THE WITCH OF BLACKBIRD POND - CSIR

"Perhaps. You aren't exactly pretty, you know. But naturally William would be impressed by a dress like that."
Kit wanted to change the subject. Wisps of smoke were beginning to rise from the chimneys of several small log lean-tos
along the roadway. They seemed to offer a safe topic.
"Do people live in those tiny houses?" she inquired.
"Of course not. Those are Sabbath houses." Then Judith emerged from her own musings long enough to explain. "Families
that live too far to go home between services cook their meal there on Sunday, and in the winter they can warm themselves at
a fire."
A chill trickle of doubt began to cool the glow of the noontime sun and the memory of William Ashby's admiration. Surely
Judith could not mean--
"Did you say--between services?" Kit inquired fearfully.
"Didn't you know there's a second service in the afternoon?"
Kit was appalled. "Do you mean we have to go?"
"Of course we go," snapped Judith. "That is what the Sabbath is for."
Kit came to a halt, and suddenly she stamped her foot in the dusty road. "I won't do it!" she declared. "I absolutely won't
endure that all over again!"
But one look ahead at her uncle's shoulders, rigid in their Sunday black, and she knew that she would. Almost choking with
helpless rage she stumbled after Judith, who had moved ahead too absorbed to even notice. Oh, why had she ever come to
this hateful place?
CHAPTER SIX
REVEREND GERSHOM BULKELEY laid down his linen napkin, pushed back his heavy chair from the table, and
expanded his straining waistcoat in a satisfied sigh.