The gossips crowded around her in sympathy. Dark looks were cast upon Deliverance, and muttered threats were made. Their voices rose with their growing anger, until the minister, walking arm-in-arm with Master Wentworth, heard them and was roused to righteous indignation.
“Hush, gossips,” he said sternly, “we will have no high words on the Lord’s holy day, but peace and comfort and meek and contrite hearts, else we were hypocrites. We will continue our discussion next week, Master Wentworth,” he added, turning to his companion, “for the nooning-hour is done.”
Master Wentworth, who was given to day-dreaming, had scarce heard the hubbub, and had not even perceived his daughter, who was standing near by. So, a serene smile on his countenance, he followed the minister into the meeting-house.
His little maid, very sorrowful at this fresh trouble which had come upon her, and not being able to attract his attention before he entered the building, wandered away into the churchyard.
That afternoon the tithing-man missed her in the congregation. So he tiptoed out of the meeting-house in search of her.
He called up softly to the watchman,—
“Take your spy-glass and search if ye see aught o’ Mistress Deliverance Wentworth.”
The watchman started guiltily, and leaned over the railing with such sudden show of interest that the tithing-man grew suspicious. His sharp eyes spied a faint wavering line of smoke rising from the corner of the platform. So he guessed the smoke rose from the overturned bowl of a pipe, and that the watchman had been smoking, a comfortable practice which had originated among the settlers of Virginia. Being in a good humour, he was disposed to ignore this indiscretion on the part of the watchman.
The latter had now fixed his spy-glass in the direction of the churchyard.