“Mine enemies daily enterprise to swallow me outright; To fight against me many rise, O, Thou most high of might.” And this first verse he sang unwaveringly through alone. With the commencement of the next verse, some few brave, but quavering voices joined him. “What things I either did or spake they wrest them at their wil, And al the councel that they take is how to work me il.” But before the third verse ended, all were singing, judges and soldiers, and the sweet voices of the women and the shrill notes of the little children. “They al consent themselves to hide close watch for me to lay: They spie my paths and snares have layd to take my life away.” From this time on the storm abated its violence. When at last the benediction was pronounced, the soldiers and men, in constant dread of attacks by Indians, left the meeting-house before the women and children, thus making sure the safe exit of the latter. The people, crowding out, beheld the setting sun shining brightly. The odour of the rain and the fresh earth greeted them. All the trees in the leafy greenness of June quivered with fresh life. The hail lay white upon the ground as petals new-fallen from cherry trees in bloom. All nature was refreshed. Only the mighty oak that had stood near the entrance was split in twain. And the people,—the goodmen with heads uncovered,—in the mellow light of the departing day, rendered thanks unto God that they had been delivered. Chapter V The Coming of the Town Beadle The next morning, Goodwife Higgins and Deliverance heard steps coming around the side of the house. “Who can it be at this hour o’ the dawning?” asked the goodwife. “It be but the half-hour past six o’ the minute-glass.” “Ye don’t hear the tapping o’ a stick like as it might be Sir Jonathan, goody,” asked Deliverance, listening fearfully. “I like not his ruddy beard and his sharp, greeny-gray eyes.” But as she spoke, the form of the Town Beadle with his Bible and staff of office darkened the doorway. “Has our cow Clover gotten loose again?” cried Deliverance, remembering the meadow-bars were broken. One of the chief duties connected with the office of Beadle was to arrest stray cows and impose a fine on their owners. Goodwife Higgins said never a word, only watched the Beadle, her face grown white. “As much as three weeks ago and over,” continued Deliverance, deftly drying a pewter platter, “as I was cutting across the meadow to Abigail Brewster’s back door, I saw those broken bars. ‘Hiram’, says I to the bound boy, ‘ye had best mend those bars, or Clover and her calf will get loose and ye get your ears boxed for being a silly loon, and ye ken ye be that, Hiram.’ ‘I ken,’ says he. Hold your dish-cloth over the pan, goody,” she added, “it be dripping on the floor.”