"Nonsense, Betty," said the minister and his good wife together.
"Verily, no nonsense," snapped back Dame Betty. "That hen was bewitched I killed and cooked yesterday, as the eating of it has proved to the master. Never hen had such legs, or was so hard to kill; and, hark ye! I could not keep water in the pot," said Betty, mysteriously.
"Verily, this is a matter to be looked into. Thou thinkest the boy a witch?" And the Rev. Deodat Parker, uncomfortable from his disturbed night, was more willing to believe.
And so, I can hardly tell how, in a short time it was whispered around that little Jonathan Winthrop was a witch, and had bewitched the Rev. Deodat Parker's chickens.
One day Dame Betty walked into the minister's study, and said, "Master, come and see for thyself."
So the minister called his good wife, and the three took their station behind a closed blind. And there, sure enough, was Master Jonathan astride the fence, waving his hands in the air, in what seemed to them some dreadful incantation, while on the ground four old hens and one miserable rooster were bobbing and squawking like things bewitched.
Now, unfortunately, the minister and his good wife and old Betty could not see the strings in Jonathan's hands, and so immediately believed him a true witch.
"Deodat, it must be seen to," said Goodwife Parker.
"Yes, I will go at once for a magistrate." And the old gentleman hurried off with unseemly haste, and returned in a short time with two magistrates and a brother clergyman, all considerably out of breath as they took their station behind the blind to see the wonderful manifestations.
And Jonathan was at it yet. Owing to the chickens being so hard to catch, he prolonged the fun when he did catch them. As the solemn magistrates peeped out, Jonathan gave a jerk to his threads that made the poor fowls fly toward him, fluttering and squawking like mad; and as he let the thread out again they ran away with all their might, only to be twitched back by their tormentor, who laughed until he cried at their antics.