shops should be filled with all kinds of witch souvenirs,” said Julia, pointing to one window in which were several pieces of china and silver bric-à-brac, all representing a witch and broomstick.
“It certainly is twitting on facts,” replied Miss South.
“We are now going to see a house that is n’t exactly what it claims to be,” said Amy. “It’s called the Roger Williams House, although Roger Williams probably never lived there, and it is also spoken of as ‘the witch house,’ although no witches were ever seen there.”
“Then why the name?”
“Well, during the witchcraft trials, one of the judges, named Curwen, resided there.”
“It’s a pity to have it turned into a shop.” Julia would have liked to see all old houses preserved in their original condition.
“Oh, no,” cried Brenda, “it’s just the place to get souvenirs; I’m going in,” and as the others followed her up the narrow stairs into the low-studded room, they decided that the old building seemed ancient enough to bear out its claim to being the oldest house in Salem.
Before they drove to the railroad station, Amy asked the driver to take them through Chestnut Street, where Julia lost her heart to the elegant, stately mansions that seemed to speak of the leisurely lives of those who dwell in them to-day.
“Even to-day,” she said, “Salem is a little out of the current of the ordinary work-a-day world. I might not like to live here always, but I believe that I should enjoy
