"I never heard of Mr. Phips."
"Well, that's nothing strange. He died over a hundred years ago; but he didn't make fun of witches, I can tell you. He had 'em chained up so they couldn't hurt folks."
"Hurt folks?" said little Patty.
"Yes; you know witches have a way of taking various shapes, such as cats and dogs, and all sorts of creeturs, and going about doing mischief," said Siller, with a solemn click of her knitting-needles.
Mary's nose went farther up in the air. She had heard plenty about the Salem Witchcraft, and knew the stories were all as silly as silly can be.
"Didn't you never hear tell of that Joan of Arc over there to Salem?" went on Siller, who knew no more about history than a baby.
"We've heard of Noah's ark," put in Patty.
"Well, Joan was a witch, and took the shape of a man, and marched at the head of an army, all so grand; but she got found out, and they burnt her up. It was fifty years ago or more."
"Beg your pardon, Siller; but it was almost four hundred years ago," said Mary; "and it wasn't in this country either, 'twas in France. Mother told me all about it; she read it in a book of history."
Siller looked extremely mortified, and picked up a stitch without speaking.