Guess yez are most froze.

Well, sit up to the stove and git het up." Peg bustled away to gather up a dubious assortment of chairs, with backs and rungs missing, and in a few minutes we were in a circle around her roaring stove, getting dried and thawed out.

In our wildest flights of fancy we had never pictured ourselves as guests at the witch's hearth-stone.

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.