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

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“Stability Williams,” she said sternly, “can ye no sit still without jerking around like as your head was loosed?”

Stability’s tears flowed copiously at the reproof.

“Please, ma’am,” spoke up Hannah Sears, “he’s been pulling o’ her hair.”

Deliverance’s sharp eyes spied the guilty offender.

“Ebenezer Gibbs,” said she, “stop your wickedness, and as for ye, Stability Williams, cease your idle soughing.”

For awhile all was quiet. Then, there broke forth a muffled sob from Stability, followed by an irrepressible giggle from the boys. Deliverance stepped down from the platform and rapped Ebenezer Gibbs’ head smartly with her thimble.

“Ye rude and ill-mannered boy,” she cried; “have ye no shame to be pulling Stability Williams’ hair and inticing others to laugh at your evil doings? Ye can just come along now and stand in the crying-corner.”

The crying-corner was the place where the children stood to weep after they had been punished. Pathetic record of childish grief was this corner, the pine boards black with the imprint of small grimy fingers and spotted with tears from little wet faces. Doubtless Deliverance rapped the offender more severely than she intended, for he wept steadily. Although she knew he deserved the reproof, his crying smote her heart sorely.