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  LOIS THE WITCH

  Chapter 1

  In the year 1691, Lois Barclay stood on a little wooden pier, steadyingherself on the stable land, in much the same manner as, eight or nineweeks ago, she had tried to steady herself on the deck of the rockingship which had carried her across from Old to New England. It seemed asstrange now to be on solid earth as it had been, not long ago, to berocked by the sea, both by day and by night; and the aspect of the landwas equally strange. The forests which showed in the distance allround, and which, in truth, were not very far from the wooden housesforming the town of Boston, were of different shades of green, anddifferent, too, in shape of outline to those which Lois Barclay knewwell in her old home in Warwickshire. Her heart sank a little as shestood alone, waiting for the captain of the good ship Redemption, thekind rough old sailor, who was her only known friend in this unknowncontinent. Captain Holdernesse was busy, however, as she saw, and itwould 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 hergrey duffle cloak tight around her, and sheltered herself under herhood, as well as might be, from the piercing wind, which seemed tofollow those whom it had tyrannized over at sea with a dogged wish ofstill tormenting them on land. Very patiently did Lois sit there,although she was weary, and shivering with cold; for the day was severefor May, and the Redemption, with store of necessaries and comforts forthe Puritan colonists of New England, was the earliest ship that hadventured across the seas.

  How could Lois help thinking of the past, and speculating on thefuture, 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 littlevillage church of Barford (not three miles from Warwick--you may see ityet), where her father had preached ever since 1661, long before shewas born. He and her mother both lay dead in Barford churchyard; andthe old low grey church could hardly come before her vision without herseeing the old parsonage too, the cottage covered with Austrian roses,and yellow jessamine, where she had been born, sole child of parentsalready long past the prime of youth. She saw the path, not a hundredyards long, from the parsonage to the vestry door: that path which herfather trod daily; for the vestry was his study, and the sanctum, wherehe pored over the ponderous tomes of the Father, and compared theirprecepts with those of the authorities of the Anglican Church of thatday--the day of the later Stuarts; for Barford Parsonage at that timescarcely exceeded in size and dignity the cottages by which it wassurrounded: it only contained three rooms on a floor, and was but twostories high. On the first, or ground floor, were the parlour, kitchen,and back or working kitchen; up-stairs, 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 thosedays were over. Never more should Lois see father or mother on earth;they slept, calm and still, in Barford churchyard, careless of whatbecame of their orphan child, as far as earthly manifestations of careor love went. And Clemence lay there too, bound down in her grassy bedby withes of the briar-rose, which Lois had trained over those threeprecious graves before leaving England for ever.

  There were some who would fain have kept her there; one who swore inhis heart a great oath unto the Lord that he would seek her sooner orlater, if she was still upon the earth. But he was the rich heir andonly son of the Miller Lucy, whose mill stood by the Avon-side in thegrassy Barford meadows, and his father looked higher for him than thepenniless daughter of Parson Barclay (so low were clergymen esteemed inthose days!); and the very suspicion of Hugh Lucy's attachment to LoisBarclay made his parents think it more prudent not to offer the orphana home, although none other of the parishioners had the means, even ifthey had the will, to do so.

  So Lois swallowed her tears down till the time came for crying, andacted upon her mother's words:

  'Lois, thy father is dead of this terrible fever, and I am dying. Nay,it is so, though I am easier from pain for these few hours, the Lord bepraised! The cruel men of the Commonwealth have left thee veryfriendless. Thy father's only brother was shot down at Edgehill. I,too, have a brother, though thou hast never heard me speak of him, forhe was a schismatic; and thy father and he had words, and he left forthat new country beyond the seas, without ever saying farewell to us.But Ralph was a kind lad until he took up these new-fangled notions,and for the old days' sake he will take thee in, and love thee as achild, and place thee among his children. Blood is thicker than water.Write to him as soon as I am gone--for Lois, I am going--and I blessthe Lord that has letten me join my husband again so soon.' Such wasthe selfishness of conjugal love; she thought little of Lois'sdesolation in comparison with her rejoicing over her speedy reunionwith her dead husband! 'Write to thine uncle, Ralph Hickson, Salem, NewEngland (put it down, child, on thy tablets), and say that I, HenriettaBarclay, charge him, for the sake of all he holds dear in heaven or onearth,--for his salvation's sake, as well as for the sake of the oldhome at Lester-bridge,--for the sake of the father and mother that gaveus birth, as well as for the sake of the six little children who liedead between him and me,--that he take thee into his home as if thouwert his own flesh and blood, as indeed thou art. He has a wife andchildren of his own, and no one need fear having thee, my Lois, mydarling, my baby, among his household. Oh, Lois, would that thou wertdying with me! The thought of thee makes death sore!' Lois comfortedher mother more than herself, poor child, by promises to obey her dyingwishes to the letter, and by expressing hopes she dared not feel of heruncle's kindness.

  'Promise me'--the dying woman's breath came harder and harder--'thatthou wilt go at once. The money our goods will bring--the letter thyfather wrote to Captain Holdernesse, his old schoolfellow--thou knowestall I would say--my Lois, God bless thee!'

  Solemnly did Lois promise; strictly she kept her word. It was all themore easy, for Hugh Lucy met her, and told her, in one great burst oflove, of his passionate attachment, his vehement struggles with hisfather, his impotence at present, his hope and resolves for the future.And, intermingled with all this, came such outrageous threats andexpressions of uncontrolled vehemence, that Lois felt that in Barfordshe must not linger to be a cause of desperate quarrel between fatherand son, while her absence might soften down matters, so that eitherthe rich old miller might relent, or--and her heart ached to think ofthe other possibility--Hugh's love might cool, and the dear play-fellowof her childhood learn to forget. If not--if Hugh were to be trusted inone tithe of what he said--God might permit him to fulfil his resolveof coming to seek her out before many years were over. It was all inGod's hands, and that was best, thought Lois Barclay.

  She was roused out of her trance of recollections by CaptainHoldernesse, who, having done all that was necessary in the way oforders and directions to his mate, now came up to her, and, praisingher for her quiet patience, told her that he would now take her to theWidow Smith's, a decent kind of house, where he and many other sailorsof the better order were in the habit of lodging, during their stay onthe New England shores. Widow Smith, he said, had a parlour for herselfand her daughters, in which Lois might sit, while he went about thebusiness that, as he had told her, would detain him in Boston for a dayor two, before he could accompany her to her uncle's at Salem. All thishad been to a certain degree arranged on ship-board; but CaptainHoldernesse, for want of anything else that he could think of to talkabout, recapitulated it as he and Lois walked along. It was his way ofshowing sympathy with the emotion that made her grey eyes full oftears, as she started up from the pier at the sound of his voice. Inhis heart he said, 'Poor wench! poor wench! it's a strange land to her,and they are all strange folks, and, I reckon, she will be feelingdesolate. I'll try and cheer her up.' So he talked on about hard facts,connected with the life that lay before her, until they reached WidowSmith's; and perhaps Lois was more brightened by this style ofconversation, and the new ideas it presented to her, than she wouldhave been by the tenderest woman's sy
mpathy.

  'They are a queer set, these New Englanders,' said Captain Holdernesse.'They are rare chaps for praying; down on their knees at every turn oftheir life. Folk are none so busy in a new country, else they wouldhave to pray like me, with a "Yo-hoy!" on each side of my prayers, anda rope cutting like fire through my hand. Yon pilot was for calling usall to thanksgiving for a good voyage, and lucky escape from thepirates; but I said I always put up my thanks on dry land, after I hadgot my ship into harbour. The French colonists, too, are vowingvengeance for the expedition against Canada, and the people here areraging like heathens--at least, as like as godly folk can be--for theloss of their charter. All that is the news the pilot told me; for, forall he wanted us to be thanksgiving instead of casting the lead, he wasas down in the mouth as could be about the state of the country. Buthere we are at Widow Smith's! Now, cheer up, and show the godly apretty smiling Warwickshire lass!'

  Anybody would have smiled at Widow Smith's greeting. She was a comely,motherly woman, dressed in the primmest fashion in vogue twenty yearsbefore, in England, among the class to which she belonged. But,somehow, her pleasant face gave the lie to her dress; were it as brownand sober-coloured as could be, folk remembered it bright and cheerful,because it was a part of Widow Smith herself.

  She kissed Lois on both cheeks, before she rightly understood who thestranger maiden was, only because she was a stranger, and looked sadand forlorn; and then she kissed her again, because Captain Holdernessecommended her to the widow's good offices. And so she led Lois by thehand into her rough, substantial log-house, over the door of which hunga great bough of a tree, by way of sign of entertainment for man andhorse. Yet not all men were received by Widow Smith. To some she couldbe as cold and reserved as need be, deaf to all inquiries saveone--where else they could find accommodation? To this question shewould give a ready answer, and speed the unwelcome guest on his way.Widow Smith was guided in these matters by instinct: one glance at aman's face told her whether or not she chose to have him as an inmateof the same house as her daughters; and her promptness of decision inthese matters gave her manner a kind of authority which no one liked todisobey, especially as she had stalwart neighbours within call to backher, if her assumed deafness in the first instance, and her voice andgesture in the second, were not enough to give the would-be guest hisdismissal. Widow Smith chose her customers merely by their physicalaspect; not one whit with regard to their apparent worldlycircumstances. Those who had been staying at her house once, alwayscame again, for she had the knack of making every one beneath her roofcomfortable and at his ease. Her daughters, Prudence and Hester, hadsomewhat of their mother's gifts, but not in such perfection. Theyreasoned a little upon a stranger's appearance, instead of knowing atthe first moment whether they liked him or no; they noticed theindications of his clothes, the quality and cut thereof, as tellingsomewhat of his station in society; they were more reserved, theyhesitated more than their mother; they had not her prompt authority,her happy power. Their bread was not so light, their cream wentsometimes to sleep when it should have been turning into butter, theirhams were not always 'just like the hams of the old country,' as theirmother's were invariably pronounced to be; yet they were good, orderly,kindly girls, and rose and greeted Lois with a friendly shake of thehand, as their mother, with her arm round the stranger's waist, led herinto the private room which she called her parlour. The aspect of thisroom was strange in the English girl's eyes. The logs of which thehouse was built, showed here and there through the mud plaster,although before both plaster and logs were hung the skins of manycurious animals,--skins presented to the widow by many a trader of heracquaintance, just as her sailor guests brought her another descriptionof gift--shells, strings of wampum-beads, sea-birds' eggs, and presentsfrom the old country. The room was more like a small museum of naturalhistory of these days than a parlour; and it had a strange, peculiar,but not unpleasant smell about it, neutralized in some degree by thesmoke from the enormous trunk of pinewood which smouldered on thehearth.

  The instant their mother told them that Captain Holdernesse was in theouter room, the girls began putting away their spinning-wheel andknitting-needles, and preparing for a meal of some kind; what meal,Lois, sitting there and unconsciously watching, could hardly tell.First, dough was set to rise for cakes; then came out of a cornercupboard--a present from England--an enormous square bottle of acordial called Golden Wasser; next, a mill for grinding chocolate--arare unusual treat anywhere at that time; then a great Cheshire cheese.Three venison steaks were cut ready for broiling, fat cold pork slicedup and treacle poured over it, a great pie something like a mince-pie,but which the daughters spoke of with honour as the 'punken-pie,' freshand salt fish brandered, oysters cooked in various ways. Lois wonderedwhere would be the end of the provisions for hospitably receiving thestrangers from the old country. At length everything was placed on thetable, the hot food smoking; but all was cool, not to say cold, beforeElder Hawkins (an old neighbour of much repute and standing, who hadbeen invited in by Widow Smith to hear the news) had finished hisgrace, into which was embodied thanksgivings for the past and prayersfor the future lives of every individual present, adapted to theirseveral cases, as far as the elder could guess at them fromappearances. This grace might not have ended so soon as it did, had itnot been for the somewhat impatient drumming of his knife-handle on thetable with which Captain Holdernesse accompanied the latter half of theelder's words.

  When they first sat down to their meal, all were too hungry for muchtalking; but as their appetites diminished their curiosity increased,and there was much to be told and heard on both sides. With all theEnglish intelligence Lois was, of course, well acquainted; but shelistened with natural attention to all that was said about the newcountry, and the new people among whom she had come to live. Her fatherhad been a Jacobite, as the adherents of the Stuarts were beginning atthis time to be called. His father, again, had been a follower ofArchbishop Laud; so Lois had hitherto heard little of the conversation,and seen little of the ways of the Puritans. Elder Hawkins was one ofthe strictest of the strict, and evidently his presence kept the twodaughters of the house considerably in awe. But the widow herself was aprivileged person; her known goodness of heart (the effects of whichhad been experienced by many) gave her the liberty of speech which wastacitly denied to many, under penalty of being esteemed ungodly if theyinfringed certain conventional limits. And Captain Holdernesse and hismate spoke out their minds, let who would be present. So that on thisfirst landing in New England, Lois was, as it were, gently let downinto the midst of the Puritan peculiarities, and yet they weresufficient to make her feel very lonely and strange.

  The first subject of conversation was the present state of thecolony--Lois soon found out that, although at the beginning she was nota little perplexed by the frequent reference to names of places whichshe naturally associated with the old country. Widow Smith wasspeaking: 'In the county of Essex the folk are ordered to keep fourscouts, or companies of minute-men; six persons in each company; to beon the look-out for the wild Indians, who are for ever stirring aboutin the woods, stealthy brutes as they are! I am sure, I got such afright the first harvest-time after I came over to New England, I go ondreaming, now near twenty years after Lothrop's business, of paintedIndians, with their shaven scalps and their war-streaks, lurking behindthe trees, and coming nearer and nearer with their noiseless steps.'

  'Yes,' broke in one of her daughters; 'and, mother, don't you rememberhow Hannah Benson told us how her husband had cut down every tree nearhis house at Deerbrook, in order that no one might come near him, undercover; and how one evening she was a-sitting in the twilight, when allher family were gone to bed, and her husband gone off to Plymouth onbusiness, and she saw a log of wood, just like a trunk of a felledtree, lying in the shadow, and thought nothing of it, till, on lookingagain a while after, she fancied it was come a bit nearer to the house,and how her heart turned sick with fright, and how she dared not stirat first, but shut her eyes while she coun
ted a hundred, and lookedagain, and the shadow was deeper, but she could see that the log wasnearer; so she ran in and bolted the door, and went up to where hereldest lad lay. It was Elijah, and he was but sixteen then; but he roseup at his mother's words, and took his father's long duck-gun down, andhe tried the loading, and spoke for the first time to put up a prayerthat God would give his aim good guidance, and went to a window thatgave a view upon the side where the log lay, and fired, and no onedared to look what came of it, but all the household read theScriptures, and prayed the whole night long, till morning came andshowed a long stream of blood lying on the grass close by the log,which the full sunlight showed to be no log at all, but just a RedIndian covered with bark, and painted most skilfully, with hiswar-knife by his side.'

  All were breathless with listening, though to most the story, or suchlike it, were familiar. Then another took up the tale of horror:

  'And the pirates have been down at Marblehead since you were here,Captain Holdernesse. 'Twas only the last winter they landed,--FrenchPapist pirates; and the people kept close within their houses, for theyknew not what would come of it; and they dragged folk ashore. There wasone woman among those folk--prisoners from some vessel, doubtless--andthe pirates took them by force to the inland marsh; and the Marbleheadfolk kept still and quiet, every gun loaded, and every ear on thewatch, for who knew but what the wild sea-robbers might take a turn onland next; and, in the dead of the night, they heard a woman's loud andpitiful outcry from the marsh, 'Lord Jesu! have mercy on me! Save mefrom the power of man, O Lord Jesu!' And the blood of all who heard thecry ran cold with terror, till old Nance Hickson, who had beenstone-deaf and bedridden for years, stood up in the midst of the folkall gathered together in her grandson's house, and said, that as they,the dwellers in Marblehead, had not had brave hearts or faith enough togo and succour the helpless, that cry of a dying woman should be intheir ears, and in their children's ears, till the end of the world.And Nance dropped down dead as soon as she had made an end of speaking,and the pirates set sail from Marblehead at morning dawn; but the folkthere hear the cry still, shrill and pitiful, from the waste marshes,"Lord Jesu! have mercy on me! Save me from the power of man, O LordJesu!"'

  'And by token,' said Elder Hawkins's deep bass voice, speaking with thestrong nasal twang of the Puritans (who, says Butler,

  "Blasphemed custard through the nose"),

  'godly Mr. Noyes ordained a fast at Marblehead, and preached asoul-stirring discourse on the words; "Inasmuch as ye did it not untoone of the least of these, my brethren, ye did it not unto me." But ithas been borne in upon me at times, whether the whole vision of thepirates and the cry of the woman was not a device of Satan's to siftthe Marblehead folk, and see what fruit their doctrine bore, and so tocondemn them in the sight of the Lord. If it were so, the enemy had agreat triumph, for assuredly it was no part of Christian men to leave ahelpless woman unaided in her sore distress.'

  'But, Elder,' said Widow Smith, 'it was no vision; they were realliving men who went ashore, men who broke down branches and left theirfootmarks on the ground.'

  'As for that matter, Satan hath many powers, and if it be the day whenhe is permitted to go about like a roaring lion, he will not stick attrifles, but make his work complete. I tell you, many men are spiritualenemies in visible forms, permitted to roam about the waste places ofthe earth. I myself believe that these Red Indians are indeed the evilcreatures of whom we read in Holy Scripture; and there is no doubt thatthey are in league with those abominable Papists, the French people inCanada. I have heard tell, that the French pay the Indians so much goldfor every dozen scalps off Englishmen's heads.'

  'Pretty cheerful talk this,' said Captain Holdernesse to Lois,perceiving her blanched cheek and terror-stricken mien. 'Thou artthinking that thou hadst better have stayed at Barford, I'll answer forit, wench. But the devil is not so black as he is painted.'

  'Ho! there again!' said Elder Hawkins. 'The devil is painted, it hathbeen said so from old times; and are not these Indians painted, evenlike unto their father?'

  'But is it all true?' asked Lois, aside, of Captain Holdernesse,letting the elder hold forth unheeded by her, though listened to,however, with the utmost reverence by the two daughters of the house.

  'My wench,' said the old sailor, 'thou hast come to a country wherethere are many perils, both from land and from sea. The Indians hatethe white men. Whether other white men' (meaning the French away to thenorth) 'have hounded on the savages, or whether the English have takentheir lands and hunting-grounds without due recompense, and so raisedthe cruel vengeance of the wild creatures--who knows? But it is truethat it is not safe to go far into the woods, for fear of the lurkingpainted savages; nor has it been safe to build a dwelling far from asettlement; and it takes a brave heart to make a journey from one townto another, and folk do say the Indian creatures rise up out of thevery ground to waylay the English; and then offers affirm they are allin league with Satan to affright the Christians out of the heathencountry over which he has reigned so long. Then, again, the seashore isinfested by pirates, the scum of all nations: they land, and plunder,and ravage, and burn, and destroy. Folk get affrighted of the realdangers, and in their fright imagine, perchance, dangers that are not.But who knows? Holy Scripture speaks of witches and wizards, and of thepower of the Evil One in desert places; and even in the old country wehave heard tell of those who have sold their souls for ever for thelittle power they get for a few years on earth.'

  By this time the whole table was silent, listening to the captain; itwas just one of those chance silences that sometimes occur, without anyapparent reason, and often without any apparent consequence. But allpresent had reason, before many months had-passed over, to remember thewords which Lois spoke in answer, although her voice was low, and sheonly thought, in the interest of the moment, of being heard by her oldfriend the captain.

  'They are fearful creatures, the witches! and yet I am sorry for thepoor old women, whilst I dread them. We had one in Barford, when I wasa little child. No one knew whence she came, but she settled herselfdown in a mud hut by the common side; and there she lived, she and hercat.' (At the mention of the cat, Elder Hawkins shook his head long andgloomily.) 'No one knew how she lived, if it were not on nettles andscraps of oatmeal and such-like food given her more for fear than forpity. She went double, always talking and muttering to herself. Folksaid she snared birds and rabbits, in the thicket that came down to herhovel. How it came to pass I cannot say, but many a one fell sick inthe village, and much cattle died one spring, when I was near fouryears old. I never heard much about it, for my father said it was illtalking about such things; I only know I got a sick fright oneafternoon, when the maid had gone out for milk and had taken me withher, and we were passing a meadow where the Avon, circling, makes adeep round pool, and there was a crowd of folk, all still--and a still,breathless crowd makes the heart beat worse than a shouting, noisy one.They were all gazing towards the water, and the maid held me up in herarms to see the sight above the shoulders of the people; and I saw oldHannah in the water, her grey hair all streaming down her shoulders,and her face bloody and black with the stones and the mud they had beenthrowing at her, and her cat tied round her neck. I hid my face, Iknow, as soon as I saw the fearsome sight, for her eyes met mine asthey were glaring with fury--poor, helpless, baited creature!--and shecaught the sight of me, and cried out, "Parson's wench, parson's wench,yonder, in thy nurse's arms, thy dad hath never tried for to save me,and none shall save thee when thou art brought up for a witch." Oh! thewords rang in my ears, when I was dropping asleep, for years after. Iused to dream that I was in that pond, all men hating me with theireyes because I was a witch; and, at times, her black cat used to seemliving again, and say over those dreadful words.'

  Lois stopped: the two daughters looked at her excitement with a kind ofshrinking surprise, for the tears were in her eyes. Elder Hawkins shookhis head, and muttered texts from Scripture; but cheerful Widow Smith,not liking the gloomy turn o
f the conversation, tried to give it alighter cast by saying, 'And I don't doubt but what the parson's bonnylass has bewitched many a one since, with her dimples and her pleasantways--eh, Captain Holdernesse? It's you must tell us tales of thisyoung lass' doings in England.'

  'Ay, ay,' said the captain, 'there's one under her charms inWarwickshire who will never get the better of it, I'm thinking.'

  Elder Hawkins rose to speak; he stood leaning on his hands, which wereplaced on the table: 'Brethren,' said he, 'I must upbraid you if yespeak lightly; charms and witchcraft are evil things. I trust thismaiden hath had nothing to do with them, even in thought. But my mindmisgives me at her story. The hellish witch might have power from Satanto infect her mind, she being yet a child, with the deadly sin. Insteadof vain talking, I call upon you all to join with me in prayer for thisstranger in our land, that her heart may be purged from all iniquity.Let us pray.'

  'Come, there's no harm in that,' said the captain; 'but, Elder Hawkins,when you are at work, just pray for us all, for I am afeard there besome of us need purging from iniquity a good deal more than LoisBarclay, and a prayer for a man never does mischief.'

  Captain Holdernesse had business in Boston which detained him there fora couple of days, and during that time Lois remained with the WidowSmith, seeing what was to be seen of the new land that contained herfuture home. The letter of her dying mother was sent off to Salem,meanwhile, by a lad going thither, in order to prepare her Uncle RalphHickson for his niece's coming, as soon as Captain Holdernesse couldfind leisure to take her; for he considered her given into his ownpersonal charge, until he could consign her to her uncle's care. Whenthe time came for going to Salem, Lois felt very sad at leaving thekindly woman under whose roof she had been staying, and looked back aslong as she could see anything of Widow Smith's dwelling. She waspacked into a rough kind of country cart, which just held her andCaptain Holdernesse, beside the driver. There was a basket ofprovisions under their feet, and behind them hung a bag of provenderfor the horse; for it was a good day's journey to Salem, and the roadwas reputed so dangerous that it was ill tarrying a minute longer thannecessary for refreshment. English roads were bad enough at that periodand for long after, but in America the way was simply the clearedground of the forest; the stumps of the felled trees still remaining inthe direct line, forming obstacles, which it required the most carefuldriving to avoid; and in the hollows, where the ground was swampy, thepulpy nature of it was obviated by logs of wood laid across the boggypart. The deep green forest, tangled into heavy darkness even thusearly in the year, came within a few yards of the road all the way,though efforts were regularly made by the inhabitants of theneighbouring settlements to keep a certain space clear on each side,for fear of the lurking Indians, who might otherwise come upon themunawares. The cries of strange birds, the unwonted colour of some ofthem, all suggested to the imaginative or unaccustomed traveller theidea of war-whoops and painted deadly enemies. But at last they drewnear to Salem, which rivalled Boston in size in those days, and boastedthe name of one or two streets, although to an English eye they lookedrather more like irregularly built houses, clustered round themeeting-house, or rather one of the meeting-houses, for a second was inprocess of building. The whole place was surrounded with two circles ofstockades; between the two were the gardens and grazing ground forthose who dreaded their cattle straying into the woods, and theconsequent danger of reclaiming them.

  The lad who drove them flogged his spent horse into a trot, as theywent through Salem to Ralph Hickson's house. It was evening, theleisure time for the inhabitants, and their children were at playbefore the houses. Lois was struck by the beauty of one wee toddlingchild, and turned to look after it; it caught its little foot in astump of wood, and fell with a cry that brought the mother out inaffright. As she ran out, her eye caught Lois's anxious gaze, althoughthe noise of the heavy wheels drowned the sound of her words of inquiryas to the nature of the hurt the child had received. Nor had Lois timeto think long upon the matter, for the instant after, the horse waspulled up at the door of a good, square, substantial wooden house,plastered over into a creamy white, perhaps as handsome a house as anyin Salem; and there she was told by the driver that her uncle, RalphHickson, lived. In the flurry of the moment she did not notice, butCaptain Holdernesse did, that no one came out at the unwonted sound ofwheels, to receive and welcome her. She was lifted down by the oldsailor, and led into a large room, almost like the hall of some Englishmanor-house as to size. A tall, gaunt young man of three or four andtwenty, sat on a bench by one of the windows, reading a great folio bythe fading light of day. He did not rise when they came in, but lookedat them with surprise, no gleam of intelligence coming into his stern,dark face. There was no woman in the house-place. Captain Holdernessepaused a moment, and then said:

  'Is this house Ralph Hickson's?'

  'It is,' said the young man, in a slow, deep voice. But he added noword further.

  'This is his niece, Lois Barclay,' said the captain, taking the girl'sarm, and pushing her forwards. The young man looked at her steadily andgravely for a minute; then rose, and carefully marking the page in thefolio which hitherto had lain open upon his knee, said, still in thesame heavy, indifferent manner, 'I will call my mother, she will know.'

  He opened a door which looked into a warm bright kitchen, ruddy withthe light of the fire over which three women were apparently engagedin cooking something, while a fourth, an old Indian woman, of agreenish-brown colour, shrivelled up and bent with apparent age, movedbackwards and forwards, evidently fetching the others the articles theyrequired.

  'Mother,' said the young man; and having arrested her attention, hepointed over his shoulder to the newly-arrived strangers, and returnedto the study of his book, from time to time, however, furtivelyexamining Lois from beneath his dark shaggy eyebrows.

  A tall, largely made woman, past middle life, came in from the kitchen,and stood reconnoitring the strangers.

  Captain Holdernesse spoke.

  'This is Lois Barclay, Master Ralph Hickson's niece.'

  'I know nothing of her,' said the mistress of the house, in a deepvoice, almost as masculine as her son's.

  'Master Hickson received his sister's letter, did he not? I sent it offmyself by a lad named Elias Wellcome, who left Boston for this placeyester morning.'

  'Ralph Hickson has received no such letter. He lies bedridden in thechamber beyond. Any letters for him must come through my hands;wherefore I can affirm with certainty that no such letter has beendelivered here. His sister Barclay, she that was Henrietta Hickson, andwhose husband took the oaths to Charles Stuart, and stuck by his livingwhen all godly men left theirs----'

  Lois, who had thought her heart was dead and cold a minute before atthe ungracious reception she had met with, felt words come up into hermouth at the implied insult to her father, and spoke out, to her ownand the captain's astonishment:

  'They might be godly men who left their churches on that day of whichyou speak, madam; but they alone were not the godly men, and no one hasa right to limit true godliness for mere opinion's sake.'

  'Well said, lass,' spoke out the captain, looking round upon her with akind of admiring wonder, and patting her on the back.

  Lois and her aunt gazed into each other's eyes unflinchingly, for aminute or two of silence; but the girl felt her colour coming andgoing, while the elder woman's never varied; and the eyes of the youngmaiden were filling fast with tears, while those of Grate Hickson kepton their stare, dry and unwavering.

  'Mother!' said the young man, rising up with a quicker motion than anyone had yet used in this house, 'it is ill speaking of such matterswhen my cousin comes first among us. The Lord may give her gracehereafter, but she has travelled from Boston city to-day, and she andthis seafaring man must need rest and food.'

  He did not attend to see the effect of his words, but sat down again,and seemed to be absorbed in his book in an instant. Perhaps he knewthat his word was law with his grim mother, for he had hardly cease
dspeaking before she had pointed to a wooden settle; and smoothing thelines on her countenance, she said, 'What Manasseh says is true. Sitdown here, while I bid Faith and Nattee get food ready; and meanwhile Iwill go tell my husband, that one who calls herself his sister's childis come over to pay him a visit.'

  She went to the door leading into the kitchen, and gave some directionsto the elder girl, whom Lois now knew to be the daughter of the house.Faith stood impassive, while her mother spoke, scarcely caring to lookat the newly-arrived strangers. She was like her brother Manasseh incomplexion, but had handsomer features, and large, mysterious-lookingeyes, as Lois saw, when once she lifted them up, and took in, as itwere, the aspect of the sea-captain and her cousin with one swiftsearching look. About the stiff, tall, angular mother, and the scarceless pliant figure of the daughter, a girl of twelve years old, orthereabouts, played all manner of impish antics, unheeded by them, asif it were her accustomed habit to peep about, now under their arms,now at this side, now at that, making grimaces all the while at Loisand Captain Holdernesse, who sat facing the door, weary, and somewhatdisheartened by their reception. The captain pulled out tobacco, andbegan to chew it by way of consolation; but in a moment or two, hisusual elasticity of spirit came to his rescue, and he said in a lowvoice to Lois:

  'That scoundrel Elias, I will give it him! If the letter had but beendelivered, thou wouldst have had a different kind of welcome; but assoon as I have had some victuals, I will go out and find the lad, andbring back the letter, and that will make all right, my wench. Nay,don't be downhearted, for I cannot stand women's tears. Thou'rt justworn out with the shaking and the want of food.'

  Lois brushed away her tears, and looking round to try and divert herthoughts by fixing them on present object, she caught her cousinManasseh's deep-set eyes furtively watching her. It was with nounfriendly gaze, yet it made Lois uncomfortable, particularly as he didnot withdraw his looks after he must have seen that she observed him.She was glad when her aunt called her into an inner room to see heruncle, and she escaped from the steady observance of her gloomy, silentcousin.

  Ralph Hickson was much older than his wife, and his illness made himlook older still. He had never had the force of character that Grace,his spouse, possessed, and age and sickness had now rendered him almostchildish at times. But his nature was affectionate, and stretching outhis trembling arms from where he lay bedridden, he gave Lois anunhesitating welcome, never waiting for the confirmation of the missingletter before he acknowledged her to be his niece.

  'Oh! 'tis kind in thee to come all across the sea to make acquaintancewith thine uncle; kind in Sister Barclay to spare thee!'

  Lois had to tell him that there was no one living to miss her at homein England; that in fact she had no home in England, no father normother left upon earth; and that she had been bidden by her mother'slast words to seek him out, and ask him for a home. Her words came up,half choked from a heavy heart, and his dulled wits could not taketheir meaning in without several repetitions; and then he cried like achild, rather at his own loss of a sister, whom he had not seen formore than twenty years, than at that of the orphan's standing beforehim, trying hard not to cry, but to start bravely in this new strangehome. What most of all helped Lois in her self-restraint was her aunt'sunsympathetic look. Born and bred in New England, Grace Hickson had akind of jealous dislike to her husband's English relations, which hadincreased since of late years his weakened mind yearned after them, andhe forgot the good reason he had had for his self-exile, and moanedover the decision which had led to it as the great mistake of his life.'Come,' said she, 'it strikes me that, in all this sorrow for the lossof one who died full of years, ye are forgetting in Whose hands lifeand death are!'

  True words, but ill-spoken at that time. Lois looked up at her with ascarcely disguised indignation; which increased as she heard thecontemptuous tone in which her aunt went on talking to Ralph Hickson,even while she was arranging his bed with a regard to his greatercomfort.

  'One would think thou wert a godless man, by the moan thou art alwaysmaking over spilt milk; and truth is, thou art but childish in thineold age. When we were wed, thou left all things to the Lord; I wouldnever have married thee else. Nay, lass,' said she, catching theexpression on Lois's face, 'thou art never going to browbeat me withthine angry looks. I do my duty as I read it, and there is never a manin Salem that dare speak a word to Grace Hickson about either her worksor her faith. Godly Mr. Cotton Mather hath said, that even he mightlearn of me; and I would advise thee rather to humble thyself, and seeif the Lord may not convert thee from thy ways, since he has sent theeto dwell, as it were, in Zion, where the precious dew falls daily onAaron's beard.'

  Lois felt ashamed and sorry to find that her aunt had so trulyinterpreted the momentary expression of her features; she blamedherself a little for the feeling that had caused that expression,trying to think how much her aunt might have been troubled withsomething before the unexpected irruption of the strangers, and againhoping that the remembrance of this little misunderstanding would soonpass away. So she endeavoured to reassure herself, and not to give wayto her uncle's tender trembling pressure of her hand, as, at her aunt'sbidding, she wished him good night, and returned into the outer, or'keeping'-room, where all the family were now assembled, ready for themeal of flour cakes and venison-steaks which Nattee, the Indianservant, was bringing in from the kitchen. No one seemed to have beenspeaking to Captain Holdernesse while Lois had been away. Manasseh satquiet and silent where he did, with the book open upon his knee, hiseyes thoughtfully fixed on vacancy, as if he saw a vision, or dreameddreams. Faith stood by the table, lazily directing Nattee in herpreparations; and Prudence lolled against the door-frame, betweenkitchen and keeping-room, playing tricks on the old Indian woman as shepassed backwards and forwards, till Nattee appeared to be in a strongstate of expressed irritation, which he tried in vain to repress, aswhenever she showed any sign of it, Prudence only seemed excited togreater mischief. When all was ready, Manasseh lifted his right hand,and 'asked a blessing,' as it was termed; but the grace became a longprayer for abstract spiritual blessings, for strength to combat Satan,and to quench his fiery darts, and at length assumed, so Lois thought,a purely personal character, as if the young man had forgotten theoccasion, and even the people present, but was searching into thenature of the diseases that beset his own sick soul, and spreading themout before the Lord. He was brought back by a pluck at the coat fromPrudence; he opened his shut eyes, cast an angry glance at the child,who made a face at him for sole reply, and then he sat down, and theyall fell to. Grace Hickson would have thought her hospitality sadly atfault, if she had allowed Captain Holdernesse to go out in search of abed. Skins were spread for him on the floor of the keeping-room; aBible, and a square bottle of spirits were placed on the table, tosupply his wants during the night; and in spite of all the cares andtroubles, temptations, or sins of the members of that household, theywere all asleep before the town clock struck ten.

  In the morning, the captain's first care was to go out in search of theboy Elias, and the missing letter. He met him bringing it with an easyconscience, for, thought Elias, a few hours sooner or later will makeno difference; to-night or the morrow morning will be all the same. Buthe was startled into a sense of wrong-doing by a sound box on the ear,from the very man who had charged him to deliver it speedily, and whomhe believed to be at that very moment in Boston city.

  The letter delivered, all possible proof being given that Lois had aright to claim a home from her nearest relations, Captain Holdernessethought it best to take leave.

  'Thou'lt take to them, lass, maybe, when there is no one here to makethee think on the old country. Nay, nay! parting is hard work at alltimes, and best get hard work done out of hand. Keep up thine heart, mywench, and I'll come back and see thee next spring, if we are allspared till then; and who knows what fine young miller mayn't come withme? Don't go and get wed to a praying Puritan, meanwhile. There,there--I'm off! God bless thee!'

 
And Lois was left alone in New England.