a witch. It was long before Lois could reach them;
and she had something of the natural hunger of youth left in her still,
which prompted her, lying her length on the floor, to weary herself
with efforts to obtain the bread. After she had eaten some of it, the
day began to wane, and she thought she would lay her down and try to
sleep. But before she did so, the gaoler heard her singing the Evening
Hymn:

Glory to thee, my God, this night,
For all the blessings of the light.

And a dull thought came into his dull mind, that she was thankful for
few blessings, if she could tune up her voice to sing praises after
this day of what, if she were a witch, was shameful detection in
abominable practices, and if not--. Well, his mind stopped short at
this point in his wondering contemplation. Lois knelt down and said the
Lord's Prayer, pausing just a little before one clause, that she might
be sure that in her heart of hearts she did forgive. Then she looked at
her ankle, and the tears came into her eyes once again, but not so much
because she was hurt, as because men must have hated her so bitterly
before they could have treated her thus. Then she lay down, and fell
asleep.

The next day, she was led before Mr. Hathorn and Mr. Curwin, justices
of Salem, to be accused legally and publicly of witchcraft. Others were
with her, under the same charge. And when the prisoners were brought
in, they were cried out at by the abhorrent crowd. The two Tappaus,
Prudence, and one or two other girls of the same age were there, in the
character of victims of the spells of the accused. The prisoners were
placed about seven or eight feet from the justices and the accusers
between the justices and them; the former were then ordered to stand
right before the justices. All this Lois did at their bidding, with
something of the wondering docility of a child, but not with any hope
of softening the hard, stony look of detestation that was on all the
countenances around her, save those that were distorted by more
passionate anger. Then an officer was bidden to hold each of her hands,
and Justice Hathorn bade her keep her eyes continually fixed on him,
for this reason--which, however, was not told to her--lest, if she
looked on Prudence, the girl might either fall into a fit, or cry out
that she was suddenly and violently hurt. If any heart could have been
touched of that cruel multitude, they would have felt some compassion
for the sweet you