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.
"The boy was permitted to run wild, so far as any government was
concerned. He associated with all sorts of people, and was given an
almost unlimited command of money. This was particularly the case after
his mother died, which she did, unfortunately, when your father was
only ten years old. Under such circumstances, it is a wonder that your
father grew up no worse than he did. I do not mean to say that he was
addicted to low vice or dissipation, for such was never the case, but
he was extravagant and self-indulgent, and totally without any guiding
principle, religious or otherwise. Your grandfather had unfortunately
taken up with those notions of the French philosophers which Mr.
Jefferson had made fashionable."
Mr. Settson then gave an account of her father's college life, his
marriage, and the displeasure of her grandfather, and added: "A few
days about ten, I think—before his death, as I was riding out of town
to keep an appointment, I met General Stanfield, who had been away for
two or three weeks. He directed Cassius, who was with him as usual, to
go on, while he turned his horse and rode by my side for some distance,
talking on various subjects. Just as we were about to part, he said:
"'Settson, I have made a new will.'
"'Indeed!' said I.
"'Yes,' said he. 'I have thought the matter over, and I believe I have
been wrong, so I have made a new will, giving the homestead and all in
Cohansey to Dick and his children, if he has any, with a due allowance
to his wife. I shall bring the papers in to you in a few days, and we
will consult on the best way of obtaining intelligence.'
"If I had had any suspicion of what was coming, I should have asked for
more particulars; but your grandfather's horse was very restive, and I
was in a hurry to keep my appointment. Just as your grandfather turned
back to go home, he said, 'I have made you and Fabian executors and
guardians.'
"I was out of town for several days," continued Mr. Settson, "and the
very day after my return, I heard of your grandfather's death. Of
course I caused a proper search to be made for the will, but it was
not to be found. Cassius, whom I questioned closely, knew nothing of
the matter, not even when or where the will should have been made. His
master had been in New York, Philadelphia, and several other places,
but he had never known of his visiting a lawyer's office. And though
I was at a good deal of trouble and expense, I could never find out
anything about the matter."
Calista sat silent a moment; then she asked, in a tone which was
singularly calm and business-like,—
"In what year was this, Mr. Settson?"
"In 1817."
"But did not grandfather know that his son was dead and had left a
child?"
"No, he knew nothing of either circumstance. Your parents never wrote
to him, or he never received their letters. Shortly after your mother's
death, Priscilla informed me, through Miss Druett, that she had learned
that Richard had left a daughter who was now an orphan, and that as
soon as the spring opened, she intended to send for the child and give
it a home, though, as she was careful to state, she was under no legal
obligation to do so."
"Then if the last will could be found, would the old place and the rest
be mine?"
"Without doubt; but I fear it never will be found."
"Mr. Settson," said Calista, with flashing eyes and pale lips, "do you
suppose Aunt Priscilla could have destroyed that last will?"