"Why, how could Thomas know where to go then?"

"Oh, the man managed to say that his employee would be waiting for Thomas at the "Crown and Anchor," where he usually stops you know."

"Well, I am glad that Thomas went. I stopped to see if Jehosaphat could do a little errand for me--I might have sent one of my own men, but I forget matters sometimes."

"You will find him at the barn," replied Mistress

Putnam, a little anxious to cut short the conversation, as she wished to get ready for her ride to Salem.

Going to the barn, Master Joseph soon found Jehosaphat. "How do, Fatty!"

this was the not very dignified diminutive into which Jehosaphat had dwindled in common use. "How are you getting along?"

"Fair to middlin, sir. Not as well though as on the old place, Master Joseph."

"I do not want to interfere with my brother, remember; but if at any time he should not want you any more, remember the old place is still open for you. It was your own fault, you know, that you went."

"I did not know when I was well off, Master Joseph. I was a fool, that was all."

"I thought so," replied Master Joseph pithily. "But no matter about that now--can you do an errand for me?"

"Of course I can--the mistress willing."

"Well, I said I wished to send you on an errand, and she told me where to find you."

"That is all right then."

"Go to Goodman Buckley's, in Salem village, and ask him for a bundle I left--bring it to my house, you know, you can take the roan horse there. And, by the way, Fatty, if you want to stop an hour or two to see the widow Jones's pretty daughter, I guess no great harm will be done."

Jehosaphat giggled--but then his face clouded. "But Mistress Putnam wants to take the roan herself this afternoon. The trial comes off, you know."

"Oh, it is not a trial--it is only an examination. And it is all fiddlesticks, anyhow. My sister-in-law is ruining her health by all this witch business. But if she insists upon going, I will lend her one of my horses. Therefore that need not keep you."

So Jehosaphat, in high glee at having an afternoon's holiday, with the roan horse, threw on the saddle and mounted.

As he rode at a rapid canter down the lane, Mistress Ann heard the noise, but supposed it was Master Joseph riding off again,--and did not even trouble herself to look out of the window, especially as she was just then changing her gown.

Not long after, coming into the family room, who should she see there, sitting demurely, reading one of the Reverend Cotton Mather's most popular sermons, but the same Master Joseph Putnam whom she had thought she was well rid of.

"I thought you had gone. I surely heard you riding down the lane," she said in a surprised tone.

"Oh, no, I wanted to speak with you about something."

"Who was it then?--I surely heard some one."

"Perhaps it was one of those spectral horses, with a spectral rider. As Master Mather says: These are very wonderful and appalling times!" And the young man laughed a little scornfully.

"Brother Joseph, I do not care to talk with you upon this question. I greatly regret, as do your brothers and your uncles, that you have gone over to the infidels and the scoffers."

"And I regret that they are making such fools of themselves," replied Joseph hotly.

"I have no time to discuss this question, brother Joseph," said Mistress Ann with dignity. "I am going to Salem town this afternoon, very much in the cross, to give my testimony against a young friend of yours. Would that I could have been spared this trial!" and his sister-in-law looked up to the ceiling sanctimoniously. As Joseph told his young wife that night, her hypocrisy hardened his heart against her; so that he could have kept her at home by sheer force, if it were necessary, and at all expedient--in fact he would have preferred that rough but sincere way.

"If you testify to anything that throws doubt upon Master Raymond's perfect innocency and goodness, you will testify to a lie," replied Master Joseph severely.

"As I said, I have no time for argument. Will you be good enough to tell Jehosaphat to saddle the roan for me."

"You know that I had your permission to send Fatty off on an errand--and he is not back yet."

Mistress Putnam started and bit her lip. She had made a mistake. "I suppose he will be back before long."

"I doubt it. I sent him to the village."

"Well, I suppose I can put on the saddle myself. Your conscience probably would not allow you to do it--even if common courtesy towards a woman, and that woman your sister, demanded it."

"Without deciding the latter point, I should think it almost impossible for me to put a saddle on the roan just now."

"Why? I do not understand you."

"Because he is doubtless miles away by this time."

"Jehosaphat did not take the horse!"

"It is precisely what he did do."

"He knew I wanted the roan to ride to Salem town this afternoon."

"He told me you did; but I said that I thought you would have too much sense to go. Still, if you would go, that I would lend you one of my horses."

"Well, where is your horse?"

"There, at the door. You can take off my saddle, and put on your side-saddle, and, if you are in a hurry, Sweetbriar can do the distance in half the time that the roan could."

Mistress Putnam could have cried with anger and vexation. Like many people of strong and resolute will, she was a good deal of a coward on horseback; and she knew that Sweetbriar was what the farmers called "a young and very skittish animal." Still her determined spirit rose against thus being outdone; besides, she knew well that in a case like this, where none of the "afflicted circle," not even her own daughter, would aid her, the whole thing might fall through if she were not present. So she said, "Well, I will saddle your horse myself."

Here Master Joseph relented--because he now felt certain of his game. "I have conscientious scruples against lifting even my little finger to aid you in this unholy business," he said more placidly, "but under the circ.u.mstances, I will saddle Sweetbriar for you."

So saying, he took off his saddle from the horse, and subst.i.tuted the side-saddle which he brought from the barn. Then he led Sweetbriar to the horse-block, and his sister-in-law mounted.

She glanced at his spurs. "You ride him with spurs, I see. Hand me my riding-whip," she said, pointing to where she had laid it, when she first came out.

"I would not strike him, if I were you. He is not used to the whip--it might make him troublesome."

Mistress Putnam made no reply; but gathered up the reins, and the horse started down the lane.

A singular smile came across the young man's features. He went back and closed the door of the house, and then started in a rapid walk across the field towards his own home. Neither of them thought it mattered that the house was left for a time unprotected. Mistress Putnam knew that a couple of farm-hands were at work in a distant field, who would be back at sundown; and there were so few strollers at that time, that no farmer thought of bolting up his doors and windows when he went to meeting, or to see a neighbor.

The way home across the fields was a good deal nearer than to go by the road, as the latter made quite an angle. And, as the young man strode swiftly, on he could see in many places his sister-in-law, riding deliberately along, and approaching the forks of the road, where anyone going to his own house, would turn and ride away from, instead of toward Salem.

"When she gets to the forks of the road, look out for squalls," said Master Joseph to himself. For many had been his own fights with Sweetbriar, when the horse wanted to go towards his stable, after a long ride, and his young master wanted him to go in the opposite direction.