Left alone, Abigail tied on an apron and went briskly to work at the task the dame had given her. She cut the best part of the pumpkin into dice an inch square, in order to make a side dish to accompany meat. When well made it was almost as good as apple sauce. Having cut the pumpkin up, she put it into a pot, and poured over it a cup of cider-vinegar. Then she swung the pot on the lugpole and stirred the fire. She sighed with relief when the task was finished. At last she was free to attend to Deliverance’s errand. Was ever anything so fortunate as the goodwife’s mission to the village? She opened the still-room door and stepped inside. The window-shutters were closed. All was cool, dark, and filled with sweet scents. At first she could see nothing, being dazzled by the light from which she had just come. Something brushed against her ankles, frightening her. But when she heard a soft purring, she was greatly relieved that it was Deliverance’s kitten. With great curiosity she looked around the room, which she had never before entered. Under the window a long board served as a work-table. It held a variety of bowls, measuring spoons, and bottles. In the centre was a very large bowl, covered by a plate. She lifted the cover and peered in, but instantly clapped the plate on again. A nauseating odour had arisen from the black liquid it contained. Hastily Abigail closed the door that the terrible fumes might not escape into the kitchen. She now perceived close by the bowl a parchment, which was written upon with black ink and stamped with a scarlet seal. With fingers that trembled at their daring, she put the parchment in her pocket. As she turned to go she screamed, unmindful in her fright that she might be heard. For, from a dark corner, there jumped at her a witch in the form of a toad. Now it is all very well for a little maid to stand still and scream when assailed by a witch, but when a second and a third, a fourth, a fifth, and even a sixth witch appear, hopping like toads, it behooves that little maid to stop screaming and turn her attention to the best plan of removing herself from their vicinity. So Abigail frantically stepped upon a stool and thence to the table. Then she looked down. She saw the six witches squatted in a row on the floor, all looking up at her, blinking their bright eyes. They had such a knowing and mischievous air that she felt a yet greater distance from them would be more acceptable. With an ease born of long experience in climbing trees, she swung herself to the rafter above the table. Her feet, hanging over, were half concealed by the bunches of dried herbs tied to the beams. She had no sooner seated herself as comfortably as possible, when she heard footsteps and the tap of a walking-stick in the kitchen. Another moment and the door opened, and Sir Jonathan Jamieson put his head inside.