that Peter knew he needed in order to keep his farm going, and any income, however small it may be, would be welcomed gratefully. Yes, he decided that he had better endure the rudeness of this man.

For a few seconds, however, the tall stranger seemed to lose all of his cockiness, and a somber look crept over his jovial features. "Have you ever heard of the hex of the white feather?"

Peter thought a moment before he replied. "Yes. I have heard of it." Then nervously he fingered his glass of wine that he had not as yet touched. Raising it up to his lips he sipped it slowly as he stared at Mirestone over the rim of the glass. "Yes. I have heard of it," he repeated.

"Good, good. You have heard of it. Now, you will tell me about it, of course. I want to know all about it—how it is practiced, the results, and so forth."

"Is that why you came here? Only to learn of the white feather hex?"

Mirestone climbed to his feet and paced the room. "Yes," he said. Peter noted a sad tone in his voice, and he waited for him to say more.

"Yes," Mirestone continued. "I have, like you, heard of the hex of the white feather. I have traced it down to several families, but none could tell me anything about it that was factual. Half of the stupid fools made up stories as they went along—some concocting the biggest bunch of asinine tales that I've ever heard. But you, Peter, are a descendant of the Scheinbergers. I know for a fact that Otto Scheinberger practiced the white feather hex and passed the power on down to your father. From there it stopped. However, there must be some record of it in your family. You are in possession of the books of your grandfather, aren't you?"

"I have several of his books. Some of them I have read."

"Well," Mirestone waited. "Did you come across anything about the hex?"

"Yes," answered Peter. "I read about that which you mention."

"Splendid, now we are getting somewhere. Can you find me the book that tells of it?"

Peter finished drinking his wine and setting the glass upon the table, he slowly rose and faced Mirestone with a look of superiority playing about his rustic features. "No, I am afraid not. You see, I have burned the book."

Mirestone's face went white. "You burned it?"

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