"I am sure I don't know what to think," said Miss McPherson, much perplexed.
"I should say it was all very plain," said Miss Meeks, not perplexed at all, as, indeed, people seldom are who have made up their minds beforehand. "Here is positive evidence on one side, and simple denial on the other."
"Good!" thought Antoinette. "You might have held your tongue, Miss Stanfield."
But another witness was to the fore on whom she had not calculated. Elizabeth Howell had come a little late and sat down quietly by the door. She now rose up, tall, fair, and prim, as delicate as an August lily, in her light-gray bombazine and clean muslin kerchief and apron.
"I should like to speak to thee in private, Friend McPherson."
"What can she have to say?" thought Antoinette, but without much misgiving. "She does not know anything about the matter. I took care of that."
After a few minutes' conversation, Miss McPherson opened the door of her private room and called—
"Miss Meeks, will you come in? Miss Burns, Miss Stanfield, Miss Antoinette Diaments, Miss Settson, please come also. The young ladies will recite their French grammar to Miss Jessy."
The party tolerably filled the little room. Elizabeth looked a little flushed, and Miss McPherson both grieved and angry.
"You will please listen, Miss Meeks and young ladies, to what Elizabeth Howell has to say."
"First, if Friend McPherson pleases, I should like, Calista, to hear thee describe the needle-case."
Calista did so, taxing her memory to be exact in every particular.
"Precisely so!" said Elizabeth. "I saw Antoinette Diaments at her cousin Richard Whitecar's, in Graywich, and she had and was using just such a case as Calista describes."
"How could you see it, I should like to know, when I put it in my pocket before you came into the room?" asked Antoinette, unguardedly.
"Then you admit that you had it!" said Miss McPherson.
Antoinette saw she had betrayed herself, and was sullenly silent.
"Please answer her question, Elizabeth."
"I saw the whole through the window, and reflected in the large mirror opposite," answered Elizabeth. "I came in by the back way, as I often do." (The two families being relations as well as neighbors.) "I stood two or three minutes watching some kittens at play, and then looked into the room. I could not see Antoinette—only her reflection in the glass, and this case on the table, with the scissors, by her side. Antoinette was using the thimble. I was rather struck, and it did occur to me to wonder whether this was the needle-case that had made all the trouble. Then Richard Whitecar came along and spoke to me, and I saw Antoinette hastily gather up the things and put them in her pocket. Then I felt quite sure. I meant to speak to Antoinette about the matter, but had no private opportunity. It seemed to me this morning that the attempt to throw blame on Mary Burns was a clear call to tell what I knew."
There was a moment's silence, and then Miss McPherson said, in a sterner tone than had ever been heard from her before—
"Antoinette, where is the needle-case?"
Antoinette was obstinately silent.
"Miss Meeks, you will please search Miss Diaments's room thoroughly, and especially her travelling-basket and work-bag. Antoinette, stay here—" (For Antoinette was moving toward the door). "Sit down on that chair, and do not stir from it till I give you permission. I will have this matter sifted to the bottom."
There was a short but very awkward pause till Miss Meeks returned without the needle-case, and looking a good deal excited.
"I cannot find it," said she.
"Of course you can't, when it is not there!" said Antoinette, in a tone of triumph.
"Look in her desk," was the next order.
"Look as much as you please!" said Antoinette insolently.
But her manner changed as Miss Meeks said pointedly, "There are some things in Miss Diaments's room which need investigation."
"I will attend to that matter," said the principal. "Look in her pockets."
Antoinette turned pale.
"I won't have my pockets searched!" she stammered. "It is a pity if the daughter of one of the richest men in the state is to be insulted for the sake of beggarly tailor's girl!"
Antoinette had kept fast hold of her work-bag, but in her agitation she dropped it. It fell on the floor with a heavy, ringing sound.
Miss Meeks picked it up and opened it. There was the case.
"Antoinette, I beg for your own sake you will confess the whole matter," said Miss McPherson, earnestly. "Tell the whole truth, my poor child."
"I shall not tell anything!" answered Antoinette. "If you choose to make a fuss about it you can. I guess you will lose more than I shall. I don't think you will make much by quarrelling with the richest man in the state for the sake of tippling old tailor Burns's daughter."
Those who knew Miss McPherson actually trembled for the effect of these words. That lady, however, answered with a calmness more alarming than any storm—
"Miss Diaments, you are no longer a member of this school. You will remain in this room till I can send for your uncle. Mary Burns, my dear, you are entirely cleared from the shadow of blame. Is she not, Miss Meeks?"
"So far as this matter is concerned, certainly," said Miss Meeks; "but I must remind her that but for certain past equivocations, to call them by a mild name, I should not have suspected her."
"I know I have not always told the truth exactly, Miss Meeks," answered Mary, humbly. "I have been easily frightened and confused, and sometimes I have seemed to tell lies when I did not mean to. But I hope I shall be enabled to do better, and not think so much of what men will think of me."
Miss Meeks was melted. She kissed Mary, and told her she had no doubt she meant to be a very good girl.
"You will now all return to your places," said Miss McPherson. "Miss Meeks will clear Miss Burns, and I hope we shall none of us be the worse for the lesson we have received."
Miss McPherson spent some time in trying to persuade Antoinette to a confession, but Antoinette was obstinate. The fact was, she did not believe Miss McPherson would dare to expel her, and took all her persuasive gentleness for a method of getting gracefully out of the scrape.
"Very well, I shall say no more," said Miss McPherson. And rising she led Antoinette to a smaller room which opened from her own, and which was used in extreme cases as a kind of chamber of penitence. "You will remain in this room, seeing no one, till I can see your uncle, and make arrangements for you to return with him."
"I must put up my things," said Antoinette, for the first time showing some alarm.
"I shall myself look over and put up your things with the assistance of Mrs. McGregor."
Antoinette now gave way entirely, and with tears and sobs and the most abject entreaties begged to be allowed to go to her room, if only for a few minutes, to put up her own things.
"No," answered Miss McPherson, her suspicions confirmed by Antoinette's conduct. "I must attend to that matter myself. The servant will bring your dinner, but you will not leave this room."
So saying Miss McPherson left the room, shutting and locking the door. She was sorry for the girl, but hers was not the false compassion which will expose the innocent to contamination on the mere chance of reforming the guilty. She found more than enough in her search of Antoinette's room to confirm her resolution. It was astonishing to see how many little articles, some of considerable value, which had been given up for lost by their owners, were found carefully hidden in boxes and under beds. It seemed evident that Antoinette must have carried on the business of petty thieving almost ever since she had been in the school.
Antoinette departed in the afternoon, regretted by no one, unless by Tessy, who had been the greatest sufferer by her meanness. I may as well say that neither her father nor mother believed one word against their daughter, her mother declaring that Antoinette never told a lie in her life. Two or three large sums paid on account of shoplifting performances, and a final disgraceful elopement, partly opened her father's eyes, but her mother persisted in declaring that it was all the fault of the influences under which poor Antoinette was thrown at that abominable Cohansey school.
This is no fancy sketch, as many a teacher can testify. It is no wonder, seeing of what it is the root and spring, that God abhors covetousness.
CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.
EVIL INFLUENCES.
"WELL, I am sorry for Antoinette, after all," said Calista, as the girls gathered in the play-ground.
"So am not I," returned Mary Settson. "She brought it all on herself, and deserves a far worse punishment."
"I don't deny that, but still I am sorry for her. And, Mary, what would have become of all of us if somebody had not been sorry for us while we were yet sinners?"
"But she was so mean to try to throw all on poor Mary."
"That is true. I don't extenuate her fault in the least, but still I am sorry for her."
"Well, I ain't so sure, after all, about this business," said Charity Latch, who was a great worshipper of wealth. "It seems a great deal more likely that a poor beggar like Mary Burns should steal than that Antoinette should."
"I should like to know what makes Mary Burns a beggar," said two or three girls at once, and Emma added, "Did she ever beg anything of you?"
"If she did, she didn't get it," said Belle. "We all know Mary is poor, but there is not a girl in the school less of a beggar than she. I think she even goes too far the other way. She just hates to receive a favor. As to Antoinette, there can be no doubt. She not only took the needle-case, but a good many other things besides, my button-hole scissors and cornelian necklace, that I thought I lost in the street, among others. One would think she need not have done that, when she had such lovely cameos of her own."
"I am glad Mary is cleared, anyhow," observed Calista. "Dear little soul, how pretty she looked when she stood up and said her verse! And I am glad I have my needle-case back, but I am sorry for Antoinette, and I think—" Calista hesitated a little and blushed as she added—"I think we ought to pray for her."
"What, is Saul among the prophets?" said Belle. "Are you going to be another Mary Settson? We sinners are likely to be deserted entirely."
Mary put on her "martyr face," as Belle called it, and turned away. Calista only said, gently and seriously—
"Don't, Belle. I know you don't mean any harm, but don't make fun of religion or things connected with it. Think if your words should come true!"
"Well, I won't," said Belle, more seriously; "I know you are right, even as a matter of good taste. But tell us, Calista, do you really mean to be a Christian, like Mary and Clarissa Whitman?"
"I don't know that I shall be like anybody," replied Calista, "but I do really mean to be a Christian if I can."
"Well, for my part, I'd wait and see if I was going to persevere, if I were you, before I spoke out so plainly," said Charity. "But I don't call any girl in this school a consistent Christian, for my part. There's Clary Whitman—just look at her playing battledore and shuttlecock with Emma Ross."
"Well, where is the harm? I don't know anything in the Bible against playing battledore and shuttlecock, do you? I am sure Clary Whitman is a good girl, if there ever was one," said Belle, warmly; for she was one of those happy spirits that delight in the goodness of other people. "Come, Calista, will you have a game, or do you think it is wicked?"
"Not a bit," said Calista; "but I can't play now, Belle. I must find Mary; I have something to tell her."
Calista found Mary Settson sitting pensively in the school-room, and sat down by her.
"What is the matter?" she asked. "Surely you don't mind Belle's words. You know she means no harm."
"I don't know how you can say that, when she laughs at religion as she does."
"Oh, she was not laughing at religion exactly, she was laughing at us. Besides, when I told her I did not think it was right, she stopped directly. But I want to tell you ever so many things, Mary—so many, I don't know where to begin. But, first of all, Mary, I have found him, as my verse said. I have found Jesus of Nazareth."
The little snake of jealousy and ill-humor which had been hissing in Mary's heart for a few minutes was silent and dived into his den. She kissed Calista.
"Tell me how it was," said she.
"It began with mother's Bible, and some letters I found in her desk—for you must know that, thanks to Miss Druett, I have all mother's things. I made up my mind that I must and would be a Christian, and then I found a letter—such a letter!—from Aunt Priscilla to mother.
"That upset me again, for I knew I must forgive, or my own sins would never be forgiven; and I felt sure I never could. But Sunday evening Mr. Alger preached in the old red meeting-house, and I went to hear him. His text was,—
"'Behold the Lamb of God!'
"Oh, Mary, I can't tell it all, but he made me see him in the garden and on the cross, and all for me. All the bitterness seemed to go out of my heart, and I felt I could forgive anything—even the cruelty to my poor, gentle mother. I said,—
"'Lord, if thou wilt—'
"And he did. I did not do it at all."
"I am sure I am very thankful," said Mary; "I did not suppose Mr. Alger was a very eloquent preacher."
"I don't know whether he was eloquent or not," said Calista; "I did not think of the preacher at all—it was what he said. He brought me just the help I wanted. And we are to have another meeting Wednesday evening, and perhaps a Sunday-school."
"I rather wonder your aunt should let you go," said Mary.
"Oh, I did not ask her. Miss Druett let me. I am to be Miss Druett's girl now. But, all the same, I mean to qualify myself for a teacher, as you advised me. I think one can do as much good in that way as any other; don't you?"
"Yes, indeed; but I hope you won't ever have to work for a living, Calista."
"Oh, I shall not mind, if only I am as well and strong as I am now. By the way, when is your father coming home?"
"Oh, not for a long time, and that is something I had to tell you," replied Mary. "Father has written from Princeton for Alice and me to join him there, and we are going a long journey with him up to Vermont or somewhere. This is the last day I shall have in school."
"Oh, how sorry I am! I was counting on having you sit with me."
"I will next term. And, Calista, if you like, you can have my place in the drawing-class. There are three weeks to vacation, and you might do quite a good deal in that time."
"Oh, thank you! I shall like it ever so much! I have all mother's pencils and paints. But I am so sorry you are going away. I shall miss you more than ever now."
"You will have a better friend than I," said Mary. "I shall feel a great deal easier about you now that I know you have learned to love him," she added, feeling that her sympathy with her friend had not been as hearty as it ought to have been. In fact, the little snake had put out his head again and whispered that it was very strange Calista had been so affected by the preaching of such a dull old man as Mr. Alger, while she (Mary) had talked and urged in vain. Surely Calista ought to have listened to her. Probably it was only some passing excitement—some mere emotion, and not a real conversion. But Mary had come to know the voice of the serpent, and she, so to speak, set her heel on his head with a force that sent him crushed and wounded to his den.
The next day Mary went away, and Belle Adair came to occupy Antoinette's vacant place. She was not precisely the companion Calista would have chosen, but they got on well together. Belle recognized the force of principle which made Calista absolutely refuse to whisper or to take any notice of any little notes written in school hours. In her turn she did Calista good by her orderly habits and punctuality in doing the hour's work in its own hour.
They soon became great friends, and every one noticed that Belle had entirely left off her habit of jesting on serious subjects, and that she even came down sharply on Charity for a riddle founded on Scripture, telling her that was not the way to use the Bible. If she had lived in these days, when "Bible Puzzles" are published in religious newspapers, perhaps she would not have been so particular.
At the Old Stanfield Manor things were a good deal altered. Miss Priscilla scrimped, and saved, and scolded, but did not interfere as usual with Calista, and it seemed, sometimes, as if she were even trying to conciliate her niece.
Calista was sure her aunt had more than one interview with Zeke and Jael. At first Miss Priscilla would steal out to the barn or the edge of the wood, but at last the old woman would come boldly to the house and ask for Miss Stanfield. Then the two would be closeted together for an hour, and Jael would go away laden with provisions. These interviews usually took place on Sunday morning or evening, when Miss Druett and Calista were at church. For Miss Druett had taken to going to the Sunday evening meetings, and had actually given something to help on the repairs of the old meeting-house.
"There goes Jael now!" said Calista, as they were walking home on Wednesday evening, and came in sight of the house just in time to see Jael leaving it with a large bundle in her arms.
"What is that old woman after?" asked Calista. "Miss Druett, what does it mean, do you suppose?"
Miss Druett sighed. "I am afraid it means mischief, child. I wish Mr. Settson would come home, though I hardly know what he could do if he were here. Nobody could say that your aunt is insane. My only hope is that she will become disgusted with the rapacity of these people, as she was before. However, if Mr. Settson were here, he might find some means of driving them away, though I fancy they are like some animals which are said never to commit depredations in their own neighborhoods."
"Did you notice Tom Edgar to-night?" asked Calista.
"I noticed that he sung very finely, and seemed much affected. He seems very regular in his attendance."
"I heard him tell Mr. Alger that he hoped he had found the Lord at last. And what do you think Mr. Heminway said?"
"Something very encouraging, I dare say."
"He said, 'Well, I hope he has; but he has been a dreadful wild, hard case, and for my part I don't believe in sudden conversions.'
"Then old Brother Davis said, 'Brother Heminway, it's a good thing you wasn't in Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost; you'd never have believed in those three thousand being taken into the church.'
"And then Mr. Heminway frowned, and said he didn't believe in using Scripture in that way."
"In what way?"
"In the way that went against him, I suppose," answered Calista, shrewdly. "I have noticed people seldom do. But I wanted to ask you about the Sunday-school, Miss Druett. Mr. Alger wishes me to take a class of little colored girls."
"Well, I have no objections, if it does not tire you too much. You will learn more than you will teach for a time, but that won't hurt you or your scholars either."
"Mr. Alger asked me if you would teach a class."
"I would if I were able. I used to teach a Sunday-class years ago, in Philadelphia, and liked it very much."
"And don't you feel able?"
"No, child. Oh, I am not sick; you need not open your eyes so wide, and look so alarmed! But it tires me to talk much lately, and I shall have to be a little more careful of my health than I have been. I am beginning to find out that I have bones and nerves to ache and keep me awake nights, as well as other people. But as to yourself, I think the teaching will be very good for you. You will never find out how much you don't know till you try to tell what you do know."
"I have found that out already, helping Miss Meeks. But I do wish you would have a doctor, Miss Druett."
"Nonsense, child! I am not sick; what should I want a doctor for?"
The next day Calista had been out in the pasture hunting mushrooms, and coming back across the little burying-ground as the nearest way, she stopped to pull some tall weeds from her grandfather's grave. As she did so, she saw that the long grass had been disturbed and a little earth scattered about.
"Oh ho, Mr. Ground-squirrel, are you here!" said she. "I think you might find a better place."
As she moved away the long grass with her foot, she caught sight of something glittering. She bent down and drew it out. It was a long purse, such as people used in those days, and are beginning to use again, and well filled with coin and bills. She knew it in a moment—her aunt Priscilla's purse. How in the world did it come there?
She did not stop to think, but hurried home and went straight to the sitting-room, mushrooms and all. Miss Priscilla was nodding over her book, Miss Druett sewing, as usual.
"Aunt Priscilla, have you lost anything?" said she.
Miss Priscilla started, put her hand in her pocket mechanically, and turned pale as ashes.
"My purse!" said she, in a kind of shrill whisper. "Where is my purse?"
"When did you have it last?" asked Miss Druett.
"Last night, at the back kitchen door. Oh, what shall I do? Who has taken it?"
"Here it is," said Calista, producing it. "Now, where do you guess I found it?"
"Out by the door," said Miss Druett.
"Not a bit. You are not even warm."
"Then you must tell us."
"That I will, for I am sure you will never guess." And Calista told where she had discovered the purse.
Miss Priscilla looked more scared than ever.
"You—you don't suppose he came and got it, do you, Druey?"
"Your father, do you mean? No, indeed. I think some one took it and hid it for purposes of their own—probably to make a parade of telling where it was and restoring it."
"Exactly," said Calista; "I never thought of that."
"It was very odd that you should find it."
"I would not if I had not stopped to pull the weeds from grandfather's grave. Aunt Priscilla, why don't you have that place put in order? I should not dare go near it, only that ivy never poisons me. It is a shame to have it so neglected."
"Well, well, perhaps I will some time," said Miss Priscilla, after she had counted her money and found it was all there. "You are a lucky girl, Calista. You are always finding things. Who knows but you would find the pirates' gold, if you were to look for it?"
"I never shall find it, because I never shall look for it," said Calista, boldly. "I believe, as Cassius says, that if there is any such treasure, it would be bloody gold and bring ill fortune to any one that touched it."
"Why do you let your thoughts run so much on such matters, Priscilla?" said Miss Druett. "Suppose you found a thousand pounds of gold, what good would it do you? You would never spend it or give it away, and any minute you might be called to leave it."
Miss Priscilla looked as if she thought "Druey" had suddenly gone mad.
"What do you mean?" said she.
"I mean what I say," said Miss Druett, "and I am going to free my mind for once. You know that you must die, like all the rest of us. It is the only event to which we can look forward with any certainty. You cannot take money into the grave with you. Shrouds have no pockets, and a coffin is made only just large enough to hold the corpse it is meant for. Perhaps this very night you will hear the summons—then whose shall those things be that you have prepared? Come, Priscy, we have been wandering in the wilderness of this world a great many years; let us set our faces heavenward, asking the way thither, and go heme to God together."
Calista had often noticed the curious musical chord in Miss Druett's voice, but she had never heard its tones so rich and harmonious as now. She sprung forward in her usual impulsive way, threw her arms round Miss Druett's neck, and kissed her.
"Oh, I am so glad!" she exclaimed. "Oh, do, Aunt Priscilla!"
"Do what?" asked Miss Priscilla, sullenly. "I will tell you what I won't do. I won't have my house turned into a Methodist meeting-house. If you must believe in such nonsense, keep it to yourself. I haven't made any objection to your running off to meeting and all that, but I won't have any such stuff here, I tell you that."
Just then Chloe opened the door with a handful of letters.
"Here's the mail, and here's one for you, Miss Calista. You are in luck to-day."
"In more ways than one it seems," said Calista. "Oh how sorry I am!" she exclaimed, as she read.
"What now?" asked Miss Druett.
"Mr. Settson and the girls are not coming home for several weeks," replied Calista. "Mary says,—
"'Papa has heard of something very important, which will take him to
Boston, so he will be away for some weeks longer. He says you must keep
my place in the drawing-class till I come.'"
"Drawing, indeed!" said Miss Priscilla. "Spinning would be more to the purpose. You shall stay at home and learn to spin."
"Remember the child belongs to me, Priscilla; that was part of the bargain."
"Well, well, have her; I don't care. I must go to town this afternoon, Druey, and I want you to go with me."
"Very well," said Miss Druett. "I have an errand of my own. Calista, stay within bounds, and don't go running over the woods. We shall have you bitten by one of the gray snakes, or killed by a wild pig or something."
"I don't in the least believe in the gray snakes," said Calista. "I have never seen one yet, as often as I have been in the Red Hollow. But I shall not go out of the house, for I have a bit of work to finish for the fair."
"Oh, it is to-morrow, is it? Whom do you mean to stay with?—For I suppose you must stop all night with some one."
"Emma Ross asked me to stay with her. Clary Whitman and Belle Adair are going to be there, so we shall have a fine time. Elizabeth Howell won't come, because she says she has not a clear evidence that it is right. The girls laugh at her, but I don't see anything to laugh at. It seems to me if you are not sure that a thing is right, it makes that thing wrong for you."
"She is quite correct. Keep that rule in mind, and you will save yourself a deal of trouble."
When her aunt and Miss Druett were gone, Calista established herself in the front room with the child's apron she was ornamenting in crewels. Thanks to her mother's store of working materials, she was now able to do something independently.
The front parlor was kept in decent order, only by the exertions of Miss Druett, and hither Calista resorted with her work, pulling down the inside venetian blinds, so that she could see without being seen. She had not sat long before she saw old Jael come to the kitchen door and speak to Chloe. By leaning a little out of the window she could hear the whole conversation.
"Where's your mistress?"
"What's that to you?"
"Come, old woman, keep a civil tongue, will you? Is Miss Stanfield at home?"
"She's gone to town, if you must know."
"Has she found her purse?"
"She hasn't lost it. I saw it in her hands just as she went away."
"But, I tell you, she did lose it," said the old woman, in a voice which betrayed some agitation. "She lost it last night, I know."
"Oh, you do, do you?" thought Calista. "I thought so."
"Well, if I was a fortune-teller, I'd tell straighter than that," said Chloe, in a tone of great contempt. "Don't I know Miss Priscy? I tell you if she had lost her purse last night, not one in this house would have a wink of sleep till it was found. Besides, I saw it in her hands not an hour ago—the very long green purse she always carries; so you needn't talk to me."
"Well, well, I dare say you are right, only I thought I heard something about it. Get me a drink of cider, Chloe, there's a good soul. You'll be old yourself some day."
"I ain't far from it now," mid Chloe, relenting a little, as it seemed by her tone. "Then sit down in the shade, and I'll give you some cider, and your pail full of skim milk if you want it."
Calista heard the kitchen door shut and bolted, while Chloe departed on her errand.
But Jael did not sit down in the shade. She hurried across the road with wonderful swiftness, and disappeared for a moment behind General Stanfield's monument. When she appeared again, her face was a curious mixture of anger, confusion, and fear. She got back just in time to meet Chloe as she unbarred the door.
"What took you across the road in such a hurry?" asked Chloe. "I saw you from the buttery window."
"I thought I saw a lame quail," said the old woman.
"Smart you must be, to be taken in by a lame quail! There, there's a fine pail of milk and some cold potatoes for you. Why don't you and your husband settle down like decent folks, and have good times?"
"Oh, we have our good times now and then as well as you," chuckled the old woman. "Thank you all the same. Good-bye."
"She ain't a witch, that's certain," muttered Chloe to herself, as she watched Jael out of sight. "Maybe she is something as bad or worse; anyhow, a pail of milk won't hurt her."
Calista laughed behind the blinds to think how she had circumvented the old woman. But she did not know all the plans in that wicked old head, by a great deal.
CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.
THE FAIR.
THE fair was a great success, though a good deal of the pleasure was marred to Calista by the absence of several of her friends. Miss McPherson had been called to New York to see Miss Jessy off for Scotland, whither she had gone to attend to a small inheritance which had fallen to her. Miss Meeks was with her sister, who was sinking in a rapid decline. Mary Settson was going about with her father, now and then writing a long letter to Calista—now and then, but not very often, for postage was a consideration in those days, when every single letter cost eighteen cents and a double one a great deal more.
The law was a very whimsical one. You might use one sheet the size of a barn door, if you could get one; but if you put in a second bit of paper, though no larger than a visiting card, you must pay double postage. Under such circumstances, a letter was a grave consideration.
In Miss Jessy's absence, Clary Whitman took charge of the school table, assisted by Calista and Belle Adair, who had come back to Cohansey for the purpose. Everything went off beautifully. Calista had hardly ever been out in an evening before, and she thoroughly enjoyed it. For once in her life she had the pleasure of appearing in a handsome new frock—a sprigged India muslin, which she had found among her mother's things.
For the satisfaction of my young lady readers, I will just mention that it was made with a short waist, of the style then called Grecian, very large gigot sleeves with stiffeners, a lace cape with ruffles, crossed and fastened behind, and a broad blue silk belt, fastened with a gilt buckle.
Every one noticed how very handsome she looked, and what ladylike, modest manners she had, and every one wondered how she came to be there at all. Almost all the articles on the table were sold and brought good prices. Old Mr. Fabian himself bought Mary Burns's rug to put under his office table, and his wife even bought Charity Latch's work-bag, saying to herself that it would do to hold clothes-pins, and it was a pity the poor thing should be mortified when she had done her best.
Clarissa Whitman, Belle Adair, and Calista spent the night with Emma Ross. Bell and Calista, slept together, and as they were going to bed, Calista said, in the most natural way in the world:
"Oh, Emma, will you lend me a Testament?"
"I've got one for you," said Belle. "It is in my trunk. I thought a pocket Testament would be convenient if you were teaching a Sunday-class, so I brought you one."
"Oh, thank you," said Calista, gratefully. "I have wanted one ever so much. How very pretty!"
"Do you suppose Miss Stanfield will let you keep it?" asked Emma. "I heard that she would not allow one in the house, and when she and Miss Druett found an old one somewhere, they trampled it all to pieces and then burned it up."
"Nonsense!" said Calista, laughing. "My poor aunt is not quite so bad as that. Miss Druett and I each have one, and we read together every day. But I suppose people tell all sorts of things about our family."
"Indeed they do. Such stories—" Emma began, but Belle interrupted her—
"Don't tell her, Emma. What is the use of repeating such things? I am of my stepmother's opinion about that. Some one came to her with a story of what Mrs. So-and-so had said. Mamma checked her at once, in that tremendously dignified way she has when she chooses.
"'Please don't tell me if it is anything unpleasant,' said she. 'If it is anything agreeable, I shall be glad to hear it.'"
"Well, I dare say you are right," said Emma, smiling, but blushing a little; "so I will tell Calista that Mr. Alger said she was one of the greatest helps he had in his work at the mills. He told pa so."
"What a sweet temper Emma has!" said Belle. "She is a little too fond of gossip though."
"She hears a good deal of it, I presume," said Calista. "Perhaps no one is quite as careful as they should be, unless it is Elizabeth Howell."
"Or yourself."
"Well, I am not under any very great temptations. Miss Druett does not talk about people at all, and Aunt Priscilla calls them all fools."
"I should not think your religion and your aunt would agree very well," Belle ventured to say.
"Oh, well—she snaps sometimes, but either she is not so sharp as she used to be, or I don't mind it so much. I really get on quite nicely. But, please, don't talk for a little, Belle. I want to read my chapter and say my prayers."
"I will be as mute as a fish at Quaker meeting," said Belle. "But don't keep all the good to yourself. Read your chapter aloud."
Calista did so, and Belle listened with evident interest; and when Calista knelt down, she sat quite still till she had finished.
"I'll tell you what, Calista, you are a comfortable sort of Christian to be with," said Belle, when they were both in bed and the light was out. "You don't put on a long face, and look all the time as if you were afraid something dreadful was going to be done or said, like—"
"Hush, now! I won't have you censorious," said Calista.
"Well, I won't say it, then; but you know who I mean, all the same."
"You two would be the best friends in the world if you would only come to understand one another," said Calista.
"How are you to come to an understanding with a person who always takes it for granted that you mean to say and do the very worst thing possible?" demanded Belle, with some heat.
"Oh, come; you judge too hardly. M—, that person is naturally inclined to low spirits and brooding. It is very different with me."
"Yes, I know that. But if she is a Christian, why doesn't she try to overcome such a disposition as that?"
"She does try. And anyhow, Belle, it is better to be a faulty Christian, who knows her faults and tries to conquer them, than not to be a Christian at all."
"Well, I don't know; I don't think I would try unless I could be a perfect Christian—consistent in all things."
"If your rule had been followed out, we should never have had any Christian Church at all," said Calista. "There was not one of the Apostles that we know anything about but had some fault."
"Oh, Calista!—St. John!"
"Well, he was for calling down fire on his enemies; and St. Peter certainly had his faults, and so had St. Paul. I don't think that excuse will stand for much at the last day. Come, Belle, do think it over again, and without delay. Your time may be very short, you know. Think of poor little Lawrence!"
"Well, I will; I promise you I will. Now we must go to sleep, or we shall never be ready to get up."
Calista was, as Belle said, "a comfortable Christian," both to herself and others. As some one said about Christiana, in the "Pilgrim's Progress,"—"she never was in Doubting Castle at all."
Probably her vigorous health had something to do with the matter, though I think a great deal more is made of this excuse—"the state of my health"—than is desirable or justifiable. I have known a man impute all his dryness and lack of interest in religious matters to the state of his health, when that same state of health did not hinder him from taking the liveliest interest in the price of stocks or the report of the last ball-game. I have seen a lady sit down contentedly with the same excuse, who was as much occupied with her new dress as though the fate of the Christian Church depended on the decision between a princesse and a polonaise. Besides, what is that religious experience worth which deserts and leaves us in the dark when we need it most? This by the way.
But Calista saved herself a great deal of trouble by the simplicity with which she accepted the gospel. She did not ask herself whether her repentance was deep enough, or her joy high enough, or her motives pure enough. The Saviour said "Come," and she came. He had said, "Be ye holy, for I am holy," and she would try her best to be so to please him, trusting to his promise to help her, and his love to forgive and wash away her offences when she failed.
To be sure, Aunt Priscilla was trying, and even Miss Druett was sometimes sharp and sarcastic, though she had softened much of late. Her future was uncertain, and she was much troubled at the increasing influence of old Jael; but the Lord had expressly said,—
"'In the world ye shall have tribulation,'"
and he had also said,—
"'Be of good cheer, I have overcome the world'" (John 16:33).
Her greatest trouble had arisen from the return of her angry and revengeful feelings about her aunt. This distressed her so much that one night she opened her trouble to her pastor. Mr. Alger listened, and gave her sound and useful advice.
"That is nothing strange," said he. "It is what every one has more or less experience of. Satan is not going to give up any part of his kingdom without a struggle, and there is always a traitor within to help him. What you must do is this, hold no parley with the enemy, no, not for an instant. Every minute of delay makes the work of resistance tenfold harder. Lift your heart at once to the source of all strength. Pray for your enemy as well as for yourself, and then resolutely turn your thoughts from the subject, think of something else, and leave your champion to fight the battle for you.
"'Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord.'
"And I'll tell you what, my dear child, Christians would save themselves a great deal of trouble if they would learn this one lesson,—to control their thoughts, and make them work, so to speak, in harness. I can understand, from the little I know of your family affairs, that your position is a very trying one, but do not give way to fretfulness or despair. Wait on the Lord and be doing good, and fret not thyself in any wise. And, by the by, study well that thirty-seventh Psalm, and you will come to feel as if it were made for you."
Calista obeyed, and found the wisdom of the good minister's advice. She was studying very hard this vacation, with Miss Druett's assistance, who fully approved her plan of qualifying herself for a teacher. She also learned to spin, to please Miss Priscilla, who actually gave her a shilling as a reward when Calista brought her her first skein of smooth fine thread to show what progress she had made. She took great pains with her class of little girls, very few of whom could read, and was gratified with their improvement. She tried hard to read Mitford's "Greece," and persevered through a volume and a half, when she gave it up, and took to "Plutarch's Lives" instead.
Zeke and his wife seemed for the present to have disappeared from the neighborhood. Miss Priscilla was more quiet and reasonable than usual, and, on the whole, it was the most comfortable vacation Calista had known.
But a very great sorrow was about to fall on Calista,—the greatest sorrow she had ever known since the death of her mother.
Miss Druett had been troubled with a cough for two or three years, which cough had grown worse since her apparently slight attack of illness in the summer. Still Calista, in her ignorance, did not think of her being ill. True, she was somewhat thin and languid, but this Calista attributed to the great heat of the weather. Surely she could not be ill when her eyes were so wonderfully bright and she had such a beautiful color in her cheeks.
At last, however, even Calista's eyes were opened. Miss Druett one Sunday evening fainted in church, and, though she revived so as to walk slowly home with the assistance Chloe and Calista, she never went again. The next day she sent for the doctor and Mr. Fabian.
Dr. Elsmore soon finished his examination, and on Miss Druett's demanding to know the truth, he told her that, though she might linger a few days or weeks, there was no recovery possible, and the end might come at any time.
"God's will be done," said Miss Druett. "I should not have a regret but for the child; but she is in his hands, and will be cared for."
Mr. Fabian came, and with him she had quite a long private conversation. Then she seemed to have given up the world altogether, and lay patient and smiling, waiting till the change should come.
Calista, at last awakened to her friend's true condition, staid by her night and day, hardly leaving the room except for her meals and a run in the fresh air now and then, when Miss Druett insisted upon it. She could not think; she dared not give way to grief. Her whole being seemed to be given up to the work of caring for her friend, and making her last days more comfortable.
Mr. Alger and Mr. Lee came to see her; the former almost daily, and she seemed to enjoy their visits and their prayers, but she was unable to talk much at a time. Calista spent hours in reading the Bible and singing old familiar hymns, to the great but secret annoyance of Miss Priscilla. Miss Priscilla did not, could not, and would not believe that, "Druey" was going to die. It was all nonsense; she was a little unwell, and gave way instead of exerting herself and riding out. She was always thinking about herself and her bad feelings, just as though she, Miss Priscilla, was not a great deal worse. Then, veering round all at once, she declared it was all the fault of old Alger and his Methodistical cant putting gloomy ideas into Druey's head. It was coming home from those meetings in the dew which had brought on her cough; but she would get over it—yes, she would get over it in a few days. Oh, yes, if she wanted wine, she must have it, no doubt. Doctors were always making all the expense they could.
"You can go down and get a bottle of that old Madeira," she said to Chloe; "get anything she fancies or the doctor orders. But it is a great shame; I shall die in the poor-house—I know I shall."
"Well, what hurt will that do you?" asked Chloe, who spoke her mind on all occasions. "The next minute after you are dead, it won't make any odds to you whether you died in a poor-house or a palace."
Miss Priscilla seized her favorite volume of Rousseau's "Confessions," made as if to throw it at the bold speaker, but thought better of it, and contented herself with a threatening look, as usual.
"I really will discharge that woman; she grows more impudent every day," she said to herself as Chloe left the room; but she had said so at least once a month for the last twenty years, and still Chloe staid on.
Miss Druett died peacefully at last, not without warning enough to send for Mr. Alger and Mr. Fabian.
Miss Priscilla refused to believe it at first, then grew angry, then fell to crying, and finally into a fit, which seemed for a time likely to end her life with that of her friend. She really was very ill for several days, and Chloe had her hands full with her.
Meantime old Sally did the work and attended to Calista, who needed such attendance. The strain being taken off, she realized how severe it had been by the fatigue she felt, and for several days after the funeral, she could hardly sit up or occupy herself in anything. She could think of nothing but her departed friend, and, as usually happens in such cases, she was somewhat morbid. She went over and over with all their past intercourse, and while she remembered a hundred acts of kindness and self-sacrifice unmarked at the time, she remembered, too, with acute remorse, many faults on her own side—pert replies, teasing and fretfulness over her lessons.
"Oh, if she would only come back just for a minute! If I could only see her just once more!" is the cry of the bereaved; "but I never can—never in all this world."
Happy they who can take refuge in the thought,—
"But we shall meet again where there is no more parting;—"
And a thousand thousand times more to be pitied than the most desolate Christian on earth is he to whom death ends all—he who with his dead buries his hope.
It was well for Calista that time brought with it the need for exertion. On the fourth day after the funeral Mr. Fabian called, and Calista was sent for down to the parlor. It seemed to her that she could hardly drag herself down the stairs, or attend to anything when she got there; but she made the effort, and was rewarded by feeling better and brighter for the exercise.
Mr. Fabian was very kind and sympathetic, and nearly set Calista's tears flowing again; but she made a great effort to check them, and to give her whole mind to the matter before her.
"I do not know, Miss Calista, whether you are aware that your late friend, Miss Druett, made a will."
"No, sir," said Calista, as Mr. Fabian seemed to expect a reply.
"Did she ever tell you anything about her business matters?"
"Yes, once. She told me she had a house in Philadelphia, and that she had received some money from England, from her father I think she said; but she did not tell me how much, only that she had enough for her old age. Latterly she has bought my clothes and given me a little pocket-money now and then."
"Exactly. I see you know how to make a clear statement. The house in Philadelphia to which you allude was hers only for life. But she has about three thousand dollars invested in good securities, and this property will be yours when you are twenty-one. Try to control your feelings, my dear Miss Stanfield," as Calista's eyes filled. "It is of importance that you should understand these matters. There is also the further sum of seven hundred and twenty dollars and seventy cents," continued Mr. Fabian, taking out his memorandum-book and opening his glasses; "this also belongs to you, with the exception of a legacy of fifty dollars to Mr. Alger, and twenty dollars each to Chloe and David. Her books, pictures, papers, and a few ornaments, are yours; her clothes of every description she leaves to Miss Stanfield."
"I am glad she remembered Mr. Alger," said Calista; "he has been so kind, and so have the servants. I should like to give a little present to Cassius and Sally, Mr. Fabian. They have always been so good to me, and I don't know what we should have done without them since aunt has been sick."
"It shall be attended to," said Mr. Fabian. "I am glad you spoke of it. But now, Calista, we must decide what is to become of you. Where would you like to live? At Miss McPherson's, supposing she has room for you?"
"I should like that best of anything, I think, though Mr. Settson has sometimes spoken of my staying with his daughters. Still, on some accounts I should like the school best."
"Perhaps we may let the matter rest till Mr. Settson returns before coming to any final decision. But what will you do in the mean time?"
"I must stay here, at least till aunt is better," said Calista. "I cannot go away and leave her sick in bed."
"Cannot Chloe attend to her?"
"Hardly, so long as she has all the work of the house to do beside. I do not think, however, that I could go on living with Aunt Priscilla alone when she is about again. I must confess I am afraid of her in her bad moods. And there is another reason why I should not like to stay here alone with her, though I hardly know whether I ought to mention it," said Calista, hesitating.
"I think you had better tell me all," said Mr. Fabian. "It shall go no farther, I promise you. What is the reason?"
"It is that Aunt Priscilla is so under the influence of that woman Jael, the old treasure-seeker's wife," said Calista, lowering her voice. "I don't know whether you know anything of her."
"Yes, indeed! But, Calista, is that possible? Why do you think so?"
Calista briefly gave her reasons: "Miss Druett was very much disturbed when she heard these people had appeared again, and said that Aunt Priscilla had had dealings with them before."
"Do you think your aunt can be in her right mind?"
"I don't know. She is very sharp and acute about her business, and looks after everything about the farm. She flies into fearful rages sometimes, but other people do that."
"Very true. But to traffic with those wretches—really Settson ought to attend to it."
"I don't suppose he knows it. I have never spoken of it before. Miss Druett told me aunt was fond of speculation, and had wasted a great deal upon lottery tickets."
"She has made some very successful speculations, too," said Mr. Fabian, rising. "Well, my dear, I have no more business with you this morning. When your aunt is well enough, I must explain matters to her. Now, is there anything I can do for you? Would you not like to put on mourning for your old friend?"
"Yes, indeed I should, Mr. Fabian!" answered Calista, her eyes filling with tears. "I have thought a good deal about it, but could not see my way, for I have no black dresses, and no money."
"Mrs. Fabian suggested the subject to me, and bade me say that if you would send her a pattern-dress, she would take the whole matter off your hands, and see you properly provided. Mrs. Fabian is very thoughtful and considerate," concluded the old gentleman, with a little bow, as if his wife were present. "I hope and trust you will find her a valuable friend."
"I have no doubt I shall, if she will be so kind as to befriend me," said Calista, feeling very grateful to Mrs. Fabian for her consideration in the present instance. "I will get you the dress, if you will wait a moment."
Calista folded up her new sprigged muslin in a small, neat parcel, not without a sigh to the memory of the last time she wore it.
And Mr. Fabian departed, leaving Calista much relieved. She was not left dependent on the grudging bounty of Miss Priscilla, neither would she lose the opportunity of completing her education with Miss McPherson. She was sensible enough to consider that three thousand dollars was not a fortune, and she did not at all relax in her determination to qualify herself for a teacher; but it was pleasant to know she had something of her own.
It was with a curious feeling that all must be a dream that she sought out her mother's purse and put into it the five dollars Mr. Fabian had given her in parting.
Then she kneeled down and asked earnestly for grace to serve her Master in the new state of life to which he seemed pleased to call her. And then, rested and comforted, she went into her aunt's room.
CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.
MR. FABIAN CALLS AGAIN.
MRS. FABIAN was true to her word, and by her exertions, ably seconded by those of Drusella Pine, a very handsome and proper suit of mourning was sent home to Calista on Saturday night, accompanied by a kind little note from Mrs. Fabian, and a present of a black feather fan. Calista was pleased with the present and still more with the note, and she would not have been a girl of sixteen if she had not felt a slight movement of gratified vanity as she looked at herself in the glass and saw how very neat and becoming was the fresh bombazine and crape, and the black cottage bonnet with its plain white border inside.
"Well, you do look like a real lady, Miss Calista," said Chloe, who had assisted at the trying on; "and it does me good to see you wearing decent clothes, as a young lady ought. Did Mrs. Fabian send you any everyday things?"
"Yes, a nice black calico; and she says she will have a black stuff made for me. Isn't she kind?"
"Law, yes! The Fabians are real quality, and know what's what. None of your new-come-up folks they ain't. I heard say something about your going to boarding-school; is that so?"
"Yes; Miss Druett wished it, and Mr. Fabian thinks it best."
"Well, I am glad of it, though what this house will be like without Miss Druett and you, I can't say. But this I will say, it is not the place for you. Miss Priscilla is bewitched by that old Jael, and there's no telling what will come of it. Besides, you ought to be with some one who knows how young ladies ought to behave, and who will take an interest in your education. It's my belief if it hadn't been for Miss Druett, you wouldn't even have learned to read and write."
"I am of the same mind, Chloe. Looking back, I can see how she has befriended me all my life. I don't think I ever thought half enough of her when I had her."
"That's the way we all feel, honey," said Chloe. "It's just so with me. I know I was aggravating lots of times when I needn't have been. Wasn't it a blessed thing that she died such a happy death, and that Mr. Alger could say, as he did, that she died a Christian?"
"Yes, indeed."
"But, honey, I expect you'll have a regular fuss with Miss Priscilla about the will when she comes to know it. She said she meant to see Mr. Fabian, and get the money, just as soon as she was able. I don't think she has a notion of the way things are left, because she said to me that she would put out the money to much better advantage than Miss Druett. I didn't say a word, for I thought, least said soonest mended. I suppose you'll put on your new clothes to-morrow."
"Yes, if I go to church."
"There's another thing you'll have a fuss about, I expect," said Chloe, as she assisted Calista in folding and laying away her new dress and mantle. "I mean your wearing mourning. Miss Priscy hates to see any one in black. She says it is such a waste; but I think it is because she don't like to be reminded of her latter end."
"Then if it annoys her, I won't wear it in the house while I stay here. Shall I unpin the veil from the bonnet?"
"Oh yes, and lay it smooth in the same folds. A crape veil will last a long time if one is careful of it. And do the same by your shawl. Some ladies' things always look as if they had been kept under the bed, because they don't take care of them when they take them off. Now what would you like for your supper, honey?"
"Just what you have. I would as soon have bread and milk as anything, only I should like some tea."
"I hope it ain't wicked," muttered Chloe, as she descended the stairs, "but if Miss Priscy was obliged to stay in bed the rest of her life, I'd willingly take all the trouble of waiting on her for the sake of the comfort there would be down stairs."
It rained hard on Sunday morning, but cleared up at noon; and at three o'clock Calista thought she might venture to go to her Sunday-school. She asked Chloe's advice.
"Oh yes, go, honey; it will do you all the good in the world. I'll take care of Miss Priscy, never fear."
Calista dressed herself in her new mourning and went out. As she was passing her aunt's door, she heard a peremptory voice call,—
"Is that you, Calista?"
"Yes, ma'am. Do you want anything? Shall I send Chloe?"
"No. Come here, I want to speak to you."
Now Calista had worn her black print dress all the morning, and Miss Priscilla had made no remark. Calista took this as a tacit acquiescence, and was rejoicing that the matter had settled itself so easily. But she was mistaken in her reckoning. The fact was, Miss Priscilla had not noticed the dress at all.
"Where are you going?" was the first question. And then, with an ominous flash of the eyes, "What is that you have on?"
"My new mourning, aunt. Mrs. Fabian got it for me and sent it home last night."
"Oh, she did? She is very obliging, I am sure," said Miss Priscilla, in her bitterest sarcastic tone. "Pray did she pay for them?"
"No, aunt," answered Calista, with an inward prayer for grace, for she saw that a conflict was impending. "Mr. Fabian paid for them out of Miss Druett's money that she left me."
"That she left you!" Miss Priscilla repeated slowly, as though she could hardly believe her ears. "What do you mean?"
"Mr. Fabian will tell you all about it, aunt," said Calista, retreating a little. "He is Miss Druett's executor, and has the management of all her affairs. I would rather not talk about it to-day."
"Do you mean to say that Druey has gone and left the money she had from England to 'you?'" asked Miss Priscilla, sitting up in bed.
"Please wait till to-morrow, aunt," said Calista, determined not to have a dispute on Sunday. "Mr. Fabian will tell you all about it." And she left the room, followed by a string of vituperation which she did not stop to listen to.
She met her class and had a pleasant time with them. The little girls were full of sympathy, every one was kind to her, and she came home feeling refreshed and comforted.
Chloe met her at the door.
"Don't go near your aunt," said she. "She is in one of her tantrums. I've set your supper out in the sitting-room, and when you've eaten it, if you don't go to meeting again, you had better sit in the front parlor. There's some nice books in there that used to be your grandma's, and I'll bring you in a light by and by."
"I don't think I will go to meeting, Chloe. I feel rather tired with my walk. It is strange I should mind such a thing when I have walked to town all my life."
"You're worn out, honey; that is just what it is," said Chloe. "You ain't made of cast iron more than any one else. Eat your supper, and take care of your new frock. Milk spots black worse than anything."
Calista took the advice given her, and then retreated to the front parlor. She had never examined the little cupboards by the chimney. Indeed, they had usually been kept locked, but now they were open, and Calista eagerly looked over their contents. There were a few very early specimens of the Annuals—a species of literature which seems to have wholly died out; but the books mostly consisted of sets of the "Spectator" and "Rambler," and religious books of which there were a good many and of high character—Thomas à Kempis, Taylor's "Holy Living," "The Whole Duty of Man," Law's "Serious Call," and the like. Calista took down the last, and was soon fascinated, as any person of taste must be, by the exquisite style, the wit, and solid excellence of the matter.
She read till it was too dark to see, and then sat watching the fireflies, which spangled everything, and the moon, which just touched the higher clouds with silver. She tried to keep her thoughts on other things, but the questions would rise, "What was she to do? Was it her duty to stay on where she was? Could she possibly live with Aunt Priscilla?"
"But I am borrowing trouble," she said to herself at last. "My aunt gave up all care of me to Miss Druett, and she said Mr. Fabian was my guardian and would decide for me, so, of course, he will settle all that. I wouldn't be him when he calls to-morrow. I don't think aunt need grudge me my little fortune. Surely she has enough. I heard Mr. Fabian and that other gentleman say that the estate had increased in value tenfold. But I will not think of business to-night—so there!"
And drawing nearer to her the candle Chloe had brought, she applied herself once more to the "Serious Call." She read on, more and more interested, till a sudden rustle caused her to turn round. Some one was at the window, that was certain; some one who disappeared in a moment. She went to the window and looked out. There was nothing to be seen, but as she drew together and barred the shutters, she heard a low hollow laugh or chuckle, which she knew too well.
"So that horrid woman has come back," she said to herself. "Mr. Fabian is right. It will never do for me to stay here."
She could not feel very comfortable alone in the great room with its heavy, faded damask hanging, where her one candle made such grim shadows of the old-fashioned furniture. She took her book and candle, and, slipping off her shoes, she crept softly up to her own room and fastened the door, which had no bolt inside, by putting one of her trunks against it. She sat reading a long time, till all was quiet in the house. Then she said her prayers, and going to bed, she fell asleep like a baby.
The next morning, to her utter amazement, she went down stairs to find her aunt dressed, and sitting waiting for her breakfast. Such a thing had not happened for years.
"Why, Aunt Priscilla, how smart you are getting!" she exclaimed pleasantly. "When have you been down to breakfast before?"
"Oh, I am not quite superannuated yet, though you and your Fabians would like to make me so. Yes, you and your Fabians, with your plots and plans," she added, shaking her head. "You will find out, Miss, you poor-house child that I took out of charity that you might turn me out of house and home. Yes, yes! I meant to make you rich at last, but you'll see what you have gained by your plots and plans. You'll see!"
"Indeed, aunt, I have done nothing to injure you," said Calista, gently. "I don't ask anything of you but kind treatment and a little love. Come, aunt, let us be friends for the sake of her that is gone."
Calista's voice trembled, and she drew near to her aunt and bent down as if to kiss her, but Miss Priscilla pushed her off.
"There, go away. If you must make a sentimental fuss, go and see about breakfast; we shall not have it over by the time that old fool gets here."
Breakfast, however, was over and out of the way before the person so politely designated arrived.
Calista was not called to the conference till just at its close. As she entered the room, she heard Miss Priscilla say, in the loftily polite manner which she could assume if she chose:
"I am sorry to have been the cause of your forgetting yourself and being so violent, Mr. Fabian. I had always supposed you to be a person of quite a different stamp. I see now how wise my father was in refusing to sanction your addresses."
"And I see what an idiotic young fool I was ever to have made them," muttered Mr. Fabian, evidently much discomfited. "Be that as it may, madam," he continued, aloud, "I assure you that the will of your late friend is perfectly legal in every respect, and if you dispute it, you will lose your money."
"That remains to be seen, sir. Meantime, my niece remains in my custody. I have brought her up and educated her, and I intend that she shall stay with me till she is of age, and be governed by me in all things."
Calista cast a glance of consternation at her friend.
"Do not be alarmed, my dear," said Mr. Fabian. "You shall remain with this—this 'person' no longer than till I can obtain the proper legal power to take possession of you."
Mr. Fabian pronounced the word "person" with a look and emphasis which gave it all the effect of the most vituperative epithet. "Mr. Settson is expected home to-day, and then we will arrange the whole matter. Do not be afraid; no one shall hurt you."
"No harm is likely to come to her under this roof, whatever might happen anywhere else," said Miss Priscilla. "I have allowed the young person much more liberty than was for her good, to gratify the whims of my late companion and housekeeper, Miss Druett—"
"Oh! So she was your housekeeper!" said Mr. Fabian, taking out his tablets and making a note of the words. "You will please remember these words, Calista. They may be important."
"Of my late companion and friend, as I supposed her," continued Miss Priscilla, without noticing the interruption. "She has been going about to Methodist meetings and other places unfit for any decent young person. I shall permit this no longer; but as to any ill-treatment, I hope my character and that of my family are a guarantee against anything of that kind. I will not detain you any longer. Good-morning!"
Mr. Fabian bowed, and whispered to Calista to keep up good courage.
Miss Priscilla accompanied him to the door with the greatest politeness.
Calista, meantime, fled to her own room and fastened the door as well as she could. She had hardly done so when she heard it locked on the outside. Then she heard her aunt's voice ordering David to get up the chaise and be ready to drive her to Graywich.
"I shall not be at home till to-morrow," she said to Chloe, in unusually gracious accents; "so, if you choose, Chloe, you can go to town and stay with your sister. Indeed, I prefer that you should do so. I shall feel safer if the house is locked up."
"But where is Miss Calista? She can't stay here alone," objected Chloe. "And what about the cows?"
"Miss Calista has gone to town with Mr. Fabian. Did you not see her in the carriage? As to the cows, Davis will see to them."
"Oh!" said Chloe. "Then I guess I'll go over to Sally's. Jubalina is out, helping at Mrs. Whitecar's. And I'll take my new frock along and get Drusella to cut it for me. Hadn't I better take the key to the kitchen door, so's I can come and have things ready for you?"
"No, I prefer to carry all the keys myself. Go and get ready, for I am in a hurry."