Читать книгу Ye Lyttle Salem Maide. A Story of Witchcraft онлайн

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“A fair and flowing hand I write,” she replied, “though I be no great for spelling. My father has instilled a deal o’ learning into my pate, but I be not puffed up with vanity on that account.”

“’Tis well,” said the Cavalier; “I like not an unread maid. Neither do I fancy one too much learned.” He glanced again at the miniature. From smiling he fell to sighing. “Into what great girls do our daughters grow,” he murmured; “but yesterday, methinks, I dandled her on my knee and sang her nursery rhymes.” He opened a leathern bag strapped around his waist. Within it the little maid caught a glimpse of a gleaming array of knives both large and small. This quite startled her.

“Where did I put them?” he frowned; “but wait, but wait—” He felt in his pockets, and at last drew forth a chain of gold beads wrapped in silk. “My Elizabeth would give you these were she here,” he said, “but she is far across the seas.”

Rising, he bent and patted the little maid’s cheek. “Take these beads, dear child, and forget not what I telled you, while I am gone to Boston Town. Yet, wait, what is your name?”