“Deliverance, ye naughty baggage,” cried the goodwife, sharply, “where have ye been and what for have ye on your gown o’ tiffany?” The words were stern, but her heart was beating like to break and throbbed in unison with Sir Jonathan’s warning the previous night. “Gossips, take care lest you harbour a witch in yonder girl.” She hurried to the kitchen door to meet Deliverance. As the little maid shamefacedly crossed the threshold she raised her hand to strike her, but dropped it to her side and shook her head, for in her heart she said sadly, “And gin ye be a witch, child, sore will be your punishment and my hand shall add no blow.” For she was minded of her own little girl who had died of the smallpox so many years ago. She prepared the breakfast with more bustle and noise than usual, as was her wont when disturbed. Deliverance, greatly mortified at having been detected and wondering why she was not questioned, went to her room and put on her linsey-woolsey petticoat and sacque. When she came out to lay the table, to her surprise, Goodwife Higgins spoke her gently. “Go, child, and call your father, for the Indian bread be right crusty and brown and the bacon crisp.” Deliverance opened the still-room door. Master Wentworth, attired in his morning-gown, was preparing his work for the day. He was celebrated in Boston Town for his beauty and honey waters as well as for his diet-drinks. Recently, he had had a large order from the Governor’s lady—who had many vanities and was very fine indeed—for balls of sweet gums and oils, which, wrapped in geranium leaves, were to be burned on coals to perfume the room. This morning no accustomed sweet odour greeted Deliverance. Pungent, disagreeable fumes rose from the bowl over which her father bent. So absorbed was he in this experiment that he did not answer until she had called him several times. Then he greeted her kindly and the two walked out to breakfast. Goodwife Higgins watched Deliverance narrowly while grace was said and her heart grew lighter to behold the little maid listen devoutly, her head humbly bowed, as she said “amen” with fervour. Nevertheless, Sir Jonathan’s words rang in the dame’s ears all day: “Gossips, take care lest you harbour a witch in yonder girl.” Even the cream was bewitched. The butter would not come until she had heated a horseshoe red-hot and hung it over the churn. Also, three times a mouse ran across the floor. Deliverance hurried through her morning chores, anxious to reach the town’s highway before school called, that she might see the judges go riding by to court, then being held in Salem. A celebrated trial of witches was going on. In the front yard she found Goodwife Higgins weeding the flower-bed. “Be a good child, Deliverance,” said the dame, looking up with troubled face, for she was much perplexed over the unseemly conduct of the little maid. “Might ye be pleased to kiss me before I go?” asked Deliverance, putting up her cheek.