Part 4

"There is enough for your supper and David's," said she, anxiously. "You won't need to use any more."

Chloe sniffed the air contemptuously, but made no reply.

"What made you so late coming home?" asked Miss Druett.

"I came by the river road," replied Calista.

"Why did you do that? It is longer and very lonely."

"Yes, I know, and I don't think I shall try it again; at least on foot."

"Did you see anybody?"

"Yes, I saw old Cassius and his wife, and had quite a talk with him."

"Cassius—what about Cassius?" asked Miss Priscilla.

"Nothing, aunt, only I was saying I saw him and had a little talk with him."

"I won't have you talking with every one you meet," said Miss Priscilla, sharply; "you are just such another as your father—hail fellow, well met, with half the vagabonds in the country."

"I should not call Cassius a vagabond," said Calista, too much accustomed to Miss Priscilla's remarks about her father to mind them as another girl would. "He has a nice little farm, with everything comfortable about him, and seems as contented as the day is long. But I did meet a vagabond, Miss Druett," said Calista; "the queerest-looking old fellow I ever saw. Cassius calls him Old Zeke. He says the old man and his wife are treasure-seekers, and know more than they ought to. Do you know anything about him, Miss Druett?" she asked, seeing, or fancying, that Miss Druett looked uneasy.

"A little," replied Miss Druett. "He used to hang about here, years ago. He and his wife are miserable cheats and impostors. I hope poor Cassius is not taken in by him."

"I should say there was no danger," said Calista. "Cassius says that, even if they did find the pirate's money, it would be bloody gold and would bring ill luck; and besides, he has enough without it."

"Has he? He must be rich, then!"

"I don't think it always takes riches to make people contented," observed Calista; "just see Miss Hannah and Miss Betsy, how happy they are!"

"So they ought to be—such prices as they ask for their weaving and spinning," said Miss Priscilla. "What do you know about them, pray?"

"I went with Mary to see them about some towels they are weaving for Miss Alice, and they asked us to stay to tea."

"Oh, Miss Alice is too fine a lady to do her own spinning, I suppose!"

"Not at all, aunt. Miss Alice spins beautifully fine thread, but she sends it to Miss Hannah to be woven. She is having a set of towels made of her own spinning for the new parsonage."

"Oh, she is! And you tell of it, thinking I will be moved to do the like."

"Not at all, aunt. I never thought of such a thing."

Miss Priscy muttered something about sly minxes, as she sank back in her chair for the nap she always took between her early tea and her game of cribbage or backgammon.

Calista waited till her eyes were closed, and then addressed herself in a low tone to Miss Druett.

"Do you know anything about these people—Zeke and his wife?"

"Why should you think I know anything about them?" said Miss Druett, answering, as she often did, one question by another.

"I thought you looked so."

"You are a sharp observer. Yes, I have known something about them."

"Do they really set up for supernatural knowledge, and all that sort of thing?"

"They really do, and perhaps believe a little in their own devices, though I hold them to be miserable swindlers and cheats. They have done mischief enough in these parts before now. I am very sorry to hear that they have appeared again. Their father was in the same way, and it was said that he did really discover a sum of money. It was quite true that he went to Philadelphia, and was seen there dressed like a gentleman and spending a great deal. But his prosperity did not last long. He spent all he had, and the next any one knew, he was back again living in his hole on the river bank. Zeke and his wife Jael were acquainted with your aunt at one time, and had anything but a good influence upon her. I should be sorry to have her fall in with them again."

Miss Druett said these words in a low whisper.

"You don't mean to say that she engaged with them in any treasure-seeking!"

Miss Druett nodded.

"How perfectly absurd! Especially for one who does not pretend to believe in anything."

"There is nothing strange in that. A great many people believe in witchcraft who don't believe in the Bible. You can see how very unlucky it would be for her to fall in with them again."

"Yes, indeed. I am sorry I mentioned seeing the old man. He is a horrid-looking object. I should not like to meet him alone."

"You must never run the risk," said Miss Druett. "I am very glad old Cassius was with you."

"Have you done anything about my frocks?" asked Calista, after a little silence.

"Not yet, but I hope to."

"I need some books," said Calista. "Miss McPherson says I must have a dictionary and grammar, and a book to write exercises in."

"Then you may tell Miss McPherson that you won't have anything of the sort!" said Miss Priscilla, rousing herself and speaking with a sharpness and suddenness which made Calista start. "You have had books enough already. Always something to extort money. I won't let you go to school another day. You shall stay at home and work for a living, and save me the expense of a servant, instead of going to school all day and then coming home and sitting for an hour with your hands before you doing nothing. I say you shall not go to school another day."

"Very well, aunt," replied Calista, coolly. She had heard the threat too often to be alarmed at it.

"Nonsense!" said Miss Druett, in her trenchant way.

"Get the backgammon board, Calista, and tell Chloe to bring candles."

Calista did so, and then betook herself to her own room. It was anything but a sumptuous apartment. There had once been a handsome paper on the walls, but it was stained with damp and hanging loose in some places. The pieces of carpet by the bedside and before the glass were trodden into shreds despite Calista's mending, and the bed covering was old and faded. Forlorn as the room was, it was Calista's only place of refuge, and she had done her best to make it look pleasant. The floor was clean and the old furniture well dusted. Calista's few books were neatly disposed on the mantlepiece. The window, which looked to the east, was open, and a full flood of yellow moonlight poured in at it. A mocking-bird was singing in the pine trees which bordered one side of the old graveyard, and frogs and beetles piped a not unmelodious chorus. Calista drew a chair into the deep window recess and sat down, leaning her arm on the sill.

"How lovely it all is!" said she to herself. "If Judge Settson or even Aunt Hannah had this place, what a paradise they would make of it! As for Aunt Priscilla, she might as well be in the poor-house as here for all the comfort she takes or lets any one else take. I wonder if it really is religion that makes the difference. To be sure there is Antoinette Diaments—she pretends to be a Christian, and she is as mean as Aunt Priscilla in a different way. But, then, she is only one.

"I verily believe it is as Mary says, that it is not money that spoils people, but the love of it. If I thought it would make me like Aunt Priscilla, I am sure I would never think of being rich again. Oh dear, how hungry I am!"

And then Calista bethought herself of Sally's basket of ginger-nuts, and, taking them from their concealment, she made a hearty supper. The spicy gingerbread made her thirsty, and taking her cracked jug she went down to the well for some water. As she was drinking from the bucket, she saw that her handkerchief had fallen from the window. As she went to pick it up, she heard Miss Druett say inside,—

"You might let her have some new frocks and a little money for this work nonsense. I tell you, Priscilla, you are making yourself the town talk, and if you push the child to the wall, she will rebel."

"I can't," said Miss Priscilla. "I shall die in the poor-house."

"You might let her have her mother's things, at least. She has a right to them, and she is quite old enough—"

Calista heard no more, for a movement within awoke to the fact that it would not be well for her to be caught listening, and she hastened back to her room. She had heard enough to give her food for reflection and wonder.

Her mother's things! What did Miss Druett mean? She went back to her childish days when she lived with Miss Malvina, and tried to recall everything that the old lady had said to her. There was a vision floating before her of some boxes carefully put away, and of Miss Malvina showing her several things, and especially a beautiful book, and saying something about her dear mother. But think as she could, the vision would not assume any distinctness.

"Oh dear, if I could only remember!" said she at last. "If I could only remember my mother! But I can't. All I can think of is a pale lady lying on a sofa, or something, and dressing a doll for me, and then holding me on her lap and teaching me to say, 'Now I lay me down to sleep.' Oh, if she had only lived, wouldn't I have worked my fingers off for her! I do think it was very hard I could not have a father and mother like other people. Mary would say I had a Father in heaven, but that does not seem the same at all."

Then came one of those vivid flashes of memory which do come unbidden, though they will seldom obey the will. She saw herself seated upon Miss Malvina's lap by the side of the great open fireplace filled with generous logs, before which stood a row of roasting apples. She could see the very smoothing-irons on the mantlepiece, the stand with the great Bible in the corner, the patchwork cushioned chairs, and Miss Malvina's chintz short-gown and quilted petticoat, and heard the old lady's tremulous voice as she said, "That was your dear mother's favorite hymn, Calista, my love. Never forget it; never forget that your dear mother was a true Christian, if a Christian ever lived. The Lord was her shepherd, and he will be yours too, and lead you home to himself and to her if you will only give your heart to him."

"Then my mother is in heaven now!" said Calista to herself, with a feeling of awe. She sat a few minutes longer, and then lighting her very small end of candle, she got out her old ragged Bible and opened it at random.

"'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.'" (Matt. 11: 28, 29).

Calista sighed. She knew that she was not meek or lowly. She tried again, and opened to the third of Colossians, where she read,—

"'Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth.'"

There was not much comfort in that either, but she read the chapter to the end, and then knelt down and repeated the Lord's Prayer and "Now I lay me down to sleep."

She could not have told exactly what she expected to gain by the action. It was simply an act of obedience. God had told people to pray, and she would pray. But by so doing, she had made a great step. She had recognized and confessed a conscious relationship of some kind between herself and her Creator. Hereafter, the world would never be quite the same to her.

CHAPTER FIFTH.

CALISTA ASKS A QUESTION.

CALISTA was up and dressed early as usual. She had heard the threat of taking her out of school too often to be much impressed by it, and she went down to her breakfast with Miss Druett cheerfully enough. Miss Priscilla usually breakfasted in bed, and as Calista passed the door of her room she heard her scolding Chloe for putting so much butter on the toast.

"There she goes," thought Calista; "I do wonder why Chloe stays here, when she might go away if she pleased."

Breakfast was the only comfortable part of her home life to Calista. Miss Druett gave her a fair share of the food, such as it was, and often shared her own cup of coffee or chocolate with her, and she could eat without feeling that every mouthful was watched. She dispatched her basin of bread and milk with an appetite. Miss Druett was not unkind, and gave her a liberal supply of coffee, but she did not seem inclined to talk, and Calista fancied that her face wore an unusual shade of care.

"Am I to go to school, Miss Druett?" asked Calista, when she had finished her breakfast.

"To school!" said Miss Druett, starting. "Yes, of course; why not?"

"You know what aunt said last night; and, really, there is not much use in my going unless I can have books. I need a dictionary and a Bible to use in school."

"A Bible!" said Miss Druett, in a tone of as much surprise as if Calista had said she needed an Arabic lexicon. "What do you want of a Bible?"

"To read in. We read round every morning now. Besides, we are to have a Bible-class three times a week, and Miss McPherson wishes all the girls to join it."

"Oh! Well, I will see what can be done; but I don't know. I can't promise anything."

"Aunt Priscilla grows harder every day, I think," observed Calista.

"That is to be expected. Calista!" said Miss Druett, with sudden animation. "Whatever you do, never, never set your heart upon money—upon being rich. It is a love that once hatched in the heart is like the cow-bird in the robin's nest: it turns everything else out that it may devour all for itself. I love you, child—you may not believe it, but I do—and I would rather see you in your coffin than see you setting your heart on being rich."

Calista was standing by Miss Druett, and as the lady finished speaking, she did what she had hardly ever done before: she stooped down and kissed Miss Druett.

"I do believe you love me, Miss Druett, and I love you. I wish I could love Aunt Priscilla, but she won't let me."

Miss Druett returned the kiss, and her eyes were suspiciously bright as she said,—

"Pity her then, child; you can do that. Now get ready for school, and go into Priscilla's room before you set out. She has a message to send to Mr. Settson. Don't say anything to her about your books. Ask Miss McPherson to provide for you what is absolutely needful, and if Priscilla won't pay the bill, I will contrive to do it myself."

Calista went away and got ready for school as she was bidden, and then opened the door of her aunt's room. Miss Priscilla, with a shawl round her shoulders, was sitting up in bed examining an account-book, and looked up impatiently as Calista entered.

"What do you want here?" was her polite salutation.

"Miss Druett said you wanted to send some message by me," returned Calista, with equal conciseness.

"Oh! Well, you may go and see Mr. Settson and tell him I think he must foreclose that mortgage of Simpson's. He will never pay in the world."

"His wife is sick so much," said Calista, she hardly knew why.

"What is that to you, miss? Are you going to set up to direct my business affairs? Take the message as I tell you."

"Very well," answered Calista, dryly; "anything else?"

"Anything else! No, nothing else. I suppose you would like to have me give you a commission to buy yourself a silk dress and an India shawl, wouldn't you?"

"An India shawl would hardly be suitable for me, but I should like the dress very much," said Calista, with the mischievousness which no amount of snubbing had ever subdued. "Shall I get black or colored, aunt? Clapp has a lovely dark blue, which would be just the thing for me. Shall I bring you a sample?"

Miss Priscilla seized the book which lay before her in a way which made Calista dodge, as if she expected to have her ears boxed with it—a thing which had happened before—but Miss Priscilla, if such were her design, relinquished it and contented herself with a threatening shake of her head.

Calista went away laughing; but her laugh was suddenly checked.

"I ought not to enrage her so," she said to herself. "There is no telling what she might do. But the temptation is so strong to take her at her word. I wonder what she would say if I did. Anyway, I shall have a chance to see Mr. Settson."

Calista walked to school—not by the river road, however—and arrived just in time to save a "tardy" mark.

At recess the girls were of course engaged in discussing the question of the sale.

"What are you going to make, Calista?" asked Antoinette Diaments of Calista, as the latter stood near Miss McPherson, in the school-house porch. She had purposely chosen her time with the amiable intention of mortifying Calista before her schoolmistress; but her scheme failed; and, moreover, involved herself in unexpected trouble.

"I don't suppose I shall make anything," said Calista, coloring. "My aunt has her own ideas about such things, and she has not said yet that she will give me any money."

"Oh!" said Antoinette, sarcastically. "How sorry you must be!"

Before Calista had time to reply, Belle Adair came up in a great hurry.

"Oh, Antoinette, I am glad I have found you," said she. "Tessy has asked me to buy some netting cotton and a needle for her; and she told me to ask you for the money you owe her, as she has none."

"I haven't any change," said Antoinette, coloring and looking daggers at Belle.

"Eh, my dear! What is that?" asked Miss McPherson.

"Nothing, ma'am; only Antoinette owes Tessy four and sixpence, and Tessy told me to ask her for it; but Antoinette says she has no change. Perhaps you can let her have some, ma'am," said Belle, as demurely as a kitten bent on mischief.

"Certainly," said Miss McPherson, producing her purse. "What do you wish to have changed, Antoinette?"

"There is no hurry," said Antoinette.

"Why, yes, I think there is," returned Belle. "You know, Antoinette, Tessy has asked you for the money several times, and you could not pay her because you had not the change. But, as Miss McPherson is so kind—"

Miss McPherson smiled, and frowned a little at the same time. She was used to girls, and saw through Belle's little plot on the instant. She also saw through Antoinette's evasion, and she detested meanness. Her tone was, therefore, somewhat sharp as she said,—

"Antoinette, did you hear me? Give me the bill you wish to have changed, this moment."

Startled out of her presence of mind, Antoinette pulled her purse out of her pocket. As she did so, the clasp gave way and let out a handful of silver and copper, which fell on the floor. The girls exchanged glances as they assisted in picking it up.

"Give that money to me!" said Miss McPherson. Then, as she counted it over, "What did you mean by saying that you had no change, Antoinette? Here are more than ten shillings in silver."

"I—I forgot," murmured Antoinette.

"Why did you not look to see? I must say it is difficult to believe you could forget, with all this weight of silver in your pocket. Anabella, here is Theresa's money. Are you going to lay it out for her?"

"Yes, ma'am. Miss Jessy said I might, as she had no netting cotton of the proper size, and Tessy cannot go out on account of her lame ankle."

"Oh, very well. I presume you will use very good judgment. Anything else?"

"Please, ma'am, may I walk down with Anabella?" said Calista. "I have an errand for my aunt."

"Certainly; only do not be late for dinner; and, my love, I should like you to perform a commission for me. Have you any work on hand that you particularly wish to do?"

"No, ma'am," answered Calista, with a beating heart.

"Then perhaps you will undertake some. I have no time for fancy work, at present, and I believe I must make you and Jenny Rose my deputies. What say you? Will you knit a bureau cover for me? I know you are an excellent knitter."

"Oh, thank you, ma'am. I should like to do it so very much," replied Calista, with a rush of love and gratitude which brought the unusual tears very near her eyes.

"Very well, that is settled. Ask Miss Jessy what you will need, and I will give you an order for the materials. But remember, I shall expect something quite out of the common, that will be a credit to both of us. Now go, or you will have no time."

"Isn't she a dear?" said Anabella, as they walked away.

"Indeed she is. You might say so if you were in my place. But, Belle, you have got Antoinette into a scrape."

"Yes, a worse one than I meant, though she deserves it for the way she treats little Tessy. Think of her keeping the poor child out of her money all this time!"

"Antoinette can't bear to part with money: all the girls know that," said Calista. "I wonder if I should be so mean if I were rich."

"It is not being rich. Look at Elizabeth Howell. She hasn't a mean thing about her. Are you going to buy your cotton to-day?"

"No, I must see Miss Jessy first; and, as I said, I have a message from my aunt to Mr. Settson."

"Good-bye, then, till I see you again."

Calista found the old gentleman alone in his office. She delivered her message, and then plunged into the subject of which her own head was full.

"Mr. Settson, I should like to ask you a question, if it is not improper."

"Ask it," said Mr. Settson, smiling, "and then I shall know whether it is improper or not."

"It is about my grandfather's will," said Calista. "Miss Betsy told me the other day that grandfather told her he had altered his will and done justice to his son Richard and his wife. She said he told her and Miss Hannah so only two or three days before he died. I am not a child any more," said Calista. "I think I have some right to know about the affairs of my own family. There is no use in asking anything of Aunt Priscilla or Miss Druett. Miss Druett thinks I am no more than a baby, and I don't know but aunt would kill me outright if I were to say anything to her about business."

Mr. Settson leaned back in his chair, took a pinch of snuff, and regarded his young visitor with a critical glance.

Calista was, as I have said, a very handsome girl, and had an expression of vigorous health and strength somewhat uncommon at that time, when it was considered a mark of gentility to be "delicate." She carried herself remarkably well, and spoke with a ladylike tone and accent, and though her manner was decided, it was modest and womanly.

Mr. Settson's first remark was apparently irrelevant, to say the least of it.

"Take off that poke bonnet, child; I want to look at you."

Calista found it somewhat hard to repress a movement of impatience, but she did repress it, and took off her bonnet as desired, showing the beautiful black hair, which no amount of brushing would keep from curling and waving in its own way.

"Humph!" said the old gentleman. "A thorough Stanfield. Did any one ever tell you that?"

"Yes, sir. Miss Betsy and Miss Hannah said so, and old Cassius."

"Well, my dear child, I quite agree with you that you have a right—a moral right at least—to know the particulars concerning your late grandfather's estate; but the story is not to be told in five minutes. Have you half an hour to spare?"

"Oh, yes, sir, an hour, if necessary," answered Calista, with a beating heart, but outwardly quite composed. If her life with Miss Priscilla had taught her nothing else, it had at least taught her self-control.

"Very well. To make you understand matters, I must begin some way back. You know, probably, that your grandmother was a second wife. She was a Miss Howell, related to the Howells at Graywich, and possessed of some property, which went into your grandfather's hands, as there were no special settlements. General Stanfield was somewhat advanced in life, and Priscilla, the only child of his first wife, was nearly as old as his bride. When Richard came, he was naturally the object of great affection, and I do not hesitate to say that his father was most injudiciously, even culpably, indulgent to him.