"Oh, he's splendid!" she cried. "He's just what I want. I never can remember dates. Oh, how much does he cost? I'm afraid I haven't enough money."
"I'm sure you haven't," said the Witch. "I wouldn't part with him for untold gold."
"Then it's no use," said Myra, sadly. "I haven't even got told gold, only three shillings and twopence-ha'penny."
"You've got something else that will do better," said the Witch, coaxingly. "Hasn't your brother a large collection of moths and butterflies?"
"Yes," said Myra, looking rather puzzled; "but what has that to do with it?"
"Show me the top drawer of his cabinet, dear," said the Witch.
Myra walked to the cabinet, still wondering, drew out the top drawer, and took it to the window.
"'WHAT A QUEER LITTLE THING!' CRIED MYRA."
The Witch looked up and down the long rows of moths, each with its wings outspread on a separate pin. At last she picked out a great death's-head, and looked at it lovingly. It was a beautiful specimen, just what she wanted for her latest potion, a wonderful mixture that would enable you to turn fifteen cart-wheels on a cobweb without breaking it. "I'll give you the Memory-Saver for this," she cried, eagerly.