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

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“Ho, ho!” laughed the stranger; “and have you a law that witches must not ride on broomsticks? You Puritans had best be wary lest they ride your nags to death at night and you take away their broomsticks.”

“Ay,” assented the maid. “Old Goody Jones is to be hanged for witchery this day week. One morn, who should find his nag steaming, flecked with foam, its mane plaited to make the bridle, but our good Neighbour Root. When I heard tell o’ it, I cut across the clearing to his barn before breakfast, and with my own eyes saw the nag with its plaited mane and tail. Neighbour Root suspicioned who the witch was that had been riding it, but he, being an o’er-cautious man, kept a close mouth. Well, at dawn, two days later, he jumped wide-awake all in a minute,—he had been sleeping with an eye half-cocked, as it were,—for he heard the barn door slam. He rose and lit his lantern and went out. There he saw Goody Jones hiding in a corner of the stall, her eyes shining like a cat’s. When she saw he kenned her, she gave a wicked screech and flew by him in the form o’ an owl. He was so afeared lest she should bewitch him, that he trembled till his red cotton nightcap fell off. It was found in the stall by our goodly magistrate in proof o’ Neighbour Root’s words.”