“I don’t know that you’d call it a witch-house, but there is ‘the old brig,’ as they’ve named it. It’s up opposite the old Burying Hill, one of the oldest houses in town.”
“There are so many of them,” murmured Nora.
“What makes it a witch’s house?”
“Well, I can’t say that it deserves the name. Only old Dimond is said to have been the father of Moll Pitcher, who was a famous fortune-teller of Lynn. That’s the nearest I can come to a witch. But this old Dimond himself was supposed to have some kind of strange power. People thought that he could warn them of the future, and they used to consult him about all kinds of things. On nights when it was dark and stormy, they say that he used to walk among the graves and beat the air with his arms, reciting strange words to keep disaster from his friends. It is also said that once, when a sum of money had been stolen from an old couple, he revealed the name of the thief, and told where the money could be found.”
“So he was n’t a bad witch,” said Nora.
“Wizard,” corrected Brenda.
“Oh, what’s in a name?” and Nora waved her hands impatiently.
Just at that moment, a strange unearthly sound—a cross between a whistle and a shout—came to their ears. Amy gave a start, and looked around anxiously.
“It is n’t old Dimond,” said Julia, smiling.
“Oh, no, it sounds like—” and just then the sound
