Having no kin of her own, Granny Hewitt loved the boys and girls who passed her cottage every day on their way to and from school. She made molasses cookies and vinegar taffy for them. She put balm on their scratches, and covered their primers and spellers with pieces of bright calico. No wonder Desire and Jonathan wanted to stop a moment at Granny Hewitt’s house. They went up the white gravel path with its neat border of clam shells. Desire lifted the big brass knocker on the door, letting it drop with a clang.
“GRANNY HEWITT LOVED THE BOYS AND GIRLS”
There was no sound inside.
“She has gone to market,” Jonathan said.
“Well, good-bye, Jonathan,” Desire said, taking her basket from the boy’s hands. “I probably shall not see you to-morrow. It may be that my father will let me sit in our pew in the meeting-house during the witch’s trial.”
Jonathan’s eyes almost popped out of his head in surprise. “Could I go, too?” he asked.
“I’ll see if I can get you in,” Desire promised as the two friends parted.
The morning of the witch’s trial was as bright and peaceful as the fall sun lighting field and dingy streets and roofs could make it. By half-after seven, although the trial was not to begin until ten, the green common that surrounded the Second Meeting-house was a moving black and gray mass of stern men in their dark capes, buckled shoes, and tall hats, and gray-gowned women.
Inside the meeting-house every pew was filled. The platform was lined with the black-gowned elders, and the Governor himself, a dignified figure in his flowing cloak and powdered wig, occupied the pulpit. Desire sat, prim and quiet beside her mother, her little round head not much above the high back of the pew. On the other side sat Jonathan whose urgent request to come had been granted.