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

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Although it was an evening in early June, the salt breeze blowing damp and cold from off the sea made Master Wentworth’s kitchen, with its cheerful fire, an agreeable place for the goodwives of the village to gather with their knitting after supper.

Goodwife Higgins, seated at her spinning-wheel, made but brief replies to the comments of her guests upon the forward behaviour of her foster-child Deliverance. Yet her glance was ever cast anxiously toward the door, swung half-open lest the room should become too warm.

“I trow the naughty baggage deserved correction to put to such ungodly use the fair silk ye gave her,” remarked one portly dame. “Goody Dennison says as it was your standing-up gown ye brought from England to be wed in.”

“Ay,” said Goodwife Higgins, grimly. Her face lighted as she spoke, for the door was flung wide and the little maid of whom they spoke entered, breathless with running.

“It be time ye were in,” frowned Goodwife Higgins, a note of relief in her sharp tone. “I gan to think a witch had catched ye.”