t a
broth he'd make, to be sure." She pinched his arm, and he started back
in terror. "So firm and plump, to make the mouth water. Sell him to
me, Phoenix!"

"Nonsense," said the Phoenix sharply. "What we desire--"

At this instant the contents of the saucepan began to hiss and bubble.
"Whoops, dearies, the brew is boiling!" shrieked the Banshee, and she
hobbled back to the fire to resume her work. She looked in a recipe
book, stirred, clapped her hands, sang hair-raising incantations in a
quavery voice, and added a pinch of salt and sulfur. She sprinkled
spices from a shaker, waved her wand, popped in a dead toad, and
fanned up the fire with an ostrich plume.

[Illustration]

"Now for the hard part," she said, grinning at them toothlessly. She
measured out a spoonful of green powder, weighed it in the scales, and
flung it into the saucepan. There was a loud explosion. A huge blast
of steam flared out and engulfed them. When it had cleared, they saw
the Banshee tilting the saucepan over a small bottle. One ruby drop of
fluid fell into the bottle. It darted forth rays of light as it fell,
and tinkled like a silver coin rolling down flights of marble steps.

[Illustration]

The Banshee corked the bottle and held it up proudly to the light.
"Will you look at that, now?" she crooned. "The finest ever I brewed.
Ah, the mystic droplet! Some swain will be buying that, now, and
putting it in a lassie's cup o' tea, and she'll be pining away for
love of him before the day's out."

She put the bottle on the shelf, pasted a label on it, and turned to
them with a businesslike air.

"Now, dearies, what'll you be wanting? Philtres? Poison?--I've a
special today, only five shillings a vial. A spell? What about your
fortunes?--one shilling if seen in the crystal ball, one and six if
read from the palm. A hex?--I've the finest in six counties. A ticket
to the Walpurgis Night Ball?"

"We want a Wail," said the Phoenix. "And we shall accept nothing but
the best and loudest you have."

"Ah, a Banshee's Wail, is it?" cried the hag. "You've come to the
right shop, dearies, to be sure. Now, let me see...." She hobbled to a
shelf which contained a row of boxes, ran her finger along them,
stopped at one, and took it down. "Here we are--key of C-sharp, two
minutes long, only five shillings threepence."

"No, no," said the Phoenix. "A larger one. We have something more than
mice to frighten."

"A bigger one? Och, here's a lovely o