But, as Siller said, they were all rather stirred up, and wouldn't be in a hurry about going to bed. Perhaps the blackberry tea they had drunk at supper time was too strong for Siller's nerves; at any rate, she felt so wide awake that she chose to sit up knitting, with Patty in her lap, and did not perceive that both the children were growing sleepy. It was a lovely evening, and the bright moon sailing across the blue sky set the simple woman to thinking,--not of the great and good God of whom she had been hearing this evening, but, I am ashamed to say, of witches! "I'm glad I've got company," said she, nodding to Mary, "for there's kind of a creeping feeling goes over me such shiny nights as this. It's just the time for Goody Knowles to be out on a broomstick." "Why, Siller Noonin," exclaimed Mary, "_you_ don't believe in such foolishness as that! I never knew you did before!" Siller did not answer, for she suddenly remembered that Mrs. Lyman was very particular as to what was said before her children. "Tell me, Siller; you don't suppose witches go flying round when the moon shines?" asked Mary, curling her lip. "That's what folks say, child." "Well, I do declare, Siller, I thought _you_ had more sense." Mrs. Noonin's black eyes sparkled with anger. "That's free kind of talk for a little girl that's some related to Sir William Phips; that used to be Governor of this Commonwealth of Massachusetts," said she. "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. "And besides that," said Mary, "Joan of Arc was a beautiful young girl, and not a witch. I know some of the people called her so; but mother says they were very foolish and wicked."