January 20, 1692 Dear Little Book, Mother and Father have forbidden me to have anything to do with Martha. I, being afeard, asked why. Mother just told me that she is ill and it is contagious. I really do not believe that. Martha has never been ill in her life! My neighbor, Anna Paxton, a gossipy, wrinkly, old crone, came over this afternoon. I was up in the loft, but I could still hear all she said to Mother. "Have ye heard 'bout that Martha child?" she hissed. My mother did not reply. Maybe she nodded. "I swear, the devil hisself has gotten into that girl. Ye know how she loves ter go upon the hill, and ye know what lives there. Old Myr, that witch. None of the officials have caught her yet, for most o' them be afeard. I reckon she..." Miss Paxton lowered her voice, and I could not hear it. My mother obviously disagreed with whatever had been said, for she began to rant. "Martha? Sell her soul to the Devil?" Up in the loft, I crossed myself. "I highly doubt any Christian girl would do tha'! And Martha! As sweet as a girl you could ever find!" There was a long silence, then Anna replied, "Fine, if ye dinna take me word for it, then God help ye. That Martha be possessed." With that, Anna Paxton left in a huff. Oh, Little Book, I am afeard! I must see Martha, and soon.