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

31 страница из 52

“Deliverance, ye naughty baggage,” cried the goodwife, sharply, “where have ye been and what for have ye on your gown o’ tiffany?”

The words were stern, but her heart was beating like to break and throbbed in unison with Sir Jonathan’s warning the previous night. “Gossips, take care lest you harbour a witch in yonder girl.” She hurried to the kitchen door to meet Deliverance. As the little maid shamefacedly crossed the threshold she raised her hand to strike her, but dropped it to her side and shook her head, for in her heart she said sadly, “And gin ye be a witch, child, sore will be your punishment and my hand shall add no blow.” For she was minded of her own little girl who had died of the smallpox so many years ago. She prepared the breakfast with more bustle and noise than usual, as was her wont when disturbed.

Deliverance, greatly mortified at having been detected and wondering why she was not questioned, went to her room and put on her linsey-woolsey petticoat and sacque.

When she came out to lay the table, to her surprise, Goodwife Higgins spoke her gently. “Go, child, and call your father, for the Indian bread be right crusty and brown and the bacon crisp.”