_Hathorne._ What doll? What mean you, child?

_Phoebe._ I don't know. I didn't stick them in so very deep, Aunt
Corey! Don't let them hang me for it!

_Hathorne._ Did your aunt Corey teach you to stick pins into your
doll to torment folk?

_Phoebe_ (_sobbing convulsively_). I don't know! I don't know! Oh,
Aunt Corey, don't let them hang me! Olive, you won't let them! Oh!
oh!

_Corwin._ Methinks 'twere as well to make an end of this.

_Hathorne._ There seemeth to me important substance under this
froth of tears. (_To_ Phoebe.) Give me thy doll, child.

_Phoebe_ (_clutching the doll_). Oh, my doll! my doll! Oh, Aunt
Corey, don't let them have my doll!

_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?

[Phoebe _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