_Paul._ I know well thou hast not spun this last week, that the cream is too far gone to be churned, and the cheeses have not been turned.

_Nancy._ 'Tis so, Paul; and there's no sweet-cake in the house, either.

_Paul._ Thou art no such housewife as thy mother, Olive Corey! One would say she had not taught thee. I trow she was a good housewife, and notable among the neighbors; but this will take from her reputation that she hath so brought thee up. I trow could she see this house 'twould give her a new ache in her heart among all the others.

_Olive._ I will mind the house, Paul.

_Paul._ Ay, mind the house, poor la.s.s! Know you, Olive, that there is a rumor abroad in Salem that your father will refuse to plead, and will stand mute at his trial?

_Olive._ Wherefore will he do that?

_Paul._ I scarcely know why. Has he made a will, 'twill not be valid were he to plead at a criminal trial; there will be an attainder on it. They say that is one reason, and that he thinks thus to show his scorn of the whole devilish work, and of a trial that is no trial.

_Olive._ What is the penalty if he stand mute?

_Paul._ 'Tis a severe one; but he shall not stand mute.

_Phoebe._ Oh, Paul, get Aunt Corey out of jail! Can't you get Aunt Corey out of jail?

_Nancy._ Perchance you could pry up the hook of the jail door with the old knife. It will be dark to-night. There is no moon until three o'clock in the morning.

_Olive._ Paul, think you not that my father's sons-in-law might do somewhat? They are men of influence. Their wives are but my half-sisters, but they are his own daughters. I marvel they have not come to me since this trouble.

_Paul._ Olive, his sons-in-law have sent in their written testimony against him and your mother.

_Olive._ Paul, it cannot be so!

_Paul._ They have surely so testified. There is no help to be had from them. I have a plan.

_Olive._ All is useless, Paul. His sons-in-law, his own daughters'

husbands, have turned against him! There is no help anywhere. My mother will soon be hanged. Minister Parris said so last night when he came. And he knelt yonder and prayed that I might no longer practise witchcraft. My father and mother are lost, and I have brought it upon them. Talk no more to me, Paul.

_Paul._ Then, perchance your mother be a witch, Olive Corey.

_Olive._ My mother is not a witch.

_Paul._ Doth not Minister Parris say so? And if he speak truth when he calls you a witch, why speaks he not truth of your mother also? I trow, if you be a witch, she is.

_Olive._ My mother is no witch, and I am no witch, Paul Bayley!

_Paul._ Mind you stick to that, poor la.s.s! Now, I go to Boston to the Governor. There lies the only hope for thy parents.

_Olive._ Think you the Governor will listen? Oh, he must listen!

Thou hast a masterful way with thee, Paul. When wilt thou start? Oh, if I had not thee!

_Paul._ I would I could make myself twenty-fold 'twixt thee and evil, sweet. I will get Goodman Nourse's horse and start to-night.

_Olive._ Then go, go! Do not wait!

_Paul._ I will not wait. Good-by, dear heart. Keep good courage, and put foolish fancies away from thee. [_Embraces her._

_Olive_ (_freeing herself_). This is no time for love-making, Paul.

I will mind the house well and keep at prayer. Thou need'st not fear. Now, haste, haste! Do not wait!

_Paul._ I will be on the Boston path in a half-hour. Good-by, Olive. Please G.o.d, I'll bring thee back good news. [_Exit_ Paul.

[Olive _stands in the door watching him depart._ Phoebe _steals up to her and throws her arms around her._ Olive _turns suddenly and embraces the child._

_Olive._ Come, sweet; while Paul sets forth to the Governor, we will go to prayer. Nancy, come, we will go to prayer that the Governor may lend a gracious ear, and our feet be kept clear of the snares of Satan. Come, we will go to prayer; there is naught left for us but to go to prayer!

_Tableau--Curtain falls._

Act V.

_Six weeks later._ Giles Corey's _cell in Salem jail. It is early morning._ Giles, _heavily chained, is sleeping upon his bed. A noise is heard at the door._ Giles _stirs and raises himself._

_Giles._ Yes, Martha, I'm coming. (_Noise continues._) I'm coming, Martha. (_Stares around the cell._) G.o.d help me, but I thought 'twas Martha calling me to supper, and 'tis a month since she died on Gallows Hill. I verily thought that I smelt the pork frying and the pan-cakes.

_The door is opened and the_ Guard, _bringing a dish of porridge, enters; he sets it on the floor beside the bed, then examines_ Giles's _chains._

_Giles._ Make sure they be strong, else it will verily go hard with the hussies. They will screech louder yet, and be more like pin-cushions than ever. Art sure they be strong? 'Twere a pity such guileless and tender maids should suffer, and old Giles Corey's hands be rough. He hath hewn wood and handled the plough for nigh eighty years with them, and now these pretty maids say he hurts their soft flesh. In truth, they must be sore afflicted. Prithee are the chains well riveted? I thought last night one link seemed somewhat loose as though it might be forced, and old Giles Corey hath still some strength; and hath he witchcraft, as they say, it might well make him stronger. Be wary about the chains for the sake of those G.o.dly and tender maids.

[_Exit_ Guard. Giles _takes the dish of porridge and eats._

_Giles_ (_making a wry face_). This be rare porridge; it be rare enough to charge the cook on't with witchcraft. It might well have been scorched in some h.e.l.l-fire. I trow Martha would have flung it to the pigs. I verily thought 'twas Martha calling me to supper, and I smelt the good food cooking, and Martha hung a month since on Gallows Hill. Who's that at the door now?

Guard _opens the door and_ Paul Bayley _enters._ Giles _takes another spoonful of porridge._

_Paul._ Good-day, Goodman Corey.

_Giles._ Taste this porridge, will ye.

_Paul_ (_tastes the porridge_). 'Tis burned.

_Giles._ It be rare food to keep up the soul of an old man who hath set himself to undergo what I have set myself to undergo. But it matters not. I trow old Giles Corey may well have eat all his life unknowingly to this end, and hath now somewhat of strength to fall back upon. He needs no dainty fare to make him strong to undergo what he hath set himself. How fares my daughter?

_Paul._ As well as she can fare, poor la.s.s! I saw her last evening.

She is now calmer in her mind, and she goeth about the house like her mother.

_Giles._ Her mother set great store by her. She would often strive in prayer that she should not make an idol of her before the Lord.

_Paul._ Goodman, it goes hard to tell you, but I had an audience yesterday again with Governor Phipps, an' 'twas in vain.

_Giles_ (_laughing_). In vain, say ye 'twas in vain? Why, I looked to see the pardon sticking out of your waistcoat pocket! Why went ye again to Boston? Know ye not that this whole land is now a bedlam, and the Governors and the magistrates swell the ravings? Seek ye in bedlam for justice of madmen? It is not now pardon or justice that we have to think on, but death, and the best that can be made out on't. Know ye that my trial will be held this afternoon?