great deal easier about you now that I know you have learned to love
him," she added, feeling that her sympathy with her friend had not been
as hearty as it ought to have been. In fact, the little snake had put
out his head again and whispered that it was very strange Calista had
been so affected by the preaching of such a dull old man as Mr. Alger,
while she (Mary) had talked and urged in vain. Surely Calista ought to
have listened to her. Probably it was only some passing excitement—some
mere emotion, and not a real conversion. But Mary had come to know the
voice of the serpent, and she, so to speak, set her heel on his head
with a force that sent him crushed and wounded to his den.
The next day Mary went away, and Belle Adair came to occupy
Antoinette's vacant place. She was not precisely the companion Calista
would have chosen, but they got on well together. Belle recognized the
force of principle which made Calista absolutely refuse to whisper or
to take any notice of any little notes written in school hours. In her
turn she did Calista good by her orderly habits and punctuality in
doing the hour's work in its own hour.
They soon became great friends, and every one noticed that Belle
had entirely left off her habit of jesting on serious subjects, and
that she even came down sharply on Charity for a riddle founded on
Scripture, telling her that was not the way to use the Bible. If
she had lived in these days, when "Bible Puzzles" are published in
religious newspapers, perhaps she would not have been so particular.
At the Old Stanfield Manor things were a good deal altered. Miss
Priscilla scrimped, and saved, and scolded, but did not interfere as
usual with Calista, and it seemed, sometimes, as if she were even
trying to conciliate her niece.
Calista was sure her aunt had more than one interview with Zeke and
Jael. At first Miss Priscilla would steal out to the barn or the edge
of the wood, but at last the old woman would come boldly to the house
and ask for Miss Stanfield. Then the two would be closeted together for
an hour, and Jael would go away laden with provisions. These interviews
usually took place on Sunday morning or evening, when Miss Druett and
Calista were at church. For Miss Druett had taken to going to the
Sunday evening meetings, and had actually given something to help on
the repairs of the old meeting-house.
"There goes Jael now!" said Calista, as they were walking home on
Wednesday evening, and came in sight of the house just in time to see
Jael leaving it with a large bundle in her arms.
"What is that old woman after?" asked Calista. "Miss Druett, what does
it mean, do you suppose?"
Miss Druett sighed. "I am afraid it means mischief, child. I wish Mr.
Settson would come home, though I hardly know what he could do if he
were here. Nobody could say that your aunt is insane. My only hope is
that she will become disgusted with the rapacity of these people, as
she was before. However, if Mr. Settson were here, he might find some
means of driving them away, though I fancy they are like some animals
which are said never to commit depredations in their own neighborhoods."
"Did you notice Tom Edgar to-night?" asked Calista.
"I noticed that he sung very finely, and seemed much affected. He seems
very regular in his attendance."
"I heard him tell Mr. Alger that he hoped he had found the Lord at
last. And what do you think Mr. Heminway said?"
"Something very encouraging, I dare say."
"He said, 'Well, I hope he has; but he has been a dreadful wild, hard
case, and for my part I don't believe in sudden conversions.'
"Then old Brother Davis said, 'Brother Heminway, it's a good thing you
wasn't in Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost; you'd never have believed
in those three thousand being taken into the church.'
"And then Mr. Heminway frowned, and said he didn't believe in using
Scripture in that way."
"In what way?"
"In the way that went against him, I suppose," answered Calista,
shrewdly. "I have noticed people seldom do. But I wanted to ask you
about the Sunday-school, Miss Druett. Mr. Alger wishes me to take a
class of little colored girls."
"Well, I have no objections, if it does not tire you too much. You will
learn more than you will teach for a time, but that won't hurt you or
your scholars either."
"Mr. Alger asked me if you would teach a class."
"I would if I were able. I used to teach a Sunday-class years ago, in
Philadelphia, and liked it very much."
"And don't you feel able?"
"No, child. Oh, I am not sick; you need not open your eyes so wide,
and look so alarmed! But it tires me to talk much lately, and I shall
have to be a little more careful of my health than I have been. I am
beginning to find out that I have bones and nerves to ache and keep me
awake nights, as well as other people. But as to yourself, I think the
teaching will be very good for you. You will never find out how much
you don't know till you try to tell what you do know."
"I have found that out already, helping Miss Meeks. But I do wish you
would have a doctor, Miss Druett."
"Nonsense, child! I am not sick; what should I want a doctor for?"
The next day Calista had been out in the pasture hunting mushrooms, and
coming back across the little burying-ground as the nearest way, she
stopped to pull some tall weeds from her grandfather's grave. As she
did so, she saw that the long grass had been disturbed and a little
earth scattered about.
"Oh ho, Mr. Ground-squirrel, are you here!" said she. "I think you
might find a better place."
As she moved away the long grass with her foot, she caught sight of
something glittering. She bent down and drew it out. It was a long
purse, such as people used in those days, and are beginning to use
again, and well filled with coin and bills. She knew it in a moment—her
aunt Priscilla's purse. How in the world did it come there?
She did not stop to think, but hurried home and went straight to the
sitting-room, mushrooms and all. Miss Priscilla was nodding over her
book, Miss Druett sewing, as usual.
"Aunt Priscilla, have you lost anything?" said she.
Miss Priscilla started, put her hand in her pocket mechanically, and
turned pale as ashes.
"My purse!" said she, in a kind of shrill whisper. "Where is my purse?"
"When did you have it last?" asked Miss Druett.
"Last night, at the back kitchen door. Oh, what shall I do? Who has
taken it?"
"Here it is," said Calista, producing it. "Now, where do you guess I
found it?"
"Out by the door," said Miss Druett.
"Not a bit. You are not even warm."
"Then you must tell us."
"That I will, for I am sure you will never guess." And Calista told
where she had discovered the purse.
Miss Priscilla looked more scared than ever.
"You—you don't suppose he came and got it, do you, Druey?"
"Your father, do you mean? No, indeed. I think some one took it and hid
it for purposes of their own—probably to make a parade of telling where
it was and restoring it."
"Exactly," said Calista; "I never thought of that."
"It was very odd that you should find it."
"I would not if I had not stopped to pull the weeds from grandfather's
grave. Aunt Priscilla, why don't you have that place put in order? I
should not dare go near it, only that ivy never poisons me. It is a
shame to have it so neglected."
"Well, well, perhaps I will some time," said Miss Priscilla, after she
had counted her money and found it was all there. "You are a lucky
girl, Calista. You are always finding things. Who knows but you would
find the pirates' gold, if you were to look for it?"
"I never shall find it, because I never shall look for it," said
Calista, boldly. "I believe, as Cassius says, that if there is any such
treasure, it would be bloody gold and bring ill fortune to any one that
touched it."
"Why do you let your thoughts run so much on such matters, Priscilla?"
said Miss Druett. "Suppose you found a thousand pounds of gold, what
good would it do you? You would never spend it or give it away, and any
minute you might be called to leave it."
Miss Priscilla looked as if she thought "Druey" had suddenly gone mad.
"What do you mean?" said she.
"I mean what I say," said Miss Druett, "and I am going to free my mind
for once. You know that you must die, like all the rest of us. It is
the only event to which we can look forward with any certainty. You
cannot take money into the grave with you. Shrouds have no pockets,
and a coffin is made only just large enough to hold the corpse it is
meant for. Perhaps this very night you will hear the summons—then whose
shall those things be that you have prepared? Come, Priscy, we have
been wandering in the wilderness of this world a great many years; let
us set our faces heavenward, asking the way thither, and go heme to God
together."
Calista had often noticed the curious musical chord in Miss Druett's
voice, but she had never heard its tones so rich and harmonious as now.
She sprung forward in her usual impulsive way, threw her arms round
Miss Druett's neck, and kissed her.
"Oh, I am so glad!" she exclaimed. "Oh, do, Aunt Priscilla!"
"Do what?" asked Miss Priscilla, sullenly. "I will tell you what I
won't do. I won't have my house turned into a Methodist meeting-house.
If you must believe in such nonsense, keep it to yourself. I haven't
made any objection to your running off to meeting and all that, but I
won't have any such stuff here, I tell you that."
Just then Chloe opened the door with a handful of letters.
"Here's the mail, and here's one for you, Miss Calista. You are in luck
to-day."
"In more ways than one it seems," said Calista. "Oh how sorry I am!"
she exclaimed, as she read.
"What now?" asked Miss Druett.
"Mr. Settson and the girls are not coming home for several weeks,"
replied Calista. "Mary says,—
"'Papa has heard of something very important, which will take him to
Boston, so he will be away for some weeks longer. He says you must keep
my place in the drawing-class till I come.'"
"Drawing, indeed!" said Miss Priscilla. "Spinning would be more to the
purpose. You shall stay at home and learn to spin."
"Remember the child belongs to me, Priscilla; that was part of the
bargain."
"Well, well, have her; I don't care. I must go to town this afternoon,
Druey, and I want you to go with me."
"Very well," said Miss Druett. "I have an errand of my own. Calista,
stay within bounds, and don't go running over the woods. We shall
have you bitten by one of the gray snakes, or killed by a wild pig or
something."
"I don't in the least believe in the gray snakes," said Calista. "I
have never seen one yet, as often as I have been in the Red Hollow. But
I shall not go out of the house, for I have a bit of work to finish for
the fair."
"Oh, it is to-morrow, is it? Whom do you mean to stay with?—For I
suppose you must stop all night with some one."
"Emma Ross asked me to stay with her. Clary Whitman and Belle Adair are
going to be there, so we shall have a fine time. Elizabeth Howell won't
come, because she says she has not a clear evidence that it is right.
The girls laugh at her, but I don't see anything to laugh at. It seems
to me if you are not sure that a thing is right, it makes that thing
wrong for you."
"She is quite correct. Keep that rule in mind, and you will save
yourself a deal of trouble."
When her aunt and Miss Druett were gone, Calista established herself in
the front room with the child's apron she was ornamenting in crewels.
Thanks to her mother's store of working materials, she was now able to
do something independently.
The front parlor was kept in decent order, only by the exertions of
Miss Druett, and hither Calista resorted with her work, pulling down
the inside venetian blinds, so that she could see without being seen.
She had not sat long before she saw old Jael come to the kitchen door
and speak to Chloe. By leaning a little out of the window she could
hear the whole conversation.
"Where's your mistress?"
"What's that to you?"
"Come, old woman, keep a civil tongue, will you? Is Miss Stanfield at
home?"
"She's gone to town, if you must know."
"Has she found her purse?"
"She hasn't lost it. I saw it in her hands just as she went away."
"But, I tell you, she did lose it," said the old woman, in a voice
which betrayed some agitation. "She lost it last night, I know."
"Oh, you do, do you?" thought Calista. "I thought so."
"Well, if I was a fortune-teller, I'd tell straighter than that," said
Chloe, in a tone of great contempt. "Don't I know Miss Priscy? I tell
you if she had lost her purse last night, not one in this house would
have a wink of sleep till it was found. Besides, I saw it in her hands
not an hour ago—the very long green purse she always carries; so you
needn't talk to me."
"Well, well, I dare say you are right, only I thought I heard something
about it. Get me a drink of cider, Chloe, there's a good soul. You'll
be old yourself some day."
"I ain't far from it now," mid Chloe, relenting a little, as it seemed
by her tone. "Then sit down in the shade, and I'll give you some cider,
and your pail full of skim milk if you want it."
Calista heard the kitchen door shut and bolted, while Chloe departed on
her errand.
But Jael did not sit down in the shade. She hurried across the road
with wonderful swiftness, and disappeared for a moment behind General
Stanfield's monument. When she appeared again, her face was a curious
mixture of anger, confusion, and fear. She got back just in time to
meet Chloe as she unbarred the door.
"What took you across the road in such a hurry?" asked Chloe. "I saw
you from the buttery window."
"I thought I saw a lame quail," said the old woman.
"Smart you must be, to be taken in by a lame quail! There, there's a
fine pail of milk and some cold potatoes for you. Why don't you and
your husband settle down like decent folks, and have good times?"
"Oh, we have our good times now and then as well as you," chuckled the
old woman. "Thank you all the same. Good-bye."
"She ain't a witch, that's certain," muttered Chloe to herself, as she
watched Jael out of sight. "Maybe she is something as bad or worse;
anyhow, a pail of milk won't hurt her."
Calista laughed behind the blinds to think how she had circumvented the
old woman. But she did not know all the plans in that wicked old head,
by a great deal.
CHAPTER SIXTEENTH.
THE FAIR.
THE fair was a great success, though a good deal of the pleasure was
marred to Calista by the absence of several of her friends. Miss
McPherson had been called to New York to see Miss Jessy off for
Scotland, whither she had gone to attend to a small inheritance which
had fallen to her. Miss Meeks was with her sister, who was sinking in
a rapid decline. Mary Settson was going about with her father, now and
then writing a long letter to Calista—now and then, but not very often,
for postage was a consideration in those days, when every single letter
cost eighteen cents and a double one a great deal more.
The law was a very whimsical one. You might use one sheet the size
of a barn door, if you could get one; but if you put in a second bit
of paper, though no larger than a visiting card, you must pay double
postage. Under such circumstances, a letter was a grave consideration.
In Miss Jessy's absence, Clary Whitman took charge of the school table,
assisted by Calista and Belle Adair, who had come back to Cohansey for
the purpose. Everything went off beautifully. Calista had hardly ever
been out in an evening before, and she thoroughly enjoyed it. For once
in her life she had the pleasure of appearing in a handsome new frock—a
sprigged India muslin, which she had found among her mother's things.
For the satisfaction of my young lady readers, I will just mention that
it was made with a short waist, of the style then called Grecian, very
large gigot sleeves with stiffeners, a lace cape with ruffles, crossed
and fastened behind, and a broad blue silk belt, fastened with a gilt
buckle.
Every one noticed how very handsome she looked, and what ladylike,
modest manners she had, and every one wondered how she came to be there
at all. Almost all the articles on the table were sold and brought good
prices. Old Mr. Fabian himself bought Mary Burns's rug to put under his
office table, and his wife even bought Charity Latch's work-bag, saying
to herself that it would do to hold clothes-pins, and it was a pity the
poor thing should be mortified when she had done her best.
Clarissa Whitman, Belle Adair, and Calista spent the night with Emma
Ross. Bell and Calista, slept together, and as they were going to bed,
Calista said, in the most natural way in the world:
"Oh, Emma, will you lend me a Testament?"
"I've got one for you," said Belle. "It is in my trunk. I thought
a pocket Testament would be convenient if you were teaching a
Sunday-class, so I brought you one."
"Oh, thank you," said Calista, gratefully. "I have wanted one ever so
much. How very pretty!"
"Do you suppose Miss Stanfield will let you keep it?" asked Emma. "I
heard that she would not allow one in the house, and when she and Miss
Druett found an old one somewhere, they trampled it all to pieces and
then burned it up."
"Nonsense!" said Calista, laughing. "My poor aunt is not quite so bad
as that. Miss Druett and I each have one, and we read together every
day. But I suppose people tell all sorts of things about our family."
"Indeed they do. Such stories—" Emma began, but Belle interrupted her—
"Don't tell her, Emma. What is the use of repeating such things? I am
of my stepmother's opinion about that. Some one came to her with a
story of what Mrs. So-and-so had said. Mamma checked her at once, in
that tremendously dignified way she has when she chooses.
"'Please don't tell me if it is anything unpleasant,' said she. 'If it
is anything agreeable, I shall be glad to hear it.'"
"Well, I dare say you are right," said Emma, smiling, but blushing a
little; "so I will tell Calista that Mr. Alger said she was one of the
greatest helps he had in his work at the mills. He told pa so."
"What a sweet temper Emma has!" said Belle. "She is a little too fond
of gossip though."
"She hears a good deal of it, I presume," said Calista. "Perhaps no one
is quite as careful as they should be, unless it is Elizabeth Howell."
"Or yourself."
"Well, I am not under any very great temptations. Miss Druett does not
talk about people at all, and Aunt Priscilla calls them all fools."
"I should not think your religion and your aunt would agree very well,"
Belle ventured to say.
"Oh, well—she snaps sometimes, but either she is not so sharp as she
used to be, or I don't mind it so much. I really get on quite nicely.
But, please, don't talk for a little, Belle. I want to read my chapter
and say my prayers."
"I will be as mute as a fish at Quaker meeting," said Belle. "But don't
keep all the good to yourself. Read your chapter aloud."
Calista did so, and Belle listened with evident interest; and when
Calista knelt down, she sat quite still till she had finished.
"I'll tell you what, Calista, you are a comfortable sort of Christian
to be with," said Belle, when they were both in bed and the light was
out. "You don't put on a long face, and look all the time as if you
were afraid something dreadful was going to be done or said, like—"
"Hush, now! I won't have you censorious," said Calista.
"Well, I won't say it, then; but you know who I mean, all the same."
"You two would be the best friends in the world if you would only come
to understand one another," said Calista.
"How are you to come to an understanding with a person who always
takes it for granted that you mean to say and do the very worst thing
possible?" demanded Belle, with some heat.
"Oh, come; you judge too hardly. M—, that person is naturally inclined
to low spirits and brooding. It is very different with me."
"Yes, I know that. But if she is a Christian, why doesn't she try to
overcome such a disposition as that?"
"She does try. And anyhow, Belle, it is better to be a faulty
Christian, who knows her faults and tries to conquer them, than not to
be a Christian at all."
"Well, I don't know; I don't think I would try unless I could be a
perfect Christian—consistent in all things."
"If your rule had been followed out, we should never have had any
Christian Church at all," said Calista. "There was not one of the
Apostles that we know anything about but had some fault."
"Oh, Calista!—St. John!"
"Well, he was for calling down fire on his enemies; and St. Peter
certainly had his faults, and so had St. Paul. I don't think that
excuse will stand for much at the last day. Come, Belle, do think it
over again, and without delay. Your time may be very short, you know.
Think of poor little Lawrence!"
"Well, I will; I promise you I will. Now we must go to sleep, or we
shall never be ready to get up."
Calista was, as Belle said, "a comfortable Christian," both to herself
and others. As some one said about Christiana, in the "Pilgrim's
Progress,"—"she never was in Doubting Castle at all."
Probably her vigorous health had something to do with the matter,
though I think a great deal more is made of this excuse—"the state of
my health"—than is desirable or justifiable. I have known a man impute
all his dryness and lack of interest in religious matters to the state
of his health, when that same state of health did not hinder him from
taking the liveliest interest in the price of stocks or the report of
the last ball-game. I have seen a lady sit down contentedly with the
same excuse, who was as much occupied with her new dress as though
the fate of the Christian Church depended on the decision between a
princesse and a polonaise. Besides, what is that religious experience
worth which deserts and leaves us in the dark when we need it most?
This by the way.
But Calista saved herself a great deal of trouble by the simplicity
with which she accepted the gospel. She did not ask herself whether
her repentance was deep enough, or her joy high enough, or her motives
pure enough. The Saviour said "Come," and she came. He had said, "Be
ye holy, for I am holy," and she would try her best to be so to please
him, trusting to his promise to help her, and his love to forgive and
wash away her offences when she failed.
To be sure, Aunt Priscilla was trying, and even Miss Druett was
sometimes sharp and sarcastic, though she had softened much of late.
Her future was uncertain, and she was much troubled at the increasing
influence of old Jael; but the Lord had expressly said,—
"'In the world ye shall have tribulation,'"
and he had also said,—
"'Be of good cheer, I have overcome the world'" (John 16:33).
Her greatest trouble had arisen from the return of her angry and
revengeful feelings about her aunt. This distressed her so much that
one night she opened her trouble to her pastor. Mr. Alger listened, and
gave her sound and useful advice.
"That is nothing strange," said he. "It is what every one has more
or less experience of. Satan is not going to give up any part of his
kingdom without a struggle, and there is always a traitor within to
help him. What you must do is this, hold no parley with the enemy, no,
not for an instant. Every minute of delay makes the work of resistance
tenfold harder. Lift your heart at once to the source of all strength.
Pray for your enemy as well as for yourself, and then resolutely turn
your thoughts from the subject, think of something else, and leave your
champion to fight the battle for you.
"'Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord.'
"And I'll tell you what, my dear child, Christians would save
themselves a great deal of trouble if they would learn this one
lesson,—to control their thoughts, and make them work, so to speak,
in harness. I can understand, from the little I know of your family
affairs, that your position is a very trying one, but do not give way
to fretfulness or despair. Wait on the Lord and be doing good, and fret
not thyself in any wise. And, by the by, study well that thirty-seventh
Psalm, and you will come to feel as if it were made for you."
Calista obeyed, and found the wisdom of the good minister's advice. She
was studying very hard this vacation, with Miss Druett's assistance,
who fully approved her plan of qualifying herself for a teacher. She
also learned to spin, to please Miss Priscilla, who actually gave her
a shilling as a reward when Calista brought her her first skein of
smooth fine thread to show what progress she had made. She took great
pains with her class of little girls, very few of whom could read, and
was gratified with their improvement. She tried hard to read Mitford's
"Greece," and persevered through a volume and a half, when she gave it
up, and took to "Plutarch's Lives" instead.
Zeke and his wife seemed for the present to have disappeared from the
neighborhood. Miss Priscilla was more quiet and reasonable than usual,
and, on the whole, it was the most comfortable vacation Calista had
known.
But a very great sorrow was about to fall on Calista,—the greatest
sorrow she had ever known since the death of her mother.