“And you, Deliverance,” asked her father, tenderly.
Now the little maid’s fancy had woven a picture of herself in a court dress of crimson velvet, her hair worn high, a lace collar falling on her shoulders, a rose in her hand such as was carried by the little court lady of the miniature. But her imagination, which had soared so high, sank at Ronald’s words.
“What say you, little mistress?” asked Lord Christopher; “and your brother will not go, being such a young prig as to prefer this uncomfortable country in which to air his grand notions. Will you not go with me?”
Deliverance sighed and sighed again. She glanced at her father’s delicate hands, so transparent in the sunlight, and a prophetic sadness reminded her of the time when she and Ronald would be left alone in the world. Her glance travelled to her brother’s rapt, almost transfigured, countenance. Although she felt no sympathy with his over-strange university views, yet the thought of leaving him alone in this country while she abided in luxury in England, smote her heart with a sense of guilt, so that she moved over to him and slipped her hand in his and rested her head against his shoulder.
“Good sir,” she said, “I will remain with Ronald and with father, but with all my heart I thank you for your kindness and desire that I might be the companion of your sweetest daughter.”
And none of the three knew that through a blinding mist of tears she saw vanish forever the dream of a velvet gown with immoderate slashed sleeves.
So Lord Christopher went far away, but he did not go alone. He bore with him a hunchback of Ipswich whose mother had been hanged as a witch on Gallows’ Hill. Thus it sometimes happens that they who have had least to do with a brave deed do, by some happy chance, reap the richest benefit of another’s nobility. And thus it was with this little Hate-Evil. He found himself no longer alone in the world. There in London he developed into a scholar, becoming a poet of much fame, one who, honoured in the court, was not less revered by the common people, that so poor and deformed a body carried so great a soul. And at last he ceased to be known by his stern New England appellation of Hate-Evil and was called by the sweeter name of Content.
Yearly from England came a gift to Deliverance from Lord Christopher’s fair daughter Elizabeth, in memory of the loyal service she had rendered England in regaining the precious powder.
Within a few months, Abigail received a small package containing a string of gold beads and a rare and valuable book entitled: “The Queen’s Closet Opened: having Physical and Chirurgical Receipts: the Art of Preserving Conserving and Candying & also a Right Knowledge of Perfuming & Distilling: the Compleat Cook Expertly Prescribing the most ready wayes whether French, Italian or Spanish, for the dressing of Flesh and Fish & the ordering of Sauces & making of PASTRY.”
On the fly-leaf was written a recipe for pumpkin-pie, which the great physician had himself compounded while in America, and which to this day is handed down by the descendants of Abigail Brewster. Also, he wrote a letter to the little girl who had so bravely journeyed to Boston Town to save her friend.