, but he gave me up when he found that my
pagan soul was aroused by nothing but pottery idols. It wasn't the
pottery that interested me even there, but only the ugliest designs. I
am a heathen!"

"I am gratified that you make the admission so frankly," said Mrs.
Farnsworth. "I have always been a great admirer of the heathen."

"I like them when they are nice," said Mrs. Bashford.

"Yes; I have found you very discriminating in your choice of the
species, Alice. But, you know, Mr. Singleton, Alice and I never can
agree as to just what a heathen is. All our squabbles have been about
that. The old hymn pictured the heathen in his blindness bowing down to
wood and stone; but I'm disposed to broaden my definition to include all
who believe in fairies good or bad, and persons who honestly believe in
signs, omens, and lucky stones and all who have the receipt of fern-seed
and walk invisible--there's Shakespeare for that. Some very good
Christians are also very nice heathens: we mustn't be narrow and bigoted
about such things."

"I think," said Mrs. Bashford soberly, "that I have always believed in
witches; and if I keep on believing I shall see one some day. We shall
find anything in this world that we believe in hard enough. Now a
witch--the kind of witch I have always expected to wake up and find
flourishing a broom at me from the foot of my bed----"

She was talking very gravely, as though witches were the commonest topic
of conversation, but finding my eyes turned upon her in frank wonder,
she laughed at my amazement.

"Let us be honest with you, Mr. Singleton," Mrs. Farnsworth explained,
"and tell you that we are just testing you. It may be a breach of
hospitality, and you are all but a stranger, but we are curious to know
whether you are of that small company of the favored of heaven who can
play at being foolish without becoming idiotic. Alice is sometimes very
near idiocy. You admit that, Alice!"

"I not only admit it, but I might even boast of it!" my aunt replied.

At the mention of witches I had caught Antoine crossing himself as he
turned to the sideboard. I confess that I myself had been startled by
the drift of the talk. Mrs. Farnsworth was far from being the grim
duenna I had feared might be my aunt's chaperon, and there was certainly
nothing in her appearance to suggest that she was a believer in witches.
She and my aunt treated each other as though they were contemporaries,
and it was Alice and Constan