Phœbe. 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.