get the wish I made on it. I'm going
to try whenever I get home."

"It can't do any harm, anyhow," said Peter, "but I'm afraid you've left
it too late. If Pat is dead even a witch's wishbone can't bring him back
to life."

"I'll never forgive myself for not thinking about it before," mourned
Cecily.

As soon as we got home she flew to the little box upstairs where she
kept her treasu