The Mary E. Wilkins Freeman Megapack. Mary E. Wilkins Freeman

a white cap and a white neckcloth on her? It was a dreadful tale.”

      “It was naught to the sight of Mercy Lewis and Sergeant Thomas Putnam’s daughter Ann, when they were set upon and nigh choked to death by Goody Proctor. Know you that within a half-mile we must pass the Proctor house?”

      Ann gave a shuddering sigh. “I would I were home again,” she moaned. “They said ’twas full of evil things, and that the black man himself kept tavern there since Goodman Proctor and his wife were in jail. Did you mind what Goodwife Putnam said of the black head, like a hog’s, that Goodman Perley saw at the keeping-room window as he passed, and the rumbling noises, and the yellow birds that flow around the chimney and twittered in a psalm tune? Oh, Joseph, there is a yellow bird now in the birch-tree-see! see!”

      They had come into a little space where the woods were thinner. Joseph urged his horse forward.

      “We will not slack our pace for any black beasts nor any yellow birds,” he cried, in a valiant voice.

      There was a passing gleam of little yellow wings above the birch-tree.

      “He has flown away,” said Ann. “’Tis best to front them as you do, goodman, but I have not the courage. That looked like a common yellowbird; his wings shone like gold. Think you it has gone forward to the Proctor house?”

      “It matters not, so it but fly up before us,” said Joseph Bayley.

      He was somewhat older than Ann; fair-haired and fair-bearded, with blue eyes set so deeply under heavy brows that they looked black. His face was at once stern and nervous, showing not only the spirit of warfare against his foes, but the elements of strife within himself.

      They rode on, and the woods grew thicker; the horse’s hoofs made only a faint liquid pad on the mossy road. Suddenly he stopped and whinnied. Ann clutched her husband’s arm; they sat motionless, listening; the horse whinnied again.

      Suddenly Joseph started violently, and stared into the woods on the left, and Ann also. A long defile of dark evergreens stretched up the hill, with mysterious depths of blue-black shadows between them; the air had an earthy dampness.

      Joseph shook the reins fiercely over the horse’s back, and shouted to him in a loud voice.

      “Did you see it?” gasped Ann, when they had come into a lighter place. “Was it not a black man?”

      “Fear not; we have outridden him,” said her husband, setting his thin intense face proudly ahead.

      “I would we were safe home in Newbury,” Ann moaned. “I would we had never set out. Think you not Dr. Mather will ride back from Boston with us to keep the witches off? I will bide there forever, if he will not. I will never come this dreadful road again, else. What is that? Oh, what is that? ’tis a voice coming out of the woods like a great roar. Joseph! What isthat? That was a black cat run across the road into the bushes. ’twas a black cat. Joseph, let us turn back! No; the black man is behind us, and the beast. What shall we do? What shall we do? Oh, oh, I begin to twitch like Ann and Mercy last night! My feet move, and I cannot stop them! Now there is a pin thrust in my arm! I am pinched! There are fingers at my throat! Joseph! Joseph!”

      “Go to prayer, sweetheart,” shouted Joseph. “Go to prayer. Be not afraid. ’Twill drive them away. Away with ye, Goody Bradbury! Away, Goody Proctor! Go to prayer, go to prayer!”

      Joseph bent low in the saddle and lashed the horse, which sprang forward with a mighty bound; the green branches rushed in their faces. Joseph prayed in a loud voice. Ann clung to him convulsively, panting for breath. Suddenly they came out of the woods into a cleared space.

      “The Proctor house! the Proctor house!” Ann shrieked. “Mercy Lewis said ’twas full of devils. What shall we do?” She hid her face on her husband’s shoulder, sobbing and praying.

      The Proctor house stood at the left of the road; there were some peach-trees in front of it, and their blossoms showed in a pink spray against the gray unpainted walls. On one side of the house was the great barn, with its doors wide open; on the other, a deep ploughed field, with the plough sticking in a furrow. John Proctor had been arrested and thrown into jail for witchcraft in April, before his spring planting was done.

      Joseph Bayley reined in his horse opposite the Proctor house. “Ann,” he whispered, and his whisper was full of horror.

      “What is it?” she returned, wildly.

      “Ann, Goodman Proctor looks forth from the chamber window, and Goody Proctor stands outside by the well, and they are both in jail in Boston.” Joseph’s whole frame shook in a strange rigid fashion, as if his joints were locked. “Look, Ann!” he whispered.

      “I cannot.”

      “Look!”

      Ann turned her head. “Why,” she said, and her voice was quite natural and sweet, it had even a tone of glad relief in it, “I see naught but a little maid in the door.”

      “See you not Goodman Proctor in the window?”

      “Nay,” said Ann, smiling; “I see naught but the little maid in the door. She is in a blue petticoat, and she has a yellow head, but her little cheeks are pale, I trow.”

      “See you not Goodwife Proctor in the yard by the well?” asked Joseph.

      “Nay, goodman; I see naught but the little maid in the door. She has a fair face, but now she falls a-weeping. Oh, I fear lest she be all alone in the house.”

      “I tell you, Goodman Proctor and Goodwife Proctor are both there,” returned Joseph. “Think you I see not with my own eyes? Goodman Proctor has on a red cap, and Goodwife Proctor holds a spindle.” He urged on the horse with a sudden cry. “Now the prayers do stick in my throat,” he groaned. “I would we were out of this devil’s nest!”

      “Joseph,” implored Ann, “prithee wait a minute! The little maid is calling ‘mother’ after me. Saw you not how she favored our little Susanna who died? Hear her! There was naught there but the little maid. Joseph, I pray you, stop.”

      “Nay; I’ll ride till the nag drops,” said Joseph Bayley, with a lash. “This last be too much. I tell ye they are there, and they are also in jail. ’tis hellish work.”

      Ann said no more for a little space; a curve in the road hid the Proctor house from sight. Suddenly she raised a great cry. “Oh! oh!” she screamed, “’tis gone; ’tis gone from my foot.” Joseph stopped. “What is gone?”

      “My shoe; but now I missed it from my foot. I must alight, and go back for it.”

      Joseph started the horse again.

      Ann caught at the reins. “Stop, goodman,” she cried, imperatively. “I tell you I must have my shoe.”

      “And I tell you I’ll stop for no shoe in this place, were it made of gold.”

      “Goodman, you know not what shoe ’tis. ’tis one of my fine shoes, in which I have never taken steps. They have the crimson silk lacings. I have even carried them in my hand to the meeting-house on a Sabbath, wearing my old ones, and only put them on at the door. Think you I will lose that shoe? Stop the nag.”

      But Joseph kept on grimly.

      “Think you I will go barefoot or with one shoe into Boston?” said Ann. “Know you that these shoes, which were a present from my mother, cost bravely? I trow you will needs loosen your purse strings well before we pass the first shop in Boston. Well, go on, an’ you will, when ’tis but a matter of my slipping down from the pillion and running back a few yards.”

      Joseph Bayley turned his horse about; but Ann remonstrated.

      “Nay,” said she; “I want not to go thus. I am tired of the saddle. I would like to feel my feet for a space.”

      Her husband looked around at her with wonder and suspicion. Dark thoughts came into his mind.

      She laughed. “Nay,” said