Spurtle

One day they built a fire in the yard and made a black kettle of apple butter so big that when they stood over it and stirred the apple mash with spurtles, the scene put Ada in mind of the witches in Macbeth working at their brew.

Upon the head hee lent so violent a stroke, That the poore emptie skull, like some thin potsheard broke, The braines and mingled blood, were spertled on the wall