Giles. I trow there’s plenty to be afraid of.  How did you get home so quick?  ’Tis a good three miles to Goody Bishop’s.

Martha. I walked at a good speed.

Giles. I thought perhaps you galloped a broomstick.

Martha. Nay, goodman, I know not how to manage such a strange steed.

Giles. I thought perhaps one had taught you, inasmuch as you have naught to say against the gentry that ride the broomstick of a night.

Martha. Fill not the child’s head with such folly.  How fares your mother, Ann?

Ann. Well, Goodwife Corey.

Giles. She lacks sense, or she would have kept her daughter at home.  Out after nightfall, and the woods full of the devil knoweth what.

Martha. Nay, goodman, there be no danger.  The scouts are in the fields.

Giles. I meant not Injuns.  There be worse than Injuns.  There be evil things and witches!

Martha (laughing).  Witches!  Goodman, you are a worse child than Phoebe here.

Giles. I tell ye, wife, you talk like a fool, ranting thus against witches.  I would you had been where I have been to-night, and heard the afflicted maids cry out in torment, being set upon by Sarah Good and Sarah Osborn.  I would you had seen Mercy Lewis strangled almost to death, and the others testifying ’twas Sarah Good thus afflicting her.  But I’ll warrant you’d not have believed them.

Martha (laughing).  That I would not, goodman.  I would have said that the maids should be sent home and soundly trounced, then put to bed, with a quart bowl of sage tea apiece.

Giles. Talk so if you will.  One of these days folk will say you be a witch yourself.  You were ever hard-skulled, and could knock your head long against a truth without being pricked by it.  Hold out if you can, when only this morning the ox and the cat were took so strangely here in our own household.

Martha. Shame on you, goodman!  The ox and the cat themselves would laugh at you.  The cat ate a rat, and it did not set well on her stomach, and the ox slipped in the mire in the yard.

Nancy. ’Twas more than that.  I know, I know.

Giles. Laugh if you will, wife.  Mayhap you know more about it than other folk.  You never could abide the cat.  I am going to bed, if I can first go to prayer.  Last night the words went from me strangely!  But you will laugh at that. [Lights a candle.  Exit.

Phoebe. Aunt Corey, may I eat an apple?

Martha. Not to-night.  ’Twill give you the nightmare.

Phoebe. No, ’twill not.

Martha. Be still!

There is a knock. Olive opens the door.  Enter Paul Bayley.  Ann starts up.

Paul. Good-evening, goodwife.  Good-evening, Olive.  Good-evening, Ann.  ’Tis a fine night out.