That same morning, while it was still in the cool of the day and the sun cast long shadows across the dew-wet grass, Abigail was making her way along the forest path which led to Deliverance’s home. In a pail she carried ginger-cookies her mother had sent in exchange for some of Goodwife Higgins’ famous cheese-balls.
Since such woeful misfortune had befallen its little mistress, the farmhouse seemed to have acquired a sorrowful aspect. The gate swung open dismally, and weeds had sprung up boldly in the garden. Abigail went round to the kitchen.
It was empty. The floor had been freshly sprinkled with sand; the milk-pans were scoured and shining in the sun; a black pot, filled with water, swung over the fire, and Deliverance’s kitten slumbered on the hearthstone.
Abigail placed the pail of cookies on the table and seated herself to await Goodwife Higgins’ return. Soon the goodwife entered, bearing a big golden pumpkin from the storehouse.
“I be glad to see ye, Abigail, if a sorrowful heart kens aught o’ gladness,” she said, putting down the pumpkin. “Ye look well and prosperous. I wonder if my little Deliverance has sufficient to eat and warm clothing o’ night. I have reared her tenderly, only to strike her a blow when most she needed me. I carry a false and heavy heart.” She sat down and, flinging her apron over her head, sobbed aloud.
Abigail longed to tell the poor dame she had seen Deliverance, but dared not.
After a little, the goodwife drew her apron from her head and wiped her eyes with a corner of it. “Hark ye, Abigail, the Lord has punished me, that I took it upon myself to be a judge o’ witches. Ye recall how I telled the reverend judges I had seen a yellow bird. I saw that bird again at rise o’ sun this morn.”
Abigail shivered, although the fire was warm, and glanced around apprehensively. “It was the witch,” she cried, “what hanged her evil deeds on Deliverance.”
“It was no witch,” cried the goodwife. “I would it had been a witch.”
Abigail edged off her stool. “I must be going,” she said; “methinks I hear a witch scratching on the floor.”
But her companion pushed her back. “Sit ye down. I have summat to tell ye. The hand o’ the Lord be in it, and laid in judgment on me. Betimes this morn, led o’ the Lord, I went to Deliverance’s room. There on the sill was the yellow bird. My heart was so full o’ sadness, there was no room for fear. ‘Gin ye be a witch, ye yellow bird,’ said I, ‘ye will have hanged a maid that knew not sin.’ At this the bird flew off and lighted in the red oak tree o’ the edge o’ the clearing. I put my Bible in my pocket and hurried out after it. As I neared the red oak, I shuddered, for I thought to find the bird changed into an hag with viper eyes. But naught was to be seen. I looked up into the branches. I cried, ‘Ye shall not escape me, ye limb o’ Satan,’ and with that I clomb the tree. It was a triumph o’ the flesh at my years, and proof that the Lord was holpen me. As I stood on the lower branches, I spied a nest and four eggs. I heard a peep, and saw the mother-bird had fluttered off a little way. At her call came the yellow bird, her mate, and flew in my face. Then I was minded these very birds nested there last spring. I suspicioned all. My little Deliverance had scattered crumbs on the window-ledge for the birds.”
“Did ye look for to see?” asked Abigail.
The goodwife nodded sadly. “Ay, I found many in the cracks. I be going to see the magistrate and confess my grievous mistake. Bide ye here, Abigail, whilst I be gone, as Master Wentworth has gone herb-gathering. I will stop by and leave the cream cheeses at your mother’s.”
Left alone, Abigail tied on an apron and went briskly to work at the task the dame had given her. She cut the best part of the pumpkin into dice an inch square, in order to make a side dish to accompany meat. When well made it was almost as good as apple sauce. Having cut the pumpkin up, she put it into a pot, and poured over it a cup of cider-vinegar. Then she swung the pot on the lugpole and stirred the fire. She sighed with relief when the task was finished. At last she was free to attend to Deliverance’s errand. Was ever anything so fortunate as the goodwife’s mission to the village?
She opened the still-room door and stepped inside. The window-shutters were closed. All was cool, dark, and filled with sweet scents. At first she could see nothing, being dazzled by the light from which she had just come. Something brushed against her ankles, frightening her. But when she heard a soft purring, she was greatly relieved that it was Deliverance’s kitten. With great curiosity she looked around the room, which she had never before entered. Under the window a long board served as a work-table. It held a variety of bowls, measuring spoons, and bottles. In the centre was a very large bowl, covered by a plate. She lifted the cover and peered in, but instantly clapped the plate on again. A nauseating odour had arisen from the black liquid it contained. Hastily Abigail closed the door that the terrible fumes might not escape into the kitchen. She now perceived close by the bowl a parchment, which was written upon with black ink and stamped with a scarlet seal. With fingers that trembled at their daring, she put the parchment in her pocket. As she turned to go she screamed, unmindful in her fright that she might be heard.
For, from a dark corner, there jumped at her a witch in the form of a toad.
Now it is all very well for a little maid to stand still and scream when assailed by a witch, but when a second and a third, a fourth, a fifth, and even a sixth witch appear, hopping like toads, it behooves that little maid to stop screaming and turn her attention to the best plan of removing herself from their vicinity. So Abigail frantically stepped upon a stool and thence to the table. Then she looked down. She saw the six witches squatted in a row on the floor, all looking up at her, blinking their bright eyes. They had such a knowing and mischievous air that she felt a yet greater distance from them would be more acceptable. With an ease born of long experience in climbing trees, she swung herself to the rafter above the table. Her feet, hanging over, were half concealed by the bunches of dried herbs tied to the beams. She had no sooner seated herself as comfortably as possible, when she heard footsteps and the tap of a walking-stick in the kitchen. Another moment and the door opened, and Sir Jonathan Jamieson put his head inside.
“Are you in, Master Wentworth?” he asked. Receiving no reply he stepped inside. He lifted the cover from the large bowl and instantly recoiled. “Faugh,” he muttered, “the stuff has a sickish smell.” He searched the table, even peered into the pockets of Master Wentworth’s dressing-gown hanging on the wall.
Abigail, holding her small nose tightly, silently prayed. The dust she had raised from the herbs made her desire to sneeze.
Suddenly Sir Jonathan sneezed violently.
“Kerchew,” came a mild little echo.
“Kerchew!” sneezed Sir Jonathan again.
“Kerchew,” went Abigail in instant imitation.
“Kerchew!” sneezed Sir Jonathan, more violently than ever this third time.
“Kerchew,” followed Abigail.
Sir Jonathan glanced around suspiciously at this last distinct echo. But he saw nothing unusual. He poked the toad witches with his stick. “Scat!” said he, and they all jumped back into their dark corners. After some further searching, he went out muttering to himself.
Abigail could see him through the open door pacing up and down the kitchen, awaiting Master Wentworth. But at last growing impatient he went away.
Abigail, not daring to get down, quivered at every sound, fearing it was Master Wentworth returning. An appetizing odour of the pumpkin was wafted to her. She was indeed in a quandary now. If she descended, how should she escape the witches? If she let the pumpkin burn, she would have to explain how it happened to the goodwife. She sniffed anxiously. Surely the pumpkin was scorching. All housewifely instinct aroused, she descended, and with a shudder at encountering the witches, bounded from the room, slamming the door after her.
She was just in time to save the pumpkin. She added some butter and sweetening and a pretty pinch of ginger. While thus engaged, Master Wentworth returned. He greeted her kindly, not observing the goodwife’s absence, and seated himself at the table to sort his herbs.
But Abigail noticed he did not touch them, only sat quietly, shading his eyes with his hand.
The silence was broken by a scratching at the still-room door.
Master Wentworth rose and opened it, and the kitten walked out purring, its tail proudly erect.
There are various ways of banishing indiscreet witches who assume the form of toads.
“It is strange how it came in there,” remarked Master Wentworth, mildly; “the goodwife seldom enters.”
Abigail, with guiltily red cheeks, stirred the pumpkin briskly. But when she glanced again at her host, she perceived he was thinking neither of her nor of the kitten. She could not know, however, that his eyes, fixed in a far-away gaze, seemed to see the green and sunken grave, blue with innocents and violets, where Deliverance’s mother slept.
“Master Wentworth,” Abigail summoned up courage to ask, “would ye mind biding here alone until the goodwife returns?”
“Nay,” he answered, “I mind it not.”
“And would ye be above giving the pumpkin a stir once in awhile?” she ventured timidly. And as he nodded assent, she put the spoon in his hand and left him.
When Goodwife Higgins returned, weary, disappointed that she could not obtain the hearing of the magistrates,—who were in court,—she found Master Wentworth sitting as in a dream, the spoon in his hand and the odour of burning pumpkin filling the air.
“The naughty baggage!” muttered the goodwife; “just wait till I clap eyes on her.”
The following day the disappearance of Abigail Brewster caused general consternation in Salem Town. She had left home early in the morning for school. Several boys asserted having seen her in Prison Lane. No further traces of her were found. Many villagers had seen evil spirits in the guise of Frenchmen and Indians lurking in the surrounding forest; and when by night the child was still missing, it was popularly believed that one of these evil spirits had borne the little maid away.
Meanwhile the object of this anxiety was trudging serenely the path to Boston Town, carrying her shoes and stockings, her petticoat turned up to her knees, there being many fordways to cross.