"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.
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