The Scarlet Letter

The old minister seated himself in an arm-chair and made an

effort to draw Pearl betwixt his knees. But the child,

unaccustomed to the touch or familiarity of any but her mother,

escaped through the open window, and stood on the upper step,

looking like a wild tropical bird of rich plumage, ready to take

flight into the upper air. Mr. Wilson, not a little astonished

at this outbreak--for he was a grandfatherly sort of personage,

and usually a vast favourite with children--essayed, however, to

proceed with the examination.

"Pearl," said he, with great solemnity, "thou must take heed to

instruction, that so, in due season, thou mayest wear in thy

bosom the pearl of great price. Canst thou tell me, my child,

who made thee?"

Now Pearl knew well enough who made her, for Hester Prynne, the

daughter of a pious home, very soon after her talk with the

child about her Heavenly Father, had begun to inform her of

those truths which the human spirit, at whatever stage of

immaturity, imbibes with such eager interest. Pearl,

therefore--so large were the attainments of her three years'

lifetime--could have borne a fair examination in the New England

Primer, or the first column of the Westminster Catechisms,

although unacquainted with the outward form of either of those

celebrated works. But that perversity, which all children have

more or less of, and of which little Pearl had a tenfold

portion, now, at the most inopportune moment, took thorough

possession of her, and closed her lips, or impelled her to speak

words amiss. After putting her finger in her mouth, with many

ungracious refusals to answer good Mr. Wilson's question, the

child finally announced that she had not been made at all, but

had been plucked by her mother off the bush of wild roses that

grew by the prison-door.

This phantasy was probably suggested by the near proximity of

the Governor's red roses, as Pearl stood outside of the window,

together with her recollection of the prison rose-bush, which

she had passed in coming hither.

Old Roger Chillingworth, with a smile on his face, whispered

something in the young clergyman's ear. Hester Prynne looked at

the man of skill, and even then, with her fate hanging in the

balance, was startled to perceive what a change had come over

his features--how much uglier they were, how his dark complexion

seemed to have grown duskier, and his figure more

misshapen--since the days when she had familiarly known him. She

met his eyes for an instant, but was immediately constrained to

give all her attention to the scene now going forward.

"This is awful!" cried the Governor, slowly recovering from the

astonishment into which Pearl's response had thrown him. "Here

is a child of three years old, and she cannot tell who made her!

Without question, she is equally in the dark as to her soul, its

present depravity, and future destiny! Methinks, gentlemen, we

need inquire no further."