Lois the Witch HTML version

Chapter I
In the year 1691, Lois Barclay stood on a little wooden pier, steadying herself on
the stable land, in much the same manner as, eight or nine weeks ago, she had
tried to steady herself on the deck of the rocking ship which had carried her
across from Old to New England. It seemed as strange now to be on solid earth
as it had been, not long ago, to be rocked by the sea both by day and by night;
and the aspect of the land was equally strange. The forests which showed in the
distance all around, and which, in truth, were not very far from the wooden
houses forming the town of Boston, were of different shades of green, and
different, too, in shape of outline to those which Lois Barclay knew well in her old
home in Warwickshire. Her heart sank a little as she stood alone, waiting for the
captain of the good ship Redemption, the kind, rough old sailor, who was her
only known friend in this unknown continent. Captain Holdernesse was busy,
however, as she saw, and it would probably be some time before he would be
ready to attend to her; so Lois sat down on one of the casks that lay about, and
wrapped her grey duffle cloak tight around her, and sheltered herself under her
hood, as well as might be, from the piercing wind, which seemed to follow those
whom it had tyrannised over at sea with a dogged wish of still tormenting them
on land. Very patiently did Lois sit there, although she was weary, and shivering
with cold; for the day was severe for May, and the Redemption, with store of
necessaries and comforts for the Puritan colonists of New England, was the
earliest ship that had ventured across the seas.
How could Lois help thinking of the past, and speculating on the future, as she
sat on Boston pier, at this breathing-time of her life? In the dim sea mist which
she gazed upon with aching eyes (filled, against her will, with tears, from time to
time), there rose, the little village church of Barford (not three miles from Warwick
- you may see it yet), where her father had preached ever since 1661, long
before she was born. He and her mother both lay dead in Barford churchyard;
and the old low grey church could hardly come before her vision without her
seeing the old parsonage too, the cottage covered with Austrian roses and yellow
jessamine, where she had been born, sole child of parents already long past the
prime of youth. She saw the path not a hundred yards long, from the parsonage
to the vestry door: that path which her father trod daily; for the vestry was his
study, and the sanctum where he pored over the ponderous tomes of the
Fathers, and compared their precepts with those of the authorities of the
Anglican Church of that day - the day of the later Stuarts; for Barford Parsonage,
at that time, scarcely exceeded in size and dignity the cottages by which it was
surrounded: it only contained three rooms on a floor, and was but two storeys
high. On the first or ground floor, were the parlour, kitchen, and back or working
kitchen; upstairs, Mr and Mrs Barclay's room, that belonging to Lois, and the
maid servant's room. If a guest came, Lois left her own chamber, and shared old
Clemence's bed. But those days were over. Never more should Lois see father or
mother on earth; they slept, calm and still, in Barford churchyard, careless of
what became of their orphan child, as far as earthly manifestations of care or
love went. And Clemence lay there too, bound down in her grassy bed by withes