BRADFORD.
What have you to say to these things, Goody Gurton?
GOODY GURTON
(quite simply).
Why, naught, sir, naught. I noted myself that last week the moon rose red, and that last night the wind blew shrewdly.
BRADFORD.
How comes it that you were leaving the streets of Salem, and walking here in the forest? 'Twas here in the forest we found you.
GOODY GURTON.
I came to hunt for some simples...for spearmint and checkerberry and tansy.
BRADFORD
(with deep sternness).
And for wolfbane and hellbore and all other hideous herbs that witches brew in their caldrons. You stand accused, Goody Gurton.