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.
But it was not an agreeable meal in more ways than one.

Peg was not at all careful of anybody's feelings.