Giles Corey, Yeoman | Page 3

Nay, father, I'll turn to and hang up my own shadow
in the chimbly-place for a witch, an you say so.
Giles. This be no subject for jest. Said you the black beast spoke to you,
Ann?
Ann. I know not. Once I thought I heard Olive calling. I know not what
I heard.
Giles. You'd best have stayed at home. Where is your mother, Olive?
Olive. She has gone to Goodwife Bishop's with a basket of eggs.
Giles. Gone three miles to Goodwife Bishop's this time of night? Is the
woman gone out of her senses?
Olive. She is not afraid.
Giles. I'll warrant she is not afraid. So much the worse for her. Mayhap
she's gone riding on a broomstick herself. How is the cat?
Olive. She is better.
Giles. She was taken strangely, if your mother did make light of it. And
the ox, hath he fell down again?
Olive. Not that I have heard.
Giles. The ox was taken strangely, if your mother did pooh at it. The ox
was better when she went out of the yard.

Phoebe. There's Aunt Corey now. Who is she talking to?
Enter Martha Corey.
Phoebe. Who were you talking to, Aunt Corey?
Martha. Nobody, child. Good-evening, Ann.
Phoebe. I heard you talking to somebody, Aunt Corey.
Martha. Be quiet, child. I was talking to nobody. You hear too much
nowadays. [Takes off her cloak.
Nancy. Mayhap she hears more than folk want her to. I heard a voice
too, a gruff voice like a pig's.
Giles. I thought I heard talking too. Who was it, Martha?
Martha. I tell you 'twas no one. Are you all out of your wits? [Gets
some knitting-work out of a cupboard and seats herself.
Phoebe. Weren't you afraid coming through the wood, Aunt Corey?
Martha (laughing). Afraid? Why, no, child. Of what should I be afraid?
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.
Ann. I must be going; 'tis late.
Olive. Nay, Ann, 'tis not late. Wait, and Paul will go