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

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And there were saffron, witch-hazel, rue, shepherd’s-purse, and bloody-dock, not to mention the yearly store of catnip put away for her kitten.

Master Wentworth swung her up on his shoulder so she could reach the rafters.

“The yarrow be tied fifth bunch on the further beam, father,” she said; “there, ye have stopped right under it.”

Her small fingers quickly untied the string and the great bunch of yarrow was in her arms as her father set her down. He handed her a mortar bowl and pestle.

“Seat yourself, Deliverance,” he said, “and pound this into a paste for me.”

Vigorously Deliverance pounded, anxious to return to Abigail.

The room was damp and chilly. No heat came in from the kitchen for the door was closed, but the little Puritan maiden was inured to the cold and minded it not. The soft light that filled the room was given by three dipped candles made from the fragrant bayberry wax. This wax was of a pale green, almost transparent colour, and gave forth a pleasant fragrance when snuffed. An hour-glass was placed behind one of the candles that the light might pass through the running sands and enable one to read the time at a glance. At his table as he worked, her father’s shadow was flung grotesquely on the wall, now high, now low. Into the serene silence the sound of Deliverance’s pounding broke with muffled regularity.