A few days after the execution of Goody Nurse, he was passing the meeting house, when he was accosted by the West Indian negro, John.
"You not believe in witches?" said John.
"No."
"Goody Nurse brought me de book."
"John, I believe you lied. I believe you have perjured yourself and sent your soul to endless torment," answered Charles Stevens. John was a cunning rascal and thought to give him a proof positive of the powers of witchcraft. He fell down in a fit, and Charles applied his cane to him until he ran howling away effectually cured, while Charles, disgusted with the black-skinned African, left him and hurried out of the village.
Charles Stevens' favorite walk was across the brook and among the great old oak trees beyond. His mind was greatly harassed and, like all great minds when perplexed, sought solitude. He went farther and farther into the woods and sat down upon a large stone. The recent trial of Goody Nurse, her conviction and execution moved his soul. He could not understand how people, civilized and enlightened, could be so deceived by what, to him, was so apparent.
Charles knew that all were not dishonest in their belief. He even believed that some of the actors in this tragedy were sincere, but had been over-persuaded by Mr. Parris, whom he set down as the prime mover in it all.
He sat for a long time, much longer than he supposed, reflecting on the past, and planning for the future, when he was startled by hearing footsteps coming toward him. He raised his head, and saw a young Indian brave, with his blanket wrapped about his shoulders, carrying a bow in his hand. His head was ornamented with a bunch of feathers, and his face was painted with all the gorgeous hues of savage barbaric art. He recognized Charles Stevens, for, advancing toward him with a smile, he extended his hand saying:
"My white brother is not happy. What has made him sad?"
The Indian was a good judge of human character, and in the face of the young white man he read a look of sorrow.