THE WITCH OF BLACKBIRD POND - CSIR

As the heavy door finally closed, Matthew Wood turned fiercely toward his wife. "That is the last time," he pronounced, "that
I will have Gershom Bulkeley under my roof!"
"Very well, Matthew," sighed Rachel. "But do not be too hard on him. Gershom is a good man, just set in his ways."
"He is a hypocrite and a whited sepulcher!" Matthew's fist crashed down on the table. "And I’ll have no more texts read at me
in my own house!"
Wearily the women set to work to clear the table, while Matthew raked up the fire in the hearth. All at once he straightened
up. "There is another matter I forgot," he said. "Young William Ashby asked per- mission today to pay his respects to my
niece."
A spoon clattered from Judith's fingers. There was utter silence in the room as Rachel and both' her daughters turned to stare
at Kit.
"You mean call on Katherine?'' Aunt Rachel' voice was incredulous.
"That is what I said."
"But he has hardly seen her--only for a moment after Meeting."
"She was conspicuous enough."
Kit felt her cheeks growing hot: Judith opened her mouth to say something, glanced at her father and closed it again.
"I suppose we can hardly refuse," ventured Rachel. "He is a member of the Society in good standing, and he has gone about it
quite properly."
"His father is another King's man," said her husband. "He proposed in council that we join with Massachusetts. But what can
we expect, now that we harbor a Royalist under our own roof? Bring a candle, Rachel. We have wasted enough time for one
night."
A constrained trio lingered after Rachel had climbed the stairs behind her husband. Mercy began quietly to make ready her
own bed in the corner. A small wrinkle of concern marred her usually placid forehead.