26 July 1692, Tuesday
I had a restless night and could not sleep. I did not wish to wake Lizzie so I left for Father’s before daybreak. I closed the door behind me as silently as I could, leaving a note in case she wondered where I was, though she could guess easily enough that I had gone to Father’s. Where else might I be? I watched the pink-blue lines of the dawning day as I walked down the road, past the harbor and round the Commons.
Though twas early when I walked, I saw the widow Mrs. Bentley leaving Father’s red ochre door. I laughed to think how Father has more than his share of eyelashes fluttering in his direction. The widow Mrs. Bentley brings him sweetmeats and Indian pudding because she knows how much he likes them. Several mothers of unmarried daughters younger than me bring
