This was said with a rising inflection of voice, and an indescribable sing-song drawl, which is ludicrous or impressive according as the sympathies of the hearer are for or against the speaker.
“That is what I call a good word and fitly spoken,” cried Perseverance, throwing her work into the basket, and hugging herself fiercely with her two arms.
“That is coming to the point. Either there are witches or there are not. If there are no witches, then the Bible lies.”
Perseverance contracted her brows, compressed her lips, and looked around like one who has started a clincher. Mistress Bonyton moved her knitting-needles with calmness and precision, and answered, slowly:
“My mind has been long greatly exercised on this point. I have seen much and held my peace, till my soul crieth out within me, and I will no longer be silent. I shall do my utmost to bring this question before the council. If my husband speaks, well and good; if he forbears, the guilt be upon his own head. I shall clear my skirts by calling upon the Lord’s people to purge the land.”
“I was saying very nearly the same words to my son, Ephraim, last night,” resumed Dame Higgins. “Ephraim is a devout youth, and a godly. I wish your son John, Mistress Bonyton, were more disposed to walk in the path he has chosen,” and the dame drew the mesh-knot with a long, slow bite.
Mistress Bonyton straightened herself a trifle; her maternal instinct had been touched, and she replied, a little tartly:
“It would need be a smart youth for my son to follow him. John has a way of his own; but I like not a tame youth, which is most likely to be succeeded by a cowardly old age.”
“True, true, Mistress Bonyton,” for now Dame Higgins winced from the same cause. “I speak not in reprehension of your son John, but as in praise of my son Ephraim. He is not carnally disposed, and yet, Nancy, his eyes will turn too often of a Sabbath in your direction, and I have taken him to task therefor.”