Chapter ONE - Weebly

their toll. Every day, Boston felt more like the sad, gray
cities of England. It had grown torpid, weak. Where
once it had been the leading city of British North
America, it was now the indolent older sister to New
York and Philadelphia, surpassed by its younger, more
vibrant siblings.
King’s Chapel sat at the corner of Treamount and
School Streets, only a few blocks from the Dowsing
Rod. It was one of the older churches in Boston, though
it had been rebuilt only ten years before, its wooden
exterior enclosed within a new granite façade. The
wisdom of that choice had been borne out in the years
since, as Boston was ravaged by fires, including one
that began on Cornhill and swept down to the wharves,
damaging literally hundreds of shops and homes. Some
had suggested that the rebuilt church should now be
called Stone Chapel, but it remained King’s Chapel to
most in the city.
The still incomplete structure had a ponderous look,
much at odds with the more graceful lines of the older
churches in the North and South Ends. But the chapel
was the first in the colonies to affiliate itself with the