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

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Toward the end of the nooning-hour Master Wentworth sent Deliverance to carry to Goodwife Gibbs the tea he had brewed.

“Father sends ye this, goodwife,” said the little maid; “it be a strengthening draught for Ebenezer. He bids me tell ye a fever sickness has seized o’ the child.”

The goodwife snatched the bottle and flung it violently from her.

“Get ye gone with your brew, ye witch-maid! No fever sickness ails my little son, but a spell ye have put upon him.” She began to weep sorely. Duty compelled her to attend meeting, the while her heart sickened that she must leave her little son in the care of a servant wench.

The gossips crowded around her in sympathy. Dark looks were cast upon Deliverance, and muttered threats were made. Their voices rose with their growing anger, until the minister, walking arm-in-arm with Master Wentworth, heard them and was roused to righteous indignation.

“Hush, gossips,” he said sternly, “we will have no high words on the Lord’s holy day, but peace and comfort and meek and contrite hearts, else we were hypocrites. We will continue our discussion next week, Master Wentworth,” he added, turning to his companion, “for the nooning-hour is done.”