little serpent of envy and annoyance which had popped up and hissed in
her heart at hearing another praised. "How does your work get on?"
"Nicely. I should have finished the middle last night but for taking a
lesson in cribbage from Aunt Priscilla. I think I will knit the border
in rosebuds."
"Do you think they wash well? You know you want to do up a bureau cover
pretty often."
"Oh, yes; just as well as any other."
Two or three other girls now came up, and the conversation diverged
to patterns, stitches, and other similar mysteries. Then Mary Burns
brought "The Deserted Village," * and asked Calista's opinion as to
what part she should learn.
* If, as I much fear, some of my readers have not read this exquisite
poem of Goldsmith's, I advise them to do so without delay.
"Take the character of the pastor," said Mary Settson.
"Begin at the beginning and go straight through," suggested Calista.
"It is all worth remembering. I am doing that by the 'Lady of the
Lake.' It is very nice to know plenty of pretty verses, especially if
one has not many books."
Meantime, some one else had been at Calista's desk. Antoinette Diaments
had not expected to go down to Graywich till Saturday morning, but
her uncle from Philadelphia had called for her, and Miss McPherson
had excused her in consequence. She had seen Calista with the coveted
working-case in her hand, and had seen where she put it in her desk.
Finding herself alone in the school-room, the temptation to examine
the little equipage was too strong to resist. Just as she was about
opening the desk, Mary Burns entered, and Antoinette stepped behind an
open closet door watched Mary Burns as she examined two or three books,
stopped to read a page or two in the "Lady of the Lake," and then,
closing the desk, walked away with the book she had come in search of.
Then she herself went to the desk and took out the working-case. It was
prettier than ever.
"What hurt will it do for me just to take it down to Graywich with me?
Nobody will know who took it, and I can slip it into the desk when I
come back. It would be serving her right if I kept it altogether."
Antoinette dropped the case into her pocket and went away, first
tumbling over Calista's papers and throwing the whole orderly desk into
confusion. It was with a malicious smile that she saw Miss Meeks come
into the room, open the desk, and frown as she observed the contents.
"I will teach you to interfere and get me into a scrape, Miss
Stanfield," said she. "I should like to be by when your aunt asks you
what you have done with her working-case."
"Miss Stanfield, what did you mean by telling me that your desk was all
in order?" asked Miss Meeks, coming to Calista as soon as the school
was opened.
Calista looked surprised, as well she might.
"See here," continued Miss Meeks, opening the desk. "Do you presume to
call that order?"
"Why, who in the world has been at my desk!" exclaimed Calista, too
much surprised to answer the question, or to modulate her voice to
the proper pitch required by the school-room etiquette, which Miss
McPherson and her assistants strictly enforced.
"Miss Stanfield, are you aware how loudly you are speaking? You forget
yourself."
"I beg your pardon, Miss Meeks," said Calista. "But I was so surprised,
I forgot myself, as you say. I assure you, I left it in perfect order,
as Mary can bear witness."
"Indeed she did, Miss Meeks," said Mary, who had asked and obtained
permission to occupy Antoinette's vacant place.
"Don't you believe me, Miss Meeks?" asked Calista.
"Certainly I do, Calista," answered Miss Meeks, in a more friendly
tone. "But it is very singular. Who could have meddled with your
things?"
"Mary Burns looked into the desk for a book she wanted," said Calista.
"Mary is apt to keep her own things rather at loose ends, but I hardly
think she would turn mine upside down in this way, especially as
the book she wanted lay directly in front, on the shelf. Don't you
remember, Mary? You put it there yourself."
"She might have accidentally displaced the books, if she were in a
hurry," said Mary.
Now, it was an undeniable fact that Mary Burns, with all her good
qualities—and they were many—was decidedly careless and untidy in her
habits; and being so, she was a continual cross and annoyance to Miss
Meeks. Consequently, she was no favorite with that lady, and it was
with some sharpness that she called:
"Miss Burns!"
Mary rose from her seat and came to Calista's desk.
"Yes, Miss Meeks."
"What did you do to Miss Stanfield's desk this morning?"
"Nothing," said Mary, coloring scarlet as she met Miss Meek's severe
glance, and the surprised looks of the other girls.
"What do you mean by saying, 'nothing'? Did you not open the desk and
take something out of it?"
Mary was a shy girl and easily disconcerted; and she stammered from
sheer nervousness as she answered—
"Yes, ma'am; I took out a book that Calista—that Miss McPherson—" and
here she stopped from absolute inability to articulate another word.
"You mean that you took out the book of Miss McPherson's which she told
you to ask me for," said Calista's clear, reassuring voice. "Did you
notice then whether the desk was in order or not?"
"It was, I know," answered Mary, recovering herself a little.
"Allow me to manage this matter in my own way, and do not take
the words out of my mouth, Miss Stanfield," said Miss Meeks,
sharply—jealous for her own dignity, as usual. "Did you or did you not
meddle with the other contents of Miss Stanfield's desk, Miss Burns?"
"I didn't meddle with anything; only, I took a book and read a little,"
said Mary. "The book I wanted was Miss McPherson's 'Goldsmith.' Calista
had it, and I asked her if I might go to her desk and get it; you heard
me."
"I am aware of that. What then?"
"Then I did go and get it. It lay on the shelf. I did not touch
anything else, only the 'Lady of the Lake.' I took that up and read in
it a little and put it back. The desk was all in order then, I am sure."
"Well, it is very odd, that is all I can say; and a great shame," said
Calista, "to go and cheat me out of a credit-mark for order, when I get
so few. I don't mean you, Mary."
"Allow me to ask whom you do suspect, Miss Stanfield? You say that you
put the desk in order; Miss Settson says same. It is found in great
disorder, and nobody is known to have been near it but Miss Burns."
"I don't know anything about it, Miss Meeks. But I don't believe Mary
did it. If she had, she would say so—she would not tell a lie about it."
Now, it had unfortunately happened that Mary's extreme timidity had,
once on a time, betrayed her into evasion, if not absolute falsehood;
and this Miss Meeks remembered, as, unluckily, she always did remember
anything which told against the character of a person she disliked.
"I wish I were as sure of that as you are, Miss Stanfield. Please look
over your desk and tell me whether you miss anything."
Calista looked through her possessions, and turned, first red, then
pale, as she pointed out a particular compartment in the desk to Mary.
"Well, what is it?" said Miss Meeks, sharply. "I see that something is
wrong. What do you miss?"
"A little old-fashioned working-case my aunt gave me. It is the same
one that Antoinette wanted to borrow yesterday. Miss Priscilla gave it
to me this morning, and I brought it into town to have the knife and
scissors sharpened; and because my pocket was not very strong, I put it
away in my desk while I went out to the play-ground. I am quite sure
Mary did not touch it."
"Did you see any one in the school-room when you were here?" asked Miss
Meeks.
"No, ma'am—yes, ma'am," stammered Mary. "That is, I saw Antoinette
Diaments come out of the room a few minutes after I did."
Miss Meeks's face grew rigid with displeasure.
"Your attempt to throw suspicion on a schoolmate will hardly save you,
Miss Burns. Miss Diaments left for Graywich at eight this morning."
"I can't help that—I know I saw her," said Mary Burns, obstinately;
her own "Scotch" getting up. "I could not be mistaken. She had on her
bonnet and her gray riding-dress."
"At what hour did you come to school?" asked Miss Meeks, turning to
Calista.
"I don't know exactly, Miss Meeks. It wanted a quarter to nine when I
finished putting my desk in order. I looked at the clock to see how
much time I had before school."
"You can go to your seat, Miss Burns," said Miss Meeks, severely. "And
you will please remain there till the close of school. Miss McPherson
is unfortunately laid up with one of her severe headaches; but I shall
lay the matter before her as soon as she is able to attend to it, and
perhaps some light may be thrown upon other events which have occurred
lately."
"Miss Meeks," said Calista, warmly, "you may suspect Mary, if you
please; but I shall never think that she either disarranged my desk or
took anything that did not belong to her—never!"
"Miss Stanfield, you forget yourself. Go to your seat, as I tell you,
Miss Burns. This matter shall be sifted to the bottom."
Mary obeyed with burning cheeks and a beating heart, and Miss Meeks
went on with the business of the school. At recess all the girls
gathered round Mary Settson and Calista.
"Have you really lost your needle-case, Calista? Do you believe Mary
Burns got it?"
"No, I don't," answered Calista, shortly.
"But it could not go without hands, and who else could have touched
it?" argued one of the girls.
"I don't know who did, but I know who didn't," answered Calista. "I
wish the old needle-case had been in the bottom of the creek before I
ever found it," she said to Mary, when they were alone. "It has made
nothing but trouble so far. I no more believe Mary took it than I
believe Miss Meeks did herself."
"But, you must admit, it had an odd look, Calista," said Mary. "I mean
her stammering so, and her trying to throw the blame upon Antoinette,
who must have been ten miles away."
"As to her stammering, she always does that," answered Calista. "As
to her seeing Antoinette, I don't know exactly what to think; but I
believe the truth will come out in time."
"Well, I must say you take the loss of your pretty case very
philosophically—more so than I should," said Mary.
"I am not philosophical at all, I am very much vexed," returned
Calista; "but I don't want to accuse any one falsely, and I don't see
why Mary should say she saw Antoinette when she did not. I am very
sorry Miss McPherson is sick; she would be at the bottom of the matter
in no time. There is the recess bell. Where is Tessy to-day?"
"I don't know. Emma, where is Tessy?"
"Oh, she is quite laid up again with her ankle. She cannot walk at all.
She thinks it is the weather, but I don't," added the little girl,
with an air of wisdom. "I think it was going down to the milliner's
after Antoinette's veil, which she forgot. And do you know, girls, the
milliner would not let Tessy have it without pay, and Tessy was just
silly enough to pay for it herself, after all."
"Well, she is a goose. Why did she do that?"
"Oh, she thought Antoinette would be so disappointed. Miss Jessy is
as vexed as can be, and says Tessy's ankle will never be well unless
she is more careful, and that she ought to go to a hospital, where she
would be made to keep still."
"It would be more to the purpose to send Antoinette, I think," said
Calista.
"It wouldn't make any difference," replied Emma. "If it was not
Antoinette, it would be some one else. Tessy's great trouble is that
she can never say 'no.'"
"I think you are right, little one," said Calista. "If you see Tessy,
tell her I am coming up to see her after school—that is, if Miss Meeks
will let me."
For it was a rule of the establishment that there should be no
room-visiting between day scholars and boarders without express
permission.
In the afternoon, as Miss Meeks had her hands full with the sole care
of the great school-room (Miss Jessy being occupied with the care of
her aunt), she sent Calista again to take charge of the little girls
and their sewing, giving her permission to choose any one she pleased
to help her. Calista chose Mary Settson, of course, and they had a
pleasant afternoon. As she observed Mary's manner with the children,
she could not but own that Miss Meeks was right, sad that Mary was
not cut out for a teacher. Mary had a way with her that was not
encouraging. She set a copy or gave instructions in knitting with a
tone and manner which seemed to say,—
"Well, there it is, but I have not the least idea that you will do it
right. I have no doubt you will blot the writing and pucker the seam,
and drop half the stitches at least."
Calista, on the contrary, was always certain things would be done
well, or, if they did not succeed the first time, that they would
infallibly do so with a little more practice. The children felt the
difference, and so did Mary herself, and it cost her a hard fight with
her besetting enemy. But those who were for her were more than those
who were against her, and she was able to say to Miss Meeks honestly,
and without a quaver in her voice—
"Calista manages beautifully, Miss Meeks. I think she would make an
excellent teacher in our Sunday-school, if we get one up."
"I dare say," replied Miss Meeks. "Well, Miss Stanfield and Miss
Settson, I am much obliged to you."
"Please, Miss Meeks, may I go up and see Tessy?" asked Calista.
"You may go, but do not stay long. I think she is a little disposed to
be feverish."
"Will you go, Mary?"
"I think not. I have a bit of work to finish. I will be ready to go out
with you when you come down."
Calista found Tessy bolstered up on her little bed, with her French
dictionary and a volume of fairy tales which belonged to Miss Jessy,
and was only lent as a special favor. She looked pale and suffering,
but welcomed her visitor cheerfully.
"And what is going on down stairs?" asked Tessy, presently. "I thought
I heard one of the girls say something about Mary Burns being in
trouble. The old story of mislaying her things, I suppose?"
"Well, yes, partly; it all grows out of that," answered Calista,
determined not to be the first to tell of what she believed to be Mary
Burns's undeserved disgrace. "I don't think it would have come to much
if Miss McPherson had been about; but you know people make mountains
out of mole-hills sometimes."
"Yes, and the mountain sometimes brings forth a ridiculous mouse."
"I suspect the mouse in this case will be ridiculous enough," said
Calista. "But, Tessy, what made your ankle so much worse all at once? I
thought it was almost well."
"It was a great deal better," answered Tessy, blushing. "I suppose I
walked too much and too fast."
"That is to say, you half killed yourself, as usual, running to wait on
Antoinette," said Calista.
"Well, yes, I suppose that was it. You see she forgot her veil and I
had to go after it."
"Why did you have to? Why could not she call for it as she went along?"
"I don't know. I suppose she did not think of it."
"Well, I know," said Calista, "or at least I guess. Tell me now,
honestly, did you not pay for it?"
Tessy blushed scarlet, and cast an imploring glance at Calista.
"Please don't tell, Calista; it will only get her into a scrape."
"I shall not tell, because it would get you into a scrape, you little
goose. But I will tell you this, Tessy: if you ever want to be good for
anything in this world—or any other, I might say—you must learn to say
'No,' and say it good and strong; in capital letters, with a string of
exclamation points after it."
"I think I could always say no if it was about anything right or
wrong," said Tessy, thoughtfully.
"Are you sure? Was there nothing wrong about this?"
"Why, no. Was there?"
"Yes, I think so. In the first place, you had no right to injure your
ankle, especially as Dr. Elsmore told you that a little imprudence
might lame you for life. In the second place, you know that Miss
McPherson has forbidden Antoinette to borrow anything whatever, don't
you?"
"Yes."
"And if it is wrong for her to borrow, it is clearly wrong for any one
to lend to her."
"But it wasn't lending, exactly. Antoinette did not ask me to pay for
the veil, though, to be sure, she must have known I could not get it
without paying, because Mrs. McPherson has forbidden any one to trust
the school-girls. Yes, I see, Calista, you are right, and I am a poor,
weak, silly fool, and always shall be."
"Now you are going just as far the other way," said Calista. "I never
said a word about your being a silly fool. All I say is that you must
learn to say 'NO!' and say it good and strong."
"It seems so ill-natured," pleaded poor Tessy.
"Pray, whose good opinion do you care the most for, Antoinette's or
Miss McPherson's? But there, I did not come to give you a dose of
instructive moral sentiments. How does your work get on?"
"Oh, nicely; it is almost done, and Miss Jessy praises it up to the
skies. Don't you want to see it? It is in that drawer, if you don't
mind getting it out."
"How nice your drawers look!" said Calista.
"Yes, I am really learning to keep things straight, thanks to Miss
Jessy. That is it. Spread it out."
Calista admired to Tessy's heart's content the lace-like netted
curtains, with what we should now call a guipure pattern around the
edge.
"They are perfectly lovely. Do you think they will sell?"
"Oh, yes; they are bespoken already by a friend of Miss McPherson's
from Philadelphia—that Scotch lady who was here the first of the week."
"How glad I am! Mine is done, too, all but the border. I mean to knit a
double row of rosebuds. There, I must not stay another minute, or Miss
Meeks will be after me. Oh, by the by, Tessy, what time did Antoinette
go away this morning?"
"Do you mean the first time or the last?"
"Why, did she go away twice?" asked Calista.
"Yes. She set out at eight o'clock, but something happened to the
horse's foot, and uncle had to go to the blacksmith's; so Antoinette
came back and waited till he was ready. She left the room here just as
the quarter to nine bell was ringing, but she did not go away directly,
I know. I heard her go into the school-room; I always know the peculiar
squeak of her boots. Why?"
"Only that one of the girls thought she saw her in the school-room
after the first bell rung, and Miss Meeks said it must be a mistake,
because Antoinette went away at eight," said Calista, rejoicing in the
power Tessy had given her of so far clearing Mary. "Good-bye, dear; I
shall bring you some flowers Monday. I know where I can find some late
laurel, and perhaps a moccasin-flower or two."
"Oh, thank you! I do love laurel, and I have not been able to get out
to gather any this year."
Calista went straight to Miss Meeks's room, but she had gone out. Miss
Jessy was sitting with Miss McPherson, who had just fallen asleep, and
must not be disturbed on any account.
"I don't see but I must let the thing rest till Monday," said Calista
to Mary, after she had told her Tessy's story.
"You might call and see Mary Burns herself," suggested Mary Settson.
"But perhaps it would be as well to leave the whole matter till Monday,
as you say. Mary needs a lesson."
"She may need a lesson, but I don't care to be the one to give it to
her," answered Calista, with some warmth; "and I don't think I should
thank any one for giving such a lesson to me. Would you?"
"Perhaps not," answered Mary; "and yet it might very good to me, for
all that."
"Well, I don't feel any special mission for doing people good by
keeping them in uncomfortable suspense when there is no need for it,"
returned Calista. "I would rather do as I would be done by. Come, let
us stop and see Mary."
They were disappointed again. Mary had gone to her aunt's directly
after school, and would probably stay all night, as her aunt was more
than usually unwell.
"I can't go all the way up to Mrs. Rolfe's, that is certain," said
Calista; "and I don't like to leave a message either. Well, let it go.
Perhaps you will see her or Miss Meeks to-morrow. If you do, please
tell them what Tessy says. Come, I must do Miss Druett's errands."
The errands were accomplished, and then Calista did one for herself.
With a part of her dollar she bought a pound of sperm-candles—an
article much cheaper and better than the parafine-candles which have
taken their place.
"What on earth did you do that for?" asked Mary, as they turned into
the street.
Calista laughed, and then became suddenly grave as she said—"I suppose
you cannot realize what it is never to be allowed a light when you go
to bed, except perhaps a mite of tallow-candle in winter."
"You don't mean to say you never have a light in your own room!"
"Neither light nor fire, except as I told you, in the dead of winter."
"But Miss Druett—"
"Miss Druett helps me all she can; but Aunt Priscilla keeps the keys.
Now and then Chloe makes candles, and then she contrives to save one
out for me. Good-bye, Mary. Do say a kind word to Mary Burns, if you
get a chance. I am just as sure of her innocence as I am of yours or my
own."
Calista had just reached the place where the river road turned off,
when the rattle of wheels made her look round, and she saw Cassius
driving up in his neat, serviceable little Jersey wagon. He stopped as
he saw Calista.
"Evening, Missy," said he, taking off his hat as usual; "I heard you
was on the road, and so I drove fast to catch up with you. Won't Missy
have a ride?"
Calista gladly accepted the offer, and Cassius drove on leisurely,
entertaining his companion with various little bits of news.
"Did Missy hear that we are to have preaching at the old meeting-house
every Sunday evening now?"
"No," said Calista, very much interested. "I think that will be very
nice. Who is to preach?"
"I disremember his name, though I have seen him often when we was both
young," answered Cassius. "He is quite an old gentleman now, and has
come to end his days with his niece over here at the Mills. So when he
heard there was no preaching anywhere rounds here, he said he would see
what he could do, and he got leave to use the old meeting-house. I am
going round to-morrow to tell all the neighbors. Won't you try to come,
Missy? You know what that pretty hymn says—
"'Tis easier work, if we begin
To serve the Lord betimes.'"
"I will certainly try to come," said Calista. "It is very good in you
to take so much pains about the matter."
"It ain't much I can do to serve the Lord these times; but I think it a
great privilege to be allowed to do the leastest thing for one who has
done so much for me," said the old man. "And, bless the Lord, he don't
look at how much we do, but how we do it. When that poor woman in the
Scripture put in her two mites into the treasury, the good Lord said
she had put in more than they all."
"You love him, don't you, Cassius?"
"Yes, bless his name, Missy, I do."
"Well, I wish I did."
"So do I, Missy, for I am sure he loves you. Why don't you?"
"Well, I hardly know, Cassius. I suppose I don't think enough about it.
I have not had much chance, you know."
"Ah, Missy, don't say that. You have been to church and heard the
minister preach and read about him, and you've heard the Bible read in
school. I'm afraid it is as you say, and you don't think enough about
it."
"Perhaps so."
"You will think, won't you, Missy?"
"Yes, Cassius, I will," answered Calista, frankly. "And I will go to
the meeting if aunt will let me. Thank you ever so much for bringing me
home. Good-night."
Calista peeped into the sitting-room. She had come to look on the
Philadelphia scheme as quite settled and certain, and she felt a sudden
sinking at her heart as she saw Miss Druett and Aunt Priscilla sitting
together just as usual. Miss Stanfield was the first to speak.
"Whose wagon was that I heard? Have you taken to hiring carriages to
bring you home?"
"Not quite, yet," answered Calista. "Cassius overtook me, and brought
me home in his wagon."
"Well, that is well enough. If you were a little sharper, you might
often get a ride and save your shoes. But catch you saving anything!"
"Let the child alone, Priscilla," said Miss Druett. "Calista, did you
get the things as I told you?"
"Yes, ma'am, they are all here. Shall I leave them in your room?"
"If you please. I am just going up."
"So you have made it up with Aunt Priscilla," said Calista, as they
were going up stairs together.
Miss Druett nodded.
"She came to my room, begged my pardon for what she had said, and asked
me to stay, and I have said I would for the present."
"And so all our fine plan falls to the ground," said Calista, sadly.
"For the present, as I said; but it may yet come to pass. Meantime,
here is something to console you."
She put a bunch of keys into Calista's hand as she spoke.
Calista looked at them in wonder.