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Updated: June 2, 2025
"When do you remember having seen it last?" the coroner inquired. Radnor pondered. "I remember lending it to Mrs. Mathers when she was building a fire in the woods to make the coffee; after that I don't remember anything about it." "How do you account for its presence at the scene of the murder?"
I didn't believe it, but just the same it is not a story which you can afford to have even whispered." Radnor raised his head sharply. "Ah, I see!" His eyes wavered a moment and then fixed themselves miserably on my face. "Has has Polly Mathers heard that?" "Yes," I returned, "I fancy she has." He struck the table with a quick flash of anger. "It's a damned lie! And it comes from Jim Mattison."
He was so engrossed that he had not noticed the school-children who had come up noiselessly from behind and were looking in wonder at his drawings. Presently a child, who in her eagerness had touched his shoulder, broke the stillness in apology. "Say, Mister, there's a lady comes to school every day. She's a painter too, and drawed Sissy Mathers."
Would you like to go?" said his father. "If you think I am old enough to leave school," mumbled Frank. "Certainly you are old enough," said his father, "we can't afford to keep you at school all your life." Mrs. Mathers looked at her son sympathetically, she knew he loved his school immensely.
"Tell me about last night," Tavernake said. "I suppose I am stupid but I don't quite understand." "How should you?" she answered. "Listen, then. Wenham, I suppose got tired of being shut up with Mathers, although I am sure I don't see what else was possible. So he waited for his opportunity, and when the man wasn't looking well, you know what happened," she added, with a shiver.
In summing up the religious history of New England, it would be just and proper to show the agency of the Mathers, father and son, in the witchcraft delusion. It would be quite fair to plead in their behalf the common beliefs of their time.
He was a master of detail, one of those rare men who can retain within their grasp the full knowledge of every fact in the most complicated of problems. He was also, like myself, an enthusiastic Gladstonian. Unkind people in Leeds said in those days that the Liberal party consisted of three persons, Kitson, Mathers, and Reid.
Then she thought about another kind of love the love she felt for Frank Mathers. She asked herself why she loved him. He was not bold, and she admired boldness. That she loved him, however, she was certain. Did he love her? "Yes," she thought he did. Then what kept them apart? Who was the cause of it? Her father.
You can see for yourself what took place. Mrs. Mathers went back to the spot where they were building the fire, and the Colonel took the match box from her. No man is ever going to stand by and watch a woman strike a match he can do it so much better himself. At this point, Mrs. Mathers by her own testimony was called away, and she doesn't remember anything further about the box.
Not only did they speak with all the authority inherited with the traditions of the past; not only had they or their predecessors trained the vast majority of the people from their cradles to reverence them more than anything on earth, but their compact organization was as yet unimpaired, and at its head stood the two Mathers, the pastors of the Old North Church.
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