Mistress Bonyton sat with her daughters, busy with knitting-work and sewing, when Dame Higgins entered, with work in hand, to pass an hour in neighborly chat. Hardly were they seated, when in the distance were seen John Bonyton and Hope Vines casting their hooks into the sea, fishing; for from the point of rocks on which they stood, many a fine bass had been brought ashore.
Dame Higgins eyed Mistress Bonyton sharply; she was making a net, and as she drew the mesh home, the strongtwine snapped with a keen, biting sound, which seemed not unpleasant to the notable dame. Every time she knotted the mesh, she lifted her eyes and scrutinized the face of the hostess, as she drew the twine home.
“I think our brother John is certainly bewitched,” said Perseverance Bonyton, to her sister, at the same time biting off the thread of the seam she had just completed.
Nancy, who had been addressed, was darning a pair of stockings, with a small yellow gourd inside to hold the parts in shape. She threaded the darning-needle, arranged the gourd, and commenced working before she spoke, and then her laconic answer was no more than:
“I shouldn’t wonder!”
“My conscience, Nance, is that all you’ve got to say, after waiting so long to get it out?”
Nancy compressed her lips like one determined not to be provoked into speech, holding the stocking close to her breast, and passing the needle over and under the threads, weaving in a perfect piece of cloth. At last the rent was closed, and she held it up in triumph, saying:
“Back and forth, over and under; not a thread lost. When a work is to be done, Perseverance, I can wait.”
“And while we wait, John is every day more and more deluded.”
“Did you ever notice that little spot, like a drop of blood, on the shoulder of Hope Vines?”
“It is plain enough to be seen,” returned Perseverance, running up a long needleful of stitches upon a new seam.
“Did you ever see any natural-born, true human creature, with such fiery dark eyes, and black brows, and a head of white hair to make you think of the pale horse of the Revelations?” continued Nancy, remorselessly pricking in and out, over and under, her little web, and at each time wounding the yellow gourd.
“I never did, and I never want to see such another.”
“Did you ever see a face that is as white as if every stain had been bleached out in the frost and snow—out all day, rain or shine, hot or cold, yet never browned, never burnt, while the two lips are like two red cherries?”
“You know, now, Nance, she is as handsome as anypicture; there’s no getting overthat, so don’t spin out what you are going to say, but out with it.”
“Well, then, if I must say it, here ’tis. I believe Hope Vines is a born devil—an incarnate imp, and that the soul of John is in jeopardy.”
Mistress Bonyton had not removed her eyes from the pair fishing upon the rocks, and Dame Higgins had continued to knot mesh after mesh, twanging the knots, each one with a sharp bite, like a hiss, while the two girls pursued the above conversation in a low but querulous tone of voice.
“If that was a boy of mine, exposed to the snares of—of—a girl like that, Mistress Bonyton, I should go and call him in—a wise woman looketh well to the ways of her household.”
For the first time Mistress Bonyton withdrew her eyes, and mechanically pursued her knitting, and she answered, with a somewhat sorrowful smile:
“If you had my son John to deal with, you would most likely have a good time calling.”
“He is of no earthly use in the world, while that girl is about. I shall be glad when the vessel is ready to go.” This from Perseverance.
“If I had my way, he shouldn’t go at all, to fight agin’ the parliament,” was Nancy’s response.
“Never you mind, gals; there is more than one way to kill a cat.”
And, as Mistress Bonyton said this, the click of her knitting-needles was like so many sharp stabs.
“Oh, yes, mother, but they are long a-dying,” said Perseverance, tying a double knot in her thread, and digging her needle into her work.
Dame Higgins had been steadily tying the mesh after mesh of her net, drawing out the thread with a twang, and she now laid her hands in her lap, and looking Mistress Bonyton straight in the eye, said slowly:
“There will be no good come to this land, this church planted in the wilderness, till the heathen are rooted out; root and branch must be destroyed, and all that deal with, ‘wizards that peep’—eh—and enchanters—eh—and witches—ah—and dealers in familiar spirits—eh—shall be cut off and wholly destroyed—eh—ye shall show them no mercy—eh.”
This was said with a rising inflection of voice, and an indescribable sing-song drawl, which is ludicrous or impressive according as the sympathies of the hearer are for or against the speaker.
“That is what I call a good word and fitly spoken,” cried Perseverance, throwing her work into the basket, and hugging herself fiercely with her two arms.
“That is coming to the point. Either there are witches or there are not. If there are no witches, then the Bible lies.”
Perseverance contracted her brows, compressed her lips, and looked around like one who has started aclincher. Mistress Bonyton moved her knitting-needles with calmness and precision, and answered, slowly:
“My mind has been long greatly exercised on this point. I have seen much and held my peace, till my soul crieth out within me, and I will no longer be silent. I shall do my utmost to bring this question before the council. If my husband speaks, well and good; if he forbears, the guilt be upon his own head. I shall clear my skirts by calling upon the Lord’s people to purge the land.”
“I was saying very nearly the same words to my son, Ephraim, last night,” resumed Dame Higgins. “Ephraim is a devout youth, and a godly. I wish your son John, Mistress Bonyton, were more disposed to walk in the path he has chosen,” and the dame drew the mesh-knot with a long, slow bite.
Mistress Bonyton straightened herself a trifle; her maternal instinct had been touched, and she replied, a little tartly:
“It would need be a smart youth for my son to follow him. John has a way of his own; but I like not a tame youth, which is most likely to be succeeded by a cowardly old age.”
“True, true, Mistress Bonyton,” for now Dame Higgins winced from the same cause. “I speak not in reprehension of your son John, but as in praise of my son Ephraim. He is not carnally disposed, and yet, Nancy, his eyes will turn too often of a Sabbath in your direction, and I have taken him to task therefor.”
At this Perseverance gave Nancy a sly touch with the foot and the latter colored a little, just a small, decorous blush,suitable to a staid spinster, for Ephraim was not likely to create any very fiery emotion.
“We are straying from the question in hand, gossip,” said the hostess. “I learn, by the last arrivals from home, that the people are not only at their wits’ end in the face of these civil commotions, but that in sundry places have broken out divers cases of witchcraft and possession, whereby the peace and safety of many devout persons has been greatly jeopardized!”
“Yea, yea, I have read thereof; it were a goodly thing if this young church in the wilderness, as yet little disturbed by heresies, should give the older one a lesson. What think you, mistress?”
Mistress Bonyton did not reply directly to the question, but laying her work in her lap, replied, slowly:
“At one time it was thought that your son Ephraim was falling into the snares of this—this—”
“Witch devil.” Perseverance came thus to her mother’s aid.
“Yea, it is most true. Ephraim sat day after day, like a—eh—like a sparrow upon the house-top—eh—lamenting.”
Perseverance eyed Nancy with a malignant smile, whereat the latter, nothing daunted, replied:
“Many a godly youth has been led astray, but when he returns, and saith ‘I have sinned,’ it shall not be accounted to him.”
“Thou art of a goodly speech, Nancy, and I thank thee,” returned Dame Higgins.
“There, did you see that?” cried Perseverance, with a sudden start. “Upon my life, Hope Vines jumped off that cliff, the whole hight, and then walked home as if nothing had happened. No goat can do such a thing without help of some kind. I could swear I saw a shape holding her up—there—I am sure I did, and it ran toward the woods in the shape of a black cat.”
All eyes were turned in the direction indicated, where most certainly was to be seen a harmless cat, making her way stealthily, in pursuit of birds—a black, crafty, cruel beast when intent on such game.
John Bonyton now entered with a fine bass, which he laidupon the shelf. He bowed slightly to Dame Higgins, but, observing her work, expressed interest in its progress. It was wonderful how whist the four women became upon his entrance, which observing, he passed out again, saying, with a grave smile, which well became his handsome face:
“I am sure I nipped some woman’s story in the bud by coming in, so I will even go, that ye may finish it,” and he went out again, whereat Dame Higgins exclaimed:
“Ye surely put all your beauty into that boy, mistress, and saved little for your girls.”
Both the girls pouted somewhat at this, but Perseverance hummed:
“What care I how black I be!Forty pounds will marry me!”
“What care I how black I be!Forty pounds will marry me!”
“What care I how black I be!Forty pounds will marry me!”
“What care I how black I be!
Forty pounds will marry me!”
And Dame Higgins soon after took her leave, followed to the door by Mistress Bonyton, who implored her to give no currency to their recent conversation.
“The time is not yet ripe,” she continued. “The Governor is powerful, and Mistress Vines well esteemed. We must proceed with caution. John is not to be trifled with, as ye may judge, and his father is strong and willful. We must proceed only upon sure grounds.”
Dame Higgins promised discretion, but she had several visits to pay that day.