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

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“Come, come, child, stand out and let us see those fine feathers which have filled your foolish pate with vanity,” cried Goody Dennison.

Deliverance sighed profoundly. “I do repent deeply that iniquity and vanity should have filled my carnal heart because o’ this fair gown o’ silk. Ye can feel for yourself and ye like, Goody Dennison, there be no thread o’ cotton in it.”

As she spoke she glanced out of the corners of her downcast eyes at a little, rosy, freckled girl, who sat at her mother’s side, knitting, but who did not look up, keeping her sleek brown head bent resolutely over the half-finished stocking.

“Have ye had aught to eat, child?” asked Goodwife Higgins.

Deliverance shook her head.

“And ye would go off with but a sup o’ milk for breakfast,” scolded the goodwife, as she rose and stirred the porridge she had saved. “Sit ye down by Abigail, and I will bring ye summat nourishing.”

Now, Deliverance had stood long in the hot sun with naught to eat, and this and her long walk so weighed upon her that suddenly she grew pale and sank to the floor.