THE WITCH’S WISHBONE

Too Long; Didn't Read

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.”