"That is all right then."
"Go to Goodman Buckley's, in Salem village, and ask him for a bundle I left—bring it to my house, you know, you can take the roan horse there. And, by the way, Fatty, if you want to stop an hour or two to see the widow Jones's pretty daughter, I guess no great harm will be done."
Jehosaphat giggled—but then his face clouded. "But Mistress Putnam wants to take the roan herself this afternoon. The trial comes off, you know."
"Oh, it is not a trial—it is only an examination. And it is all fiddlesticks, anyhow. My sister-in-law is ruining her health by all this witch business. But if she insists upon going, I will lend her one of my horses. Therefore that need not keep you."
So Jehosaphat, in high glee at having an afternoon's holiday, with the roan horse, threw on the saddle and mounted.
As he rode at a rapid canter down the lane, Mistress Ann heard the noise, but supposed it was Master Joseph riding off again,—and did not even trouble herself to look out of the window, especially as she was just then changing her gown.
Not long after, coming into the family room, who should she see there, sitting demurely, reading one of the Reverend Cotton Mather's most popular sermons, but the same Master Joseph Putnam whom she had thought she was well rid of.
"I thought you had gone. I surely heard you riding down the lane," she said in a surprised tone.
"Oh, no, I wanted to speak with you about something."
"Who was it then?—I surely heard some one."