Historic Events of Colonial Days

by Rupert Sargent Holland

So when they came to the next lane they turned down it, and presently reached the wide doors of the blacksmith's shop, which stood hospitably open. The smith was working at his anvil, striking great sparks with his hammer as he beat a crooked horseshoe. He nodded to the two boys, who threw their school-books on a bench, and walked over to the hearth, as if to warm their hands.

"Well, lads," said the smith, after a minute, "and what did ye learn to-day?" He rested his brawny arms on his hammer. "Folks tell me that Master Thomas Appleton is mighty learned and a great teacher; and, faith, he looks it, though I caught him chuckling on the road the other night."

"And he laughs sometimes in school too, and tells us stories," said Joe. "I like him. Most of us do; only that John Rowley and Mercy Booth and Susan Parsons don't, because he caught them beating a dog and scolded them for it. But when they talk about him, the rest of us shut them up, don't we, Mat?"

Mat, however, appeared to be much more interested in examining the smithy chimney than he was in Master Appleton. He had bent forward and was trying to look up the great sooty throat. "Do you think it's big enough for any one to come down?" he asked. "And is it clear to the top?"

Jacob Titus, the smith, rested his hammer on the anvil, and slowly wiped his hands on his leather apron. "Some might come down it—or fly up it," he answered. "Witches."

The word carried a thrill. Mat stood up straight again, facing the smith. Joe stopped warming his hands at the blaze. Titus nodded his head slowly. "Witches might," he said. "And they wouldn't need it clear to the top, they wouldn't."

Joe laughed. "But there aren't such things as witches, Mr. Titus. They're like fairies. People tell stories about them to frighten children."

"People tell stories about them right enough," agreed the smith, "but it ain't so sure they only do it to frighten children. They've found witches, and proved them witches, and not so very far from Salem. A man from Boston was in here yester eve, a likely-looking man, too, and he stood there by the fire, where you be standing, and he gave me facts and figures. Seems he was well acquainted with the matter. He says they hung a woman in Charlestown for trying to cure sick people by mixing magic with simples and herbs, contrary to what the doctors allowed, and they found another witch at Dorchester, and yet a third at Cambridge. Seems as if the witches sometimes took hold of children, and used their magic on 'em so's they did strange things, things no children would do usual."

The smith's voice had grown low and mysterious, and in his interest in the subject he had left his anvil and walked over to the boys by the hearth. He was gazing at them when there came a sound at the door and the boys saw a man's figure appear against the winter dusk that had settled on the lane. Jacob Titus wheeled about. "The very man I was speaking of!" he muttered. And in a louder voice he added, "Good-evening, sir, good-evening."

The stranger came into the shop. He was very tall, and his black clothes seemed to increase his height and the darkness of his face. He took off his high-crowned hat and ran his fingers through his long, uncombed hair. Then he flung his cloak back over his shoulders as if he found the smithy warm. "Good-evening to you, friend smith," he said, "and to you, young men." His voice was deep and oily, with a fawning sound to it. "Don't let me disturb your talk. I'll rest a few minutes with your kind permission."