Yet here we were; and the witch
herself was actually brewing a jorum of ginger tea for Cecily, who
continued to shiver long after the rest of us were roasted to the
marrow. Poor Sis drank that scalding draught, being in too great
awe of Peg to do aught else.
"That'll soon fix your shivers," said our hostess kindly. "And
now I'll get yez all some tea."
"Oh, please don't trouble," said the Story Girl hastily.
"'Tain't any trouble," said Peg briskly; then, with one of the
sudden changes to fierceness which made her such a terrifying
personage, "Do yez think my vittels ain't clean?"
"Oh, no, no," cried Felicity quickly, before the Story Girl could
speak, "none of us would ever think THAT. Sara only meant she
didn't want you to go to any bother on our account."
"It ain't any bother," said Peg, mollified. "I'm spry as a
cricket this winter, though I have the realagy sometimes. Many a
good bite I've had in your ma's kitchen. I owe yez a meal."
No more protests were made. We sat in awed silence, gazing with
timid curiosity about the room, the stained, 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.
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