it does not startle him—he was expecting it. It was Tituba, his wife, who like himself had been baffling observation to join him at the rendezvous. They looked at each other, but no word passed between them. On her dark face was expressed inquiry; on his, as he looked down at his work, she read the answer.
Then Tituba began busily gathering together small dry twigs of wood, bits of bark, and fir cones, and built them up, placing them in order as for a small fire, rejecting all larger wood as unsuitable for her purpose; and when this was done, she came to her husband's side, squatting down, like a hideous toad, by the brink of the hole which he was digging—sitting upon her haunches, with her knees drawn up, her elbows resting upon them, and her spread hands supporting her heavy jaws on either side. So she sat, motionless but intent, her snaky eyes never moving from the spot, until John, having reached the object of his search, lifted out something wrapped up in coarse foreign mats.
Removing the coverings, he brought to
