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
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!

_Hathorne_ (_examining the doll_). There is a pin in the arms.

_Ann._ I feel sharp pains, like pins, in my face; oh, 'tis
dreadful!

_Hathorne_ (_examining the doll_). There are pins in the face.

_Phoebe_ (_sobbing_). No, no! Those are the pins I stuck in for Aunt
Corey. Don't let them hang me, Aunt Corey.

_Parris._ That is sufficient. She has confessed.

_Hathorne._ Yes, methinks the child hath confessed whether she
would or no. Goodwife Corey, Phoebe hath now plainly said that she
did stick these pins in this image for you. What have you to say?

_Martha_ (_courtesying_). Your worship, the matter is beyond my poor
speech.

[Hathorne _tosses the doll on the table,_ Phoebe _watching
anxiously._

_Hathorne._ Go to your place, child.

_Phoebe._ I want my doll.

_Parris._ Go to thy place as his worship bids thee, and think on
the precepts in thy catechism. [Phoebe _returns sobbing._

_Afflicted Girls._ Oh, Goody Corey turns her eyes upon us! Bid her
turn her eyes away!

_Ann._ Oh, I see a black cat sitting on Goody Corey's shoulder, and
his eyes are like coals. Now, now, he looks at me when Goody Corey
does! Look away! look away! Oh, I am blind! I am blind! Sparks are
coming into my eyes from Goody Corey's. Make her turn her eyes away,
your worships; make her turn her eyes away!

_Hathorne._ Goody Corey, fix your eyes upon the floor, and look not
at these poor children whom you so afflict.

_Martha._ May the Lord open the eyes of the magistrates an