which cough had grown worse since her apparently slight attack of
illness in the summer. Still Calista, in her ignorance, did not think
of her being ill. True, she was somewhat thin and languid, but this
Calista attributed to the great heat of the weather. Surely she could
not be ill when her eyes were so wonderfully bright and she had such a
beautiful color in her cheeks.
At last, however, even Calista's eyes were opened. Miss Druett one
Sunday evening fainted in church, and, though she revived so as to
walk slowly home with the assistance Chloe and Calista, she never went
again. The next day she sent for the doctor and Mr. Fabian.
Dr. Elsmore soon finished his examination, and on Miss Druett's
demanding to know the truth, he told her that, though she might linger
a few days or weeks, there was no recovery possible, and the end might
come at any time.
"God's will be done," said Miss Druett. "I should not have a regret but
for the child; but she is in his hands, and will be cared for."
Mr. Fabian came, and with him she had quite a long private
conversation. Then she seemed to have given up the world altogether,
and lay patient and smiling, waiting till the change should come.
Calista, at last awakened to her friend's true condition, staid by
her night and day, hardly leaving the room except for her meals and a
run in the fresh air now and then, when Miss Druett insisted upon it.
She could not think; she dared not give way to grief. Her whole being
seemed to be given up to the work of caring for her friend, and making
her last days more comfortable.
Mr. Alger and Mr. Lee came to see her; the former almost daily, and
she seemed to enjoy their visits and their prayers, but she was unable
to talk much at a time. Calista spent hours in reading the Bible and
singing old familiar hymns, to the great but secret annoyance of Miss
Priscilla. Miss Priscilla did not, could not, and would not believe
that, "Druey" was going to die. It was all nonsense; she was a little
unwell, and gave way instead of exerting herself and riding out. She
was always thinking about herself and her bad feelings, just as though
she, Miss Priscilla, was not a great deal worse. Then, veering round
all at once, she declared it was all the fault of old Alger and his
Methodistical cant putting gloomy ideas into Druey's head. It was
coming home from those meetings in the dew which had brought on her
cough; but she would get over it—yes, she would get over it in a few
days. Oh, yes, if she wanted wine, she must have it, no doubt. Doctors
were always making all the expense they could.
"You can go down and get a bottle of that old Madeira," she said to
Chloe; "get anything she fancies or the doctor orders. But it is a
great shame; I shall die in the poor-house—I know I shall."
"Well, what hurt will that do you?" asked Chloe, who spoke her mind on
all occasions. "The next minute after you are dead, it won't make any
odds to you whether you died in a poor-house or a palace."
Miss Priscilla seized her favorite volume of Rousseau's "Confessions,"
made as if to throw it at the bold speaker, but thought better of it,
and contented herself with a threatening look, as usual.
"I really will discharge that woman; she grows more impudent every
day," she said to herself as Chloe left the room; but she had said so
at least once a month for the last twenty years, and still Chloe staid
on.
Miss Druett died peacefully at last, not without warning enough to send
for Mr. Alger and Mr. Fabian.
Miss Priscilla refused to believe it at first, then grew angry, then
fell to crying, and finally into a fit, which seemed for a time likely
to end her life with that of her friend. She really was very ill for
several days, and Chloe had her hands full with her.
Meantime old Sally did the work and attended to Calista, who needed
such attendance. The strain being taken off, she realized how severe
it had been by the fatigue she felt, and for several days after the
funeral, she could hardly sit up or occupy herself in anything. She
could think of nothing but her departed friend, and, as usually happens
in such cases, she was somewhat morbid. She went over and over with
all their past intercourse, and while she remembered a hundred acts of
kindness and self-sacrifice unmarked at the time, she remembered, too,
with acute remorse, many faults on her own side—pert replies, teasing
and fretfulness over her lessons.
"Oh, if she would only come back just for a minute! If I could only see
her just once more!" is the cry of the bereaved; "but I never can—never
in all this world."
Happy they who can take refuge in the thought,—
"But we shall meet again where there is no more parting;—"
And a thousand thousand times more to be pitied than the most desolate
Christian on earth is he to whom death ends all—he who with his dead
buries his hope.
It was well for Calista that time brought with it the need for
exertion. On the fourth day after the funeral Mr. Fabian called, and
Calista was sent for down to the parlor. It seemed to her that she
could hardly drag herself down the stairs, or attend to anything when
she got there; but she made the effort, and was rewarded by feeling
better and brighter for the exercise.
Mr. Fabian was very kind and sympathetic, and nearly set Calista's
tears flowing again; but she made a great effort to check them, and to
give her whole mind to the matter before her.
"I do not know, Miss Calista, whether you are aware that your late
friend, Miss Druett, made a will."
"No, sir," said Calista, as Mr. Fabian seemed to expect a reply.
"Did she ever tell you anything about her business matters?"
"Yes, once. She told me she had a house in Philadelphia, and that she
had received some money from England, from her father I think she
said; but she did not tell me how much, only that she had enough for
her old age. Latterly she has bought my clothes and given me a little
pocket-money now and then."
"Exactly. I see you know how to make a clear statement. The house in
Philadelphia to which you allude was hers only for life. But she has
about three thousand dollars invested in good securities, and this
property will be yours when you are twenty-one. Try to control your
feelings, my dear Miss Stanfield," as Calista's eyes filled. "It is of
importance that you should understand these matters. There is also the
further sum of seven hundred and twenty dollars and seventy cents,"
continued Mr. Fabian, taking out his memorandum-book and opening his
glasses; "this also belongs to you, with the exception of a legacy
of fifty dollars to Mr. Alger, and twenty dollars each to Chloe and
David. Her books, pictures, papers, and a few ornaments, are yours; her
clothes of every description she leaves to Miss Stanfield."
"I am glad she remembered Mr. Alger," said Calista; "he has been so
kind, and so have the servants. I should like to give a little present
to Cassius and Sally, Mr. Fabian. They have always been so good to me,
and I don't know what we should have done without them since aunt has
been sick."
"It shall be attended to," said Mr. Fabian. "I am glad you spoke of it.
But now, Calista, we must decide what is to become of you. Where would
you like to live? At Miss McPherson's, supposing she has room for you?"
"I should like that best of anything, I think, though Mr. Settson has
sometimes spoken of my staying with his daughters. Still, on some
accounts I should like the school best."
"Perhaps we may let the matter rest till Mr. Settson returns before
coming to any final decision. But what will you do in the mean time?"
"I must stay here, at least till aunt is better," said Calista. "I
cannot go away and leave her sick in bed."
"Cannot Chloe attend to her?"
"Hardly, so long as she has all the work of the house to do beside. I
do not think, however, that I could go on living with Aunt Priscilla
alone when she is about again. I must confess I am afraid of her in her
bad moods. And there is another reason why I should not like to stay
here alone with her, though I hardly know whether I ought to mention
it," said Calista, hesitating.
"I think you had better tell me all," said Mr. Fabian. "It shall go no
farther, I promise you. What is the reason?"
"It is that Aunt Priscilla is so under the influence of that woman
Jael, the old treasure-seeker's wife," said Calista, lowering her
voice. "I don't know whether you know anything of her."
"Yes, indeed! But, Calista, is that possible? Why do you think so?"
Calista briefly gave her reasons: "Miss Druett was very much disturbed
when she heard these people had appeared again, and said that Aunt
Priscilla had had dealings with them before."
"Do you think your aunt can be in her right mind?"
"I don't know. She is very sharp and acute about her business, and
looks after everything about the farm. She flies into fearful rages
sometimes, but other people do that."
"Very true. But to traffic with those wretches—really Settson ought to
attend to it."
"I don't suppose he knows it. I have never spoken of it before. Miss
Druett told me aunt was fond of speculation, and had wasted a great
deal upon lottery tickets."
"She has made some very successful speculations, too," said Mr. Fabian,
rising. "Well, my dear, I have no more business with you this morning.
When your aunt is well enough, I must explain matters to her. Now, is
there anything I can do for you? Would you not like to put on mourning
for your old friend?"
"Yes, indeed I should, Mr. Fabian!" answered Calista, her eyes filling
with tears. "I have thought a good deal about it, but could not see my
way, for I have no black dresses, and no money."
"Mrs. Fabian suggested the subject to me, and bade me say that if
you would send her a pattern-dress, she would take the whole matter
off your hands, and see you properly provided. Mrs. Fabian is very
thoughtful and considerate," concluded the old gentleman, with a little
bow, as if his wife were present. "I hope and trust you will find her a
valuable friend."
"I have no doubt I shall, if she will be so kind as to befriend
me," said Calista, feeling very grateful to Mrs. Fabian for her
consideration in the present instance. "I will get you the dress, if
you will wait a moment."
Calista folded up her new sprigged muslin in a small, neat parcel, not
without a sigh to the memory of the last time she wore it.
And Mr. Fabian departed, leaving Calista much relieved. She was not
left dependent on the grudging bounty of Miss Priscilla, neither
would she lose the opportunity of completing her education with Miss
McPherson. She was sensible enough to consider that three thousand
dollars was not a fortune, and she did not at all relax in her
determination to qualify herself for a teacher; but it was pleasant to
know she had something of her own.
It was with a curious feeling that all must be a dream that she sought
out her mother's purse and put into it the five dollars Mr. Fabian had
given her in parting.
Then she kneeled down and asked earnestly for grace to serve her Master
in the new state of life to which he seemed pleased to call her. And
then, rested and comforted, she went into her aunt's room.
CHAPTER SEVENTEENTH.
MR. FABIAN CALLS AGAIN.
MRS. FABIAN was true to her word, and by her exertions, ably seconded
by those of Drusella Pine, a very handsome and proper suit of mourning
was sent home to Calista on Saturday night, accompanied by a kind
little note from Mrs. Fabian, and a present of a black feather fan.
Calista was pleased with the present and still more with the note, and
she would not have been a girl of sixteen if she had not felt a slight
movement of gratified vanity as she looked at herself in the glass and
saw how very neat and becoming was the fresh bombazine and crape, and
the black cottage bonnet with its plain white border inside.
"Well, you do look like a real lady, Miss Calista," said Chloe, who
had assisted at the trying on; "and it does me good to see you wearing
decent clothes, as a young lady ought. Did Mrs. Fabian send you any
everyday things?"
"Yes, a nice black calico; and she says she will have a black stuff
made for me. Isn't she kind?"
"Law, yes! The Fabians are real quality, and know what's what. None of
your new-come-up folks they ain't. I heard say something about your
going to boarding-school; is that so?"
"Yes; Miss Druett wished it, and Mr. Fabian thinks it best."
"Well, I am glad of it, though what this house will be like without
Miss Druett and you, I can't say. But this I will say, it is not the
place for you. Miss Priscilla is bewitched by that old Jael, and
there's no telling what will come of it. Besides, you ought to be with
some one who knows how young ladies ought to behave, and who will take
an interest in your education. It's my belief if it hadn't been for
Miss Druett, you wouldn't even have learned to read and write."
"I am of the same mind, Chloe. Looking back, I can see how she has
befriended me all my life. I don't think I ever thought half enough of
her when I had her."
"That's the way we all feel, honey," said Chloe. "It's just so with me.
I know I was aggravating lots of times when I needn't have been. Wasn't
it a blessed thing that she died such a happy death, and that Mr. Alger
could say, as he did, that she died a Christian?"
"Yes, indeed."
"But, honey, I expect you'll have a regular fuss with Miss Priscilla
about the will when she comes to know it. She said she meant to see
Mr. Fabian, and get the money, just as soon as she was able. I don't
think she has a notion of the way things are left, because she said to
me that she would put out the money to much better advantage than Miss
Druett. I didn't say a word, for I thought, least said soonest mended.
I suppose you'll put on your new clothes to-morrow."
"Yes, if I go to church."
"There's another thing you'll have a fuss about, I expect," said Chloe,
as she assisted Calista in folding and laying away her new dress and
mantle. "I mean your wearing mourning. Miss Priscy hates to see any one
in black. She says it is such a waste; but I think it is because she
don't like to be reminded of her latter end."
"Then if it annoys her, I won't wear it in the house while I stay here.
Shall I unpin the veil from the bonnet?"
"Oh yes, and lay it smooth in the same folds. A crape veil will last
a long time if one is careful of it. And do the same by your shawl.
Some ladies' things always look as if they had been kept under the bed,
because they don't take care of them when they take them off. Now what
would you like for your supper, honey?"
"Just what you have. I would as soon have bread and milk as anything,
only I should like some tea."
"I hope it ain't wicked," muttered Chloe, as she descended the stairs,
"but if Miss Priscy was obliged to stay in bed the rest of her life,
I'd willingly take all the trouble of waiting on her for the sake of
the comfort there would be down stairs."
It rained hard on Sunday morning, but cleared up at noon; and at three
o'clock Calista thought she might venture to go to her Sunday-school.
She asked Chloe's advice.
"Oh yes, go, honey; it will do you all the good in the world. I'll take
care of Miss Priscy, never fear."
Calista dressed herself in her new mourning and went out. As she was
passing her aunt's door, she heard a peremptory voice call,—
"Is that you, Calista?"
"Yes, ma'am. Do you want anything? Shall I send Chloe?"
"No. Come here, I want to speak to you."
Now Calista had worn her black print dress all the morning, and
Miss Priscilla had made no remark. Calista took this as a tacit
acquiescence, and was rejoicing that the matter had settled itself
so easily. But she was mistaken in her reckoning. The fact was, Miss
Priscilla had not noticed the dress at all.
"Where are you going?" was the first question. And then, with an
ominous flash of the eyes, "What is that you have on?"
"My new mourning, aunt. Mrs. Fabian got it for me and sent it home last
night."
"Oh, she did? She is very obliging, I am sure," said Miss Priscilla, in
her bitterest sarcastic tone. "Pray did she pay for them?"
"No, aunt," answered Calista, with an inward prayer for grace, for she
saw that a conflict was impending. "Mr. Fabian paid for them out of
Miss Druett's money that she left me."
"That she left you!" Miss Priscilla repeated slowly, as though she
could hardly believe her ears. "What do you mean?"
"Mr. Fabian will tell you all about it, aunt," said Calista, retreating
a little. "He is Miss Druett's executor, and has the management of all
her affairs. I would rather not talk about it to-day."
"Do you mean to say that Druey has gone and left the money she had from
England to 'you?'" asked Miss Priscilla, sitting up in bed.
"Please wait till to-morrow, aunt," said Calista, determined not to
have a dispute on Sunday. "Mr. Fabian will tell you all about it." And
she left the room, followed by a string of vituperation which she did
not stop to listen to.
She met her class and had a pleasant time with them. The little girls
were full of sympathy, every one was kind to her, and she came home
feeling refreshed and comforted.
Chloe met her at the door.
"Don't go near your aunt," said she. "She is in one of her tantrums.
I've set your supper out in the sitting-room, and when you've eaten
it, if you don't go to meeting again, you had better sit in the
front parlor. There's some nice books in there that used to be your
grandma's, and I'll bring you in a light by and by."
"I don't think I will go to meeting, Chloe. I feel rather tired with my
walk. It is strange I should mind such a thing when I have walked to
town all my life."
"You're worn out, honey; that is just what it is," said Chloe. "You
ain't made of cast iron more than any one else. Eat your supper, and
take care of your new frock. Milk spots black worse than anything."
Calista took the advice given her, and then retreated to the front
parlor. She had never examined the little cupboards by the chimney.
Indeed, they had usually been kept locked, but now they were open,
and Calista eagerly looked over their contents. There were a few very
early specimens of the Annuals—a species of literature which seems to
have wholly died out; but the books mostly consisted of sets of the
"Spectator" and "Rambler," and religious books of which there were
a good many and of high character—Thomas à Kempis, Taylor's "Holy
Living," "The Whole Duty of Man," Law's "Serious Call," and the like.
Calista took down the last, and was soon fascinated, as any person of
taste must be, by the exquisite style, the wit, and solid excellence of
the matter.
She read till it was too dark to see, and then sat watching the
fireflies, which spangled everything, and the moon, which just touched
the higher clouds with silver. She tried to keep her thoughts on other
things, but the questions would rise, "What was she to do? Was it
her duty to stay on where she was? Could she possibly live with Aunt
Priscilla?"
"But I am borrowing trouble," she said to herself at last. "My aunt
gave up all care of me to Miss Druett, and she said Mr. Fabian was my
guardian and would decide for me, so, of course, he will settle all
that. I wouldn't be him when he calls to-morrow. I don't think aunt
need grudge me my little fortune. Surely she has enough. I heard Mr.
Fabian and that other gentleman say that the estate had increased in
value tenfold. But I will not think of business to-night—so there!"
And drawing nearer to her the candle Chloe had brought, she applied
herself once more to the "Serious Call." She read on, more and more
interested, till a sudden rustle caused her to turn round. Some one
was at the window, that was certain; some one who disappeared in a
moment. She went to the window and looked out. There was nothing to be
seen, but as she drew together and barred the shutters, she heard a low
hollow laugh or chuckle, which she knew too well.
"So that horrid woman has come back," she said to herself. "Mr. Fabian
is right. It will never do for me to stay here."
She could not feel very comfortable alone in the great room with its
heavy, faded damask hanging, where her one candle made such grim
shadows of the old-fashioned furniture. She took her book and candle,
and, slipping off her shoes, she crept softly up to her own room and
fastened the door, which had no bolt inside, by putting one of her
trunks against it. She sat reading a long time, till all was quiet in
the house. Then she said her prayers, and going to bed, she fell asleep
like a baby.
The next morning, to her utter amazement, she went down stairs to find
her aunt dressed, and sitting waiting for her breakfast. Such a thing
had not happened for years.
"Why, Aunt Priscilla, how smart you are getting!" she exclaimed
pleasantly. "When have you been down to breakfast before?"
"Oh, I am not quite superannuated yet, though you and your Fabians
would like to make me so. Yes, you and your Fabians, with your plots
and plans," she added, shaking her head. "You will find out, Miss, you
poor-house child that I took out of charity that you might turn me out
of house and home. Yes, yes! I meant to make you rich at last, but
you'll see what you have gained by your plots and plans. You'll see!"
"Indeed, aunt, I have done nothing to injure you," said Calista,
gently. "I don't ask anything of you but kind treatment and a little
love. Come, aunt, let us be friends for the sake of her that is gone."
Calista's voice trembled, and she drew near to her aunt and bent down
as if to kiss her, but Miss Priscilla pushed her off.
"There, go away. If you must make a sentimental fuss, go and see about
breakfast; we shall not have it over by the time that old fool gets
here."
Breakfast, however, was over and out of the way before the person so
politely designated arrived.
Calista was not called to the conference till just at its close. As she
entered the room, she heard Miss Priscilla say, in the loftily polite
manner which she could assume if she chose:
"I am sorry to have been the cause of your forgetting yourself and
being so violent, Mr. Fabian. I had always supposed you to be a person
of quite a different stamp. I see now how wise my father was in
refusing to sanction your addresses."
"And I see what an idiotic young fool I was ever to have made them,"
muttered Mr. Fabian, evidently much discomfited. "Be that as it may,
madam," he continued, aloud, "I assure you that the will of your late
friend is perfectly legal in every respect, and if you dispute it, you
will lose your money."
"That remains to be seen, sir. Meantime, my niece remains in my
custody. I have brought her up and educated her, and I intend that she
shall stay with me till she is of age, and be governed by me in all
things."
Calista cast a glance of consternation at her friend.
"Do not be alarmed, my dear," said Mr. Fabian. "You shall remain with
this—this 'person' no longer than till I can obtain the proper legal
power to take possession of you."
Mr. Fabian pronounced the word "person" with a look and emphasis which
gave it all the effect of the most vituperative epithet. "Mr. Settson
is expected home to-day, and then we will arrange the whole matter. Do
not be afraid; no one shall hurt you."
"No harm is likely to come to her under this roof, whatever might
happen anywhere else," said Miss Priscilla. "I have allowed the young
person much more liberty than was for her good, to gratify the whims of
my late companion and housekeeper, Miss Druett—"
"Oh! So she was your housekeeper!" said Mr. Fabian, taking out his
tablets and making a note of the words. "You will please remember these
words, Calista. They may be important."
"Of my late companion and friend, as I supposed her," continued Miss
Priscilla, without noticing the interruption. "She has been going about
to Methodist meetings and other places unfit for any decent young
person. I shall permit this no longer; but as to any ill-treatment,
I hope my character and that of my family are a guarantee against
anything of that kind. I will not detain you any longer. Good-morning!"
Mr. Fabian bowed, and whispered to Calista to keep up good courage.
Miss Priscilla accompanied him to the door with the greatest politeness.
Calista, meantime, fled to her own room and fastened the door as well
as she could. She had hardly done so when she heard it locked on the
outside. Then she heard her aunt's voice ordering David to get up the
chaise and be ready to drive her to Graywich.
"I shall not be at home till to-morrow," she said to Chloe, in
unusually gracious accents; "so, if you choose, Chloe, you can go to
town and stay with your sister. Indeed, I prefer that you should do so.
I shall feel safer if the house is locked up."
"But where is Miss Calista? She can't stay here alone," objected Chloe.
"And what about the cows?"