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.
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