Then, as Calista laughed,—"I do not know what I am saying. No, I don't
think any lizards are venomous, though, I dare say, they might bite,
like other creatures, if alarmed or provoked. Are you very tired? Do
you want to go to bed directly?"
"No, ma'am," answered Calista. "Not if I can do anything for you."
"Come into my room and sit down a little. I have something to say to
you, and I may not have another chance."
Calista obeyed.
The usually neat room was not disorderly—for nothing about Miss Druett
could be that—but disarranged. A great trunk, nearly filled, stood
open at the foot of the bed; a picture, which had always hung above
the fireplace, was taken down; and some books were missing from their
places. Miss Druett cleared a chair for Calista and took another
herself, but she did not seem in a hurry to begin the conversation.
"Are you really going, Miss Druett?" asked Calista, presently, seeing
that she did not speak.
"I have no choice, child, as things are at present. I have borne a
great deal from Priscilla, and if I staid, I should, no doubt, bear a
great deal more; but you must see yourself that I cannot remain in her
house after she has ordered me out of it."
"Of course not. I only wonder that you should have staid so long."
"Well, your grandfather and Priscilla's mother were kind to me when
I was an orphan and poor, and Priscilla and I were friends in youth.
Latterly I have had another reason for staying. You heard what your
aunt said, this morning, about your father." And Miss Druett blushed
a vivid carnation blush, which gave an almost unearthly lustre to her
dark eyes.
"I heard it," said Calista, "but I thought it was, perhaps, only one of
the spiteful things she says when she gets angry."
"It was true," said Miss Druett. "I am going to tell you a little of my
own history, Calista. It will help you to understand some things which
must have seemed strange to you."
"I was left alone in the world at a very early age. My mother, who was
a relation of the first Mrs. Stanfield, was clandestinely married to a
British officer of high rank and small principle, at the time that New
York was occupied by the British. When the city was evacuated, she was
left alone, with a young baby, and no dependence but the old father
whose heart she had broken, and who was sinking into his grave. General
Stanfield, then recently married, found her out in her darkest hour of
trouble. She was then alone in the world, sinking in a decline, having
sacrificed everything to a man who cared for nothing but the amusement
of a passing hour. Calista, whatever you do, never make a secret
marriage."
"I never mean to marry at all," pronounced Calista, with all the
confidence of sixteen.
"Of course not," said Miss Druett, dryly; "girls like you never do. To
go on with my story: General Stanfield sent his cousin and her child
home to the old house here. My mother revived with the change of air
and the generous diet, and lived till I was about five and Priscilla
twelve years old. Yes, there was all that difference in our ages, yet
we were constant companions and friends.
"It was not a happy household. Two people less fitted to live together
than General and Mrs. Stanfield were, perhaps, never united. He was
open-hearted, liberal to a fault, fond of gayety, and much given
to hospitality, both to rich and poor. She was proud and reserved,
standing much on her dignity, very strict and narrow in all her
notions, and as fond of saving as Priscilla herself. It was she who
taught Priscilla to regard economy as an end, not a means. To save
the consumption of a candle or an ounce of butter; to make a sixpence
stretch as far as a shilling; to keep the whole household on half
rations when the General went away—these were the triumphs of which she
was most proud, and for which she lived. I heard her say once that she
meant to save something for herself and Priscilla when the General was
dead. But she died long before him.
"Priscilla mourned her sincerely; but she found consolation in walking
in her mother's steps. But her reign was not a long one. In less than
two years the General brought home another bride, not so very much
older than Priscilla herself. She was a sweet, gentle, pretty creature,
but she was not a fool by any means. She had a great deal of steady
principle, and was very religious. She would go to church every Sunday,
and read the Bible, both alone and with the servants. At first she had
both the General and Priscilla against her; but latterly the General
was won to go to church with her once on Sunday; and, though he never
made any profession of Christianity, I think his feelings toward it
were a good deal softened before he died.
"A cousin of my poor mother's, who had a good and popular school in
Philadelphia, wrote, offering to give me an education, and General
Stanfield accepted the offer for me. I staid with her ten years; first
as pupil, then as teacher; till she died and the school was broken up.
My cousin ought to have left a good fortune; but she was unfortunate
and lost a good deal of money. The estate was divided, and all that
fell to my share was a small house, a little way out of Philadelphia,
and about a hundred dollars. Priscilla wrote for me to come to her,
and I came. At this time, Richard—your father—was a gay young man,
in college, coming home for his vacations, and turning his father
and every one else—except Priscilla—round his finger, by his winning
and coaxing ways. Even Priscilla herself was won by him while he was
present, though she hated him when he was away."
"Why did she hate him?" asked Calista.
"Principally because he was extravagant and your grandfather indulged
him in every whim. I cannot dwell on that part of it," said Miss
Druett, with that vivid blush again. "He never cared for me. I don't
suppose he ever imagined that I could care for him. I would have laid
down my life for him, but he did not want it. I never supposed that
even Priscilla suspected me till this afternoon. I had a long illness,
and when I rose up from it, I was a soured, hardened, elderly woman.
"Then came the news of your father's death. Priscilla kept it to
herself for a long time; your grandfather never knew it at all."
"Why didn't you tell him?" asked Calista.
"Because I did not know it myself. Priscilla always made a point
of going to the office herself, and all the letters went through
her hands. The first I ever heard of the event was when one of your
mother's cousins wrote of her death. Your grandfather had been dead
about six months then; and one day, to my utter amazement, Priscilla
said to me,—
"'Druey, I am going to bring home that girl of Richard Stanfield's. A
child like that won't cost much to keep, and when she grows up, she can
be useful in the house. I want you to go and bring her here.'
"'Why, where are her parents?' was my natural question.
"And then, for the first time, I learned that Richard Stanfield and his
wife were both dead.
"You know the rest of it. Do you remember anything that happened before
you came?"
"Sometimes I do and sometimes not," answered Calista. "I have a kind of
shadowy recollection of my mother, as a pale lady, in black, who used
to dress dolls for me, and who taught me to say 'Gentle Jesus' and 'Now
I lay me down to sleep.' I remember a sickly, lame little boy I used
to play with sometimes, and an old lady I used to call Aunt Malvina. I
recollect her perfectly. She was feeble, and I don't believe she was
rich; but I was very happy with her. I thought of her to-day, when I
saw those trunks. Oh, Miss Druett, I do think it is too bad that I
cannot have my mother's things."
"It is a very hard case, I admit," said Miss Druett. "You had better
consult Mr. Settson about the matter."
"But, Miss Druett, I can never stay here without you," said Calista.
"You are the only friend I have ever had."
"And I have not always been very good to you—have I?"
"Yes, I think you have—only you do say dreadfully sharp, hard things
sometimes. But you are not like Aunt Priscilla; and I am sure I can
never live alone with her. I should be afraid. Do you think she can be
a little insane?"
"No; no more insane than any person is who gives herself up to the
dominion of one idea and the pursuit of one object," said Miss Druett.
"She is sharp enough about business matters."
"She said, to-night, she had never been into grandfather's room since
his funeral," said Calista. "Do you think it can be true?"
"I presume it is. She has an extreme dread of death, and everything
connected with it. Did you go in? I thought I heard you."
Calista related what had taken place, and added that her aunt had given
her permission to finish her term at school.
"I dare say she will take it back," she added. "She will want me to
stay at home and cut carpet-rags."
"You had better say nothing on the subject, but take the permission for
granted, and go as usual," said Miss Druett. "I want you to do several
little things for me in town. But now, to finish my story: It seems
that my father, Colonel Druett, had his conscience awakened in his
latter days, and by his will left a few hundred pounds to his child and
a small annuity to his wife. His brother, who was his heir, never took
any steps to execute this part of the will; but his nephew was more
honest or less indolent. He took pains to inquire me out, a few years
ago, and actually sent me not only the five hundred pounds which was
my due, but two hundred more on account of the annuity which my mother
should have received. So that I have a reasonable provision for my old
age."
"I wonder you should have staid on here under the circumstances," said
Calista. "Why did you?"
"Why, for several reasons. I am attached to Priscilla, with all her
faults, and know that I am necessary to her; and I remember old
kindness at the hands of her parents; and besides all this," said Miss
Druett, with that sudden, lightning-like smile which so transformed
her face, "there was a certain wayward girl who had somehow contrived
to win her way into my heart in spite of me, and I staid to look after
her. And now I come to what I want to say particularly. I have, as I
told you, a small house in the outskirts of Philadelphia. If I can get
it into my own hands without too much sacrifice, I shall do so. Then,
will you come and live with me, Calista? No, don't answer now," as
Calista sprang up and threw her arms around her neck. "Take time to
think about it. It may involve a good deal. You know Priscilla has all
this property absolutely in her hands, and can leave it to whom she
pleases. The property has greatly increased in value with the advance
of rents, and she must leave a large fortune, supposing she does not
lose everything in some wild speculation, which is not at all unlikely."
"Do you think so?" asked Calista, surprised.
"She has already spent hundreds of dollars on lottery tickets," said
Miss Druett, "and would have spent more but for my influence. She
wasted nearly as much with those miserable treasure-seekers, and is
likely to do it again. I fear leaving her here alone. It is time for
you to go to bed now. I will give you some money to lay out for me in
the morning; and I should like to have you tell Mr. Settson of my plan,
and ask him what he thinks about it. There, good-night, child, and God
bless you. I have not made you as happy as I might, but at least you
know the worst of me."
The next morning Calista prepared for school as usual, and then went to
Miss Druett, who gave her a list of commissions and directions.
"They will take you some time, but I dare say you won't mind. Only, if
you walk home, don't come by the river road. It is too lonely for you;
and I don't fancy having you encounter Zeke or his wife. Here, you may
buy yourself something with that," handing her a silver dollar—the very
first Calista had ever owned.
"How nice!" exclaimed Calista. "Now I can have something of my own to
give away."
Miss Druett smiled and sighed.
"Richard Stanfield, all over," said she.
"You don't mind, do you, Miss Druett?"
"No, no, child; use it in the way that will give you most pleasure.
There, go; I hear Priscilla calling you. If she asks what we were
talking about, you can tell her."
"Where are you going, child?" was Miss Priscilla's first question.
"To school, aunt. You said, last night, I was to finish the term."
"Humph! Mind, I didn't say anything about another. What did Druey want
of you?"
"She wants me to buy her some handkerchiefs and a travelling bag and an
umbrella, and to tell the man about her trunk. David took it in when he
went to market."
"And did she give you the money?"
"Yes, aunt."
Miss Priscilla groaned. "Well, there, go along, child; and tell Chloe
to bring me my breakfast. Does she mean to make me wait all day? But
nobody cares what becomes of me. I suppose I shall starve when Druey is
gone."
"Perhaps she will stay, aunt, if you ask her," said Calista, secretly
hoping she would not; for the prospect of going to live with Miss
Druett, in the little house with the garden and orchard, had already
taken very strong hold on her imagination.
"Mind your own business," snarled Miss Priscilla. "There, never mind,
child. Go along and send Chloe with my breakfast. And perhaps when you
come home, you will look in that room again. You might find something
else. Some people are lucky in finding things."
"Very well, aunt. I have no objection, if you wish it," said Calista,
thinking again of the possibility of finding her grandfather's will.
"Only, I am afraid you will accuse me of stealing again, as you did
about the working-case."
"No, no, I won't. Here, you may have the working-case, if you like;
only, don't lose it. It was your grandmother's, and perhaps she might
be pleased—there, do go and send up my breakfast."
"Two presents from my aunt in two days—what is going to happen?" said
Calista to herself. "Oh, how much I have had to think about! It seems a
year since I went to school yesterday morning. How odd that she should
speak in that way of my grandmother's being pleased, when she does not
believe in any existence after death!"
CHAPTER ELEVENTH.
THE NEEDLE-CASE.
WHEN Calista arrived at school, she found Mary waiting for her at the
gate. The occurrences of the afternoon had almost put those of the
morning out of her head; but the sight of Mary renewed the sore feeling
in her heart. How could she meet Mary and treat her as if nothing had
happened, after her treachery of the day before? Fortunately, she had
no time left her to debate the matter. Mary came forward to meet her,
with both hands outstretched and her face dyed with blushes.
"Oh, Calista, won't you forgive me? I am so sorry—so ashamed. Do,
please, forgive me."
It was not in Calista to resist such an appeal. Silently the two
friends embraced and kissed each other.
"I went to Miss Meeks and told her just how it was," said Mary, as,
with interlacing arms, after their old fashion, they walked toward the
school-room. "And then I wanted to find you, but you were gone."
"Yes; aunt sent for me to go home."
"So Miss Meeks said. Calista, you were right: it was love of the
world and its praise that made me act as I did. I saw that when I
came to look myself in the face. I think there never was any one so
inconsistent as I am," concluded Mary, with a sigh. "And how I have
lectured other people!
"Well, you are the least bit given to preaching—that cannot be denied,"
said Calista, smiling.
Mary was a little piqued, notwithstanding her late resolutions.
"Anyhow, I shall never do it again," said she.
"Oh, yes, you will—dozens of times," returned Calista. "If you were to
see the state my desk is in, you would give me a lecture on the spot.
Come and help me to put it in order before Miss Meeks catches me."
Somehow or other, Mary did not feel quite satisfied. She would have
liked to have her penitence made of a little more consequence. So hard
is it to put down in our hearts the love of the praise of men. She
was, however, conscious of the feeling, and, instead of allowing it a
lodgment, she resolutely turned it out and shut the door.
"Oh, Calista! How can you ever find anything in such a chaos?" she
exclaimed, as the lid of the desk was lifted.
Then, as Calista laughed, she put down a rising feeling of anger and
laughed too.
"Well, there! You see it is second nature," said she. "But seriously,
Calista, if you really wish to be a teacher, you must learn to be more
orderly."
"I know it; and really, Mary, I am improving. The fact is, I had all
the things out of my part of the desk yesterday, preparatory to a grand
'redding up,' as Miss Jessy says; but then came the summons to go home,
and I tumbled them back anyhow. Come, let us put it to rights before
school."
"Was anything wrong yesterday?" asked Mary, as she collected a dozen
quill pens, and set herself to mend them.
The making and mending of pens was a serious business in those days,
and took up an amount of time which no teacher at this day can realize.
"Everything was the matter," answered Calista. "I never saw my aunt in
such a tantrum. She declared at first that I should not come to school
again, but should stay at home and cut carpet-rags. And she actually
ordered Miss Druett out of the house."
"I wonder what she thinks she would do without her."
"I don't know, I am sure. She all but cried last night, because she had
nobody to play cribbage with her. I tried to learn, to pacify her, but
could make nothing of it. However, she was pleased with my trying, and
said I was good-natured—the very first time I ever had a word of praise
from her—and more than that, she gave me a sixpence."
"Not a whole one?"
"No, it has a hole in it, and I am not sure it is good; but I mean
to try at Mammy Bates's, after school. And more than that, she gave
me a working-case—the very one that brought down Alexandre on poor
Antoinette's devoted head yesterday. See what a pretty, old-fashioned
thing it is."
"Very pretty," said Mary, examining the little case. "If I were you,
I would have Mr. Parvin sharpen up the knife and scissors. They are
very good yet. I wonder what rattles so in the bottom. Does this little
velvet tray come out?"
"I don't know; I have not tried. Yes, see, it does lift up, and—well
I wonder what will happen next!" said she, as she turned up the case
and shook out two English half-crowns. "That is the third sum of money
I have found in twenty-four hours. I must be a lucky person, as aunt
says. I wonder whether I had not better try my fortune on the pirates'
treasure."
"Why, what were the others?"
"Oh, the sixpence, in the first place. That was in the pocket of one
of the old coats I was to cut into carpet-rags. Then I was looking in
an old drawer, and I found some gold pieces of grandfather's that Aunt
Priscilla did not know of. That was a lucky find for me, for it put her
in a good humor and gained me permission to finish my term at school.
But there, Aunt Priscilla told me not to speak of it," said Calista,
vexed at herself. "How careless of me! Please, Mary, don't say anything
about it, will you?"
"Of course not," said Mary. "But do you really think Miss Druett will
go away? How will you get on without her?"
"I shall not try," said Calista. "She has a plan for herself and me
which she told me to talk over with your father."
"I am afraid you will not have the chance to-day," said Mary. "Father
has gone up to Princeton, and will not be back till after commencement.
Cannot you tell me? Would it be wrong?"
"No, I don't think so. She did not tell me not to tell," said Calista,
considering. "Of course, I would not want the affair talked over, at
least, not till it is all settled; but so long as I was to tell your
father, I don't see any harm in telling you."
Calista then detailed her friend's plan; busying herself, meantime, in
polishing the handles of the different implements in the equipage with
a bit of chamois leather which she kept to wipe pens on.
Mary listened with great attention to the end. Then she said, gravely:
"Have you thought, Calista, how much this plan involves? If you leave
your aunt in that way, will she not be very much displeased?"
"There is no telling whether she will be or not. One thing is certain,
I cannot and will not live alone with Aunt Priscilla. I don't think
your father would advise it. As to the estate, if that is what you are
thinking of, I try to give up all thought of it."
"That is the best way, I suppose. And yet, do you think you shall like
living with Miss Druett? Is she not very odd-tempered?"
"She is odd-tempered, but not ill-tempered, if you understand the
difference," answered Calista. "She sometimes says very sharp and
sarcastic things; but she does not delight to hurt and mortify one,
like Aunt Priscilla; and she is very just. You always know where
to find her. And she has not one way of Aunt Priscilla's which is
particularly exasperating—that of taking up some perfectly harmless
word or observation, and twisting and turning it into a great offence.
Then, I know all her ways and she knows mine. We are used to each
other, and, as old Mrs. Graves said the other day, when her husband
died,—
"'We have lived together so long that we have got kind of wonted to
each other.'"
"Would not you rather come to us, Calista, if it could be arranged so?"
said Mary. "You know my father spoke of it the other day."
"Of course I should, for most reasons," answered Calista. "But then,
you see, Mary, I owe a great deal to Miss Druett. She was my only
friend for a great many years. I should never have had any education
but for her; and now that I look back at it, I can see how she stood
between me and Aunt Priscilla's stinginess and tyranny. I verily
believe I should never have been anything but a down-trodden drudge of
a servant girl but for her. She is very fond of me, in her way, too,
and she has no one else. So, if she wants me to go with her, I think I
ought to do it."
"But don't you owe any duty to your aunt, Calista?"
"No, Mary, I do not," said Calista, flushing. "I believe, at this
moment, my aunt is keeping me out of my inheritance, and enjoying—no,
not enjoying, but holding—what is my rightful property. She owes me a
great deal more than the bare support she has given me. But there, I
don't want to talk or think about that; it does me no good. See how
beautifully these handles polish. I believe they are gold, and not
gilded, after all."
"I should think so, but I am no judge. I dare say Mr. Parvin can tell
you. See, I have rubbed up the velvet and morocco so that it is almost
as good as new. You ought to take great care of this case, Calista."
"Yes, indeed; I mean to. I believe I won't take it out to the
play-ground, but leave it here in my desk, behind these books. My
pocket is worn so thin, it is not very secure. Come, let us go and see
what the girls are all about. Oh, by the way, will you go out with me
at noon recess? I have some errands for Miss Druett, and I ought to
have done one as I came along, but the shop was shut. It was about her
trunk that was sent in this morning. The rest can wait till afternoon."
"Oh, Calista," said Mary Burns, meeting her at the school-room door,
"may I go to your desk and take out Miss McPherson's 'Deserted
Village?' She said you had it, and I want to learn a piece out of it."
"Of course," answered Calista. "Why didn't you take it at once?"
"I didn't want to open your desk without asking you," answered Mary
Burns.
"What a terrible thing if you had done so!" said Calista, merrily.
"Who knows what dark and dreadful mysteries you might have discovered?
However, I will say, Mary, I wish all the girls in school were as
particular about such things as you are. It would save lots of trouble."
"Allow me to remind you, Miss Stanfield, that 'lots of trouble' is not
a very genteel expression," said Miss Meeks, who was standing near.
"I know it, Miss Meeks, and I stand corrected," answered Calista. "You
must allow that the sentiment was correct, though the expression was
awkward, as you say."
Miss Meeks glanced sharply at the speaker, as if suspecting ridicule,
which she always was suspecting, poor lady. But Calista's smile and
glance disarmed her, and she said pleasantly:
"I quite agree with you there. I hope your desk is in order, Calista.
You know I must mark you if it is not."
"Indeed it is, Miss Meeks; I have just put it all to rights."
"Then perhaps I had better look at it before you go back to it," said
Miss Meeks, smiling, as she turned away.
"Just think! Miss Meeks made a joke," said Calista. "What is going to
happen? It is as great a wonder as Aunt Priscilla's making a present.
What is the matter, Mary?"