But strange rumours were afloat regarding Deliverance Wentworth. Sir Jonathan’s words were on every gossip’s tongue: “Gossips, take care lest you harbour a witch in yonder girl.” Naturally, at the convulsed child’s words, which seemed a confirmation of that warning, the good people drew away, shuddering, each man pressing against his neighbour, until they formed a circle a good distance back from the little assistant teacher of the Dame School. Thus Deliverance stood at noonday, publicly disgraced, sobbing, with her hands over her face in the middle of the roadway; an object of hatred and abhorrence, with the screaming children clutching at her dress, or crawling at her feet. But suddenly her father, who, returning from his herb-gathering, had pushed his way to the edge of the crowd and perceived Deliverance, stepped out and took his daughter by the hand. He spoke sternly to those who blocked the way, so that the people parted to let them pass. Master Wentworth was a man of dignity and high repute in those parts. As the two walked home hand in hand, Deliverance, with many tears, related the morning’s events; how in some anger she had rapped Ebenezer Gibbs’ head with her thimble, and how he had cried thereat. “I am ashamed of you, Deliverance,” said her father. “Have you no heart of grace that you must needs be filled with evil and violence because of the naughtiness of a little child? Moreover, if you had been discreet all this mortification had not befallen you. How many times have you been telled, daughter, not to idle on the way, ogling, gossiping, and craning your neck about for curiosity? And now we will say nothing more about it,” he ended. “Only do you remember, Deliverance, that when people are given over to foolishness, and there is a witch panic, it behooves the wise to be very prudent, and to walk soberly, with shut mouth and downcast eyes, so that no man may point his finger and accuse them. Methinks Goodwife Gibbs’ boy is coming down with a fever sickness. Remind me that I brew a strengthening draught for him to-night.” Chapter IV In which Demons assault the Meeting-house The Sabbath day dawned clear with a breeze blowing soft, yet cool and invigorating, from off the sea. But the brightness of the day could not lighten the hearts of the villagers, depressed by the terrible witch-trials. Master Wentworth, however, maintained a certain peace in his home, which, lying on the outskirts of the town, was just beyond the circle of village gossip. Moreover, he sternly checked any tendency in Goodwife Higgins or Deliverance to comment on the panic that was abroad. So of all the homes in Salem his little household knew the deepest peace on the morn of that memorable Sabbath. “Goodwife,” he said, passing his cup for a third serving of tea, “your Sabbath face is full as bonny a thing to look at and warms the heart, as much as your tea and muffins console an empty stomach.”