A winter in retirement

by Hannah Blaney Washburn

Though oft I’ve heard my aged grandame say

That better far ’twould be to stay away.

Now, o’er the mound, where rests her mortal form,

The wild grass waves with low and gentle moan;

There sleeps the dust, so restless once, and there

’Twill rest, no longer to excite a fear.

There let the memory of her follies lie;

The memory of true worth will never die.”

“Did you ever see a witch, mother?” said Charles. “If you will listen, my son, I will tell you a story, the only one relating to a witch, which ever came to my certain knowledge.

“When I was a tiny school girl there stood a lonely little house at the foot of a rising ground on the direct road to our school house; there were no trees about it, but a few choke berries and alder bushes, for there was a marshy piece of ground there. A very small lot was cultivated as a garden by the hands of its only inhabitant, poor old ‘Aunt Lois,’ as everybody called her. Nobody knew any harm of Aunt Lois, but every body said ‘Certainly she was a witch.’ The time had passed when witches were hanged or burned, so Aunt Lois lived peaceably in her own home, but many wonderful stories were told about her, such as that she was seen churning butter in the night, and, though nothing could be nicer or sweeter than her butter, yet some wise people asserted ‘that she must have help about it which nobody knew of.’ Old Joe Hart said that he had seen a company of witches, riding on broomsticks through the air, with Aunt Lois at their head with a cap and long cloak on, and a wand in her hand. This, he said was “just as true as anything he ever said in all his life,” but as Joe was noted for telling great stories, people would have been glad of better authority. But no part of the community was more troubled about these stories than the children belonging to the school, and, though the boys blustered a good deal and said ‘Who’s afraid?’ yet it was observed that they always kept the side of the lane farthest from Aunt Lois’s house; and, as to the girls, they would scramble over the fence and run through a swamp rather than go near it. An event, however, occurred which not only quieted their fears, but even made Lois popular in their opinion. It was a warm afternoon in the summer, when a little troop of boys and girls were returning from school, when they espied among the wet ground at the foot of the hill, near the old woman’s house, a cluster of beautiful lilies. Never were any wild flowers so much sought for as those lilies, for they were very scarce and of rare and beautiful colors. ‘I know I can get some,’ said Catherine, and, followed closely by two others, she bounded over the low wall and, without taking thought of the swamp, she sprang forward to be the first to gain the wished-for prize. But soon the ground began to give way beneath her feet, but she had almost gained the flowers, and, supposing that by one more leap she should gain sure footing, she jumped forward, but down she sank, deep, deep in the mire, and there she was planted, unable to stir her feet, and imagining her little body was going, too, she did not know where. She was near enough to clasp the tall stems of the lilies and clung to them as if for support, but the slender roots gave way and, though she had gained the desired objects, yet she would joyfully have given them up to her frightened companions, who had stopped just before they arrived at the fatal spot, could she have been safe with them. ‘Do help me, Martha; do take my hand, Susie,’ screamed the little girl, but when they dare not come further and were turning back, she began to sob and cry most piteously. But, just then, terrible to behold, Aunt Lois’s door opened and, to our great dismay, she appeared. What a scampering now ensued! The boys jumped over the wall and the girls ran, without looking back, until they had gained what they considered a safe distance from the dreaded spot, but the little girl was left, unable to stir. She covered her face with her hands to shut out the sight of the old witch, but she heard her step and the terror of she knew not what almost took away her senses. ‘For mercy’s sake, my little dear,’ said Aunt Lois, ‘why did you come into this wet, boggy place? I don’t know as I can get to you, but put out your hand. If I should get stuck here, too, we should be in a pickle.’ Catherine obeyed, for the voice of Aunt Lois sounded kind and pleasant, and, with a strong pull, she extricated the little girl, but a sad sight was displayed. Her feet were black with the mud of the swamp, but, her shoes being tied on, she did not lose them. And now, to the great terror of the children, who were watching from their hiding places, Lois carried the little girl into her house, and solemn was the consultation as we gathered together and debated upon her fate. Such long and dismal faces are seldom seen, such terrible stories were told as made the eyes of the younger children dilate with dismay. But at this moment the little Catherine was seen running toward us. ‘Aunt Lois isn’t a witch,’ said she, ‘see, she has washed my shoes and the bottom of my dress, and she has given me some doughnuts and some apples, and picked me a whole bunch of lilies.’ The charm was at an end. Aunt Lois’s cake and apples were eaten with great relish and, ever after, in the opinion of the children, Aunt Lois was ‘a grand, good old woman.’”