“I trow the naughty baggage deserved correction to put to such ungodly use the fair silk ye gave her,” remarked one portly dame. “Goody Dennison says as it was your standing-up gown ye brought from England to be wed in.”
“Ay,” said Goodwife Higgins, grimly. Her face lighted as she spoke, for the door was flung wide and the little maid of whom they spoke entered, breathless with running.
“It be time ye were in,” frowned Goodwife Higgins, a note of relief in her sharp tone. “I gan to think a witch had catched ye.”
“Come, come, child, stand out and let us see those fine feathers which have filled your foolish pate with vanity,” cried Goody Dennison.
Deliverance sighed profoundly. “I do repent deeply that iniquity and vanity should have filled my carnal heart because o’ this fair gown o’ silk. Ye can feel for yourself and ye like, Goody Dennison, there be no thread o’ cotton in it.”
As she spoke she glanced out of the corners of her downcast eyes at a little, rosy, freckled girl, who sat at her mother’s side, knitting, but who did not look up, keeping her sleek brown head bent resolutely over the half-finished stocking.
“Have ye had aught to eat, child?” asked Goodwife Higgins.
Deliverance shook her head.