Ann. I must be going; ’tis late.

Olive. Nay, Ann, ’tis not late.  Wait, and Paul will go home with you through the wood.

Ann. I must be going.

Paul (hesitatingly).  Then let me go with you, Mistress Ann!  I can well do my errand here later.

Ann. Nay, I can wait whilst you do the errand, if you are speedy.  I fear lest the delay would make you ill at ease.

Martha (quickly).  There is no need, Paul.  I will go with Ann.  I want to borrow a hood pattern of Goodwife Nourse on the way.

Paul. But will you not be afraid, goodwife?

Martha. Afraid, and the moon at a good half, and only a short way to go?

Paul. But you have to go through the wood.

Martha. The wood!  A stretch as long as this room—­six ash-trees, one butternut, and a birch sapling thrown in for a witch spectre.  Say no more, Paul.  Sit you down and keep Olive company.  I will go, if only for the sake of showing these silly little hussies that there is no call for a gospel woman with prayer in her heart to be afraid of anything but the wrath of God. [Puts a blanket over her head.

Ann. I want no company at all, Goodwife Corey.

Phoebe. Aunt Corey, let me go, too; my stint is done.

Martha. Nay, you must to bed, and Nancy too.  Off with ye, and no words.

Nancy. I’m none so old that I must needs be sent to bed like a babe, I’d have you know that, Goody Corey. [Sets away apple pan; exit, with Phoebe following sulkily.

Martha. Come, Ann.

Ann. I want no company.  I have more fear with company than I have alone.

Martha. Along with you, child.

Olive. Oh, Ann, you are forgetting your cape.  Here, mother, you carry it for her.  Good-night, sweetheart.

Ann. I want no company, Goodwife Corey. [Martha takes her laughingly by the arm and leads her out.

Paul. It is a fine night out.

Olive. So I have heard.

Paul. You make a jest of me, Mistress Olive.  Know you not when a man is of a sudden left alone with a fair maid, he needs to try his speech like a player his fiddle, to see if it be in good tune for her ears; and what better way than to sound over and over again the praise of the fine weather?  What ailed Ann that she seemed so strangely, Olive?

Olive. I know not.  I think she had been overwrought by coming alone through the woods.

Paul. She seemed ill at ease.  Why spin you so steadily, Olive?

Olive. I must finish my stint.

Paul. Who set you a stint as if you were a child?

Olive. Mine own conscience, to which I will ever be a child.

Paul. Cease spinning, sweetheart.