Martha. Peace, dear child! Thou must not begrudge it. Their worships be in sore distress just now to play with dolls.
Parris. Give his worship the doll, child. Hast thou not been taught to respect them in authority?
[Phœbe gives the doll to Hathorne, whimpering. Hathorne, Corwin, and Parris put their heads together over it.
Hathorne (holding up the doll). There be verily many pins in this image. Goodwife Corey, what know you of this?
Martha. Your worship, such a weighty matter is beyond my poor knowledge.
Hathorne. Know you whence the child got this image?
Martha. Yes, your worship. I myself made it out of a piece of an old homespun blanket for the child to play with. I stuffed it with lamb's wool, and sewed some green ravellings on its head for hair. I made it a coat out of my copperas-colored petticoat, and colored its lips and cheeks with pokeberries.
Hathorne. Did you teach the child to stick in these pins wherewith to torment folk?
Martha. It availeth me naught to say no, your worship.
Mercy (screams). Oh, a sharp pain shoot through me when I look at the image! 'Tis through my arms! Oh!