"He bought the yellow bird from Tituba's mother—her spectre told me so!" cried Abigail Williams.
"What do you say to that, Master Alden?" said Squire Gedney. "That is a serious charge."
"I never saw any Tituba or her mother," exclaimed the Captain, again growing indignant.
"Who then did you buy the witch's familiar of?" asked Squire Hathorne.
"I do not know—some old negro wench!"
Here the magistrates looked at each other sagely, and nodded their wooden heads. It was a fatal admission. "You had better confess all, and give glory to God!" said Squire Gedney solemnly.
"I trust I shall always be ready to give glory to God," answered the old man stoutly; "but I do not see that it would glorify Him to confess to a pack of lies. You have known me for many years, Master Gedney, but did you ever know me to speak an untruth, or seek to injure any innocent persons, much less women and children?"
Squire Gedney said that he had known the accused many years, and had even been at sea with him, and had always supposed him to be an honest man; but now he saw good cause to alter that judgment.
"Turn and look now again upon those afflicted persons," concluded Squire Gedney.
As the accused turned and again looked upon them, all of the "afflicted" fell down on the floor as if he had struck them a heavy blow—moaning and crying out against him.