(Massachusetts, 1692)

I

The schoolmaster closed his book with a snap. "That's all for to-day," he said. "Be sure you know your lessons well to-morrow, for I expect visitors any day now, and I want my classes to make a good appearance." He was a pale young man with pleasant blue eyes, and his shoulders stooped as though he were used to sitting much of the time bent over a table. Most boys and girls liked him, because of his kindness and patience with them, but a few, such as there are to be found in almost every school, made fun of him behind his back because he wasn't harsher with them. Sometimes they made fun of him too because of his strange pets, a lame sheep-dog, birds that had hurt their wings and couldn't fly far, any sort of animal that other people didn't care for.

Matthew Hamlin and Joseph Glover left school together, and walked down one of the miry streets of Salem. "My father talked about them last night," said Matthew. "He thought I didn't hear him. He said 'Witches!' and laughed."

"And didn't he say anything more?" demanded Joseph.

"Oh, yes. He said, 'Nonsense! A pack of old wives' tales! Folks ought to be ashamed to hearken to such things.'"

"Well," said Joseph, "I was sitting in the corner of the smithy shop, and two men came in, and they said to the smith, 'You've got a good-sized chimney here, and you'd best keep an eye out, or the witches'll be flying down it.' The smith didn't laugh; he frowned and shook his head, and said, 'There's no telling. But if they do come, I'll be ready for them.'"

Matthew dug his fists hard into the pockets of his jacket, and his round, rosy face looked unusually serious. "Let's go by the smithy, Joe," he suggested. "I'd like to have a look at the chimney."

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."

Titus drew a stool near the hearth. "Sit here, sir. It happens I was telling these boys about you, and about your talk of yester eve, about the witches," he added.

The stranger sat down, stood his tall hat on the floor, and spread out his fingers, fan-like, on his knees. "About the witches?" he repeated in his deep voice. "Hardly a pleasing subject. And yet one that concerns folks everywhere. Moreover, unless I'm mistaken, it concerns the people of Salem very particularly."

Mat and Joe could not help being impressed; there was something very mysterious in the man's voice and manner; he seemed to carry a strange, uncanny atmosphere about with him, and to give the impression that, if there were such creatures as witches, he would be precisely the person who would know most about them. As for the smith, it was very evident that he held his visitor in great awe.

"I told you of Goody Jones, of Charlestown," said the stranger. "I hadn't told you of the strange case of the woman Glover, who was laundress for John Goodwin of Boston. One day Martha, John Goodwin's oldest daughter, who was thirteen, told her parents that the laundress was stealing pieces of linen from the family washing. They spoke to her about it, and the woman dared to answer them with many strange threats and curses. Thereupon the little Martha fell down in a fit, and soon the same thing happened to the three other children, who were eleven, seven, and five years old. Afterward they all plainly showed that the laundress had bewitched them; they became deaf and dumb for stretches of time, they said they were being pricked with pins and cut with knives, they barked like dogs and purred like cats, they could even skim over the ground without touching it, or, in the words of the worthy Cotton Mather, seemed to 'fly like geese.' This lasted for several weeks."

"Saints above!" murmured the smith. "To think of that!"

"Yes," went on the stranger. "Doctors and ministers studied the case, and agreed that undoubtedly the Glover woman had bewitched the children, and she was hanged for trading in black magic."

"Aye," agreed Jacob Titus, "no doubt she was a witch. What those children did tallies with all stories of bewitchments."

Joe and Mat kept silent, but they could not help acknowledging to themselves that the children had acted very much as if the woman had bewitched them. Moreover, the stranger's manner made a great impression on his hearers; he never smiled as he spoke, was evidently very much in earnest, and looked tremendously wise.

His very next words served to increase this impression. "I have given much time and thought to this matter of witches," said he, "and it's that which has fetched me to your town of Salem. You know Salem Village, or Salem Farms, as some appear to call it?"

Of course they all knew Salem Village, a little group of farms that lay four or five miles out from their own town.

"There," said the stranger, "lives one Samuel Parris, minister of the Gospel, and his family." As he spoke he made marks and lines on his leg, as if to indicate the people he was naming. The boys looked back and forth from his lean finger tracing these lines to his deep, glowing eyes. "Samuel Parris," continued the speaker, "lived in the West Indies for a time, and when he came here he brought two colored servants with him, a man called John Indian, and his wife, who was known as Tituba, who was part Indian and part negro. These two brought with them from the Indies a knowledge of palm-reading, fortune-telling, second-sight, and various strange incantations, such as the natives use there. They soon attracted to them by these tricks a number of children, chiefly girls, some as old as twenty, one child, Mr. Parris's daughter Elizabeth, only nine. At first the girls simply did the tricks these Indian servants taught them, but before long they gave signs of being bewitched in earnest; they crawled about on their hands and knees, they spoke a language no one could understand, they fell into trances. When these 'Afflicted Children,' as they call them, were asked who made them do these things, they pointed to the Indian Tituba, and to two elderly women, one named Sarah Good, the other Sarah Osburn. People have watched these three, and they find that whenever Sarah Good quarrels with her neighbors their cattle have been apt to sicken and die. Naturally the three women are now under arrest. Such things savor strongly of the Evil Eye, methinks."

"I think so too," said the smith stoutly. "That bewitching of the neighbors' cattle is bad business!"

It was now dark outside, and the only light in the smithy was the fire on the hearth. "Folks here in Salem should be on watch that this witchcraft comes no nearer home," muttered the stranger in his deep voice. "I have come here partly to warn them."

"That's good of you," said Titus.

The stranger picked up his hat, as if about to leave.

"Might we know your name?" asked the smith, very respectfully.

"Jonathan Leek," said the other. "One time I was in business with a man of Salem, Richard Swan. He took more than his fair share of the profits of our ventures, and left me poor. But I forgave him."

"Oh, I knew Richard Swan well," said the smith. "He died some years ago. We all thought well of him here in Salem. His widow lives here now, Mistress Ann Swan."

"Her house is near ours," spoke up Mat.

"The schoolmaster boards with her," volunteered Joe. "He has a little shed at the back where he keeps his dogs."

"I forgave him," repeated Jonathan Leek in his oily tones. He put on his high-crowned hat and stood up. "Let us all beware of the evil eye, my friends," he added, and, drawing his cloak close about him, strode out through the doorway.

The smith and the two boys stared after him, and then looked at each other. He had certainly brought mysterious stories with him, and the effect of them seemed to remain. "What was I telling you?" said Titus. "Don't be making sport of such business." He went back to his work at the anvil.

The boys said good-night, and left the smithy. The air was colder now that darkness had settled on the lane, and they buttoned their coats tight and stuck their hands in their pockets. "He knows a good deal about them, doesn't he?" said Mat.

Joe nodded his head. "It does sound mighty strange," said he.

"I wonder what father would have said if he'd heard Mr. Leek," observed Mat. "He couldn't have called all that just old wives' tales."

At a corner the boys parted, and Mat trudged home alone. He glanced with new interest at the house where Mistress Swan and the schoolmaster lived. He would have liked to know what Mr. Appleton would say about this business of witches. Would he laugh and say, "What nonsense!" or would he look as much impressed as Jacob Titus had looked? Jacob was no fool, and it was very clear that this Mr. Jonathan Leek was an unusually wise man.

But when Mat came into his own warm house, and found the sitting-room brightly lighted and the family there, he couldn't help doubting whether all he had just heard was true. He didn't mention the matter at all at supper, or until he had finished his studying for the next day. When he was through, however, he pulled his stool up to his father's chair, and told him all that he and Joe had heard that afternoon. All, that is, except what Mr. Leek had said about the business dealings he had once had with Richard Swan.

"And did this make you believe in witches and the Evil Eye?" asked Mr. Hamlin.

"I don't know," answered Mat, doubtfully. "Joe and I didn't know what to think. The stories folks are telling about the witches and about what they do to children and to animals are so strange; and then so many grown-up people believe them. How's a boy to know whether they're true or not?"

"Only by using his seven wits, Mat," said Mr. Hamlin. "Before you believe any of these unnatural things, see them happen with your own eyes. And when a boy or girl cries out that a witch is sticking pins into them, make sure that they're not pretending; you know children love to pretend things, and they like it all the better if they can get grown people to believe what they pretend. I don't think any witch will try sticking pins or knives in you or Joe, or make you fly over the ground like geese. The witch won't, that is, unless you help her."

Mat chuckled. "Trust Joe and me for keeping away from creatures like that," he declared.

Mat started whittling a whistle from a willow stick, and Mr. Hamlin began adding a column of figures in a cash-book, but after a few minutes he looked up at his wife, who had come into the room and was knitting. "I can't blame the children for talking of witches and magic things," he said, "when all the province of Massachusetts Bay seems to be thinking about the same matters. Everybody's whispering about them, and every man, woman, and child seems suddenly to know exactly what witches do. Three men told me to-day about those poor women they've jailed over at Salem Village. And the men seemed almost to believe that the women really had dealt in witchcraft, although they were all three sober men, and one was a minister of the Gospel."

"And I've been hearing the same things," said his wife. "Men don't do all the gossiping, my dear."

Mr. Hamlin turned again to his cash-book, but his counting was interrupted in a few minutes by a loud rapping at the street-door. Mat opened the door, and Mr. Samuel Glover and his son Joe came hurrying in. "There's strange news afoot," said Mr. Glover, "and I thought it only neighborly to share it with you." He threw his hat and cloak on a chair. "Some one has charged Mistress Ann Swan with dealing in witchcraft, with being a familiar of the Evil One."

"Mistress Swan!" exclaimed husband and wife, while Mat stood listening with his mouth wide open.

"It's said she's bewitched the children, makes them act like cats and dogs, sends them into trances, and misuses them in many different ways."

"She's a most kind-hearted woman, and loves children dearly," said Mistress Hamlin. "She always gives them sweets when they come to see her."

"Aye," agreed Mr. Glover, "so the children say, but they add that she gives them the sweets so she may have a chance to work her evil on them."

"What children say this?" demanded Mr. Hamlin.

"Mercy Booth and Susan Parsons and John Rowley," answered Mr. Glover. "They're the main ones."

Mat looked at Joe. "Serves 'em right," said he. "They're mean enough to be bewitched!"

"They stone dogs and cats," put in Joe. "And the schoolmaster caught 'em at it, and gave 'em a good scolding."

"But who started the story?" asked Mr. Hamlin. "Did the children tell these things themselves?"

"A man who's lately come from Boston took the matter to the town clerk," answered Mr. Glover. "It seems the children had told their strange stories to him. His name is Jonathan Leek."

Mat gave a long whistle. "Jonathan Leek!" he echoed. "Why, he's the man Joe and I met at the smithy!"

"Yes," said Joe, nodding vigorously. "And he knows all about witchcraft."

"I should think he did," agreed Mat.

"Poor Ann Swan," said Mistress Hamlin. "As fine a woman as ever lived. And to be charged with being a witch!"

"That's what I say," assented Mr. Glover. "And I'm doubtful if the matter stops there. There's talk already that another had some part in mistreating the children."

"Who?" demanded Mr. Hamlin.

"Who but the man who lives in the house with her, Mr. Appleton the schoolmaster."

"And what can they say against him?" asked Mr. Hamlin. "He's as straightforward a man as ever I met."

"He has a little shed back of the house where he keeps some dogs," explained the other. "The children say that he cures these dogs of broken bones by magic. They say they've seen him do it; take a stray cur who limps and say a few words they can't understand, and soon the dog doesn't limp any more. And the three afflicted children say that he makes them suffer instead of his wounded pets."

"They've been put up to this!" exclaimed Mr. Hamlin. "They'd never have thought of all this for themselves."

"Maybe," agreed Mr. Glover. "But you know how such matters go. Speak a word or two against a man or woman, never mind how honest they may be, and folks seize on it, and before you know it they have a dozen ill stories to tell against them."

"The schoolmaster a witch! I'll not believe it!" declared Mat.

"Nor will I," said Joe.

Mr. Hamlin smiled. "That's right, boys. Stand to your guns. Mr. Appleton has some skill at setting broken bones, probably, and that's how he mends these wounded animals. It's those who believe these charges of witchcraft who are crazy, in my opinion; not the folks they charge with having dealings with the Evil One. As for calling Mistress Swan a witch because of what those children said, any woman might accuse a neighbor of being a witch because her milk wouldn't churn into butter while that neighbor happened to be chatting with her."

"That's about what they have said of some of their witches in Boston," put in Mr. Glover. "Yet, absurd as this may seem to us, it's likely to prove fairly serious to Mistress Swan and Mr. Appleton. People don't stop to use their wits in such affairs nowadays. Call man or woman a witch, and you're two-thirds of the way to proving him or her one."

"But the schoolmaster!" protested Mat. He looked at Joe. "In trouble because those three little rats don't like him! Well, you and I'll stand by him, won't we, Joe? We'll show people that he's no more a witch than the minister is, or than Jonathan Leek himself."

"We will," assented Joe. "I didn't like that Mr. Leek much anyway."

"And I'll help you," said Mr. Hamlin. Mr. Glover nodded his head. "Here's four of us at least who'll stand by the schoolmaster," said he, "and by Mistress Swan too," he added, "for she's likely to be as guiltless as Thomas Appleton."

II

There were a great number of people in Massachusetts in 1692 who believed in witches, and quite as many in Salem as in any other town. Usually there was some old enmity under each charge of witchcraft, though not always, for in some cases people made their charges recklessly, apparently enjoying the prominence it brought them, and thinking little of their victims. In those cases where there was some old score being paid off, however, the populace usually gave little attention to that side of it, but were only interested in the facts brought out to prove that the accused person was a dealer in the Evil Arts. As Mr. Glover said, "Call a person a witch, and you were two-thirds of the way to actually proving that he or she was a witch."

There was school next day, as usual, and Thomas Appleton tried to appear unconcerned about everything but his scholars' lessons. The three afflicted children, the two girls and the boy, were not there, having been kept at home by their parents; and the others, who had all heard the story about the schoolmaster by now, could see that he had something on his mind. When school was over Mat and Joe waited until Mr. Appleton was ready to go, and then joined him on his walk home. At first they talked about all sorts of things, but presently Mat said, "We wanted you to know that we're friends of yours, no matter what people may say about you."

The schoolmaster smiled, and put his hand affectionately on the boy's shoulder. "You've heard then that people are saying that Mistress Swan is a witch, and that I'm another?"

Both boys nodded.

"It's the most absurd story in the world," the man went on. "Mistress Swan is kindness itself to every one, and especially to children. When she hears of any boy or girl who's ill she takes them jellies and puddings. I know a thousand things she's done that shows how much she loves them."

"And we know how you care for dogs and cats and birds," put in Joe. "And every one in school, except those three, would follow you anywhere."

Just then two women, coming along the lane, saw the schoolmaster, and deliberately crossed to the other side so as to avoid meeting him. Thomas Appleton reddened, and looked hurt. Then he snapped his fingers, and muttered, "I'd like to play on my pipe, like that Pied Piper of Hamelin Town we hear of, and dance away, taking all the children and animals after me. It would serve you right, you evil-minded folk of Salem!"

Presently they came to Mistress Swan's door. "Might we see the shed where you keep your dogs?" asked Mat.

"Certainly," said the schoolmaster, and he led them to the little building back of the house. Inside were half-a-dozen dogs, and those who could leaped up about Appleton, licked his hands, and showed their devotion to him. "These two," said he, pointing to a couple of collies, "need exercise. Would you boys like to go for a walk with the three of us?"

The boys said they would, and soon they were out in the open country back of Salem, master and boys and dogs racing along in the nipping air. They passed some of their school-fellows playing in a field, and these joined them, so that presently there was quite a crowd tramping with the schoolmaster and his dogs, and all enjoying themselves.

The schoolmaster whistled and sang and laughed as if he had quite forgotten what people were saying about him in Salem; but when they were back at Mistress Swan's gate, and all but Joe and Mat had left, he frowned. "Poor Mistress Swan!" he said. "She can't throw off her troubles as easily as a man can. And I doubt if any of the neighbors have come in to see her."

"We'll come in," said Joe; and as soon as the dogs were housed again they went in with Mr. Appleton. They found Mistress Swan, a pink-cheeked woman with soft gray hair, working on a sampler at a window. "I'm right glad to see you, Mat, and you too, Joe," she said. "Thomas, will you fetch some apples from the pantry?"

The schoolmaster brought the apples, and the boys sat near the window, eating them, and told her of their tramp in the country. Neither Mat nor Joe could see anything that made them think of a witch in this sweet-faced woman.

While they were chatting a resounding thump came at the front door, and when Mr. Appleton opened it, three grim-faced men walked in. One was the town clerk, and the other two were constables of Salem. They marched into the room, with never a bow or "By your leave," or smile of greeting. Mistress Swan grew a trifle pale, and the boys stood up. "What do you want?" demanded the schoolmaster in a low voice.

"We want Mistress Swan," answered the town clerk, his eyes very stern and forbidding. "She stands accused of dealing in Black Arts and other evil business. She must go with us to the jail, there to await examination of the charges brought against her."

"It's an infamy," cried the schoolmaster, "and a lie! You've known Mistress Swan for years, and you know her to be as innocent as your own wives!"

The town clerk glowered at Thomas Appleton. "Have a care," said he, his voice like steel scraping on iron. "Have a care lest it be your turn next, Master Appleton."

"I care nothing for that," hotly retorted the master. "Gladly would I go with you in Mistress Swan's place. But to think that you charge her, the soul of gentleness and kindness to every one, with such an infamous thing! What can you be thinking of? How can any man or woman or child in Salem bring such charges against Mistress Swan?"

"They have been brought, nevertheless," responded the clerk. "There are three children claim to have been bewitched by her, and there is a man, Jonathan Leek, who tells of strange happenings."

"Jonathan Leek?" exclaimed Mistress Swan. "He? Why, 'tis he who claimed my husband owed him money, and has tried to get payment from me. But we owed him no money. He's an evil, tale-bearing man; but he knows I am not guilty of such wicked things as these."

"All that you can answer to the court," said the clerk. "My business is only to see you taken into custody."

"Is there no way by which she may stay here?" asked Appleton. "I will promise that she will be here when you want her. Or take me as hostage for her."

"She must come," said the clerk. "There's been enough talk, and to spare. Get your cloak and come."

Mistress Swan rose, folded the sampler and put it away in a closet, and got out her cloak and hood. She held out her hand to the schoolmaster. "You've stood by me like an honest man, Thomas. God grant they don't drag you into this!"

He took her offered hand and his eyes glowed as he looked into her face. "If they do you a wrong they shall suffer for it," said he. "There are honest men in Salem as well as knaves."

She smiled at the two boys, who were taking in every incident of the strange scene, and walked out through her doorway, followed by the three grim-looking men.

Mr. Appleton paced the floor. "Infamous!" he exclaimed. "The lies of three wicked children and a villain to stand against the spotless life of such a woman as she! What is Salem coming to? It should hide its head in the ocean for very shame of such a crime! Witchcraft! Yes, there must be witchcraft to make people believe such lies!" He stopped and looked at the boys. "What was the name of this man who brought the charges?"

"Jonathan Leek," answered Mat. "Joe and I heard him talking yesterday at the smithy. A tall black man from Boston, who seemed to know a great deal about witches."

"I will find him," said Appleton. "I will make him take back these words about Mistress Swan, or I will cram them down his throat!"

"But, Master Appleton," said Joe, "suppose he should make the same charges against you. He's a dangerous man. And then you would be arrested, and couldn't be of any help to Mistress Swan."

The schoolmaster stared at Joe. "That's true," he answered slowly. "I must keep my head, and tread right warily. Yes, I must not tell these rascals what I have in my mind about them. But Mistress Swan must be saved. And, to speak the truth, I don't know where I can go for help to save her."

"Joe's father and mine will help," said Mat eagerly. "They both know Mistress Swan. And the children at school will help, and perhaps their fathers too. We'll go home now, and tell what has happened." He picked up his hat, and ran out of the house, Joe at his heels.

They went straight to Mr. Hamlin's house, and, finding him and his wife at home, told them of the arrest of Mistress Swan. "I expected as much," said Mat's father. "All Salem is talking witchcraft to-day, and they tell the most outrageous stories of Mistress Swan, and worst of all, half the people seem to believe them."

"I heard a woman say to-day that Ann Swan gave her baby the croup last December," said Mistress Hamlin. "They're laying every ache and pain their children ever had at her door now. It's scarcely to be believed that people can be so wicked against a kind woman they've known all their lives."

"But what's to be done?" said Mr. Hamlin. "As matters stand the court may find Mistress Swan guilty of witchcraft without any to say a word on her behalf."

"Would they listen to me?" asked Mat. "I could tell them how mean and cruel and hateful John Rowley and Mercy Booth and Susan Parsons are, and what the rest of us at school think about them." He thought a minute. "And as to that man, Jonathan Leek, I'd say that both Joe and I thought him much like a snake."

"Jonathan Leek?" said Mr. Hamlin. "Tell me all you know about him, Mat."

Mat, aided by Joe, told what he had heard Mr. Leek say at the smithy, and also what he had heard Mistress Swan say about him that afternoon. Mr. Hamlin got paper and pen and made notes, and then they planned what might be said in answer to the charges against Mistress Swan. "You bring Master Appleton here after school to-morrow, Mat," said his father. "Then we'll see what can be done to clear Mistress Ann's good name."

School met next morning, but there was more excitement than on the day before, for all the boys and girls had heard how Susan Parsons and Mercy Booth and John Rowley were telling the most remarkable stories about being bewitched. The schoolmaster tried to teach the lessons, but it was plain that he was worried, and that his thoughts were not on the work. Just before the noon recess, Joe, who was reciting, saw Master Appleton look up and then stare at the door at the farther end of the room. Joe turned round to see what was the matter. In the doorway stood the town clerk, with the same two men who had been at Mistress Swan's.

The clerk walked down the passageway between the benches, while all the children stared. He went up to the master's desk, stepped up on the low platform, and laid his hand on Master Appleton's shoulder. He was smiling, as though he took a certain pleasure in the work on hand. "Thomas Appleton," he said, "I arrest you in the name of the court of Salem. You are charged with witchcraft."

The schoolmaster pulled his shoulder away from the clerk's hand. He looked very proud and unconcerned at the charge, as though he were defying all the officers of Salem. "Very good," said he. "You have arrested better people than me for such hocus-pocus. I should feel honored." He shut the school-book that lay open on his desk, and smiled at the children on the front row of benches. "I suppose, Master Clerk," he said, "that you chose this hour, when you knew I would be busy with my scholars, to come to arrest me, so that they might all see the entertainment, and thus make my arrest as public as possible."

"It is some of your own scholars who bring part of the charges against you," retorted the clerk.

"Aye, I know," said Master Appleton. "But they are not here now. Those who are here know me better." He looked at the boys and girls, who were watching intently. "I'm sorry to leave you," he said. "There will be no school for several days, not until they can find another master to take my place. They say I deal in witchcraft, that I take wounded animals and cure them by sending their aches into children, that I can bewitch you so that you do strange things you couldn't do otherwise. These are just fairy tales, nonsense, the most absurd of stories. I know no more of witches than any one of you. There are no such things as witches, there is no such thing as the Evil Eye. But people in Massachusetts are believing in them, men and women here in Salem are letting themselves believe such nonsense. None can say what they will do next. Yet you boys and girls know there are no such evil spirits; you must stand for the right and the truth, and deny such falsehoods. You will, I know. You must help to save Salem such disgrace."

The children were still for a moment, and then Mat spoke up. "Of course there are no witches," he said. "We're old enough to know that." He looked round the room. "All who think as the schoolmaster does, stand up," he commanded.

Every boy and girl stood up.

"I knew it," said the schoolmaster. He turned, smiling, to the clerk. "The children are wiser than their elders," he said. "There is some hope for Salem."

"A very pretty scene," answered the clerk, sarcastically. "But the court may take a different view of it; they might even think you had the children bewitched so's they'd do exactly what you tell 'em to."

"Yes, they might," agreed Master Appleton. "They might use anything against me. To some minds innocence is always the best proof of guilt. Yet I didn't bewitch the children; I have only taught them their lessons, as I was paid to do." He took his hat and cloak from the peg behind his desk. "I am at your service."

Smiling at his scholars, Master Appleton walked down the aisle to the door. As he passed Mat he said, "See to the dogs for me, will you? I shouldn't like them to go hungry."

Mat bobbed his head.

The schoolmaster went out into the lane, with his three guards, while the children crowded to the door and watched until he turned the corner.

III

The fear of witches, like the fear of the plague in the Middle Ages, spread over Massachusetts with amazing rapidity in that winter and spring of 1692, and found one of its chief centers at Salem. Men and women of standing and education were arrested, as well as those who had few friends and little learning, and the wildest and most improbable stories about their actions were told and were believed. As day followed day the three "afflicted children," John Rowley, Susan Parsons, and Mercy Booth, told more and more fantastic tales about Mistress Swan and Master Appleton, and Jonathan Leek spread these stories so thoroughly that soon there was not a man, woman, or child in Salem, or in the neighboring country, who had not heard how the accused schoolmaster and Ann Swan had bewitched the three. To hear a story about witchcraft at that time was usually to believe it, and many people had condemned the man and woman in their own minds long before the court took up the case against them.

Mat's family, and Joe's family, however, started out with the determination to save Mistress Swan and Thomas Appleton if it could be done. Then these two boys urged their schoolmates, none of whom could believe that the teacher they were so fond of was a witch, to ask their parents to speak kindly of the two accused persons, and so there was soon quite a little party in Salem who protested that the two were innocent. Of course there were many, largely of the more ignorant class, like Jacob Titus, the blacksmith, and people who had listened to Jonathan Leek and fallen under his influence, who felt certain that the schoolmaster and Ann Swan were able to ride about on broomsticks when they had a mind to. Strange to say, some of the ministers of Salem took this view too.

Mr. Hamlin went to the jail and talked with both the prisoners, he visited the houses of the three "afflicted children" and watched their strange performances, and he sought out Jonathan Leek, who had suddenly become a very prominent person, and listened to his oily and mysterious speeches. Then he wrote letters to friends in Boston, and after a while he began to find out facts that were scarcely creditable to Mr. Leek's reputation. He had been driven out of Boston because of the falsehoods he had uttered about people there; he was described as a cheat, a swindler, and a man who tried to get money from men and women by threatening to accuse them of various crimes. Mr. Glover helped in this work, and so did the two boys, and in addition the boys looked after the dogs in the schoolmaster's little hospital and reported to Master Appleton how his charges were getting on.

People were being condemned and hung as witches in Salem Village and other places, and things did not look too cheerful for Mat's two friends. Yet they were both full of patience and courage, and when people came to them and tempted them to admit that they had ill-treated the children, had used magic on them, or worked some spell over them, they always indignantly denied the charges and said such stories were utterly absurd. "I never raised a finger against a child in my life," said Mistress Swan at one such time, "and I never will, no matter what those three may say about me, or what you may do to me." And Master Appleton would say, "Yes, it is true I have cured a number of dogs, but not by sending their ills into these children. Surely you must know that I care as much for children as for animals! Otherwise you'd make me no better than an ogre."

"He is an ogre!" cried Jonathan Leek, when he heard what Master Appleton said. He pointed his lean hand at the crowd who had gathered around him. "Many a schoolmaster is an ogre in disguise, and chooses that work so that he may prey on children! I know; I have seen such men before." And his manner was so impressive as he said this that many people nodded their heads and murmured to each other that doubtless he was right.

So matters stood when the two prisoners, whose cases were so much alike that they were to be considered together, were put on trial in Salem. Mr. Hamlin and Mr. Glover were there, and their sons, and a lawyer they had engaged to represent them. The court room was full to overflowing, and very warm, for it was midsummer.

"How could any one believe those two guilty of such evil deeds?" said Mr. Hamlin to his friends, as he looked at the kind and gentle Mistress Swan and the frank-faced Thomas Appleton.

"People have believed such charges of men and women who look full as innocent," answered Mr. Glover.

Many there in the court room believed that these two were witches as they listened to the stories the three "afflicted children" told, and heard Jonathan Leek and other grown men and women testify as to strange doings they had witnessed. Through all this the two prisoners simply looked at their fellow-townsfolk, as if wondering that such stories could be told of them, and when they were asked by the judges if they had done any of these things, each simply denied all knowledge of such events.

Then Mr. Hamlin's lawyer rose, and he had neighbors of Mistress Swan tell how they had always respected her and how highly they thought of her, and how kind she had always been to their children. After that Mr. Hamlin told what he had discovered about the man Jonathan Leek, how Leek had demanded money from Mistress Swan, and how she had refused to give him any money, saying that her husband had never owed Leek anything as a result of their business dealings. Here the lawyer presented an account-book that showed that, as an actual fact, Jonathan Leek had owed Richard Swan money, instead of the account standing the other way about. Leek looked very angry and indignant as Mr. Hamlin and the lawyer related all these affairs to the court, and when the account-book was shown he jumped up, protesting loudly, saying, "Figures have nothing to do with the fact of this woman's being a witch!" But the lawyer retorted very quickly, "These figures have much to do with the reason why you charged this woman with witchcraft!"

When Mr. Hamlin told what he had learned of Jonathan Leek's leaving Boston the man in black squirmed in his seat, and grew so yellow of face that Mat whispered to Joe, "He looks like a witch himself now, doesn't he?" There wasn't much left of the stranger's character when Mr. Hamlin had finished with him, and even those people who had believed most implicitly in him began to murmur their doubts to each other.

Then came the chance for Mat to tell what he knew of Mistress Swan and Master Appleton. He told how the other children in school had never liked the three "afflicted children." "Those three liked to hurt animals," said he. "They stoned cats and dogs, they caught young birds, and hurt them, and when Master Appleton told them not to be so cruel they made faces at him and told false stories about him behind his back. Sometimes he would rescue birds and dogs from them, and try to mend their hurts, and he has a lot of dogs now in a shed back of Mistress Swan's house, poor dogs that nobody else would look after, and most of them he's cured of some hurt. None of us boys in school would believe a word those three others would say, least of all about Master Appleton, and we'd all expect them to say ill things about him whenever they got the chance." Mat said more about the schoolmaster, and Joe followed him, and then other children, and they were all so evidently sincere, and showed such affection for the teacher that people began to look more kindly at him, and to whisper that they'd always heard he was popular at school. "Against the word of one boy and two girls, who had their own reasons for disliking this master, we have the witness of these other children, who all respect and admire him," said the lawyer. "True it is that he has an almshouse for maimed and neglected animals in his yard, but should that not rather speak to his credit than against his honesty? He may know more than most of us about curing sores and broken bones; but would you accuse a physician of dealing in witchcraft or evil arts because he helped the suffering who came to him? If you would, then there must be evil in all men who help their neighbors!"

Here Jacob Titus, standing in the back of the court room, murmured behind his hand to the man next him, "I always had my doubts of those who deal in herbs and such like. There's something magical in the best of it. And when it's a matter of dogs, why——" he shrugged his shoulders, meaning clearly enough that that was carrying magic pretty far.

There were others who thought as the blacksmith did, for many, having once got the notion that Mistress Swan and Master Appleton were witches, couldn't find any way to get that idea out of their heads. Others were wavering in their opinions, however, and thinking that there might perhaps be as much truth in the words of this woman whom they had always known and this schoolmaster of such former good repute as in the words of three spoiled children and a man who had been driven out of Boston for misdeeds.

"There may be witches," the lawyer said, "though it happens that I've never met with any such myself. There are rumors of witchcraft all through this province of Massachusetts to-day, and many stories are told that could scarcely be understood as following the course of nature. But if we let ourselves suspect such evil things of our neighbors so readily, who knows when others may suspect such dealings of us as easily? You," he said, and by chance he was looking at a stout man in front of him, "may be accused to-morrow because your neighbor's cow sickened on the day you helped him harvest his crops. You," he looked at a forbidding-featured woman in a great gray bonnet, "may be called a witch next week because your suet puddings were too rich for the stomach of your maid. Or you," and his glance fell on a minister, who sat with a Bible clasped in his hand, "may be charged with dealings with the Evil One because your chimney smoked and the sparks frightened a horse upon the road so that he ran away. This is how such easy suspicions go. Within a month we may all be witches and warlocks, each man and woman accusing their nearest neighbors."

A murmur of protest rose; the idea was not to be put up with; and yet every one there knew that there was much truth in the speaker's words.

"It happens that three children and a man from Boston have hit upon these two prisoners as their victims," went on the speaker, now looking at the judges, "instead of aiming their shafts at you or me. Yet are you or I any more honest than this woman who has befriended others, or this man who teaches and cares for maimed dogs? Are we to be their judges? Then, as we consider the charges against them, let us remember that men might bring charges of evil against us also, and consider whether we know ourselves to be more innocent than they. Look at Mistress Swan! Look at Thomas Appleton! Are these two witches? Why, men of Salem, the very children laugh at such a charge!"

The speaker sat down amid a tense silence. The judges withdrew, considered the matter in private, and then, returning, announced that in their opinion the charges of witchcraft against Mistress Swan and Master Appleton had not been proved by the evidence, and that the two prisoners might return to their homes. There was a buzz of excited talk for a few minutes, then neighbors and friends crowded round Mistress Swan and the schoolmaster and said they had never really believed the evil reports of them.

So these two innocent people returned to their home, and men and women who had been in doubt before as to whether they should believe the tales of magic now said they had always considered the three "afflicted children" mischievous brats and wondered that their parents hadn't whipped them for telling such monstrous falsehoods. As for Jonathan Leek, when he found that he had no chance to injure Mistress Swan, and knew that people in Salem were beginning to hear the true story of his earlier career in Boston, he departed from Salem in haste, probably to carry his ready-made charges of witchcraft to other towns, where there might be people against whom he cherished grudges.

Thomas Appleton returned to his school, and the children liked him better than ever, and brought him so many lame and footsore dogs to care for that he said he should have to take the largest building in town to house them all. The three "afflicted children" didn't go back to school, though no one knew whether that was because their parents thought they wouldn't be popular there after what had happened, or because they still considered that the schoolmaster might bewitch them.

Naturally enough it took Mistress Swan and Master Appleton some time to forgive their townsfolk for treating them so badly. But the people did their best to show them how sorry they felt that they had ever suspected them of evil dealings, and in time the two returned to their old attitude of friendliness toward all their neighbors. Neither of them was the kind to cherish a grudge.

Other people in Massachusetts, however, who were charged with being witches were not so fortunate as Ann Swan and Thomas Appleton. Some were found guilty and were executed for witchcraft. Then, when this strange and inhuman superstition had run its course, popular feeling changed quickly. Men and women became ashamed of what they had said and done. The fear of witches passed into history and became only a strange delusion of the past. But it had been a very real fear in Massachusetts in 1692.