it."

"I feel all right."

She watched the mysterious, alchemistic mixing of a pastry, and thought of the vast array of them that had come from Magda's hands. As far back as she could remember she had perched on this stool observing the same mystic culinary rites.

Suddenly another memory rose out of the grave of forgetfulness and went gibbering across her world. She remembered the stories Magda used to tell her, frightening stories of witchcraft and the evil eye, tales out of an older region and a more credulous age.

"Magda," she asked, "did you ever see a devil?"

"Not I, but I've talked with them that had."

"Didn't you ever see one?"

"No." The woman slid a pan into the oven. "I saw a man once, when I was a tot, possessed by a devil."

"You did? How did he look?"

"He screamed terrible, then he said queer things. Then he fell down and foam came out of his mouth."

"Like a fit?"

"The Priest, he said it was a devil. He came and prayed over him, and after a while he was real quiet, and then he was all right."

"Possessed by a devil," said Pat thoughtfully. "What happened to him?"

"Dunno."

"What queer things did he say?"

"Wicked things, the Priest said. I couldn't tell! I was a tot."

"Possessed by a devil!" Pat repeated musingly. She sat immersed in thoughts on the high stool while Magda clattered busily about. The woman paused finally, turning her face to the girl.

"What you so quiet about, Miss Pat?"

"I was just thinking."

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