The Evening Wolves

The evening wolves, a novel.
McCall, Marie, 1909New York, J. Day Co. [1949]
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OF
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THE EVENING WOLVES
THE
EVENING
WOLVES
A
NOVEL BY
M^RIE McCMIX
THE JOHN DAY COMPANY
New York
COPYRIGHT, 1949, BY THE JOHN DAY COMPANY
All
rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, must

not be reproduced in any form without permission.
This book
is published by the John Day Company,

West 4$th Street, New York 19, N. Y., and on the
same day in the Dominion of Canada by Longmans,
Green and Company, Toronto, Ontario.
62
MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES
OF
AMERICA
eve
To wry
mother
and
my sister, Helene
M654J^J
j-^tf^
'.
. .
When we are in the evening of the world
the evening wolves
will
be abroad.
Evil will
prowl in all its multitudinous forms. . . ."

Old Sermon
THE EVENING WOLVES
CHAPTER
I
The Reverend Jonathan Grigg,
Town,
sat at his
coming Sabbath.
almost black in
youngest minister of Boston

desk in his study writing his sermon for the
His face was tense, the brilliant brown eyes
fervent thought. A deep scar on the right
from an injury in childhood, extended a little
thick auburn hair which curled from under
temple, resulting
way through his
the edge of the black silk skullcap; it now throbbed visibly
with the intensity of his concentration. The rounded chin was
the only sign of weakness in that proud face with its broad
strong nose and full sensitive lips.
But God sent no inspiration for the closing words of the
Sabbath sermon. He sent instead thoughts of Ann, the daugh
ter of the Widow Walton of Salem Village. The Lord granted
him here in his study a vision of Ann Walton as enchanting as
though she stood before him. He saw her tall body, graceful
in its carriage as a deer; her dreaming blue eyes under black
level brows; her face, delicate and radiant, framed by a mass
of dark golden hair.
But swiftly followed the gifts of Satan: vivid pictures of
voluptuous details; lips parted and tempting as honey, langorous lids drooping over blue eyes, giving them a wicked
jewel-like brilliancy. Jonathan's gaze was dragged downward
along the proud lines of a white neck to a softly curved
bosom.
A wave of emotion swept over him, dangerously sweet.
The air became suddenly hot and oppressive; the room filled
with something perilous and evil. Before his startled imagina
tion appeared the yet unknown but terrible beauty of a

woman s body.
He sprang to his feet, his strong hands clenched in restraint.
"
"Deliver me from the snares of Satan! he cried. "Lord, Lord,
pity
me!
"
Overwhelmed with shame at the carnal vision, he sank to

his knees. "Keep me from the sin of uncleanhness," he prayed.
"O Lord,
chasten this base nature. Let
Thy
grace raise me
from the pit of lustful thoughts."

Long did he wrestle with Satan, seeing vividly the hell of
fire yawning for him. But at the last he was victorious. Satan
departed and above the battleground of the body of Jonathan
Grigg rose his confident soul.
This August morning of 1688 he was in his twenty-sixth
year, the son and grandson of clergymen. On the surface his

life flowed quietly in daily routine duties. But his spirit was
burdened with his personal struggles as well as his terrible
responsibility of holding his people true to God under the
ceaseless attacks of the enemy. The antagonist was the arch
enemy of mankind, the Prince of Darkness, the dread Lord
of Hell. Jonathan Grigg hated him with a bitter hatred, and
the struggle between them would be lifelong.
But the power of the clergy to keep the people on the
path of righteousness was waning. The old order was chang
ing; the harmony of the clergy's rule of Massachusetts Colony
was broken by the King of England's appointment of a royal
governor and council to take the place of the former church
government with its representative assemblies. No longer
could God's chosen rulers guide the people under divine law
as set forth in the Bible. No, the godless were given absolute
power over the lives and liberties of the people.
No wonder many believed that the end of the world was
coming; that the end of the century would bring the end of
man. The minister brooded over the horror of the sinfulness
of men if these were indeed to be the last years of human
life. Taking up his pen, he finished his sermon with a prophecy
of great calamities befalling New England if the people did
not mend their godless ways. Asmodeus, that crippled demon,
was already upon them.
He leaned back in his chair, feeling a glowing satisfaction

with what he had just written. When Abigail Trask knocked,
then entered with a bowl of samp porridge for him, no trace
of the recent spiritual battle was visible. He
sat there, erect
and broad shouldered, a welcoming affectionate smile on his

serene face.
"It's no wonder that every maiden in Boston is in love with
him," thought Abigail. Shyly she allowed her eyes to stray
over his handsome face as she moved the papers and the hour
glass out of his way and set the porridge before him.
A stranger might think them brother and sister, the aristo
cratic young minister and his little bond servant. Abigail had
almost the same shade of auburn hair, but the brown eyes that
in Jonathan Grigg were luminous, and could turn black with
depths of religious ecstasy or terror, were in her soft and
When the ailing and penniless Widow Trask lay dying, she
had given ten-year-old Abigail to the Widow Deborah Grigg
to be her bond servant for seven years, then died well pleased
to know that her orphaned daughter would dwell safely in

the godly household of the future minister. Two years later
old Mistress Grigg had expired gloriously, and her son, then
ordained, had buried her on Copps Hill. It was a year now
that Jonathan had lived with only Abigail in the two-storied
white clapboard house his father had built. The old Negro
slave Moses and his tall, soft-eyed West Indian wife Betsy,
whom Mistress Grigg had bought for him as his second wife,
lived with their two children in a one-room white wooden
cabin back of the house.
As Jonathan was finishing his porridge, the knocker sounded
loudly on the outer door. He saw Moses, sturdy and quick in
and
moment later young
spite of his age, go to open
Widow Oakes fluttered into the study. Her gray eyes were
shining with excitement in her narrow face, and her thin lips
were parted breathlessly. The minister perceived the swell of
her breasts beneath the disarranged kerchief over her blueit,
dreamy.
flowered calico gown.
"Oh, Mr. Grigg,"
French pirate ship was

sighted off the coast again this morning!"
she panted, "the
impulsively on his arm. "It's

gone now. Don't trouble yourself, Mr. Grigg. Most likely it
was frightened off by the sight of Pirate Jones's corpse hang
ing in the harbor. But I didn't come to bring you gossip, sir.
I'm here to get your judgment on my new bonnet. I wouldn't
dare wear it without your approval of it."
Giggling nervously, she drew from beneath her scarlet cloak
a green ribboned bonnet and held it before his eyes.
"Is it seemly, do you think, to wear the red velvet bow? It
is such a little one," she pleaded.
"Let me see it on your head. I can tell naught looking at it
As
he stood up, she laid a hand
there in your hands."

The Widow Oakes threw back her gingham cap, letting
it hang by its ribbons, and placed the new bonnet carefully
over her dark curls. She lowered her eyes modestly, then gave
a sudden upward glance, trying to charm him into acquies
cence. But it was that look, filled with coquetry, that defeated
her.
"It's a godless thing; naught but devil's frippery. Take it
off."
"Oh, but Mr. Grigg ... the little bow . . ."

"Take it off!" he shouted, and raising his hand, swept the
thing to the floor.
The Widow Oakes stared
at him
in amazement, then burst
into tears and hid her face in her hands. "I'm a shameful
woman," she wept. "My heart is wicked and full of sin. A
widow is a poor rudderless vessel, sir, and has much need of
a godly man to guide her. Had I such a one I would not fall
so often into sin. Indeed I would not."
He put his arm around her shoulder comfortingly and led
her to the chair before his writing table. When she saw him
go to the door and close it her heart beat tumultuously.
"You aren't more sinful than others, Theophilia Oakes,"
he said in his deep gentle voice. "Perhaps I was too harsh.
We should be more lenient toward you when grief for your
late husband has laid your heart open."
"My tears are not for him," she murmured.
"What ails you then?"
Her narrow gray eyes searched his face; noted the strong
hand smoothing the white bands at his throat nervously. Un

der his tender clouded gaze she leaned forward eagerly.
"I know not how to say it. Oh, forgive my boldness, Mr.
it is not my dear husband, God rest his soul,
Grigg, but
nor myself. It is you I am troubled about."
"About me? Me?" he asked in amazement.
"You have been much alone since the death of your pious
mother. There has been no one to care for you for your
needs."
...
"Abigail
."
"She is only a servant!" Her voice rose shrill, eager, lost

to propriety. "Only the other day Mrs. Hubbard told me
that her husband, who has been like a second father to you,
was grieved over your single state. The deacon's words were
the words of Scripture: 'Be ye fruitful and multiply.' Yes,
Mr. Grigg, and on the common I heard Mrs. Lewis tell the
Widow Phillips that a young active man like yourself should
have a helpmate. She said you should take a wife into the
house to care for you now that your mother is happily with
God."
"Need they talk about me on the common?" he asked

frowning. "Must my manner of life be on the lips of gossips
and frivolous women?"
"Yes, Mr. Grigg . . . until you silence them all by wedding
some maid or widow of Boston."
"Of Boston?"
"There are many here who hold you dear. Many who
would make you a worthy consort." Her voice sank, fright
ened at last by the bold speech into which it had strayed.
She said low, humbly, "You have but to ask, Mr. Grigg."
His young face was stern as Judgment Day. "In my own
good time I will ask not before. Let the people of Boston
Town concern themselves with their own problems, which
are many. Mine are with God."
"God does not desire that you live alone!" cried Theophilia
Oakes desperately.
"Do you dare tell me what God desires for me!" shouted
Jonathan. "Do you have secret communion with Him,
Widow
Oakes, that He honors you with visions and warnings

concerning me?"
"Oh, no!" Terrified at the heresy, she clasped her hand over
her mouth.
"Then do not speak God's Name as though He were your
neighbor and as though you had heard Him gossiping about
me on the common." His eyes were bright and hard, staring
at her, seeing no longer a fascinating woman but a usurper
to the Divine confidence. "Do not try to bring your small
knowledge to bear upon the future of one of God's elect.
What is revealed to me as a reward for my prayers and wrest
lings will not be made clear to the eyes of vanity to become
the subject for idle tongues. When the time comes the way
will be pointed out to me. Go home, Widow Oakes, and re
member that my destiny is not in the hands of you of Boston
Town."
Quickly, without daring to look
at him, she
bonnet and fled without another word.
picked up her
Many times during the following
days Jonathan Grigg

saw signs and symbols, all pointing the way to Salem Village
and to marriage with Ann Walton. He made portentous re
marks to Abigail: "God does not desire that man live alone,"
and, "Would you be surprised if I soon brought a mistress to
the house?"
"No, Mr. Grigg," replied Abigail, blushing

herself were to be chosen.
After that she set herself the
as
though she
difficult task of discovering
the name of the maiden who had won the heart of Boston's
handsome young minister. But her observations gained her
nothing, for he showed only his usual courteous tenderness
toward all women. It was obvious that the Widow Oakes was
setting her cap for him, but so indeed were many others.
Then Abigail suddenly realized that there was one house
which the minister visited more frequently than any other.
Why had it not occurred to her before that it was not alone
respect for his deacon, John Hubbard, that brought him there?
Nor even that Dorcas, the beautiful fourteen-year-old daugh
ter of the deacon, helped him so often in making copies of his
6
corrected sermons. Might not Mr. Grigg feel that Dorcas was
more to him than just a clerkly helper? Could she indeed be
the minister's choice?
As Jonathan rose one morning from his breakfast and Abi
gail put into his hands his hat and his visiting Bible, she looked
at him inquisitively as she remarked slyly, "Dorcas Hubbard
is a godly maiden, Mr. Grigg."
"Yes, she is," replied Jonathan, smiling and patting her
shoulder. "And there's many another in Boston Town, praise
be
to God."
CHAPTER
11
Seventeen miles distant from Boston Stone the village of
Salem stirred with its morning labor. Men and womea began
their tasks with a prayer to God for the day's guidance.
The Widow Walton directed her small household with a
graciousness that concealed her good sense and firmness of
will. All here were trained to speak their thoughts honestly
and without fear: her twelve-year-old son Joseph, her daugh
ter Ann, and the two Negro slaves Betty and Henry.
It was almost a year now since she had first given the young
Boston minister, Jonathan Grigg, permission to court her
daughter. For three years now, since her fifteenth birthday,
Ann Walton had rejected the many suitors who had proposed
for her. But this time her mother saw the easily read signs of
acceptance in her looks and actions.
Dame Walton was relieved at this evidence of Ann's set
tling, for she had been anxious over her late zeal for the
conversion of the Indian. The Widow Walton had always
been sympathetic to the exotic savages, feeling curiosity about
them rather than the hatred and fear felt by her neighbors.
But King Philip's war had left deep and lasting antagonism
between the white man and the red man, and although the
power of the Algonquins was now broken it still was not safe
to be as fearless and friendly toward them as her daughter
was.
Ann had found in her mother's library John Eliot's transla
tions of the Psalms and the Bible into the Indian tongue, and
with this as a guide she was trying to study their language.
Although she found it difficult because of the guttural aspira
tions and the extraordinary length of the words, she perse
vered and had now mastered a few of the Psalms. However,
this study was kept a secret within her home, for there was
little sympathy among the majority of the people for the
Indians or for their "Apostle," John Eliot.

As Ann set out from her home early this afternoon her
thoughts were not on possible savage converts. They were
filled with an image that had daily become more dear to her.
She took the longest way into the village so that she might
loiter, dreaming of him. Recalling with love and longing his
intense brooding face, his caressing brown eyes, she moved
lightly down the path between the fragrant pines and the
graceful maple and birch trees. The sun shone through the
leafy branches, pierced through the muslin cap and glinted in
her golden hair. The mosaic brooch given her by her seacaptain father, which now pinned her kerchief at the neck,
flashed its Oriental splendor against her purple gown. On her
arm swung a covered basket filled with a smoked ham, bread,
and cheese for old Goodwife Whitman, one of the poor of
Salem Village.
Ann turned off the path and began to climb a high mosscovered rock. When she reached the top she set down her
basket, and here, as was her custom whenever she came this
way, she delivered a sermon to an imaginary audience of vil
lagers and Indians.
From this height, where she could see the entire village, she
decreed the abolition of the pillory, the whipping post, and
the gallows. Holding out her sturdy arms appealingly, she
begged the imagined figures before her to rid their hearts of
8
should not the Indians mingle in love

and friendship with the white men? Why must men always
war with one another? Since God made all human beings,
Indians could not be creatures of the Devil as most of her
countrymen believed. If men were treated as brothers, they
would become brothers. If they were treated as enemies they
would become enemies. Standing there, she pleaded for the
triumph of good over evil. Believe in good and good will
come. As you believe, so it shall be. . . .
Suddenly a young Indian appeared noiselessly on the sum
mit beside her. He raised his hand in peaceful greeting, and in
answer Ann raised her hand also, Indian-fashion, calm and
unafraid.
The Indian boy conveyed to her by signs and short guttural
English words his wonder of foreign magic, and she in turn
told him of God and Gospel, reciting for him the hundred
and seventeenth Psalm of David which she had memorized
from John Eliot's translation:
hate and fear.
Why
Waeenomok Maniz zvame

umtchtimoneunk
Waeenomokkenaau wame
miffinninnuog nvonk. . .
Won by
this white maiden who struggled so valiantly to

speak his tongue, the boy promised to receive the sacred
waters of baptism if she could prove by some magic deed the
power of her God.
She said, pointing, "Look! I will climb that bough of the
tree down there and jump from it and God will protect me.
Will you believe in Him then?"
He stared at the high branch and shook his head doubtfully.
"Big jump," he declared. "You break neck maybe."
"My God can overturn mountains and cut rivers between
the rocks," said Ann proudly. "Watch and see how He pro
tects the least of His creatures who trusts in Him."
She descended the rock and ran to the tree. But she had
never climbed a tree before and the way was rough. Her
hands sought anxious holds and sometimes a foot slipped
skinning the ankle. But at last she reached the thick branch
and edged her way out on it. When she looked down her
heart gave a frightened leap. It seemed even a greater jump
from this height. But seeing the boy watching gravely from
below, she prayed earnestly for confidence and let herself
drop from the branch.
Her feet stung at the impact of the ground and she fell for
ward. But as the Indian boy sprang to her side she rose.
"See!
I'm not hurt at all," she said, giving
laugh.
He nodded, and his black
eyes shone
conversion.
She pointed to the minister's
down to Mr. Robinson's and
remembered the admonition of
whole, and added, "See that no
shaky little
with the light of his
house below and said, "Go

be baptized." And then she
Jesus to those He had made
one knows what I have done
for you."
He left her and went down into the village. He received
baptism from the Reverend Daniel Robinson, but unlike the
gossipers of Scripture, spread abroad no fame of her who had
wrought the miracle. Ann Walton remained unacclaimed,
without praise, but was content. She loved most the com
mandment: "When thou doest thine alms, do not sound a
trumpet before thee."

Mr. Gorham, the tithingman, watching her coming swiftly
down the path, saw and disapproved of her radiant expression.
Was there no law of New England against the flaunting of
such radiance? Was it not as ornamental and sinfully attractive
as
inordinate finery?
"
"Here, here! Where are you running to, Ann Walton? he
cried, clutching her dress and bringing her to a breathless stop.
"Have you no modesty, girl?"
"I'm on my way to Goody Whitman with this basket of
food," explained Ann.
"Well, she won't starve before you get there. Go in a more
orderly manner," he instructed.
Ann delivered the food to old Goodwife Whitman and
"
comforted her with the words of Scripture:
'Blessed are they
which do hunger and thirst after righteousness for they shall
10
poor in spirit for theirs is the king

"
dom of heaven.'
On her return through the square she passed the pillory,
the stocks and the whipping post, and saw that they were
heavily laden. Bleeding stripes scarred the back of the man
tied to the whipping post punishment for some crime against
the laws of Salem. She turned shuddering from the sight, then
saw with astonishment that the man in the stocks was Mr.
Robin Cutter, proprietor of Robin's Nest Ordinary. On his
round gray head stood a tall bottle of rum, precariously bound
with rough cords tied under his chin. In each stubby hand he
clutched a sealed bottle of whisky.
He looked so woebegone that Ann could not resist stopping
beside him. She wagged her finger at him in mock reproval.
"Are you trying to sell liquor up there on your head to the
birds of the air?"
Robin Cutter gave a cautious grin as he looked up at this
lovely girl who tried so fearlessly to cheer him. "Go your
way, Ann, or you will be getting fined for speaking kindly
to me. And don't set me laughing. It's most disrespectful in this
stand of infamy."
"You are more afraid of shaking that fine bottle of rum off
your head than of being disrespectful. What sin has set you
there as a juggler?"
"Alas, my dear . . . But stand in front of me there so I won't
have to turn my head to see you. And make certain no select
man comes in sight."
"I'm watching out for that," declared Ann.
be filled. Blessed are the
"Well,
night Mr. Howard begged for a demijohn of

whisky after the tithingman had forbidden it. But when Mr.
Gorham left the tavern I gave it to the lad. I warned him to
take it home with him, but he opened it up and took a swig,
last
and"
"And Mr. Gorham was watching from the back window! "
cried Ann, who knew the ways of tithingmen.
"He was," said Robin Cutter, his merry little eyes twinkling
at her. "And he told the magistrate I let a man have more
liquor than was good for him. It was my fourth offense and
no fine was enough so here I am! And there's Mr. Howard
ii
down the way with his arms and his legs sticking out of the
drunkard's barrel."
She turned to look, but suddenly Mr. Cutter jerked his head
sideways, having caught a glimpse of a minister's white bands.
Down toppled the botde of rum, which was caught and saved
by the hands of Mr. Jonathan Grigg.
"Mr. Grigg!" cried Ann in confusion and delight. "How
"
is it you're in Salem Village so soon again?
"Too
soon again, Mistress Ann?"

"Oh, no." She felt her face burning with blushes. "It was
kind of you to catch Mr. Cutter's bottle for it would surely
have broken if you hadn't."

"No kindness at all," contradicted Jonathan. "My arms
moved forward without the command of my will. It was the
Devil likely who moved them to save this wretched man's
liquor." He raised the bottle to cast it on the ground and out
wit Satan, but Ann put out her hand to restrain him.
"Things do not happen one way that God ordains another,"
she said.
Mr. Cutter watched the minister place the bottle on the

ground beside the stocks but offered no word of gratitude,
fearing to be rebuked for concern of his worldly goods when
his thoughts should be on repentance.
"Come, Mistress Ann," said Jonathan, and when they were
a little distance away, he looked down at her. "You must not
talk lightly to those suffering punishment, Ann. It lessens their
feeling of guilt."
She was too overjoyed by this first intimate use of her name
to think of an explanation of her conduct. But he also forgot
that he expected one.
They walked on together, and although separated by a
decorous space between them each felt the other's presence
as thrillingly as though they were touching. When they
reached her house Jonathan passed it without stopping. They
climbed up through a small birch wood and came out on the
hilltop. He went to the edge and looked down at the village
and streams and dense forests beyond. She stood behind and
looked only at him.
Suddenly he turned and faced her. "Ann, it was only a
12
I I
it,
pretext that brought me to Mr. Robinson's this day. I had no

urgent matter to discuss with him."
This confession thrilled her with joyous expectancy. His
next words were as the fulfillment of some old prophecy:
"It was only that I might see you."
She was filled with such happiness that she felt wholly at
ease with him. "And that was a slight thing to make you take
a long journey, wasn't
Mr. Grigg?" she asked playfully.
He moved nearer. "It was one of the gravest matters of my
life." His tall strong body bent toward her, but when he
started to speak again all the eloquence of his preaching died
in his throat. "Ann, love you," he said, his voice unsteady.
"Do you love me as love you? Don't answer to hurt me."
"How could
"
on me with your weaving hands?

"A binding 'spell," she murmured joyously.
"All my will goes from me when you touch me."
"Oh, Jonathan, since that first day saw you at Mr. Robin
son's house
have loved you more than anything else on
earth."
a
He caught her and pressed her close to him. His mouth

closed over hers in
deep long kiss. Then in overwhelming
desire he nestled his hot cheek into her shoulder, his lips
straying over the soft bare throat, his trembling hands thrust
ing aside the kerchief folded so neatly. His murmured words
of love and tenderness had become harsh with passion. "No,
must not use you so," he was saying. "It
must not
the Tempter sweet and evil. Have you aught to do with him
. ?"
. . . the Beguiling One .
In astonishment she pushed back his flushed face and freed
herself from his embrace. Turning away, she went to the hill's
edge. She forgot the dark words and remembered only the joy
is
...
help loving you, Jonathan," she whispered

He seized her hands and drew them up to impetuous kisses.
"You are so lovely, Ann. have never seen anyone so beauti
"
ful. think of you night and day . . . long for you
Drawing her close, he kissed her cheek tenderly. Then
flame through him, he felt the caress of her
suddenly, like
hands on his bent head. He started back.
"What are you doing, Ann Walton? What spell do you put
13
looked before her she saw neither the vil

lage nor the woodlands, only the image of her beloved. It was
not the straight tall body nor the brown eyes nor auburn hair
that immersed her in love; it was only a magical presence
called by the loved name of Jonathan Grigg.
He came repentantly to her side. "Forgive me, Ann," he
begged. "Pay no heed to what I said. I am forever attacked
by doubts and suspicions. I need you, my dearest. I feel you
will bring me peace and joy I have never known. When I
think of you, even though you are far away, I feel myself
of his
kisses.
As
she
strengthened, and the world becomes a better place because
you are in it."
"My world
wonderful to me, too, Jonathan, since

you are in it. Isn't it strange how love changes everything?
is more
The village
is
is,
you've come here more beautiful."

"I can hardly wait to have you with me always," he said.
He took her hand and drew her down beside him on a
grassy mound. He slipped off her cap so that he might see the
play of sunlight in her golden hair. "Ann, since my parents
died I have often felt my lonesomeness as a burden until I
met you."
She reached out a small blunt hand and squeezed his arm.
"Were you so alone after your mother's death?"
"There was no one I had but God."
"But you have spoken so often of your deacon, Mr. Hub
bard. Isn't he a man you love and esteem?"
"Yes, he
dear. His strength
like rock against which
evil batters in vain. His household has been like second home
to me. And his young daughter Dorcas even learned her
alphabet so that she might help me by copying my sermons
when prepare them for the printer."
"I read and write too," Ann said quickly. "I can copy your
sermons for you."
"Yes, you can, dearest." He looked at her in tender adora
tion. "It's like splendid dream you being there beside me in
my study, sharing my daily life."
Their happiness complete, needing no further words, they
a
is the same as always the houses and people and

trees and brooks; and yet they all look different to me since
*4
silently a little while longer. Then they rose and started

back to Ann's house. Just before they arrived there Jonathan
took her once more in his arms.
"After speaking to your mother I'll return to Boston tomor
row to have your home prepared to receive you. Then I'll be
back for you." He took her face between his hands and kissed
it. "I hope you'll be happy in Boston, Ann."
"I'll be happy in Boston," she answered, "or anywhere in
the world where you are."
sat
CHAPTER
111
deacon and roadmaster, sat reading the Word
of the Lord to his family. Over the whirr of the spinning
wheel, the click of the knitting needles, and the dull thud of
the pestle in the mortar, his voice rolled heavily:
"
"
'All things are full of labor; man cannot utter it. . . .'
His voice droned monotonously on. The tread of the spin
ning wheel stopped. All the sounds in the fireroom died. Was
John Hubbard,
there anything that could continue its motion under the

weight of the weariness of those words?
"
'Is there anything whereof it may be said, see this is new?
It hath been already of old time which was before us.' "
He stopped, and sat with lowered head. Believing him fin

ished with the reading, his daughter Dorcas rose from her
spinning wheel and went to the door. She leaned against the
doorframe and her large black eyes were sleepy and sullen as
she gazed out on the cow path leading away from the house.
Mistress Hubbard glanced covertly at her with eyes narrowed
by wrinkles of sorrow and labor. Then she went to her, her
15
short stocky body moving lightly and quickly over the sand
with which the floor was sprinkled for cleanliness.
"Dorcas," she asked softly. "What ails you?"
"I'm weary."
Mistress Hubbard's kind round face puckered with anxiety.
"Are you ill?"

"No, Mother."
"What is it? Tell your mother what is troubling you."
Dorcas turned from her impatiently.
"It
stepped across the threshold.

"Dorcas!" It was the deacon speaking.
She turned swiftly. "Yes, Father?"
She
is naught."
"Where are you going?"

"Just down the lane a bit."
"Sit down."
"But Father, my fingers are all cramped with spinning."
"Sit down."
Mercy Hubbard looked into the dark frowning face of her
husband, then hastily looked away, feeling guilty of some
impiety. Was not the face of the dread and just God akin to
the face of Mr. Hubbard? Was not man made in His image?
Who would dare to look into His terrible and holy counte
nance?
"A
little stroll would do her no harm, Mr. Hubbard," she

said timidly.
It .was as if no voice had spoken; his eyes never lifted from
Dorcas. "Sit down."
She turned back and seated herself again at the
spinning
wheel. Her ten-year-old brother, Benjamin, raised his large

dark eyes from his knitting and chuckled at the sight of her
full pouting lower lip. Trying to peer mischievously under
her lowered eyes, he saw his father's massive head turning
toward him, and quickly straightened out the red suspenders
he was knitting, pretending to measure one with the other.
Mr. Hubbard continued the Bible reading. He did not pause
when his thirteen-year-old son Increase labored into the room
under a load of firewood.
"Put them there, Cressy," whispered his mother, nodding
toward a space between the settle and the wall.
16
"Aren't they fine big ones, Mother? Half the woodshed's

filled already." Then he raised his voice: "Oh, Father, Mr.
Grigg"
"Silence!" thundered the deacon.
"Don't you see your father reading?" reproved his mother.
"Sit down," commanded Mr. Hubbard.
"But Mr. Grigg told me to tell you . . ." The words were
stifled in his throat under his father's fierce stare.
"Do you need an application of the rod to silence you?"
Increase shook his head, fear drying his tongue.
"
"Whatever makes the boy talk so much? murmured Mrs.
Hubbard, trying to loosen her husband's anger from her son,
hoping to make it fall upon herself.
"Sit here beside me," said Mr. Hubbard, and Increase
obediently drew up a stool alongside his father's armchair.
He bowed his head; his straight black hair fell over his fore
head, shadowing his heavy sun-dark face.
Mercy Hubbard moved about meekly under the discon
solate words that fell from her husband's lips. If they were to
be heeded, would she have courage to continue her tasks?
Pound the Indian corn for foodstuff? Knead the dough into
great round loaves for the bake kettle? Lift the iron pot from
the lug pole and fill it with water for cooking food for her
family?
"
'I have seen all the works that are done under the sun and
"
behold, all is vanity and vexation of spirit.'
Yes, life was hard and full of vanity and vexation. And yet
there were compensations. Though six small children lay
buried in the graveyard on Copps Hill, there were three now
grown past perilous childhood. God was good to have spared
her Dorcas and Increase and Benjamin. She took a basket from
a hook on the wall and waited timidly for a pause in the read
ing.
"Mr. Hubbard?"
He raised his eyes.
"I'd like Cressy to fetch me vegetables from the garden."
"Do not take this boy away from the Word of God. He
needs it badly. Let Dorcas get what you want."
Dorcas took the garden basket and listened to her mother's
17
instructions. But her thoughts were on the talk she had heard
of a dancing master who was to set up in Boston. The rumor
had started with a Dutch dame from New Amsterdam who
had visited Boston the week past. But would the worshipful
magistrates permit a dancing master in the town? Would
the Reverend Jonathan Grigg sanction it? She thought ten
derly of the minister, and a smile brought an elusive dimple
into her rounded cheek as she went out into the garden. Mis
tress Hubbard sighed plaintively at the secrecy of that smile
on the dark beautiful face of her daughter.
"
"
'That which is crooked cannot be made straight,' read
Mr. Hubbard, and Increase nodded sleepily under the monot
onous chant of his father's voice. Working in the fields or
chopping wood, he would have felt no tiredness. But sitting
here quietly with folded hands, unprotected by vigorous mo
tion of the body, sleep stole over him and he swayed forward.
A heavy blow toppled him to the floor.
"Unhappy boy! Do you fall asleep when the Holy Bible
is read to you?"
Increase rose quickly to his feet, brushing the sand from
his knees. "I heard all you read, even through my sinful sleep,
Father."
"Then repeat it."

The well-remembered
words came in the father's deep

voice
from
the
monotonous
mimicking throat of his son.
While Increase spoke, Abigail Trask entered, and stood
waiting until he had finished.
"The spirit was willing but the flesh was weak," said the
deacon grudgingly. "Keep your mind with God, Increase
Hubbard, and it will triumph in the end over the pitiful sin
ful body."
"Yes, Father." He tried to keep his eyes on the deacon's

face but could not help them straying toward Abigail.
"God give you good day," she greeted them.
"God keep you, Abigail Trask."
"Mr. Grigg sent me to discover if you were at home, sir.
He has an important matter to discuss with you."
"I'll
be here."
As she turned to go, Increase questioned her with his eyes,
18
not daring to speak openly to her. She glanced at him

roguishly over her shoulder, smiling and nodding a promise.
Increase reseated himself. While his father read on he
twisted his feet restlessly around the stumpy legs of the stool
and his eyes followed impatiently his mother's movements
about the fireplace.
When the Reverend Jonathan Grigg entered, Mr. Hubbard
closed his Bible. "Go down to Mr. Gedney's Latin School
now and get some knowledge into your head," he instructed
Increase.
With an eagerness that was not for Mr. Gedney's Latin
School, Increase darted out of the house and a moment later
was scampering off with Abigail across the fields.
Mistress Hubbard sent Benjamin up to the spring for water
and then brought out a jug of rum and a bottle of brandy, the
choice of drink always welcoming a minister's visit.
Deacon Hubbard looked up at Jonathan from under shaggy
"
'Man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward.'
brows.
What anxiety hurries you here with such a solemn face, Mr.
Grigg?"
At
his words, the scar on Jonathan's temple twitched nerv

ously. "I wish that had been a more cheerful greeting, John.
Your words are no good omen for a happy event I've come
to tell you about."
"A happy event?" muttered Mr. Hubbard contemptuously.
"What is this happy event?" .
"I have chosen a wife," said Jonathan.
The deacon looked at him steadily for a moment. Then he
nodded approval. "That is a good thing, Jonathan."
Mistress Hubbard set two pewter cups on the table board
and poured the rum that Jonathan selected. "God's blessing
on your marriage, Mr. Grigg," she said.

"Whom have you chosen?" asked the deacon.
"Mistress Ann Walton," replied Jonathan, delighted at his
approbation.
"Ann Walton? I don't know her."

"She's of Salem Village the daughter of Captain Theodore
Walton, who died at sea several years ago. She lives with
her widowed mother and young brother."
19
"Were there not good enough maids in Boston that you had
to seek so far abroad?"
"I felt that the Lord pointed the way to this maiden."
"What manner of maid is she?" asked Mrs. Hubbard curi
ously.
Jonathan thought of the wonderful beauty of Ann's person.

But he knew that this would be no recommendation to the
deacon, so spoke only of her piety and good housewifely
qualities.
"I thought by the appearance of things that it would

upon the Widow Oakes your choice of wife would fall,"
be
re
marked Mr. Hubbard, and the gaze of his secret stern eyes
drew the blood to Jonathan's cheeks.
"I have only sought to give the widow comfort and guid
ance since the death of her husband," he answered. "I never
had her in mind for a wife."
"Well, maybe you're right." The deacon lowered his voice
against his wife's hearing. "They say that he who marries a
widow makes himself cuckold. Dr. Bibber told me that the
first male who fecundates a female makes a lasting impression
on her, and that all offspring from any other man resemble
the first husband."
"Dr. Bibber told me the same. It isn't a thought a man can
bear with dignity," said Jonathan.
"Still it doesn't seem to stand in the way of remarriage of
widows. From what I've seen, men are hotter after them than
after the maidens."
"Many men do not know any better."
Mr. Hubbard nodded. Then suddenly he looked at the
young minister with suspicion. "It seems to me this decision
of yours to wed Mistress Ann is very sudden. Is there some
special reason for your haste?"
"I wouldn't call it hasty," said Jonathan. "It's almost a year
now since I have had the acquaintance of Ann Walton."
"You've been very secretive about it then," commented
the deacon. But the innocence of Jonathan's voice had dis
pelled his suspicions. "You are God's chosen vessel, sir. Be
sure to put yourself in no careless hands."
His words brought before Jonathan a picture of Ann's small
20
sturdy hands, and he smiled. "I consider myself fortunate in

marrying Mistress Ann," he answered.
"Then take her to wife and return to Boston as quickly as
you can. These are troubled times. We have need of you
here now that feeling is running high against Sir Edmund
Andros."
"Yes, there's no telling what measures the Governor will
take with Ipswich and Topsfield refusing to pay their taxes."
"Why should they pay taxes levied without their having a
say in the matter?" demanded Mr. Hubbard. "We shall not
rest easy till we are given back our representative assemblies."
"They are no more than our right as Englishmen," agreed
Jonathan. "We are used to discussion and debate and not the
rule of a royal governor. I hate arbitrary power as I hate the
Devil."
"What
provoked God against New

England that such a man is let loose on her," said the deacon
somberly. "Times were bad enough when King Charles tried
to extend suffrage to men without church membership. If
we wouldn't endure that under Charles, we'll not be brought
to heel by King James's man."
"The freedom of worship he's brought for his Church of
England members is what galls me most," said Jonathan. "The
town's becoming infested with them since he set up his church
are the evils that have
here."
Their faces were hard and angry
tyranny of the
Stuart kings and the royal governor. But suddenly Jonathan's
thoughts swerved to Ann and his expression softened.
"Well," he said, rising. "We can only hope that our prayers
and efforts will restore the colony to its rightful rulers."
"If we could uproot the wickedness of our own sinful peo
ple, maybe our prayers would be answered. Return soon to
the care of your flock, for there are many who stray when
the eye of the shepherd is withdrawn. That hardened sinner,
Goody Bridget Gower, is up to her old trickery again, work
ing and traveling about on the Sabbath. And I don't like what
I hear of her employment of the wild herbs of the forest. It's
a suspicious traffic and one easily controlled and abetted by
the Devil. It would bear some watching."
21
at the
Jonathan. "God
keep Goody Gower and all of you until I come back."
"God speed you on your journey," said Mrs. Hubbard.
Jonathan went out and turned northward to his house. As
he strode up Middle Lane the deacon's greeting suddenly
recurred to him. "Man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly
upward." And what else had he said? "What anxiety hurries
you here?" Why had such words been spoken? Why should
the word "anxiety" be said in connection with Ann Walton?
In spite of all the good omens that had shown the approval
of Providence on his marriage, Jonathan felt troubled by this
"I'll look into it upon my return,"
said
ominous augury.
CHAPTER
IV
That hardened
sinner, Goody Bridget Gower, did not benefit

from the minister's prayer that God keep her. The boards of
the pillory pressed down on her thin wrists and held her gay
gray head firmly wedged between them. She stood on the high
platform, a warning to transgressors.
The Widow Oakes, coming to borrow Mistress Hubbard's
spice mill while her own was being repaired, brought the
news to the house of the deacon.
"Do you know who stands on the pillory this early morning?"
Mr. Hubbard needed to shape no question other than the
stern inquiry of his eyes.
She threw the name to him. "Goody Gower!"
"The pillory is too mild for such a wretch. She needs the
brand to tame her. 'The Lord is slow to anger and great in
22
power and will not acquit the wicked.' What was her offense
this time?"
"Slander! God keep me from flouting folks the way she
does, Mr. Hubbard. Do you remember when she called Elder
Crocker a black-coated rascal because he took away the mince
pies he caught her making on the Sabbath?"
"Whom did she slander?"
"Nathaniel Dillard. She said the tobacco he sold her was
bad."
"If
did not have the evil habit of smoking she wouldn't

know if his tobacco was bad or not."
"Poor Mr. Dillard was so upset he wept."
"What cause had Mr. Dillard to weep if he was innocent?
It might show that there was some truth in the accusation."
"Yes, indeed it might at that," said Theophilia. "There is
no one without sin. But I knew Gower would be in the pillory
today," she giggled. "Last night I dreamed something bad was
pursuing me down the road. Then suddenly it popped into a
'
tree over my head and threw its blue cap at me.
From where she was sitting sewing Dorcas cried gleefully,
"Goody Gower's blue cap!" But at a look from her father,
she bent her head in confusion over her sewing.
Theophilia Oakes gave a smile of amusement. "It's well for
Dorcas she has such a godly man for father, Mr. Hubbard,
else I fear her high spirits might bring her to harm some day."
"Continue with your tale, Widow Oakes. I need no advice
from young females for the welfare of my family."
Blushing at the rebuke, she hastily resumed. "Well, I said
to Gower when I saw her, T knew you'd be up there today.
I saw you in my dream last night.' But she only mumbled in
that outlandish language of hers and I couldn't make out a
word she was saying."
"It should be forbidden her to speak a heathen tongue,"
said Mr. Hubbard. "Who knows but that she might be in
league with the devil-worshiping savages of the land and
plotting with them to get the country back for their master."
"It isn't the Indian tongue she speaks," interposed Mrs.
Hubbard gently. "It's the Irish that she learned in her own
country when she was a child."
she
23
"She should be forbidden to speak it," repeated her husband.

"I'm going down that way to a meeting of the elders and I'll
warn her myself ."
He picked up his hat from the peg beside the door and
went out, the Widow Oakes following him. Mistress Hubbard
hurriedly took down her own hat and tied it over her cap.
"I'll just run down to the bakeshop and order some extra
breads," she said. But it wasn't to the bakeshop she was
hurrying, only to give poor sinful Gower at least a kindly
look.
Dorcas watched until her mother's lengthening shadow dis
appeared from the pathway. Then she too followed swiftly
it,
of the cheek that marred the expression, he took a sharp

arrowhead from his breeches' pocket and began carefully
smoothing down the wood.
After some time, he held out his work at arm's length and
chuckled with delight at the familiar sullenness radiating from
cheek and mouth. He ran to the pine chest in the corner of the
room where scraps of cloth were kept for quilting, and select
ing a bit of Dorcas' gray homespun, took it out and fitted it
to the doll. Then he tied a slip of white cloth as a cap over the
black stain he had used for hair.
"Hark you, doll," he confided to
trembling with joy,
"you're as like Dorcas as she's like herself. And made you!"
He set her up on the table and strode back and forth in pride
it
before her, feeling more love for this poppet than for his
human sister.
Suddenly he heard footsteps on the path, and snatching up
the doll, hid
was only Dorcas.
again in his blouse. But
it
after, eager to hear her father's exciting denunciation.

Some minutes after she was gone Benjamin came in from
the fields to get a drink of milk. When he saw no one about,
he drew from his blouse a crudely carved wooden image and
examined it intently. The deep-cut eyes, the full lips and
pointed chin, all satisfied him. But observing a protuberance
She took from her pocket some pieces of candied fruits and
gave one to her brother. "I saw young Dr. Bibber down the
way and he gave them to me," she said.
"Oh, Dorcas, why don't you marry him? Then we could
have all the candy we wanted."

"I'm not going to marry young Dr. Bibber for candy or
anything else," she retorted.
"Look what I made," he said, bringing forth the doll for
her approval.
"Oh, that one doesn't look like
me at all.
I'm far handsomer
than that, my boy."
"It's lovely anyway, isn't it? Even if it isn't
as
handsome as
you are?"
"Oh, all right then. But run and fetch me Mr. Grigg's
image. It's far more agreeable to me."
Too happy over her appreciation of one piece of work to
resent her scorn of the other, he climbed the ladder into the
attic where he hid from the eyes of disapproving adults the
dolls fashioned so secretly and joyously.
In a few minutes he was back again with the poppet she
wanted. Dorcas took it in her hands and gazed on the face
that was never in her sight long enough to satisfy her. She
pressed her fingertips against the wooden eyes, the wooden
lips, feeling them alive and real through the power of her
desire.
"It's really
magical likeness, Benjamin."

She held it close to her breast and swayed in langorous
rhythm back and forth. Then suddenly she began whirling
around the room, humming a ballad she had heard the street
folks singing. When Increase entered, stooping with the
a
weight of two leathern buckets loaded to the top with ears

of corn, she ran to him and seized his arm.
"Come and play," she cried. "No one's home." She shook
his arm until the corn spilled over and he was forced to put
down the buckets. Taking his hands, she pulled him into a
wild dance with her.
"Dorcas, stop!" he laughed, throwing back his head to

fling the hair out of his eyes. "I've work to do."
"Who cares! Oh, if the dancing master would only come! "
"Stephen Brooks told me he wasn't coming. He heard that
the elders wouldn't let him."
25
She stopped dancing abruptly, an angry pout on her lips.

"And I so wanted to learn real dance steps!
"Do you know what else Stephen told me?"
"What?"
"He took
of his mother's emulsion of dried rattle

snake that old Dr. Bibber had given her for an ailment, and he
mixed it with Goody Gower's tobacco"
"Oh!" laughed Dorcas, her disappointment over the danc
ing master forgotten. "And Goody Gower complained that
Mr. Dillard's tobacco was bad and was sent to the pillory for
some
The three children screamed with laughter. "Why don't

you marry young Dr. Bibber, Dorcas?" cried Benjamin glee
fully. "Then we could have all sorts of funny things to play
pranks with!"
"Who cares for that or for him either! He'd better marry
Mary Morgan who's more willing than I."
In the midst of their merriment they were startled by run
ning feet. They sprang apart just before Abigail appeared in
the doorway.
."
it
it,
"Oh! It's only you," cried Dorcas.

"Come and dance with me, Nibby," urged Increase, grasp
ing her about the waist.
"Wait, leave me be, Cressy. I haven't time now. I must
bring these breads of Betsy's to the almshouse. But I simply
had to stop here first to tell you the most wondrous news."
"About you, Nibby?" asked Increase.
"No not me."
Something in the way Abigail looked at her made Dorcas
"
Nibby?
spring forward. "What is
good many hearts in
"It something that will break
will make the happiest girl in the
Boston. But one person
She paused, enjoying the excitement she was
world.
.
causing.
is
."
.
.
is
"What it? What it?"

"Mr. Grigg's been very secret about it. But now he's just
She looked at Dorcas slyly. "He's going to bring
told us
a
slander!"
wife to the house."

"Who?" cried Dorcas. "Has he asked for her yet?"
16
"He hasn't told us."
dark eyes, curved her full lips into a

rapturous smile. She ran out of the house and up to the barn
to be alone with her tumultuous emotions. "Oh, Mr. Grigg
Jonathan," she murmured. "If it is I you have chosen I shall
ask God for naught else for the rest of my days!"
Joy widened Dorcas'
CHAPTER
V
Jonathan mounted his black mare and set out for Salem Vil
lage. He rode through the Indian summer day, deep into
the bright forest, his horse prancing,
sensing the long brisk
journey.
In the
saddle bag, secretly packed that morning by the min

ister's deft hands, lay his mother's stern white wedding gown.
He had
seen
in the Widow Walton's hands her own bridal
array: India muslin over petticoats of silk, ribbons and knots

and embroidered flowerlets, destined for her only living
daughter. He had seen and approved, and back in Boston, dur
ing his lonely hours in his study, he had imagined Ann in that
splendor. But the Prince of Darkness was ever alert to twist
and divert the holiest joy into his own dark and evil patterns.
Under his malicious influence, Jonathan saw the delicate cloth
change from a chaste covering into a diaphanous allurement
that aroused evil carnal ecstacies. Now he carried with him
for his marriage a more fitting garb for a minister's bride.
He rode swiftly, feeling exuberant joy in the vigor of his
young body, in the freshness of the day, and in the beauty of
the woodland. Majestic oaks and elms, graceful maple and
beech and birch trees, rustled their lacy leaves in a shimmer
ing glory of color. Orange and red, crimson and golden yel
27
low, they flashed in the sunlight. The dark green needles of

the firs mingled their fragrance with the wood flowers. The
air was filled with flying birds, their songs delicate and joyous.
Suddenly his horse quivered, ears erect, then flattened. A
thudding of the earth, a bounding animal shape passing swiftly
among breaking branches, and then an arrow scraped past the
saddle bow.
Jonathan raised his musket and fired, freed his feet from the
stirrups, and flung the reins headlong. He darted behind a
tree, his hands already tilting the powder horn for reloading.
"No," protested a voice thickly. "Me shoot bear not white
man."
Jonathan looked out and saw the Indian standing erect and
motionless. He studied the immobile face. "Why do you not
raise your hand in peaceful greeting?"
The Indian made a gesture. Jonathan scrutinized the bleed
ing hand, making certain that it was pierced by his bullet,
that it was not a cunning self -wounding, made to trick him
from his defense. Then he set his musket against a tree, but in
such a position that he could easily seize it if necessary. He
drew a linen handkerchief from his pocket and wound it
tightly above the Indian's wrist, stopping the flow of blood.
"Good," commented the Indian, his eyes friendly upon the
kind stranger.
When Jonathan completed the dressing of the wound, he
looked about in vain for his horse, to continue his journey.
"Horse run home," said the Indian. "Take horse," he said,
pointing to his own.
Jonathan was too eager to reach Ann to refuse the generous

offer. "Thank you," he said. "When I reach Salem Village
shall I leave it there for you, or will you come to Boston for
it?"
"Turn
loose," replied the Indian. "Come me." He went

and picked up his arrow from the ground and without a part
ing salutation disappeared in the forest.
As Jonathan rode onward he thought of the lost wedding
gown in the saddle bag. What was the meaning of that loss?
At once came the answer. "God took it from me to show that
Ann's purity is above any immodesty of apparel." His eyes
28
shone and his heart rejoiced at this sign of the virtue of his
beloved.
As
he entered Salem a quarter of an hour before sundown

he heard the three blasts of the cowherd's horn gathering the
cattle together to return to their owners.

He went first to the house of the Reverend Daniel Robin
son, setting the Indian's horse free at the gateway to return to
its master. After greeting the little peaked Mrs. Robinson and
her slim, brown-haired husband, and blessing their sixteen
children, he drew Mr. Robinson aside to talk of his plans for
the wedding.
"I shall have Judge Fordyce perform the ceremony," he
said. "He's such a close friend of Dame Walton's that for her
sake I'll endure that bush of vanity he has on his head."
Mr. Robinson laughed, well aware of Jonathan's antipathy
to the wearing of wigs. "I'm sure that you'll please both
Dame Walton and her daughter by having him," he said.
He led the younger minister to the room he always occu
pied on his visits to Salem. But Jonathan was more in need of
the sight of Ann's face than he was of rest or meditation or
prayer. Scarcely taking time to arrange his clothes and comb
his hair, he hastened out of the house. He passed Robin's Nest
Ordinary, and glancing up at the signboard, smiled. Beneath
the painted figure of a bird, a tree, a ship, and a foaming can
of ale, was the legend:
This
This
This
This
is
is
is
is
the
the
the
the
bird that never flew

tree which never grew
ship which never sails
can which never fails.
He continued on the familiar way to the Widow Walton's

house. He saw the lantern gleaming from the gatepost, and
from the small high-set windows on the first floor he heard
laughter.
He knocked, and the door swung open to the beaming wel
coming black face of Betty. She showed him into the room
where the family were gathered, and his eyes went at once to
Ann who was standing by the bookshelves with an open book
29
in her hand. She turned to him, and his heart beat quicker as
he observed her delighted expression when she saw it was he.
"God's blessing on this house."
Ann swept him a lavish curtsy, fluttering the flames of the
tall candles in their iron stands. He felt his heart quiver and
flame again into radiance as they did. Joseph, Ann's young
brother, stood up and bowed stiffly. Dame Walton rose from
her embroidery loom to greet him.
"I have something to speak privately with you about, Dame
Walton,"
he said.
She turned to her daughter.

send for you."
"Go
to your room, Ann, until
Ann hurried distractedly toward the wrong door, turned

back blushing and smiling. The Widow Walton laughed
gaily, and Jonathan was aware of Ann's confusion only as a
series of lovely movements.
But her brother, his mouth trembling with annoyance,
went to her and led her firmly from the room.
At the head of the stairs, Joseph opened the chamber door
for her, took a candle from the door box and lit it from the
lamp held by an iron clamp to the wall.
But one candle was not enough for Ann this night. She
must light the two candles on the lowboy and the candle on
Joseph's little table and the candle on her own table.
Joseph, surprised and offended at her unusual and childish
excitement, turned to the window so that he would not see her
agitation. He stood motionless as she came to him and covered
his small stern face with kisses.
"He
is making
arrangements for the wedding," she said
joyously.
Joseph did not answer, and vaguely conscious that her
brother was not sharing her happiness, she sank into the rock
ing chair by her bedside, and rocking gaily back and forth,
imagined the new life before her.
"I
hope
"I
don't have to hope that," she protested. "He's so won
I'll
make him a good wife," she said softly.

Her brother faced her. "You should hope that he'll make
you a good husband."
30
derful it's hard to believe he has chosen me. I must overcome

all my faults"
"You haven't any faults," interrupted Joseph.
"Oh, yes I have, dear," laughed Ann. "I'm terribly lax in some
things. Mother's always scolding me, you know, for dreaming
over my work. And I haven't learned to sew as beautifully as
I should, and I never can spell correctly . . ."
"What difference is it if you can't spell? There's hardly any
woman who can even read or write."
"I
"And then I
for sinners," sighed Ann.

sorry for them. I know Mr. Grigg doesn't
have such a weakness
always feel so
approve of that at all. He's concerned only about the ailments
of the soul. He scorns the sufferings of the body."
"When he burned his finger with the candle grease he
hopped around and was mightily concerned about the suffer
ing of his own body," said her brother.
Ann burst into laughter. "Oh, Joseph, what of that? If a
bird have water dropped on its wing, will not the quivering
feathers shake it off? It is only the flesh that shrinks from pain
and a man can make much or little of it as he wills. I know of
no one in the world so little concerned for our poor physical
ills and so deeply concerned for our spiritual ills as Mr. Jona
than Grigg."
Dreaming of her love, she forgot her brother completely.
He retired to the window, where he shook his thick brown
hair over his eyes to hide the tears.
When Dame Walton called from below, Ann flew down
the stairs, eager to see Jonathan. But when she entered the
room one glance showed her that he was gone.
"Oh, Mother, where is he? Why did he go?"
"The Reverend Jonathan Grigg has asked permission to
prepare the wedding six days hence"
"But why did he go? I hardly spoke with him. Didn't he
want to see me before he went?"
"Why, Ann Walton! He's traveled a long distance this day.
Don't you think he needed rest more than the sight of your
face or the sound of your voice?"
Ann felt a wave of misery come over her. If it had been
she who traveled half a day, or even many days, she would
3i
have wanted to look at Jonathan and hear his voice more than
she would have wanted anything else in the world.
At the sight of her face Dame Walton laughed and con
fessed. "He did want to stay, dear, but I wanted you with us
tonight just Joseph and you and I. You'll see him your
whole life long, and after this we don't know when we shall
ever see each other again."
"I'm sorry, Mother," said Ann, ashamed now of her selfish
absorption in herself and Jonathan. Besides, the knowledge
that he had wanted to stay had taken away some of the dis
appointment of his going.
"Run and fetch Joseph, then, and we'll have a little cele
brationjust we three. I've sent Betty and Henry off to bed."
As her mother went to fetch cakes and wine from the cup
board, Ann ran to the foot of the stairs and called Joseph.
Receiving no answer, she started up.
When he heard her coming, Joseph quickly blew out the
candles so that she could not see his tears. "I'm coming," he
called.
"Hurry, Joseph. Mother's giving us a frolic!"

He came slowly downstairs and Ann ran back into the
room. As she began taking down pewter from the shelves,

Dame Walton cried gaily, "Only the silver platters, Ann.
Only our best and finest tonight. Silver and white linen and
cake and wine for the daughter of Captain Theodore Walton,
God rest his valiant soul."
When Joseph entered, his mother at once noticed the signs
of grief on his face. She continued to chatter brightly, giving
him time to compose himself.
"Did Mr. Grigg say what time tomorrow he would call?"
asked Ann.
"Indeed he did; toward evening," her mother teased her.
"You know he has much to attend to, with calling on Judge
Fordyce, telling Mr. Cutter that we will not have the wed
ding at his place but here in our own home, and . . ." But she
could pretend no longer at the sight of Ann's mournful face.
"He'll be here with the morning glories," she said.
"May I wear my blue silk gown that's come from Eng
land?"
32
"You may wear whatever your heart desires." And then, to
bring Joseph into the conversation, she turned to him. "We

wanted just the three of us to be together tonight because
Ann's wedding is set for next Thursday."
For the first time Ann noticed her brother's tear-smudged

cheeks. "Oh, Joseph, what is the matter?" she cried, taking
him in her arms. "You mustn't be sad, dear. How can I com
fort you when I'm so happy? And you aren't allowed to be
when I cannot comfort you, sir."

At this sympathy he burst into tears, but tried to smile, too.
"I'm happy for you, Ann. Don't heed my silly tears." He
clutched her close as she kissed his wet face.
"Come now. Sit down," ordered their mother.
sad
themselves at the table and Dame Walton

poured three silver goblets of wine. "A toast," she said. "To
Ann Walton, the sweetest, loveliest, and most lovable bride
a man ever won."
Ann smiled as her mother and brother drank the toast.
Again Dame Walton filled the goblets.
"And to Mr. Jonathan Grigg, the truest and fondest man
ever to win such a bride."
This time Joseph drank down the wine quickly and deter
minedly as he did all medicines that were bitter to his taste.
They
seated
CHAPTER
VI
The Widow Walton
dressed her daughter
for the wedding.
She would not allow Betty or any of the neighboring ma

trons to assist her. Ann stood stiffly under the shower of silken
petticoats, under the fall of the India muslin dress on her
shoulders. She stretched out her arms rigidly to receive the
33
of the white linen jacket, studded with embroidered

forms of the exotic flowers and birds of India.
"If you remain so stiff you'll never be able to bow your
head to say yes to the magistrate," laughed her mother. "And
away will go husband and wedding guests and all."
Ann gave an unsteady little laugh.
"What is
my dearest?" asked her mother tenderly. "Tell
me what you are thinking."
"It's little frightening."
"Frightening?"
like . . . well, like brook
"Frightening and wonderful .
that has always flowed quietly through
peaceful meadow,
and then one day finds itself going out to meet the splendid
but unknown sea
.
She held up her hand and pressed
against her cheek the ruby ring set in massive gold that Jona
."
.
.
it,
sleeves
it
it
it,
it
is
than had given her, that had belonged to his mother.

the
The Widow Walton kissed her. "A loving marriage
most beautiful thing in life, Ann. Have no fear in your
heart."
She drew the frilled and ribboned cap over Ann's shining
hair, and then opened her jewel box to give Ann her wedding
golden chain from which hung
presents. She took out
around the white throat. She
diamond pendant, and clasped
fastened star-shaped diamond earrings in the small ears. Satis
fied at last with her appearance, Dame Walton preceded her
down the stairs.
The door of the parlor stood open and quiet murmur of
voices flowed out from it. For three years this room had been
closed, ever since that day when the mourners sat there weep
ing and praying for the soul of Captain Theodore Walton,
lost at sea. Never was this room used except on ceremonial
occasions. One day of each week Dame Walton and Betty
and Ann entered and cleaned
fresh and spotless
keeping
as those rooms that were used daily. Now
rewarded their
care by enfolding the gathering in fragrant comfort.
When Ann entered, the wedding guests rose from their
seats to greet her. They were brightly clad as their own au
tumn woods, in red and yellow, scarlet and green and golden
brown. Their gifts lay shining on the tables: pewter and silver
34
plates, a silver spoon, glassware and chinaware, a bread peel

and iron candle snuffers, aprons, pincushions, lace modesty
pieces, a yellow quilted satin petticoat, a blue velvet cape,
and a baby's christening cap.
Ann looked at everything in delight, praised each gift and
thanked the bestower. Then Jonathan came forward and took
her hand. His uneasiness, which had been noted smilingly by
the guests, had disappeared when he saw his bride. When she
had entered and stood before him in the dreaded bridal gown,
he saw that it was not clinging and revealing as it had ap
peared in his dreams. In his unutterable relief his eyes rested
on her so tenderly that she felt herself melting as though she
were wax under the flame. She gazed at him with such rapture
that those who saw her looked at each other scandalized.
The guests moved to either side as the bridegroom led the
bride before the worshipful magistrate, Mr. Joshua Fordyce.
Ann and Jonathan stood hand in hand, heads bowed before
the mighty words that changed them from that day forward
into one indestructible unity so long as their lives lasted.
All during the marriage ceremony Joseph pressed close to
his mother. She held his hand tightly, and squeezed it time and
again as she felt it tremble.
When Jonathan Grigg and Ann Walton stood as man and
wife in the presence of God and the people of Salem Village,
the women approached her quietly and kissed her, and all
called down God's blessings on the union.
Mr. Robin Cutter looked at the happy face of the bride and
forgot his chagrin that the wedding had taken place in a pri
vate house instead of in Robin's Nest Ordinary as was usual.
That proud woman, the Widow Walton, must have her own
way and do things differently than her neighbors. But for her
daughter's sake he forgave her.
Jonathan was separated from his bride, the men surround
ing him and the women listening eagerly in the background
while he discoursed on the holy sacrament of matrimony.
Ann felt such joy that she could scarcely bear the restraint
she must put on herself before her neighbors. She longed to
speak intimately to someone, but could not get near her
mother and looked in vain for Joseph. At last she slipped out
35
of the house and took the path away from the village, follow
ing the direction she and Jonathan had taken the day he had
first held her in his arms.
Out of sight of the house, her exuberance could no longer
be contained in walking. She broke into a run, and ran until
she reached the top of the hill and the clearing. Here was the
freedom and privacy in which she could fully savor her
happiness.
"Thank Thee dear God for this wondrous day!" she cried,
looking upward as though she could see Him in the spacious
skies. "Thank Thee for Jonathan my husband." How sweet
was that word; she said it over and over "my husband."
"When I was a child," she said to God, "I longed to prove
my love for Thee by some sacrifice. I hoped I was destined
for some great purpose. But now I see that Thy will for me is
a simple earthly happiness. And oh, I am content in this hum
bler part."
The wind whipped the voluminous folds of her white gown
about her, blew under her cap and loosened some strands of
hair. The bright autumn leaves fell like jewels about her, mak
ing crisp lively little sounds like music. At last she turned and
walked slowly back.
When she came within sight of the house she saw Jona
than's tall figure in the doorway. He was looking down to
ward the road to the village. Then he turned his head and
she saw the anxious frown on his face. When he caught sight
of her he strode forward and grasped her arm, almost roughly.
"Where have you been, Ann?"
She lowered her eyes, for her act seemed too childish to
explain to him.
"I looked for you everywhere, but could not find you. Oh,
Ann, I was afraid I had lost you!"
She laughed softly. "How could you have lost me?"

His warm tender hands smoothed down her hair, adjusted
her wind-blown cap. "You are so like a dream that I did not
know what to think when you disappeared."

"I was only up there," she said pointing, "on the hill where
we were on your last visit."
36
"On the hill? What were you doing there?"

astonishment.
"Oh, nothing, Jonathan.
he asked
just wanted to tell how happy
in
was."
"Tell who?"
he asked
quickly.
"God," she said.

He stared at her. "But could you not tell God in your
heart?"
She smiled and shook her head.
"Ann, Ann, how mysterious you are. How strange and

mysterious and wonderful . . ." He caught her in his arms.
"And yet you are my own," he whispered passionately.
"Jonathan. Oh, Jonathan, my husband."
He kissed her smooth forehead and soft cheek. He held her

long in his arms, kissing her, forgetful of the waiting guests
and the wedding feast. An exclamation startled him, and turn

ing he saw Joseph. At the frowning gaze of the child he re
leased Ann abruptly. The boy ran back to the house, and tak
ing Ann's hand, Jonathan followed.
The guests went in to the marriage feast and sat down at
the bountifully laden board. On a gleaming white linen cloth
of Dame Walton's weaving lay spoons enough for all, silver
spoons for the dignitaries who sat above the silver ceremonial
saltcellar and pewter ones for folks who sat below. Those who
found no knife by the side of their platter took folded knives
from their pockets to cut the joints of meat that could not be
broken with the fingers.
Two hired serving women waited on the guests, while
Betty and Henry worked in the kitchen. Everyone praised the
Barbadoes rum and Dame Walton's arrack punch; they
praised the steaming clams, the partridge, and the tender wild
turkey, the cranberries, asparagus, and corn dumplings, the
sweet butter, headcheese, breads, and wild honey and candied
fruits and nuts. And before and above all they praised the
Lord who had graciously bestowed all these benefactions.
Between various courses the guests' plates were scraped into
a huge dish, leaving each clean and ready for the next course.
The gift of the Reverend Daniel Robinson was added to the
feast a popular drink made from cider and raisins, with
37
spices, syrup of cloves, and gilly flowers added. The cider

came from the minister's own mill and was made from the
apples of his own orchard. It was famous throughout the vil

lage for its delicious flavor, and an Indian to whom Mrs. Rob
inson had given a tankard had said he could at last understand
why Adam and Eve had been damned. He thought that they
were damned for eating the apples instead of making them
into such good cider as he had just drunk.
As Mr. Robinson retold the story of the Indian, the bride
and bridegroom joined in the general laughter. All during the
meal they kept stealing glances at each other and ate and
drank little. Jonathan made attempts to join in the conversa
tion, but his brilliant words trailed off into silence whenever
he looked at Ann. Again and again Dame Walton covered his
confusion by her quick wit and gay laughter. She had per
mitted the child Joseph to sit by her side with his elders, and
at first there were reproving glances in her direction at this
breach of decorum. But as cider and rum and punch were
downed with a will, a tipsy good humor prevailed and there
remained not a thought of disapproval for anything.
When the feast ended, Dame Walton had the serving
maids bring around great basins of rose water she had made,
and the guests washed their hands and dried them on the
white cloths held by the maids. Then Dame Walton dis
tributed the customary bride gifts of a pair of gloves or a
silk scarf to each guest.
The conversation was interspersed with the singing of
hymns, but once Robin Cutter's joviality got the better of him
and he burst into a popular ballad heard only among the street
folks or in taverns.
When my father last returned from Guinea
He came with abundance of wealth.
Says he, Jack, never be such a ninny
To drink, says I, father, your health.
So
push d round the stuff and he swigged it

Which set the old codger agog
And he swigged and
swigged, and mother and sister
and brother
And all of us swigged it
And swore there was nothing like grog.
38
But he was not permitted to go on with the rest of the song,

for by this time both Mr. Robinson and Judge Fordyce re
alized their laxity in enjoying such profane melodies, and
Judge Fordyce brought the company back to godliness with
a psalm of David.
When it grew dark and the candles were lighted, Dame
Walton sent Joseph up to her own room to sleep. Ann's room
was the bridal chamber, freshly curtained and swept and
dusted, with even a few precious garden roses picked for the
occasion.
Joseph closed the door, blew out the candle, and undressed
in the darkness. He hated the light that made him see, as an
outsider, the foolishness of his tears. He stretched out his
limbs rigidly between the cold sheets, enduring as a punish
ment for his unreasonable disapproval of the marriage the icy

shivers that convulsed his body. Long afterward he heard the
guests departing and his mother bringing the bride up to her
chamber. When his mother descended and he later heard the
strange heavy tread of a man on the stairs, Joseph buried his
head under the quilts and heard no more.
Jonathan found his way eagerly with lighted candle. Open
ing the door, he saw Ann propped up against embroidered
pillows in the high canopied bed. Her white night rail was
tight at the throat and wrists, and under the white silken
nightcap strayed locks of her long fair hair. His heart beat
violendy, sending the blood pounding to his temples, tingling
to his finger tips. He set down the candle with an unsteady
hand and turned his back to the bed, praying secredy and
fervently. "O Lord let me not defile the wife Thou hast given
me. Let me enter the marriage bed in purity as Thou commandest."
But her voice whispered through the silence. "Jonathan,
dear, it seems so marvelous to see you here, moving among our
homely things"
At
that soft voice all the restraint he had put upon himself
broke. He tore his wedding garments from his body, threw
himself upon the bed and pulled her close. She clung to him,
losing herself in sweet overwhelming absorption in his kisses
and caresses.
39
Suddenly she felt herself abandoned. Opening her eyes she

saw him crouched upon his knees by the bedside. What was
he saying? What kind of prayers were those plunging from his
lips in torment?
"Save me from the horrible pit," she heard. "O dread God,
pity this poor wretch! No, destroy him, for he is not fit to
live. O Lord, for my loathsome corruption, punish me. That
I have aroused lustfulness in my wife, strike me with Thy
vengeance. Let me not live a dishonor to Thy Name . . ."
Sorrowfully she reached out her hand and touched the
bowed head. "If a tree bend before the storm can it not raise
itself when the storm has passed? God sends both the storm
and love, my Jonathan."
Without raising his head, he reached for her hand and cov
ered it with grateful kisses. "Surely I am given one of the
treasures of heaven to comfort me," he murmured.
He rose, and blowing out the candle, dressed himself in his
nightclothes. When he returned to her and put his arms
around her, love was no longer an infernal ambush where the
trembling soul fainted with guilty wounds. Ann Grigg had
won it back to divine sweetness for him.
CHAPTER
VII
Jonathan and Ann waited
Walton's that week for

the bride visiting. Those who had not been able to attend the
wedding came now bringing gifts, while some who had seen
them wed came again to gossip.
In one corner the dignitaries sat with Jonathan, joining ap
provingly in the serious conversation he set going. The subject
was brought up of the odious Declaration of Indulgence that
at Dame
40
King James had issued during the past spring. Although the
King had ordered that this proclamation for liberty of con
science be read in all churches, his order had been almost uni
versally disobeyed, not only in the colony but at home as well.
"Liberty of conscience indeed," said Jonathan indignantly.
liberty of worship except liberty to blaspheme? To

give wrong-minded men an opening to seduce the people
from the true God. In Boston we told Sir Edmund that we'd
"
give them liberty liberty to keep away from us!
Mr. Robinson nodded. "It's exasperating enough that the
Governor forces you to endure his own church and the Ana
baptists in Boston, without setting loose Quakers and the Lord
only knows what else."
"We came here to worship freely ourselves," declared
Judge Fordyce, shaking his wigged head angrily. "It makes a
man's blood boil to surfer rivalry and opposition in this free
land!"
The Widow Walton had her own circle: Mistress Fordyce
and Mistress Robinson, Mr. and Mrs. Robin Cutter, and Cap
tain Russell the slave trader and his wife.
The maidens of the village clustered around Ann, whisper
ing and laughing, observing her stealthily.
"Your husband is the handsomest man I've ever seen," said
one. "I wish I could go to Boston and find one like him."
"Perhaps there is not another like him in Boston," said Ann.
"She thinks there isn't another like him in the whole
world!" laughed one of Mr. Robinson's daughters.
"How fortunate she is to wed such a brilliant man."
"And how adventurous for you to go away to Boston
"What
is
Town
to live, Ann Walton."

"Ann Grigg now," corrected Humility Robinson.
"Yes Mistress Grigg."
They gazed in awe at herwho had been changed over
night from one of themselves into a remote and mysterious
matron.
"Won't you be frightened all alone with Mr. Grigg in a
strange place?" asked Mr. Cutter's gentle daughter.
"Is the queen bee frightened when she goes out from her
old home to a strange place?" asked Ann. I should say not!
4i
She settles quite happily into her new home and her new
duties."
Jonathan, overhearing her remark, smiled at the pride in her
voice. But Mrs. Rhoda Cutter burst into a hearty laugh.
"Lord save us, Mistress Grigg!" she cried. "It's monstrously
heartless to compare yourself to a queen bee. Have you for
gotten what happens to her poor mate?"
Ann reddened. "I only meant that I would be happy in my
new home. I wasn't thinking of my husband . . ."
"Just like a queen bee exactly!" laughed Mrs. Cutter.

"This is very frivolous talk," interposed Judge Fordyce,
and the conversation turned into other channels.

When the guests had departed, Ann and her mother began
gathering together the wedding presents and Ann's personal
things for packing.
Jonathan set out to join Mr. Robinson who had invited him
to go fishing. He passed a group of children in the fields,
gathering the silver silkdown which they would use to spin
candle wicks. They bowed shyly to him and when he had
passed, stared after him, wishing one of their own ministers
was as young and handsome as he was.
As he went on, Jonathan saw ahead of him a familiar figure,
and approaching closer, recognized Mistress Carroll, the pretty
wife of the schoolmaster. He called to her and she turned
with a startled air.
"Well, Mistress Carroll, I missed you and your good hus
band at my wedding. What kept you from us?" he asked.
"I
we
I was ailing, Mr. Grigg," she stammered,
He
noticed
then that her two hands were pressed
blushing.
against her bosom as if in pain.
"I'm sorry indeed to hear that. Is there aught I can do to
help?"
"No, no, thank you, sir," she replied quickly. "But tell me
about the wedding. I am so sorry to have missed it."
As he recounted the happenings of the wedding day her
agitation subsided. She listened with a delighted expression,
although she still kept her hands pressed to her breast.
A shout from somewhere below startled her again, and in
an impulsive gesture, her hands flew apart. It was then that
...
...
42
Jonathan saw what she had been attempting to hide from

him. It was the infamous red letter "A on her dress the
brand of adultery.
Like a flash his hand struck her stingingly across her cheek.
His voice rang out harsh with shock and fury: "You wretched
woman! How dare you conceal your crime! The brand is
there for you to feel the wrath of men as God's wrath upon
you. You cannot hide from your angry God, Mistress Carroll,
and do not seek to hide from his servants!"
She made no answer, only stared at him with wide stricken
eyes. Then she broke into bitter sobbing, hiding her face in
her hands.
Jonathan strode on, his hands clenched, his heart hot with
anger against her. Yet it was not so much the sin of this
woman as the triumph of his satanic enemy that galled him.
In every sin committed by man, woman, or child, the Devil
achieved a victory, winning to his side a traitor to God. In the
never ending battle for supremacy, the Prince of Darkness
was no honorable fighter. He would strike from ambush,
when one was least suspecting. It required eternal vigilance to
guard against him. The corruption of human nature Jonathan
could battle in himself and win over it. But when he saw it
in others it had escaped bounds and triumphed, and he could
not endure the sight of that triumph without rage.
When he reached Mr. Robinson's house he was too dis
turbed for the tranquil joy of fishing. Now he was haunted
also by the heartsick look of Mistress Carroll, her desperate
sobbing, and the red mark across her cheek where his hand
had fallen. He had never struck a woman before, and now
that his anger had calmed, a feeling of shame came over him
at his action. Although she deserved some chastisement for
what she had done, he reproached himself for his own con
duct.
He made his excuses to the minister for changing his mind
about the fishing trip, and then told him about his meeting
with Mistress Carroll.
"What is her story?" he asked.
Mr. Robinson related that she had been caught with one of
the governor's soldiers by the selectman. Although her hus
43
it,
is
manner?"
The boy lowered his eyes and did not answer.
it? Speak up."
"Come, what
"I had rather not, sir," mumbled Joseph.
"You had rather not? What
you talking about? Have

done anything to hurt you?" He took the boy's face in his
hands and tilting
upward was astonished at the fury of the
blue eyes that met his own.
"You haven't done anything to hurt me, sir." Joseph's voice
rose suddenly, shrilly. "But you could harm Ann! And you
would
she displeased you.
know you would!
know it!"
and he broke away and fled up the stairs.
Jonathan looked after him astounded. Then some intuition
made him apprehensive that Joseph had seen his meeting with
Mistress Carroll. He strode toward the stairway to follow
the boy, but Dame Walton was there before him, laying
are
it
if
it
restraining hand on his arm.

"Forgive him, Mr. Grigg. He didn't mean what he said.
He's heartbroken at losing his sister."
"Is that what was?" asked Jonathan in relief. "But have
never seen child carrying on so for such reason."
a
band had tried to protect her and denied the charge, the
selectman could not be moved from his statement of what he
had seen with his own eyes. The soldier had been whipped
out of town and forbidden to enter it again a light enough
punishment and due only to the influence of his officer who
said he would send him to one of the remote frontier posts.
Mistress Carroll was whipped also, and sentenced to wear the
brand of her crime until her death. Since her trial no one in
the village had spoken to her. No wonder then that in her
craving for neighborly friendliness she had so boldly deceived
Mr. Grigg into talking with her.
Jonathan took his leave of Mr. Robinson, and as he walked
slowly back the way he had come, he reflected on the pits of
human wickedness.
When he re-entered Dame Walton's house he saw Joseph
move out of his way with such a strange look that he stopped
him.
"What is
Joseph? Why do you look at me in such
44
"I know, my
dear Mr. Grigg. But be patient with him.
I'll
go up and talk to him."

She found her son sobbing on her bed, and gathered him in
her arms. "I'm sad at losing her too, dear, but we mustn't be
selfish about these things."
"Oh why did Ann marry him! Why did she have to marry
himF' he cried.
"Why shouldn't she have married him?" asked his mother
in amazement. "Mr. Grigg is a very fine man."
Joseph shook his head obstinately.
"Come now," she admonished. "You mustn't feel this way,
my son. You must respect and love your sister's husband."
"I'll never love him!" cried Joseph passionately. "If you
saw what I saw him do you wouldn't love him either."
"What did you
him do?"
"I saw him strike a woman in
see
terrible rage."
"
Dame Walton paled. "Oh, Joseph, you didn't see that!
"But I did, Mother. It was Mistress Carroll."
She gave a sigh of relief. "If it was Mistress Carroll that is
a
another matter."
Staring at his mother as though she had become a stranger,
Joseph slowly withdrew himself from her arms. "You don't
blame him for that?"
"She's a very sinful woman, my child. I cannot condemn
Mr. Grigg nor anyone for showing anger against her."

"But you're never so unpitying to anyone. If it was some
one else who had hit her instead of Mr. Grigg wouldn't you
him?"
guilty creature, my dear, and deserves all punish
have blamed
"She's a
ment she gets."
He wrinkled his brows in perplexity. "But
he had been so
pleasant to her before . . ."

"And so were we all until her sin was discovered," de
clared his mother.
"He was speaking so kindly to her," went on Joseph. "I was
just going up to him and ask forgiveness for my sinful dislike,
and then she took her hands away and he saw that letter on
her dress. Then his face changed so terribly it frightened me
and he
struck her."
45
"Hush, dear, hush. He has a right to punish her if she de

ceived him into talking with her. She always tries to hide the
shameful letter." She shook her head sadly, for secretly she
could not blame the woman for trying to hide the heinous
brand.
"But I can see his face changing into wrath and I can see
him hitting Ann if he ever discovers she has done wrong."
"Your sister would never commit a sin that merited public
punishment,"
said Dame
Walton proudly.
"But if she did? If she did, Mother?"

"She would not. Besides, he would not deal so harshly
with his own wife," she assured him. "Come now; wash your
face and then go downstairs and apologize to Mr. Grigg."
When Joseph went to the minister he spoke the needed
words of apology, yet his face and voice betrayed a stubborn
unforgivingness. But Jonathan let it pass, anxious for good
will in that household, and Joseph returned upstairs and
knocked on his sister's door.
She called for him to enter, and when he went in he saw
that she was packing the leathern trunk for departure. He
stood regarding her.
"You'll be going with Mr. Grigg on his visits to the poor

and sick of Boston now, won't you, Ann?"
"Yes, Joseph."
"And you'll have Abigail Trask to help you. Do you think
you'll be fond of her?"
"How could I help it? Mr. Grigg says she resembles him.
She is like a little sister to him."
"And she'll be like a little sister to you, won't she? You'll
have the Hubbard family as neighbors, and Deacon Hubbard
will be as a father to you and Mrs. Hubbard and her children
will be as your own mother and brother, and you won't miss
Mother and me at all, will you?"
"Joseph!" she cried, seeing at last what was behind all this.
"No one will ever take the place of you and Mother in my
heart. You know that."
Yes, he was sure of it now. But he also knew that although
she looked sad, she did not look grievously sad at the reminder
that she was leaving them.
46
He left her and went wandering disconsolately about the

house. In every place he heard the hated sound of the minis
ter's voice. He slipped through the kitchen door and walked
in the garden. The beauty of the vivid autumn flowers could
not console him, for he remembered how he and Ann had
planted so many of them and their happy times together among
them. He lingered beside the well, then perched himself on
the edge of it and looked over. From the depths he heard the
voice of his sister and the echo of her gay laughter.
"If slipped over the edge, I would be gone away too," he
thought. "Then she would be sorry and think of me all the
time and would never forget me."
But the consolation of die thought was swept away by the
remembrance of hell's fire awaiting him for such a deed.
Pressing his face against the rough stones he sobbed in loneli
ness and grief.
It
was nearly time for Ann and Jonathan to leave when

Dame Walton revealed to them her plans for the future.
"Our cousin, Mr. Richardson of Lancashire, has asked me
to marry him," she told Ann. "I didn't tell you before because
bride shouldn't be bothered with other folks' affairs."
"How could you have kept such a secret, Mother! When
did he ask you?"
"He's been asking me in every letter he has sent since he
a
left Salem."
"What! For two years? Why didn't you tell me?"
"There was no reason to speak of it when I was unde
cided," replied Dame Walton serenely. "But I've accepted
him now in my last letter, and I plan going to England after
you two leave for Boston."
Ann looked at her mother in dismay, feeling desolated at
the thought of her going so far away. Even though it was
unlikely that they would have met again if her mother had
remained in Salem, since travel, even over short distances, was
rare in the colonies, Ann felt that the added distance would
make the separation more painful. She caught her mother in
her arms and hugged her in a sudden terror of parting.
47
"There now, dearest," her mother comforted her. "We'll

always be close to each other in our love."
"And you can write each other," said Jonathan. "Letters
are wonderfully helpful, Ann. My father used to read me the
letters he received from my grandmother in England and he
felt as close to her as if she were there in Boston."
"Yes, we'll write often," said Dame Walton. "Come now,
Ann. You should be as happy about my future as I am about
yours, leaving you in such loving hands."
"I am happy for you, Mother," said Ann firmly. "Mr.
Richardson is a wonderful man, and I have a great affection
for him. I know he'll make my dearest mother as happy as she
deserves to be," she said tenderly.
"Let me too wish you every happiness and God's blessing

on your marriage, Dame Walton," said Jonathan.
"Thank you, my dears. I think Joseph also will be better
off in England. In fact, I want to take Joseph away from here
for fear he would languish away with longing for his sister.
That indeed hastened my decision."
"Hastened? After two years?" asked Ann smiling.
"I would probably never have made up my mind if it
weren't for the happy circumstances of your marriage and
the not so happy circumstances of poor Joseph's grief."
"When you leave, what will you do with the slaves, Dame
Walton? Keep them with you or sell them?" asked Jonathan.
"Why, they are like part of my own family," she said in

surprise. "I would not think of selling them. Of course I am
taking them with me."

Jonathan smiled warmly. "I feel the same way about my
own Moses and Betsy. I only asked because if you planned to
sell them I thought I might buy them for Ann."
"That was dear of you, Jonathan," said Ann, putting her
hand on his and slipping it up along his arm in a caressing
gesture.
"Yes, it was indeed, Mr. Grigg," said her mother. "But
have sold something else that I cherish. I have sold the house
and land to Captain Russell."
Ann looked around the room. The thought of her home
belonging to another made it seem more lost to her than even
48
time and distance would. Her eyes lingered affectionately on

each familiar object. "I shall miss the thought of you and
Joseph among all this," she said.
"But think of your poor brother wandering about here like
a lost sheep, here where everything recalls your presence and
you yourself far away from him."

"Yes," agreed Ann. "You're wise, Mother, to take him
away. I'm sure that new scenes will distract him."
"You both indulge the boy too much," chided Jonathan.
"I'm afraid you've made him self-willed and different from
other children."
"He never was like other children," smiled Dame Walton.
"He was more like his sister."
"Ann is no different from others," said Jonathan quickly.
"Well, Mr. Grigg, there's some suspicion among our neigh
bors that my daughter is very different from them in her
goodness of heart." She laughed amusedly. "She will not be
too good for Boston Town, I hope, will she?"
"The people of Boston are no better than those of Salem

Village, Dame Walton. The Devil stirs up sin and strife in
every place. Yet," he added with a faint smile of gratification,
"Boston is less under the yoke of the Infernal Enemy than
many another place."

"I knew it! laughed Dame Walton. "Your Boston is
godliest place outside heaven!"
That night Ann and Jonathan slept for the last time in
house where she was born. The following day they sailed
Boston. Late that month Dame Walton and Joseph, with
two slaves, sailed for England.
49
the
the
for
the
CHAPTER
VIII
When
the maidens of Boston Town learned that the Rev

erend Jonathan Grigg had brought back a wife from Salem
Village many long-rejected suitors were accepted and the
town blossomed with marriages.
Theophilia Oakes, amazed and disappointed, took as her
second husband Mr. Jeremiah Jones, the tavern keeper, as
tonishing the widower by an abrupt acceptance of a long
courtship. The devotion of this good-natured, spindling man,
with the lean face and thick curly black hair and beard,
soothed her sore heart. She consoled herself also with the
thought that at the tavern she would be in the midst of the
town doings and hear news quicker than other folks.
Theophilia sold the farm of her former husband and put
the money into the tavern. The Oaken Bell, which stood in
the center of the town, had not been one of the more popular
ordinaries, but now that Mistress Theophilia Jones added her
captivating presence to its attractions it began to flourish.
She made many improvements. She started building a new
storehouse and stable, and planned to add more variety to the
imported liquors. She had the sign that hung from a post be
fore the door freshly painted: the picture of the bell a beauti
ful golden yellow, and the lettering a vivid green that read:
"I'll toll you in if you have need, and feed you well and bid
you speed."
In the minister's home Abigail welcomed her new mistress

with a certain reserve. Although she could not help but ad
mire the beautiful face of Mistress Grigg, loyalty to Dorcas
any spontaneous affection for the bride. But old
Rrevented
loses and Betsy gave Ann such a warm welcome that she felt
almost as close to them as she had to her own Henry and
50
Betty in Salem. She was surprised and disappointed with Abi

gail, who was not the "little sister" she had expected. Indeed,
she felt a coldness on the part of many of the womenfolk
when they called, knowing nothing of their secret tender
feelings toward Jonathan.
Among the early visitors were Deacon Hubbard and his
family.
"It is well you've returned, Mr. Grigg," the deacon greeted
him. "The sheep will stray without the steady hand of the
shepherd."
"Has anything gone wrong during my absence?"

"Much," said Mr. Hubbard, and Ann, looking at him,
thought of the prophet Ezekiel sent to keep before the eyes of
the exiles the sins that would bring them low.

In none of the Hubbard family except Mistress Hubbard
did she find the warmth and affection she had expected. The
eyes of the children were bright and curious as they stared at
the stranger bride whose charms the minister had found supe
rior to any maiden's in Boston. Ann felt a sudden intense long
ing for Joseph
the two boys stared at her with curiosity

rather than affection. After their first formal greeting, Dorcas,
Increase, and Benjamin withdrew to a corner of the room
as
where they sat glancing slyly at her.

Betsy moved gracefully and quietly about serving wine and
cake to the guests. Mistress Hubbard had seated herself be
side
Ann.
"It's well that Mr. Grigg has taken a helpmate," she mur
mured in her gentle complaining voice. "His service to the
Lord blinded him to his own welfare. With no one to watch
after him he's often gone a day or more without food, locked
up there in his study. I don't mean on his regular fast days
either."
"But couldn't someone take care that he ate, and bring food
to him in the study if he wished to remain there?" asked Ann
in surprise.
"Well, Abigail Trask, poor creature, dared not disturb him,
and neither of course did Moses or Betsy. But that is all past
now that he has a wife to look after him."
5i
shall take good care of him," promised Ann. "You need

not worry about him any more."
"We hear that you leave a mother and young brother in
Salem Village," said Mrs. Hubbard.
"No, my mother and brother are going to England. My
mother is to marry our cousin there, Mr. Richardson."
"So? Then Mr. Grigg will be your sole concern in New
England?" smiled Mercy Hubbard.
"Perhaps others, too . . ."
"Others? What others, Mistress Grigg?"
Dorcas, listening from the corner, whispered sarcastically,
"Herself most likely."
Ann caught the whisper and turned a look of astonishment
on the girl. But Dorcas only stared back. When Ann looked
questioningly at Mistress Hubbard, the deacon's wife re
turned her gaze sadly, giving no indication that she had heard
that remark of her daughter's.
"
"What others are you speaking about? inquired Mr. Hub
bard, who had heard Ann's remark.
"Those who live in darkness," she replied.
Jonathan crossed the room and sat down beside her, taking
her hand fondly. "Mistress Grigg has interested herself in the
conversion of the Indians," he explained. "She has even taught
herself some words of their language to help her."
She had confided that secret mission to him in Salem. When
she had told him how she had won her first convert, he had
been astonished at her strange thought of jumping from the
tree branch to impress the Indian boy with marvels. But every
thing she did was fascinating to him, and his pride in her
achievement had tempered his concern over the risk she had
taken with her life. Now he told the story indulgently, think
ing to win credit for her.
"
But John Hubbard had no words of praise.
'When I bring
thee into the land whither thou goest to possess
thou shalt
smite the natives and utterly destroy them: thou shalt make
no covenant with them nor show mercy unto them.' We have
shown ourselves so lax in obeying that commandment that the
Lord Himself has had to undertake their extinction for us.
Now, thanks to His holy wrath, the pernicious creatures are
it,
"I
5'
almost wiped out hereabouts with the smallpox. The woods

are cleared for a better growth."
"But isn't it better to get these souls for God instead of
destroying them?" said Ann quickly. "Heaven is more re
joiced over one sinner repentant, Mr. Hubbard, than over
ninety-nine who have never erred."
"The savages are not sinners, Mistress Grigg. They are the
very brood of Satan. They are a mass of lies and treachery
and corruption. God forgive us for having been too merciful
toward them. Every arrow they shoot, every one of their
warsongs and magic chants are naught but missiles aimed
against the power of Christ."
She shivered under the hate in his voice and held Jonathan's
hand tightly. But she persisted, her eyes steady on Mr. Hub
bard's somber face. "Are not the Christianized Indians our
brothers?"
a
snort of contempt.
"Who can make
Christians of such dogs! When Philip rose against us the socalled Praying Indians joined with him to murder us."
"That's true, Ann," said Jonathan. "How many of all the
Praying Indian towns established by Mr. Eliot remain today?
Only a few throughout all New England. It's wasted effort,
doubtless, to try to civilize them. What has come of trying to
better themeven to allowing them to study at Harvard? In
any critical turn of events they revert to their savagery."

Mistress Hubbard looked at Ann's set face and, although she
hated and feared the Indian as much as her husband, tried
to show herself on the side of the minister's wife so that she
would not be so pitifully alone.
"There
are
timidly. "Some
good Indians maybe," she remarked

of them help us to bring back runaway
some
slaves"
it,
"And they are well paid for it," interrupted her husband.
Ann turned her eyes away from the deacon, another shiver
and not understand
running through her. Jonathan noticed
ing its cause, sent Betsy off to bring her whittle. When the
slave returned with
and draped the short
Jonathan took
scarlet cloak about Ann's shoulders. Betsy's face beamed with
it
it,
The deacon gave
53
delight at the loving gesture, and Mistress Hubbard smiled.

The deacon gave a grunt of disapproval.
In the corner, Increase nudged his sister and giggled, "How
careful he is of her."
"Yes. He's always holding her hand or touching her," she
muttered.
"Is
ill, do you think, Dorcas?" whispered Benjamin.

"I wouldn't doubt
an ailing creature, likely. One that
will always be keeping the minister from his work to be pam
pering her."
But soon the people of Boston Town knew better. Mr.
Grigg's constant attendance on his wife was not solicitude
it;
she
for one
in
CHAPTER
IX
The
great town of Boston with its some seven thousand in

habitants, its shipyards, shops, and handsome stone and brick
continual wonder to Ann. Three great hills
houses, was
dominated the landscape, Copps Hill to the north, Fort Hill
near the water front, and Beacon Hill sustaining the beacon.
From almost every smaller hilltop whirled the graceful arms
of windmill and by numerous streams stood churning water
mills. Many piers jutted out into the waters of the bay, the
noblest of which was Long Wharf, two thousand feet in
length. A row of brick warehouses with slated roofs lined
the north side of it. The great ships, with their masts like
delicate health. They saw that his tenderness came

from no sadder cause than his love for her.
The neighbors of Jonathan Grigg, those alert guardians of
his conscience, watched and secretly condemned the too
carnal love they saw threatening one of God's elect.
54
wood of trees in the bay, could load and unload directly here,
the warehouses convenient for their cargoes. The wharf led
into the main street of town, at the upper end of which was
Town House with its open lower part a market and mer
chants' exchange, and its upper part containing the Council
Chamber, the House of Commons, and rooms for sessions of
the courts of justice. Ann loved to walk down this pebbled
street and visit the bustling market, and the bookseller shops
that did a thriving trade in sermons, almanacs, and broadsides.
It seemed strange that she who had known almost every soul
in Salem Village could not even dream of knowing all the
people of Boston. She had met but a few since her arrival.
There was Governor Edmund Andros, whose wife had died
earlier in the year, and several of his gentlemen and their
families: Elder Joshua Crocker, the Reverend Daniel Lewis,
the Reverend Eleazar Shippen and their wives, and the magis
trates, Mr. Nicholas Howen and Mr. Theophilus Dwine, who
had been deposed from office since the arrival of Sir Edmund
and his minions.
Occasionally Ann visited at the Hubbard home, but in spite

of all her efforts at friendliness with the three children she
could not seem to win their affections. She felt hurt by this,
because she missed her brother so intensely that she wished
at least little Benjamin would like her and come to her with
his joys and troubles as Joseph had done. But he seemed a pre
occupied child, with his black dreamy eyes, and she was no
more successful with him than with Increase or Dorcas.
She spent most of her time, as did all the women of the
town, in her own home. Besides her many duties as mistress
of the house, she copied all Jonathan's writings for him. Al
though she lamented her poor script and the mistakes she fre
quently made in spelling, Jonathan so enjoyed having her
work with him that he only laughed at her errors, saying
that Mr. Green the printer would correct them. Whenever
anything by her husband was printed Ann would send off a
copy to her mother with her letter.
Sometimes she carried the handwritten papers herself to
Mr. Green. Then she would linger in his shop, fascinated by
the working of the printing press and by the colored broad
55
with their ballads of love and tragedy, of famous pirates
and ghosts, and the saucy sailor songs.

As she was crossing the common one day, away from the
training field where she had stopped to watch some new
recruits drilling, she noticed a group of people gathered about
the red whipping post. She would have gone on, hating the
sight of this punishment, but at that moment the man who
had been flogged staggered out from the crowd. His back was
streaming with blood, and he took but a few steps when he
fell groaning to the ground.
Ann cast a quick look at the faces about him. Most of them
showed an excited curiosity or stern satisfaction, but a few
were filled with pity. As no one approached him, Ann took
an instinctive step forward to help him. Then, realizing that
he was too big and heavy for her to get him to his feet, she
approached a big blond young man whose good-natured
freckled face encouraged her to ask his help.
The young man shook his head stolidly at her request. "It
isn't allowed," he said. "I'd be fined or maybe whipped my
self if I gave him any assistance."
"I'll pay your fine for you. Please help him," she urged.
A tall gaunt woman, who bore a strong resemblance to the
young man, turned on her angrily. "Young Dr. Bibber has no
need for anyone to pay a fine for him. Go your way, Mistress
Grigg, and don't be tempting honest people to break the law."
"Now, Mother," he protested. "I'm sure she meant no
harm."
"She meant no harm to herself anyway," mocked Theophilia Jones. "Why don't you help him yourself, Mistress
Grigg, if you're so anxious to aid sinners?"
Ann flashed her a look of scorn, and went over to the man
who had risen and was stumbling painfully on. She slipped
her hand under his arm and supported him in the direction he
had taken. He turned to look at her, surprise and gratitude in
his dark eyes.
They progressed slowly; his weight on her made the sweat
break out on her face. His steps were so uncertain that they
both staggered and almost fell several times. Ann heard the
laughter behind her, and her cheeks burned with indignation.
5<5
sides
Then
felt the man's weight on her relieved, and saw that

someone had taken his other arm and was supporting him also.
It was a broad-shouldered man with a bony face tanned a
leathery brown. A golden brown mustache and beard did not
fully conceal the long mouth with its humorous twist. When
he caught her eyes on him, he grinned.
she
manage to get Will home all right between us," he

encouraged her, and glancing down at a beautiful reddish
brown dog frisking at his side added, "Won't we, Thankful?"
The dog wagged his tail and gave a short answering bark of
"We'll
agreement.
their way across the common and up the road

to Goodman William Wait's little farm. They eased him
through the doorway and down on the bed in his fireroom.
"Thanks, Thomas, thanks. And you, Mistress Grigg like
an angel of light . . ."
"Don't try to talk," she said gently.
She poured water into a pot and set it in the fireplace to
heat. She searched the shelves and cupboard for oils or salves
to put on his wounds, but could find none. The house was
dirty and cluttered, the floor stained with muddy boot prints,
and pots and pans rusty and soiled about the fireplace. But
several handsome pieces of furniture revealed a onetime pros
perity.
Thomas Dwine had found a jug of whisky and given the
sufferer a long drink. Now he took some old cloths from an
oak chest, poured water in a basin, and washed the blood
They
made
stained back.
Lying flat on the bed with his head turned sideways, Good
man Wait began to sing to forget his pain: "Then trust me,
there's nothing like drinking so pleasant on this side of the
grave"
"Hold on there, Will," interrupted Thomas. "Perhaps such

songs are offensive to Mistress Grigg."
"No, no. Let him sing," said Ann.
Will Wait smiled at her, and then his strong voice rang
out again in the rollicking song.
Then trust me, there's nothing like drinking

So pleasant on this side of the grave;
57
It
it,
keeps the unhappy from thinking

And makes 'em more valiant and brave.
For me from the first time I swigged it
The good stuff did so set me agog
That sick, well, late or early, when foully, when fairly
I have constantly swigged it
And d
there's nothing like Grog!
"The kindness of good neighbors
is
it
It
was the popular ballad called "Grog," and Ann remem

bered Robin Cutter singing
verse of
at her wedding. A
wave of homesickness for Salem, her mother and brother and
neighbors, swept over her. She took up some of the cloths
laid out by Thomas and dipped them in the warm water.
"I'll put these wet compresses on your wounds now," she
said to Will Wait, "and then I'll go home and get some oint
ments for you."
better healing than any
ointments," he said.
it
is
this time,
Will?"
Will Wait
reached for the jug of whisky on the floor beside

him and took long swallow. "I was fined for swearing at the
Governor down at the shipyard. The man was like to have
heavy plank crash down on him, but that let out shout and
one of the men yanked him away. Maybe
did lose my tem
a
if
I
hadn't,
per and let out some thundering oaths at him, but
Sir Edmund Andros would have had nice clout on the head,
he wasn't killed outright."
"I should think he would have thanked you then, instead
if
of having you fined," said Ann.

"You didn't hear what called him," said
58
is
a
"Mistress Grigg
sweet addition to our town," com
mented Thomas Dwine.
Ann smiled from one to the other. "You both seem to know
me, but
am not even familiar with your names, gentlemen."
"This sinner who lies before you
Goodman William
Wait," said Thomas with grin at the man on the bed. "I can
not tell you what sin he's committed this time, but can tell
you that he has great knack of getting himself into the bad
graces of the authorities by his outspokenness. What was
Will Wait.
"And why were you whipped?"
asked
Thomas. "Because
you couldn't pay the fine?"

"Nay, Thomas. I have money enough lately since I gave
up drinking and took steady work at the shipyard." He took
another swig of the whisky.
"You're not giving it up now, but getting it down, my
man," laughed Thomas.
Ann noticed that despite Goodman Wait's easy talk flickers
of pain passed over his face. She took down the Bible from
the shelf and opening it began fanning his back with the pages
had seen her mother do to cure the sick.
"Thank you kindly, mistress," said Will. "Being fanned
with the Bible is good medicine. And this too is good medi
cine," he added, patting the whisky jug, "not only for physi
cal ills but for mind ills as well. Just as the song says, I've
swigged it many a time to forget the wrongs and griefs of this
as she
sorry world."
"If you paid the fine, and it wasn't for drunkenness you
got the lashes, Will, what was it?" asked Thomas curiously.
"I didn't say I paid the fine," replied Will. "In fact I might
ily objected to paying it. I held that I should be given a reward
for saving the Governor's life instead of being fined for swear
ing at him."
"Will you never learn not to argue with the authorities? It
sets them against you, man, to hear you talk as free as an equal
to them."
"We've always had a right to speak our minds before the
coming of Sir Edmund. We'll not be silenced now," retorted
Goodman Wait.
"That independence of ours lost us our charter," said
Thomas wryly.
"Well, I've had my say, even if I've had to pay for it," said
Will Wait with satisfaction.
Ann listened, surprised and interested. The pity she had

always felt for the sufferings inflicted on evildoers had never
included any sympathy for their crimes. But now when she
heard for the first time a criminal defending himself, she was
amazed to find herself thinking him in the right. And who
59
was this other man, Thomas, who seemed as incorrigibly tol

erant as she?
"You haven't told me yet who you are, sir," she reminded
him.
"Thomas Dwine, mistress, at your service; and the service

of all good folks everywhere, whether they be saint or sinner."
"Well then, Mr. Dwine, I'll leave Goodman Wait in your
care until I return with some medicaments," she said rising.
At that moment the door was pushed open and a little old
woman dressed in faded blue homespun entered. Wisps of
white hair streaming out from under her blue cap gave her a
gay, fly-away appearance; blue eyes twinkled on each side of
a fine boldly curved nose.
"Ah, so it's here you are indeed, Mistress Grigg," she cried
in a pleased voice. "Then it was the truth they were telling
and no idle gossip at all."
"Yes, I'm here," laughed Ann. "But I'm going now to get
some medicaments for poor Goodman Wait."
"Then you've no need to be going for I've brought the
healing herbs myself," said the old woman.
"My thanks to you, Goody Gower," said Goodman Wait.
"No matter what the ministers say about those strange mix
tures of yours, they've helped as many of us as any of old Dr.
Bibber's purgings and bleedings or young Dr. Bibber's pills
and powders."
"And why wouldn't they?" demanded the old woman.
"And me knowing the things of the forest like the back of
my hand, and also knowing better how to cure you than kill
you like the doctors."
And indeed Goody Gower had often relieved the pain of

the sick with her secret remedies, sometimes being given a
few shillings for it. Long ago she had buried one husband
and two daughters, and she said that was enough for her of
both men and children. Bit by bit she had been forced to sell
the prosperous farmland left her by her goodman, until there
was nothing left to her but a tiny ramshackle house that had
once been the slaves' quarters. For years now she had lived
there alone, eking out a living by sewing for her neighbors.
It was a poor way of living after the comfortable farm life
60
But she was content enough, wandering

in the forest, or sitting in her rocker sewing or knitting and
singing soft Gaelic songs to herself.
She dug down now into a capacious pocket that hung out
side her dress, and took out a knotted handkerchief containing
the herbs she had brought. She opened it out on the table.
"I'll fix you up with a poultice and you'll be fit as a fiddle in
no time," she declared.
"So you heard about Mistress Grigg being a good Samari
tan," said Thomas Dwine.
"I did indeed; the news is all over town. And it wasn't a
good Samaritan I heard you called either, Mistress Grigg, but
something else entirely."
"Yes, I'm afraid I'm a breaker of the law today," said Ann,
with a twinkle in her eyes to match the old woman's.
"Bless you for it," said Will Wait.
"It's a pity a body can't do a bit of kindness without every
one hating it worse than they hate the Devil," grumbled
Goody Gower.
"Oh, come now, it's not as bad as that," protested Thomas.
"There are kind folks here as elsewhere. But our laws are
strict and it's best to obey them."
"You're a fine one to be talking so, Mr. Dwine, and you
breaking the law with the worst of us. And that in spite of
*
your cousin being a worshipful magistrate," she added.
Thomas threw back his head and laughed heartily. "It
might be I'm not as careful as I was once, now that my cousin
is deprived of his office and I can't be such a disgrace to him."
"Deprived of his office or not, he'll always be Judge Dwine
to us in spite of the proud King of England," said Goody
Gower.
"Well," said Thomas, "I guess it's my conscience that
sometimes forces me into acts or words contrary to the rule."
"It does that," agreed Goody Gower. "I heard you had a
hand in helping the poor man here as well as Mistress Grigg."
"News certainly flies as fast in a big place like this as it does
in Salem Village," said Ann.
"It's to your good husband it's probably flown by this
time," said Goody Gower. "And my prayer for you is that
she had been used to.
61
the heart in him won't be hardened against you and he having

been visited by one of the elders or magistrates already."
Ann gave an exclamation of dismay. She had been so en
grossed in all that happened that she had not given a thought
to the effect of her action upon Jonathan. Now she was appre
hensive, remembering his chiding of her for speaking so
cheerily to Mr. Cutter when he was in the stocks. How much
worse was her present offense!
"I'll be starting home now," she said hastily. "If there's any
thing more I can do for you, Goodman Wait, please send
word to me."
"You've done more for me now than I can ever thank you
for,"
he replied.
"I'll be going
too," said Thomas Dwine. "My way is the

same as yours, Mistress Grigg, and with your permission, I'll
walk with you." She nodded, and he snapped his fingers to the
dog. "Come along, Thankful."
As they set out down the road, Ann stooped to pat the
head of the beautiful animal trotting beside her. "You have
an odd name for him, Mr. Dwine. Why do you call him
Thankful?"
"Because I think he has great cause to be thankful he's a dog

and not a man," replied Thomas.
Ann laughed. She liked this humorous man as well as any
one she had yet met in Boston. Walking back through the
town, Thomas told her more about himself. He was a mer
chant, exporting lumber to the West Indies and importing
sugar, molasses, oranges, and limes. He was a widower, his
wife having died during the early summer in childbirth.
Ann looked at him pityingly, expressing her sympathy.
"And the infant?" she asked.
"A little son who died a month later," he answered.
"But you are blessed that he lived long enough to be bap
tized," she said gently.
He looked at her. "I must tell you that I do not believe in
infant damnation, Mistress Grigg."
"What! Are you an Anabaptist then?"
"No,"
Puritan, perhaps.
with
wry smile. "Only a more human

cannot believe that God is so cruel and
he returned
62
unjust as to damn helpless infants to eternal hell through no

fault of their own."
"But that is the heretical belief of the Anabaptists," said
Ann.
brings them salvation."

"If something seems wrong to me, even if it is beyond our
understanding, I must doubt the truth of it," replied Thomas.
They walked on in silence for a few moments. Then
Thomas turned smiling to her. "You might as well know all the
worst of me," he said. "I am not in great favor with the clergy
because at the time King Charles ordered that property
holders be allowed to vote, even if they weren't church mem
spoke my approval of it."

"Well now King James allows neither property holders nor
church members to vote," said Ann.
"True enough, but we hope someday to have that privilege
restored to us. Then perhaps the clergy's tenet that our highest
privilege is the privilege of being ruled by them may give way
to most men's contention that the highest privilege is to be
ruled by themselves."
"The rule of the clergy is the rule of God," said Ann
bers,
quietly.
"Forgive me, Mistress Grigg," he said seriously. "I only tell
you thiseven though you are the wife of one of our ministers
because I want you to know me as I am."
Ann looked at him gravely. "I know you are a good man
despite your many mistaken ideas," she said.
"Good for you, Mistress Grigg!" he cried warmly. "Give
a man freedom to think his own thoughts, and keep your good
6~3
"Yes, it is. Yet I cannot help but agree with them. Al

though," he continued in a lighter tone, "I do not go as far
as they do, and claim that the only true baptism is that of
adults who know what they are doing, and that we are not
Christians at all if we have only been baptized in infancy."
After a brief pause Ann said hesitantly, "I have always been
troubled myself about infant damnation. If a babe dies with
the guilt of man's original sin upon it before it can be baptized
it does not seem to be anyone's fault. I keep thinking and hop
ing that there is some way beyond our understanding that
opinion of him even if he differs from you, then we'll live like
human beings and not like beasts."
She smiled but did not answer. The dog Thankful, who
had been sniffing the post of a little house, gave a sudden
leap and backed away with a queer disgusted wrinkling of his
nose.
Ann burst into laughter. "Whatever happened to him?"
"That's Goodwife Torey's house. I heard she lately smeared

her posts and walls with a mixture of black dog's gall and
blood to keep away devils and witches. You know," he
grinned, "evil spirits have sensitive nostrils. The Devil once
fled into remote parts of Egypt away from the smell of the
fish's liver burned by Tobit."
"Then I
guess
Thankful
has as sensitive nostrils as the
Evil
One himself, the way he leaped away from that smell,"
laughed Ann.
They were approaching the Governor's house now and she
saw his guards lined up before the door, and two trumpeters
standing on the street below. Governor Andros came out at
that moment with some of his gentlemen. He was a splendid
figure in cocked hat over his wig, scarlet coat and breeches,
and high shining black boots. He bowed a formal greeting to
her, and then, with proud military bearing, marched on up
the street. The trumpeters, green coated, went before him
clearing his path, and the twenty scarlet-coated guards
brought up the rear.
"Our governor is zealous in preparedness against the
French and Indians," remarked Thomas. "He's setting out to
strengthen our defenses in the north."
But Ann noticed that the eyes of the townspeople watching
the procession were hostile against the redcoats.
64
CHAPTER
X
The
sun shone through the windows of the

study where Jonathan sat facing the elder of his church. The
scar on his temple throbbed slightly; his fingers drummed
nervously on the arm of his chair. Opposite him the ponderous
late afternoon
body of Elder Joshua Crocker filled an armchair. Long silvery

hair framed his large kind face that was now red and perspir
ing with embarrassment.
"I
dislike having to do this, Mr. Grigg," he was saying.

"But it was the Council's order for me to reprimand Mrs.
Grigg. It is most unpleasant for me."
"It is your duty, sir. Whether pleasant or unpleasant is of
no importance," said Jonathan coldly.
The elder sighed, and folded his hands gently in his lap.
They sat silently, each absorbed by his own thoughts, until
the sound of the closing of the outer door made them turn
their heads.
As Ann entered the study she looked quickly at Jonathan.

For the first time she saw his face set cold and stern against
her. Her heart gave a frightened bound, then beat quickly.
Jonathan drew up a chair for her facing the visitor, and
then reseated himself without speaking a word. Hiding her
consternation at her husband's severe attitude, Ann looked at
the elder and waited for him to address her.
Elder Crocker was surprised to be regarded with such a
look, having expected to see downcast eyes and a blush of
shame. "It grieves all of us, Mistress Grigg, that you have laid
yourself open to rebuke by your conduct."
But even now the blue eyes under the level brows did not
waver. "I am sorry, but I could not act otherwise according
to my conscience," she answered.
65
"Then your conscience is unruly and should come under
our stricter guidance so that it can distinguish right from

wrong."
"I shall gladly pay the fine," said Ann, who had decided
not to argue, like Goodman Wait, over the justification of her
act.
Elder Crocker nodded at Jonathan. "You see? She disproves

your defense of her, Mr. Grigg. She was not ignorant of the
wrong of what she did but was aware that it merited a fine."
At this
revelation that Jonathan had taken her part and tried

to defend her Ann's heart lightened.
"I have already paid the fine," he said sharply. "Elder
Crocker has been instructed to deliver a private reprimand
to you, Ann. See to it you take your punishment in a spirit
of humility."
She felt hurt and angry at the severity of his voice. "Thank
you," she murmured. "As this is the first time in my life I have
ever been reprimanded, your advice is welcome."
"God grant it be the last time," said Jonathan. He rose, and
with a slight bow to them, left the room.
Ann
meekly under the long censorious discourse, for

Jonathan's sake making no effort to defend herself. Her atti
tude pleased Elder Crocker, and his voice grew gentler to
ward the end. There was nothing dearer to the hearts of the
sat
elders than humble acknowledgment of guilt and repentance.

There was nothing they hated worse than stubborn argument.
At last Elder Crocker took his leave, and so softened was
he by her submissive silence that he patted her shoulder kindly
and declared Mr. Grigg fortunate in having her as wife.
Immediately the door had closed on him, Ann went seeking
Jonathan to pour out to him all the explanations and questions
Elder Crocker. She found him in

their bedchamber, seated in the rocking chair, reading. He
looked up when she came in. The sternness he had shown be
fore the elder was no longer visible. He looked troubled and
she had restrained before
reproachful.
"Ann, Ann, why did you do such a thing? It went much

against my conscience to try to excuse you."
66
She knelt beside him and laid her hand caressingly on his
arm. "It was dear of you, Jonathan, and I love you for it."
He got up slowly and walked to the window. He stood
there, looking out, saying nothing. She stared at his back for
a moment, then rising from her knees, seated herself in the
rocking chair.
"Goodman Wait was in terrible pain. If you had been there
I would have asked you to help him," she said at last.
He turned to her. "Do not ask me to help criminals, Ann.
I cannot."
"But they're poor human beingsjust like the rest of us."
"
"They are not! he said angrily. "Would you say that such
miserable shiftless wretches are the same as you and I? That
is talking utter nonsense! They are and will ever remain base,
coarse creatures, for God does not prosper the wicked."
"I don't see why it's wrong to help themeven if they are
poor lowly creatures," she murmured.
"It isn't wrong to help them when they are dutiful and
obedient. It is wrong to interfere with their just punishments."
"But Goodman Wait was punished so severely that"
"No punishment could be too severe for him," he inter
rupted. "He's a headstrong rebellious man, continually flout
ing authority. He should be shipped back to England as an
incorrigible."
"But why is he so bad, Jonathan? He did not seem so to
me.
"You know nothing about him. He lost his carpenter's shop
through his drunkenness and sank to hiring himself out as a

laborer. And then, after he married Mary Hunter and she left
him a good farm at her death, he neglected it shamefully and
went back to his drunken and dissenting ways."
Ann, with her chin cupped in her hand, was looking up at
him thoughtfully. The sight of her made him forget his dis
pleasure. The lovely serious face and the slender body curved
in the chair held too much wonder and delight for him to
keep harsh thoughts long in her presence.
"Let us have no more talk about such things, my dearest,"
he said quickly, going to her and kneeling beside her. "You
are so sweet, Ann. It is a never ending joy to look at you." He
67
pushed back her cap and loosened her hair, letting it fall in a
golden shower over her shoulders. He burrowed his face in
the silky web and his arms encircled her body and pressed her
to him. "My beloved," he whispered.
Clinging to him, she felt herself lifted and borne backward.
There was no floor her feet trod on, no bed her body lay
upon, no room, no world only the ecstatic merging of herself
and Jonathan in boundless breathless union.
When they came back to earth, Jonathan raised himself on
his elbow and looked down at her tenderly. "How did I ever
live without you, Ann? To lie in your arms is to feel heaven
close. Heaven itself could have no more wondrous joy than
your honeyed body. You have ravished my heart with your
blue eyes; you have entangled me in the golden mesh of your
hair."
"Hush, Jonathan," she said in a trembling voice. "No, speak
though I can hardly bear the enchantment of your words."
He laid his head down on her shoulder, his auburn hair
falling softly against her bare skin. Her finger tips touched his
face lovingly as she listened to his whisperings.
In the first rapture of his love during the early days of his
marriage Jonathan sought to do all things pleasing to Ann. As
time passed some folks went so far as to say that he was more
anxious to do the will of Ann Grigg than the will of God.
The elders watched anxiously his growing tolerance under
the effect of his love for his wife. But happiness made the
world seem a better place to Jonathan, and its people more
well intentioned than they had seemed before. Unconsciously,
instead of condemning them for their ways, his thoughts now
turned toward means of helping them.
One day as he passed the blacksmith's forge on his way
to Mr. Nicholas Howen's house where there was to be a meet
ing of the elders and former magistrates, Jonathan heard the
sounds of lusty singing. He glanced in and saw a man and a
boy standing by the forge watching the blacksmith beat out
an iron horseshoe. All three were singing a most wanton ditty.
On Gosport beach I landed

A noted place of fame.
68
/ called for a bottle of brandy

To treat my flashy dame
Her outside rigging was all silk
Her spencer
scarlet red
And with sweet joy and content
Together we went to bed.
Jonathan's first impulse was to enter and reprove them. But

what was the use of chiding the men for singing such songs
when they knew no others?
He continued on his way, thinking of the problem of pro
viding fitting songs for the street folks. The ministers had long
been troubled by the fact that the minds and manners of the
people were daily corrupted by the foolish songs they sang,
but no way had been found to teach them others. The only
place where they could learn psalms and hymns was at church,
and it was true, as many said, that the strict requirements for
membership kept more than half the people out of it. But was
there not some means by which they could be taught more
uplifting songs than the foolish doggerel that filled their
mouths?
At the meeting at Mr. Howen's house there were many
matters up for discussion: the unrest of the people under the
Governor's arbitrary rule and his enforcement of taxes, the
growing worldliness of the gentry and their aping of the im
modest fashions brought from England by the Governor's
gentlemen and their families. It was no wonder that one of
the provoking sins of New England was uncleanness when the
temptations of naked arms and necks and breasts added to
the unrest of the flesh. But all that the ministers could do
about such wickedness was to preach against it from their
pulpits, for they no longer had a powerful enough voice in
the Council Chamber to enact laws they desired.
Other matters were then taken up and disputes arose as to
whether it was well to get drunk once a month, and whether
the phases of the moon should be considered by the barbers
when they cut hair.
In the back of Jonathan's mind, however, was still the prob
lem of the street folks' singing, and as if his thoughts pene
trated the room, the subject arose of the manner of singing of
69
psalms in the meeting houses. Jonathan was glad to hear this

point taken up, for with his musical ear and his own fine sing
ing voice he had often been upset by the discordant singing
at meeting. Tunes were twisted into horrible sounds as no
two persons sang the same words or melody at the same time.
It often seemed like a frightful heathenish bellowing.
There was also the break in the singing after each two lines
so that the deacon could read aloud the next two lines for the
benefit of those who had no books or could not read. This
habit of lining added to the confusion, for the pauses between
the lines often corrupted their meaning into nonsense. "The
Lord will come and He will not," the congregation would
sing; "Keep silence, but speak out," they contradicted them
selves. It was as bad as the children confusing "the consecrated
Cross I'd bear" into some outlandish animal they called "the
consecrated cross-eyed bear."
The debate grew hot over the question as to whether sing
ing in the worship of God should not be done skillfully.
Mr. Daniel Lewis, a gentle, white-wigged minister, agreed
with Jonathan that it should. But the tall, black-eyed Rev
erent Eleazar Shippen held the belief that it did not mat
ter. Agreeing with him were Elder Crocker and the two
former magistrates, Mr. Dwine and Mr. Howen.
"What is wrong with discords as long as voices are raised
in praise of God?" was Mr. Shippen's argument.
"I see nothing wrong in them," said Mr. Howen, a lean man
with fierce small gray eyes and a network of wrinkles spread
fanwise at the corners of his thin mouth.
When Jonathan pointed out that God, just as man, could
not fail to be better pleased with more musical singing, Mr.
Howen overcame that point by stating that he himself liked
discords.
With that, the subject was dropped, but the discussion had
given Jonathan an inspiration. Why should he not establish
a singing school where he could not only teach the people
hymns but also how to sing in harmony? It would be both a
wondrous benefaction to them and a relief to his own ears.
That evening as he and Ann settled down in the study he
told her of his idea.
70
plan."
"I want you to help me teach them."
"I'll love to, Jonathan. Where will you set up your school?"
"I stopped by at The Oaken Bell after I'd thought of the
idea, and Mistress Jones was good enough to say I could have
their old stable."
Ann looked at him mischievously. "I know Mistress Jones
is only too happy to do anything to please you."
He gave her a quick look, then smiled a little. "I'll have
the place cleaned and repainted and benches built for it," he
said, making no comment on her remark. "I'll also have Mr.
Green print some copies of hymns to distribute."
"I wonder if the people will be willing to limit their melo
dies to just the four we sing in meeting. They have such a
variety of tunes to their own songs," said Ann.
"I've thought of that. But why shouldn't we put sacred
words to some of their melodies?"
"Why not indeed?" cried Ann delightedly. "Why should
the Devil have all the good tunes?" she asked, quoting Martin
Luther.
It was not long before the singing class was established.
not only for the praise he received
Jonathan was proud of
officials
and clergy alike, but because the
from government
people themselves were so enthusiastic about it.
Jonathan and Ann taught the class to memorize the hymn
music, and distributed sheets with the words so that those
who were able to read could instruct the others. The poor and
shiftless flocked to the school to raise their voices in holy
praise and fear of the Lord. Goodman Wait often attended,
but occasionally his voice would be strangely off key, and
he would fall off the bench in the midst of his psalm singing
and have to be carried out of the place.
Gradually some of the music-loving church members came
to the class, for they found the singing there much better than
at meeting. So successful was the school that Jonathan started
others in various sections of the town. Their popularity be
came so great that the elders began to fear they were an
it,
She laid down the sampler she was sewing and looked at
him admiringly. "How brilliant you are to think of such a
7i
amusement rather than a devotional act. They drew up a peti

tion to know the opinion of the town on whether these sing
ing clubs should be kept or not. When it was put to the vote
in the Council Chamber, however, the vote was in the affirm
ative, and after that there were no more complaints against
them.
Whenever Abigail accompanied Ann to the singing classes,
Ann noticed that either Increase Hubbard or Stephen Brooks
was lurking somewhere about. Sometimes they both would
appear at the same time and then Abigail would smile secretly
and delightedly at their glowering looks at each other.
Stephen Brooks was older than Increase by almost a year,
a dark-eyed skinny lad whose ruddy blunt features were al
ways full of mischief. He was the eldest of the three flocks of
children the Widow Phillips had by her three husbands. His
leanness, folks said, lingered on from the days of his mother's
first marriage to an improvident shoemaker, and neither the
comfortable living of her second husband nor yet the pros
perity of the third could ever fatten him up. The Widow
Phillips was now an important woman in the community,
managing her large farm and many head of cattle with a
competent hand, and looking with an appraising eye over the
many suitors who aspired to her buxom person and her
worldly goods.
Ann was aware of Diligence Phillips's pride of goods and
position, and knew also, as everyone did, that the widow
looked with disfavor on her son's liking for the minister's
little bond servant. As for Deacon Hubbard, for all his sever
ity with the weaknesses of sinful man, he was entirely free
from vanity and snobbishness, and regarded Abigail as a

modest and competent young maid fit to be a good wife to
whatever man would have her.
As she was walking homeward with Abigail one evening
after the singing lesson, Ann asked, "Who do you favor most,
Nibby? Stephen or Increase?"
Abigail looked at her with surprise. Mrs. Grigg rarely asked
her personal questions, and she had not even been aware that
her mistress had noticed her two swains.
"Cressy," she murmured shyly.
72
"I like
Cressy best myself," said Ann.

"You do? Really, Mistress Grigg?"
"Indeed I do. He's quite a handsome lad."
"You think him handsome?" asked Abigail delightedly.
"Why yes, and" She broke off as Increase came trailing
up the path behind them. He started to pass by but AbigaU
caught his hand.
"Oh, Cressy, you should have heard what Mistress Grigg
was just saying about you," she giggled.
He glanced at Ann suspiciously.

"Well?" prompted Ann. "Don't you want to
guess
what
said?"
"Likely naught to my good," he mumbled.

Ann could scarcely believe her ears. "Why should you
"
think
such a thing as that, Increase Hubbard?
"Mr. Grigg comes no more to our
house, and
we thought
you misliked us."

"Your mother and father thought that?" asked Ann with
a feeling of dismay.
"Nonot they."
"Who then?"
He remained silent.
"Who was it?" said Ann sharply. "Who thought I disliked
you?"
"I did."
"It wasn't you," protested Abigail. "It wasn't Cressy, Mis
tress Grigg. It was Dorcas said it."
"Dorcas? Why should she say such a thing?" Ann felt that
on the brink of learning the reason for the Hubbard
children's unaccountable aloofness. She saw Abigail and In
crease exchange glances; then they looked at her.
she was
"Well?"
"I
she asked.
don't know," said Increase.

"I can hardly believe that," said Ann. "But anyway it's
nonsense to say I do not like the Hubbard family. Your
mother is a dear good neighbor to me, and I would be happy
if her children were the same. But when I've stopped by your
house,
Increase,
would like her."
haven't seen your sister as friendly as

73
"She's not friendly to strangers . . ."

"But certainly I am no stranger now! And could she not
show a more cheerful faceeven to strangers?"
"Her mind's on the sinfulness of folks . . ."
Ann gave a rippling peal of laughter. "That defense of her

would never have occurred to me, Cressy. Does she then find
"
me so sinful that she scorns to give me a smile of welcome?
"Oh, Mistress Grigg, Cressy didn't mean that!" cried Abi
gail.
Increase was staring at Ann, bewildered by her laughter
when he had expected angry rebuke for his evasions. "No, I
didn't mean that, Mistress Grigg," he said uncertainly.
"Though it is no wrong for her to have her mind on the wick
edness of the world."
"I often think we have our minds too much on wickedness.
It's apt to make us see it everywhere even where there is
none. Everyone certainly wants to do right, and perhaps some
of the wrong things we do are only mistaken ways of trying
to do the right thing."
"But Dorcas doesn't even care about doing right," said
Abigail, impulsively betraying her friend under the spell of
Ann
"I
s gentleness.
can't believe that," said Ann. "She seems to me a very

spirited girl. Perhaps in trying to find something to pleasure
her, she does the wrong thing instead of the right thing."
Increase's black eyes were fixed on her in fascination. He
had never in his life heard such indulgent interpretations of
human actions. "She gets joy out of wrongdoing," he said,
forgetting his defense of his sister and as much under Ann's
spell as Abigail.
"I'm sure it's not the wrongdoing itself she gets joy out of,"
said Ann. "She wants so much to be gay and happy that she
probably pretends to get joy even in wrongdoing. But I think
it is nothing but pretense. She'd be truly happy if she could
do right things to give her pleasure."
"I wish she could hear you talk like this. She'd feel differ
ently toward you," said Increase.
Ann smiled affectionately at him. "I wish so, too. Won't
you tell her to come and see me?"
74
"Yes, I will, Mistress Grigg," he replied, and for the first

time he smiled at her.
CHAPTER
XI
Under the late fall sun, Dorcas and Increase roamed along
the shore picking bayberries for candlemaking. Every New
England household was now preparing for winter. The
men hunted in the deep forests. They killed deer, moose,
black bear, and wild turkey. In the town, cows, hogs, and
oxen were slaughtered. The women cured the meat and
melted down the lard. They made sausage, headcheese, and
butter. They brewed beer from barley corn and made wines
from rhubarb, elderberry, and cowslips. For the long barren
winter days ahead they stored away bins of potatoes, carrots,
onions, turnips, cabbages, and apples; barrels of vinegar and
cider; jars of pickles and preserved fruits and candies. High
on the beams extending the length of the kitchen ceilings they
hung hams, game, and sides of bacon. Children sat by
their firesides knitting pairs of woolen stockings and mittens,
hoping, as they hoped each year, that the thick weave would
protect their feet and hands from frostbite.
Now was the time of candlemaking, the great autumnal
task to lighten the darkness of winter. There was tallow made
from moose fat, deer suet, bear's grease, and beeswax. But the
most beautiful of all candles was that made from the bayberry,
fragrant as incense, transparently green as a sea wave.
As Dorcas picked the tiny wax-coated berries from the
gnarled bushes and dropped them into her basket, she crushed
some between her fingers, loving the pungent fragrance. Her
scarlet cloak swept back from her shoulders in the strong
75
wind and her dark curling hair blew about her face in wild
freedom.
Increase, happy and excited in the exhilarating rush of sea
air, spoke aloud the thoughts that had been gathering. "Mis
tress Grigg is like this wind," he cried, throwing back his
head and feeling its cool fresh sting on his face. "She sweeps
away all the evil in the air and makes one feel sinless."
A dark look came over Dorcas's face. "What spell has she
put on you these last days that you do naught but talk about
her?"
"Why don't you go visit

"I've told you I won't!
her as she wants you to?"

She's done enough harm already
spoiling you."
"She hasn't spoiled me. She makes me feel I'm better than
was."
"Well, you're not better than you thought you were! And
she'd better watch out or she'll be following Ann Hutchin
son's footsteps if she isn't careful."
"Oh, Dorcas, don't compare her to that heretic."
"Well, you'd almost think she believed she was guided by
Divine Light and not needing the authority of the ministers.
What right has she to say that people are good when the
ministers tell us that all mankind have bad hearts!"
thought
"You're jealous," he teased. "You're angry at her because

Mr. Grigg married her instead of you."
"She won him by trickery!" cried Dorcas furiously. "I
could have had him too if I'd stooped to to do the things she
did!"
"What did
she
do?" asked her brother with a smile of
amusement on his heavy mouth.

"What did she do? Why she she danced in front of him!
That's what she did. She danced before him and wound her
"
arms around him andand
"Were you in Salem Village when Mr. Grigg was courting
that you saw that?"

"Laugh if you want, but
I know
that's what she did, and
worse too maybe. And it's no wonder Nibby's growing cold

to you when all your love has turned to Mrs. Grigg."
76
His laughter abruptly stopped. "Don't say that. It isn't
true!"
"It
"It
Do you deny loving Mrs. Grigg?"

isn't true that Nibby's growing cold to me,"
"Well, you'd better not love Mrs. Grigg so much or you'll
is true.
get into trouble with following her ways. She's wicked and
haughty
Quaker."
"Don't be always calling people names," he muttered in
as a
exasperation.
"But
like a Quaker, just
haughty and stubborn.

I was reading about one yesterday in an old sermon. Mary
Dyer, she was called. Do you know what happened to her?"
she is
as
"No. What?"
"She was taken to the common with two others of her kind
to be hanged. They were two men, one was William Robin
son and the other was Marmaduke Stephenson. They were
hanged speedily, but Mary Dyer was only obliged to sit on a
ladder with her arms and legs bound and a rope around her
neck to give her a good scare. Then she was let down and
banished."
"Why wasn't she hanged?"

"I don't know. But guess what
she did afterward!
She came
right back again a few months later and said she was going
to live here."
"Was
allowed to?" asked Increase in surprise.

"Of course not! You don't think our elders would be so
sinfully tolerant, do you? They hanged her, of course, and
from the very limb of the old elm she had sat under months
before on the ladder."
"The Quakers are queer folks," said Increase indifferently,
throwing a handful of berries into the basket on the ground.
"They care naught how they are beaten or banished or
hanged for their ways."
"Well, Ann Grigg had better watch out or she'll be hanged
too!"
"Don't be silly, Dorcas. What has she to do with Quakers?
And besides, everybody likes her."
"Not everybody! There are many complaints about her
she
77
consorting with sinners and her proud ways with righteous

folks."
"Well, I like her, and I don't care what some sorry old
gabies say about her. And Stephen likes her so much he's even
mending his mischievous ways."
"Stephen Brooks isn't always about the minister's house to
listen to Mistress Grigg, you ninny. He just uses that as an
excuse to see Nibby oftener."
"You're lying!"
"I'm not lying. He told me so himself. And he told me that
Mrs. Grigg praises him all the time in front of Nibby, and
that she's helping him win her away from you."
"She's not! You're only lying!" He snatched up his basket
and musket and clambered down the rocks to get away from
her. As he went on, seeking another patch of bayberry bushes,
he tried not to believe what she had said. But he remembered
that Mistress Grigg had indeed often praised Stephen, and
that Abigail was listening. There might be some truth in his
sister's accusation.
When Dorcas had almost filled her basket she saw young
Dr. Bibber riding along the shore. She called and waved to
him, and he immediately swerved and rode toward her.
"What are you doing here alone?" he shouted as he came
near.
She did not answer, but waited until he rode close to her.
Then she glanced up at him provocatively. "I'm not alone,"
she said.
He looked all around him. "I see no one."

"Good spirits are all around me."
"Or perhaps evil spirits, or savages or wild animals. You
shouldnt be so reckless, Dorcas."
"Do you think me ugly and wicked because I'm reckless,
Henry?" she asked demurely.

He flung his big body out of the
saddle, ran up to her

and caught her in his arms. "I couldn't think you ugly no
matter what you did," he said passionately.
"Don't," she gasped, breathless from the hug. "Cressy is
watching."
He released her quickly. "Where is

78
he?
don't
see
him."
it,
"He's down by that rock. There see he's raised his head.
He wouldn't leave me unprotected." She laughed at the min
gled relief and disappointment in Henry's face.
"Come down below with me where he can't see us," he
said, lowering his voice as though afraid her brother could
hear him even from that distance.
She shook her head.
"Please, Dorcas," he urged, taking her arm and trying to
draw her with him.
She pulled away, still shaking her head.
"Please, Dorcas. Just for a minute. I won't try to kiss you, I
promise. Maybe you'll dance for me, will you?" he added,
knowing her love of dancing and that an audience to see her
was a temptation she could scarcely resist. He was right, for
after a brief hesitation she picked up her basket and ran lightly
down behind the ledge of rocks.
Henry Bibber followed her. He seated himself on a rock,
stretching out his booted feet comfortably as she began danc
ing in the grass before him. Her hands and arms wove intricate
patterns, and the lithe limbs under the swirl of her dress and
petticoats flowed in seductive motion.
Unable to restrain himself, Henry sprang up and caught
her to his breast. As he bent his head over her, she closed her
eyes. Soft and acquiescent in his arms, she took his avid kisses
on her mouth. She dreamed it was another holding her, gave
her lips in wild abandon to another. Then she opened her
eyes, and seeing the kindly freckled face of the doctor above
her instead of the face she loved, gave a little choking cry and
freed herself from his arms.
"What is
my sweetest Dorcas? Oh, why don't you have
me, proper and married, instead of these stolen moments?"
She did not answer.
"Why don't you have me, Dorcas?" he pleaded.
She turned away, and without answering, without even
looking at him, picked up her basket.
"Dorcas! Please don't go."
She ran off without heeding him, and heaving
deep sigh
the young doctor remounted his horse and rode on.
Back in the house, Dorcas saw that Increase had not yet
79
returned. Benjamin was there alone, bent over his hornbook

studying his lesson with his hands clapped to his ears.
Dorcas emptied her basket of bayberries into a huge pot,
and then as she was hanging up her basket on a hook on the
wall, burst into tears. Benjamin, with his hands tight against
his ears, did not hear her. She crouched down in a corner of
the fireplace, sobbing softly.
When the door opened she did not move, thinking it In
crease returning, believing her father off hunting with the
men. But it was his voice that crashed over her.
"
'By such slothfulness the building decayeth: and through
idleness of the hands the house droppeth through.' What ails
"
you to be sitting idle with so much work to be done?
Benjamin looked up startled, and saw his father take Dorcas
by the arm and jerk her out from the fire corner.
In a panic of fear, Dorcas fell on her knees before him.
"Don't whip me, Father! Don't! God pity me but I think
Satan has his dread hold on me!"
Mr. Hubbard stared down at her as if she had become some
thing repellent, no longer his human daughter but some mon
ster. The fireroom was silent except for their heavy breathing.
Benjamin broke the spell by rushing forward and throwing
his arms around his sister. "No, Dorcas!" he cried. "Don't
say such a thing! You are God's."
The deacon took a deep breath, God's Holy Name exorcis
ing the evil spirit he had felt present. Yet he was still shaken.
"Get up on your feet, Dorcas," he ordered. "Now tell me
what ails you?"

Terrified, confused, she stood up and wiped the sand from
her dress with trembling hands. In her fear of physical punish
ment for idleness she had unwittingly laid bare the deeper fear
of her soul.
"Come, speak up," urged Mr. Hubbard.

"I don't know what ails me, Father. But something hinders
my sleeping . . . something keeps my mind from my work."
"It is naught but your own wickedness putting you in such
state."
She kept her eyes lowered, her thin brown fingers twisting
nervously in the folds of her skirt. Her father stood looking
a
80
in frowning perplexity. Then he went slowly to the

dresser and took a bound book of sermons from the shelf.
"I must seek guidance for you," he muttered, and seating
himself in his armchair, opened the book and began to read
aloud: "To avoid the deception of the Prince of Darkness . . ."
Immediately Dorcas recognized the familiar words of Mr.
Jonathan Grigg. "Not his words!" she cried, looking up
wildly. "It is he who torments me!"
"Mr. Grigg! Have your wits gone astray?"
She cast herself at his feet, embracing his knees. "Yes, it is
he. He has put a spell on me, Father. When I go through the
woods to gather nuts, or rushes from the marsh, he follows
me. At night his footsteps awaken me as he walks across the
floor to my bed frightening me so that I cry out."
"It is naught but your imaginings! " shouted John Hubbard
indignantly.
"No, not imaginings. It is true! I do cry out at night, don't
I, Benjamin?"
"Yes, Father, she often cries out at night," said Benjamin,
eager to help her.
Dorcas, gazing up tremblingly at her father, saw the anger
and indignation leave his face and give place to troubled
doubt. For several moments he brooded over the strange and
terrible accusation.
"Benjamin, lad, go fetch Mr. Grigg here at once," he said
at last.
"No!"
let ripen."
While Benjamin was gone they
is
it
shrieked Dorcas, stumbling to her feet and trying to

prevent her brother's departure.
But the deacon grasped her arm, holding her back. "We'll
have Mr. Grigg's explanation on this, Dorcas Hubbard. I
know not what to make of
but
too grave
matter to
it,
in silence. John Hub

bard was too disturbed to read the book that lay open on his
knees, and Dorcas, her thoughts in
tumult, was unable to
plan anything but only wait to see what would happen next.
When Jonathan strode in, breathless and wrathful, Dorcas
cast one look at his blazing eyes and burst into tears.
"Repeat to Mr. Grigg what you told me."
sat
at her
81
But her father's command only frightened her into wilder

sobbing.
If
her time to come out of his power and she'll be able to tell us
what happened."
She saw them sitting watching her, waiting for her to cease
weeping. If only she could weep forever and never have to
repeat the terrible words she had spoken. If only Mr. Grigg
would lay his strong hand upon her to give her courage. But
she had raised his anger against her. How could she ever quell
it? She grew quiet with hopelessness.
"Well, Dorcas Hubbard?"
"I don't know why I said what I did. It was not you who
followed me while I ran through the woods. I called and
called but you did not answer. You would have answered if
you heard me calling. They were not your footsteps that
awoke me Benjamin's, perhaps, or Cressy's not yours."
Her quiet stream of confession washed the minister clean.
The terrifying bright anger of his eyes faded. "Why then did
you accuse me?" he asked, his voice almost gentle now.
"I don't know, sir. You are the best and kindest and godliest person in the whole world. It was not out of my own ill
will, but Satan took hold of my tongue Yes, Satan," she said
eagerly, seeing the flash of his eyes at the hated name. "They
fear you in hell, Mr. Grigg, and seek to harm you. I was but
the vile instrument they used. I did feel I was in the Devil's
power. I told my father so."
Deacon Hubbard nodded, and Jonathan's heart went out to
her in pity for the devil that had possessed her. He laid his
hand upon her black clustering curls. "Don't fear, Dorcas.
We are here to help you now."
At the touch of his hand, at the tenderness of his voice, her
heart quickened with joy. Somehow she seemed closer to him
now than ever before.
"Oh, pray for me, Mr. Grigg. Pray for me though I am not
am so vile and wicked."
worthy of
though
shall
"Of course
pray for you, poor child. Though God
have
caused
me great distress by your abuse.
knows you
it,
"Don't question her until the fit is over. I know these

manifestations of the Evil Spirit," said Jonathan grimly. "Give
82
any other than your father had heard the accusation you
made against me, he might have made more of it."
"I'll never accuse you again, never! Though my tongue be
torn from my mouth," said Dorcas fiercely.
"She shall be given a fitting punishment for what she has
done," said her father. "The ducking stool will cool her fire
for such slander."
rather this remain between ourselves without pubhe punishment," said Jonathan. "I cannot believe that Dorcas
would intentionally seek to harm me."
The deacon's snaggy brows drew together. "You are be
come too clement, Mr. Grigg, for the weal of those under
your care."
Jonathan was silent for a moment, and Dorcas wondered if
he would change his decision because of her father's criticism.
Suddenly she wished that he would, that she could suffer for
hurting him as she had.
Finally he said, "Your daughter has acknowledged her fault
it
deacon. "You don't remember
it;
and is repentant, John. That is all that is needed from her. But
I want time to think about this strange happening. If the
witchcraft so prevalent abroad had shown itself in our land, I
should think there was something of witchcraft in it."
"We did have a taint of it here some years ago," said the
was before your time.
it
it
But we stamped
out before
made any headway by hang
ing the witch, Mrs. Hibbins, and its earlier outcropping in an
other witch, Margaret Jones."
Jonathan started. "Now that you mention their names
remember my father telling me of them. God grant the foul
creatures do not get another start among us."
"We must be ever watchful against them," said Mr. Hub
bard. "The Devil will never cease trying to avenge himself on
us for wresting this territory from him and his savages."
Jonathan rose, and Dorcas sprang up and stood beside him.
"Pray God to keep your soul in peace, Dorcas," he said. "I
special prayer for you tonight."
The thought of being in his mind when he was gone from
her made her dark eyes shine with joy. She looked up at him
83
shall say
"I would
lovingly. "You are a wondrous strength for us in our sinful

lives, Mr. Grigg. I am grateful for your prayer."
When he returned home, Jonathan told Ann the whole
story.
"How could Dorcas
asked
in wonderment.
have said such
frightful things?" she

"I thought she was so fond of you,
Jonathan."
"She is fond of me, dear; she has been since she was a little
girl. But she was under the spell of Satan."
"I don't think she was under any spell at all," said Ann. "I
think it was simply her own love of mischief making."
"You must not say that, dear. The daughter of John Hub
bard is a good and pious girl. If you had seen her fright over
her experience and her pitiful prayers for help, you would
not say such a thing. You seem to have no fear, Ann, of the
invisible world. But there is much in it to terrify the bravest
heart. The fight is never equal between us and the legions of
darkness."
"But we can easily fight what we
see
and hear," insisted
Ann.
"There is much below the surface of what we see and hear,

my dearest. The human shell of flesh and blood hides strange
forces. We can only pray God to give us light to understand
them."
CHAPTER
Xll
Old Dr.
Bibber lay dying. His fourth wife and her son,

young Dr. Bibber, were kneeling at one side of his bed and
Jonathan knelt praying aloud at the far side. The old man,
eighty-seven years old, would soon be joining his other three
wives in Copps Hill Burying Place. His fierce blue eyes were
84
fading fast and his white hair was dank on his skull-like head.
Of his twenty children only young Dr. Bibber remained alive,
but in this son, whom he had taught all his knowledge of
medicine, his name and fame would survive.
He opened his dry lips and mumbled incoherently. Mistress
Bibber bent over him and tried to catch the words, but she
could not understand what he wanted. His eyes rolled toward
the minister, and Jonathan rose and leaned over him.
"What is it?" he asked. "What troubles you?"
With a great effort the old man raised his voice. "Your long
praying," he croaked impatiently.
The next moment he fell back into the arms of his Maker.
Old Dr. Bibber's last words sent a gale of secret laughter
through the community. Indeed, many would have liked to
have said the same thing to the ministers, and not waited until
their dying day to say it.
As the deceased was of Jonathan's congregation, Ann at
tended the funeral. The Widow Bibber's grievance against
her for urging her son to break the law by helping Goodman
Wait had long since been forgiven. She welcomed Ann
warmly and complimented her on her beautiful costume, the
yellow flowered damask gown and the diamond earrings
sparkling under the gold-laced cap.
Food and drink were in abundance to give honor to old
Dr. Bibber. Funeral gifts of gloves were given to the presid
ing magistrate, to the minister, and to the coffin bearers. The
magistrate and Jonathan received costly pairs of purple velvet
and the underbearers cheaper white cotton ones. Jonathan
also received one of the mourning rings that were distributed
to friends, relatives, and dignitaries. At home he had a drawer
full of scarves and gloves given him as funeral, wedding, and
christening gifts. He had an urn half full of mourning rings,
each one of gold, enameled in black with designs of death's
heads, winged skulls, and coffins, and bearing various inscrip
tions as "Prepare for Death," "Love Is Above All," "Prepared
Be to Follow Me," and the name or initials of the deceased
with the date of his or her death. Sometimes the poorer minis
ters of the colony sold these funeral gifts, as well as their
presents received at weddings and baptisms, thus adding to
85
their meager incomes. But Jonathan was wealthy enough

without resorting to such poor necessity, and the gifts to him
piled up unnoticed in their receptacles.
The house of the Widow Bibber was crowded. Ann saw
many people there she knew and met others whom she had
known only by sight. She became acquainted with Captain
John Morgan, the marshal, his wife, and his daughter Mary.
She noticed that little Mary Morgan turned yearning eyes
toward young Dr. Bibber, who in turn had eyes only for
Dorcas Hubbard.
Ann watched Dorcas curiously, seeking to discover the
real nature of the girl. But she saw only the dark expressive
face aglow with happy excitement. She wondered if Dorcas
would be less mischief making if she were not so restricted in
the stern household of her father. She made several attempts

to speak with her, but then realized that it was not chance
but design that took Dorcas away before she could reach her.
Thomas Dwine was there, and when he saw Ann he left a
thin, blue-eyed girl in a purple-striped silk gown and came to
her side. Ann saw the girl look at her angrily, and feeling
sorry for Thomas's desertion of her, asked who she was.
Thomas said she was Forsaken Howen, one of the daughters
of the deposed magistrate, Mr. Nicholas Howen. Apparently
Ann had missed her when
she had paid her
first visit to Mr.
Howen's house soon after coming to Boston.

So that Thomas might return to poor Forsaken Howen,
Ann engaged his cousin, Mr. Theophilus Dwine, and his wife,
Dorothy, in conversation. But Thomas showed no inclination
to return to the girl and fingered at Ann's side. He pointed out
for her amusement Mistress Theophilia Jones, who was wor

ried as usual about the propriety of her apparel. He had over
heard her asking Mr. Grigg if the slashed silver sleeves of the
pea-green silk dress she was wearing was seemly for her sta
tion, with not too many slashes. Mr. Grigg's reply was that
her new prosperity warranted it.

Ann glanced over to where Theophilia was speaking with
Jonathan, and a feeling of annoyance arose at the sight of the
coquettish look on Mistress Jones's face. "Yes," she said to
86
it
it,
Thomas, "I know of her growing prosperity. And I know one

of the causes for
too."
"You do?" he asked, giving her shrewd look.
"I'm sure you know
as well as I," she returned. "The se
cret gaming room in the attic of the tavern."
"And will Mr. Grigg be calling her husband to account for
it
at next Sabbath meeting?"

"It was not my husband who told me of it," she replied.
don't know that he aware of it."
is
"I
"You will not tell him?"
Ann shook her
would never be tale bearer. Be

sides, gambling was common pastime throughout the colony.
No matter how much the ministers preached against
nor
how many fines the magistrates imposed,
flourished alike
was Goody Gower
among old and young, rich and poor.
who had told Ann about the secret gaming room and Ann felt
more concern about its effect upon Mr. Jones than about
the forbidden gaming itself.
It
it
good-natured, simple,
Jeremiah Jones had always been
honest man, but now he was changing. He was drinking more
of his own liquor than was good for him. He was quarreling
with old friends, and making boon companion of an Indian
who he said had saved his life in tussle with bear. When
man who had always been obedient to the laws suddenly be
gan breaking them there was no telling where he would stop.
Although many who saw the change in Jeremiah sympa
thized with his wife, Goody Gower had told Ann that
was
Mistress Jones herself who had changed him. She had treated
him with such scant respect since her marriage that he had
even come to think meanly of himself.
was Theophilia also,
according to Goody Gower, who had inveigled Jeremiah into
setting up the gaming room to satisfy her growing greediness
for wealth.
it,
Now Thomas confirmed Goody Gower's opinion. "Well,"

he said, "I hope Jeremiah doesn't get caught at
for he will
is
8?
it
bear the brunt of

even though his wife
back of
all."
At that very moment Ann saw Mr. Jones reeling from the
amount of rum he had drunk. His wife went to him, and as
it
It
it
it,
head. She
out of the house shook her head sorrowfully at

the sympathetic looks of her neighbors.
Mr. Jeremiah Jones, however, was not the only one who
had taken more than enough. An unseemly hilarity was
spreading through the room, even as far as the parlor where
the corpse lay pale and quiet. The more decorous guests be
gan taking leave, but those who enjoyed the conviviality of
she led him
such gatherings lingered on.
The morning after the funeral Ann was awaiting the arrival
of Mistress Hubbard and Mistress Dwine who had
said
they
would like to come up and spin with her.

One of her spinning wheels was in her husband's study, for
as Jonathan wrote or read at his writing table he liked to hear
the hum of the wheel mingling with her singing.
Now he
lips. It was
glanced over at her and a smile hovered about his

always a delight to him to watch Ann in whatever
she was doing, and he liked best to watch her while she was
spinning. She stood there now, making a series of little move
ments as beautiful as a dance. With her left hand she would
pick up the slender roll of wool from the wheel's platform and
wind the end on the point of the spindle, then give the wheel
a twist with her right hand. She would take a few steps back
ward, her hand raised high holding the yarn, then gracefully
glide forward to let the yarn wind on. the spindle. It was said
that with these little forward and backward steps a woman
walked over twenty miles in a day's spinning.
When the knocker sounded, Betsy opened the door to
admit Mistress Dwine and Mistress Hubbard. They had rid
den up, each bringing her own spinning wheel tied on the
horse behind her. While Moses stabled their horses, Betsy
helped set up their wheels in the parlor where Ann kept her
smaller wheel, and in a few moments Ann joined her friends.
Mistress Dorothy Dwine was a large jovial woman whose
brown eyes were always crinkling up with fine fines of
laughter. Folks said that the ready smile on her full red lips
was because of her successful rearing of fourteen children.
Not many children survived beyond their second year, with
the dangers of birth, the icy baptism of a winter meeting
88
house,
or the usually fatal sicknesses of dysentery, scarlet and
yellow fever, and smallpox.

"If I didn't want to disappoint you," Mistress Dwine
greeted Ann, "I don't think I could have managed to come."
"Why not? I hope none of the children are ailing."
"The children aren't ailing, but I am, Mistress Grigg. I'm
afraid I overdrank myself at the Widow Bibber's yesterday.
There's an awful buzzing of my poor head that is surely the
Lord's punishment on me."
Ann laughed, for it wasn't the first time she had heard
Dorothy Dwine make such a complaint. Indeed, Mistress
Dwine had almost as great a weakness for good rum as a man.
Mercy Hubbard had brought Ann a new design for a
patchwork quilt. "It's called The Dove in the Window," she
said. "My little Benjamin helped me with it."
"It's lovely," said Ann, examining it admiringly. "Benjamin
has a wondrous skill with patterns and colors." She wished
that he would come and help her sometime, but would not
ask his mother to send him when he would not come will
ingly. She thought she had conquered the Hubbard children's
unfriendliness when Increase had taken to visiting her after
her meeting with him on the road from the singing class. But
he had stopped coming as suddenly as he had started, and
some unknown reason had withdrawn again into his
for
old
aloofness.
The morning
passed pleasantly
as
they sat spinning and
singing hymns or gossiping about the funeral. Then Betsy laid

out the noonday meal. She set the snowy linen cloth on the
table and laid napkins at each place. She piled each pewter
platter high with a stew of meat and vegetables, set out fresh
maize bread mixed with huckleberries, and apple tarts, pickled
mushrooms, cheese, and butter. She set out drinking cups for
the ale.
As Mistress Dwine drank a foaming cup of ale she smacked
her lips gratefully. "That goes where it should go," she de
clared.
"I
should have had some of that before."
"I'm sorry I didn't think of it,"

ask me for some?"
89
said
Ann. "Why didn't you
"Never mind. I didn't have sense enough to think of it. But

that reminds me, Mr. Dwine brought me home some tea the
other day.
It was
the first that
ever tasted."
"Would you like some now? I'll have Betsy make it," said
Ann quickly, not to be remiss a second time.
"On, no, don't, for I can't say I like the stuff, even if it is
such a delicacy.
"It shouldn't
It certainly has a very

have if you didn't let
Ann.
"Well, I didn't let it stand. I
queer bitter taste."

it stand too long," said
it as soon as it was cooked.

I even put butter and salt on but still didn't like it."
"What! You ate the leaves!" cried Ann in surprise.
"Of course. Haven't just been telling you ate it? And
didn't like and neither did Mr. Dwine."
Ann burst into laughter and Mercy Hubbard smiled.
"You don't eat tea, you drink it," explained Ann. "It's the
the tea. The leaves
liquid that comes from the leaves that
are just thrown away."
"Well, now, what do you think of that! What ninny
mistake." And Mrs. Dwine laughed
am to have made such
heartily at herself.
"I'll have some made for you now and I'm sure you'll like
it," offered Ann.

a
She called to Abigail who was just passing the door. "Oh,
Nibby. Stop moment and make us some tea, please."
A look of disappointment came over Abigail's face. "I was
just going out berry picking, Mistress Grigg. Couldn't
is
it
get
to
make
for
you?"
Betsy
"Of course you could. Tell her then, and run along." Ann
turned to the others. "Nibby loves bayberry picking, and
can't say blame her for wanting to be out on this beautiful
on us."
day. There won't be many more before winter
"Don't you think you and Mr. Grigg indulge the girl too
much?" asked Mistress Dwine blandly. "You treat her more
that. And there's quite

laxness of yours. Haven't you heard
90
it, a
is
"I know
It
daughter of the house than servant."

"She
good child and we're both fond of her.
our way to be overly severe."
as
is
it
it,
ate
isn't
bit of talk about that

Mistress Hubbard?"
Mercy Hubbard blushed in embarrassment. "Mistress Grigg
kind heart," she murmured.

Dorothy Dwine laughed and shrugged her plump shoulders.
"A kind heart is all very well for those who deserve it. But
when it comes to servants and slaves and malefactors it is
more of a kindness to their souls to be severe with them."
"What ever became of those Quakers who came into town
about three weeks past?" asked Mrs. Hubbard to change the
subject. "I never heard any news of their leaving."
"They've been lodged in jail ever since they had the au
dacity to set foot in Boston."
"How many of them are there? Are they men or women?"
asked Ann curiously.
"There are two women," replied Mrs. Dwine. "Those
Quakers are obstinate as mules. What foolishness to say that
a soul can be divinely illuminated and we do not need the
clergy to make God's word clear. And to call the elect of God
a hireling priesthood well! It is too bad the death penalty was
removed from them!"
"They are still warned and whipped and banished out of
town," murmured Mrs. Hubbard, "and yet they return."
"I heard it said they are like to starve to death if the ship
does not come soon from the Barbadoes to carry them into
exile," said Mrs. Dwine.
"But why does not the marshal feed them?" asked Ann.
"He feeds prisoners as best he can," returned Dorothy
Dwine. "If food is short those least deserving must go with
out. That is a rare pretty brooch you are wearing, Mistress
Grigg. Does it come from England?"
Ann fingered her mosaic pin abstractedly, thinking of the
starving Quaker women. "My father brought it to me when
he came home from one of his voyages. It comes from the
East."
"You have such pretty taste in jewelry and clothes, Mistress
Grigg," said Mrs. Hubbard, her eyes admiringly on Ann's
light blue serge gown with the ornamental pink apron over it.
"Yes, she has exquisite taste," agreed Mrs. Dwine. "And those
diamond earrings and pendant of yours are most marvelous."
"They were my mother's wedding gift to me," said Ann.
"I heard it said that Farmer Browne had to pay a heavy
has a
9*
fine for the wearing of silver buckles on his shoes," remarked
Mrs. Hubbard.
"Yes, I heard it too," said Dorothy Dwine. "Mr. Dwine
says that we'll see all the people of the countryside wearing
silver and gold they're so puffed up with pride since they
were given the vote. Though, of course, the vote's now been
taken away from all of us. But I must say I myself don't mind
the sight of finery, wherever it is. I let my black Lucy wear
some of my ribbons and earrings about the house, she looks
so pretty in them. And I bought a beautiful white horsehair
wig trimmed with red ribbons for Amos. It looks wondrous
framing his big black face."
"Mr. Hubbard and Mr. Grigg do not approve the wearing
of wigs, especially on the slaves," said Mistress Hubbard.
"I know they don't, but then the Reverend Mr. Lewis does,
and wears one himself. While the ministers and magistrates

disagree among themselves on the subject, Mr. Dwine and my
sons and my slaves will go on wearing them to their heart's
content."
As the two women chatted on during the
of the after
noon, Ann's thoughts kept reverting to the pitiful plight of
the Quaker women. When her friends finally left, she hur
riedly packed a basket of food and set out for the jail.
As she approached the gloomy stone building she looked
around carefully to make sure no one was watching, cautious
now for Jonathan's sake. But she saw no one, and quickly
opened the door and entered.
The jailer was a tall gray old man with grim features. He
looked with surprise at the minister's wife and bowed defer
rest
entially.
"What brings you into this place, Mistress Grigg?"

"I have some food for the two Quakers lodged here.
would like you to take me to them."

"Nay, Mistress Grigg, Old Tom cannot do that. The
wretches who defy God and His clergy will get no help
through me."
"Their punishment is to be lodged in jail and not to be
starved," said Ann. "I insist on you taking me to them."
But despite all her commands and pleadings, Old Tom could
92
not be moved from his decision. In angry helplessness she was

just turning to go when Thomas Dwine entered.
"I saw you come in here from down the street, Mistress
Grigg. I hope you'll forgive me if my presence is trouble
some, but I thought I might be of some help to you."
"You are always helping me when I need help most," she
said gratefully.
Thomas's warm brown eyes looked at her steadily as she
told him of the jailor's refusal to allow her to bring food to
the Quakers. When she had finished, he nodded sympatheti

cally. Then he drew the jailer aside and for a few moments
they held a whispered conversation. When it was ended, Old
Tom took a bunch of keys from the wall and gruffly bade
them follow him.
Ann looked at Thomas in astonishment. "What magic did
you use to accomplish this?" she whispered.

His mouth twisted into its humorous smile. "Sometimes a
few shillings will weigh the scale that does not register appeals
to the heart, Mistress Grigg."
As they went deeper into the prison Ann gagged at the
terrible stench that pervaded the narrow dark corridors. She
held her hand to her mouth and nose as they descended some
steps and" the jailer unlocked one of the heavy wooden doors
and pushed it inward to let them enter.
The cell was scarcely five feet high, dark and evil smelling.
Pale streams of light came from two slits in the stone wall. Dim
figures were huddled about the floor, and strange sounds were
coming from one corner. There were men and women here
and a child not more than ten years old. Ann had known that
offenders of both sexes were imprisoned together and that
under the law any child over seven was responsible for the
commitment of a crime, but the full significance of this had
never impressed her until she saw the actual scene before her
eyes. She shuddered at the physical closeness of these people
crowded together, at their lack of privacy and the degrada
tion and humiliation of it all.
"There are the Quaker women," said Thomas, pointing
out two shadowy figures seated on a narrow bench under one
of the chinks of light.
93
Ann went stooping toward them, unable to walk upright

under that low ceiling. She took the bread, cheese, ham, and
apples from her basket and laid the food on their laps. "I have
brought something for you to eat," she said softly.
Chains rattled on the wrists of the women as their fingers
closed greedily over the food. "Thank thee, mistress. God
bless thee," came their ghostly voices.
Ann laid a jug of cider on the bench beside them. She
looked with wonder on these strange creatures whose hereti
cal opinions made them outcasts from the community. They
rejected baptism and communion, oaths and war. They said
God was the sole lawgiver and the Bible his lawbook, and
they did not believe that people were shut away from com
munion with God except through the intercession of ministers.
It was not even a kingdom of heaven they believed in, with
its ranking seraphim and cherubim, archangels, angels, proph
ets, saints, and purged sinners, but rather some visionary
heaven where rank was abolished and all were equal under
God.
Yet for
these misguided and dangerous people Ann felt

now that she had seen them. She noticed that they
only pity
had torn their neckerchiefs into strips and bound them about
their wrists where the heavy chains had rubbed them sore.
From the far corner the strange human sounds had now
ceased, and she wondered what was going on there yet dared
not look. But Thomas Dwine had seen the man and woman
there and knew it was a whore plying her trade.
He had taken an apple from Ann's basket and given it to
the child. The little boy said his name was Jolly Death, and
Thomas thought of the sardonic humor of that father who
had added such a baptismal name to his son's surname. Good
man Death, he now learned, had lately been drowned while
fishing in the bay, and the widow was so drunken with grief
and rum that she often neglected to feed her child. So Jolly
had been whipped once for thievery and was now imprisoned
for his second offense. When Thomas promised him that he
could come and work for him when he had served his sen
tence the child gave only an indifferent nod.
Suddenly a deep quivering male voice began singing some
94
where in the prison. It was one of the mad songs sung by Bed
lamites who roamed the English villages, laughing and danc
ing and singing for their suppers.
From the hag and hungry goblin
That into rags would rend ye,
And the spirit that stands
By the naked man
In the book of moons defend ye,
That of your five sound senses
You never be forsaken,
Nor wander from
Yourselves with Tom
Abroad to beg your bacon.
do sing, "Any food, any feeding,

Feeding, drink or clothing?
Come, dame or maid,
Be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing."
In
the midst of the song another voice a woman's high

voice rose clear and beautiful in a hymn. Other women's and
men's voices joined her. Then several voices broke in, some
taking up the refrain of Tom O'Bedlam and others roaring
out bawdy ballads. A weird unearthly medley of sacred and
profane singing rent the air, interspersed with wild shouts
and laughter.
Terrified by the uproar, Ann snatched up her basket. She
leaned over the Quakers to say hastily, "I hope the ship comes
soon to set you free."
"Thank thee," they said, hardly audible in the tumult. "God
go with thee."
Thomas banged on the door for the jailer. After some time
Old Tom opened
grumbling, and as Ann and Thomas fled
down the corridor, they heard him shouting trying to quell
it,
the tumult.
When they reached the outer door, Thomas laid

ing hand on Ann's arm. "Let me go first," he said.
be sure that
no prying eyes
you.
see
yourself, then others must have
95
If
care for you."
restrain
want to
you have no care for
"I
While
He went out and looked up and down the
street,
then
beckoned to her. She came out and stood there, gratefully

breathing the pure air. How beautiful were air and light. How
beautiful were the sky and the street under it with its arched
elms and maple trees, its rows of handsome stone buildings.
But down there was the Town House, the courts of justice
where sentence fell on human creatures and condemned them
to the degradation of the dungeons. Not all the sweetness of
the air could make her forget their fetid smell, nor the songs
of the birds in the clean leaves drown out their bitter sounds.
How men and women could endure to live in such vileness
was beyond her understanding. She felt that she could not live
one hour under such conditions.
At that moment Jonathan appeared from a side lane where
he had been visiting a sick child. Thomas gave a vexed excla
mation. But the sight of her husband, tall and strong, with his
stern beautiful face, filled Ann with comfort after the horror
of her experience. With a hasty farewell to Thomas, she hur
ried toward Jonathan. She wished she could throw herself into
his arms and pour out all her grief and terror at what she had
seen.
it
"Oh, Jonathan!"
"I
she cried.
have just been
in the jail and
horrible place."
"What were you doing in the jail?" he asked in astonish
is the most terrible, the most
ment.
"I
brought some food to the Quakers there. Mistress Dwine

said they were being starved by the marshal." She was calmer
already, feeling a wonderful safety in his presence.
"But you should not have done that, Ann."
"What? Not brought them food?"
"I do not mean that. It is frightful to think of you in such a
place."
"But who would have given them aid then?"

"I would have had the food sent to them if you had told
me.
joyous surprise. "I feared you

might be angry with me for giving it to them."
"I am angry with you but not for giving them food. De
priving them of it was grossly unjust, and I shall see that Cap
"You would?"
she asked in
96
tain Morgan is called to account for it. But it is unbearable

that you have been in that vile place and I am very angry
with you for going to it. I never know what thing you will do
next to your own harm. Come now. Come home with me
where you will be safe."
Ann walked beside him feeling like a scolded child, young
and helpless. But she felt herself justly scolded, for she
should have confided in her husband and let him arrange
things in a better way.
CHAPTER
XIII
The
heavy snowstorms of winter bound the colonists prisoner

in their homes. Around kitchen fires households pursued their
varied tasks. Men and boys worked in wood and leather;
made tools, furniture, trenchers, cups, harnesses for the oxen
or horses to pull the plow. They set fresh wire teeth in the
wool cards for the older women to card the wool. The
younger women spun wool into yarn, wove it into cloth, and
made clothes for their families; they baked, cooked, mended,
washed, and ironed. Children made brooms from the peeled
birchbark, and shelled corn by scraping the cob against the
iron edge of a fire peel or wooden shovel, keeping the cobs
for kindling wood.

During the dark, bitter-cold days, Ann and Jonathan spent
most of their time in the study. The wind roared about the
house, rattling the windows and banging the brown shutters

against its clapboard sides. The howl of hungry wolves came
close, and God pity any men or women venturing far from
the doorway of their own homes.
In the kitchen and study each morning Moses shoveled out
97
the snow that had fallen down the chimney during the night.
The smoke from the fireplaces stung the eyes of Betsy and
Abigail as they worked in the kitchen, and of Ann and Jona
than as they worked in the study. As Ann spun or sewed
clothes for the household, Jonathan worked on the compila
tion of the sermons he had preached through the year so that
they might be in order for printing in book form in the
spring. Sometimes the ink froze overnight in his ink glass and
he would have to thaw it out for use in the morning.
Then at last the weather tempered enough for road break
ing. Deacon Hubbard, the roadmaster, yoked his two teams of
oxen to the snow plow and with his son Increase and his as
sistants broke out the road to the tavern through the great
snow drifts. At The Oaken Bell the men warmed themselves
with boisterous talk of the winter's doings and with steaming
hot toddies set up by Jeremiah Jones and his wife. Then they
set out again. At each neighbor's house a yoke of oxen was
added until the train numbered eighteen hitched in a long line
to the plow.
Straining and pulling, the strong docile beasts moved
slowly forward, encouraged by the shouts of men and boys.
Roads to other taverns were broken, then roads to the meet
ing houses, the schools, and the doctor's house.
Young men and boys, filled with excitement and gaiety in
the crisp frosty air, tried out their new snowshoes and flung
volleys of snowballs at each other and at the houses of their
chosen maidens. Stephen Brooks and Increase Hubbard bom
barded the house of Mr. Grigg, and were rewarded by the
sight of Abigail's laughing face in the window.
Late winter brought days mild enough for sugar making,

and men and boys set out for the sugar camps. The sap was
running in the trunks of the maple trees and showing at the
end of the twigs. Pails and buckets were set under the wounds
made in the trees, and the drip of the sap sounded through the
maple grove. When the buckets were full, the men carried
them to a great vat set on the rocks over a log fire. They emp
tied their buckets into the vat to let the sap boil down to
maple syrup. Dressed warmly in their leathern coats and
breeches and high boots, they sat around the fire enjoying the
98
frosty fragrant air and the good strong drinks, telling tales
and singing hymns and ballads.
On the last afternoon of the sugar making, women and
girls rode out for cleaning-up work and for a frolic. Theophilia Jones, eager for excitement despite the burden of the
child she was carrying, rode out with the younger girls to get
some jugs of sugar for her use in the tavern. She came to the
camp where Stephen Brooks was working, bringing with her
Abigail, Forsaken Howen, and several other girls. Mr. Cooper,
the owner of the camp, was master of ceremonies, and he saw
to it that everyone had a taste of the maple sugar. Boys and
girls dropped the steaming syrup into the snow to turn to
candy, then nibbled some and stored the rest in sacks to take
home.
Stephen, with red cheeks and eyes bright with fun and ex
citement, tried in vain to get Abigail to slip off with him
away from the others.
"Would you if it was Cressy asking you?" he challenged.
"Maybe I would, and maybe I wouldn't," she replied with
an independent little toss of her bright head. But she knew in
her heart that she would go if it was Cressy asking, as she had
gone before, and more than once.
To make Abigail jealous, Stephen sidled his skinny body up
to Forsaken and began whispering to her. He knew she was
indeed forsaken since Mr. Thomas Dwine had grown lax in
his tentative courting of her after the arrival in town of Mis
tress Grigg. In a few moments first Stephen and then
Forsaken rose from the circle around the fire and disappeared.
As the purple twilight spread over the camp, Mr. Hub
bard and his men came by with the snow plow on their way
homeward. While his men gathered about the fire to warm
themselves and have a drink, Mr. Hubbard went into the
woods to tend to his needs. Suddenly he heard strange whis
pering sounds, and going forward cautiously with the noiseless
tread of the hunter, he saw a great form lying on the ground,
darker than the dark shadows of the trees.
"Who is that?" he cried.
At the sound of his voice the odd form broke into two the
figure of a man and a girl. They scrambled to their feet, each
99
starting in a different direction. John Hubbard ran forward

and grabbed the man in his arms, holding him struggling.
Then he saw it was Stephen Brooks.
"Who was the girl?" he demanded, for she had fled past
capturing.
"I cannot tell, sir," replied Stephen.
A heavy blow across the head sent him staggering. "Can
you tell now, you long young lecherous rascal?"
"No, sir," said Stephen.

"What were you doing with that girl?"
"We were just petting."
It looked more like fornication to me."

"No, sir. It was only petting."
"It was, was it? Well, it's too bad I didn't have a better
"Petting?
light
to see by. But you doubtless wouldn't have been doing what
you were doing if there was a better light."
"No, sir," agreed Stephen.

"Come along then. We'll settle this matter
at home."
But when Stephen was arraigned before the magistrate he

would admit to no more serious charge than immoderate great
petting, nor would he tell the name of the girl. He was heavily
fined, and his mother, the Widow Phillips, said he could work
out the fine himself for she would not pay for his pleasures.
Increase was in an agony of doubt, wondering if the un
known girl could be Abigail. She denied it indignantly, but
at the same time showed too great an admiration for Stephen

for refusing to tell the girl's name. She said that Mistress Grigg
too praised Stephen for protecting the girl, and Increase was
again confirmed in his belief that the minister's wife favored
Stephen against him in his affection for Nibby.
At last, to put an end to his suspicions, Abigail swore him
to secrecy and told him she thought the girl was Forsaken
Howen. But when Increase challenged Forsaken she denied it
as indignantly as Abigail had and he could not be sure who
was lying and who telling the truth.
In the pulpits the ministers thundered against the sin of
fornication. "It is become too common a practice," raged the
Reverend Eleazar Shippen, his black hair about his pale angry
face making him look like an angel of wrath. "We hear too
ioo
much of young men lurking in secret places to tempt young

maidens, and bring dishonor to God and damage to the maid
ens. Watch out, you young men and maidens, for God's
wrath is burning, and there is nothing but His hand that
holds you from falling into hell's fire this very moment."
It was on the second Sabbath following Stephen's sinning
that a strange thing happened in the meeting house where
Jonathan was pastor. When the people assembled, they be
came gradually aware of an offensive odor pervading the
place. It was not, however, until Deacon Hubbard entered
his pew and sat down that the cause was discovered. Feeling
something beneath him that was not the smooth wood of the
pew bench, Mr. Hubbard rose and looked to see what it was.
There on the seat lay a dead fish, raising its stinking smell to
heaven! With a cry of rage, he held it up, glaring about at the
congregation.
"What evil-minded person
has done this outrageous
thing?"
he shouted.
There was a frightened silence, even among the small boys

on the pulpit steps and among the older boys in the high shutin pews known as "the Devil's playhouses" because of the
indecent laughter and play that went on there. Only Stephen
gave a smothered snicker, delighted at his revenge on the
deacon.
Jonathan leaned over the pulpit. "Take it out, Mr. Hub
bard," he said quietly.

With an angry snort, John Hubbard picked up his hat from
the hanging shelf before his seat and stalked down the aisle.
Carrying the fish in one hand and his hat in the other, his
righteous wrath at this indignity made him so mindless of
what he was doing that when he meant to put his hat on his
head he put the fish instead. A burst of laughter from the
congregation and shrieks of glee from the children, as well as
the tail of the fish dangling before his eyes, made the deacon
aware of the thing he had done. He took the fish from his
head and held it before him, staring at it. Must not this act of
his and the ridicule it had brought upon him be a sign from
the Lord? His conscience was not clear, for upon his return
home after days of road breaking he had heedlessly sinned
101
with his wife, breaking the law that forbade conceiving of

children on the Sabbath. Yes, this was a sign indeed; no secret
sin could be hidden from the ever watchful eyes of the
Almighty.
To the wonder of the congregation, he humbly returned
to his pew. He sat throughout the service with the fish upon
his lap, for his own mortification and also, unfortunately, for
the mortification of his neighbors.
CHAPTER
XIV
In early
spring there came glorious news of changes in Eng

land. A youth arrived one day bringing word that the good
Calvinist prince, William of Orange, had landed on the Eng
lish shore and that King James had fled to the French court
of Louis XIV. Sir Edmund Andros had tried to silence the
boy with promises and threats, but the youth had gotten word
to the ministers despite him, and all Boston was in a tumult of
rejoicing.
Later reports confirmed the news, and in vain did the Gov
ernor attempt to maintain order among the seething towns
men. In vain did he attempt to forbid meetings. The ministers
and former magistrates gathered daily to discuss the best
action to be taken. Word had gone out to the surrounding
countryside and day after day people swarmed into Boston,
filled with hatred and plans for revenge against the royal
governor.
On
selves
April morning bands of men and boys armed them

and paraded the streets. Fearful of mob violence, Gov
an
ernor Andros sought safety in the fort.

As Jonathan emerged from Town House with the elders,
102
they heard a wild tumult down in the common, and hastening

there, came upon a mob of shouting men with drawn weapons.
The massive figure of Deacon Hubbard moved among them
trying to calm them.
"I
fear bloodiness," he said to Jonathan. "Their hate is

fierce against the injustice and highhandedness of Sir Ed
mund. I'm doubtful of his safety if they get to him."
The crowd surged forward, a burly farmer urging them on
to the fort. Jonathan fought his way through the crowd until
he reached the farmer.
"Hold on there! " he cried, grasping the man's arm.
The farmer brandished his weapon. "Don't think we'll
brook interference from you," he bellowed. "We'll handle
this our own way and hang the royal governor without the
"
help of the clergy!
The crowd growled threateningly in support of him.
"You dog! You devil!" cried Jonathan, seizing his gun and
wrenching it out of his hands. "You'll use no violence against
the Governor. Stand back there!"
The farmer glared at him, his hands clenched into fists. But
Jonathan turned his back on him and faced the crowd. "Are
you men or savages?" he shouted. "We have our liberty now.
What more do you want? God has shown Himself on our
side. He has given back liberty to our land!"
"Liberty! Liberty!" roared the crowd.
"Yes, liberty!" cried Jonathan. "And let us use it as men
and not wild beasts. God has given New England back to its
people. He has prospered His Highness, our own good Prince
of Orange."
"Aye, William! William of Orange!" cheered the mob.
"We
no longer need to fear vile oppression, nor headstrong

'
men to take our rights away from us! cried Jonathan. "They
are in our hands now, powerless to work against us. They are
helpless as sheep. Would you use violence against sheep?"
The crowd roared with laughter, and their angry humor
was diverted. When Jonathan stopped speaking they moved
off in groups, discussing more reasonably what was to be
done. They gathered in the taverns for further talk, and to
drink to their new liberty and the success of their prince.
103
Finally they agreed to accept Captain John Nelson and

John Foster as their military leaders. Under these two men
they took captive Sir Edmund and his officers to imprison

them in Boston Castle. An exuberant crowd followed the
haughty governor through the streets and women and chil
dren shouted derisively at him from their windows.
Then the people dismantled the governor's ship, the Rose
Frigate. Under the leadership of the ministers, in the name of
His Highness, William of Orange, they took possession of the
government. The day that was yearly set apart for fasting and
prayer to implore divine blessings upon the affairs of the
colony for the ensuing year was this spring a joyful day.
The year was beginning in glory. According to the Declara
tion of William, they re-established their own magistrates and
officials who had held office under the old charter. Again they
held representative assemblies.
Some weeks later, as Ann and Jonathan were retiring for
the night, he began to laugh. "What do you think, Ann! To
day Sir Edmund tried to escape from us."
"He did? How?"
"Someone smuggled him a woman's gown and bonnet, and
he wore them so successfully he even passed the first guards.
But as he was going down the steps of the castle one of the
men spied his big boots under the skirt. You can imagine the
sport the soldiers had stripping his disguise from him!"
Ann laughed, snuggling into the sheets warmed with the
warming pan. "Well anyway, I'll be glad when Sir Edmund's

shipped safely back to England out of harm's way."
Jonathan climbed into bed beside her. "I'm afraid you could
not hate even the wickedest of men," he chided. "It's well that
affairs of government are not in the hands of soft creatures
like you."
"But isn't it better to govern mercifully than harshly?"
"There is only one way to govern and that is justly."
"Yes," agreed Ann amicably, "justly and mercifully, for one
is surely the same as the other, isn't
"No, not at all."
it?"
"Well, I think if we judged men with more mercy and love
they would behave better."

104
thinking, my lovely obstinate Ann.

There is too little good in human nature to treat it with mercy
and love. You haven't seen the evil of men as I have. Men are
born to sin and damnation, and it takes stern measures to keep
them from the ways of the Devil."
"Perhaps good Prince William will restore the government
to the clergy. Then all will be well again," said Ann sleepily.
"Let us pray for that, dearest," said Jonathan, putting his
"That
is treacherous
arms around her.
But since their insurrection
the people had been growing

more and more apprehensive and uneasy. No certain knowl
edge had come from over the seas as to what fate the Prince of
Orange had met after his landing in England. Proclamations
were sent through the town setting days of public fast and
prayer for his safety and success.
The unsettled times gave pleasure to none but the children.
Despite the hard work of the spring planting, their parents'
preoccupation with weighty matters of government gave them
more opportunity to sneak off fishing in the creeks and ponds
or to hide in hidden places to play their games.
Sometimes in the woods a group of them would encounter
Goody Gower, and believing her evil as their parents had said,
tease her and throw sticks and stones at her. Others, however,
liked the old woman, and gathered around her to listen as she
foretold happenings from the magical reading of flowers, or
told the meanings of the herbs she gathered for her mysteri
ous remedies. The purple foxglove was for sincerity, the bay
for glory, balsam for sympathy, and the dark basil for hatred.
She taught them how to make necklaces from the fragrant
pine needles, and string dandelion chains and chains of the
starry blossoms of the ox-eyed daisy.
Dorcas Hubbard had once been one of the little girls who
listened to Goody Gower's lore. The old woman had liked
the vivacious child and felt sorry for her in the stern house of
the deacon. But of late Dorcas had turned against her, and
Goody Gower knew the reason why. It was because of her
friendliness with Mistress Grigg, and anyone who was a
friend of the minister's wife could be no friend of Dorcas.
105
Whenever Goody Gower came upon her now in the forest,

dancing her wild dances or singing tavern songs, Dorcas would
either shout bitter words at her, or would run off with no
word at all.
Lately Dorcas had found a new secret playground, a cave
among the sea rocks where there were wondrous echoes. Here
she delighted in play acting, throwing her voice deep into the
cavern so that it would echo back to her in weird and won
derful repetitions and reiterations.
Although she usually came here with her brothers or Abi
gail, Dorcas sometimes allowed Benjamin to bring his little
friend Mercy Dwine and some of her playmates. She would
recite and play act for them, thrilling over her power to make
them shriek with laughter or cry with terror.
One of the things that made the children laugh most, though
there was a tinge of recklessness in their laughter, was Dorcas
saying parts of the Bible backward. The queer gibberish,
echoed back in crazy repetition, made them roll on the ground
with glee, even though at the same time delightful shivers ran
through them at the wickedness of it.
Dorcas's own favorite recitation was "The Day of Doom"
by the popular poet, Michael Wigglesworth. This poem al
ways frightened the children no matter how often they heard
it and as its gloomy lines were caught up and repeated by the
echoes they could scarcely bear their heartquakes. They would
beg for merrier play, and then Dorcas would gaily sing them
"The Saucy Sailor Boy" or "Blooming Virgins Young and
Pretty."
One day as Dorcas was in the cave with Benjamin, little
Mercy, and several other children, Ann, passing by, caught
faint sounds of strange voices from somewhere among the
rocks. They were such extraordinary voices that they moved
her to wonder. Were they human, or were they spirit?
Filled with curiosity she began climbing the ridge.
In the cave, the children were standing or squatting on the
ground in a semicircle around Dorcas. Benjamin was holding
in his arms a brown squirrel with whom he had made friends.
Beside him Mercy Dwine was watching anxiously a charm
that her mother had hung around her neck. It was a cluster of
1
06
white beans, which would turn black if any evil threatened

her, and Mercy could not be sure if the voices of the echoes
were those of heavenly spirits or demons.
Dorcas was in the midst of "The Day of Doom," rolling out
the rhythmic lines in a deep passionate voice, while the echoes
joined in, deeper and fiercer, and then faint and spectral.
"The tender mother will own no other," chanted Dorcas.
The tender mother will own no other no other no other,
roared and whispered the echoes.
"Of all her numerous brood." Of all her numerous brood
brood "But such as stand at Christ's right hand," But such as
stand at Christ's right handsuch as stand hand Christ's hand
"Acquitted through His blood." Acquitted through His
blood blood blood.

High and low came the eerie voices, catching words and
phrases and throwing them back and forth, clear or muffled,
m awesome play.
"The pious father had now much rather, his graceless son
should lie," the pious father much rather his graceless son
should lielie. "In hell with devils for all his evils," In hell
with devils for all his evils, wailed the echoes; in hell all
evils evils. "Burning eternally." Burning eternally burn
eternal eternally , came the echoes. Warning and whispering,
quavering and menacing, they filled the cave, over the chil
dren's heads, under their feet, on all sides of them.
The little boys and girls clung together too terrified to
move. Benjamin hugged his squirrel and Mercy clutched the
magic charm in a small tight fist.
Ann, who had entered the cave, stood as spellbound as any
of the children. Suddenly her eye was caught by the abject
fear on Mercy's face.
"Mercy," she called, hastening toward her.
The little girl turned startled eyes on her. Then, with a
squeak of fright at being caught in such wicked play, she
sprang up, and eluding Ann, ran past her through the opening.
"Mercy! Mercy!" Ann called after her, seeking to reassure
her and promise not to tell on her.
But the child did not stop. And now the other children
were running away as fast as they could.
107
"Benjamin!" cried Ann. "Dorcas!"

But they all fled. She stood alone in the cave with only the
echoes. Wildly and pleadingly their voices which were
her voice cried out, "Mercy, Benjamin! Dorcas! Mercy!
"
Mercy!
Filled with terror at the terrible meaning the echoes were
giving her words, Ann turned swiftly and she too fled from
the cave.
CHAPTER
XV
In the cold of
the meeting house Jonathan baptized Theofirst

child. He sprinkled the icy water from the
philia Jones's
font on the head of the infant, naming him "Inward" accord
ing to the wishes of his mother.
Back in the tavern there was great jubilation and strangers
were offered drinks as well as neighbors. Through the whole
day and far into the night there was high reveling to celebrate
the firstborn of the popular Mistress Jones. Her husband joy
ously got himself befuddled with rum and forgave his wife
her coldness to him and her greediness for wealth, for now she
had borne him a son. Nothing could dampen his happiness on
this great day.
Jonathan sat at a table with the Reverend Daniel Lewis, the

gentle brown-eyed man whose one failing, in Jonathan's eyes,
was his love of wigs. Today he wore a great curling one of
white silky goat's hair tied with a black ribband. Although
Jonathan and Mr. Shippen denounced from their pulpits the
wearing of wigs, they could get no law enforced against them
while Mr. Lewis, Judge Dwine, and other ministers and mag
istrates lusted after them just as much as did the gentry and
the common people.
108
At
the moment, however, Jonathan's
thought was not on
he was saying. He was

thinking of Theophilia's little son, and felt a dull ache in his
heart that he and Ann were still childless. His longing for a
Mr. Lewis's wig, nor on anything
son was like a hunger in him, and until he could see a fair
boy of his own flesh and blood in the world beside him he
would never be satisfied. It was the one lack in his and Ann's
happiness. Often he searched his conscience to find what
thought or action merited this punishment, but could find
nothing sufficiently censorable to warrant it. All he could do
was pray that God might some day bestow this blessing upon
him. Just as he prayed and fasted for Prince William's victory
in England, so he prayed and fasted that he might be given
the son for whom his heart yearned.
It was in the latter part of May that one of Jonathan's
prayers was answered. Word came from over the sea that the
revolution had been successful. William and Mary were firmly
established upon the throne of England. They had signed a
great document, the Bill of Rights, which promised that they
and their successors would forever preserve the liberties of the
English people.
Sir Edmund Andros's tyrannical rule was over, and he was
sent back home to England. A Council of Safety and Con
servation of the Peace, with Mr. Simon Bradstreet as presi
dent, was established to rule the colony until Their Majesties'
, further wishes were known. But soon after this, war broke
out between England and France. The affairs of the colony
were neglected by the British Sovereigns and the people con
tinued to govern themselves as they had done formerly under
their old charter.
Not until spring of the following year did England send
help to the colonists who were fighting against the French of
New France and their Indian allies. In Boston, ships were now
fitted out and sailed north with the King's soldiers, though
life in the town went on much the same as usual.
One day late that fall, Jonathan stopped by to talk with his
deacon, now elected to the Board of Selectmen, about a guard
for the watchhouse that had been built in the north section of
town. Mr. Hubbard was engaged in building a new barn and
109
black bird.
"What have you there?" asked Jonathan.

"It's a black mynah, Jonathan; a talking bird."
"I've seen talking parrots but never a bird like this," said
Jonathan, holding up the cage and looking at the bird curi
ously.
it,
"These talking birds are godless creatures and their mouths

are filled with blasphemies," said Mr. Hubbard. "I would not
have one of the foul things in the house."
"I am the royal bird of Spain and Portugal!" cried the bird.
Ann and Jonathan burst into laughter, and Dorcas ran for
ward to see the wonderful bird closer.
"Get back to your work," her father ordered, and she re
turned sullenly to the fireplace.
Ann?" asked Jonathan.
"Where did you get
to me. A friend of his,
sailor
"Goodman Wait gave
for him."
from off one of the ships, brought
it
it
his place was crowded with neighbors who had come to help
him. Mistress Hubbard was bustling about, seeing that the
men were kept supplied with food and drink, and in the house
Dorcas was cooking.
When Jonathan sat down to talk with her father, Dorcas
watched him greedily. There was no one like him in Boston
in the whole world. She was starved for the sight of him
nowadays, seeing him rarely, except at Sabbath services. Now
that he had a wife in his own house he had stopped his regular
visits to the Hubbards. No more did he sit here beside her, or
summon her to his study to help him arrange and copy his
sermons. She was not needed by him now; she was forgotten
except when they met by chance.
As she stirred the soup with the ladle, Dorcas looked
yearningly on the minister's face. Why could he not have
loved her? Bent that proud head over her and looked at her
tenderly with his wonderful eyes, bent lower and let her
touch his soft hair, and finally held her tight against his
strong body and pressed his lips to her mouth.
A soft voice she hated broke her dream. There was Mistress
Grigg in the doorway, greeting her husband and the deacon.
She was carrying a wicker birdcage in which was a strange
no
"Goodman Wait is an ungodly man," said the deacon. "You

are too tolerant toward him, Mistress Grigg."
"But the poor man is lamed, Mr. Hubbard. Someone must
look after him."
"If he had not been drunk he wouldn't have fallen down
from the scaffolding and injured himelf . He deserves no pity."
Jonathan was no more pleased than the deacon at his wife's
consorting with sinners, but he tried to excuse her. "Mistress
Grigg sometimes lets her kind heart run away with her," he
said lightly to dismiss the matter.
John Hubbard gave a snort of disapproval. He looked from
one to the other, then turned and left the room.
Jonathan took Ann's hands in his. "Why do you persist in
seeing that wretched man?" he asked.
"He's helpless now until his leg heals, Jonathan. Goody
Gower does what she can for him, but she can't do every
thing."
"She's as bad as he is. You spend too much of your time
with such sinners."
only bring him something to eat and drink"

"He doesn't need you to bring him drink," interrupted
Jonathan grimly.
"I bring him milk," said Ann.
He looked down at her mischievously smiling face and
shook his head helplessly. "I find it hard to censure you as you
"But
deserve."
Forgetting that Dorcas was present, hidden by the settle at
the fireplace, Ann ran her hand caressingly up his arm and
touched his cheek with her finger tips. "Be careful, or Mr.
Hubbard will accuse you also of too much tolerance."
Jonathan pressed the hand she held against his cheek, giving
it a kiss before releasing it. "They're waiting for me down at
Town House. You make me forget everything."
Ann started to the door with him, but feeling her shoelace
loose, thrust forward her foot and stooped to tie it.
"Wait. Let me fix it," said Jonathan, and getting down on
one knee, bent over to tie it for her.
Dorcas, forgotten in her corner, felt jealousy mounting
during the tender scene she had witnessed. But at the sight of
in
the minister on his knee before his wife, she could restrain her
self no longer. Furiously, she clanked the heavy pot on the
lug pole.
Ann and Jonathan looked over startled. A faint flush rose to
Jonathan's face as he realized all she had seen and heard.
"There," he said, giving Ann's foot a little pat before rising.
"Be careful, or you'll trip and hurt yourself like that."
"You concern yourself too much about me, but I love you
for it," she whispered.

He smiled to her as
went out. She watched him go down

past the men working on the new barn and return their cheery
greetings. Then she turned back into the room. She picked up
the cage with the black mynah, and as Dorcas continued mak
ing a noisy clatter at the fireplace, looked over at her in
he
folks."
Well, thought Ann, it
now to get to the root of this

matter. "Why have you set yourself against me, Dorcas?" she
is time
asked.
"I
not set against you."

is it only my imaginings that you avoid me and that
I never see a smile on your face to greet me?"
Dorcas did not answer, and Ann moved toward her and im
Dorcas? Why
pulsively laid a hand on her arm. "What is
do you act like this? Mr. Grigg used to tell me so much about
you. always hoped that when came to Boston we would be
friends."
Dorcas jerked herself away from the conciliatory hand. "It
doesn't seem that way."
"Why not? Certainly have never done anything that was
unfriendly."
"You prevent Mr. Grigg from coming to see us."
"But that isn't true. How can you say such
thing?"
"It
true! Before you came he used to be at our house
almost every day. Now we hardly ever see him."
"But
not who keep him away."
am
it,
"Then
it
is
is
amusement.
"You sound very diligent, Dorcas," she said.
"I have to prepare food for the men," snapped Dorcas, and
then lower, "I can't stand around and be waited on like some
112
"It
is you!" She turned on Ann with black eyes burning.

She had been unafraid of her since that day in the cave when
Mistress Grigg came spying on them, caught them in their
play, and then for some queer weakness, did not report them
for the punishment they deserved.
"It is you," she repeated. "He's scarcely put his foot across
the threshold since you came to Boston. He hurries by as
though there were a plague in the house."
"But I do not know, nor ask, where Mr. Grigg stops during
his day abroad," said Ann patiently, still desiring to win the
affection of this strange beautiful girl. "If he does not come
here as often as he used to you must remember that his time is
much taken up with affairs of government."
"He has time enough to wait on you, Mistress Grigg. A
minister of God must tie your shoelaces!"
At this outrageous impudence Ann's patience gave way.
"
you criticize your pastor!
"I wasn't speaking against him."
Blue eyes blazed across into black eyes. "You were speak
ing against me then?"
The anger in Ann's face, usually so serene, frightened Dor
cas. She lowered her eyes and turned away. She made no
dare
answer.
in your heart against me, Dorcas, I shall

learn sooner or later," said Ann. "Whatever it
evil.
"
hurts me!
pray God that doesn't hurt you any more than
She picked up the birdcage and went out. She stopped
few minutes to chat with Mercy Hubbard, who showed her
the horseshoe that the blacksmith had given them, that would
be nailed with three nails to the new barn to protect the cattle
from evil spirits.
Dorcas came out with the pail of soup, and after leaving
on the board for her mother to serve, disappeared again.
is
it
it
it
it
is
is,
"Well, whatever
As Ann started to
leave, she saw Increase going up into the

old barn, and thinking to please him with the sight of her
black bird, she followed. As she approached the barn she
heard Dorcas saying, "caught me dancing in the orchard
pretended was but jumping up trying to snatch apples from
"How
"3
stood before him so pitiful. I even wept

because you know I can weep at will"
Ann looked curiously through the doorway and saw Dorcas
with the tears actually streaming down her cheeks. She was
the tree. Oh, Cressy,
righteousness."
Ann stared at her fascinated, "I would never have believed
a human creature capable of such deception!" she cried. "I
have a good mind to report this to Mr. Grigg."
"Oh, Mistress Grigg, what would you report? I was just
telling Cressy how I showed Judge Howen that he was mis
taken in thinking me doing wrong."
She stood there such a picture indeed of tearful innocence
that Ann almost doubted her own senses.
"This is even more extraordinary play acting than your
recitations," she marveled.
"Please don't tell on her, Mistress Grigg," begged Increase.
"Dorcas meant no harm, and you are always telling us to be
kind to one another."

This defense of his sister revealed to Ann the influence that
had kept him from her. Her wonder and indignation over
Dorcas's remarkable powers of deception vanished in con
cern for Increase. She took his hand and drew him close to
her.
"This matter
to do with kindness to one another,

Cressy," she said. "Remember that language
has naught
and you know

should draw us closer to each other.
should be the means of
explaining actions and gestures that might otherwise be mis
understood. We should never use
to deceive as Dorcas does,
it
It
it,
looking up at an imagined figure, saying, "I am so mortified,

sir, you should mistake my actions for wicked dancing . . ."
A flock of geese clacking by drew her attention to the door
way and she saw Ann. Taking no heed of the minister's wife,
she continued, "I would not shame my dear parents by wicked
dancing, for they have always held me close to the path of
should we?"
He would not look up into her face, but feeling the tender
ness of her hands, mumbled, "No, Mistress Grigg."
"Then do not condone the lies of your sister. Lies conceal
114
us from one another and we are all too deeply hidden as it is."
She waited, but he was silent.
"Well, I won't report her this time, for your sake. Will you
come to see me later today and we'll have one of our old talks
together?"
He glanced
and receiving her swift sign of re

fusal, answered, "Thank you kindly, Mistress Grigg, but my
father bade me stay close to home, with all the work to be
at Dorcas,
done."
CHAPTER
XVI
As winter
set in Ann rejoiced in the knowledge that a child

was born within her. The plow of passion had raised seed unto
the Lord and she was like a tilled field now that would reap
the rich harvest of a new life. The mystery of it filled her with
rapture.
When
told Jonathan, his brooding face lighted as though

a lamp had been turned upon it. It was filled with such an
expression of awe and humility that she felt her love deepen
and tighten into an even stronger bond. He put his arms
around her and pressed her tenderly to him, wordless with joy.
They knelt down together in their bedchamber and offered
up grateful thanks to God.
Deep in his heart Jonathan felt that the child would be the
son for whom he longed. When he told Ann of this persua
sion she visioned the child as a smaller and teachable Jonathan
Grigg, though they would call him Morton, after Jonathan's
she
maternal grandfather.
Going about her daily tasks, feeling the growth of life
within her, Ann marveled at the great wonder of one day see
ing her own child before her. She endured the morning nausea
"5
and periods of dizziness with fortitude. As the various physi

cal changes took place in her body, she watched them with
curiosity and pleasure.
Abigail, accustomed to the robust wives of Boston stolidly
attending their daily labors until the very hour of childbirth,
looked with amazement at her mistress's engrossment with
herself. Was not pregnancy a natural state that a woman
should heed with only as much caution as though she were
carrying a basket of eggs? Yet there was Mistress Grigg, al
ways making remarks about her condition, or looking at her
self.
Abigail was also surprised, and sometimes embarrassed, by
the minister's extraordinary attention to his wife. He was
always doing something for her comfort, settling a cushion at
her back, wrapping a cape about her shoulders, or putting up
her feet on a footstool. When Abigail brought their afternoon
toddy to the study where her mistress sat sewing infant
clothes, Mr. Grigg would draw his chair close to his wife's,
and as they sipped their drink would read aloud to her one
of his sermons or the most beautiful passages of the Bible.
At the winter months passed Ann ceased to reward Jona
than with the sympathy and praise that had always delighted
him. When he spoke, her thoughts seemed to wander to the
most trivial things. Perhaps the pearl button on his coat, ris
ing and falling with his breathing, would elicit some flighty
comment, and to his most learned discourse she would make
some irrelevant answer.
She evinced strange whims, sickened of the caudle cup and
many good foods that were nourishing. She wished for cer
tain herbs and fruits of summer, and an aromatic China tea her
father had sometimes brought from the Orient. Jonathan was
troubled at not being able to gratify her wishes, but Ann only
laughed at his worry.
"You mustn't take all these notions of mine seriously," she
said. "I only speak of them because they are so curious. If they
disturb you I won't mention them."
"But I've heard Dr. Bibber say it may be harmful to an
infant if the mother's desires are not satisfied," said Jonathan.
"Dr. Bibber
has some
foolish notions," she laughed.

116
"You
overconfident sometimes, my Ann, in setting your

judgment up against authority."
"Well, there is nothing I do that will harm our child, you
may be sure of that."
are
Goody Gower,"
she urged.
"Tell
me
you forgive me for
bringing you abroad in such terrible weather."

"It's no forgiving you're going to get, but only thanks,
Mistress Grigg. I was but wasting my life away in lonesomeness down there in my bit of a house. It's a pleasure to see your
sweet face and it the first spring flower I've put my eyes on."
Jonathan smiled at the faint rose color stealing into the
cheeks of his wife at the pretty compliment. And indeed Ann
felt the warmth and lovingness of the old woman as a tonic.
"Now I'll be getting into the kitchen to help Betsy make
you a fine brew of the mushrooms you've been longing for."
"Mistress Grigg's wishes seem strangely unreasonable,
Goody Gower," said Jonathan. "But I've heard that it is the
way of women in her condition."
"Aye, that's the way they are, God help them, poor crea
tures. And it's only Himself knows what's the cause of their
it,
queerness."
"The earth is also troubled when great changes take place
in it," said Ann dreamily. "Strange things sometimes befall
but must endure them as well as may, and not be diverted
from its care of the good seed."
As Goody Gower left them and went into the kitchen,
it
it
Nevertheless, Jonathan waited anxiously for the first break

ing of the winter roads so that he could obtain some of the
things she craved. When Mr. Hubbard cleared the road to
the meeting house, Jonathan sent Moses riding down to the
house of Goody Gower. For his wife's sake he asked the as
sistance of that incorrigible sinner who knew well the secrets
of the forest, the good pungent herbs and edible fungus that
Ann desired. The old woman kept a store of them in her cel
lar. It was said that she knew the evil growths also, God have
mercy on her.
Goody Gower rode pillion back to the house with Moses,
carrying her basket on her arm. When Ann saw the gay old
woman, she greeted her delightedly. "Come sit down by me,
117
it
on an errand.
"God give you good day, Mr. Grigg," she greeted him.
"God keep you, Dorcas."
"
"Are you on your way to our house? she asked timidly.
"No, I'm not." He smiled at her. "Mistress Grigg tells me
that I've been neglectful in visiting you, and I've promised her
that I'll come just as soon as have time."
"Oh, thank you, Mr. Grigg. We do miss you so very
much." But she had no gratitude for Mrs. Grigg, only joy at
the thought of his coming to the house again.
"I can't stop now though," he said. "I'm on my way to the
harbor to board the ship from the Barbadoes."
Dorcas gave startled exclamation.
"What is it?" he asked.
"You must not go there, Mr. Grigg! Yellow fever has
broken out on that ship!"
"It
blessing
indeed, Dorcas.
a
"Isn't
it
"God's mercy!" cried Jonathan.

"
met
sir!
is
it,
Jonathan took Ann's hand in his and tenderly stroked the

delicate blue veins of the wrist. He was proud of her, and
proud of the son growing so quietly, so mysteriously, under
her fair flesh.
After that first visit, Goody Gower took to paying occa
sional calls at the minister's house. She chatted in the kitchen
with Nibby, Betsy, or Moses, played with Betsy's two small
children, or smoked her pipe in the fireplace corner while
waiting for a look at Ann or a few words with her. Jonathan
was not too pleased at this new familiarity of the old woman,
yet because of Ann's fondness for her he refrained from ex
pressing any displeasure.
Late one morning Goody Gower brought news of the ar
rival of a vessel from the Barbadoes. Jonathan immediately
thought of the foreign tea that Ann had been craving all win
ter, and thought it would be a pleasant surprise to get it for
her if the ship carried it. He told Goody Gower that he was
but warned her to be secret
going down to the harbor for
about
as he wished to surprise his wife.
As he rode down the road he overtook Dorcas starting out
you,
might have gone on the ship with
118
out being stopped and caught the contagion. You were cer
tainly sent to me by Providence."
Dorcas blushed with happiness. "I am so thankful the Lord
made me the instrument for your safety," she murmured.

As they were talking, Deacon Hubbard came along, but
Dorcas felt no fear to make her run off on the errand to the
tallow chandler's where she had been sent. She stood proudly
awaiting her father's praise for her timely warning. And when
he heard the story, he did say that it was a mercy that his
daughter had been so guided by God to intercept the minister.
"The Lord protects His elect," he said. "But what was your
business on the ship, sir?"
"My wife desired a tea such as these ships carry," replied
Jonathan. "I was on my way to get it for her."
"Would Mistress Grigg send her husband to his death that
she might have her tea!" cried Dorcas.
"Hold your tongue! " shouted her father, dealing her a blow
that sent her staggering.
Jonathan's face had paled. What a terrible and strange thing
for the girl to say! What power had put such words into her
mouth?
"Be off on your errand," cried her father.
Pressing her hands to her hurting head, Dorcas ran down
the road crying. Jonathan stared after her, then slowly his
eyes turned back to the deacon.
"My wife knew nothing of the plague."
"Naturally not," said Mr. Hubbard. "Pay no heed to Dor
foolish words, Jonathan."

"Nevertheless I'm thankful for the warning. Mistress Grigg
will also be grateful."
"She will not be grateful for the girl's evil tongue," said
cas'
the deacon morosely.

"I shall not tell her," said Jonathan.
They took leave of each other and Jonathan turned home
ward. He rode swiftly up the hill, trying to shake off the
gloom of Dorcas' incomprehensible words.
119
CHAPTER
XVII
On a bright June
day the dancing master longed for by the

youth of Boston finally arrived. He came by boat from New
Amsterdam, and to Mistress Jones's supreme satisfaction
stopped at The Oaken Bell.
The dancing master, Mr. Timothy Tilden, was a little man,
light and graceful as a sparrow. The biggest thing about him
was his high white curly wig. His merry brown eyes looked
out from under it at his new environment with a lively
curiosity.
When
he was given permission to set up his dancing school,

he moved his baggage to Goodwife Torey's house to board
with her. Then he rented an old barn from Judge Theophilus

Dwine for his school. He set up his appointments and ar
ranged one class for boys and another class for girls. He was
disappointed, however, at receiving fewer pupils than he had
expected. Many parents were scandalized at this invasion of a
dancing master into Boston and refused to permit their chil
dren to be taught the wicked art.
Dorcas' first joy at hearing of the dancing master's arrival
had soon turned to grief when her father refused permission
for any of his children to attend the classes. She had to con
tent herself with paying stolen visits to the old barn, where
she would climb to a bough of an elm tree and watch through
window the
lessons given more fortunate children.

Perched on the tree branch, she would gaze with longing
and envy on the class of dancing girls or boys as the little
a
dancing master stood before them playing his pachette, the

tiny pocket fiddle that was just the right size for him. But
soon her envy would be lost in delight at the impudent music
of the little fiddle and the exciting turnings and twistings, step
120
pings and hoppings and jumping of the girls or boys in jigs

and allemandes and minuets. Afterward she would go off to
the woods or to her secret cave and practice the steps she had
learned in spite of her father, and without benefit of fee to
Mr. Timothy Tilden.
Dorcas knew,
everyone did, that although the dancing

master had been given permission to set up his school, there
were still angry debates among the elders over the propriety
of dancing. She hoped fervently that they would decide in
favor of Mr. Tilden, for then all reluctant parents, including
the deacon, would likely be brought to accept the innovation.
She was not alone in her hope, for her brothers, as well as
many other children of the town, were waiting anxiously and
impatiently for the settlement of the matter.
At various meetings, Jonathan and Elder Crocker were fa
voring the dancing school against their deacon's opposition.
Judge Dwine was for it against Judge Nicholas Howen, and
the Reverend Daniel Lewis combated the Reverend Eleazar
Shippen's denunciation of it.
"The Devil has come to town under the form of Mr. Til
den," declared the Reverend Shippen. "We shall see the Lord
crush down the walls on him and our deluded children!"
"I see no harm in him or his teachings," contradicted Jona
than. "David himself danced before the Lord."
Mr. Howen rose angrily. "If you will remember the read
ing of the original Hebrew you learned at Harvard, Mr.
Grigg," he said harshly, "you will know that David did not
dance before the Lord. There is no mention of any dancing
steps he took, but only that he jumped up and down."
"Jumping up and down can be construed as dancing," in
as
sisted
Jonathan.
"Yes, for dancing is a movement of the feet," Mr. Lewis
pointed out.
"And every other part of the sinful body!" cried a voice.
"Mr. Tilden is ripening our children for hell!"
"Nonsense!" protested Jonathan. "Solomon himself said
there is a time to dance."

Mr. Howen's small gray eyes flashed scornfully. "I think
we need not inquire into what time for dancing Solomon
121
might have meant, Mr. Grigg.
am sure he could not have

meant any time allotted to men on this earth."
"
"At any rate, it is not the time for New England to dance!
cried Mr. Shippen.
Angry protests broke over his words and the argument con
tinued without either side winning over the other.
So the weeks passed, and some of the children of Boston
went on dancing gaily and wickedly to the envy of thenfriends.
Dorcas' passionate desire to join the dancing class at last
inspired her to try to enlist Mr. Grigg's aid in getting the nec
essary permission from her father. She set out secretly one
morning and lurked about the minister's house waiting for
him to come out, not wanting to go in and talk to him in the
presence of his wife.
Finally she saw him come to the door and look around
anxiously. Then he walked slowly down to the road, still
glancing about as though searching for someone.
Dorcas came out from her hiding place behind the trees and
ran lightly down the road after him. He turned eagerly, and
she saw a look of disappointment cross his face when he saw it
was she.
"Have you seen Mistress Grigg about this morning, Dor
cas?" he asked.
"No, I haven't, sir," she replied. "But may I talk with you
a
moment?"
"What
is
it?"
he asked, and his
look concentrated on her
with that affectionate interest she loved.

But when she asked him to intercede with her father, he
shook his head. "I cannot do that, Dorcas," he said. "I cannot
interfere with your father's decision."
"But you yourself say dancing isn't harmful. Oh, won't
you please say just one little word for me, Mr. Grigg?"
He looked at her in surprise. "This is most unlike you,
Dorcas. I'm sorry to see such evidence of rebellion in you
against the wishes of your father. If Mr. Tilden's presence
here causes such a spirit of unruliness perhaps he is as danger
ous an influence as Mr. Hubbard and others believe."
"Forgive me, Mr. Grigg. I only thought" She broke off
122
abruptly as she saw Mistress Grigg coming out from the edge
of the woods.
Jonathan followed the direction of her gaze and an expres
sion of relief came over his face at the sight of his wife. He
murmured a hurried farewell and went toward Ann, leaving
Dorcas to walk sullenly away.
"Where have you been, Ann?" Jonathan greeted her. "I
missed you, and you know how I worry when you aren't at
home."
"I was walking in the cool of the forest, Jonathan."
"But I must forbid you to do things like this. I want you to
stay close to the house now that you are so near your time."
"I am only in my eighth month," she laughed. "You dis
turb yourself too much about me."
"It is natural that I should," he insisted. "I'm uneasy all
the time I am not with you. I never know what new danger
you may be exposing yourself to."

"But I never expose myself to any danger, dearest," she
said. "When you're not with me there is another who makes
me most careful young Morton Grigg here." She laid her
hand caressingly over her swollen body.
Jonathan took her arm, and felt her lean heavily on him as
they walked back to the house. He glanced anxiously at her
but was reassured by her bright serene face.
In the kitchen, Goody Gower was chatting to Betsy who
stood ironing and trying to keep her two children from get
ting under her feet. Ann sank down into a chair and smiled
at the old woman.
"Bring your mistress a cool drink of cider, Betsy," said
Jonathan. "And one for me also."
"Wouldn't you like some cider, Goody Gower?" asked
Ann.
"That
Gower,"
said
would,"
answered heartily, and her eyes

twinkled at the smile on Betsy's face because of the cup of ale
she had hidden under her skirts at the entrance of the minister
and his wife.
"Mistress Grigg was out in the woods again, Goody
by herself?"
she
Jonathan. "Why is she always wandering away
V3
is nothing at all to be alarmed about, Mr. Grigg. All

women are a bit queer in her condition. If it was your elev
enth babe instead of your first it's little worry you'd be giving
"It
yourself over it."

But Jonathan was certain that whether it was his first babe
or his eleventh it would make no difference to him; that he
would always worry about Ann because she was different
from every other woman in the world. What other woman
was so continual a wonder to a man that he could not keep
his thoughts steadily on important work, but must let them
wander to her? Carrying his child, she had grown strangely
solitary. Yet her new ways entranced him as much as had her
former warm interest in people and the happenings of the
town. Now she spent her time more and more in the maize
fields and the flowering forest. She moved about among the
animals, scattering grain to the hens, feeding the geese, wan
dering among the shepherd's flocks and petting the newborn
lambs. Even the cats, which had become a pest to the country
side so that all people hated the sight of them, she allowed
to climb into her lap and curl there undisturbed.
There she sat now, with the black mynah bird she had
named Abdullah perched on her hand. She had taught it to
peck delicately at the titbit she held between her lips, and say
in its unhuman eerie voice, "Thank you, Mistress Ann." It
was a sight that always filled him with as much uneasiness as
fascination.
"I saw Dorcas speaking with you," said Ann.
trouble brought her to you."
"I
hope no
Jonathan laughed. "No trouble except a silly matter of

wanting to join Mr. Tilden's dancing school."
Ann leaned her elbow on the arm of the chair, cupping her
chin in her hand in her thoughtful manner. "Perhaps it isn't
such a silly matter," she said. "I think it might be helpful to
her if she were permitted to join."
"Mr. Hubbard has forbidden it. There is nothing I can do
about it."
"But I think with your persuasion, Jonathan, Mr. Hubbard
might be brought to reconsider his refusal."

"You too?" smiled Jonathan. "But do you think
124
if I
haven't
to win him over to my side in our debates about

dancing that I should have any more success in changing
such a personal decision?"
"It is doubtful," admitted Ann. "But you could at least try,
my dear."
Goody Gower shook her head unnoticed in her corner.
What foolish kindness drove the minister's wife to plead for
this girl who hated her? The old woman and Betsy watched
with interest as the minister's mobile face reflected his con
flicting emotions of disapproval, love, and indulgence. They
were not at all surprised to see Mistress Grigg win again, and
the gradually dawning smile on his face indicate his compli
ance to her wish.
been able
CHAPTER
XVIII
On his way to Town House where
the matter of the dancing

master was finally to be discussed in Assembly, Jonathan saw
Mr. Hubbard some distance ahead of him entering The Oaken
Bell. Thinking it an opportune time to broach the subject of
Dorcas' request, Jonathan followed him into the tavern. He

joined him at the table where the Jones's bond servant Tom
had just served the deacon a tankard of beer.

After ordering ale for himself, Jonathan commenced. "I
hope you are becoming reconciled to the innocent dancing of
our young people, John."

"No, I am not, sir," replied the deacon. "And I will never
be."
"Well, I myself have noted an improvement in their spirits
since Mr. Tilden's arrival," said Jonathan, and then casually,
I25
"I
had thought that if Dorcas might attend his class it would

be some benefit to her."
Mr. Hubbard looked at him intently. "Had she the boldness
to make appeal to you from my decision?"
"The troubles of the congregation find a rightful expression
in the ears of their pastor."
John Hubbard took a long drink, then set down the tank
ard with an angry thump. "I'll have no daughter of mine per
forming lascivious twistings and turnings and wigglings, Mr.
Grigg. And if you took my advice as you once did, instead
of that of another, you would work for the banishment of
that cankerous man from the town."
"I find no harm in Mr. Tilden," said Jonathan. "I hope he
may stay." But he recognized now the futility of any further
argument, and soon took leave of the deacon.
Upon his arrival at Town House, however, he found that
he had been wrong and his deacon had been right. A new
complaint had arisen against the dancing master and the place
was in an uproar against him. Mr. Timothy Tilden had now
had the effrontery to join his boys' and girls' classes together
and was teaching mixed dancing.
"I saw them with my own eyes," said Judge Howen, and
those small gray eyes burned as wrathfully as if he were that
very moment looking at the scandalous sight. "Horrible pro
miscuous dancing and such amorous gestures it shamed me to
behold."
"I
saw them also," declared a deputy. "The impudence of

the man has burst all bounds."
Jonathan frowned. So Mr. Tilden was indeed an evil influ
ence as John Hubbard had so clearly seen. Nothing could
blind the eyes of that righteous man. As for himself, what
spell had Satan cast on him that he had so readily agreed with
Ann that this dancing was innocent? How completely the
Prince of Darkness had deluded him! What a fool he had
made of him by making him speak out in favor of the corrupt
dancing man!
But others were feeling the same way as he, for this out
rageous action of Mr. Tilden's had now turned his former
defenders into foes.
126
"Are we going to stand by unmoved and see the town

threatened with gynecandrical
dancing?" demanded Mr.
Howen.
"No! No!" shouted many voices.

"I call for Mr. Tilden's banishment,"
said
Mr. Howen.
There was unanimous agreement and an order was imme

diately voted for the banishment of Mr. Tilden from the
town. Captain John Morgan, the marshal, was given the order,
to be executed at once.
That same afternoon, Mr. Tilden, happily unaware of his
imminent departure, was in the midst of painting his barn.
Now that he thought himself firmly established in Boston he
had decided to make the old barn more attractive, and had al
ready covered two sides of it with brilliant red paint. He
stood on the ladder beginning the third side, while below him
Stephen, Benjamin, Mercy, and several other children watched
admiringly.
Suddenly they saw the burly figure of Captain Morgan
striding down the lane toward them, and scampered off to
hide themselves in the bushes nearby until he should pass.
But the Captain did not pass. He stopped below the ladder
and in a loud voice proclaimed Mr. Timothy Tilden's crime
and the penalty decreed for it. "And so," he concluded, look
ing up into the dancing master's astonished and angry face,
"I warn you off the face of the earth, sir."
"Do you indeed!" cried Mr. Tilden in a rage. And scram
bling down the ladder, he ran light as a bird up to the marshal
and shook the dripping paint brush in his face. "Well, let me
tell you, Captain Morgan, I shan't get off the face of the earth
at your command! Nor at the command of anybody else
except God!"
The Captain grasped the wildly waving hand that held the
paint brush. "That is but the legal form of warning you out
of town, Mr. Tilden," he said sternly.
"The legal form, is it? And worded that way, no doubt, be
cause you think Boston is the whole earth! Well, let me tell
you, sir, Boston is not the earth and thank God for it! I'll be
glad to leave, for I've had enough and more than enough of
your long faces around here. The only thing I'll regret in
127
leaving is depriving the children of the pleasure I've been able

to give them."
"The children never came to your school for idle pleasure,
sir, but for the glory of God."
"Oh, I know, I know. You Puritans have as much fear of
pleasure as you have of the Devil. But let me tell you, I could
teach you more divinity by one good play of our Shake
speare than all your ministers or the Old Testament!"
"Hold your tongue or you'll get a worse penalty than ban
ishment!" shouted the marshal.
"
"Banishment is no penalty. It's a reward! cried Mr. Tilden,
tossing his small head so violently that his wig went toppling
over the side of his head on one ear. Muttering angrily, he set
it straight, and marched off to his lodgings to gather up his
belongings, followed close by the marshal to see that he did
not tarry.
When they had disappeared from sight, Stephen and the
smaller children ran out from their hiding places. All except
Benjamin stood looking at the abandoned dancing school for
lornly. Even Benjamin felt he would miss watching the
dancing almost as much as the others would miss their lessons.
Suddenly Stephen's gaze fell upon the bucket of paint. A
glint came into his eyes. "There's likely a better use for that
paint than lying idle there," he remarked with a grin.
Mercy Dwine gave

Lucy again!" she cried.
squeal of glee. "Lucy! Let's paint
"Yes, yes, yes," chorused several of the children who had

once before indulged in the prank of painting Judge Dwine's
Negro
slave.
"All right,"
masks
for us."
agreed Stephen. "Mercy, you run and get some
She darted off to the house to get a handful of the masks

which were worn as protection from the cold of winter and
the sun of summer and also to protect prankish children
from being recognized at their tricks.

Stephen sent one of the boys to the fields to make sure that
Lucy s husband, the giant Negro Amos, was safely busy
there. Then he picked up the bucket of paint and with the
rest of the children moved cautiously towards Lucy's cabin.
128
Peeking over the window sill, they saw Lucy ironing, and
a heaping basket of clothes beside her assured them she would
stay there until they were ready for her.
Mercy returned with the masks, which they fastened on,
and then they waited for their scout to come back and report.
They did not have to wait long, for he soon came running
and brought the good news that Amos was hard at work in
the fields and not likely to interrupt.
Stephen led the rush into the cabin. Before Lucy had time
to know what was happening she found herself held down on
the floor by strong small hands, and then a sturdy boy was
painting her face in what felt like queer evil designs.
"
"You wicked children! she cried. "Why must you always
bedevil poor Lucy and get her a beating" Her mouth shut
quickly as the paint brush flicked across her tongue and teeth.
She could only lie helplessly, with eyes and mouth closed, as
they did what they pleased with her. When the boy finished
painting her face, someone pulled her cap off and slashed the
red paint through her woolly hair. None of them uttered a
word for fear of being recognized, and she heard only muffled
laughter from beneath the masks.
At last they finished, and shrieked with delight and fear at
the sight of her. This time she looked more wondrously
frightening than when they had painted her before, for this
time Benjamin Hubbard was with them. He himself looked
with rapture on his designs of wiggling serpents and big cir
cles with dots in them like horrid staring eyes. Taking one
last lingering look, the children set her free, then rushed away
before she could rise and catch hold of them.
"Lord, what will I do now?" muttered Lucy despairingly.
She knew it was useless to appeal to her master when she could
not name the culprits. She thought she recognized little
Mercy's giggle, but she could not be sure, and without proof
it would do her no good to accuse the daughter of her master
and mistress. The last time when the children had painted her
they had also worn masks and she had been unable to name
any of them. Judge Dwine had then decided that she had done
the painting herself out of some barbarous vanity and had her
whipped. Now, if he saw her painted again, he would cer
129
harsher punishment for what he would only

believe was her persistent vanity.
Lucy peeked out the door, but there was no sign of anyone
to help her. Her husband would not be home from the fields
for hours yet. Perhaps the best thing to do would be to hide
in the woods until the time of his homecoming. Then he could
tainly decree
wash off the paint as he had done before, and this time with
out anyone knowing.
Making sure that no one was watching from the big house,
she slipped
through the doorway and ran like a deer for the
shelter of the woods.
CHAPTER
XIX
Toward sundown Ann was sitting in the coolness of
den. Tall hollyhocks, pink and lavender, towered over
her gar
the lowgrowing herbs of the border. Red and pink English roses
bloomed fragrantly on their bushes, and blue and yellow and
rose lupine swayed delicate blossoms in the soft breeze from
the sea. Ann's sturdy fingers lovingly stitched silver lace on
baby's blue velvet hood. A smile was on her lips as she

sewed, dreaming of the baby, that wondrous small replica of
herself and Jonathan. Would it have his brown eyes or her
blue ones? Would it smile with Jonathan's smile? Frown with
his sternness? She laughed aloud at the thought of the tiny
a
frown on the baby's face, and
if
the infant were perhaps

really frowning, it gave a strong kick against the wall of flesh
surrounding it.
"My dearest baby, what is it?" said Ann softly, stroking her
protruding stomach as though stroking the head of her child.
as
130
"Never mind; you'll be out soon, little Morton,"
she
whis
pered.
She raised her head smiling, and at that moment saw in the
distance by the woods' edge the figure of Dorcas Hubbard.
She thought that perhaps Dorcas was watching for the minis
ter's return to plead with him again for his help, and decided
to tell Dorcas that Jonathan had already agreed to intercede
with her father. Having heard nothing yet of the order issued
that morning for the dancing master's banishment, Ann was
still hopeful of her husband's success in his mission.
She rose now and waved to Dorcas. But apparently Dorcas
did not see her, for she moved further into the forest. Ann put
down her sewing, and leaving the garden, set out after her.
She walked slowly and carefully, cautious now for her child's
sake.
As
woods she called, but received no an

swer. The sun was sinking, diffusing a golden light through
the trees. The trees cast purple quivering shadows on the
earth. Ann went further, but the weight of the child made
her going difficult. She stood and listened. There were only
the forest sounds of leaves and birds and soft winged and
creeping things. Then she suddenly felt there was something
else present. She stood rigid, trying to sense if it were human
or spirit, good or evil. Never before had she felt any fear in
the woods, yet now there was a cold prickling of her skin.
The sudden thump of the unborn child gave her a second of
deadly faintness. She felt herself watched by unseen eyes,
could almost hear breathing that was not the breath of the
breeze in the foliage. She leaned against a tree, putting one
arm around it to feel the comfort of its strong rough bark.
Regaining her strength and courage, she was just about to
turn and start back when she caught a glimpse of a blue gown
among the trees beyond her. So it was only Dorcas whom she
had felt watching her; only a human presence that she had
she entered the
sensed near her.
"Dorcas," she called happily.

The blue gown stayed motionless. Ann went slowly to
wards it and came up to where the girl waited.
"I wanted you to know, Dorcas, that Mr. Grigg is going to
131
your father for permission for you to attend Mr. Tilden's

school. I thought you would be glad to hear. I hope he's suc
ask
cessful."
In the bushes close by Lucy was hiding. She had fallen
asleep in the hot sweet grass, and waked at hearing Ann's
first calling of Dorcas. When she recognized the voice of the
minister's wife her heart bounded hopefully. Perhaps Mrs.
Grigg would help her, for she was always good and kind to
those in trouble. She raised herself cautiously from the crushed
grass and crouched, peering through the tangle of bushes. She
watched Mrs. Grigg lean against the tree trunk and then come
slowly to where Dorcas was standing just opposite the bushes.
Slowly Lucy lifted her head up over the bush that concealed
her. She raised her voice, soft and husky. "Mistress Grigg,"
she called.
At the sound of her voice Ann and Dorcas turned, startled.
They saw a weird and terrible head, red and black, with wild
flaming hair and gleaming black eyes that looked directly at
them.
They screamed in terror. Before Lucy could utter a word
they were running like mad things, Dorcas shrieking, "A
demon! A demon!"
Ann, burdened with the weight of the child, could not keep
up the wild flight. She felt the wind of terror cold in her hair.
Suddenly her flesh was rent savagely. She fell to the ground,
pressing her hands against her agonized body.
"Wait, Dorcas! Wait!" she cried desperately. "Oh, take its
claws from me!"

But Dorcas was too terrified to wait. She flew on, not dar
ing to turn to look.
Lucy, too frightened to recognize the pangs of labor that
had come on the minister's wife, crashed back into the wood
land.
"O God,"
groaned Ann, her eyes closed, her world filled

with darkness and pain. "Take the demon from me," she
sobbed, her fingers digging in agony into the earth, tearing at
grass and root.
Dorcas reached the edge of the forest and ran on, calling
and crying. Halfway to her home she saw the minister coming
132
along the road towards her. When he caught sight of her

he ran forward and she threw herself in his arms.
"What is it? What is it?" he cried.
"Your wife! Oh, Mr. Grigg your wife"

Jonathan turned ashen. "What of her?"
But Dorcas only trembled and sobbed.

"What of her?" he shouted frantically. "Where is she?"
"There," sobbed Dorcas, pointing a shaking finger, "back
there in the forest with a demon"
Letting her go so abruptly that she almost fell, Jonathan
ran up the road and plunged into the forest shouting Ann's
name. Her cries guided him to her and he came upon her
writhing on the ground. At the sight of her suffering his heart
tightened so that he could scarcely breathe.
He flung himself down beside her and lifted her head in his
"Ann, Ann. I am here."

"Jonathan," she moaned. "The demon
...
its claws
. . .
it's
killing me."
"No,"
fiercely. "No. There is no demon here now.

You are safe, dearest. I'm here to help you."
"The child . . . my baby . . ." she moaned. She knew now
it was her infant being born, thrusting its way out of her rent
flesh. No, it was the Devil torturing her trying to hold it
back! No, he was trying to pull it brutally away from her!
Confused and bewildered by shock and pain, she labored to
bring forth her child.
Jonathan stripped off his coat and threw it on the ground.
He thrust his hands under her skirts and loosened her under
garments. Then he felt the head of the infant protruding.
Gently his strong hands held that soft head, edging it cau
while Ann's screams
tiously from side to side, trying to free
tore the air like an animal in torment. The sweat poured down
his face; his jaw was hard and red with strain. Gently, firmly,
he drew his
with all his strength restrained so as not to hurt
He
out
from
under her
child from his wife's body.
brought
was
son!
at
it.
was
skirts and looked
young Morton for
had
he
whom
prayed!
For few moments Ann lost consciousness. Jonathan held
the infant in shaking hands, breathing heavily. Then he laid
It
It
it
it,
it,
he said
it
arms.
133
It
it
is
it
It
it
it
it
it,
on his coat, drew out his knife and cut the umbilical cord and
tied it. He took off his shirt and wrapped the infant in it.
seemed the babe was not breathing. He patted
Looking at
sudden terrible fear for its life filled him.
gently, and
flashed through his mind that he must baptize
at once so
that whatever happened to its body its soul might be saved.
He half rose to go to stream nearby to get water for the
baptism. At that moment Ann recovered consciousness, and at
his movement to rise, her arms went about his neck, holding
him.
"Don't leave me," she whispered.
"I must, my dearest. must baptize the babe."
"No, no. Stay with me. Oh, don't leave me, Jonathan."
Her hands held him with strength of love and longing that
he could not break.
He looked at the infant lying there on his coat wrapped in
his white shirt.
looked better now; there was surely noth
ing amiss with it. He stayed beside Ann, comforting her until
she quieted. Then her arms slipped from his neck and she
lapsed again into unconsciousness.
A long echoing shout came through the forest, and Jona
than called back desperately. A few moments later John
Hubbard and his wife came running up. They had heard the
strange tale from Dorcas and were come to give assistance.
Mercy Hubbard at once went to the infant and picked
dangling by its legs and slapped its back, an
up. She held
anxious look on her face. The deacon was kneeling beside
Jonathan, looking down at Ann's white drained face.
"I'll fetch water to bring her around," he said, rising.
"I meant to get some before to baptize the babe but could
not leave her," said Jonathan.
Mistress Hubbard looked over at him and her eyes were
filled with tears. "It too late now to baptize it," she said.
cry
Jonathan stared up at her unbelievingly. Then with
of maddened pain he sprang toward her. "No!" he shouted.
"No!" He snatched the infant from her arms and stared down
at it. Then he saw that she spoke the truth. The child was
dead.
"Inscrutable
God!"
he
cried,
*34
raising
stricken
eyes
to
heaven. "Why hast Thou done this to me? Why has my son
been taken from me?"
"The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away, Jonathan,"
said John Hubbard, his harsh voice soft with pity.
Jonathan sank to his knees, holding the babe close to his
,
Tears poured down his cheeks.

"Don't, Mr. Grigg, oh, don't," sobbed Mistress Hubbard,
breast.
putting her arms around him.

He paid no heed. He knelt there, his head bowed, his body
racked by deep convulsive sobs.
Mistress Hubbard went to Ann and ministered to her. At
last she rose and nodded to her husband. He went to the min
ister and laid his hand on his shoulder. "Come, Jonathan. We
will bring them home now."
Mistress Hubbard took the dead child from Jonathan's
arms. He stumbled to his feet, and going to Ann, lifted her
up. The little procession moved slowly out of the forest.
CHAPTER
XX
When Ann
regained consciousness she waited for them to

place the infant beside her. But when hours, or were they
minutes, had passed, she at last asked, "Where is he?" Then
she was told. The small and teachable Morton Grigg was dead.
She stared dry eyed at the ceiling, remembering the agony
of childbirth, the darkness of death and the horror and the
fierce birth. And now . . . where was the victory? For what
had the battle been fought? All the fear and pain she had suf
fered was as nothing compared to the death of her child. Her
heart sickened with grief at its loss. Her body was empty and
135
her arms were empty, and she ached with the longing to hold
her baby close.
"It would be better if she could weep," sobbed Abigail.
Jonathan leaned over her and stroked back the damp hair.
His face was haggard, and the rims of his eyes red and swollen.
Ann's head moved restlessly on the pillows. "Our baby
. . ." she whispered.
"Hush, now," said Jonathan. "Don't talk of it now, not
now, Ann."
For days Dr. Bibber attended her, giving her pills and pow
ders. Then he said, "I have done all I can for her. Prayers and
fasts are all that can help her now."
Goody Gower, seeing the doctor abandon Ann and the
prayers of the household bring her no relief, ministered to the
patient herself, and it was she, with her knowledge of the
medicinal herbs of the forest, who saved her at last.
When Ann became stronger and more aware of what was
going on around her, she gradually sensed some change in
Jonathan. At times he was tender as he had always been and

she felt they were sharing their grief together. But at other
times he seemed to look at her strangely and there was some
thing hidden behind his words.
There was much talk throughout Boston of the demon that
had threatened Dorcas Hubbard and frightened Mrs. Grigg
so that it caused the death of her firstborn. Other persons had
been frightened by demons in the woods, and even, God have
mercy, in their own homes. But never had an evil spirit caused
such a tragedy as this. And the puzzling thing about it was
that although demons were allowed by God to roam the
world to afflict the wicked, yet here was a strange case of one
afflicting the most righteous of the town the minister and his
wife. A few gave knowing looks and spoke of secret sins, but
the majority of the people felt only puzzlement and compas
sion.
"What could have brought the demon from hell to frighten

Mrs. Grigg into a fit?"
"Would God permit Satan to send it without cause?"
"They say witches have the power to summon these spirits.
136
Perhaps it was not a punishment from God, but a witch's

malice."
"Aye, it is much like the witchcraft my father witnessed in
England."
it,
was able to rise from her bed she found herself more alone
than she had ever been before. She missed the child as if he
had been part of her life for many years instead of an infant
that she had never seen. And now Jonathan spent less time
with her. He locked himself in his study and somehow she felt
she should not venture to disturb him there. Some unac
countable breach had opened between them.
During the long solitary hours in his study, Jonathan sought
to find some explanation for the tragedy that had befallen
them. He felt the puzzlement of the people about
and that
his private misfortune which carried an implication of guilt
matter of common gossip was an unbearable hu
should be
miliation. Day after day he pondered the reason for the in
fant's death, but came no nearer to understanding it.
Long and unavailingly he prayed for enlightenment. "Why,
Lord? O Lord, why? Why did this happen? What sin of
mine or Ann's brought this dread punishment upon us?"
was in vain
Deeply he probed into their every action, but
that he sought the sin that merited God's terrible vengeance.
there was no sin why had the child died?
Yet
was then
but senseless and monstrous cruelty.
Shaken by rebellious thoughts, he groaned in anguish, try
ing to put them from him. But his pride could not endure this
chastisement without knowing the cause; his searching mind
could not stop its painful probing.
"O God, would bow my head to the blow of my son's
little as understand it. But why did he
death, bitter as
go down to damnation? Why were not the saving waters of
baptism allowed him? On whose head does his damnation
mine the guilt?
could not be Ann's!"
rest? Mine? O'Lord,
is
It
is,
it
if
It
it
"God pity us!"

And Lucy, her mind incapable of grasping the idea that her
baptized Christian body could be mistaken for that of an evil
spirit, wailed and trembled with the others.
Ann heard nothing of the gossip of the town. When she
37
Yet
it was she who had held him back

when he had been given a warning that he should baptize it.
He remembered the strength of her arms that should have
been weakened after her desperate agony. Had she not held
him so fiercely the infant would not now be doomed for all
he remembered that
eternity.
He fought against this bitter thought. Time and again he

thrust it from him, but it always returned. He tried to excuse
her, saying she had been in too great suffering to be accounta
ble for what she was doing. But the fact remained that had it
not been for her their son's soul would have been saved.
One day as she sat sewing in the garden, he came out of the
house and stood looking at her. She was more lovely than ever
with the white purity of sorrow on her face. She raised her
eyes to him and he saw they were filled with tears.
Love and pity overwhelmed him. He hurried down the
path to her, and seating himself beside her on the bench, took
her hand and pressed it comfortingly. For a little while they
sat in peaceful silence.
"Ann," he said softly, speaking the thought aloud for the
first time, "if only our babe were not damned his death would
be easier for us to bear."
She turned wide eyes upon him. "How can you say our
child is damned?" she asked in a shocked voice.
"But you know he was not baptized."
"It does not matter. Our little son is safe with God."
"If that were only so. But he is doomed"
"No, no, no!" she cried passionately. "Don't say such a ter
rible thing, Jonathan!"

He looked at her, astonished and troubled. "I know it is a
bitter thought to bear, but pretending to deny it will not
help."
"I am not pretending to deny it. I do deny it. It is wicked
and heartless to believe such a thing."
"Ann!" he said sharply. "Do not blaspheme!"
"But you cannot believe it yourself! Oh, Jonathan, you
cannot! It is unbearable. Even before this happened I don't
think I really believed infants were damned if they weren't
baptized. I think I always doubted it."
138
"Doubted the tenet of your church?" he asked incredu

lously.
"Jonathan, my dearest, please. I'm sure you couldn't live
with the thought of our child's damnation any more than I
could."
"We must live with such a thought, Ann. It is God's law."
"It is no law of God's. It is"
"Stop!" He sprang to his feet and stared down at her.
"
"Have you gone mad with grief that you deny God's word?
"I will not believe in my child's doom. I will not believe
that a helpless innocent is cast into hell by a just God."
"Be quiet!" he shouted. "I will not hear such heretical talk!"
The thought that it was she who was the cause of his son's
damnation rankled so that it almost burst from his lips, but he
fought it back. He tried to speak calmly. "You don't realize
what you are saying. You will speak differently when you are
well again."
"I am well now," said Ann. "What I believe now is true.
I shall never believe differently."
He looked at her long and intently. Her heart ached at the
strange cold probing of those luminous brown eyes. She bent
her head over her sewing.
"Have you searched your conscience as I have, Ann, to find
any cause for this punishment?"

She did not look up, only answered low, "I cannot under
stand why this thing happened to us for God's ways are in
scrutable. But I do not believe it is a punishment, Jonathan."
He turned away abruptly and went back to the house.
During the next few days Ann, lonely and sad, secretly
fashioned a little cloth doll for her comfort and dressed it in
the clothes prepared for her infant son. Often now she hid
herself in her bedchamber, undressed and dressed again the
small image, rocked it in her arms and sang to it. Whenever
left the room she carefully locked the doll in her leathern
trunk, concealing the key in the pocket of an old gown.
But once while she was sitting in her rocking chair singing
it a lullaby, thinking the door safely bolted, Goody Gower
found the door unlocked and opened it noiselessly. The old
she
*39
woman stood and watched her unnoticed, until suddenly Ann

felt her presence and turned in fright.
"There now," said Goody Gower hastening forward.
"Don't be fretting yourself with me catching you, Mistress
Grigg. Don't I know myself what a comfort the poppet is to
you."
The relief of someone's understanding was so great that
Ann threw her arms around the old woman and burst into
tears. "Oh, Goody Gower! Why did God take my little one?
it,
can answer that, my darling, nor anyone

else in this world. Didn't He take my own two girls and the
fine husband from my side, and me almost dying with grief
for them? But I made myself two little poppets the same as
you have there, and it was all the love of my heart and the
kisses of my mouth that I lavished on them. Sheila and Mary
Ann, I called them, the same as my own children. Oh, but
they've been a comfort to an old woman alone in her house.
And this one here," she said, nodding to the doll in Ann's
arms, "it has the name of Morton on
hasn't it?"
"Yes," said Ann tenderly.
"Morton. And
he's
with God,
Goody Gower."
"Of
course he is. Where else would he be? The innocent

with God surely and waiting to run into your arms
lamb
and you walking into heaven yourself some great day."
The revelation of their secrets drew Ann and Goody
Gower even closer together, and after that Ann had her friend
keep watch for her so that she might fondle her doll more
is
it
if
freely.
But Jonathan had no such precious secret to share with any
one. Alone and tormented, he thought of his wife's heretical
denial of infant damnation, and prayed to God to change her
stubborn heart. He brooded over his son twice lost in body
and in soul. Over and over again he twisted and turned the
enigma of his child's death. Sometimes he thought of Ann's
was no punishment. But
assertion that
were no punish
ment what then was it? Whose was the dread power of in
flicting such mortal wounds?
After one long night of vigil, as in blinding flash, came
it
Why?"
"It isn't myself
140
the answer. The dread power was that of the one who hated
mankind with a jealous hatred. It was the fierce Lord of Hell!
He had thought to break his enemy, Jonathan Grigg, by
snatching his son from his waiting arms. He had hoped to
make the minister turn from his God in bitterness. "Why
have I been so blind as not to see this before?" cried Jonathan.
"Searched so long and so fruitlessly for some secret sin?" He
saw now that had there been such a sin God would not have
sent him the son for whom he prayed. And how could God
have answered his prayer and then taken back what He had
granted? Been bestower and destroyer at the same moment?
It was so clear now that the Prince of Darkness alone was
guilty.
Hate seethed into frenzy now that he knew who had struck.
He would not now groan helplessly under the blow. He
would rise and fight this accursed Prince of Darkness. He
would get the evidence against him and rouse the entire town
to battle him back to his own infernal regions.
The first task was to collect the evidence. He called Ann to
him in the study.
"Ann,"
"I
want you to describe to me the demon

you saw that day in the forest."
"Why do you call up that terrible memory? I've been try
'
ing so hard to forget it.
"I'm sorry," he said gently. "But I must ask you to remem
ber. I have decided to preach a sermon on this evidence of the
new onslaught of Satan against us, and I need all the facts I
he said,
can gather."
"What do you want to know that
you?"
she asked
"How
haven't already told
reluctantly.
did it look? Did it bear a resemblance to human
form?"
"I don't know.
only saw a head."

"Did it have horns on it? Was there fire about it?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. I don't remember."
"Tell me in your own words how it appeared."
"But I've told you, Jonathan. All I saw was a terrible face,
and then I felt its claws tearing at me. That is all I know.
Please don't ask me any more."
141
"Did it say who had
"No."
sent
it?"
"Did it offer mercy if you yielded your soul?"
"No."
"What did it say?"

"Nothing."
He pressed his lips tightly together in vexation. "Very well.
I shall ask Dorcas for an account of it since you seem so un
willing to help me."
"I'm not unwilling," she protested. "I can't remember any
more."
He
few minutes later he was

striding down the road to the house of the deacon. Here he
found Dorcas as eager as Ann was reluctant to comply with
rose and
left the room.
his request.
"The demon had a black face, and flames of fire were shoot
ing out of its head," she told him.
"Was the face all black? Like that of a Negro?"
"No, Mr. Grigg. It was mixed red and black, and all kinds
of hellish creatures were crawling over its cheeks."
"How did you first come to see it? "
"It called Mistress Grigg's name."
"It did?" he said startled. "I hadn't heard of that." He re
membered Ann saying that it had spoken no word.
"Oh, yes," said Dorcas. "It called and beckoned to her, and
I ran off thinking it wanted some special dealings with her."
"Some special dealings indeed. To torture her, to destroy
my child."
At
the pain in his face Dorcas longed to reach out her hand
and stroke those terrible fines of grief away.
Her father spoke suddenly. "Have you thought what
"
brought that demon out of hell? he asked.
"Did it say who sent it?" Jonathan asked Dorcas.
"No, I don't think so. But it must have been the same demon
that troubled me once before. You remember, Mr. Grigg, that
terrible time when I thought it was you who had put the spell
on me?"
"Did you see it then, too? You didn't tell me."
"I caught only a faint glimpse of it that first time, not
142
enough to describe to you. But this time I seemed to recognize

it. There was something familiar about it."
it,
"Some folks are saying it might be a witch who sent it,"

ventured Mistress Hubbard.
but only the malice
"I see no evidence of witchcraft in
of hell," said Jonathan.
Yet the thought took root in his mind, and when he fin
ished questioning Dorcas he turned to her father.
"You once mentioned the witches Mrs. Hibbins and Mar
garet Jones to me, John. Do you recall the nature of their
Is
it,
witchcrafts?"
"I was but young lad at the time they were hanged. But
remember much of the talk of witchcraft. The witch signed
her name in the Devil's black book when she gave her foul
body over to him for his pleasure."
"How does one recognize witch?
there any sign in her
face?"
"The face may be as fair and false as hell's own master,"
said John Hubbard. "But under her clothes there are secret
markings of her body."
"What are they? How do they get there?"
"They are wounds made by lecherous demons sucking the
skin of the witch and getting their nourishment from it. She
must give them her body for this purpose as reward for the
tasks they perform for her."
Mistress Hubbard shuddered with disgust, but her daugh
ter's black eyes were shining bright with interest.
Jonathan gathered some further information on witches and
witchcraft from the deacon, and when he left the house his
mind was filled with thoughts of the subject.
During the following days he decided he would include
this aspect of satanic machinations in his sermon. To learn
more about
he visited others in the town who had seen with
their own eyes or heard with their own ears any manifestations
of the invisible world. He was amazed to find that there had
been other cases of witchcraft in New England. As early as
minister of Springfield, Connecticut,
1645 the children of
were bewitched, and although several persons of the town
were suspected, there had been no convictions. But
con
H3
witch had been executed at Hartford in 1662. In 1673

one Eunice Cole of Hampton was tried on a charge of witch
craft but found not guilty. Ten years later Judge Philip Smith,
a representative of the town of Hadley, was bewitched to
death. As he lay ill he accused a neighboring woman, and al
though a number of his townsmen hung her up until she was
near dead, then let her down and buried her in the snow, still
she survived and her victim died.
Jonathan was indignant at the laxness shown in bringing
fessed
To
understand better the

subtle wiles of the witches and wizards, and penetrate deeper
into the mysteries of their unholy activities, he bought and
studied books printed in English and Latin on the subject.
Some weeks later the Reverend Jonathan Grigg's Sabbath
sermon struck amazement and terror into his congregation.
So vividly did he speak of the terrible creatures of the super
natural world that they could almost be seen and heard and
felt with the human senses.
"Satan and his legions are let loose upon us," he warned.
"Be prepared to give them battle and turn them back to hell.
Keep stainless your own lives as weapons against them. Watch
out for tempters who seek to draw you away from the path
of godliness, for back of them are the powers of darkness.
Remember that our great battle is not against flesh and blood.
No. 'It is against principalities, against powers, against the
"
Ruler of the darkness of the world!'
A shudder of fear swept through the people. It was true.
They were the words of God's elect. They were the words of
these suspect creatures to justice.
the
Holy Bible.
144
CHAPTER
XXI
Dorcas and Abigail sat paring apples in the Hubbard fireroom. They were talking about Mr. Grigg's sermon that had
been printed and was having a thriving sale at the booksellers.
"We must all band together as he says, Nibby, and drive
the Devil and his legions back to hell," said Dorcas.
Abigail fearfully. "I think they're

far worse than demons. Why, anyone could be a witch and
we wouldn't know it. It's an awful thought, isn't it?"
"Yes. They're sly and hide themselves." Dorcas leaned
close to her friend and whispered. "I think I know one of
their songs. The printer's boy showed it to me once and I
"
learned it it was so scary. Shall I sing it?
"No, no! I don't want to hear it!"
"Well, you shall hear it." In a husky mysterious voice
Dorcas sang it through while Abigail listened frightened yet
"And witches too,"
said
fascinated.
Come list and hark
The bell doth toll
For some but new
Departed soul.
And was not that
Some ominous fowl,
The bat, the nightCrow or screech owl?
To these hear
In
The wild wolf howl
this black night

That seems to scowl.
All these my black
Book shall enroll
H5
For hark, still, still

The bell doth toll
For
some but now

Departing soul.
While she was singing, Benjamin had entered with a basket

ful of silver milkweed he had gathered for the candlewicks,
and setting it down, squatted at her feet listening.
Now
finished, Increase came in from the fields, and

it wasn't only for a refreshing drink of cider that he came.
He ran to Nibby and pulling her to her feet drew her off to a
corner and kissed her.
"Come out to the fields with me," he whispered.
as she
"No, I can't,"
"Mistress Grigg only

loaned me to help your mother with the apple paring."
"Mother won't notice you're gone for a while. She's out
in the barn mixing goldenrod with the indigo for her green
dye."
"Oh, you two!" laughed Dorcas looking over at them.
"There's much I could tell about you if I had a mind to."
"
"You'd never tell! cried Increase.
"Never while you do what I say," she smiled.
Abigail, happening to glance toward the window, gave a
shriek of fright. Instantly Increase swung her behind him and
faced the danger. But he saw nothing.
she laughed, struggling.
"What was it?"
he asked.
"It
was a great black hand!"

"Oh, you're so scary you're seeing Satan's great black hand
everywhere," mocked Dorcas.
"There it is again!" screamed Benjamin, pointing to a
shadowy hand that flickered across the frame of the window
and then was gone.
They huddled together and held each other tight. They
scarcely breathed as the door slowly opened. But it was only
Goody Gower who entered.
"We thought you were Satan!" gasped Abigail, still un
certain whether the old woman was not some evil spirit
masquerading in this familiar form.
"We saw his black hand coming in the window. Did you
see
it?"
asked Benjamin.
146
did," she agreed readily. "I put up my hand to

push a bit of spider off your sill and pop up goes a big black
hand and it nearly touching my own!"
Abigail and Benjamin shuddered away from her.
"God frighten you off to where you belong, I said to the
thing. But never a move would it make until I took my own
hand out of the way. It was an angel's hand maybe, for it is
no devil's hand that wouldn't be frightened off at the Lord's
Holy Name."
"Could an angel have black hands?" asked Benjamin in
wonder.
"Of course not," said his brother. "Angels have white
"Indeed
shining hands."
Dorcas reseated herself before her pail of apples. "Come

Nibby, get back to your work. We can't stand about listening
to this blasphemous old creature who says the blessed angels
have black hands."
"Now I'm a blasphemous old creature, am I?" said Goody
Gower. "There was a time when you had a more civil tongue
in your head to me, Dorcas Hubbard. But it's your mother
I've come to see anyway and I'll not be wasting my time chat
tering to an imp like you."
"I am no imp, Goody Gower, but an obedient servant of
God."
"Aye,
servant that seeks every way to be hoodwinking

her master."
Dorcas opened her eyes wide. "Hoodwinking God? May
your wicked tongue blacken in your mouth for such dis
a
respect."
"It
no disrespect to the Lord but to the servant that's

always calling Him sweet names the way He won't be notic
ing the bad things she's doing."
"What bad things?"
"Nay. I'll not be mentioning anything to give you a chance
is
to make mischief against me."

"I make no mischief against anyone."
"Ah well. If your mother's not home I'll be getting along.
promised Mistress Grigg to pay a visit with her to the small
grave up on Copps Hill."
H7
"Mother's out in the barn if you want her," said Increase.

"Poor Mistress Grigg," sighed Abigail. "I feel so sorry for
her the way she grieves over her loss."
"If that one there," said Goody Gower, pointing to Dorcas,
"hadn't run off and left her alone when the demon frightened
her, maybe she could have given some help to save the infant."
"I was frightened too, wasn't I?" said Dorcas. "Anyone
would have run away. I was near death myself with the
demon at my heels but my prayers saved me. If God did not
spare Mistress Grigg's babe it was because of her unworthiness."
Goody Gower muttered
powerful curse in her foreign
tongue and the expression on her face made its meaning so

clear that Dorcas looked at her apprehensively.
"Who are you to call that sweet creature unworthy! It
wasn't her fault that the demon had a shape on it that would
frighten a woman into a fit. And it wouldn't be an Irish
demon would do such a thing," she added.
"Why wouldn't it? Are they different?" asked Benjamin.
"Aren't they bad to look on?" asked Abigail.
"There isn't a thing in the whole of Ireland that's bad to
look on, my darling. And the demons, God bless them"
Their startled exclamations stopped her. "Whatever is the
matter now?" she said impatiently.
"Did you hear what you said? You blessed a demon!" cried
Increase.
"
'Twas a slip of the tongue," said Goody Gower hastily.
But the next moment her kind heart got the better of her.
"And why shouldn't I bless the poor demons? It's they that
are more in need of a blessing than anyone else."
"We're wasting our time talking to such a godless old
woman," said Dorcas.
"Are there really different kinds though?" asked Benjamin
curiously.
"There are indeed. And it's little idea you've got of Irish
demons to be thinking them ugly things with black horns and
slimy tails like the Puritan ones."
"Tell us what they're like."
"Well now, they have fine red horns on them and under
148
neath a gay shining face that would do your heart good to

see"
"I don't
believe God would allow a demon to be fair,"
me."
Abigail looked at the mark and then into her face suspi
ciously. "But isn't that the scar from the burn you got cook
ing the lard?"
"Oh, that scar disappeared long ago," returned Dorcas.
"Tell us more about the Irish demons, Goody Gower. I'm
curious about them."
"I am, too," said Benjamin. "Do they look like the Black
Man, Goody? Are they no bigger than a walking stick?"
"Ah, they've a better size on them than that. More the
size of the minister."
Benjamin seized a large apple from one of the pails and
his imagination enthralled by these
began cutting into
it,
exciting creatures.
"Have they cloven feet?"
"Indeed they have not. But fine pointed toes . .
As she chattered on, the others gathered around Benjamin
to watch the little creature growing under his fingers out of
the red fruit.
In the midst of their play the door was flung open and
Deacon Hubbard entered. His heavy hand descended on them
indiscriminately, sending them scurrying.
."
interrupted Abigail.
"Now listen to sense, Nibby. Wouldn't a beautiful Irish
demon be more tempting than an ugly Puritan one? And
wouldn't God get more glory for Himself by you resisting
the fair one?"
Abigail shook her head unconvinced. "It wouldn't matter
whether he was fair or ugly when he was trying to wrest my
soul from me."
"I think Goody Gower's right, Nibby," said Dorcas. "It
would surely be a harder trial to resist a fair demon. But God
has mercy and allows only the ugliest ones to visit us. The
one I saw was all black and red and fire flamed out of it so
that I was almost burned to death. Look," she added, pointing
to a scar on her arm. "There's the scorched mark it left on
149
"Idlers and wasters! Are you not to be trusted one moment

by yourselves? Get back to your work."
Before Benjamin's terror-stiff fingers could drop the halfcarved apple it was jerked from him. "Here, what's this?"
asked his father. "What's this, Benjamin
Hubbard? An
image?"
"No, Father." His teeth chattered. "See, it's only an apple."

"What makes it look somewhat like the figure of a man?"
"I
don't know, sir."
"He was only cutting out the bad spots from
it,
Father,"
Dorcas quickly.
Mr. Hubbard looked suspiciously from the apple to his son.
"
'Take heed unto yourself lest ye forget the covenant of the
Lord God which He made with you, that you make no graven
image or the likeness of anything which the Lord thy God
"
hath forbidden thee.'
He cast the fruit into the fireplace and turned to Goody
Gower.
"And why are you standing about encouraging them in
idleness? You're no sooner punished for one transgression
than you're bent on another."
"It not themselves need encouragement to idleness, Mr.
Hubbard," she retorted indignantly. "And
stroke
wasn't
of work they were doing when got here."
a
it
is
"There's no one as wasteful of God's good time as you are.

Get along there."
"There's blacker things than me in this colony," she mut
tered.
"Yes, that's true, God help us. But get on. Get on."
She moved toward the door. "It's only
poor old woman
am, always being blamed for everything."
"You're tale-bearing old witch," whispered Dorcas pass
ing her.
Goody Gower muttered back
at her,
angrily jerking her
kerchief over her breast.

"Father! Did you see the Devil's sign she made?" cried
Dorcas.
"You're
said
monstrous liar," said the old woman.

150
"And she said something bad to me in her secret language

too," said Dorcas.
"Be off with you," ordered John Hubbard. "And may the
Lord bring your sinful soul to justice."
Goody Gower shook her gnarled fist at Dorcas. "It's that
one there puts me astray."
"Be off?'
"I'm going now. And I'll
to get out of this house.

It's a queer thing that one house you go into brings peace
on you, while another house twists you up the way you'd
think you were bewitched in it."
be glad
CHAPTER
XX11
It was
approaching bedtime when through the night sounded

alarm
the
of the watchman's rattle and the cry of "fire!"
Men and women quickly donned their outdoor garments
and rushed to get their fire ladders and the leathern fire buck
ets that hung beside their doors. They ran out of their homes
and saw the bright and strong orange light in the sky down
by the harbor.
"It's Long Wharf burning!"

"The warehouses are on fire!"
Already the fire warden had the engine out and the men
were pulling it along down toward the wharf.
The watchman's cry reached Jonathan's house, now loud,

then fading as he proceeded further. In a little while all of
the minister's household were joining the procession down to
the harbor. Jonathan carried a ladder and Moses two hooked
poles, while Ann and Betsy and Abigail carried the buckets.
Riding down the road they saw the reddish yellow light be
tween the black tree branches. It looked as if it were a great

and terrible fire that was burning down there at the harbor.
But when they reached the beginning of Long Wharf a
strange sight met their eyes. Instead of double lines of towns
folk steadily passing water buckets from the water's edge to
the fire-engine's pump, the people were gathered in groups,
their buckets, ladders, and poles on the ground and their noisy
talk and laughter filling the air. Halfway down the wharf the
fire engine stood idle.
"What is it? Where is the fire?" asked Jonathan.
A burst of laughter greeted his words.
"There it is! See there! A monstrous wicked fire!" cried
merry voices.
Then Jonathan and his household saw what the others had
seen. The orange light that had seemed like fire was nothing
but the rising of an extraordinary bright full moon. Its rays
were spread behind the warehouses so that they looked indeed
if
enveloped in flames.
"Yonder is perhaps too big a fire for us to quench," jested
Mr. Green, the printer.
"Yes," said Ann gaily. "I don't think even the good people
"
of Boston could put out the moon! The exhilaration of being
as
in the midst of such joyous laughing people was like a tonic

to her after the sadness of her own home and the withdrawn
brooding of Jonathan during these many weeks.
"May all such fires on Long Wharf
be as great a delusion
this one," said Thomas Dwine fervently. "I was afraid the
entire cargo of fruit I had just unloaded into my warehouse
was destroyed."
as
"Do you remember the fire we had in eighty-three?" said

the judge, his cousin. "That was a bad one."
"But the one in seventy-nine was the worst of all!" cried
Mistress Dwine. "Everything from Mill Creek to Dock Square
and south to Oliver's Dock went up in flames."
"It was started in an alehouse," said Judge Nicholas Howen
morosely.
"Well, it had one good effect,"
"It brought
said
Thomas cheerfully.
about the court order thai all houses should be

152
built of brick or stone afterward,
and roofed with tile or
slate."
"Speaking of an alehouse, Nicholas," said Judge Dwine,

"I suggest we all stop at The Oaken Bell and have a warm
drink after this chilly scare."
"No, I am suffering from a toothache, Theophilus, and I
had best be getting back home and pray for it to pass. God
knows what sin I committed with my teeth that I am afflicted
with such pain."
He bowed to them, wishing them good night, and went off
holding his hand to his aching jaw.
"Will you join us, Mr. Gngg?" asked Judge Dwine.
Jonathan had been staring at the brilliant moon. It held
him fascinated with its beauty and strangeness. Its mysterious
color flooding the cloudy sky and deluding the people must
surely be some significant omen.
When Judge Dwine repeated his invitation, Jonathan was
about to refuse when he noticed Ann's eager face. Wishing to
please her, he accepted, and they went to the tavern, leaving
the servants and slaves to return home with the fire tools.
The Oaken Bell was crowded, as were all the other taverns
of the town, for the people were too excited for bed and were
eager for talk. Mistress Jones was bustling about assisted by
Mr. Jones, the bond servant Tom, and a Negro wench she
had lately bought on the common auction block. But upon
the arrival of Mr. Grigg, Jeremiah Jones slunk off to a quiet
corner of the kitchen to join his Indian crony, having taken
such a jealous dislike to the minister that he could not bear
the sight of him.
Theophilia served the minister's table herself, and when he
remarked upon several unknown faces around the room, she
explained that these strangers had read his printed sermons on
the marvelous occurrences of the supernatural world and been
much edified by them. They had been drawn to Boston by
the desire to hear his Thursday lecture and Sabbath sermon,
and to consult with him personally on spiritual matters.
"And who is that woman over there who stares so at us?"
asked Jonathan, indicating with a slight gesture a dark hand
some woman who sat with a party of five at a distant table.
153
Theophilia cast a jealous glance at the woman he indicated,
and Ann smiled amusedly.

"That is the Widow Briggs from Roxbury," said Theo
philia. "A haughty dame, Mr. Grigg, and one better off at
home than coming to criticize Boston."
The gentle look in the minister's eyes turned to one of
surprise and displeasure. Mistress Jones gave a little secret
smile.
"What criticism does she make of Boston?" asked Jonathan.
"She declared it outrageous to have to sleep four in a bed
upstairs. She wanted a whole bed to herself no less!"
A slight smile came to Jonathan's lips. "She must be unused
to travel."
"Well, I wouldn't like rolling around in bed with strange
bedfellows myself," said buxom Mistress Dwine. "But then,"

she added with a hearty laugh, "if Mr. Dwine and myself
"
were in any bed there'd be little room for anyone else in it!
"It seems to me little better than the bundling of the coun
try folk," laughed Ann.
"It
not the same thing at all, Mistress Grigg," said Theo

philia. "The beds of our taverns are no places to get
acquainted in."
"I see you've a new serving wench, Mistress Jones," said
is
Jonathan.
"Yes, and she's a strong healthy creature," replied Theo
philia. "The farmer who sold her warranted her to be goodnatured and with no sense of freedom to cause trouble, and
I've found her to be all he said she was."
"If she has so many virtues why did the farmer sell her?"
asked Thomas.
"She must have some failing that he didn't tell you about,"
said Judge Dwine.
"No failing at all, sir, only being with child."
They all looked at the girl, and seeing their eyes upon her,
she flashed them a dazzling smile.
Judge Dwine shook his great wigged head sadly. "The

Lord's hand will strike heavily on us some day for all this
leering and lusting after persons of the opposite sex."
154
cast loose
"There is certainly a weakening in men's morals when no

unified rule guides them."
"What unity can there be when our own King William
and Queen Mary have now given suffrage to every Joe and
Tom with a parcel of worldly goods," said Jonathan. "We
must continue to fight until God's rule is restored, or else we
shall see the land sink into some sort of pitiful democracy."
"Christ is King of Kings before whom all earthly authority
must bow," declared Judge Dwine. "The Scriptures hold
forth a perfect rule for the government of men, and no good
will come of this new liberty allowed by Their Majesties."
"This new liberty is making better men," said Thomas, no
longer able to restrain his opinion. "No man can hold back
the progress of popular government."
Jonathan's eyes grew hot at this opposition and the scar on
his temple pulsed. "And can God not hold back this so-called
progress, Thomas Dwine?"
"I
it,
believe God is sanctioning

Mr. Grigg."
"Cousin! How can you say such thing?" cried the judge
indignantly.
"Because God sees

goodly number of able and intelligent
men governing themselves more wisely than any arbitrary
rule."
"If
it
it
is
popular form of government

divinely sanctioned,"
"is
not
said Jonathan,
in pro
strange that God overlooked
"
His
chosen
viding government for
people?
There was silence for
moment and then Thomas said
quietly. "I am poor man in argument compared to you, sir.
cannot answer you. But some things one believes without
having the eloquence of words to prove them."
Ann, listening, thought how aptly this fitted her own case
of not being able to make Jonathan understand her disbelief
in infant damnation.
"Let you tolerate my views as tolerate yours," Thomas
"What better can we expect when the people are

to judge all matters for themselves?" said Jonathan.
was saying.
"I will tolerate only views that are not in error," replied
Jonathan. "I have set myself the task of countermining the
*55
whole plot of the Devil against New England and I'll attack
him in whatever views favor him."
"I would not like to think my views favored the Devil, but
only that they favored honest and freedom-loving men,"
returned Thomas.
"This plot of Satan's that you tell us about, Mr. Grigg,"
said Judge Dwine. "Do you think this night of alarm and this
remarkable moon have aught to do with it?"
"It seems to me that we should take this false alarm of fire
as a warning rather than as an idle delusion."
"A warning of what, Mr. Grigg?" asked Thomas.
"That there are growing too many errors in the minds of
men and a false light guides them instead of the true light."
"Let us hope then that we cannot put out the true light
any more than we could put out the moon," said Thomas.
There was a humorous smile on his lips, for he knew to
what the minister was referring. Although it was the accepted
belief that wealth was a sign of God's grace, yet the growth
of commerce in the colony was now bringing too much
wealth to too many people and they were growing more and
more independent of the clergy. The new charter given by
William and Mary to Massachusetts Province allowed for a
house of representatives, the members to be elected by the
colonists themselves on a moderate property suffrage. All men
who had freeholds to the annual value of forty shillings, or
personal property to the amount of forty pounds, could now
vote for their own interestswhich were not always the in
terests
of the ministers.
This indeed was behind Jonathan's
well
the other
ministers' anxiety. A dangerous desire for freedom was ram
pant among the people an evil desire prompted by the basic
carnal cravings of natural man. No longer were they content
with the freedom to follow the authority of God's chosen
rulers. They wanted freedom to follow their own ways, the
ways of sin.
Another cause for the ministers' apprehension was the
deplorable provision in the charter that the new governor
would be appointed by Their Majesties instead of being
elected, and that he would have the right to veto laws passed
156
as
as
by the Assembly. The only restraint on him, which was,

thank God, a weighty one, was that the Assembly had the
right to vote his salary. Rumor expected him to be Sir William
Phips, a rugged sailor, one of twenty-one children of a hum
ble gunsmith of Maine. If Massachusetts must have a royally
appointed governor, then the ministers were in favor of Sir
William, for although born in Maine he had been raised in
Boston and might be trusted to do the will of God as the
clergy expounded it.
After a little more conversation, Judge Dwine's party broke
up, and Ann and Jonathan started homeward. As they passed
under the shadow of the prison, Ann shivered. Although at
one time she had been able to pass it with light-hearted in
difference because she was ignorant of what it harbored, since
her sight of its dungeons she was never able to go by without
a shuddering fear.
By the time they reached home, Ann's earlier gay mood

had been lost in the political talk of the tavern and her re
membrance of her terrible visit in the jail.
"I think I
shall go straight to bed," she said to Jonathan.

"Good night then, my dear. I'm going to work for a little
while."
He kissed her cheek gently, and then turned in to his study.

Ann looked after him with sad eyes. All the old passion
seemed to be spent. Or was it now burning in hatred of Satan
rather than in love for her?
157
CHAPTER
XXIII
The
it
it
it,
air turned chill when the sun went down, and Mistress
Hubbard had not yet finished preparing dinner for the minis
ter and his wife. There was still light enough from the blazing
fireplace to save lamplight as she and the children arranged
the final details.
"It's like it used to be with Mr. Grigg coming for supper,
isn't
Mother?" said Dorcas happily.
"Yes. He seems to lean on Mr. Hubbard now as he did
before his marriage."
"He's different since his babe died," remarked Increase,
tossing back his black hair from his forehead as he rose from
his knees by the fireplace.
He carried the baked brown breads to the serving table
where Benjamin was surreptitiously licking his fingers after
walnut in
having dipped them in the honey pot. Picking up
his sticky fingers, Benjamin cracked
as he went to carry an
other dish from the fire.
"Isn't his preaching awful scary now, Mother," he said with
shiver.
"We must all tremble before the Lord," she answered.
"These are troublous times."
Mr. Hubbard re-entered the house after locking the cattle
in the barn, and they all fell silent. He hung his deerskin coat
and his hat on the wooden peg by the door and seated himself
in his armchair. As he pulled off his great high boots, his
family went about their work quietly. Dorcas took down
their best pewter platters from the cupboard shelves and set
them along the table board with spoons and knives. Increase
drew up the chairs to each place.
A knock sounded on the door and Dorcas ran and threw
158
open. For the first time Ann saw a welcoming smile on her
face. As Ann passed, Dorcas proudly smoothed her red and
blue striped tabby gown and curtsied to the minister.
Mistress Hubbard lit the lamps and all gathered about the
table. Standing at their places, they bowed their heads as
Jonathan said grace over the food God graciously had pro
vided.
When the minister and his wife and Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard
had seated themselves, the children began serving them. They
brought roasted capon, potatoes, turnips, and onions, hot
brown bread and butter and honey, then apple pie, cheese, and
walnuts. Increase carried a large pewter tankard of ale from
one person to another as they signaled for it. Dorcas had
taken her old place behind the minister's chair, and looked
down at him with shining eyes.
They ate in silence, for there was no frivolous table talk in
the house of the deacon. The children stood behind them,
eating and serving at the same time. Only when supper was
finished and black cherry brandy was served did the talk
begin.
"I had a most remarkable dream last night," said Jonathan.
"Perhaps you can make something different of it than I did,
John."
"The Lord sends many of His revelations to us in dreams,"
replied Mr. Hubbard. "What was it you dreamed?"
"I
saw the celestial worlds and an angel of great beauty.

He had white wings on his shoulders and wore a girdle belted
about him like the girdles of the people of the East." Dorcas,
her eyes fixed on him, thought him 'as beautiful as the angel
of whom
"This angel
to declare to
me that I would do great works for Christ's Church."
"He was sent to you by the Lord," said the deacon.
"There's no doubt but that you will do as he said."
"But then," said Jonathan, "I saw the infernal regions. I
he spoke.
said he was sent
saw the Archenemy himself, and his legions parading before

him. He was giving them instructions about some plot which
I could not overhear."
"What could be the meaning of that?" asked Ann.
159
"God defend us from the plots of Satan," murmured Mis
Hubbard.
"It is a warning to be on our guard," said the deacon frown
ing. "The wild youth of this day are ripe for mischief. We
thought once to keep them out of the Devil's grasp by educat
ing them. But it seems to me education has not the power we
thought to keep the Devil at bay."
"No," agreed Jonathan. "We must fight Satan in stronger
ways."
"You yourself, Jonathan, are valiantly fighting him in your
sermons and lectures," said Ann proudly.
"It is not enough," he replied. "Something seems to be
eluding us in this battle. Why has God withdrawn His hand
from New England? Why are we no longer free to declare
His word with authority?"
tress
"There was that destructive storm that blasted the steeple

of Mr. Lewis's meeting house," said Mr. Hubbard thought
fully. "Why are the Lord's meeting houses struck by lightning
more often than other houses?"
"Malignant spirits have always attacked the elect most
fiercely both spiritually and physically," said Jonathan.
The silence that followed was filled with fear of Satan
and his minions. Jonathan spoke again. "Worse than malignant
spirits are the foul witches. Thank God I've never seen one,
but what I have heard and read of them reveals unbelievable
depths of depravity."
"I had thought you had closely inspected them, Mr. Grigg,"
said Mercy Hubbard timidly. "You described them so frighteningly to us in your sermons."
"My books have given me accurate knowledge of them,
Mistress Hubbard. I've learned much of their secret ways
from studying the trial of the witches of Suffolk in England."
"Can they bewitch anyone?" Mistress Hubbard asked with
fearful curiosity.
"Yes," he replied. "A minister's children were bewitched
in Connecticut, and an honored judge there, also. No one is
safe."
"But one can resist them,"
"It
said
Ann.
takes a strong and courageous soul to do so. The witch

1
60
tries to tempt a person with promises of wealth and super

natural power. If she cannot win his soul that way, she tries
to wrest it from him by torture."
"What kind of torture?" quavered Mrs. Hubbard.

"It is as various as it is strange," replied Jonathan. "Pinch-
ings, burnings, bufferings which no one can see being done.

The witch cannot touch his soul if he resists her, but she has
complete control over the body of the bewitched. She can
use his lips to speak her own wicked thoughts and his hands
to play her own mischievous pranks. I have read of a godly
maid being bewitched into talking blasphemy and being up
held in the air as though she were flying."
A chill ran through the listeners. The room seemed sud
denly filled with mysterious sounds. Something seemed to
lurk in the dark corners where lamplight could not penetrate.
They heard it moving and menacing, but felt it perilous to
look. Benjamin and Increase cast terrified glances at each
other. In the eerie silence Dorcas gave a sudden exclamation.
Her mother started. "What is it?" she asked quickly.
"It's so frightening, Mother. I thought I saw something
over there," pointing toward a shadowed corner.
Jonathan felt her pressing against him and turned around.
"Why, you're
trembling, Dorcas!"
"Pay no heed to her," said her father, and turning sternly
to her, "Do not make yourself conspicuous in the presence of
your elders."
Ann smiled, and Dorcas, catching that smile, flushed
angrily.
"Have you learned how a witch can be found out besides
those markings on them I told you about?" asked the deacon.
"There are several ways," replied Jonathan. "When a per
son is suspected of being a witch they can be tested for inno
cence or guilt by the water test. Water is the life blood of
demons, and when a human creature becomes a witch he, or
she, cannot drown because his blood changes to water. There
is also the test of the Lord's Prayer, which they cannot say
straightforward to the end, but must utter nonsense or say it
backward or stop in the middle of it."
Dorcas gave a startled gasp, remembering how she and In
161
and parts of the Bible

backward. Were they witches then? But no! They could also
say them straightforward to the end!
"What is it now?" demanded her father.
"I I saw something fly up the chimney," she faltered.
"If you were paying heed to your duties you would not
crease had played at saying prayers
see
things."
"May I have some ale,"
said
Ann quickly, wishing to pre
vent further reprimands. "These nuts make me so thirsty."

"Pass the ale to Mistress Grigg," the deacon commanded
his daughter.
it
it,
Sullenly Dorcas lifted the heavy pewter tankard and

carried it around to Ann. As she lowered
slipped from
her hands and hit Ann's shoulder, spilling its contents over
neck and gown.
"Ann!" cried Jonathan, springing to his feet and hurrying
to her side.
it
is
nothing," she said, rubbing her bruised shoulder, won

was an accident or whether Dorcas had
dering whether
done
it
deliberately.
"Get outside until you learn to behave!"
shouted
the
deacon.
"Oh, not out in the darkness, Father!"

"It was an accident. Don't punish her,"
"I
tress
said
Ann.
have said more than once that you are too tolerant, Mis
Grigg."
Jonathan, laying down the cloth which Mistress Hubbard

had given him to wipe Ann's dress, flashed an angry glance at
the girl.
was more than she could bear, and running to him,
she flung herself on her knees before him.
"Forgive me, Mr. Grigg. Don't let them put me out. Please
don't let them!"
At this open rebellion against his authority, her father rose
furiously. "Get to your feet," he ordered.
She clung to Jonathan, and the deacon strode to her and
pulled her hands away from the minister. He dragged her
screaming toward the door.
"Please, Mr. Hubbard, she meant no harm," pleaded his
wife.
It
"It
162
"Not out in the darkness!" shrieked

Father, have mercy!"
But the door closed on her cries.
Dorcas.
"Father,
CHAPTER
XXIV
When John Hubbard
returned to the table no one spoke.

Benjamin and Increase kept glancing worriedly toward the
door. Mistress Hubbard sat with bowed head, her trembling
hand fingering her cup but not raising the drink to her mouth.
Ann watched her pityingly and at last turned to the deacon.
"Don't keep Dorcas outside, sir. It is frightening in the
dark."
"I
tress
shall manage the discipline of my own household, Mis
Grigg."
There was another uncomfortable silence.

"I should like to hear more of the strange behavior of the
bewitched, Jonathan," said Mr. Hubbard.
"Their actions are utterly unpredictable, John. Sometimes
they act like animals and the sounds of dogs or cats or wolves
come from their mouths. They are usually most rebellious and
destructive, though it is not their fault, unfortunate creatures,
but the malice of the witch who has them in her grip. They
have power to see into the invisible world, and I have read
most amazing conversations they carry on with witches and
demons."
"But how can these pitiful people be freed from bewitch

ment?" asked Ann.
Jonathan looked at her. "You did not seem so interested
when I wanted you to join me in my study of it."
A faint pink
spread over her face at this reproach.

163
"I cannot
bear to read those new books of yours, Jonathan. They

frighten me."
Mistress Hubbard was too distracted with worry over her
daughter to help Ann out with one of her timid remarks, but
Jonathan now answered his wife's question.
"The bewitched can be freed by the discovery of the
witch and her execution if she will not repent. Prayer also
may ease them of their torments and strengthen them in their
struggle to save their souls."
"Well, we need not be anxious about witches," said Ann.
"There are none in Boston, nor in the whole colony."
Mr. Hubbard turned his stem eyes on her. "We can be
certain of naught, Mistress Grigg. I have heard it said that
there might be a witch back of that demon who frightened
you into the loss of your babe"
"No, no!" cried Ann. "Don't say that. Don't let us speak
of it."
"Some other time I'll tell you, John, about"

The door crashed open. Dorcas stumbled into the room
crying, "Save me! Save me!"
Mistress Hubbard sprang up and caught her daughter in
her arms. Jonathan rushed to the open door and slammed it
shut.
"What happened?" cried Ann.

Dorcas pointed shudderingly over her shoulder. "Some
thing touched me. Something out there touched me and ran."
"Some wild animal likely," said her mother, trembling and
holding her tight.
Dorcas shook her head.
"Was it an Indian?" asked Jonathan.
Again she shook her head.
"The girl's lying to escape her punishment," said Mr. Hub
bard.
Dorcas wrenched herself

doubled
from her mother's
arms
and
over groaning.
"She's ill! Perhaps she ate something out there. Fetch the
sulphur and molasses, Benjamin, Cressy, quickly!" cried Mrs.
Hubbard.
164
"I
naught," groaned
came out of the darkness."
ate
Dorcas.
"Something very bad
"What was it?" asked the deacon.
"I don't know, Father."
came running with the medicine, and Mistress

Hubbard poured it into a spoon and tried to force it between
her daughter's lips. But Dorcas pushed her mother's arm
"
roughly aside. "I don't want it! I won't take it!
"How dare you speak to your mother like that! " cried John
Hubbard. "Here, give the medicine to me," he said to his
Increase
wife.
He held Dorcas's head and forced the spoon between her

clenched teeth. She gulped, spilling some of the liquid, swal
lowing some, and her teeth bit on the spoon and would not
let it go.
"What ails you? Let go of the spoon," ordered her father.
She shook her head, her eyes rolling wildly. Her brothers
stared at her open mouthed. Jonathan knelt beside her and
when he slowly and gently pried the spoon from her mouth,
she sank backward in his arms.
Mr. Hubbard put on his coat and his great boots. He took
down the flintlock and powder horn from over the fireplace
and went out. They waited, thinking to hear gunfire, hoping
indeed it was only some wild animal or a lurking Indian that
had frightened Dorcas into her fit.
But no sound reached them.
"Pray for me, help me," moaned Dorcas.
"Bring her in here to our room, Mr. Grigg," said Mrs.
Hubbard.
Jonathan lifted her and carried her into the bedroom on the
other side of the fireroom, the others following. He laid her
on the bed.
"Something's pressing on my chest!" she cried.
Her mouth became fixed in an agonized smile and she could
neither close it nor open it. Her mother rubbed her cheeks
gently, trying to force together the gaping lips. But all her
efforts were in vain.
"Oh, Mr. Grigg! What shall we do for her?" she wailed.

Jonathan leaned over Dorcas. He passed his hand curiously
165
over her face, down to the open mouth, feeling her warm
breath on his finger tips. As he tried to close the open mouth,
suddenly and softly her lips closed over his fingers.
"God
save us!
Did
she bite
you?" screamed Mistress Hub
bard.
dull flush spread over Jonathan's face as he drew his

tingling fingers from their strange shelter. He shook his head.
That soft kiss had thrilled through his blood like fire.
Ann moved swiftly toward the bed. "May God punish you
for your shameless play acting, Dorcas Hubbard!"
Dorcas shrank back from her with a stifled scream.
Jonathan stared from her to Ann in astonishment.
"Hush," whispered Mistress Hubbard.
What
ghost? Indians or demons? Was
They heard stealthy movements outside the
was it? A living creature or a

that rustling and fumbling perilous
house.
to the soul or to the
body?
Then they heard the outer door open and close, and when
Mr. Hubbard and Dr. Bibber appeared in the doorway, all
breathed a sigh of relief.
Dr. Bibber went at once to Dorcas and sat down on the
bed, his great weight making it slope down so that she rolled
toward him.
"Poor little Dorcas," he said tenderly. "What is this I hear
"
about you suffering with some unaccountable illness?
She raised her large dark eyes up to him pitifully. "Some
thing presses on my .chest or holds my mouth so I cannot
move it."
"Have you ever seen the like of it in all your life, Dr.
Bibber?" asked Mistress Hubbard.
He did not answer but bent to examine Dorcas, felt of her
face and body and looked into her wild bright eyes.
"I think we must cleanse her of the hostile humors in her
body," he said. "From what Mr. Hubbard told me I think she
might be bit by a mad dog."
"Nothing bit me. Something only touched me," said Dorcas
through chattering teeth.
Dr. Bibber rose from the bed and went to his powders and
1
66
it,
wings of
if
drugs, his mortar and balances, which the deacon had brought
in from his saddle bag and set upon the table.
"What she says of something touching her might still have
been a bite from some mad animal. I'll apply the madstone
where she felt the touch."
He took out of a small box the madstone which his father
had bequeathed to him and which was a remedy for mad-dog
and snake bites. But as he approached Dorcas with it she
sprang out of the bed. Eluding him, she ran about the room,
flapping her arms in an odd birdlike fashion.
Dr. Bibber's mouth dropped open in amazement. "I have
"
never seen such a disorder as this! he exclaimed.
"It is certainly no usual ailment," said Jonathan.
"All the ills of the body are strange and unaccountable,
Mr. Grigg. Yet if Providence wills they be cured, the hand
of the physician will cure them."
"Can you tell us what makes her sick?" asked Mr. Hub
bard.
Henry Bibber shook his head. What indeed made man
sick? Something known or unknown in his body that did not
belong there. The known could be the teeth of an animal,
the arrow or bullet or knife of an enemy. But unseen missiles
could enter into the body and sicken
so that
physician
could do naught but bleed and purge to draw the hostile
foreign substance out. Some sicknesses were punishment for
sin, and there were mysterious sicknesses of the mind when
an evil spirit entered the body. These latter ills the physician
must leave to the minister, for only prayer could cure them
they were to be cured.
Dorcas had slowed her mad running about the room to an
equally strange but beautiful prancing. They watched her
graceful young body fascinated. Suddenly she leaped upon
stool and stood there swaying and weaving her arms like the
bird.
"Look! She's flying!" shrieked Benjamin.
"Come down!" cried Mistress Hubbard. "You'll hurt your

self!"
"Get down!" commanded Jonathan.
She swayed off the stool and fell into his outstretched arms.
167
As
into wild laughter.

"Why is she laughing?" cried Mistress Hubbard distract
he carried her back to the bed she burst
edly.
"She is laughing because we pay heed to her pranks," said
Ann. "What do you hope to gain by deluding us with such
trickery, Dorcas Hubbard?"

Dorcas' gaiety fell from her like a garment. Her face
streamed with tears. "I can't help it," she sobbed. "Something
is making me do it."
"It is naught but your own wickedness!" cried Ann.
"Be silent," said Jonathan sharply. "The girl is ill."
"I think we must let blood here," said Dr. Bibber. "Bring
me the basin for bloodletting, Mistress Hubbard."
"Oh, it's up in the loft. I'll get it."
"I'll get it for you," offered Ann.
As she left the room, Dorcas dexterously slipped from be
neath Dr. Bibber's large hands and ran after her.
"Wait! Dorcas!"
"Where are you going?"
They followed her and saw her already at the foot of the
ladder leading up to the loft. She began climbing to where
Ann stood.
"Hold her!" screamed Mistress Hubbard.
"Be careful, Dorcas," warned Ann, trying to wave her back.
"You'll hurt yourself."
"It's you will be hurt you!" cried Dorcas.
What happened then was so swift that no one afterward
could remember it exactly. Ann gave a sudden scream and
the next moment she was falling headlong to the floor. Then
Jonathan was by her side, his arms sliding under her and hold
ing her.
"Ann! Ann! Speak to me!"
She lay white and still in his arms. Dr. Bibber put him gently
aside and knelt beside her. They waited, hardly breathing, as
he examined her.
"Is she badly hurt?" whispered Jonathan.

Dr. Bibber looked up at him. "I think not,"
only stunned. But

certain."
seems
"She
must examine her further to be
168
he said.
There was a tense silence. Then Mistress Hubbard burst

into sobs. "It wasn't Dorcas' fault, Mr. Grigg! Oh, it wasn't!
It wasn't!"
Jonathan turned to her, his face pale. "I know it," he re
plied. "Dorcas is bewitched."
CHAPTER
XXV
Word of Dorcas Hubbard's bewitchment
sped through the

town, outweighing in interest the news of Mistress Grigg's
slight injuries from her fall.
A few days after Dorcas was afflicted, her two brothers
were stricken. The three children lost control of their limbs.

Their feet would carry them to no useful work, their hands
would perform no tasks but were used by the demons for
play and mischief. Evil spirits had dominance over their
speech, uttering through their mouths merry and impious
thoughts. Through their innocent lips burst the wild laughter
of the witches.
When Ann recovered she was strangely silent about her
accident. Although many were going to the Hubbard home
to marvel over the witchcraft they were seeing for the first
time, she would not go there. Often now she secluded herself
in her bedchamber, and sometimes when Jonathan came up
unexpectedly he found the door latched and heard her singing
softly within.
But his wonder about this new mystery of Ann was lost
and forgotten in a greater wonder over the Hubbard children.
His anxiety over Ann ceasing with her recovery, he spent
more time in the Hubbard home. Here he watched with
169
witchcraft, recognizing many of

he had read and preached.
astounded elders, Dorcas and her

with invisible witches. Yet when
demon company with whom they
spoke, they could not give them. They said that some wore
masks and that the others they did not recognize as anyone
they knew. Sometimes Benjamin and Increase screamed with
pain at the bufferings of the witches. They could be seen
ducking their heads to avoid invisible blows. Dorcas was
twisted into unnatural postures which Dr. Bibber with all
his medical knowledge could not straighten out. Only the
hands and prayers of the Reverend Jonathan Grigg could re
lease her.
Abigail came to view the strange calamity that had befallen
her friends.
"I'm so thankful you've come, Nibby," said Mistress Hub
bard. "If you'll stay here a while I'll finish making the beds
upstairs. How is Mistress Grigg feeling?"
"She's better, Mistress Hubbard, but this sad bewitchment
weighs on her mind."
"God pity all of us!"
it,
Mrs. Hubbard picked up the fresh sheets she would use to

replace the ones wickedly torn by the witches, and climbed
up the ladder.
When she had disappeared into the attic, Abigail drew
nearer to Dorcas. "How are you today?" she asked.
"We've had a few moments release," began Dorcas, then,
noticing Abigail looking at her curiously, "Why are you star
ing at me like that? You're fortunate that you have been
spared when all of us are stricken."
Abigail's eyes were skeptical. "I can't understand
Dorcas."
"How could you? More important people than you can't
understand it."
"Oh, Nibby. Come over here," groaned Increase.

She went to him and he drew her down beside him on the
bench. "My head hurts so. Will you rub
for me?"
it
amazement the display of

the performances of which
In the presence of their
brothers held conversations
asked for the names of the
170
She stroked back the black hair from his forehead. "Are
"
you really bewitched, Cressy? she whispered.
He cast a quick glance at Dorcas before he answered. "I
don't know, Nibby. Sometimes I think we're just play acting,
we have such fun. And you know we can't be punished be
cause we blame everything on the witches. But sometimes
though I do feel there's something making me act this way,
putting all sorts of queer notions in my head. And then, too,
the witches often throw things at me or pinch me."
"Do you really see the witches?"
"I only
kind of shadowy things. But Dorcas sees

them, and so does Benjamin."
Benjamin, sitting beside his sister on the settle, was asking
plaintively, "When are we going to be freed, Dorcas?"
"How should I know? When they discover the witch who
afflicts us, no doubt."
He looked up at her slyly and giggled. "When you showed
me things jumping out at me from corners and pinching and
scratching me, I thought it was a witch too, but"
"But what?" Her voice was dangerous.
"One time I saw it was you pinched me," he whispered
see some
defiantly.
"You'd better not say such
thing or they'll be after you
again."
He turned away from her, and bending over with his

elbows on his knees, looked into the fire. He gave a low
chuckle. There was a witch now, small and red and crooked
as a twig, cackling away at him. He reached out to pick up
the poker and give her a thwack when suddenly a burning
pain shot across the back of his neck. He screamed.
"What is it?" cried Abigail, rushing to him. "Are the
witches tormenting you, Benjamin?"
"Yes," he sobbed.
Abigail stared in horror at the long scratch on his neck,
while Dorcas went to the cupboard to get some salve for it.
"See, Nibby," said Increase. "You were asking if we weren't
pretending, or if Dorcas wasn't making us say and do these
things. But now you see for yourself."
"You'd better be careful what you say, Abigail Trask,"
171
said
Dorcas.
"We
know."
"Oh, forgive
aren't accountable
for our actions, you
don't hurt me."

"I don't hurt anyone!" cried Dorcas. "If you think I had
anything to do with scratching Benjamin, just search me and
see if I have a pin."
"Oh, no, Dorcas. I believe you."
"Never mind believing me. Prove it. Search me."
Reluctantly, Abigail ran her hands over Dorcas's clothes;
looked at her open hands.
"Well?" asked Dorcas in triumph.
"Of course you haven't a pin. I knew that." She backed
away. "I really must be going now." With a quick wave of
her hand to Increase she fled from the house.
Dorcas turned to Benjamin. "Don't forget," she warned.
"We can't help what the witches make us do. And if they
make me tell about those poppets of yours, you will be hanged
me, Dorcas. Please, please
witch!"
He drew away from her, sobbing low and helplessly.
When the deacon entered with Mr. Grigg and several
as a
neighbors a few moments later, Dorcas ran to Jonathan.

"Oh, Mr. Grigg, it's so good you've come. Poor Benjamin
has but just now been terribly hurt by them."
Jonathan and the neighbors looked with horror and pity
at the bleeding scratch on Benjamin's neck. Then Increase
had to show the bruises on his arms.
"And you, Dorcas?" asked Jonathan. "Have they put marks
on you too?"
"Oh, Mr. Grigg, I am terribly marked with their cruelty."
"What kind of marks are they? Show them to us."
"They are hideous sights, not fit to be looked on."
"Nevertheless it is necessary that we see every evidence,"
insisted Jonathan.
"Do
as
Mr. Grigg wishes," ordered the deacon. "Show him
the marks."
Mistress Hubbard, who had just descended into the room,
led her daughter into the bedchamber away from the curious
eyes of the neighbors, and Jonathan followed.
Dorcas loosened the laces of her bodice and slipped her shift
172
down from her shoulders. Her eyes closed modestly and a

deep blush darkened her face as Jonathan stared at the purple
mark on her white-skinned breast and touched it with his
finger. She lay back on the bed for her mother to lift her
skirt, roll down her stocking, and show another disfigurement
on her leg.
Jonathan felt a flame of pity sweep through him. To see
this maiden held in the power of his enemy roused all his ten
That Satan coveted her, sought to break her to his

foul will, filled him with fury. Her sufferings and brave
resistance now at last opened his eyes to a beauty that he had
derness.
never noticed before.
CHAPTER
XXVI
Each day brought new visitors to
the wondrous happen

ings in the Hubbard household. When Judge Howen re
covered from a cold that had laid him up, he called on Judge
Dwine one afternoon to inform him that it was their duty
to investigate the bewitchment of the Hubbard children.
Judge Divine was reluctant to leave his comfortable fireside
for such a matter. But Mr. Howen was not a man to shirk his
duty or to allow others to shirk theirs. He pressed his thin
lips together and settled himself firmly in the high-backed
chair.
"There are marvelous tales abroad about those three," he
remarked, deciding to overcome his friend's objection by
arousing his curiosity. "Mr. Grigg tells me that they ride
about the house on witch horses."
Mr. Dwine leaned forward. "What shape have the witch
horses on them?"
'73
see
"No
one has been able to see them except the bewitched.

Everyone else sees the girl and boys ride about on chairs."
"Ah," murmured Theophilus Dwine, leaning back disap
pointed.
"They
are said to
hold wonderfully
witty conversations
with the witches."

"Yes?" said Mr. Dwine indifferently.
"I have been told that the girl rises up from the floor and
flies."
"Flies?" marveled Mr. Dwine, leaning forward again.

"Like a bird. And all of them go about the floor on hands
and knees and bark like dogs. Then again they curl up by the
fire and purr like cats."
"Have they the shapes of cats and dogs on them?"
"It is said that they marvelously resemble them."
Mr. Dwine lifted his weighty body out of the chair. "You
are right, Nicholas. It is certainly our duty to witness such
happenings."
He called for Amos to hitch up his carriage to the horses,
and the two magistrates set out.
They had gone but a little way when they saw Thomas
Dwine riding toward them, coming to call on his cousin.

"Nicholas and I are setting out to witness this Hubbard
enchantment," said Mr. Dwine. "Would you go into the house
and await my return?"
"I think I'll go along with you. I'm curious to see it my
self," said Thomas. He turned his horse's head and rode ahead
of them.
When they arrived
door, old Goodwife
at the deacon's house and rapped on the
Torey opened it. The bright-eyed,
fat
little woman bobbed up and down in respectful curtsies.

"It's the worshipful magistrates," she cried to those within.
Mr. Hubbard came forward to greet them.
"We've come to investigate the state of your household,"
explained Mr. Howen.
Mistress Hubbard glanced anxiously at the door of the bed
chamber where the children were sleeping, hoping the visitors
would not rouse them.
*74
"This
melancholy house that we come into, sir," re

marked Judge Dwine.
"
'It is better to go to the house of mourning than to the
"
house of feasting,'
replied John Hubbard.
"
"Where are the bewitched? inquired Judge Howen. "We
is a
have come to see them."

Reluctantly Mistress Hubbard led them into the bedcham
ber where Dorcas, Increase, and Benjamin were sprawled on
the bed.
"They seem natural enough looking," observed Judge
Dwine. "Though they look like worthless idlers to be abed
at this time of day."
"Don't blame them, sir. They've just fallen there exhausted.
They were in the power of the witches a while ago," ex
plained Mrs. Hubbard.
"Indeed they were," put in Goodwife Torey. "It was a

marvelous sight. The maid there riding her witch horse
and . . ."
Her voice trailed off under Judge Howen's frown.
"What is Goody Torey doing here?" he asked.
"Many of the townsfolk come to watch their doings," re
plied Mrs. Hubbard.
"Do you show off your children as play actors to the peo
ple of the town?"
"The Lord forbid," said the deacon angrily.

"They pray for them as they watch," said his wife.
"What have you done for them?"
"We've prayed and fasted, and Mr. Grigg prays over them
almost daily."
"Has Dr. Bibber suggested no remedy?"
asked
Thomas
Dwine.
"Do you think pills and powders a cure for this sickness?"
"
'Blessed is the man that
said Mr. Hubbard contemptuously.
"
trusteth in the Lord and whose hope the Lord is.'
"Why aren't they up and about their work instead of sleep
ing during the times they are not tormented?" asked Judge
Dwine impatiently.
sighed. "We are glad to get a little

respite for them and ourselves, Judge Dwine. It isn't their
Mistress
Hubbard
r75
fault that they can do no work. Why, we can scarcely keep

the house in order or do enough cooking for our needs the
way the witches knock down the lug pole and turn over pots
and pans and destroy things."
Thomas was scrutinizing the three on the bed, but they
gave no evidence of knowing that they were being watched.
"Is there any bodily sickness with all this?" he asked.
"Yes, there is," replied Mr. Hubbard. "Unaccountable pains
and vomitings."
"Of needles and pins," nodded Judge Howen, having some
knowledge of witchcraft himself.
"No. Natural vomit," contradicted the deacon.
get up?" complained Judge Dwine. "We

came here to see the evidence of their bewitchment. Wake
them up."
With a deep sigh Mistress Hubbard obeyed. Benjamin rose
the moment his mother's hand touched him, but Increase and
Dorcas required rough shaking to awaken them. Dorcas
"Why don't they
rubbed her eyes sleepily, and taking no heed of the magistrates

nor the respect due them, ran gaily into the other room, her
brothers skipping after her. The others followed.
Dorcas romped about the room, knocking over chairs, bang
ing into the spinning wheel. "They're after me!" she cried,
her eyes shining and wild.
"Here comes the whole company!" cried Increase, and he
too began running, circling the room, with Benjamin shouting
and laughing after him.
"They are certainly in the clutches of fearful powers,"
Judge Dwine marveled.

"
"Ouch! Stop pulling my hair! screamed Dorcas. And they
saw her head jerked backward as though she were receiving
violent pulls.
"What is your name, you who torment them?" asked
Nicholas Howen of the invisible assailants.
From the laughing mouth of the maiden they answered
saucily, "Our name is legion."
A murmur of astonishment rose at hearing the Bible quoted
so
artfully.
176
As Judge Dwine
in the deacon's armchair,

Dorcas flung herself on his lap and pulled his wig.
He gave an outraged bellow and tried to push her from
him. "Get up this instant, you vixen!"
"I can't get up," she pouted, clinging to him. "They say I
must get some of your hair so they can make a poppet of you
and put a spell on you."
Theophilus Dwine rose hastily, dropping her from his lap.
"God protect me!" he prayed fervently.
"They want some of your hair, too!" cried Increase, and
made a lunge at Thomas Dwine.
"Behave yourself, boy," ordered Thomas, and swinging
around, gave him a hearty cuff on the ear. "It seems to me,"
he declared, "that these children imitate one another."
"I think we had better separate them and examine each one
alone," said Mr. Howen.
"My children are without guile," said the deacon gruffly.
"We mean no offense to you, Mr. Hubbard," replied Judge
Howen. "But as I recollect, some past cases of witchcraft
were disproved as frauds and impostures, and we cannot be
too careful in these matters."
John Hubbard nodded gloomily. "If you feel you have
need of proof of my children's honesty, then let them give
you the proof."
Benjamin was taken up into the loft by Thomas and Mis
tress Hubbard, and Increase taken into the bedroom by Judge
Dwine, while Dorcas remained in the fireroom with the others.
She began humming a rollicking tune and suddenly flung
her body about in graceful twistings and stampings of her feet
seated himself
that Mr. Howen immediately recognized as the dancing he

had seen at Mr. Timothy Tilden's school.
"Did your daughter attend Mr. Tilden's class?" he asked
the deacon.
"No. I permitted none of my children to set foot in the
accursed place."
"How then does she come to know the dance he taught?"
"No doubt the witches have instructed her."
"Who instructed you in such dancing?" Mr. Howen asked
Dorcas.
177
She paid no heed to his question.
"Answer
girl," he said angrily.

But she only sang louder as she whirled about the room.
"They must have struck her deaf again," said Goodwife
me,
Torey.
"Is that what it is?" Mr. Howen
"If
asked her father.
not answer she cannot hear you," he replied.

"She is sometimes struck deaf or dumb or blind, and some
times all of them at once."
Dorcas stopped singing and dancing abruptly. She sank
down on a stool, pressing her arms against her stomach and
she does
groaning.
"What
is
it now?"
She did not answer, but groaned as if in great pain.

When the children were brought together again and their
elders compared reports, it was found that the test proved
there was no fraud or deception. Each child had suffered
alone and apart the same unaccountable pains in the same places
of the body at the same time. Each one had been struck deaf
although one did not know of the other's complaint. There
could be no longer any question of one imitating the other,
nor any doubt that their unnatural behavior was witch con
trolled.
"Do they
have any periods of relief?" asked Judge Howen.

little,
"Very
except when they are asleep," sighed Mrs.
Hubbard.
"How do you explain this peculiar sickness of your chil
dren, Mr. Hubbard?" asked Judge Howen. "Have you
thought if any sin might have brought it upon you?"
"God alone can tell the extent of our sinning." All saw the
children flinch with the witches' fear of God's Holy Name,
for the bewitched could never speak it nor could they even
hear it without pain. "I have examined my conscience," con
tinued the deacon, "but I can find no deed worthy of this as
"
a punishment. Yet who am I to judge the weight of our sins?
"You were never one of the blasphemous who deny the
existence of witches, were you? That might account for it."
"Would I deny the word of God? Is it not written: 'Thou
shalt not suffer a witch to live'?"
178
"And you?"
asked
Mr. Howen, turning swiftly to Mrs.
Hubbard.
She trembled under the searching gaze. "I'm a poor sinful

creature, no doubt, Judge Howen. But I do not sin to the
extent of denying Satan and his brood."
"The most important thing for us to do is to ferret out the
witches," said Mr. Hubbard. "I do not say this for my own
sake, for thank the Lord my children are strong in resistance.
But it does not follow that others will be so. If the witches
fail here in my house you'll see new attacks break out else
where."
Mistress Hubbard went to open the door in answer to a

knock, and Jonathan entered. Dorcas seated herself on the
settle and motioned her brothers to sit beside her.
Jonathan greeted the magistrates and spoke his satisfaction
at their interest in the case.
"It is worse than all we had heard, Mr. Grigg," confessed
Mr. Howen. "We were just asking Mr. Hubbard if

what sin had brought it upon him."
he
knew
Jonathan regarded his deacon proudly. "No sin of John

Hubbard's has brought it upon him. Would that all men were
as righteous as he. And would that all households were as
pious as this."
"Why should a pious household be visited with such an af
fliction, then?" asked Thomas Dwine. "I see no reason for it."
"You have just heard Mr. Grigg's opinion. Why do you
question further?" protested his cousin. "Don't put frail hu
man reasoning above God's mysterious ways."
"You are too much of a questioner for your own good, Mr.
Dwine," said Jonathan.
"And has God vouchsafed you an explanation He has de
nied our understanding, Mr. Grigg?" asked Thomas dryly.
"The Lord grants His elect greater wisdom than the rest of
men, that they may guide us according to His will," said Mr.
Hubbard.
But Jonathan would not let the questioner go unanswered.
He looked at Thomas with cold brown eyes. "If an affliction
such as this were visited on the wicked it would be deemed a
just punishment, would it not?" he asked.
179
"It would,"
agreed Thomas.
"But this same affliction visited upon a godly household
could not be a punishment, could it?"
"That is just what I was wondering about."
"Therefore," continued Jonathan, "it can be understood in
no other way than as proof of witchcraft."
Thomas thought for a moment, then nodded gravely. "You
are right, sir. I could not find that answer myself. But I am a
questioner, as you say, and I cannot refrain from trying to get
to the bottom of things. It isn't easy to tell the true from die
false. Alone at night I too see shapes that seem supernatural.
I think perhaps they are witches come to parley with me. But
when I hold a candle to them they are naught but shadows."
"The vanity of foolish men who seek proof of the wonders
of the invisible world is beyond comprehension," said Jona
than contemptuously.
"My conscience impels me to dig for the truth," said
Thomas.
Jonathan's eyes suddenly blazed. "Submit your unruly con

science to your minister's guidance and you'll be better off,
Mr. Dwine. There is too much liberty of conscience preva
lent in New England. It is not surprising to see God in His
anger let Satan loose upon us. It is no marvel that the wicked
ness of men gives the vicious followers of hell the courage to
raise their heads, to persecute us and torment our children."
A thin eerie cry pierced the room, and Dorcas rose from the
settle under another of her spells.
80
CHAPTER
XXVI I
Wonder and fear
Reverend Jona
than Grigg's voice thundered through Boston against the
witches of the ancient enemy of their Lord. He called for an
army of the Lord of Heaven to cope with them lest the con
tagion spread and ravish the whole land.
From the labor of their days and the rigid discipline of their
nights, the people flocked to his Thursday lectures. Here they
found freedom to ecstasy through love of the Lord and hatred
possessed the people as the
of Satan.
"We thought the witchcraft
in Europe could
be kept from us by distance," cried Jonathan. "But we were
mistaken! Evil leaps all barriers! Now we find ourselves strug
gling with the same foul disease that afflicted our forefathers
and still afflicts the peoples across the sea.
"Get down on your knees," he commanded. "Beg God to
protect you from the witches of Satan. Beg Him that in mercy
He reveal these foul creatures to us that they may be tram
pled to death under the implacable feet of the soldiers of
Christ!"
Men, women, and children fell to their knees and bowed
their heads over their clenched hands.
"O Lord," prayed Jonathan, "We can see the wounded and
the havoc of this battle, but our enemies are hidden so that
we cannot see them. Scourge them from the darkness in which
they hide. Tear the masks from their faces. Cry them forth
these foul Devil worshipers! Yes, and those also who deny
their existence, who deny them in order to give them protec
tion and hinder our search for them!"
"Oh, who can doubt, Mr. Grigg? Who can doubt?" cried
the Widow Bibber. "This morning I was waked by a great
181
so prevalent
stone rolling into my chamber. Who rolled it there? Who

rolled it through the thick door that was bolted and barred
"
for the night?
"Are you sure you were not dreaming, Widow Bibber?"
called Thomas Dwine, standing in the crowded doorway.
"How could I be dreaming?" she retorted indignantly. "I
saw it with my own two eyes, rolling along. Dear God have
mercy!"
"Could it not have been thrown through the window?"
Jonathan pointed an angry finger toward the speaker. "Are
you a doubter in this also, Mr. Dwine?"
"No. I was only asking."
Impatient of the man's stubborn reasoning, Jonathan
shouted, "Are you one of that wretched company of doubters
I but now spoke about? Do you doubt the existence of such
ball-rolling demons as the Widow Bibber tells us of?"
Thomas saw the bitter sea of eyes turning toward him and
knew the power of hatred in their depths.
"I do not deny the existence of demons or witches, Mr.
Grigg. I only question whether the Widow Bibber's story is
an evidence of them or some trick of heedless children."
"It was an evidence of them," declared Jonathan. "Have
we not heard of similar ball-rolling demons? Have you forgot
ten the stones thrown into Judge Howen's pasture by no
visible hands?"
Thomas Dwine bowed to this. The tide of hatred turned

from him, and under the minister's persuasive preaching lashed
itself into greater fury against the threatening invisible foe.
Over the heads of the people Thomas saw Mrs. Grigg turn to
look at him, her eyes shining with comforting kindness.
"Thank God someone is free from hatred," he thought.
He waited for the lecture to end and to hear her voice rise
clear and sweet in the singing of the closing hymn. When it
was finished and he saw her coming out of the meeting house,
he turned quickly and joined in the conversation of two mer
chant friends to prevent her speaking to him and incurring
any censure for talking with one on whom public disfavor had
fallen.
182
But as she passed him he heard her whisper, "Be careful,

Thomas. I fear this growing panic over the witches."
The fame of the Thursday lectures spread over Massachu
setts. A thousand printed pamphlets of them were sold and a
new edition was demanded. Visitors from near and far came
to hear Mr. Grigg, and the minister saw God's hand bring
ing these strangers to enlightenment.
But soon disagreeable tales began to arise about some of
these visitors. At a meeting of the Council it was pointed out
that certain parties of young men and women who were rid
ing into town under pretence of attending the lectures, were
in reality making a high frolic of their journey, drinking and
reveling in the taverns. The selectmen reported that there
was much kissing and embracing and wandering in the flesh.
One selectman stated that a man and a girl had kissed for half
an hour without stopping; he had timed them himself. The
Lord only knew what happened when they went upstairs to
sleep
It
four and five
abed.
was an intolerable state of affairs. Riotous singing had

been heard as men rode down the street, girls riding pillion
behind them, and all of them inflamed with drink. Such high
handed wickedness had never before been seen or heard in
Boston.
But there was an even more serious manifestation of the
ungodliness of the times. The wave of witchcraft that Mr.
Grigg had foreseen was now spreading over the colony. Ru
mors came in from Roxbury, Andover, and Salem Village of
victims struck down.

Jonathan rode out to the surrounding countryside to con
vince himself of the truth of these rumors. When he returned,
he confirmed them at a special meeting of the Council. The
hordes of Satan were spreading far and wide, terrible and
powerful because of their secrecy and cunning. The army of
the Lord of Heaven must gird itself for fiercer battle. Its
enemies were fighting in strange and mysterious ways.
With the increasing fears and terrors of the times, there
arose among the people the old oft-repeated belief that the
end of the world was drawing near.
From his pulpit Jonathan warned them, "For your failure
183
godly human beings God is provoked and will not

stay His wrath. It is no wonder that many of us see the end of
the world coming. And when we are in the evening of the
world the evening wolves will be abroad. Evil will prowl in all
its strange and multitudinous forms!"
He, and all the ministers in the colony, called upon their
congregations to be alert for infernal signs and evidences and
to exert constant vigilance for the detection of the dark and
evil creatures hidden in their midst.
to live
as
Late one evening when Jonathan was walking homeward

from the Hubbard house he saw strange forms flitting through
the evening woodland and heard crafty sounds menacing him
in no human tongue. He hastened his pace. High in the sky
was a pale moon. Its sick light shone faint and still on the thin
ning foliage of the trees. He heard the velvet voice of Dorcas
whispering warnings, describing merciless spectral creatures
and beasts, urging him to hurry, hurry.
At last he reached his house, and thankfully entered and
closed and bolted the door against the unclean night.
Ann was in the study, copying the corrected sheets of his
last sermon. She raised her head and smiled to him affection
ately. He wished she would jump up and run to him, put her
hands on his face and kiss him as she used to do. But lately
she had for some reason ceased these spontaneous little ges
tures of love and held herself in more reserve. Nor could he
speak with her of his work, for she took none of her former
interest in it nor gave him any praise for it.
He paced restlessly back and forth, pausing now and then
at the window. Ann glanced up when his back was toward
her. She longed for him to come and take her in his strong
arms and hold her tight. But as he turned, she saw his eyes
bright and burning with his secret thoughts. They were
thoughts of witches and demons and bewitchment not of
her. She sighed and lowered her head over the desk.
Jonathan stood looking at her a moment, then flung himself
in the armchair by the fireplace. His eyes closed under the
warmth and comfort of the flames. Suddenly the figure of
Dorcas sprang into life behind his closed eyelids. He saw the
184
dark beautiful face, passionate with his own fighting spirit,

heard the thrilling voice bravely eager to help him. He saw
the smooth skin of the breast upon which appeared the blue
bruises of the witches. His fingers quivered as he seemed to
feel her strong soft limbs, taut with pain until his touch re
laxed them.
Ann pushed the papers back from her. "There," she said.
"It's finished;"
He opened his eyes and looked across at her. "Is that all you
have to say?
"All?"
"
she asked, puzzled.
"Is that all you have to say about my sermon?"

"Why Iit is most eloquent."
"You used to have more to say than that."
A note of resentment crept into her voice. "You used to
have more time to listen to what I had to say. Now you have
time only for the bewitched."
"Would you have me leave them helpless in the power of
the enemy?" he asked. "What has come over you, Ann, to
think so selfishly?"
She did not answer. He rose and moved to the window. It
was true that he was now away from her more often than he
was with her. But how could he spend time here when his
duty called him elsewhere?
Suddenly a decision flashed upon his mind with that swift
ness and lack of forethought that stamped it Heaven sent.
How perfect was the Divine inspiration that would keep him
in close contact with the bewitched and yet make Ann hap
pier by his longer stay in the house. He turned to her.
"Ann," he said gently. "It was unlike you to have a selfish
thought, but it was not without meaning. It has given me the
idea of bringing one of the afflicted children here. We shall
study it together, and I think that perhaps under such constant
observation it might even reveal the name of the witch in an
unguarded moment."
"Which one will you bring?" she asked quickly.
"The eldest."
"Oh, no, Jonathan, no. Not her!"
"Why not?" he asked, astonished.
185
"If
you love me, don't do it."

"But why shouldn't I? Why do you make such an appeal?"
he asked in bewilderment.
"What other appeal can I make? Would you heed me if I
sought to convince you with reasons? You are too proud to
listen and"
"Tell
me
your
reasons
for not wanting Dorcas here,"
he
interrupted.
"There are many, Jonathan. Take one of her brothers.

Take Increase."
"But why should I not take Dorcas?"
"I'm afraid
she
will start trouble
here. She holds something
against me."
"Nonsense. She holds nothing against anyone."
Ann looked at him pleadingly. "Jonathan, please"
"I cannot understand you, Ann. Do you bear Dorcas ill will
because of your accident? Because she foretold that a witch
was about to hurt you?"
Ann looked at him strangely.
"Well?" he asked.
"I am not so sure it
was a witch's hand that pushed me."

"What do you mean? What else could it have been?"
She hesitated. "I don't know," she said finally.
"You haven't seen enough of witchcraft to know about
these things. I don't know why you refuse to come down to
see the deacon's children and inform yourself on this subject.
They run about the house screaming and laughing and sing
ing most amazingly. And let them but break something, or
tear their clothes, or refuse to do as their mother or father
bids them, and through their innocent mouths one hears the
fiendish laughter of their tormentors God in Heaven, why
"
you smiling?
"It is not long since children were punished for such things
as you are describing."
"Theirs is not a natural disobedience," he replied. "They
have no wish to do these things."
"Doesn't it seem strange to you that the witches are so
childlike that they make them do what mischievous children
would do naturally? Oh, Jonathan, I don't doubt the evil of
are
86
witchcraft. But these actions you tell me of Dorcas and her

brothers seem like human wickedness to me."
"You have no wits left in you!" he cried in exasperation.
"And if you are so forgetful of your own sufferings at the
hands of demons, it is time you witnessed the force of their
hatred against others. I shall bring Dorcas to the house so
that you may remember and be convinced once more of the
demoniacal tortures of human persons!"
CHAPTER
XXVIII
When Dorcas
came to the minister's house she was gentle

and obedient to Mistress Grigg. Quietly she performed the
duties assigned to her, behaving in a natural and virtuous man
ner. She said that she had now probably escaped from the
witches and was well hidden from them in that godly house
hold.
Though
Jonathan praised God for His mercy to the

maiden, he saw none of the wonders he had anticipated study
ing. Seeing her go dutifully about her tasks like any ordinary
young person, she lost some of the fascination that had drawn
him to her.
Ann watched Dorcas apprehensively at first, but after a
few days her misgivings diminished at the sight of the quiet
behavior of the bewitched girl. Then one day she caught her
in her bedchamber leaning over the locked trunk and trying
to open it.
"What are you doing there?" she asked from the doorway.
Dorcas gave a guilty start, but the next moment swept her
dustcloth over the top of the trunk. "I'm cleaning your room,
Mistress Grigg," she answered boldly.
187
Her black eyes were watching Ann, seeking fear in her

face. After only a short time in the house she knew that Ann
had some secret. The locked door and the soft singing behind
it had aroused her curiosity, and she knew now that the secret
lay in this trunk which she had discovered was locked also.
But Ann gave no indication of any uneasiness. She told
Dorcas to leave the room, and afterward gave orders that only
Abigail should take care of the bedchamber.
Now that Ann knew of Dorcas's efforts to discover her
secret, she became more cautious in taking out the doll image
of her babe. Her fears again aroused against the girl, she sug
gested to Jonathan that she be returned to her home as she
was no subject for his study, and that one of her brothers be
taken in her place.
But Jonathan was reluctant to let Dorcas go. Though she
was not a subject for study, how could they deprive her of
the solace their household afforded her? Besides, her two
brothers were also less witch ridden now. Although they con
tinued to behave undutifully and were unable to accomplish
any given task, they performed no more of their astounding
tricks.
But there were new outcroppings of witchcraft in Ipswich,

Beverly, and Billerica, and Jonathan neglected the quieted
households of Boston to make journeys to these towns. He
spent himself in ceaseless travels and preachings. His whole
life became devoted to the ferreting out of the witches.
And at last his zeal was rewarded. The first witch was
brought to light in Salem Village. Ann was horrified to learn
that it was old Goodwife Whitman to whom she used to carry
food. Several bewitched children of the village had accused
her. Although the witch could always prevent her victims
from naming her outright, these children had learned there
was another way of indicating her. It seemed that if someone
else accused her first then the bewitched themselves could
confirm the identification.
It was not long after this first accusation that others fol
lowed. Another new way was found of revealing the witches
besides that of having their names spoken. It was discovered
188
if
witch was forced to lay her hands on her victims her

touch had the power to bring them out of their fits.
By these two means of identification, witches were discov
ered in Salem and Andover, in Ipswich, Beverly, and Billerica.
At first all protested their innocence, but on further examina
tions and being strongly urged to give glory to God by their
confessions and in this manner to also save their fives, many
were brought to confess their guilt. With each confession, a
witch named her companions, so that soon the jails became
overflowing with the accused. However, until the royal gov
ernor's arrival, no general courts could be assembled, and in
order to relieve the congested conditions in the village prisons,
constables brought men and women accused of witchcraft to
Boston jail to await trial.
One morning as Jonathan was preparing to set out on a
journey a terrible shriek startled the household.
"I am lost! They have found me!" cried Dorcas's voice, and
the next moment she came rushing down the stairs, her hair
loose and flying and her clothes disheveled.
Abigail, Betsy, and Goody Gower, who was visiting, ran
out from the kitchen. They saw Dorcas disappearing into the
study and crowded into the doorway after her. They saw her
hands tearing at her dress and the minister struggling with her,
while Mistress Grigg sat there looking on quietly over her
that
sewing.
"They are pulling my clothes off me!" screamed Dorcas.

"You seem to be doing it yourself," said Ann.
look of anger at her.

"What will ever become of me?" wailed Dorcas. "They
handle me as they please. They will not leave a cloth to cover
me!" Her flying fingers eluded the minister's as he tried to
restrain her, and her modesty piece was ripped from her neck.
"Help me to hold her, Ann!"
"If you don't struggle with her she will let herself alone."
"God's mercy! Do you think a maid would shame herself
like this of her own free will!" he shouted. "Nibby! Betsy!
Come here!"
They came slowly, fearful of approaching the bewitched
too closely. Ann rose, but as she advanced, the convulsive
Jonathan cast
189
movements of Dorcas's hands ceased and she sank breathlessly

into a chair.
"They're leaving now. They're going off to their Sabbath
meeting."
At the mention of this unholy gathering, Abigail and Betsy
backed away with frightened faces. Dorcas raised her head as
though called, and after listening a moment, turned to the min
ister.
"They want me to go with them."
"Go with them," he said quickly. "Witches from all over
the countryside attend these meetings. Perhaps you will be
able to discover who they are."
"But many wear masks," she reminded him.
"Nevertheless, go. Something unforeseen may happen."
Dorcas turned herself on the chair and jogged up and
down as though riding. "Now I ride my russet horse," she
chanted gaily. "High in the sky we go. Look! We're all here
newts and owls, cats and rats, toads and serpents we're all
going to the Witches' Sabbath!" She stretched her neck and
looked down as though from a great height. "Here we are.
We've arrived. There's the fiery meadow." She dismounted,
drew the reins forward, and tied the horse to an airy post.
"What a great gathering we have here today."
She pranced forward, bowing right and left, nodding and
smiling. "And a black day to you," she said graciously, inclin
ing her head. Her eyes roved about inquiringly from one
point to another in the room. She leaned over as though pat
ting a small head, waved gaily to someone, backed away as
though to avoid a collision. "Oh, here you are again. You
look most familiar in spite of your mask. Perhaps I'll recog
nize you one day." She quickly ducked her head as though
escaping a blow and laughed tauntingly.
Even Ann, watching skeptically at first, began to feel the
room crowded with malevolent presences: eerie shapes large
towering shapes, little hopping shapes wavering, moving,

merging into and through objects and each other. Nebulous
forms seemed to fill the room with ghostly color pale browns
and dusty whites, glimmering grays and yellows, weaving in
and out, advancing and retreating and among them Dorcas
190
moving, a vivid human creature of black eyes and red lips and
hair like a black mist over her shoulders.
She began dancing with an invisible partner, a sensuous se
ductive dance that filled the air with the heat of animal lustfulness. The rhythm broke as she stumbled, and she looked
down on the ground before her.
"
"The devils bestride the witches! she cried. "The witches
go after strange flesh. And who is that you're embracing
there? A pig? Yes, it's a pig!" She burst into wild wicked
laughter. Then she suddenly hushed and moved forward cau
tiously. "Why are you stealing upon her like a thief? What
do you Oh! Why do you pierce her with an arrow? See the
red blood flow!" She stepped back daintily as though to
avoid it.
In fascinated horror they looked and listened, almost seeing
the scene of lust and cruelty.
"Oh, come back, Dorcas," wailed Abigail, unable to bear
it any longer. "Come home, Dorcas, before they hurt you."
"Do you see any there you know?" asked Jonathan tensely.
She shook her head.
"Is there no way I could see them?"
Dorcas turned to her invisible company. "Is there any way
Mr. Grigg could come to your meeting?" She listened and
then turned laughing to Jonathan. "They say if you'll sign
away your soul you may come."
"God forbid!" he ejaculated.
"Oh, hush! You've frightened them with that name
They're going"
A breath of relief swept through the room.
"Well," said Goody Gower, giving herself a little shake to
get back to reality. "So this is the bewitchment I've been hear
ing so much about. It's a great marvel to see surely, but there
isn't so much difference in it to the play acting I've been
seeing you do since you were a little one."
"Oh!" cried Dorcas, staring into space. "Your mask has
"
fallen off! Now I see you. Now I can tell who you are!
Goody Gower's face paled.
"Who is she?" cried Jonathan.
Dorcas opened her mouth to answer. Then her teeth clicked
191
shut as though a hand had clamped her jaws together. She

jerked her head violently to free herself from a restraining
grasp.
"She won't let me tell. I can't name the living. But I can
name the dead."
"The dead!" exclaimed Jonathan.
"Now that it isn't so crowded I can see that some of them
are ghosts. There's the ghost of Margaret Jones, and there
there just riding off, is Mrs. Hibbins."
The familiar names came like a shock, bringing form and
substance to that invisible company. But when Jonathan tried
to elicit the names of any living witches, Dorcas was attacked
so viciously by them that he had to carry her upstairs to bed.
From that time on Dorcas was repeatedly afflicted by the
witches, and Jonathan made no more journeys from home. No
mercy was shown her. They pulled her hair, pinched her
arms, inflicted burnings and beatings, or made her dance or
sing ribald ballads, according to their moods. They struck her
blind at the sight of the Bible and other good books, but al
lowed her to read the Oxford jest book, the Church of Eng
land prayer book and the popular ballads of which the minister
had made a collection for his library.
Now it was the minister's house that overflowed with
townspeople and strangers, come to witness the awful powers
of the witches over human creatures.
Yet there were
in New England who raised

their voices against Mr. Grigg and the witch-ridden children.
He received anonymous letters upbraiding him for his foster
ing of a panic, and declaring that the colony had grown
more vile and quarrelsome lately and that this was due to his
preachings. A pamphlet appeared which refuted his writings
on the practices of witchcraft, and mocked his sermons and
lectures as delusions of the Devil rather than revelations from
God.
some doubters
Jonathan read the letters with contempt and tossed them

into the fire. The pamphlet was another matter. He consulted
with the other ministers of the town and they drew up a peti
tion for the suppression of this malicious and ungodly work.
192
Through their efforts, it was withdrawn and all copies that

could be found were burned.
Night after night the candle burned in Jonathan's study as
he wrote denunciations of the scoffers. Soon the people hated
them with as deadly a hatred as they felt toward the witches.
Ann, watching Dorcas in her daily antics, felt her head
whirl between doubt and credulity. Although she had seen
the girl in her play acting, it did not seem possible that her
strange words and actions could be the invention of any
human mind. Yet once she had sung a strange song that had
seemed witch inspired, and then one night Ann unexpectedly
discovered it in a collection of Thomas Weelkes Madrigals in
Jonathan's study.
Thule, the period of cosmography,
Doth vaunt of Hecla, whose sulphurous fire
Doth melt the frozen clime and thaw the sky;
Trinacrian Etna's fiames ascend not higher.
These things seem wondrous, yet more wondrous I,
Whose heart with fear doth freeze, with love doth fry.
. . .
had Dorcas sung it? Why had she chosen it from the
others? It was no more explicable than anything else she said
or did. Ann looked over at the girl as she lay on the cot
which Jonathan had Moses set up for her in his study. Al
though she shared Abigail's bedroom upstairs, Jonathan had
felt that she should have some place downstairs where she
could rest after one of her fits or frolics. She was lying there
now with her eyes closed, seeming to be asleep.
Ann rose and went to Jonathan who was seated at his desk
writing. "Look, Jonathan." She held out the book to him. "I
have found here the song that Dorcas was singing the other
day that you thought was"
Dorcas started up. "Now they're going to do me a mis
chief!" she cried.
Her outstretched arms were jerked to her sides and she
struggled as though being bound. Then slowly, fighting all
the way, she seemed to be dragged toward the fireplace.
"They're pulling me with a great chain," she whispered in a
terrified voice. "What are they going to do to me?"
Why
*93
Jonathan sprang up and grasped her around the waist, hold

ing her tight. He knew then: desire. Had he not written about
a maiden who was pushed into the fire by them and badly
it,
burned?
"Press down on
Mr. Grigg," she implored. "Press the
chain down to the floor and I'll step over it."
He did as she instructed and her arms came free as though
released. As she stepped over the chain she stumbled, and
Jonathan caught her in his arms.
The pantomime was so real that Ann gave gasp of relief.
a
husband's shoulder. She touched her on the arm.

"Leave the room at once, Dorcas Hubbard,"
manded.
she
com
Dorcas' eyes flew open. With one frightened look into

Ann's face, she obeyed.
Jonathan regarded Ann in puzzled wonder. "How did you
suddenly break the spell that was on her?"
"There was no spell on her."
"What are you talking about? You just now saw"
"I saw only terrible human wickedness! want her to leave
the house immediately."
"What
the matter? What has come over you, Ann?
have never seen you like this."
"I only want her to go."
"But why? Tell me why."
The accusation was trembling on her lips. But
was too
shameful to put into words what she had seen on Dorcas's face.
it
is
it
It
But suddenly she caught Dorcas' expression looking up

into Jonathan's face.
shock like
physical blow.
gave her
She knew its meaning and she knew now the root of the
girl's inexplicable hatred against her. Long ago, since she had
witnessed Dorcas' actions on the first night of her bewitch
ment, she had sensed this secret; seen its shadow over her life
and felt its menace. Yet never before had she quite admitted
to herself. Now she could no longer deny it. Dorcas was in
love with Jonathan.
Ann moved swiftly across the room and looked down into
the trancelike face lying now with closed eyes against her
194
"She is set on mischief in this house. She's being given too

much liberty to do whatever she pleases."
"But she does nothing she pleases. She is under the control
of evil spirits
."
"Only her own evil spirit," interrupted Ann passionately.
He stared at her. "Are you doubting her bewitchment?"
She hesitated a moment. It was a fearful thing to say.
"Yes!" she cried desperately. "I don't believe she is bewitched
at all!"
His voice was colder than she had ever heard it toward her.
"Have you forgotten that the magistrates tested her and found
her bewitched?"
"She may deceive others, but she cannot deceive me."
"How can there be any deception? You've seen yourself
the blows that throw her to the ground. You've seen the dis
coloration of her flesh from burnings and pinches."
"Even so. That is no proof."
"Do you think she inflicts them on herself then?"
"She is capable of anything!"
All was silent for a few moments except for the crackling
of the fire. Then Jonathan turned back to his desk.
. .
"She will stay," he said.
CHAPTER
Day after day, night after night, Ann prayed for guidance.
The corruption of the times had seeped into her own home.
She had the cot removed from the study to the kitchen,
giving the pretext that Mr. Grigg needed more privacy for
writing there. With every sense alive now to the meaning of
the pranks of Dorcas, she tried to guard Jonathan against the
195
temptation she saw threatening him. She dreaded seeing them

alone together. But was it Satan using Dorcas as the instru
ment for her husband's downfall? Or were her actions
prompted only by her own sinful love?
"Is Dorcas truly bewitched?" she asked Goody Gower

again and again. And the old woman would shake her head
helplessly, saying it was God alone could tell the difference
between that strange girl's truth and falsehood.
In the study one evening, the Widow Bibber and her son
sat reporting to the minister the bewitchment of their stock.
Dorcas sat on a footstool beside the fireplace, her golden
brown dress spread in soft folds around her and a frilled pink
cap over her dark curls.
"Do they witch the cattle by means of those stones they
throw into the enclosure?" inquired the Widow Bibber.
"That might be one of their means," replied Jonathan.
"They have many. Their use of poppets is the most usual."

Dr. Bibber leaned forward. "Have you ever heard of a
witch taking the form of a wolf? When I was returning
through the woods from a visit to Mr. Tracey, a monstrous
gray wolf pursued me, and it seemed to me its eyes were most
horribly human looking."

Jonathan nodded. "Evil spirits can take on whatever form
they choose." A thought came to him of a particularly viru
lent criticism in another anonymous letter to him. "If only
they would appear to these wretched scoffers who write me
such foul letters denying their existence!"
"The blindness of some people is a wicked and dangerous
thing for the rest of us," said the widow.
"They must be stupid common people who write you such
letters," said the young doctor.
"No," replied Jonathan. "They write in a learned manner,
as though they were men of education."
"Well, the most learned men of the day believe as we do,
sir," said Henry Bibber. "I remember the great physician Sir
Thomas Browne wrote in his book that they who doubted
the existence of witches denied the existence of the spirit and
were therefore atheists."
Dorcas rose from the footstool. She stretched and yawned,
196
and despite the outrageous rudeness of such behavior, Jona

than watched her graceful movements with reluctant pleasure,
forgetful of rebuking her.
The Widow Bibber gave an abrupt laugh and rose also.
"Come along, Henry. The witches have no manners, and they
make it very evident that they want us to go home."
The doctor went to Dorcas. "I wish I could do more to
help you," he said tenderly. "But prayers and fasts will do
you more good than any physic or bleeding I could give you.
Every night I fall asleep with a prayer for you on my lips."

"Thank you, Dr. Bibber."
He made a little secret motion of his lips in a kiss, and she
smiled back at him.

Jonathan escorted the widow and the doctor to the door,
and then returned to the study.
Dorcas looked at him wistfully. "I am sick at heart at all
this trouble I cause you."
"You are fighting a brave battle, Dorcas. We must all help
you as much as we can. You had better go up to bed now."
"Can't I sit here and talk to you for a little while? You sit
there, and I here at your feet."
He sank into a chair by the fireplace and stretched out his
legs, and she curled up on the footstool close to him.
"You are wondrous good to me, Mr. Grigg. I am so grateful
that you let me stay here. Satan dreads you so much that
when you are by me he doesn't dare do me all the harm he'd
like."
A grim smile of satisfaction played about Jonathan's mouth.
"We'll win over him together, Dorcas."
"With you fighting to rescue me I'm not afraid. No matter
what pain he and his witches inflict on me I can bear it be
I know you'll free
me."
He laid his hand gently on her head. "Yes, I will, my dear.
Never yield to him for your soul is precious to me."
A thrill ran through all her body at his words and touch.
She caught his hand and pressed it to her breast. "Oh, forgive
cause
Forgive me for causing you suffering, Mr. Grigg."

He looked down at her affectionately. "You cause me no
suffering, Dorcas."
me.
197
"Not with my
naughtiness? My idleness? My wicked sing

and
ing
dancing?"
"That is not your fault, simply tricks of Satan."
"But you despise me for them. You think me ugly and
wicked because I behave so."
"That isn't true," replied Jonathan. "Indeed, it has aston
ished me that I find the tricks you do so fair to behold."
She looked at him in rapture. "You find me fair?" He felt
the wild throb of her heart beneath his hand. "Fairer than
anyone?"
She rose, keeping her eyes fastened on him, and humming
softly began dancing before him. His heart quickened as he
watched the lithe waist bending the full breasts as a stalk
bends its blossoming flowers, the lovely curves of calves and
thighs as her skirts swirled. The firelight and the candlelight
gleamed goldenly on her; the shadows caught her in black
ness. She was a creature of gold and black, moving before
him, her body weaving enchantment. Her hands reached up
to her frilled cap, removing it in a delicate intimate gesture.
She shook her dark hair free so that it fell about her face veil
ing it in mystery.
Closer and closer her dancing feet drew her to him, her
supple arms twining and twisting, reaching and withdrawing
enticingly.
Suddenly he sprang to his feet and grasped her roughly by
the shoulders. "Stop it!" he cried. "Stop it this instant!"
"I can't stop." Dangerously sweet she swayed toward him.
"What do you mean? What is the matter with you?" he
asked hoarsely, hardly knowing what he was saying.
Her voice flowed over him as a deep caress. "They hurt me
before when you were talking. They were angry with what
you were saying. But I bore it without crying out because I
didn't want to interrupt you. When I dance it doesn't hurt
me because they like me to dance. But when I stop" With a
quick movement she unbuttoned the top buttons of her dress
and pulled it off from her shoulder, revealing a red mark on
the creamy skin. "See, this is what they do to me."
His breath came quickly, all his body quivering.
198
"Put your hands on it,"
she said
softly. "Your hands always
take away the pain."

He laid his hand, hot and gentle, over the mark. "They are
always hurting you, for your loyalty to God, your loyalty to
me." His fingers pressed deep into the soft flesh. His breath
was upon her upturned face.
Dorcas stood motionless, her eyes closing with ecstasy under
his touch, the delicious fire of love streaming through her.
Suddenly Jonathan wrenched himself away from her. He
stumbled to the chair and sank down, burying his face in his
hands.
"God forgive me," he groaned.
Dorcas watched him with clouded passionate eyes. She made
a motion toward him but at that moment heard a sound at the
study door. Quickly she pulled her dress back over her shoul
der as Ann entered.
Jonathan looked up. Ann saw the flushed face, the eyes
dark and brilliant with emotion, the twitching of the scar on
his temple and the clenched hands. She glanced at Dorcas
whose black eyes were filled with a strange subdued fury.
She began to tremble, feeling the tension in the air, sensing
that something terrible had happened here.
"Jonathan" she began, and her voice was shaking so that
she could not continue.
He stood up, the dark flush still on his face and his gaze
inward. He walked to the door, stopped, and turned.
"Dorcas will go back to her home tomorrow morning," he
said. Then he was gone.
Dorcas drew in her breath sibilantly. She left the room
without a word.
Ann went to the writing table and sank weakly into the
chair, her knees trembling so that they could not support her.
"Thank Thee, dear God. Oh, thank Thee!" she whispered.
199
CHAPTER
XXX
It was
Dorcas had returned home that Jona

than requested Elder Crocker and the Reverend Mr. Lewis to
hold a special prayer and fast meeting with him there to
deliver the stricken household from the Devil's power.
Hour after hour they prayed, interweaving their prayers
with the singing of psalms and discussion. Dorcas and her
brothers sat huddled together on the settle as their parents
joined in the praying.
"We beseech Thee, O Lord, to discover to us the witches
that abound in this neighborhood. Grant that they be brought
to light speedily lest these children succumb to their long
some days after
torments."
Again they rose from their knees and seated themselves.

They were silent, weary with the long vigil that had yet
brought no results.
At last Jonathan spoke. "A thought came to me as we were
just now praying. It seems to me an effective means to dis
cover the witches."
"The revelations the Lord sends you are always fruitful,"
said Mr. Hubbard.
"What was your thought, Mr. Grigg?" asked Mr. Lewis.
"That we should institute a search of all houses. It is quite
possible that it would reveal incriminating evidence."
"Yes," agreed Elder Crocker. "And the creatures would be
unsuspecting."
"What kind of evidence would we seek?" inquired Mr.
Lewis.
"Charms poppets
"
"You won't find them!"
All
screamed Benjamin in terror.

eyes turned on him in amazement.
200
"What does he mean?" asked Elder Crocker.

"The witches are near disclosure!"
cried Jonathan.
"They're so terrified they cried out through the boy's mouth."
"You won't find them!" cried Benjamin again.
"You see?" said Jonathan. "They fear they won't have time
to hide their poppets. We must start the search at once."
"No,"
it
it,
gasped Benjamin.
ministers
were already on their feet. Benjamin's throat
The
grew so parched with fear that he could not swallow. Franti
cally he tugged at the knotted kerchief about his neck, pulling
tightening instead of loosening it. He gasped for breath.
them Mrs. Hubbard succeeded in undoing the kerchief, free

ing her son's throat from the pressure.
Benjamin, sobbing weakly, clung to his mother. "Thank
God for saving me," he whispered.
a
There was silence for moment, and then the significance

of his words penetrated their minds. A shout of thanksgiving
rang through the room.
"He spoke God's Holy Name!"
"That means he delivered out of their power!"
"Praise be to God!"
"
"May the Lord bless you, Mr. Grigg! cried Mistress Hub
bard. "It was your inspiration that saved him."
"Fear must have loosened the witches' grip on him when
spoke of their poppets."
"Come. We'll look for them now," said Elder Crocker
is
eagerly.
is
Dorcas shook her head sorrowfully. "It too late, sir. They
were choking Benjamin to delay you. Now they've hidden
them."
"Whether we find them or not,

think we'll discover the
witch soon," said Jonathan. "The way
now being lighted
to
He
turned
the
deacon.
"We'll
for us."
take the boy with
is
"They're choking me!"

"They're choking him for betraying them!" cried Dorcas.
"Oh, Benjamin, stop, let go," pleaded his mother, fighting
off his fingers and trying to loosen the cloth.
The deacon grasped the boy's hands, and while he held
201
John, and have the people summoned to meeting. We must

proclaim to all this miracle of Benjamin's deliverance."
"This glad day the Lord Himself hath made," the deacon
us,
rejoiced.
"I'll inform
the other ministers and we shall announce it

from our pulpits," said the Reverend Mr. Lewis.
They bundled themselves up to leave, and Dorcas, drawing
her hood close about her face, went to Jonathan.
"Pray for Cressy and me, won't you, Mr. Grigg? You can
save us,
too."
"I
shall never stop praying for you, Dorcas," he answered,

and his eyes rested intently on her for a moment.
Mr. Hubbard raised his voice in song, and all joined as
they followed him from the house.
/'// dearly love Thee, Lord, my strength,

The Lord is my Rock and my Tower . .
Through the town, the people swarmed out of their homes

in response to the summons. They assembled in their meeting
in their pews, and placed their feet

on the foot stoves they had brought with them.
From the pulpits, they heard the story of the wondrous
deliverance of Benjamin Hubbard. God bless and preserve
their valiant ministers. Through them some victories were at
houses, seated themselves
last being gained over Satan and his witches.

Afterward, as the people of Jonathan's congregation were
gathered in excited talk, rejoicing with Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard
over their son's saved soul, Benjamin slipped away unobserved.
He ran all the way home and climbed breathless into the
loft. He gathered the carved images from their hiding place
behind a board he had pried loose in the closet. Clambering
down the ladder with them, he raced across the room and
cast them into the fire. He watched them burst into flames,
then fell on his knees, weeping with relief at the steady de
struction of the evidence against him.
As he knelt watching, seeing the carved hands shrivel and
the familiar faces flame into charred wood, his tears of joy
dried on his cheeks. Now he gazed in anguish at the destruc
tion. Could he not save just one? Hide it where they could not
202
find it? Stretching out his hand to rescue a small image, he

perceived that although the cloth in which he had dressed it
had burned away, the figure itself had not even caught fire.
Fear triumphed over his love.
"Burn! Burn!" he commanded in terror. "If you don't
they'll hang me as a witch!"
He snatched it out of the fire and beat it frantically on the
hearthstone to destroy it. So absorbed was he in what he was
doing that he did not hear the door open or see someone enter.
"So this is where you are."
At the sound of the Reverend Jonathan Grigg's voice Ben
jamin turned rigid with fright.
"What made you run away? What are you doing here?"
"I came ... I came . . ."
Jonathan was now close enough to him to see the poppet
clutched to his heart. "God's mercy! What have you there?"
Both stared, equally horrified, at each other.
"Are you a wizard, Benjamin Hubbard? Did you finally
yield yourself to Satan? Is that why you were so suddenly de
livered out of your torments? When you spoke God's Name
was it your evil god you called on?"
"No,no,Mr.Grigg!"
poppet!" He bent and took it from the stiff

fingers of the boy. He stared at the naked figure. "What are
you doing with this image? Speak up. Are you struck dumb
that you cannot answer?"
The odor of burning cloth, wax, and vegetable matter filled
his nostrils and he cast a quick look into the fireplace. "What
"
is burning there?
"Poppets," said Benjamin through chattering teeth.
"How did you come by them?"
"Give
"Oh,
me that
spare me,
"I would not
Mr. Grigg!"
my own child, nor my wife nor my

mother or father if any of them were a witch."
"I'm not. Truly I'm not."
"It will be worse for you if you don't tell the truth."
"O dear God, help me give a true answer."
"If you are innocent you have nothing to fear." Jonathan
became suddenly aware of a familiar resemblance in the pop
spare
203
pet he held, with its curling black stain representing hair. "Is
this . . . No! It cannot be! Is this an image of Dorcas? Is this
"
of your own sister?
Benjamin's hand crept timidly forward. "I don't know.
Let me see, sir."
"Stand back! Don't dare touch it! Is it her own brother
who torments her?"
"I wouldn't harm Dorcas or anyone."
"Do not think lying will help you. Isn't this her black hair?
Her eyes? What magical witchery is this? The very outline
of her face! Oh, God, that I should hold in my own hands a
"
witch's instrument of torture!
"It might be an image of Dorcas, sir, but . . ."
"Don't try to dissemble." He stared at it in horror-struck
fascination. There was the proud swell of her breasts, the sup
ple waist and the long tapering limbs all the terrible beauty
of her nakedness revealed to him.
"How is it you bewitch her? Tell me. Do you rub the im
age . . . like this? Is this the way you pinch the neck, the
breasts, so that it leaves those red and blue marks?" He
glanced at the boy. "What are you staring at?"
"Don't . . . don't touch it like that, Mr. Grigg."
Jonathan's eyes were drawn irresistibly back to the doll.
ca
His fingers quivered over the wooden body, stroking
"Lord,
hands
the
that my
might follow
ways of
ressing it.
those small evil hands, curing the ills inflicted on this maidenly
body. Tell me, Benjamin Hubbard, what incantations does
Satan give you to say over the image that links its life with the
life of human person? Tell me. must know these mysteries
He looked up and saw Benjamin's eyes fixed on him.
. .
"What are you staring at?"
The boy's voice was hoarse whisper. "I think you are the
it,
."
witch!"
"You're mad!" shouted Jonathan.
"
"You were weaving spells over my doll!
"I
."
was but asking the method .

saw you!" His voice
"You were weaving horrid spells!
rose hysterically. "It was naught but wood until you put en
"
chantments on it. You made witch's poppet of it!
a
a poppet
204
it
it
such images?"
"I made them, sir. Whenever found piece of wood or
into the shape
anything in my hands couldn't help cutting
of something. Was the Devil making use of my fingers?"
"Are you certain you spoke no words over them?"
"Oh, no. Never."
"Then why didn't you throw them away when you finished
it
carving them?"
Benjamin hung his head. "Because of the pride
took in
them."
"Is there any poor human action that merits our pride?"
Jonathan contemptuously.
"They were marvelous to
see
."
asked
it
is
it,
"Before God I deny it!" cried Jonathan.

Benjamin threw himself on his knees in a passion of fear.
"O God, don't let them blame me for his wickedness!"
Jonathan looked down at the sobbing boy. Shocked out of
his absorption with the image, he realized now that Benjamin
had seen the lust in his hands and in his face. The sternly re
pressed desire for the living girl had broken out stormily to
ward her image. It was no wonder the child had mistaken
that evil passion for the even worse evil of witchcraft. And
if he so feared and hated
then he could not be guilty.
Shamed and repentant, Jonathan lifted the boy to his feet.
am innocent.
"Benjamin," he said. "As God
my judge
am no witch. hate and fear them as you do."
Benjamin raised his eyes slowly to the minister's face,
calm and sorrow
timidly. The passion had left
searching
ful, and suddenly Benjamin felt ashamed of his words and did
not know what had made him say them.
"Forgive me, Mr. Grigg," he whispered.
Jonathan drew him down beside him on the settle. "May
God forgive us both. But tell me, how do you come to have
"Unhappy boy. Does not Scripture say: 'Thou shalt not

worship the work of thy hands'? You must stop this sinful
image making."
The door opened. Jonathan looked around the side of the
settle and saw John Hubbard in the doorway. The deacon saw
only the minister and not his son nestled in the corner.
205
"We
have searched everywhere
for him and cannot find
him, Jonathan. God knows what has happened to the lad."
"Benjamin is here, John."

Mr. Hubbard strode forward. "Benjamin! My son, my lit
tle lad . . ." His voice broke and he stretched out his arms.
Benjamin crept timidly into his embrace.
"O Lord, I give Thee thanks! " cried John Hubbard. "For
Thou art all-good and all-merciful." He held Benjamin from
him and looked deep into his eyes. "Why did you run away,
lad, and cause us such grievous fear?"
Benjamin hung his head and was silent. The face of the
deacon began changing back into the old lines of sternness as
he recognized the confusion of guilt.
Before his mind could form any definite suspicion, Jonathan
interposed. "Don't question him, John. That which has hap
pened is between God and us."
Benjamin raised his eyes gratefully to the minister.
"While we were all gathered outside the meeting house we
looked for him and found him gone. Was it the will of God?
Or were we the dupes of the powers of darkness?"
was the will of God," said Jonathan, "that I might be

shown the unlimited devices of Satan to confuse us."
Mr. Hubbard nodded. "If it be God's will that we be the
instruments of your forging, His will be done."
"Take the boy back to the meeting house now and reassure
"It
his mother."
"Yes, poor sorrowing woman. Come, lad."

He took his son's hand and they went out together. Jona
than remained alone. He looked at the image of Dorcas and
then quickly cast it into the fire. A shudder ran through him
as he saw it darken and burn.
Ann, searching for him, opened the door and saw him by
the fireplace. "Jonathan," she said quietly from the doorway.
But he did not hear.
"Jonathan," she called louder.
Still he did not hear and she went and laid her hand on his
shoulder. "Jonathan."
"God's mercy!" he cried, springing up and striking her
206
it,
was making some caudle for you"

"Don't you know this
only the second day? Don't you
even trouble to know?"
"How could know?" She fought to hold back the tears.
is
than?
is
"You spend all your time here now since Dorcas back."
He looked at her sharply. "Why do you continually speak
it
against her? Why did you want her to leave our house?" She
did not answer. "Do you hold against her that she ran away
and left you that time the demon frightened you in the
forest?"
with it. But now that you men
want to speak to you about it. I've been
was no
."
have come to believe that
witch?"
he asked excitedly.
"A
human creature, yes but no witch.
human creature?"
think
was sim
"A
"Was
saw
it
demon
it
tion that happening

thinking of lately and
it
has naught to do
it
"No, that
207
is
ply an Indian in warpaint."

He stared at her incredulously. "You may thank God that
alone who hear you say such
thing, Ann. hope you
it
hand from him. "Oh, it's you. Why do you steal about like
a thing from the other world?"
"Jonathan!" Her eyes shone with anger. "How can you
speak so to me!"
"I'm sorry, Ann. Forgive me."
She thought to see him come to her and take her hand as he
always did when he begged forgiveness. But he sat down
again and stared broodingly into the fire.
"You do not feel any pleasure in finding me at your side
any more," she reproached him.
"I feel pleasure in naught during these evil times. You little
know the snares and temptations the Devil sets for those who
carry the weight of the people's conscience. They're enough
to madden a man and consume his strength in daily resist
ance."
The heat of jealousy flamed through her, understanding his
meaning. But she gave no sign of it. She seated herself beside
him, and wishing to speak of simple matters that held no traps
for grief, said, "This is the last day of your fast isn't
Jona
are not adding denial of witches and demons to your other

dissenting opinions."
"It was no demon," she insisted. "It was a painted In
dian. I was mad with pain when I cried out it was a demon."
"Now you can be brave and scornful of such things," he
said angrily. "But remember that I saw you writhing on the
ground striving to pluck its claws from your body."
"It was only the human torture of childbirth you wit
nessed."
"God's mercy! How can you say such a thing! It was
satanic torture. Who but Satan could devise such hideous tor
ment as I saw you suffering? Do you mean to tell me such
things are natural to women brought to bed with child?"
"Not to every woman, but to some. Men do not know
about such things because only the midwife attends us. You
saw it through an accident, before the midwife could get to
me
"Be silent," said Jonathan harshly. "You are filled with all
sorts of confusions. You forget your own infernal tortures so
completely that they seem but human to you now. You deny
the Hubbard children's bewitchment and call their actions
natural. Rather than set yourself up as a judge of what is
human and what is infernal, you would do better to pray for
yourself and them."
"I pray for all of us," she said sadly. She rose and asked,
"Are you coming home?"
"No. I'll remain here until the family returns."
She looked down at him, wondering how to win him back
to her. She could not deny her beliefs not even to draw him
close again. But perhaps some kindness to Dorcas would please
him. No matter how difficult it might be for her, or how un
responsive the girl would be, she must try it. She thought of
some little gift she could bring, and remembering the caudle
cup she had been preparing for Jonathan, decided to bring
that back to Dorcas.
208
CHAPTER
XXXI
heard voices, loud and rejoicing, approaching the
house. The strain of his quarrel with Ann, and the exhaustion
from the violent emotions of his scene with Benjamin, disap
peared in a wave of exultation. He had pulled the boy from
the grip of the Devil and he would wrestle once more with
his enemy for the souls of Dorcas and Increase.
He crossed the room and threw open the door to the Hub
bard family. With them were the magistrates, Mr. Howen and
Mr. Dwine, but he failed to see the boy his eyes sought.
"Where is Benjamin?" he asked quickly.
"We have left him at Goodwife Torey's," replied the dea
con. "We think it best to board him there so that he may be
separate from these others now that he is recovered."
Jonathan felt relief wash away his fear for this child with
whom he now felt a strong bond.
Mr. Dwine placed his hand on the minister's arm and his
large round face beamed with admiration. "You are high in
the Lord's grace, Mr. Grigg, to have accomplished young
Hubbard's deliverance."
"I think his release foreshadows some revelation of the
guilty ones," declared Mr. Howen.
"I have that feeling myself," said Jonathan. "It seems to me
the name of the witch hangs somewhere in the air and we
have but to pluck it out."
Jonathan
John Hubbard looked intently at Jonathan from under his

shaggy brows. "It's strange you should say that. It seems a
sign from the Lord for me to speak out what is in my mind."
"You have a suspicion who the witch is?" cried Jonathan.
"Yes."
They looked
at him dumfounded.
209
"You
suspicion and you have not spoken!" cried

Judge Howen. "You have concealed the name of one who
might be suspected of witchcraft? Can the soldiers of Christ
not put their trust in any living creature?"
"I am a true soldier of the Lord, Mr. Howen!" thundered
have
John Hubbard.
"Then why did you conceal
the
wretched creature's
name?"
"I had only a suspicion which came to me when Benjamin
disappeared. I went to seek him at her house, but when he
was not there I thought it a false suspicion and put it from my
mind."
"It
not the time for cautiousness. You are hazarding the

life and soul of everyone in town if this person you suspect is
really a witch. You should have spoken out before."
"I would not speak now if it were not for the sign the
Lord has given me," retorted Mr. Hubbard. "I shall not have
my conscience burdened with the guilt of a false accusation."
"You need not be squeamish about furthering the Lord's
is
cause."
"Who
is she, John?" asked Jonathan impatiently. "Name

her and let us judge if she be guilty or not."
"I shall not hold back any help I can give the Lord's cause.
My suspicion rested on Goody Gower."
At the spoken name Dorcas shrieked gleefully. "Goody
Gower! Oh Goody Gower! Now they'll get you. I couldn't

tell, but now they've found you out!"
Overwhelmed by this accusation, they stared at Dorcas.
"No. Oh, no, I can't believe it," murmured Mistress Hub
bard.
Jonathan stood stunned. The old woman had become fa

miliar and harmless seeming through her frequent visits to his
house. Yet he remembered her many transgressions, her secret
forest traffic, her Sabbath breaking. All these were clearly
understandable if she were a witch.
"Her name came out of your mouth quite easily now,"
Judge Howen said to Dorcas. "Are you sure you do not sim
ply follow your father's suggestion?"
"I
could never have named her myself,

210
sir. You know
it,
it,
someone else must name her first. But it is indeed she who tor
ments us. Isn't
Cressy?"
He mumbled incoherently.
"And when she can't come herself she sends her familiar
tall shining demon, isn't
Cressy?"
"Oh, those!" exclaimed Increase in surprise. "Irish demons
she said they were."
Mr. Howen turned to the deacon. "What made you suspect
"I
Goody Gower, sir?"

"You heard the girl and boy accuse her, didn't you, Nicho
las?" said Mr. Dwine. "That ought to be sufficient."
"I could think of no one else who held malice against my
children," said Mr. Hubbard.
remembered hearing her
Dorcas glanced up cautiously into the air, then leaned close

and whispered, "From Boston" But no sooner had she
spoken than she jerked back and rubbed her arm, grimacing
as though she had been pinched for her indiscretion.
"Never fear, Dorcas. We'll find them, too."
"I'm sure you will all of them, Mr. Grigg."
"I marvel now that we did not suspect that Goody Gower
before," said Mr. Dwine. "She's always been suspicious crea
ture. recall my little Mercy speaking of her magical foretell
ing of events by flower petals."
"And
always suspected that language she speaks that none

can understand," said the deacon.
Jonathan also now thought of unusual happenings in his
home since her visits there: the mysterious seclusion of his
wife in her bedchamber, her dissenting opinions, and the
change in her attitude toward him. Was her intimacy with
Goody Gower behind all this? Was the old woman seeking
threaten my daughter and speak against my house."

"Was she threatening Dorcas the day she fell ill, Mr. Hub
bard?" asked his wife, her shock past and doubt arising.
"It was about that time as remember."
"Does she alone hurt you?" Mr. Howen asked Dorcas. "Or
are there others?"
"Oh, there are others."
"Are they from Boston Town also?" asked Jonathan.
211
to lead Ann astray?
terrible fear arose for Ann left in that
perilous company.
He started for the door. "The witch may even now be at
my house," he said. "I left her there helping them pluck the
geese."
"Why, there you are!" exclaimed Dorcas, pointing upward.

"What unholy thing did you leave in the presence of Mistress
Grigg to be able to come here yourself? Ohwhat?" She
listened and then laughed. "Is that where you got that goose
you're riding?"
The magistrates exchanged significant glances.

"What?" queried Dorcas. "Yes, I see. Half its feathers are
out. Oh, look! The stocking's still over its head to keep it
from biting. Why don't you take it off so it can see where it's
going?"
A loud crash rang through the house from the attic. With
a scream of terror, Dorcas ran to Jonathan and clung to him.
"She's up there! She's up there now! Oh, I didn't mean it.
Don't let her hurt me!"
Judge Dwine was looking at Dorcas in awe. "You said that
the goose she was riding couldn't see where it was going!
Now it must have knocked against something and thrown
the witch off."
"I'll go up and get her," said the deacon.
"Don't go," begged his wife. "It's too dangerous, Mr.
Hubbard."
"I'll go myself," said Jonathan.
"No!" screamed Dorcas, holding him.
He pulled her clinging hands from him and put her aside.
As he reached the ladder John Hubbard moved before him,
blocking his way.
"It is best to do as she says, Jonathan. You know her power
of foretelling harm to come."
"Move aside, John. I'll permit no one to contend with the
witch but myself."
At the severity of his tone, Mr. Hubbard reluctantly
stepped aside and Jonathan ascended. Breathlessly they
waited, their eyes anxiously raised to the loft, their lips mov
212
ing in prayer for his safety. Then they saw his foot again on
the ladder.
"
"Thank God! said Mistress Hubbard.

With a cry of joy, Dorcas ran forward as he descended.
"Where is the witch?" asked Mr. Howen.
"There was no witch. I saw only a broken spinning wheel
that must have fallen over."

The color flooded back into Dorcas's cheeks. "But it was
Goody Gower up there," she insisted. "She must have turned
herself into a spinning wheel so that you wouldn't get her."
"Or she knocked it over when she fell off the goose," said
Judge Dwine.
"There's naught more treacherous than witchcraft," said
Jonathan, frowning. "It is Satan's most dangerous weapon.
It is a bewilderment and doubt of our senses."
"I think someone should go to your house, Mr. Grigg, and
see if the witch be there or here," said Mr. Howen.
"She could be in both places at once, having the super
natural power of a witch. Perhaps it was her specter she sent
here since it was invisible to me. But I'm going to see if I can
find her."
"Oh, stay with us," begged Dorcas. "I'm afraid they'll do
us some terrible harm if you leave us."
"I'll go find her myself," said Mr. Hubbard.
"Bring her back here when you find her," said Judge
Howen.
"I'm afraid to see her, Father. She may look at me and kill
me. She hates me."
John Hubbard laid his hand in clumsy tenderness on her

head. "Do not fret, Dorcas. We won't let her see you."
Her eyes followed him wistfully as he went out.
It
long time before John Hubbard returned. He

entered alone and closed the door behind him.
"You couldn't find her?" asked Jonathan.
"I have her outside." He turned to Dorcas and Increase.
"Go upstairs now so she cannot see you."
"She'll run away out there," said Dorcas.
"She won't run away. I have her tied."
seemed a
213
"Bring her in," said Jonathan sharply. "It's bitter cold out
side."
"Witches don't feel the cold," said Mr. Howen.

"They don't feel anything," added Theophilus Dwine.
"Except fire. They burn," said Mr. Howen.
"They hang, too, praise be to God," said the deacon.
"Come along," said Mistress Hubbard to her children.
see
"I'll
you safely upstairs."
They had no sooner disappeared into the loft when the

door opened and Goody Gower entered, followed by Thomas
Dwine.
"How did you get free?" asked the deacon in astonishment.

"I set her free," replied Thomas angrily. "What's the mean
ing of this, Mr. Hubbard?
found her tied to your post out
there."
"You should not interfere, cousin," said Judge Dwine.

Goody Gower looked apprehensively at the two magis
trates, and then seeing the minister gave a cry of relief.
"
"Praise be to heaven you're here to defend me, Mr. Grigg!
"Why should I defend you?"
"Mr. Hubbard's
accusing me of being a witch. With the

fear of witches that's on everybody they're seeing them every
where. The deacon had me all tied up like a horse or a dog
and me as innocent as a babe unborn."
Jonathan looked at John Hubbard. "She would not con
fess?"
"She confessed to many strange things but not that she
was a witch."
Goody Gower's blue lips smiled crookedly and she edged
nearer the fire to warm herself. But Judge Dwine, sitting
there, waved her back to a safe distance.
"Where did you find her?" asked Jonathan.

"In her own house, crouched very suspiciously over some
mysterious brew."
"Mysterious brew indeed!" cried Goody Gower. "And

then what's wrong with the big nose on your face not to be
"
able to be smelling a fine fish chowder!
"Were you there all the time after you left my house?"
asked
Jonathan.
214
"I
was. Where else would
be?
Flying over the rooftops
suppose you're thinking!"

"Yes, I was thinking that, Goody Gower.
How did you
know it?"
"I was thinking the same thing!" exclaimed Judge Howen.

"How do you come to have the power to know what is in
our minds, Goody Gower?"

"It isn't a hard thing to know that," she answered, hopping
up and down from one foot to the other trying to get the
numbness out of them.
"Be careful what you say," Thomas warned her anxiously.
Mr. Howen kept his fierce little gray eyes fixed on her face.
"You mean it is easy for you to read our thoughts because
your master gives you the supernatural power to do so?"
"My own common sense is all the supernatural power I've
got, worshipful sir."
"And you can fly through the air as we were thinking?"
"Oh, now I never did such a grand thing as that."
"A grand thing!" exclaimed Mr. Howen disgustedly.
"The children say that the things of the forest speak to
you. Isn't that so?" asked Judge Dwine.
"It's but a bit of fooling I do," she said uneasily.
"Good Christians are not given to such fooling."
"Where is that goose you were plucking for Mrs. Grigg?"
asked Mr. Howen abruptly.
"Where would it be but clacking off with the rest of the
featherless flock we plucked?"
"Are you sure you left all behind you?"
"One of them wouldn't be under my arm now, would it?"
she asked, lifting her arm and looking under it mockingly.
"Let me see," said Judge Dwine, peering.
She dropped her arm in an indignant gesture, and he drew
back in dismay.
"Are you thinking I stole off with one? Is it for that you
brought me here?"
A soft cry made them turn and they saw that Mistress
Hubbard had come down and was standing at the foot of the
ladder.
"The witch,"
she murmured.
2I5
I?
it
it,
"So you're saying

too!" cried Goody Gower resentfully.
"I'm witch though I've never seen the Devil in all my life.
And I'm thief though haven't bit of goose you could
see under my arm."
"No one accused you of being thief," said Jonathan.
"But she certainly had the goose earlier today when she
fell off
in the loft," said Mistress Hubbard.
And how did
"So
was in the loft, was
get there?
Through the roof, suppose."
"She admits it!"
"Then you did come on the back of
goose," said the
deacon.
"If
it
did, then
was yourself was the goose, Mr. Hubbard,
for came here with none other."
"Do you not bewitch Dorcas and Increase Hubbard?"
asked
"I
Mr. Howen.
Is
it
worriedly.
"Denials won't help you. Didn't you send tall shining
demons to hurt them?"
Goody Gower opened her eyes wide with surprise. "Tall
shining ones, were they, with the gay faces and pointed toes?
Now hadn't heard that before.
really the creatures from
Ireland that are tormenting that imp of girl and me think
was Puritan demons had her in their clutches?"
ing
"Whatever demons they were,
was you who sent them,
it
it
wasn't it?"
She at last caught Thomas Dwine's signals of caution, and
the surprise that had caught her unawares gave place to
know nothing about them."
prudence. "Nay,
"You seem to know great deal about them."
Jonathan's attention was caught by the fumbling of the old
woman's hands with the cloth she held. "What are you doing
with that cloth?" he asked.
Something in his tone warned her of danger and she hid
her hands fearfully behind her.
"Not
it
do not." She pulled large soiled handkerchief from her

pocket, and after wiping her face, twisted and crumpled
wrong thing in the
world, Mr. Grigg."

Cries of pain broke forth from the attic.
216
"Give me that cloth."
Reluctantly she held it out to him, and no sooner did he
take it than the cries overhead ceased. In that sudden stillness

they saw the meaning of the twisted and knotted cloth.
Mistress Hubbard looked inquiringly at the minister. "Was
she using it as a poppet? Is that what made Dorcas cry out?"
He nodded.
Mercy Hubbard turned swiftly and struck the old woman.
"God curse you!" she cried.
Goody Gower rubbed her stinging cheek, and her eyes
filled with tears. "It isn't a gentle creature like you I'd ever
believe would hurt me."
"And how many have you hurt?" cried Jonathan. "How
many souls have you tortured into submission to your
master?"
"Never a one, Mr. Grigg. Not a one at all."
"You admitted to torturing Dorcas."
"I didn't hear her admit it," said Thomas.
"Didn't you admit knowledge of the demons who torment
her, Goody Gower?" asked Jonathan.
"The best thing for me to do I'm thinking is to keep a quiet
tongue in my head."
"Silence will not help you."
"Well then," she said desperately. "If you're wanting the
truth of the matter, maybe Dorcas Hubbard isn't bewitched
at all."
Dorcas thrust her head through the hatch. "Lying witch!"
she screamed.
"The Stones preserve us!" exclaimed Goody Gower in
fright.
she say, 'The Saints preserve us'?" asked Mr. Ho wen.

"
"She said, 'The Stones preserve us,'
replied Judge Dwine.
"Did
"The Stones? What are they?"

"They're cursed idols of Ireland," replied Jonathan. "She's
probably in command of the stone-throwing demons who
have been troubling the neighborhood. Every word she speaks

is an admission of her guilt."
"You won't get free this time," called Dorcas. '"You won't
be able to escape by changing yourself into a spinning wheel."
217
"A
spinning wheel?" echoed Goody Gower in surprise.

"You'll fall, Dorcas. Go back," begged her mother, and
Dorcas's head disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared.

"We had better confine the witch to jail now," said Judge
Howen. "We can give her a further examination tomorrow."
"I'll take her down," said Mr. Hubbard.
"Nay, Mr. Grigg," whimpered Goody Gower. "It isn't
your kind self would let them send me to that cold dark
place."
He made no answer. She watched fearfully
the deacon
went to the fireplace and took down the flintlock and powder
horn from the wall. She saw Mistress Hubbard go to him and
put something in his hand.
"Here
is a silver bullet,
Mr. Hubbard,"
as
she heard Mistress
Hubbard say. "It's the only kind that can kill a witch. If she
speaks queerly to you, if she makes any magical motions of
her hands shoot her."
Goody Gower flung herself on her knees before Jonathan.
"
"Don't let them shoot me, Mr. Grigg! she cried in terror.
"Will you confess yourself a witch?"
"And be hanged for it?"

"You will save your life if you confess and repent."
Death seemed too close now to give thought to aught else.

"Aye, then, I will. Indeed I will. I'll confess."
"Goody Gower!" cried Thomas. "Do you know what

"
you're saying?
"Indeed I do. I'm
witch. Didn't the great Lord of Hell

send the shining creature at my bidding to afflict Dorcas Hub
bard?"
"Do you use poppets also?" asked Jonathan.
"Aye, poppets and pins and spittle and all the rest of it,"
she babbled, gazing up eagerly into his triumphant face.
"And with this confession, will you renounce Satan? Will
you give over the wicked practice of your hideous arts?"
"I will, indeed. It isn't myself will have aught else to do
with the Prince of Darkness and his hellishness."
"
"Thank God for this! said Jonathan.
He lifted the old woman to her feet, his eyes shining ex
ultantly. His was now the victory, and its glory was the free
a
218
ing of Dorcas and Increase Hubbard from his enemy's hold.

"We are all rejoiced at your confession and repentance,
Goody Gower," said Judge Howen. "But you must await
your trial in jail, so go along with Mr. Hubbard."
The deacon took her arm.
"You won't be shooting me now with that silver bullet, will
you?"
"No
she quavered.
one was going to shoot you," said Mr. Howen. "Get

along now. And if this prove to be a true repentance you will
be freed at your trial."
As
she stumbled
toward the door with Mr. Hubbard,
Thomas snatched up his cloak. "I'll go with you, Goody
Gower," he said.
The old woman looked up at him with a quivering grateful
smile. The door closed upon the three.
Jonathan and the magistrates now prepared to depart also.
As they were putting on their capes, Dorcas swung her legs
over the hatch and peered down at them.
"Don't go," she commanded.
CHAPTER
XXX11
The
magistrates raised their weary eyes, contemplating the

young dark face with repugnance. Their gaze strayed to the
shapely ankles dangling down from the attic opening. Who
would have believed a maiden capable of such immodesty?

Was she not making a mock of the foremost Puritan virtue?
Or was it possible that they themselves were under some spell
to see shapely limbs where existed only the voluminous folds
of a maiden's gown? Each, fearful of being the only one
219
restlessly.
if
"Bring her to the meeting house tomorrow, Mistress Hub

bard. We'll probe further into this matter then," said Theophilus Dwine.
He rose, but immediately Dorcas jumped up and pushed
him back into his chair.
"Keep your hands off me, wretch!" he shouted.
"
"Discover the other one today! You can
you try!
She turned suddenly and looked at the door. Her eyes
moved slowly as though following someone who had entered.
"There she comes now," she whispered, her hand rising and
her finger moving toward Jonathan. "There she comes to his
side."
"God
in
it,
betrayed by the Devil into lewdness, kept all comment from

his lips.
Dorcas swung herself down from the opening, catching a
rung of the ladder with her feet and descending.
"Sit down all of you."
When they remained standing, staring at her, she rushed
with all her young strength against Judge Dwine and thrust
him back into his chair.
"She is certainly still in the power of Satan!" he cried.
"Gower's repentance was false!"
"I do not think so," said Jonathan. "I think it is another
Dorcas?"
afflicting her now. Isn't
"Yes," she said eagerly. "And you can discover her, too."
Mrs. Hubbard looked with alarm at the glittering eyes of
her daughter and her shivering body. "Come and get warm,
Dorcas," she said, and led her to the settle by the fireplace.
"I beg you to trap the other as you did Goody Gower,"
said Dorcas.
Jonathan began the old questioning, hoping as always to
catch the name of the witch in the subtle mesh of his words.
He named several sinful characters of the town, but Dorcas
kept shaking her head rejecting them. The magistrates moved
heaven," he said softly, his shoulder creeping away

from her pointing finger.
"Can't anyone see her? She's there so plainly. Can't you
see her, Mother?"
220
Mistress Hubbard peered at the unholy spot that held the

invisible witch. "I see naught. But . . ." She moved fearfully
nearer the minister. "Is it something . . . gray? Flickering?"
"It is only shadow," said Jonathan, strangely uneasy.
"No. No shadow! Right beside you there . . . stealing there
so quietly."
Jonathan felt his mouth dry with a sudden fear. "No," he
whispered hoarsely.
Dorcas, watching narrowly, saw the image her words had
created. "You've thought it!" she cried.
"No!"
"Yes, you have. Name her! Name her!"

He waved away her pointing hand. "I do not know,
Dorcas."
"If you have any suspicion, speak out, Mr. Grigg," urged
Mr. Howen.
Jonathan shook his head. "I have none."
Dorcas walked toward the minister drew closer and closer.
She stretched out her hand and laid it gently on his arm.
"Yes. You know who she is. She's here always, standing or
sitting beside you . . . touching you . . ."
Slowly her hand' moved up along his arm in a caress so
familiar that his spine grew icy. Then suddenly, swiftly, she
raised herself on tiptoe and kissed him on the mouth.
He struck her upturned face. But Dorcas felt no physical
blow, only a great victory.
"Now you know!"

"Ann!
"
The name was torn from his lips.
great sigh of release
came from Dorcas.
"Yes. Ann
Grigg."
"His wife!"
"Dear God," gasped Mistress Hubbard.
"You lie!" cried Jonathan.
"I don't lie. You named her yourself."
Jonathan battled for calm. "You're mistaken. Your mon
strous action made me cry her name."
Dorcas shook her head sadly. "If only I were mistaken."

"But you are! Do you realize it is my wife my -wife you
are accusing?"
221
He heard Theophilus Dwine whisper, "Is it possible?"

And Nicholas Howen answer, "God alone knows the fan-
it,
and he remembered too the time

Jonathan remembered
Ann had laid her hand on Dorcas and broken spell that was
on heran indubitable sign of guilt. Yet there must be some
other explanation for it. Ann could not be guilty. She could
"All
this
is
not!
but the Devil's clutch over this house!" he
shouted.
"She
witch," said Dorcas. "She belongs to Satan."

witch had
"That
an outrageous lie!" All knew that
carnal intercourse with the Devil, and he saw the abhorrence
a
is
is a
He burned with fury as he

with witch as wife.
a
eyes of those about him.

saw that he was pitiful creature
in the
"Why
do you take this girl's word on so weighty matter?"

"We took Dorcas's word that Gower was witch and she
proved one," said Mr. Howen. "What do you say to your
wife's close friendliness with confessed witch?"
What could he say to the damaging charge? His earlier
fear of this intimacy that had come to him when he learned of
different
Goody Gower's guilt now indeed might bear
meaning than he had thought then.
it
"Let Dorcas prove

my wife she sees afflicting her."
not
"Mrs. Grigg could
easily be mistaken for another."
is
is
is
it
it,
form the Devil hides under."

The sane familiarity of life changed for Jonathan in these
seconds into whirling chaos. His soul was shaken by this
but the shock of
accusation against Ann. He did not believe
tore her from her accustomed place in his heart and set her
apart in an aura of mystery and horror.
He turned frantically on her accuser. "You don't know
excited to madness to
what you are saying! Your mind
think my wife guilty of this crime!"
"It was you yourself who first named Mrs. Grigg," said
Judge Howen.
"
human Christian woman!
"My Ann
"Do you remember the day saw someone drop her mask
at the Witches' Sabbath?" asked Dorcas. "It was she. That
was when
first saw her."
222
"The girl knows well enough who torments her,"
said
Theophilus Dwine.
Jonathan stared in consternation at the faces around him,
seeing their old friendly aspect changed to strange masks of
menace.
babe was born, Mr. Grigg?
the demon frightened her in the forest?" asked Dorcas
softly.
Knowing what interpretation would now be placed on
was naught
was
it
it
he caught at Ann's saving explanation. "She said

but painted Indian."
"Why does she say that when we all know
it,
"Do you remember when your
How
de
mon?" asked Judge Dwine.
"It was
."
tortured her . .
"She did not yield!"
"She did yield. She couldn't endure the torture. She gave
her babe to the Devil to save her life."
"Oh, dear God," moaned Mercy Hubbard.
"She yielded to Satan, God help her," said Judge Dwine.
"No, no!" cried Jonathan.
"Why else should the child of such godly man as you die
. .
unbaptized, Mr. Grigg?"

All the old agony and doubt of that death and damnation
flooded over him. His soul was tossed in raging sea of suspi
cion.
John Hubbard entered. He looked in surprise at the tense

faces, felt the thick waves of the forces of evil in the room.
one spoke.
"The witch
"There
Mr. Howen.
in jail," he said, breaking the silence.

another discovered during your absence," said
is
No
is
"Who?"
They hesitated, reluctant in the face of the minister's
223
is
anguish to speak that name.

"Ann! Ann!" He himself shouted it. "They are accusing
do not believe it. She
as
my Ann! They are mad, John.
demon," said Dorcas. "I heard her calling him to

take his claws from her." Her voice rose. "He tempted her
Christian as any of us. Who has ever known her to

harm any living creature?"
"Who accuses her, Jonathan?" asked the deacon.
"Your own daughter, sir," replied Judge Howen.
John Hubbard turned his deep eyes upon Dorcas. He
looked at her long and intently. Then he spoke. "If this be an
untrue accusation, Dorcas Hubbard, may your tongue blacken
in your mouth."
She trembled and her eyes fell before his eyes. "Mistress
good
Grigg torments me,"
she whispered.
able to accuse her?"
"How were you

"Mr. Grigg named her."
All
were silent. The deacon turned and laid his heavy hand
upon the minister's shoulder. "God have mercy on you,
Jonathan."
The finality in his voice shook Jonathan more than all that
had gone before. "You believe it? You!"

"It is just those we would never suspect whom Satan sends
to corrupt us."
"But you who know her goodness, who have reproved her
for too much kindness believe her capable of destroying hu
man souls?"
"
'Let not thy heart be drawn into the ways of women.

Lose not thyself in her paths for she has tripped and over
thrown a great number: the strongest have been killed by
her: her house is the way to hell and she leads to the gulfs of
death.'
"
The deacon and Jonathan faced
each other,
their strong
wills clashing like fierce sword against stubborn shield.

"We must go to your house to examine Mistress Grigg,"
said John Hubbard.
Jonathan flung his arms toward heaven, crying from the
depths of his misery and confusion. "O Lord, look down upon
Thy wretched servant! If Thou seest aught in me to merit
Thy divine anger, afflict me as Thou wilt. Only grant that
this hideous accusation against Ann be untrue!"
"Merciful God give him light."
"Give him the strength he needs in this great trial."
224
There was silence; scarcely the sound of their breathing

could be heard in the room.
Then Dorcas spoke. "It is true," she said.
CHAPTER
XXXIII
Jonathan stood with bowed
head, scarcely aware that the
magistrates were dressing themselves to go.

"Will you come with us, Mr. Grigg, to conduct our in
quiry into Mistress Grigg's practice of witchcraft?" asked Mr.
Howen.
He nodded, but made no move. Mistress Hubbard laid his

cape around his shoulders and put his hat in his hand. Mr.
Dwine took his arm gently.

As they started toward the door, it opened, and Ann stood
there before them. So unexpected was her appearance, so
challenging her coming to face them, that they could only
stand looking at her in stupefaction.
"What is wrong?" she asked, and when no one answered, "I
just brought this caudle cup for Dorcas. I mixed it especially
for her, Jonathan."
Swift as a cat Mistress Hubbard leaped forward and dashed
the bowl to the ground.
"A witch's brew! " she cried. "But God has revealed you to
us, Mrs. Grigg. You will make no more poisons for Dorcas!"
Ann looked at her astounded. "What are you saying, Mis
tress Hubbard? Are you bewitched, too?"
"Is that what you're planning? To bewitch her, also?"
asked Judge Howen.
"What has happened here? What are you all talking
about?"
"5
Her quick
went from one to the other, and encounter

ing Jonathan's burning eyes, she felt her heart stop in appre
gaze
hension.
"Jonathan! Why do you look at me so strangely?"

"Can the face wear the innocence of an angel and the
treachery of the serpent lie in the heart?" he muttered.
"Jonathan! Surely you aren't saying such a thing to me}"
She looked behind her, doubting her senses, hoping to find
someone else there to whom the bitter words were spoken.
But no one was there, and she turned again to face the in
comprehensible hatred in the faces about her.
"What is it? Have you all gone mad here?"
"Mad with God's holy wrath," said John Hubbard som
berly.
She stared in bewilderment.
"There has always been some suspicion that your ways
were strangely different from the rest of us, Mistress Grigg,"
said Judge Howen. "Now we know why. Dorcas Hubbard
accuses you of being a witch."
Struck full against heart and mind but freed from the sickly
suspense, she turned to Dorcas.
"So all other ways failed you!"
Feeling that strength and proud truth were all that were
needed, she said to the others, "As the Lord is my judge it is a
false accusation."
"There is
Grigg,"
by?"
said
Lord of Heaven and a Lord of Hell, Mistress

Judge Howen. "Is it the Lord of Hell you swear
a
"
"Of
course not! But she saw that simple denial was futile.
She saw the questions crowding their eyes, and one by one
they fell from their lips.

"Do you remember your torture when your babe was born
and your easy recovery?" asked Mistress Hubbard.
"Was it easy? Don't you remember it was long and pain
ful?"
"You recovered quickly enough when Gower ministered
to you."
"Yes.
It was
who saved my life."

"She and the Devil, your master," said Mr. Howen.
she
226
"She has confessed herself a witch," said Mr. Dwine.

Ann looked at him incredulously. "No
no
it can't
be possible. Jonathan! You know she isn't a witch!"
"It is useless to try to protect her, Ann. She has con
fessed."
"It would be well for you to confess as she has done," said
...
...
Mr. Howen.
Ann was
forgetful of her own danger in the

shock and grief of this tragic happening to the old woman she
speechless,
loved.
you as harshly as you judge me! My child went to God, and

I thank Him that it did not have to grow up under such cruel
blind surveillance."
"She rejoices in its death!" cried Mistress Hubbard.
"You let it die before it could be baptized," said Mr.
Howen.
"I let it die? Do you think a woman carries a child in her
womb to let it die? Do you think she gives it all her hope, her
love, her soul, only to let it wither before it blooms?"
Dorcas, her eyes on Jonathan, saw the burning gaze soften.
"Exactly what the Devil told her to say!" she cried. "But she
did let it die. She did!"
Ann raised her hand furiously, moving toward the girl. But
before she reached her, Dorcas fell to the floor with a scream
"It
"Mrs.
isn't very likely she would strike herself down, is
it,
of pain.
"Did you see that?" cried Mr. Dwine excitedly.
Grigg struck her down without even touching her!"
"I saw it," said Mr. Howen.
"She fell down herself," said Ann.
Mrs. Grigg?" asked Mr. Howen.

Ann turned desperately to Jonathan. "I want to speak with
you alone."
"Don't let her," warned Dorcas. "She'll put spells on him."
"Leave us together," said Jonathan.
They looked at him doubtfully moment, but reassured by
a
"You cannot deny your hellish master," Judge Howen's

voice grated, "when you gave him your own infant."
His words festered in the old wound. "May God judge
227
the sternness of his face, moved after Mr. Hubbard to the

bedchamber. They forced Dorcas along with them despite
her cries and struggles.
When they were alone, Ann and Jonathan stood looking at
each other.
"Oh, don't . . . don't look at me like that, Jonathan! You
"
can't believe what they are saying!
"Ann, Ann! I don't know what to believe. Tell me the
truth. Are you guilty?"

"Of course I'm not."
"If only I could believe you."
"But why can't you? Why should you believe them and not
me?"
"You contradict too many truths for me to have absolute

trust in you. Tell me honestly now why were you intimate
"
with Goody Gower?
"Because she is a good kind old woman and
have a great
affection for her."

"Now that you know her to be a witch you still say you
have an affection for her?"
"I don't believe she is one."
"And you expect me to believe you guiltless when you
"
deny the guilt she has acknowledged?
"I have heard that some innocent persons are confessing
through fear."
"But you yourself feel no feareven though Dorcas has
accused you?"
"This accusation only proves to me what I have always sus
pected. Dorcas Hubbard is not bewitched. She is only play
acting."
"You have tried often to make me believe that, Ann, but
then I thought it was only a foolish notion of yours."
"It is no foolish notion, nor anything else but the truth.
There was no witchcraft about my fall from the ladder. From
the very beginning I knew that Dorcas pushed me, although
I could hardly admit it even to myself."
"That is a strange explanation. Why should she push you
when you were on an errand to help her?"
"Because she hates me!"
228
He looked
at the red patches that
glowed like bright paint
on her cheeks and the blue eyes turned shining black. He had
never seen her like this and the queer terrible beauty of her
in anger made her seem like a stranger to him.
"But the other evidence of her bewitchment could not be
because she hates you her rebellion against her parents and
her profane songs and dances."
"I have seen her in rebellion long before this so-called be
witchment. You think her singing and dancing and the pranks
she plays are forced on her by witches. But I saw her doing
such things long ago."
"Why didn't you inform
the proper authorities so that she
was punished?"
"You know I've never been able to carry tales."

"Why is it no one else ever saw her in such performances?"
"Because she was afraid of everyone else and was very care
ful before them."
"Then why wasn't she careful before you?"
"She never had any fear of me since the first time I didn't
report her," said Ann wearily. "I thought it only harmless
high spirits then, but now"
"
"You call such wickedness harmless high spirits! he cried.
"You have always judged things from a different standpoint
than others. From the Devil's standpoint! All that is evil to us
is good to him. Oh, Ann, the Lord is stripping you before me!
The veil of beauty that distracted me is being rent from you."
"Jonathan," she implored. "Don't speak to me like that!"
He went on unheeding. "Was it ordinary wifely affection
you inspired in me? No! Rather it was an impure absorption
distracting my thoughts from prayers and duties. God for
give me that I was too blind to read the evil meaning before.
But if it is true that you are a witch, I can understand the un
holy passion you aroused in me. Why I could not see your
lips without losing thought of all else. Why I could not bear
the touch of you without fainting with evil pleasure"
"Stop!" cried Ann. "Now you speak of our love so vilely.
But it is not God's revelation that has changed you. It is Dor
cas Hubbard! She's always loved you and hates me because
you married me . . ."
229
"You're mad to say such things!" he shouted.

"I am not! Her accusation of me proves it!"
The subdued voices in the other room were suddenly
broken by screams. Dorcas rushed out followed by the others.
"Why were you hurting the girl?" cried Mr. Howen.
"She could not have been hurting her while she was here
with me," said Jonathan.
"You saw her yourself strike the girl down from a distance.
She must have wished her harm in her mind, even while talk
ing with you."

Jonathan's look at Ann was filled with dread, for she had
certainly been wishing her harm at that very moment.
"Dorcas has told us many things that show up Mrs. Grigg as
a witch," said Judge Dwine.
"The evidence against you is strong," said Mr. Howen. "If
you will confess . . ."
"I cannot confess. I am not guilty."
"Come then," said Mr. Howen, and he laid his hand on her
arm.
She looked at him in sudden panic. "Where?"
"To jail, where you will spend the night with others like
yourself."
"In that jail with witches?"
asked
Ann in terror.
"She confessed!" shrieked Dorcas.

"A lying tongue will slip," said Mistress Hubbard.
"God has wrung a confession from her stubborn lips."
She tugged at the magistrate's arm. "Don't let them put me
in that terrible jail, Jonathan! Jonathan, don't let them take
me to that awful place!"
He looked at her in anguish, her cry for his help bringing
back to him overwhelmingly her dearness as a woman.
"Ann," he pleaded. "Will you admit the confession you just
made?"
"But I made no confession, Jonathan! I'm not guilty."
"Use the witch tests on her," suggested Judge Dwine. "Let
her prove her innocence."
Frantically she pulled herself away from Judge Howen's
restraining hand and threw herself into Jonathan's arms.
"Use the water tests on her," insisted Theophilus Dwine.
2}0
"No,"
Jonathan, his arms about her.

Ann burst into tears. "Oh, I knew you'd protect me, Jona
"
than. I knew it!
"Let us hope it is not mistaken kindness that sets you
said
against it," Mr. Howen reproved him.

"Are you afraid she will succumb to the test, sir?" de
manded Mr. Dwine.
"Let her take the test of the Lord's Prayer," said the deacon.
Humbled, distracted, she pleaded, "Don't ask me to take
any tests now. Wait till tomorrow"

Jonathan saw the magistrates exchange knowing glances.
"You can say the Lord's Prayer, Ann. A Christian can say
it at any time."
"Yes, let her try it if she can!" said Dorcas. "She keeps me
from prayer. See if she can do it."
"Not now, Jonathan. Please," she begged. "You're all mad.
I'm no witch!"
"Say it," he insisted.
They stood waiting.
Trembling from shock and fear she took a deep breath and
began. "Our Father Who art in Heaven, Hallowed be Thy
Name, Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done
on earth
as it is in Heaven . . ."
Her distraught gaze swept from face to face of those watch
ing her, seeing in all but Jonathan's hate and fear, and in his a
terrible doubt.
"On earth as it is in Heaven
on earth as it is in Heaven
. . ." Desperately
she fought for calm, tried to forget where
she was, to think herself praying in her room or peacefully in
...
...
meeting.
But self-control was broken. Her eyes kept darting from

one face to another. Her mind was gray and leaden, the
thoughts flickering through it like the pale quick passage of
I cannot say it. . . . How white
winged things: I am failing
their faces are. . . . How still everything is. . . . If only some
one would move. . . . What was I saying . . .
"Jonathan!" she cried.
"Go on," he urged tensely.
"What? What is it? What do you want me to do?"
231
"Finish the Lord's Prayer."
Ah
yes, the prayer. She struggled back, tried to
force her
mind to remembrance of it. "Thy Will be done on earth as

it is in heaven. Give us this day . . . our daily bread . . ." She
stopped.
"She's failed the test!" cried Dorcas.
"Be silent!" shouted Jonathan. "Begin again, Ann."
An icy sweat broke out on her forehead. Her heart pounded
so fiercely it shook her body, her eyes grew dim and the faces
about her seemed far away, lost in a dancing mist.
She began from the beginning, her voice shaking with the
terrible effort. "Our Father Who art in Heaven . . . Hallowed
be Thy Name . . . Thy Kingdom come, Thy Will be done on
earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day . . . our daily
bread . . ."
Her mind went blank; her voice dried in her throat. She
sank to her knees trembling with silent sobs.
All in the fireroom was still. In that vast silence Jonathan
heard the knell of her damnation.
"God have mercy on you, Ann," he said in a broken voice.
CHAPTER
XXXIV
They
heard it throughout Boston. Before the winter snows

closed down the roads, word went out that one of the hidden
witches was Mistress Ann Grigg, discovered at last in the
very home of the witch hunter. The Reverend Jonathan Grigg
had searched long and far; God have mercy on him that he
should have found in his own house the evil he had sought so
diligently abroad.
In Boston jail, in the very cell in which she had visited the
232
it,
it
Quakers, Ann gripped her chained hands together, her soul

seeking God. Once she had thought she could not live one
hour in this place and now she had lived here for many days.
The sickness she had felt, the retchings and faintings from the
foul stench and fetid air, had passed. She could not remember
the smell of fresh clean air and her eyes were grown accustomed
to the darkness of the dungeon. The few times when Jonathan
had called and she had talked to him in the jailer's room, she
had to shield her eyes, unable to bear the lamplight.
Chained by wrists and ankles to the wall, her spirit strug
gled to escape its surroundings. A young girl, mad and moan
ing, writhed in a corner, awaiting execution for the murder of
her natural child. A man and a woman alternately quarreled
and copulated, knowing they would die for starving their
bastard child, having left it locked up without food or clothes
in a cold room. A farmer, a handsome man of great dignity,
who had been seized for debts run up during an illness, broke
his silence only to sing hymns. At first he had shunned Ann
as he did the others, but as the days and nights passed and her
voice always rose to join him in his hymn singing, he at last
spoke to her. Then his hate of her as a witch gave way to
belief in her innocence, and she was comforted by having
made this convert.
Often she remembered the Quaker women, and how she
had wished them the speedy arrival of their ship to free them
from this place. But how long must she wait? How long
would it be before the arrival of Sir William Phips, the royally
appointed governor, who was her only chance for freedom?
Not until he came from England would the general court be
established so that all prisoners might at last be brought to
trial and freed from this terrible waiting. So sure was she of
proving her innocence at her trial that she prayed daily he
would come soon.
Seldom was the jail without tumultuous noises shouting,
singing, cursing, and screaming. Sometimes it beat against
Ann's mind so that she could scarcely bear
and at other
times, when the darkness of the pit grew blacker and silence
made seem crawling with fearful things, she was grateful for
the sounds, for they were at least human. Often she would
233
own voice in a hymn and the farmer would join her.

Somewhere now a song grew louder as other voices picked
raise her
it up:
thee can I show,

thy God offended so.
Thy soul and body III divide.
Thy body in the grave Fll hide,
And thy dear soul in hell must lie
With devils to eternity . . .
No pity on
Thou
hast
The song brought a haunting memory, a memory of a cave

with voices chanting only they were all Dorcas's voice, and
then they were her own voice, alone and echoing: Dorcas
mercy mercy!
The heavy wooden door creaked open, and Old Tom, the
jailer, entered. Holding his lantern aloft, he went to Ann, and
setting the lantern on the bench, stooped to unlock her chains.
"Mr. Grigg's here," he said.
The thrill of hope and gladness with which she had heard
that announcement upon Jonathan's first visit no longer rose
in her breast. She knew now why he came to plead, cajole,
or threaten her into an admission of guilt. He had urged her
to confess and repent, saying that if she did so he could give
bail for her and she would be allowed to await trial in her
own home. When she would not, he had become so angry
that she was frightened. Memories had come to her of his stern
treatment of others, memories of her little brother's fear of his
harsh intolerance. She could not tell whether he now hated
or loved her; everything was so distorted between them. It
was torture to see him, to argue with him, and yet she longed
for his visits.
She followed Old Tom out of the cell and waited until he
bolted the door behind them.
"You once insisted on getting in here, and now you're in
longer than you expected," said Old Tom with a grim chuckle.
He had said the same thing to her the day she had arrived,
and repeated it many times since. She made no answer but
went with him along the corridor to the room where her hus
band waited.
234
Jonathan rose as she entered. He saw the locks of her hair,

tangled and dark looking, straggling over the soiled graygown; her neck rising white and bare and the kerchief torn
in strips binding her wrists.
His heart yearned over her and he forced back the impulse
to take her in his arms, kiss her and comfort her. He restrained
the desire to pick her up and carry her out from this vile
He tried to think of her as a witch, foully unfaithful to
im, defiling her flesh with the lust of his worst enemy and
Elace.
obedient to Hell's master instead of to her husband and her
God. Yet this thought was too fraught with nightmare for
him to accept it utterly. He could not quite believe it despite
all the evidence.
She seated herself at the table, her eyes blinking and tearing
in the light until she shaded them with her hand. She sat with
her head lowered, ashamed before him of her filthy appear
ance.
He
seated himself opposite her.
tell me today, Ann?"
"Have you something to
She shook her head.

"Do you know that we have discovered almost a hundred
persons engaged in this secret work to bring the colony under
the dominance of Satan? There is every evidence that you
are one of his workers, Ann. You cannot hope to conceal it
any more."
She looked up. "Has all that I have said before not con
vinced you of my innocence? You are only taking Dorcas'
word against me and she is lying."
"Are you forgetting her brother Increase? He corroborates
everything she says. This denial of yours of Dorcas' bewitch
ment seems to betray some malevolent purpose, and I am

afraid I know now what that purpose is."
"I have no purpose except trying to make you see the
truth."
He -shook his
"It
is obvious that you are trying to

discount spectral evidence that only the bewitched can sup
ply. But there is other evidence that can be seen by all.
People are pointing out many things in your past that count
against you. Your continual association with the lowest crea
head.
235
tures of the community and your defense of them, and the

many instances of your flouting authority."
"But you know me too well to wrongly construe such ac
tions now even if others do."
"I myself have remembered extraordinary actions of yours
of which others know nothing."

"You used to tell me you delighted in all I did."
"In
all that was innocent, yes."

"But what I did has not changed, nor have I. Only you
have changed. When you looked for innocence you found
innocence, but now you look for guilt and you find guilt."
"Do you remember that time you jumped from a tree and
said you did so to convert an Indian boy? Now that was a
most strange thing to do. No ordinary maiden would ever
have thought of such a thing."
Ann made no reply.
"And on our wedding day you ran off somewhere like a
wild thing. Why was that?" He waited, but she did not an
swer. "When I rode to Salem to wed you, my mother's wed
ding gown
forest."
was bringing for you to wear was lost in the
"You never told me that."

"Oh, Ann, many things have flooded back into my mind as
signs and warnings. In my solitary vigils since your imprison
have remembered much that weighs against you."

"And you remembered nothing good of me?" she asked
sadly.
"Ann," he pleaded. "No matter what you have done, no
matter how long the seeds were working in darkness to bring
you to witchhood, confess to me now . . . trust me."
"Alas, how can I destroy this terrible delusion of yours."
He started up angrily. "If you are guilty, though you are
held to me by bonds strong as my very life, I shall break
ment
them and cast you forth!"
"At my trial you will
"
me proved innocent!
she cried.
He looked at her. "You are stubborn as Satan himself," he
muttered, and snatching up his hat and cloak, strode from the
room.
see
236
Ann felt bitterness rise in her, and nourished this feeling to

harden her heart against the stabbing pain.
It was several days later that another visitor awaited her in
the jailer's room. When she saw the sturdy figure and the
kind brown eyes of Thomas Dwine she ran forward with a
glad cry, forgetting entirely her appearance.
"Thomas!" she cried. "Oh, it's good to see you again!"
He looked down at her but there was no smile on his lips.
"It is not good to see you like this, Ann."
"You don't believe me guilty, do you?" she asked quickly.
"Of course I don't. I would have come sooner if I hadn't
thought my visit might do you more harm than good. But
now I've worked out a plan and I must talk to you about it."
"A plan?" asked Ann wonderingly.
"I have everything prepared for your escape to New Am
sterdam."
Happiness so intense flooded through her that tears started
to her eyes. To flee from this loathsome place! To breathe
fresh sweet air, to see the sun again, to feel clear clean water
on her body!
"Oh, Thomas!" she cried joyfully.
"I've written to my sister who is married to Mr. Clive Hen
derson of New Amsterdam. I'll take you there and leave you
with her. Old Tom's been bribed and . . ." He stopped, seeing
the change in her face. "What is it?" he asked anxiously.
She shook her head, hope blotted out by the stern thought
of duty. How could she escape and leave her guilt weighing
upon Jonathan's heart? Leave him alone with anger and hatred
against her?
"I must stay for my trial," she said. "I must be proved inno
cent, Thomas, so that none can harbor any thought that I am
guilty."
"But Ann! You cannot be sure you will be found innocent.
The people are too inflamed against witchcraft for anyone
accused of it to be given a fair trial."
"We have always had fair trials in New England," returned
Ann proudly. "At my trial, and those of others falsely accused
as
fail
am, there
will
be reasonable men and women. They can't

to see the nonsense of all the charges against us."
237
"I
far from sure of that. They're so blinded by fear

that they can't distinguish between those who are innocent
and those who are guilty. Why, everyone is so afraid of being
accused that they think to save themselves by accusing others
first. Children are even now accusing their parents, and par
ents are accusing their own children. No one is safe. I heard
that the Reverend Mr. Daniel Robinson of Salem is accused
and imprisoned."
Ann stared at him in horror. "Oh, no, Thomas! No! Not
Mr. Robinson!"
"Forgive me, Ann. I had forgotten you must know him or
I wouldn't have told you."
"I can't believe it. It seems incredible," she murmured.
"No more incredible than that you are accused."
"It makes me almost doubt there are any witches here at all.
A man like Mr. Robinson . . ."
"Ever since I heard you were accused I've been doubting
that witches even exist. I tell you, Ann, you must get away
from here at once!"
"No, no, I cannot go."
"But the Lord Himself, when they took up stones to cast at
Him, hid Himself. And is it not written: 'If they persecute
you in one city, flee to another'? Many have already escaped
to New Amsterdam."
"Do any of those imprisoned deny their guilt?"
"Very few. At first a great many protested their innocence,
but now there are more confessions than denials. It looks to
me as though they were confessing to save their lives."
"I'm sure that's what Goody Gower has done. She is no
more a witch than I am."
"You're right, Ann. I saw her myself terrified into an ad
mission of guilt. That's what made me believe that so many
of
am
these confessions are false."
"Mr. Robinson will never confess falsely."

"No, I am sure he will not."
"And some of
firmly with him to bring the

to
their
senses
denial."
by
people
"No denial has yet changed their belief in the guilt of those
accused."
us must stand
238
"Innocence cannot suffer for no purpose, Thomas. If by

some incomprehensible Providence we suffer by remaining to
face trial, then surely that will help put an end to this great
delusion."
"But why should you be the martyr, Ann?"

"I do not think I am going to be a martyr," she answered.
Looking at her calm lovely face, Thomas felt confidence
arise that she was right and that she would prove her inno
cence and help bring sanity back to New England.
When Old Tom came and was leading her back to the cell
he glanced at her quizzically. "So you're still insisting on
staying, Mistress Grigg. You must like it here."
"Old Tom," she whispered. "You don't believe me a witch,
do you? You can't believe it when you'd let me escape."
He scowled down at her from his gaunt height. "I don't
know what you're talking about." He unlocked the door and
pushed it open. "There. And you'll find another of your com
pany in there with you now."
By the light of his lantern Ann saw Goody Gower.
The old woman ran forward but was jerked to a halt by
the pull of the chains. "Mistress Grigg, darling!"
Ann rushed into her arms. Oh how good it was to feel
those warm loving old arms about her again! The man and
woman prisoners jeered, the farmer was silent, and Ann saw
that the mad girl had been removed from the cell to make way
for Goody Gower.
Old Tom locked the chains on again and departed, but Ann
felt the dark dungeon almost a happy place now that she had
her friend with her. It was Thomas Dwine surely, she thought,
who with magic bribes had brought the old woman from
another cell here to be a comfort to her.
"Was it Mr. Thomas Dwine who managed this for us?"
she whispered.
"It
was not, but your own good husband, Mistress Grigg.

The kind heart in him feared the lonesomeness that might be
on you during the long winter when he cannot come to visit
you."
All
the old tenderness for Jonathan flooded Ann's heart
and she wept.
239
CHAPTER
When
the relentless tyranny of winter was crushed under

the impetuous onrush of spring, the people of New England
rose up fierce and eager to bring the enemies of their Lord
to justice.
Upon his arrival in Boston Town, Sir William Phips was
tendered the resignation of President Bradstreet of the Coun
cil of Safety and Conservation of the Peace which had ruled
the colony during the intercharter period.
The royal governor was astonished to find the prisons of
the province of Massachusetts Bay filled with witches and
wizards. He was not long settled before the magistrates and
ministers urged him not to await the long procedure of estab
lishing a new general court, but to constitute a special com
mission to bring to immediate trial all those held in jail on
the charge of witchcraft. Were not these criminals too dan
gerous to harbor any longer? Who knew but that during their
long imprisonment they had already hatched a conspiracy to
overthrow the righteous and set up the rule of their master?
Governor Phips, a pious-minded man, fell in with the
prevailing opinion and under the influence of his councilors
at once appointed a Special Court of Oyer and Terminer to
try the witches. The Worshipful Magistrate Mr. Nicholas
Howen was appointed chief justice. His associates were Mr.
Theophilus Dwine, Mr. Daniel Walford of Charles Town,
Mr. Richard Lawley of Roxbury, and three of the elders of
Boston. They went out from Town House with full power
to bring to trial and pass sentence on all prisoners charged
with witchcraft.
There were over a hundred women and a number of men,

many of fair character and most reputable families, now in
240
the prisons. But more were cried out against every day. Some
times they escaped before the sheriff could take them into
custody; others escaped right out of the jails through the
Devil's power.
Trials were held daily now, and many confessed and re
pented and were returned to their homes. But there were

some who would not confess and went to the gallows denying
with their last breath their accursed relationship with Satan.
Before the trial of Goodwif e Bridget Gower there was so
great an uncertainty as to the outcome that the gambling in
stincts of the people were roused to betting on the issue. Many
times she had confessed herself a witch, so the rumor went,
and many times denied it. Thank the Lord for the Commission
of Seven who would settle the matter once and for all.
At Goody Gower's trial, the bewitched Dorcas and In
crease Hubbard testified to the many times the accused had
brought them the Devil's book to sign away their souls. They
recounted, as they had done at previous examinations, the
various tortures she had inflicted on them for their faithfulness
to God. Dorcas pointed out Goody Gower's familiar, the
shining demon with red horns, who was even at that moment
sitting at her feet.
When Dorcas said this, Goody Gower leaned over and
patted an invisible head. The people craned their necks to see
the wondrous sight, but sat back disappointed when they
realized that it was only the witch and the bewitched who
could see such marvels.
Then Judge Howen held up two rag dolls, wantonly at
tired in silks and laces far above their station, and asked what
she had to say about these poppets found in her house.
A sad little chuckle broke from her lips. "Is it yourselves,
Sheila and Mary Ann, that have come to comfort me now and
me in the hands of the bitterest enemies there ever were in the
world?" she said to them. "Give them here to me, worshipful
sir, and the glory of the world on you for bringing them to
me and me lonesome for them this long time."
Judge Howen said he had no concern for the miserable
glory of the world, and then Dorcas raised her voice to in
form the court that the two dolls were poppets of her and
241
Increase, and were the means Gower used to bewitch them.

Anxious to please now, Goody Gower readily agreed, and
told how she worked her spells on them. "I hold them across
my knees tight the way they'll have no strength to do me a
mischief. And then I take a bit of spittle on my finger and it
the most powerful charm the Prince of Darkness can give a
body. I rub it back and forth back and forth rub, rub, rub.
It's then you all see the wretched creatures get the sharp pains
that double them up like the twisted things they are."
Other witnesses testified against the accused, recalling many
unnatural and incriminating actions. The Widow Bibber told
of seeing her come in the dead of night and stealing coals from
her fireplace. She had come straight down through the chim
ney for the Widow Bibber swore she had never risen up to
let her in by the door.
A farmer told of a most uncommon fear that Samuel
Gower, her husband, had shown on his deathbed. Did not the
meaning of this fear lie in the fact that his wife was a witch?
The farmer remembered seeing Goodman Gower refuse a
drink that his wife would have forced on him.
Goody Gower indignantly denied she had done any harm
to her husband, or in any way caused his death. She denied
many of the charges, yet she admitted willingly that she was
a witch and that she had bewitched Dorcas and Increase Hub
bard.
Upon this admission, the jury found her guilty, but upon
her promise to repent and return to the worship of the true
God, Judge Howen declared her liberated.
Through Thomas Dwine's persuasion, Ann had now been
moved by Old Tom to another cell emptied by the trials of

the witches.
Late on the afternoon of Goody Gower's trial, the cell
door opened and the old woman entered. Ann looked at her
in astonishment.
"Now don't be laying any blame on me, Mistress Grigg,
that I have been saving my life by a parcel of lies."
"Oh, Goody Gower," cried Ann, hugging her. "I had no
thought of blaming you.
only hoped you would be safe in

242
your own home by now. What are you doing back here?"
"It's for debt I am locked up now and me owing the mar
shal for my board here these long months. And a miserable
debt it is that I got no benefit from at all."
"I was thinking of you being in your little house, all clean
and happy again," said Ann sadly.
"Only the good Lord Himself knows when I'll be seeing
my own home again, Mistress Grigg. How I'm ever to pay

this debt I don't know at all. Who would be giving me sewing
to do in this filthy place the way I could earn enough to get
free from it?"
"Don't be troubled about it," Ann comforted her. "When
I next see Mr. Grigg I shall ask him to pay it for you."
But Ann did not see Jonathan again before her own trial.
The next morning she was called before the special jury of
women who had been appointed by the Commission of Seven
to examine the bodies of the accused for witch marks.
She entered the jailer's room where the jury was assembled.
She knew all the women, some slightly and others more inti
mately. There was Stephen Brooks's mother, the former
Widow Phillips and now Mistress Hicks, wife of the prosper
ous farmer whose land adjoined her own. The Widow Bib
ber was there, and Sarah Greene, Fear Williams, and
Theophilia Jones.
"Well, don't stand there so proudly, Mistress Grigg. Dis
robe yourself," said Mrs. Hicks.
A deep blush spread over Ann's face and neck. "Where
shall I go to disrobe?"
Theophilia laughed. "So the witch is modest before us. I'll
warrant she isn't so modest with her devil."
"You stay right where you are," said Goodwife Williams.
The Widow Bibber looked at Ann's blushing face and her
eyes grew kinder. "We'll turn our backs to you," she said.
"Why should we?" protested Theophilia.
"I don't see any sense to it."
"We're going to look at her anyway."
"Come. Turn your backs," ordered the Widow Bibber
brusquely, and grudgingly they obeyed.
Ann began taking off her clothes, hot and trembling with
243
The others paid no heed to her now and chatted about

their own affairs. They were vastly excited about the disap
shame.
pearance of Mistress Jones's husband, Jeremiah. It was be

lieved that he had gone off with his Indian crony to live in an
Indian village. He wasn't the first, and he wouldn't be the
last of the profligate Christians who preferred the heathen li
cense of the wigwam to the narrow path of righteousness.
Theophilia had posted a notice informing the public of his
leaving her and that she was offering five shillings to find him
and five pounds not to find him.
The homely chatter of the women somewhat calmed Ann's
agitation. But when she stood naked, and Theophilia, glancing
over her shoulder, cried, "She's ready," she snatched up her
petticoats and held them clutched before her.
Sarah Greene pulled them from her, and the women stood
gazing at her. Ann hid her face in her hands, her cheeks burn
ing, and tears of mortification squeezing through her closed
eyes. Her whole body was shivering, cowering inward as
though the looks of these curious eyes were blows upon it.
But they were thinking that this body was too beautiful, the
body of a demon rather than of an imperfect human. They
had viewed many women during these investigations, and each
one knew herself also, but not one of them was like Mistress
Ann Grigg. Yet they had not been charged to name beauty
as a witch sign, but to look for specific markings. They moved
closer and surrounded her.
"There are witch marks!" cried Theophilia, pointing out
two small brown protuberances on the lower part of the
white belly.
"No. Those are only common moles," said Mistress Hicks.
"They may not be what they seem. They may be disguised
little teats which nourish her demons," said Fear Williams.
"We
had better test them."

They were lifting her arms, moving apart the long legs held
chastely together, examining carefully every inch of the sus
pect fair flesh. Ann stood with eyes tight shut, shuddering
with shame and loathing at the touches on her body.
"Here is certainly a witch mark," said the Widow Bibber,
her finger on a purplish mark on the inner surface of the thigh.
244
"That is only
birthmark." Ann's voice was a dry whisper.

"I have seen birthmarks before, Mistress Grigg, but never
one like this."
a
"What a queer shape it has!" exclaimed Sarah Greene.

They found several spots, some small, others larger, but
all seeming uncommon and suspicious. They tested them with
pin pricks, for the proof of a witch mark was that it did not
bleed or that it had no feeling in it.

Sometimes Ann shrieked and sometimes she was silent; the
tears trickled down her cheeks.
"That will do now," said the Widow Bibber at last. "Dress
yourself, Mistress Grigg."
Ann put on her clothes with shaking hands. Feeling defiled,
degraded, she could not look into their faces. They spoke no
word to her now, nor told her what conclusion they had
drawn from their examination.
When she returned to her cell she burst into wild weeping.
Nothing that Goody Gower said could console her for the
wounding humiliation she had suffered. And yet, late that
afternoon, when she was again called before the jury for a
re-examination, an angry pride made her go through the
ordeal more easily than she had during the morning.
The next day Captain Morgan with his guard entered the
cell to escort her to Town House to stand trial.
CHAPTER
XXXVI
Strangers mingled with the townsfolk crowding the benches
of the courtroom. Through the windows the bright green
of the trees sparkled and fluttered in the sun and the
spring breeze. From the rear door came the clerk of the court
leaves
245
and took his place behind the scribe's desk on the raised plat
form. The jurors filed into their seats.
The people whispered to each other excitedly about the
bewitched Dorcas and Increase Hubbard up there on the wit
ness bench, and the Reverend Jonathan Grigg seated on one
of the front benches beside Mr. and Mrs. Hubbard.
"Look at Mr. Grigg, how thin and worn he's become."
"It's a hard thing to crush the natural love of a husband
for a wife."
"It's no great task to cast out love of a witch!"
"Look at Dorcas Hubbard. How unnatural bright her eyes
are!"
"See how the boy twitches and jerks."

"What terrible evidence of the malice of hell!"
The judges entered and ascended behind the magistrates'
high desk. Court was opened by Chief Justice Howen with
prayer.
"We solemnly call God to witness our proceedings this day
in the matter of trial of a witch that He in His ineffable mercy
has forced out into the light so that justice may be wrought
upon her. May He grant us grace to distinguish the truth so
that our judgment may be just."
"Amen," responded the people.
They raised their voices in a hymn.
With holy fear and humble song

The Dreadful God our soul adore
Reverence
and awe become the tongue
That speak the terrors of his povfr.
Tremble my soul and kiss the Son

Sinners obey thy Savior's call
Else your damnation hasten on
And hell gapes wide to wait your fall.
With infinite
patience for their outbreakings and weepings,

the oath was administered to the bewitched.
"You do solemnly swear in the presence of the Omniscient
and Heart-searching God that you will divulge the truth, the
whole truth, and nothing but the truth according to your best
knowledge in the matter in which you are called to witness
246
you shall answer to the Great Judge of quick and dead?"

And they swore, "I do."
Judge Howen signaled the clerk of the court, who stood
up and called in a loud voice, "Let Mistress Ann Grigg come
before the eyes of men to be tried for her life on the charge
of witchcraft."
A soldier opened the hall door and Ann entered with her
guard. Pallid and dim eyed from her long confinement in the
dungeon, she walked unsteadily to the prisoner's stool the
as
marshal indicated and seated herself.

Dorcas gave a cry of pain and pressed her hand against her
breast. "Oh, Ann Grigg, stop pressing on my chest!" she
wailed.
"Cease tormenting the girl, Mistress Grigg," commanded
Judge Howen.
"You
could
see me here,
Judge Howen," replied Ann.

"
"How
be doing as she says?
"Lay the prisoner's hands upon the bewitched," he ordered.

The guard led Ann to the witness bench and taking her
hand placed it upon Dorcas. Immediately Dorcas's moans
ceased, and all
could
see
how the witch's hand had recovered
the girl out of her pain.

Judge Howen ordered the reading of the verdict presented
by the special jury who had stripped and examined the body
of the accused for signs of witch marks.
"The evidence taken at a preliminary examination of Mis

tress Ann Grigg is as follows," announced the clerk. He
picked up a paper from the desk and read: "We whose names
are underwritten being commanded by the Worshipful Nich
olas Howen of Boston on the seventh day of June to view the
body of Ann Grigg, find by diligent search preternatural color
ing not usual on the bodies of women and much unlike the
rest of us. Witness: Diligence Hicks, Fear Williams, Elizabeth
Bibber, Sarah Greene, Theophilia Jones."
He took up another paper and read: "We whose names are
subscribed to the within mentioned upon a second search
about five hours later, find upon the said Ann Grigg the same
mark as was seen by us this morn. Witness: Diligence Hicks,
H7
Fear Williams, Elizabeth Bibber, Sarah Greene, Theophilia

Jones."
From the prisoner's stool Ann looked over the hushed sun
lit courtroom. She saw Jonathan, and at sight of that proud
head lowered and the eyes cast down, she felt some of her
own courage ebb. Her gaze wandered on over the upturned
faces, and those of her neighbors seemed no more friendly
than those of the strangers.
"Mistress Grigg," began Judge Howen. "How do you come
to have the Devil's mark upon your body?"
"It is naught but a birthmark."
"The jury say it is not a birthmark."
"Then they are mistaken. I have had it from infancy."
"Mistress Grigg, will you tell the court with what evil
spirit you have familiarity?"
"With none," she answered.
"Then why do you hurt these children?"
"I do not hurt them."
"Whom do you employ to do it?"
"I employ no one."
"Many who have confessed say that they use poppets and
pins. Are these your means also?"
"I have no means of harming anyone, nor do I wish to harm
anyone."
Judge Daniel Walford leaned toward the judge next to him

and whispered. The elder shook his head dubiously and re
peated his remark to Mr. Howen. "She seems to Mr. Walford
like a harmless and natural woman. He cannot believe she has
diabolical dealings."
young yet. Let him wait." Mr. Howen turned

abruptly to Dorcas and Increase. "Look upon this woman and
say if she is indeed the person who torments you."
Dorcas stared at Ann. "She is the one."
Increase did not look up from his twitching hands as he
mumbled almost inaudibly, "Yes."
Judge Howen turned back to Ann. "Why do they say it
is you if it is not?"
"I can only think they are ill and do not know what they
"The trial
is
say."
248
"If
they are ill what medicine would you suggest for their
cure?" asked Mr. Howen quickly.
"I am no physician to know that," she replied, quietly elud
ing the trap set for her.
"Why do you say they are only ill? Don't you believe
'
they are bewitched?
"If they say it is I who bewitch them they are wrong."
"But they do say it."
"Then they are not bewitched, for I am innocent."
Mr. Walford leaned
"Are there any others

not afflicted by witchcraft
across the desk.
here who say these children are
but are only sick?"
No
one answered.
"You are the only one, Mrs. Grigg, who says they are not
bewitched," said Judge Howen.
"If anyone here were accused of bewitching them as I am,
they would deny it as I do."

"Would you set your opinion against that of all of us?"
"I would hold to the truth against all denial of it. Many can
be under the same delusion as one person, and if a great num
ber share a delusion that doesn't make it any the more true."
Who gave her the

courage to oppose the court? Many believed her upheld by
the grand enemy of God and mankind Satan. But Mr. Wal
ford informed his fellow judges that he believed God alone
could so sustain her. To his mind her answers were those of
a Christian woman. Might she not be falsely accused by the
She was calm as the judges themselves.
Could not their long suffering have deluded them

into accusing the wrong person?
"Increase Hubbard. Tell us when Mrs. Grigg first began
tormenting you," commanded Mr. Howen.
Increase raised his head. Slowly he stood up and turned his
dark eyes upon the prisoner. Her supplicating look sent a
shudder through him. With a cry, he huddled down again on
the bench, burying his face in his hands.
Mistress Hubbard sprang to her feet. "Turn her eyes from
him! She's killing him!"
"Turn the prisoner's head away from the boy," ordered
Judge Howen.
children?
249
The guard jerked Ann's
head
roughly in the opposite
direction.
"Now, Increase Hubbard. Tell us what you know of Mrs.

Grigg's witchcrafts."
But Increase would not raise his head nor answer.
"Speak up," ordered Judge Howen. "You spoke boldly
enough when we questioned you in your own home."
He gave no heed to Mr. Howen or to the urging of the
other judges. He huddled there shaking and moaning.

"He's not able to speak, poor lad," said his mother.
Dorcas pointed an accusing finger at Ann. "She's holding
his tongue so he can't speak. She's defying you before your
very eyes!"
"
Judge Lawley. "Are you able to testify?
"Yes," replied Dorcas. She rose and turned triumphant eyes
on Ann. "She first took to visiting us when she became so
friendly with the other witch Gower. She interrupted me at
my spinning wheel, sending pains through my hands so that
I couldn't spin."
"I witnessed that myself," said the deacon.
Judge Walford leaned forward. "You saw Mistress Grigg
hurting your daughter?"
"She was invisible to me. But I saw Dorcas suffering with
unaccountable pains in her hands."
Judge Howen motioned Dorcas to continue.
"She promised me all manner of fine things if I would sign
"
away my soul to Satan. But I wouldn't!
"What things did she promise you?" asked Judge Dwine.
"A silver brocade apron with lace around the bottom, and
blue velvet gloves with silver fringes, and a beaver hat . . ."
Murmurs of indignation through the court excited her to
shriller recital. "She said she would give me lovely jewels like
her ruby ring and her diamonds, and she mocked the poor
funeral ring I wear on my finger. She promised me a love
hood of a dark gold-colored velvet faced with blue silk, and
said I could captivate whoever I chose with such finery."
"Did she show you these things that you give such accurate
descriptions of them?" asked Mr. Walford.
Dorcas hesitated only a second. "Oh, yes. Yes, indeed, sir.
"And you?
"
asked
250
could I describe them? My mind was never on such

frivolities."
"Where did you see them? In her house?"
"She carried me to Goodman Wait's pasture where they
were spread shining on the ground."
"Did you take any of the articles she offered you?" inquired
an elder. "Have you any of them to show in proof of what
"
you say?
"I refused all the godless frippery, sir. Then she fell into
How
else
such a rage that she beat me and wanted

everything vanished in a blue flame."
to kill me, and
"Mistress Grigg," said Judge Howen. "What familiarity

have you with Goodman Wait?"
"I brought food to him when he was ill."
"You know as well as we the evil reputation of the man.
Why do you associate with him?"
"Someone must care for him when he is hurt or ill."
"His accidents and his illness are punishments for his

Have you some reason for your interference?"
sins.
"I pity him."

"Why is it no one else but you feels he deserves pity?"
"I cannot help but feel pity for anyone, whether good or
bad, when he is in trouble," she answered.

"
"Look! cried Dorcas sharply. "There is the black talking
bird Goodman Wait gave her. It's perched on her shoulder.
It's not a real bird. It's her familiar."
"There's no black bird there," said Judge Walford.
"Have you been able to see the familiars of any other of
the witches we've examined, Mr. Walford?" inquired Mr.
Howen cuttingly. "We have accepted the fact that it is not
given to all of us to see the wonders of the invisible world."
He turned to Ann. "Will you admit your familiar is there
with you?"
"I
have no familiar.
My black bird
find it there if you look."
"Is that true, Mr. Grigg?"
is at home.
You will
Judge Howen.
Jonathan raised his eyes and they rested burningly on Ann.
"It is not there. It vanished from its cage last week."
"What have you to say now, Mistress Grigg?"
asked
251
ment, he held his peace.
rose. "I have to tell of

far worse crime
of Mistress Grigg's than the Widow Bibber tells of.
was
witness to her attempt to kill my daughter!" A low men
bowl of poison
acing rumble filled the room. "She brought
Mercy Hubbard
it
to my house which she admitted making with her own hands.

Had not thrown
to the floor Dorcas would be dead now!"
"Were there any other witnesses to this?" cried Judge Wal-
it,
Flushing under Jonathan's look, she cried, "What is so

strange about a bird escaping from its cage? You are twisting
the most common happenings out of all their naturalness. I
am not a witch only a simple woman many of you have long
known. The bird that this girl in her delusion or malice tries
to tell you is an imp is only an ordinary bird. That is why
none of you can see it here."
There was silence, the calm truth-sounding voice lifting
for a moment the mist of fear from many minds.
Then the Widow Bibber rose and asked the court's leave
to testify. "We may not be able to see your familiar or the
other evil spirits who help you, Mistress Grigg. But many of
us have seen you breaking the law and tempting others to
also. We've seen you relieve the just punishments im
break
great contempt for our
posed upon sinners, thus showing
have
even
had
the
laws. And you
audacity to ask my son to
help you in this flouting of the law."
"What have you to say to this, Dr. Bibber?" asked Mr.
Howen.
"It's true," he admitted reluctantly.
"I have been guilty of such aid to sinners myself," cried
Thomas Dwine. "And dare say number of others here have
also at one time or other. But it's
natural crime and has
naught to do with witchcraft."
"Cousin, be silent!" shouted Theophilus Dwine. "The court
will judge what has to do with witchcraft and what hasn't!"
Thomas saw Dorcas look at him intently, and fearing he
would do Ann more harm than good by any further argu
ford.
"Two of
the judges who sit beside you!"

252
He turned to them in astonishment. "Were you indeed

present when this happened?"
"I saw the thing with my own eyes," returned
Howen.
Judge
it
it
."
is,
"But you tested it?"

"Mistress Hubbard threw it to the floor."
"Then how do you know it was poison?"
"Would you have us drink it to make certain?" asked Judge
Howen.
"There is no doubt of it being poison," asserted Theophilus
Dwine. "It had a peculiar color . . ."
"And a sickening smell," added Mrs. Hubbard.
Mr. Walford shook his head doubtfully. "I would rather
we had more proof."
"Mistress Grigg, will you admit that the so-called caudle
cup you brought that night was poison?" asked Judge Howen.
"Of course it wasn't!" she cried.
"What were the ingredients?"
"Everyone knows what a caudle cup
Judge Howen."
"Nevertheless we want you to tell us exactly what you put
into it."
"A thin beef gruel, sweetened wine, and spices."
"Where did you get the gruel?"
"I made that day for my husband . .
"She planned to poison Mr. Grigg, too!" cried Dorcas.
"Abigail and ate of it," said Ann quietly.
"Is what she says true, Abigail Trask? "
"Yes, Judge Howen."
"So you ate of the caudle cup Mistress Grigg brought to
the Hubbard home. Therefore
could not have been poison,
could it?" said Judge Walford, impressing this favorable evi
dence on the minds of the people.
Abigail hesitated.
"Speak up," urged Judge Walford. "You just now said that
didn't you?"
you ate of
"I only ate the gruel . . with bread . . before the wine
.
it,
"Mistress Grigg pretended it was naught but a caudle cup,"

said Judge Dwine.
and spices were added," she faltered.

253
"Where did you get the wine and spices, Mrs. Grigg?"
Mr. Howen.
"The wine came from our own cellar . . ."
"And the spices?"
Ann sought some evasion to the question. She glanced out
of the window and saw the leaves of the trees motionless.
asked
strange stillness in the air. A thick vapor was

spreading, tinged with a yellowish light.
She faced her judges and replied quietly. "The spices were
brought to me by Goody Gower."
A low murmur acknowledged the people's understanding
of this damaging admission.
"The witch Goody Gower gave them to you?"
"She is no witch."
"Are you not aware that she is known to collect evil herbs
in the forest?"
"I only know that her good herbs have cured many of us."
"You have held a long friendship with her, haven't you?"
"She has been my good neighbor ever since I came to Bos
There was
ton."
"You
"Of
you do not believe her a witch?"

course she isn't. She is a good kind old woman."
have said that
"But she has confessed."

"Through fear!" cried Ann.
"No.
She has confessed honestly and repented.
you not confess also?"
Why will
"I
shall never confess to a lie! Although you've prevailed

upon some poor creatures to say they are witches, they say
so only through fear and to save their lives."
"Then you think Goody Gower's repentance is not true?"
"I think her confession is not true, but was forced from
her by fear."
"Would you say that
further examination of her is neces
sary?"
"No,"
Ann quickly, fearful of putting the old woman

in jeopardy again. "She would only say the same thing. And
said
am glad she is safe."
"Do you then rejoice at losing one of your kind?"

"Goody Gower is not a witch . . ."
254
"Ah, then you admit you
are
one!"
rippling breath of released emotion swept the room. The

yellowish light was changing, darkening, turning to grayblack, so that the clerk bent lower over his desk scarcely able
to see what he was writing.
"Oh, God," prayed Ann. "Do not let them confuse me."
"What God are you praying to? The Devil? Is he your
God?"
"There is only one God."

"Will you answer or not? Do you serve the Lord of Heaven
or the Lord of Hell?"
"There is only one God."
The darkness grew deeper, seeping into the room. A flash
of lightning zigzagged through the sky.
"Look!" cried Dorcas. "A witch meeting is commencing
outside. They're going to try to rescue her."
A clap of thunder broke against the building and the rain
poured down in a heavy gray slanting curtain, beating on the
windows. Someone cried out in fear and the next moment
many voices were shouting.
"
"I
hear them. God help us!
"What is it?"
"Witch sounds."
"Witch laughter."
"I
hear naught but thunder!" cried Mr. Waif ord, but his
voice was lost in the growing panic.
"Ann Grigg, they're calling you!" cried Dorcas.
"It is only a storm raging! " shouted Thomas Dwine.
"A storm from the invisible world!"
"To rescue the witch!"
"Don't let them get to her!"
"Do you hear them, Mistress Grigg?" asked Judge Howen.
"I hear naught but the storm," replied Ann.
"Listen. Don't you hear the voices?"
"It is only the wind and the rain."
"No
I hear your name . ."
...
"God pity you, sir,"
said
Ann.
Shrill and harsh voices raged through the gloom of the
room.
255
"They're coming," warned Dorcas. "They're coming into

the court!" Her voice, deep, vibrating, filled with terror,
roused the people to frenzy.
"
"Something touched me! screamed Theophilia Jones.
"They're trying to get to the witch!"
"Beat them off! Hit them!"
All were now on their feet, shouting imprecations or evok
ing God's help. Some were moving blindly through the dark
room beating the air with riding whips, the butt of their guns,
or their fists.
"Strike them," urged Dorcas. "It hurts them. Hear them
scream!
"
The room was indeed filled with shrieks and groans of pain.
In the confusion of that black battle who could distinguish
the visible form of his neighbor from the invisible foe? Men
and women felt blows and cuts on their faces and arms. In
the blinding flashes of lightning they saw the blood flowing
from their wounds.
Jonathan staggered under a fierce blow across his forehead.
He raised his voice above the uproar. "Stop! Stop this physi
cal struggle with the demons! We will use prayer against
them. No weapon is as potent against the witches as prayer!
O Thou Great Dread and Everliving God, keep not silent,"
he prayed, "for lo Thine enemies make a tumult and they that
hate Thee have lifted up their heads. Bring Thy dread power
to bear, O God, to make the witches like a wheel, as the
stubble before the wind. Fill their faces with shame. Let
them be confounded forever. Yea, let them perish that men
may know Thou art Most High over all the earth. . . ."
Gradually the people quieted under that strong confident
voice. Returning to their places, they knelt and prayed with
the minister. As the old lamplighter lit the lamps on the
walls they saw that everyone was kneeling except Ann Grigg
and the bewitched. In the lamplight they watched to see the
hated figure of the witch cringe under the holy words. But
she sat motionless.
Their eyes turned again toward the minister. What were
those dark shapes flickering about him? Were they but shad
ows cast by the trembling lamplight? Some cried out and hid
256
their faces in their hands, fearful of looking too closely at

those shadows. The stormwind and the thunder roared about
the walls. Would the demons tear the building from the
ground? Would they crush it down into the earth, break it
apart, and liberate Ann Grigg, queen of hell? Would any
escape?
Gradually the thunder and lightning became remote and

harmless. The wind and the darkness fled as suddenly as they
had arisen. The sky cleared and the room grew lighter. The
lamplighter went about extinguishing the lamps.
XXXVII
The
people rose from their knees and gave praise to the Lord
Who had shown He would not cast off His people utterly.
They had been firm and had not succumbed to the fury of
the enemy. They had fought off the rescuers and held this
powerful witch against all onslaughts. There she sat, whitefaced and defeated, bereft of all hope of demoniacal deliver
ance. Her life lay now in the hands of godly men.
Dorcas looked toward Jonathan and gasped at the sight of
the bleeding cut across his forehead.
"Look!" she cried. "They tried to kill our minister!" She
whirled and pointed an accusing finger at Ann. "Now it is
proven to all how you sought to destroy him. And this isn't
the first time!"
Jonathan sank down on the bench, holding his handkerchief
to his wound, staring at Ann.
do you?"
"Jonathan! Oh, Jonathan! You don't believe
she cried, horrified at the look in his eyes.
it,
CHAPTER
257
"Tell
us
what you mean by your words," Judge Howen
said to Dorcas.
to the deacon. "You remember, Father? The

time I saved Mr. Grigg from going on that ship?"
Mr. Hubbard rose. "I remember it well. It seemed a most
mysterious happening to me then, but in the light of this
attack upon Mr. Grigg I see its terrible meaning."
She turned
"Tell us, Mr. Hubbard," said Judge Howen.

"It was one day last spring, and the first ship had arrived
from the Barbadoes. It was rampant with yellow fever and
we had been warned off it. Yet I met Mr. Grigg on his way to
it. He said he did not know of the contagion, but that Mistress
Grigg had sent him to it on some errand."
"If I had not met him and warned him he would not be
alive this day!" cried Dorcas.
"What have you to say to this, Mr. Grigg?" asked Judge
Howen.
"Mistress Grigg knew naught about my setting out to the
ship."
Ann's heart gave a leap of joy at his defense of her.
"How do you explain your testimony then, Mr. Hubbard?"
asked Judge Howen.
"I do not know what lies behind Mr. Grigg's statement.
But I know that at the time, he told me he was on his way to
get something for her on that ship."
true," said Jonathan. "It was a package of tea

she had wanted. But she did not know that I had gone to
get it for her, nor even that the ship was in."
"Why are you so sure that she did not know of the ship's
"
"That
is
arrival?
"She was not in the room when Goody Gower told me."
"Ah, then it was Goody Gower who brought you news
of the ship?"
Jonathan was too cognizant of these subtle implications not

to realize the thought in the judge's mind.
"You do not answer, Mr. Grigg. You are aware, no doubt,
that Mistress Grigg did not have to be in the room in order
to have the other witch communicate with her?"
258
"Neither Goody Gower nor my wife
asked me to go," said

made that decision myself."
"And what purpose do you think Goody Gower had in
telling you of the ship's arrival?"
"No purpose. Only idle gossip."
"We have found that it is just by such seemingly harmless
things that these witches work destruction."
"Don't believe
vilely un
Jonathan!" cried Ann. "It
true!" She turned to the judges. "I loved my husband and
would never have permitted him to go to the ship had known
of its danger."
is
it,
Jonathan. "I
"You loved him?" repeated Judge Howen. "Does that
mean
helplessly.
it
it,
Ann!" shouted Thomas Dwine.

"Deny
"I've denied
so often," she murmured.
Mr. Howen turned to Jonathan. "Do you believe Dorcas
Hubbard speaks the truth in saying your wife bewitched her
infant to death?"
"I
cannot believe it," he muttered.

"Bring in the evidence on this, Captain Morgan," Mr.
Howen ordered the marshal.
Jonathan felt himself trembling, watching the marshal go
out of the room. Then suddenly he grasped the
significance
of that changed wording of the accusation. "Bewitched the
infant to death"? But they couldn't have meant that! That
meant something deliberateplanned! That Ann had suc
cumbed to torture and in such extremity yielded the babe,
could understand regardless of its frightfulness. But that

she should have consciously and
willfully bewitched
to
death and damnation! What evidence could there be
to prove
it
he
this impossible charge?

A tense silence lay over the room while the marshal was
few moments he returned,
gone. In
carrying the doll that
a
it
if
you no longer love him?"

"She hates him!" cried Dorcas. "She bewitched his first
born to death!"
"Oh, silence her," implored Ann.
"Deny
you can," said Mr. Howen.
She huddled down on the stool trembling, shaking her head
259
Ann had fashioned, that image so long cherished and carefullyhidden. He held it up for all to see, swinging it by its long
white robes.
"There, Mr. Grigg," said Judge Howen, "is the poppet of
your infant which Dorcas found hidden in your wife's trunk."
With a cry, Ann sprang forward and snatched it from the
marshal's hand, while Jonathan could only stare, white with
horror.
She rocked gently in her arms the beloved little figure. "See,
Jonathan, it is the image of our babe. I made it to comfort me
when our little one died."
"You mean before our little one diedto make it die!" he
cried in a terrible voice.
"No, Jonathan, no! Afterward ... I made it afterward. . . ."
Her heart quailed at his belief in the appalling charge. He did
not mean it! He could not! She struggled to hold the doll
which Judge Howen had motioned the guard to take from
her, trying to think of something to say to Jonathan to make
him retract his awful words. Captain Morgan pulled the pop
pet from her arms and placed it upon the magistrates' desk.
All lingering doubts in Jonathan's mind had been shattered
by the shock of seeing that poppet. "Would that I had chosen
a wortian of flesh and blood for wife instead of a demon with
"
water in its veins! he cried frenziedly.
Ann felt her mind whirling. "Am I not flesh and blood?"
she cried. She looked around wildly, and seeing the knife in
the guard's belt, jerked it out and slashed her arm, letting the
blood flow over sleeve and gown. "Look! Is this water?"
The people rose in consternation. The guard snatched back
his knife. Abigail and Thomas ran forward.
"Ann!" cried Thomas. "Bear up! Remember your friends
who believe in you!"
"Oh, Mistress Grigg," sobbed Abigail, winding her hand
kerchief about the wound. "Why did you? How could you
hurt yourself so?"
Jonathan made no move.
Ann thrust her arm under his eyes. "Can't you see this is
blood?"
His eyes glittered cold as ice. "Your master in hell is laying
260
his hand upon you to make the witch water look like blood.
I'll never be deceived by your artifices again."
Ann looked at her blood-stained arm and then at him. "Oh,
if you will not believe what you can see . . .
Jonathan
...
"
what you can touch!
He turned away from her.
Mistress Grigg," commanded Judge

Howen. "We wish to examine the blood to see if it is human."
She shrank back, but the guard pushed her forward until
she stood below the desk. Mr. Howen leaned over.
"It looks like human blood," he admitted.
Judge Dwine bent over and touched it. "It feels like human
"Step
over
here,
blood."
"The human
senses
are
naught
but the playthings of
Satan," said Jonathan.

"Yes," agreed Judge Lawley. "They are the breeding places
of all our sins. We should put no trust whatsoever in the
actions of this witch."
"Witch! Witch!" echoed through the room.
Judge Howen rapped for order. "Is there any further evi
dence to be brought before the court?"
"None," replied the clerk.
"Is there any other person who wishes to testify for or
against the accused?"
No one answered.
Judge Howen addressed himself to the jury. "You have
heard the evidence presented against the accused. Although
you have heard her deny she is a witch and deny that she
sought to perpetrate such crimes as she is accused of, yet her
familiar has been identified for you as the black talking bird
given her by the disreputable Goodman Wait. She has ad
mitted freely that she is of the company of the confessed
witch Goodwife Bridget Gower and has had a close friend

ship with her ever since she came to Boston. You have heard
and seen the demoniacal forces she has at her

disposal that
her
rescue
to
the
sought
great wounding and hurt of many
of us. You have heard honored members of the
community
give testimony of her rebelliousness against the laws of Church
and God, and of her attempts to destroy either the life or the
261
soul of Dorcas Hubbard, Increase Hubbard, and her husband,

the Reverend Jonathan Grigg. You have seen and heard the
evidence that she destroyed the life of her own child by
means of the poppet she acknowledges to be her own.
"Therefore, with Almighty God's help, and according to
your own consciences, I command you to give a true verdict
on the guilt or innocence of Mistress Ann Grigg in the prac
tice of witchcrafts."
While the jury consulted together, the courtroom buzzed
with excitement. Ann felt the waves of glances sweep over
her and her heart sank beneath their fear and fury. Blinded
and bruised by the hostile tide, exhausted by the long ordeal,
she prayed God to sustain her through these last terrible
minutes.
The jury returned soon to their places. They were not slow
to strike hard and swift at enemies of God and New Eng
land. Titus Shrimpton, the foreman, delivered the verdict.
"Before Omniscient God we find Mistress Ann Grigg on
trial for her life for practicing witchcrafts guilty."
A rejoicing cry went up from the assembled people, only a
few sitting silent with troubled faces.
Dorcas threw her arms around Increase who was crying
bitterly. "We'll be saved, Cressy! We'll be saved!" She flung
herself on her knees before Jonathan. "Oh, Mr. Grigg, you
have saved
us!"
Jonathan was looking at Ann; the tears filling his eyes

flowed unheeded down his cheeks. "God help me," he mur
mured.
From a strange distance out of time and space, Ann heard

Judge Nicholas Howen pass sentence.
"Ann Grigg, having been duly indicted for practicing and
exercising on diverse days and occasions certain detestable

acts called witchcrafts on the bodies of Dorcas Hubbard, In
crease Hubbard, the Reverend Jonathan Grigg, and on your
own infant, and by such wicked arts contriving the death of
said infant, to which indictment you plead not guilty and put
yourself upon God, and whereupon you have been tried this
eighth day of June by a jury of your peers and they having
found you guilty of charges in the indictment:
262
of Their Majesties, William

and Mary, Sovereigns of England, sentence you on Thursday,
the ninth day of June, that day being tomorrow morning, to
be conducted from Their Majesties' jail to the place of execu
tion on Boston Common, and there cause you to be hanged by
the neck until you are dead, and God have mercy on your
soul."
"We therefore, in the
names
CHAPTER
XXXVIII
The yellow
flames of the candles burned bright and still as

stars in Jonathan's study. But all the brightness of the room
could not lighten the blackness of his thoughts as he paced
back and forth from the windows to his writing table, again
and again, back and forth over the same way.
She was guiltyguilty as he had feared, as he had hoped
against hope she was not. She was condemned, and the dawn
rising on this black night would see her move up the fatal
path to the infamous instrument of death. That proud and
beautiful body would hang lifeless, and the stubborn rebel
lious soul journey down to hell to remain there in torment
forever and ever.
He cried aloud in anguish, until the whole night seemed to
echo back his intolerable grief. He had struck hard and cease
lessly against her, but it was only to pull her from the clutches
of Satan, to break his hold on her and save her. After this
night the struggle would be ended. No prayer, no word, no
deed could ever save her then.
The shock of being so suddenly confronted with the poppet
of their child had now passed, and with it his conviction that
she had willfully killed their son. He knew from his
experi
ence with Benjamin Hubbard that the possession of poppets was
263
no condemning proof. He had heard Ann singing in the locked

bedchamber and that singing was soft and tender to the secret
image, full of love for it and its comfort to her. He had never
suspected its presence, but Dorcas had somehow known
about it. After the trial he had learned that while Ann was
imprisoned, Dorcas had come secretly to the house and taken
the doll away to the judges. But though that evidence had
weighed at Ann's trial, yet even without it she would have
been found guilty. The first accusation before the discovery
of the poppet still held true. She had yielded the babe to Satan
under unbearable torture, and her own soul with it.
If only he could loosen the Devil's hold on her and bring
her back to God! If only she had time, more time, than the
swift passing hours of this night. But the night was not yet
passed. He must not let it pass, taking her life and soul with it!
He snatched up his hat and cloak from the chair where he
had thrown them hours earlier, and running out of the house,
went to the stable and saddled his horse. Mounting and riding
out, a thought came to him of someone who would help him.
How
the image of Thomas Dwine rose in his mind he could

not tell, but somehow it was there and it gave more cohesion
to his first blind impulse to ride to the jail and carry Ann off.
He turned his horse's head and rode northward.
The house of Thomas Dwine was white and still in the
moonlight. Suddenly it seemed madness to Jonathan to have

ridden here instead of to the prison. How could he rouse this
household and ask a man with whom he had always bitterly
disagreed to help him in his desperate need? What strange
prompting had suggested that Thomas Dwine would under
take the dangerous work of rescuing Ann? Was it because he
had spoken out for her at the trial?
As Jonathan hesitated, wondering whether to go on or to
turn back, a man rode out from the stable back of the house.
The horse stepped softly, making scarcely any sound as it
came out on the roadway. Then the rider saw the motionless
figure ahead of him and pulled up abruptly.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" he cried.
"Where are you going, Thomas Dwine?" asked Jonathan.
264
Thomas moved nearer so that he could see the minister's

face clearly in the moonlight.
"I am called urgently to New Amsterdam. A man from one
of our ships reached me only a short time ago to tell me my
sister lies dangerously ill."

"And is that why you saddle your horse with a pillion?"
But he did not wait for Thomas to invent some excuse. "Tell
me who she is. Have no fear for I am on the same mission
myself. Who do you rescue from the jail?"
"Ann Grigg," said Thomas.
Jonathan rode close and held out his hand. "God bless you,
Thomas."
"Come then. We have little time left," said Thomas huskily,
pressing the offered hand. "I'll tell you what I've planned as
we go along."
They rode on together.

In the prison, the black walls of the cell oozed
dampness.
Moonlight dripped on Ann's upturned face from the narrow

barred window high in the wall. From out of the night came
the clear call of the nightwatch: "Four o'clock, hear, brethren,
hear. The hour of four is come. Keep pure each heart and
chasten every home."
The cry faded. Ann leaned weakly against the wall, the
chains on wrists and ankles clanking.
"O God, be near me in this hour," she prayed.
"He is with you, Mistress Grigg darling, and you one of
His own holy martyrs,"
said Goody Gower tenderly.

have
"How
I merited death? I am guiltless of wrong."
"And so were the others who went before you . . . and I
myself. Some of us live and others take on blessed martyr
dom."
"I did not want to be a martyr!" cried Ann in despair. "I
thought I would win the judges and the people by the truth!"
"It's little chance truth has in a world that's blackened
with hate and fear," said the old woman. "I'd put truth away
and save it until the good time comes again when we can live
our lives by it."
"Would that time ever come if we all concealed it?"
265
key grated in the lock. The heavy door swung open and
Jonathan stood on the threshold. He entered and set the
lighted lantern on the floor.
For a moment Ann stared at him, then with a choking cry,
stumbled toward him.
"Oh, Jonathan! God has not forsaken me!"
He caught her as the chains pulled, his arms closing around
her. "Ann!"
After a moment, she drew herself from his arms and looked
at him wonderingly. "What are you doing here?"
"I've come to set you free."
"Glory be to God!" cried Goody Gower thankfully.
Incredulously Ann's eyes roamed his face, seeking further
confirmation of his words. When she saw the old tender ex
pression, she gave a wild cry of joy.
"Jonathan! Oh, thank God! I knew you wouldn't let me
die!"
with relief as he unlocked the chains from her

wrists and stooped to unlock those on her ankles.
"Hurry, hurry, Jonathan. I can hardly wait to be free of
this place!"
"You have suffered here, my poor Ann."
"More than I can ever tell. It wasn't only the injustice the
wrong but I felt so alone, so deserted by everyone. I tried
to harden myself with bitter thoughts against you, but it
She sobbed
wasn't easy."
"I know I struck
sake
did
bring you
"I
have
He rose
Ann."
against you, Ann. But it was for your

it. I hoped to break you down to repentance and
back to God."
always been God's."
and took off his hat and cloak. "Here. Put these on,
Released from the chains, she stretched her arms exultantly.

"Oh, how good it feels to be free! Chains on the body seem
to weigh down one's very soul!"

He threw the cape over her shoulders. "Come, Ann. There's
no time to lose."
She put her arms around Goody Gower and kissed her.
"I'll send the money for your debt as soon as I'm home," she
266
promised.
She hastened to the door. "Ready?"
she said to
Jonathan.
"Put on that hat, Ann. You'll find the horse back of the
jail. Thomas Dwine is waiting there for you."
She looked at him bewildered. "You're not
coming with
me?"
"I'm staying here. Thomas will ride with you."
"Ride with me? Where?"
"Ann, go! There's no time to explain. Thomas will get you
to New Amsterdam."
"New Amsterdam?" she echoed, dazed.
"You'll
be safe there."
"Safe?" She stared at him. "You mean they haven't discov

ered I am innocent?"
"No. I've planned your escape. Go on now," he urged,
pushing her toward the door.
She pulled away from him. "But you believe I'm
innocent,
don't you? That's why you're letting me
go, isn't it?"
He shook his head.

"Then why?"
He caught her fiercely to his
Ann. I cannot let you die!"
breast.
"I
cannot let you die,
"Even believing me a witch? "

"I think of you as a woman.
I cannot cut you out of my

heart. I cannot let you go to your eternal
damnation." His
arms fell from her. "I've prayed for
strength to think of you
as evil. But when the verdict was
brought against you, all my
heart was flooded with memories
of your sweetness, your
...
gentleness . . ." His voice broke.

She understood then the bitter
struggle there had been be
tween his hate of the witch and his love of
the woman.
"Jonathan, my dear, how you must have suffered.
But now
now you are placing your soul in
jeopardy . . . believing me
a witch and yet
me
to
helping
escape."
"God may some day forgive me. And while you
live there
is always hope you will
repent."
Peace filled her at this
overwhelming proof of his love. She
slipped the cloak from her shoulders.
1
What
are
you doing?" he cried.

267
"I
am
not going."
"Ann!"
"How
can
go and leave you believing me guilty?"

"Then stay and confess," he pleaded. "Save yourself as
others have done."
"Confess? Wouldn't that confirm your delusion? No. It
isn't by confessing or escaping I can free you."
"Free me?" he cried.
"You are in a darker prison than I am, Jonathan."
"Why do you persist in calling delusion what all of us
know to be the truth?"
She laid her hand on his arm. "Jonathan. In these long terri
ble months here I have had much time to think about witch
craft. There are many strange and unaccountable things in
life, it is true. But one thing I know now. Men and women
are not witches. They may do good or they may do evil. But
whatever their actions, they are human beings only."
"It is useless to talk like this, Ann," he said harshly. "We
have their confessions."
"People will confess to anything through fear. Oh, Jona
than, we must break out of this nightmare of fear and hate. It
makes me sick at heart to see good men and women suddenly
turned into cruel bitter persecutors of their familiar neigh
bors. My own husband seeing me no longer as his loved wife
but as a hateful creature that seeks his destruction."
"Ann, Ann. I don't believe you sought my death!"
"Thank God for that!"

"And I know that you did not deliberately cause our child
to die. That it was only through weakness you succumbed to
Satan and gave him the child"
"Oh, Jonathan, that is not true, either. I shall deny it to
my death. You will believe me then."
The first pale glimmer of dawn showed through the
barred window.
"It is growing late," said Goody Gower anxiously. "Be tak
ing her away now, Mr. Grigg, before the town is astir and
the soldiers come for her."
"They will find m'e here," she said. "I am not going."
"For my sake," begged Jonathan.
268
for your sake I shall not go."

"Why? How for my sake?"
"If I escape you will send other people
"It
is
as
innocent
as
am
to their deaths."
"My conscience is clear between God and myself."
"Yet I must do what I can to save you from further guilt."
"And I must save you from damnation!" he cried.
He threw his cloak over her shoulders and picked her up.
"No, Jonathan, no," she cried, struggling.
But his arms were tight about her and he carried her out of
the cell and out through the prison door that Old Tom closed
behind them.
Back of the jail Jonathan set Ann up on his horse and
mounted behind her. Thomas Dwine sprang to the saddle and
the two horses sped down the cobbled street. On Thomas'
lips was a smile tender and amused. The brave and obstinate
minister's lady had apparently resisted to the end and had to
be carried off by force. He had been prepared to do that very
same thing himself.
On the outskirts of the town Jonathan drew rein and dis
mounted. He lifted Ann from the saddle.
"I'll give you over to the care of Thomas now," he said.
"He'll take you to his sister's in New Amsterdam where you
can stay until I send you money to take up your own resi
dence."
They stood looking at each other. Thomas moved away so
that they might be alone. Love and fear and desperate hope
perplexed their hearts.
."
"Oh, Ann, my dearest!"
"Jonathan
. .
Barriers crumbled as he took her in his arms and their lips

met in a long passionate kiss. Thirstily they drank love from
each other's lips, and fear died and hope remained.
"My beloved," whispered Jonathan. "Come back repentant
to me some day."
"Come back to me believing in me," she murmured.
The brightening light warned them that they must separate.
He led her to where Thomas waited and lifted her up on the
pillion.
269
"God bless you, Thomas," he said.

Their hands met in a warm firm clasp.
Jonathan stood watching them ride away until they were

hidden by the trees.
CHAPTER
XXXIX
Warm
and golden the sun shone on the green of the common

and the people gathered there. Still they lingered, wonderingly talking about the escape of Mistress Ann Grigg. There
stood the gallows, gaunt and cheated, its rope hanging hun
grily, and where its prey was no one could say. Satan had
managed to rescue her at the last, snatched her out from the
stone walls of her prison and hidden her secretly away. The
jailer swore that he locked her safely in her cell that night,
and Goody Gower said that when she came out of her sleep
Mistress Grigg was gone.
Now at last Jonathan realized that all the escapes attributed
to the Devil were the work of human hands. And what other
deceptions might not humans have practiced to disturb the
truth and bring confusion upon the minds of the judges and
the people? The line between the natural and the supernatural
was thin, and human ingenuity could indeed make one appear
as the other. With his own deceit in the secret rescue of Ann
the first seeds of doubt were sprouting,
changing the whole
picture of witchcraft.
Was it God's good hand or the treacherous claw of Satan
that had pushed him into that rescue of Ann? Was his soul
imperiled by the conscious freeing of a witch, or glorified by
unknowingly saving an innocent woman? Doubt and hope
270
alternated in his mind; he swung from bleak despair to radiant

confidence.
During the following days, he studied carefully the court
record of Ann's trial. Now he found it filled with her firm
and gentle spirit, with a natural human dignity that gave no
indication of any treachery. Her self -wounding now seemed
the desperate act of a sore beset woman rather than any trick
of
ery or deception of a witch. Yet still there was evidence
diabolical dealings, and incriminating conspiracy with Goody
thought.
was
it
bright warm morning when he set out to see Goody

Gower. He had secretly sent her the money to pay her debt
to the marshal, and now she was again in her own home, con
It
it,
tent with the sewing work he had persuaded her neighbors to

give her.
He found her seated in her rocking chair in the doorway,
pair of linen pockets with pink flowers. She
embroidering
returned his greeting warmly, for ever since they had helped
each other, each felt an affection for the other.
He drew up chair beside her. "I want you to tell me some
thing, Goody Gower," he began as preamble to lead to the
true confession
question uppermost in his mind. "That was
witch? You can tell me the
of being
you made, wasn't
truth now, and have no fear of the consequences."
Goody Gower looked at him kindly, and trusting him now
too much to be cautious, answered, "It was not."
He stared at her in consternation, utterly unprepared for
this. "But how can you deny it? You told the court the very
incantations you used over your poppets! Everything that
a
took place at your meetings! How could you know these

you were not witch?"
things
if
if
it,
Gower.
Again and again he read the record of Goody Gower's trial,
but could find no evidence here of a false confession through
fear which Ann had believed it was. Upon this solid basis of
fact, Jonathan determined further investigation. He would
find out from the old woman if Ann was indeed one of her
that would put an end to
former company. If she admitted
. . . Hope flamed anew at the
she denied
his doubts. And
271
way as everybody else knows them, Mr. Grigg.

It was through my human ears I heard all about them and me
listening to you telling them at your lectures, and Dorcas
Hubbard reading them out of the learned books in your li
brary."
"You mean you only repeated what you heard? You had
no firsthand knowledge of it?"
"Not a bit of knowledge in the world. And the two poppets
the mighty marshal went snooping after in my house were not
poppets of Dorcas and Increase Hubbard at all. They were
but images I made of my own two children to be a comfort
to me after death took them away."
Her words fell like blows upon his brain. His newly aroused
doubts left him strengthless to ward them off. "God knows
whether I should believe you or not!" he cried in torment.
"Yet I cannot think you would lie to me now."
"It is no lying tongue I ever had in my mouth until the
time it was needed to save the life that's in me."
She watched in compassion as he sprang to his feet and
paced distractedly back and forth in the little room.
"Was it only to ask me that that you came, Mr. Grigg?"
"I had not intended to ask you that at all. There was an
other question in my mind, but it is useless now."
"The
same
"What was it?"
"I
she asked gently.
wanted to know if Mistress Grigg was one of your

witches' company."
"Then I can tell you that better by being an honest woman
than a witch!" cried Goody Gower. "Mistress Grigg is a holy
martyr in exile. And if it was any more proof that was needed
of the false lying slander that's cried out against good folks
today, it's in the abuse heaped upon that angel woman!"
He stopped abruptly before her. "What of those spices you
brought for the caudle cup she made for Dorcas?"
"They were the same as I've brought many a time to your
house and you eating them yourself and enjoying them."
His strong hands clenched spasmodically with the inward
struggle; the scar on his temple pulsed painfully. "Could it
all have been so innocent?" he muttered. "So seemingly guilty
and yet innocent?"
272
and it was, Mr. Grigg. I lied to save myself, but

it wasn't Mistress Grigg would stoop to such a thing. Yet
there's others as well as myself, I'll warrant, that pushed
death's hand from their throats by saying what you wanted
us to say."
"It isn't possible
I don't believe it . . ."
"You'll believe it yet. And that will be a sorry day for you."
More tortured than ever by uncertainty, Jonathan left the
old woman. He spent days and nights investigating the witch
trials. As he went through the records, many confessions read
alike and there was nothing in them to indicate they were not
true. Yet Goody Gower's confession had read as truthfully as
any of them and it was false. Then one day he came upon a
recantation signed by several accused persons, confirming at
last Gower's warning of other false admissions.
"When it was said that we were guilty of afflicting these
sick persons," he read, "and we were seized and carried off to
jail, we were all amazed and affrighted even out of our reason,
and our dearest relatives apprehending our great danger, per
suaded us to confess what we did confess to save our fives. . . .
Some time after, when we were better composed, we did pro
fess that we were innocent and ignorant of such things as we
were accused of. . . ."
As the days passed, Jonathan found that he was not alone
in his perplexity about witchcraft. There was a growing un
willingness on the part of the magistrates to accept spectral
evidence at all. In Salem, Mr. Dudley Bradstreet, son of the
old governor, and justice of the peace, was so remiss in prose
cuting that the bewitched there finally declared him a con
federate of the witches, and he was forced to flee.
But soon after this the temper of the people began to
"It could
...
change also, their fiery zeal abating to cooler inquiry. Al

though a grand jury found bills against fifty persons for
witchcraft, two of them men and the others women, upon
trial the jury acquitted all but three of the worst characters.
Even these three the Governor reprieved for the King's
mercy. It was said that this new leniency on Sir William's part
was due to the fact that his own wife had been accused.
Jonathan wished that he could travel to Salem to investigate
273
but he would not leave Boston until Thomas

Dwine returned and brought him news of Ann. Thomas's ab
sence had aroused no comment, for he was known to take
occasional business trips to New Amsterdam and to visit there
with his sister.
At last, after nearly two month's impatient waiting, Jona
than found Thomas one day awaiting him in his study. He
reported that Ann was safe with his sister, and that he had
brought a letter from her. Thomas offered to convey letters
between them, hinting mysteriously of a new interest that
would take him to New Amsterdam more frequently than
these records,
before.
Upon reading Ann's letter, the secret of Thomas's "new

interest" was explained. In a postscript, Ann said that she had
274
it
visiting at his sister's.

Ann's letter was filled with such tenderness that Jonathan
could feel her warm and thrilling presence in the room. Seeing
her love expressed in her delicate scrawling writing, he felt it
fresh and new as though it were her first declaration to him.
She said that she was convinced that he would soon discover
for himself that she was not a witch, and that she was living
in hopes of him sending for her. She reminded him to free
Goody Gower from the jail, and begged his kindness toward
the old woman.
When he answered her, Jonathan made no mention of
witchcraft, nor wrote any word of the doubts tormenting
him. He found that he was now thinking more of means of
clearing Ann than he was of forcing an admission from her
and beseeching her repentance. He recalled how both she and
Goody Gower had denied Dorcas' bewitchment, and in his
lonely vigils in his study he went over and over again all he
remembered of Dorcas' actions. No they were diabolical
actions strange and unnatural. There could be no question of
that terrible bewitchment. Yet, driven by gnawing doubts that
with the great Sir
gave him no peace, he tested
compared
Matthew Hale's account of the trial of the witches of Suffolk.
it,
written this letter long before, thinking that Thomas was re

turning immediately to Boston. But he had delayed his return
because he had become enamored of a Miss Theodosia Dale
It
was as he had thought. There was great similarity between

the behavior of the Hubbard children and of those persons
bewitched in England. If one was true, then the other must
be true also.
One night a feverish and" terrible dream disturbed his sleep.
He dreamt that it was Dorcas who was the witch, riding a
blood-red horse to the Witches' Sabbath, dancing a sensuous
and evil dance with Satan himself, and Satan took on the
features of Thomas Dwine, and then turned into a monstrous
hog and Dorcas mounted the hog and her misty black hair fell
over the hog's snout as she lowered her face and pressed her
cheek against it and he tried to pull her from it and she whis
pered his name in her velvet voice and threw her arms around
his neck and streams of blood flowed from her red mouth that
became streams of blood flowing from the body of Ann writh
ing on the ground and shrieking so horribly that it woke him
up hearing his own screams of horror filling the room.
All during the day he was haunted by the dream, seeing
those scenes again and hearing those terrible cries. It was late
afternoon when he was walking homeward, living the dream
again, that he heard a voice calling him. He paid no heed,
hearing the velvet voice of Dorcas as in the dream. Then the
call came louder, and looking back he saw Dorcas running
after him.
"I called and called but you did not answer," she cried
breathlessly as she came up to him.
The words struck some memory in his mind. She had said
them once before and they had been meaningful. Why had
they been important then? Why were they important now?
"Dorcas," he said, groping for that tentative memory.
"Haven't you done this before? Called me and I have not
heard you?"
She looked at him wonderingly. "I don't think so, Mr.
Grigg. I've called after you before, I imagine, but . . ."
"I remember! " he cried. "I remember it now! "
"What?" she asked quickly, frightened at his tone.
"Long ago, Dorcas, you accused me of putting a spell on
you
."
"No, no. I never did!"

275
"Yes, you did. But you retracted your accusation, and you
said, 'I called and called but you did not answer. It was not
you following me, hurting me . . .' Don't you remember?"
"No
I don't . . ." Her eyes were apprehensive on his
face. She did not see the figure approaching along the road.
"If your father had not sent for me," said Jonathan, "if we
had not forced you to admit your lie . . . you might have per
sisted in your false accusation that I practiced withcraft on
you."
"That had naught to do with witchcraft, Mr. Grigg," she
...
said.
The figure was beside them now. It was the deacon.

"What had naught to do with witchcraft?" he asked.
"Do you remember the time you sent for me because
Dorcas had accused me of putting a spell on her?" said Jona

than.
Deacon Hubbard thought for a moment. As the memory
rose clear in his mind he turned slowly and looked at his
daughter. Then he looked back at Jonathan and nodded.
"God in heaven! How could I have forgotten it until this
moment?" cried Jonathan. "Don't you see what it means,
John? If Dorcas accused me falsely she could also accuse
others falsely."
"No, no!" she cried fearfully. "The Devil deluded me into
accusing you."
"And did he delude you into accusing Goody Gower
and
. .
my wife?"
She hesitated.
"Tell me the truth," said Jonathan, grasping her arm
roughly. "Or dread God's wrath that will hurl you to gaping
hell!"
She trembled under the threat.
"Well? Speak!"
"Maybe . . . maybe Satan did . . . delude me," she faltered.
Jonathan's face went white.
"Deluded you into falsely accusing Mistress Grigg and
"
Goody Gower? asked her father in a strange voice.
As he looked long at her his fiercely questioning gaze be
came almost pleading. When she did not answer, his stern eyes
276
lost their sharpness and filled with a soft helpless look of

suffering.
Dorcas had never seen such a look on her father's face. She
could not bear it. She burst into tears and sobbed desperately,
"I didn't mean any harm, Father! Oh, I didn't! I didn't! I
wouldn't have let them die really I wouldn't!"
"So it was in your power to let them die or live," said her
father heavily. "You were not under the dominance of Satan."
"I wouldn't have let them die," sobbed Dorcas.
Jonathan looked at her with loathing.
John Hubbard's voice was cold and dead when he spoke
again. "My curse and God's on you, Dorcas Hubbard, who
imperiled innocent blood."
Dorcas stood as though turned to stone at her father's curse.
"
'And behold if the witness be a false witness and hath
"
"
testified falsely,'
went on the deacon,
'thou shalt do unto
"
him as he had thought to have done unto another . . .'
At the dread words of Scripture that were the law of the
land, Dorcas turned with a wild cry of terror and fled toward
the woods. Neither Jonathan nor her father pursued her.
When Jonathan looked at his deacon's face he forgot his
own distress in pity. "I will pray for the Lord's mercy on
her, John," he said.
Mr. Hubbard shook his head numbly. They walked on to
gether until they reached the Hubbard home, and Jonathan
waited until the deacon had entered and closed the door be
hind him. Then he turned and went down to Town House
to report Dorcas' confession.
While the authorities were still in excited discussion of
Dorcas Hubbard's crime, the deacon entered with Increase.
The boy's eyes were red and swollen with weeping. He con
fessed that although he had been truly bewitched and had no
control over his actions, yet he had never clearly seen the
witches afflicting him but had accepted his sister's word that
they were Mistress Grigg and Goody Gower.
The marshal was ordered to accompany Deacon Hubbard
to his house to await there the return of Dorcas to take her
into custody.
But Dorcas did not return.
277
As evening fell, searching
parties were formed to seek her. Jonathan, John Hubbard,

the marshal, and Dr. Bibber headed four parties of men and
boys. Late into the night they sought her, firing off their guns
so that she might come in their direction if she were lost.
Again the next morning, and all through another day and
night they tried to find her. But all search was in vain.
As days went by and there was no sign of her, they gave
up the hunt. Whether she was captured by wandering Indians,
or killed by wild beasts, or lost herself and died from hunger
and exposure, no one in Boston ever learned.
The revelation of Dorcas Hubbard's imposture
gave impe
of the people against the witch trials.

Their anger turned upon the magistrates and ministers who
tus to the rising revulsion
had so misled them.

Although no tongue spoke against him, Jonathan saw the
reproach and bitterness in many eyes. He had failed in his
responsibility toward his flock. He had led them with disas
trous leadership into a sea of blood. He shuddered when he
thought how close Ann had come to being engulfed. But his
part in her saving brought no peace to his anguished soul. He
knew he had saved her through weakness not strength. And
although she was safe, how many others had been wrongly
accused as she was? How many had suffered the pain and
humiliation of false confession? How many innocent lives had
been taken?
Tortured by remorse, he spent his days in prayer and fast
ing. Nightly he held vigil in his study. His grief and shame
were like aching wounds. His soul was weighted with guilt.
What could he do to atone for what he had done? He, the
deceived, was the deceiver of the people. His words had
driven them into a frenzy of fear and hate so that they had
turned against one another like maddened beasts. Who could
judge truly when the heart was filled with fear? Were any
judged justly?
All the pride of belief in himself crumbled. He felt his soul
naked helpless and afraid. Yet when he walked abroad, he
walked erect, his face set sternly, and none knew that he
278
ifl,
dared not look in men's eyes in dread of what he would find

there.
At last all shreds of vanity fell from him, and in true hum
bleness he turned to ask forgiveness, not only of God, but of
men.
On a Sabbath morning after he had finished his sermon, he
remained standing in the pulpit with bowed head.
His congregation began whispering, wondering if he were
he was so pale and trembling.
At last he raised his head and spoke. "I, Jonathan Grigg, un
worthy servant of God, now ask pardon of God and men for
the part
have taken in the persecution of fellow human
creatures whom we so wrongly accused of being witches.
"I was but an evil instrument for the use of Satan in the
was deceived into be
great delusion he practiced upon us.
lieving innocent persons guilty of crime which led to their
lives being taken from them.
saw them die on the scaffold,
and did not see that Truth was martyred with them.
"O God, pity and forgive me!" he cried, raising clasped
was the blind leading the blind.
hands toward heaven. "For
above all was guilty.
implore the forgiveness of all men.
And do Thou, O God, in Thy infinite mercy, visit this sin
only upon me and not upon my people."
moan of compassion swept through the meeting house.
The sight of the proud spirit of their minister broken in re
pentance before them washed all bitterness from the hearts of
his people. Many sobbed aloud in pity, and all felt purified
and humbled by this their pastor's public atonement.
The following day Jonathan Grigg set out for New Am
humble and contrite heart he went to seek
sterdam. With
one more forgiveness.
suddenly
279
OCT 1 1 1949
This book may be kept
14 Days
only
It Cannot Be Renewed
Because of special demand
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY

BERKELEY
Return to desk from which borrowed.
This book
is
DUE on
AljG4
3N0V49CB
HNov'4sBP
14Nov'Ae*
\\)ec
49^'
13Dpc'/
HQP.S
23Defc'49C
UBRWW
USE
*** "*
l5Aug'55VL
LD
the last date stamped below.
21-100m-9,'48(B399sl6)476
1955
LV
vc

The Evening Wolves

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The Evening Wolves

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The evening wolves, a novel.

McCall, Marie, 1909New York, J. Day Co. [1949]

Public Domain, Google-digitized

THE EVENING WOLVES

THE JOHN DAY COMPANY

COPYRIGHT, 1949, BY THE JOHN DAY COMPANY

rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, must

is published by the John Day Company,

MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES

When we are in the evening of the world

the evening wolves

prowl in all its multitudinous forms. . . ."

THE EVENING WOLVES

youngest minister of Boston

tion appeared the yet unknown but terrible beauty of a

Overwhelmed with shame at the carnal vision, he sank to

chasten this base nature. Let

from the pit of lustful thoughts."

year, the son and grandson of clergymen. On the surface his

He leaned back in his chair, feeling a glowing satisfaction

sat there, erect

and broad shouldered, a welcoming affectionate smile on his

to know that her orphaned daughter would dwell safely in

flowered calico gown.

"Oh, Mr. Grigg,"

French pirate ship was

impulsively on his arm. "It's

he stood up, she laid a hand

there in your hands."

"Oh, but Mr. Grigg ... the little bow . . ."

thing to the floor.

The Widow Oakes stared

in amazement, then burst

hand smoothing the white bands at his throat nervously. Un

"She is only a servant!" Her voice rose shrill, eager, lost

"Need they talk about me on the common?" he asked

Oakes, that He honors you with visions and warnings

bonnet and fled without another word.

Many times during the following

days Jonathan Grigg

"No, Mr. Grigg," replied Abigail, blushing

difficult task of discovering

Indians or for their "Apostle," John Eliot.

should not the Indians mingle in love

hate and fear.

Waeenomok Maniz zvame

this white maiden who struggled so valiantly to

I'm not hurt at all," she said, giving

He nodded, and his black

with the light of his

house below and said, "Go

trumpet before thee."

poor in spirit for theirs is the king

be filled. Blessed are the

night Mr. Howard begged for a demijohn of

soon again, Mistress Ann?"

have broken if you hadn't."

Mr. Cutter watched the minister place the bottle on the

pretext that brought me to Mr. Robinson's this day. I had no

on me with your weaving hands?

He caught her and pressed her close to him. His mouth

help loving you, Jonathan," she whispered

looked before her she saw neither the vil

strengthened, and the world becomes a better place because