strings of crimson peppers, and festoons of apple, drying on
poles hung beneath; the men's hats, the crook-necked squashes, the
skeins of thread and yarn hanging in bunches on the wainscot; the sheen
of the pewter plates and basins, standing in rows on the shelves of the
dresser; the trusty firelock, with powder-horn, bandolier, and
bullet-pouch, hanging on the summer-tree, and the bright brass
warming-pan behind the bedroom door--all stand more clearly revealed for
an instant, showing the provident care for the comfort and safety of the
household. Dimly seen in the corners of the room are baskets in which
are packed hands of flax from the barn, where, under the flax-brake, the
swingling-knife and coarse hackle, the shives and swingling tow have
been removed by the men; to-morrow the more deft manipulations of the
women will prepare these bunches of fibre for the little wheel, and
granny will card the tow into bats, to be spun into tow yarn on the big
wheel. All quaff the sparkling cider or foaming beer, from the
briskly-circulating pewter mug, which the last out of bed in the morning
must replenish from the barrel in the cellar. But over all a grave
earnestness prevails; there is little laughter or mirth, and no song to
cheer the tired workers. If stories are told they are of Indian horrors,
of ghosts, or of the fearful pranks of witchcraft.

This was the age of superstition. Women were hung for witches in Salem,
and witchcraft believed in everywhere. Every untoward event was imputed
to supernatural causes. Did the butter or soap delay its coming, the
churn and the kettle were bewitched. Did the chimney refuse to draw,
witches were blowing down the smoke. Did the loaded cart get stuck in
the mud, invisible hands were holding it. Did the cow's milk grow scant,
the imps had been sucking her. Did the sick child cry, search was made
for the witches' pins. Were its sufferings relieved by death, glances
were cast around to discover the malignant eye that doomed it. Tales of
events like these, so fascinating and so fearful, sent the adults, as
well as children to bed with blood chilled, every sense alert with fear,
ready to see a ghost in every slip of moonshine, and trace to malign
origin every sound breaking the stillness--the rattle of a shutter, the
creak of a door, the moan of the winds or the cries of the birds and
beasts of the night. For more than a century later, the belief in
witchcraft kept a strong hold on the popu