slightly sarcastic smile which she particularly dreaded.
"It is the duty of such little girls as Calista and Mary to do as
they are bid by those who have the authority over them," said he. "It
is especially the duty of Calista, because there may be considerable
danger in her acting otherwise. So, if you please, we will consider
that matter settled. Is there anything else you would like to ask me
about?"
"No, sir; only—please don't be hard on Aunt Priscilla. I am sure she
is not quite in her right mind, and I 'am' dreadfully afraid of her,
especially since what she did yesterday; but I could not injure her for
the world."
"Don't be alarmed, my dear; Miss Priscilla shall have every chance.
Leave all that to me. I must take these papers away with me, but I will
take great care of them. Good-bye. I suppose you and Mary have a great
many hours of gossip to make up."
And Mr. Settson departed, leaving the girls to themselves.
Calista gave a little skip as she closed the door after him.
"Oh, how glad I am!" said she. "I feel like a bird let out of a cage."
"Well, I must say I rather wonder at you, Calista," said Mary, in a
somewhat disapproving voice. "I should think you would be sorry for
your poor aunt,—
"'Deserted, at her utmost need
By those her former bounty fed.'"
For Mary had been reading poetry, and liked to quote it.
Calista's face flushed. "I wonder who did the deserting," said she.
"Miss Priscilla, who went away to stay all night and left me locked up
alone without food or light, or myself, who got out and came away? As
to her bounty, the less said the better."
"But if you could do her good, I think you ought to sacrifice yourself
and not choose a life of luxury with a worldly, fashionable woman like
Mrs. Fabian. I must say I am disappointed in you."
"And I am disappointed in you," said Calista, with some spirit. "I
thought you had more sense. Don't you see that I must obey your father
and Mr. Fabian, whom Providence has so plainly placed over me? As to
calling Mrs. Fabian worldly, I don't know what you mean by that. She
has been as kind as a mother to me, and I don't think it is just the
thing to speak of her in that way in her own house. But come, don't
let's quarrel. I want to hear all about your travels. Where did you go?
And where did your father pick up this Mr. Williams?"
"He found him quite by accident in a little town not far from New York,
where we stopped over night," answered Mary, making a desperate grasp
after her good humor, and partly recovering it. "We were in the stage
together, and we got talking. He asked where we were from, and when
papa told him, he said he once met a gentleman from our place under
rather peculiar circumstances—General Stanfield. Of course that set
papa asking questions, and he soon found out the whole story. So your
dreams are fulfilled, Calista, and you will be able to do what you
please with the old mansion."
"I don't seem to think or care much about that now," said Calista. "Of
course, I am glad to have something decent to wear, and to finish my
education; but I had rather set my heart on being a teacher. However,
there is no telling what may happen yet. 'There's many a slip,' you
know."
CHAPTER NINETEENTH.
MISS PRISCILLA MAKES CHANGES.
THE proverb which Calista had quoted did not seem likely to be
fulfilled in her case. The business went on smoothly.
Calista wisely resolved to ask no questions, and to think as little as
possible about the matter. She worked very hard at her lessons, did
her best to please Mrs. Fabian, accepting in the best spirit all that
lady's hints about manners, dress, and so forth, and fell into all the
ways of a daughter of the house. She was happier than she had supposed
possible, and would have been quite happy but for her anxiety about her
aunt. Mrs. Fabian said she should never be able to part with Calista,
and began to calculate the time of her nephew's return from Europe.
Miss Priscilla had waited impatiently for Chloe's return. And the
moment she entered the house, she was saluted with the question,—
"Chloe, where's Miss Calista?"
"Why, she's at Mrs. Fabian's, of course, a-having of a good time,"
answered Chloe, assuming that mask of absolute non-comprehension which
only a negro or an Indian can assume to perfection. "The last I saw of
her she was a-setting on the back stoop helping Mrs. Fabian peel and
core crab-apples. Mrs. Fabian, she has a little tin thing that she had
made a purpose, but I always takes a quill," concluded Chloe, with the
air of one communicating valuable information. "I think the tin kind of
blacks 'em, don't you?"
"Nonsense! What do I care about your crab-apples?" said Miss Priscilla,
impatiently. "When is she coming home?"
"Not for a good long while, I should think," answered Chloe, with an
innocent air of surprise. "She took her trunk, didn't she? I thought I
saw it standing in her bed-room."
Miss Priscilla was not pleased. She said no more at the time, but the
next day she ordered the chaise to drive to town.
"Put Miss Calista's room in nice order," said she to Chloe. "You can
give her the wash-basin and pitcher out of the front bed-room, and some
white towels out of the press. I presume she will come back with me. A
day or two's visit is all very well, but I don't want her staying on to
be spoiled by that foolish woman."
"Now, I call Mrs. Fabian a real nice lady," said Chloe. "She hardly
ever speaks a harsh word, and knows how to keep house as well as any
one I ever saw."
"Much you know about housekeeping! Tell David to have the chaise ready,
and get out my brown silk and my India shawl."
In the brown silk and the India shawl did Miss Priscilla alight at Mr.
Fabian's, and ask for Miss Stanfield.
"Oh, Mrs. Fabian, please don't leave me alone with her," said Calista.
"I don't know what she may do."
"Don't be alarmed, my dear, nothing shall hurt you," said gentle Mrs.
Fabian. "Miss Stanfield has not asked for me, but I shall remain in the
next room so as to be within call."
Miss Priscilla greeted her niece with unusual cordiality, and Calista
was glad to respond. They talked about a variety of things for a few
minutes, and then Miss Priscilla said, in a matter-of-fact way,—
"I think you had better go home with me to-day, Calista. David will not
be in till Saturday, and you don't want to make your visit too long."
Calista summoned all her power, and inwardly asked for help from the
Source of all strength.
"I am not going back again at present, aunt," said she, gently. "You
know Miss Druett—"
"I know Miss Druett made a very silly will, which I could break up in a
day if I chose, but I shall not try," interrupted Miss Priscilla. "You
are quite welcome to her little savings. But your place is with me, and
I must insist on your coming home at once."
"I cannot do it, aunt," answered Calista, firmly but kindly. "You have
no right to expect it after the way you have treated me. Mr. Fabian and
Mr. Settson both wish me to live here."
"Pray, what has Mr. Settson to do with it?"
"He will tell you if you ask him. Please do, aunt. There is something
new turned up that you ought to know about."
"What do you mean?" said Miss Priscilla, turning pale.
"I would rather not tell you, aunt. Please ask Mr. Settson. It is
something about a will. And, aunt, I took grandfather's old cloak to
put round me; will you take it back with you?"
"Cloak! What cloak?" asked Miss Priscilla.
"The old blue cloak with red facings. I took it to put over me because
the evening was so cold. The one you gave me to cut into carpet-rags."
"I believe it was the carpet-rags scared you away," said Miss
Priscilla, trying to make a joke of the matter; "we won't say any more
about them, and you shall spin or do what you please. And only just
let me have that money, and you will see what will come of it," she
whispered. "Jael is quite sure we shall find the treasure the next full
moon."
"Jael! Oh, Aunt Priscilla, don't have anything to do with those
wretches. Pray, don't."
"Much you know about it! Just see what she brought me only last week."
And Miss Priscilla exhibited a large gold coin.
Calista looked at it.
"Why, aunt, how can you be humbugged so!" said she, laughing. "This
is one of the very pieces I found in grandfather's desk. Don't you
remember, they were all marked? See here," and Calista pointed out the
small deep cross cut on the margin of the guinea.
Miss Priscilla snatched it back.
"Nonsense, child! As if two guineas could not be marked. Come, get your
things on."
"Aunt Priscilla, you must excuse me," said Calista, decidedly. "I am
not going home with you. I wish I could, but you yourself have made it
impossible. What did you think would ever become of me if I had not
found a way of escaping, when you shut me up in the old house to stay
without light or food all night?"
"I didn't stay away all night," said Miss Priscilla.
"But you meant to, aunt, or else why did you send Chloe into town to
stay with her sister?"
"I should like to know how you got out, that's all!" said Miss
Priscilla.
"A way was made for me. No, aunt, I cannot go back at present, if
for no other reason than that you allow that woman to come about the
place, and have dealings with her. Oh, aunt, don't!" exclaimed Calista.
"Please don't! I am sure nothing but harm can come of it. Even if you
found the money—if it is not all a cheat and delusion, as I believe it
is—what good would it do you? You must soon leave it, even if it does
not leave you. Just think how short this life is, and how long eternity
is; do think of your immortal soul!"
"Nonsense! I am not to be scared by Methodistical cant," said Miss
Priscilla, though she trembled visibly. "But if you are absolutely
determined to put yourself into the hands of these people, who will
turn you out helpless on the world just as soon as they have stripped
you of everything, do so. I wash my hands of you. And when you are
stripped and turned out, or kept to clean floors and black shoes for
that proud fool of a woman, don't come back to me. I wash my hands
of you. It was a bad day for me when I first took you out of the
poor-house. Don't come back to me. I don't like snakes!"
A part of this amiable speech was intended for the ears of Mrs. Fabian,
whose presence in the next room Miss Priscilla suspected, though she
did not see her. But Mrs. Fabian, calmly superior, worked on at her
lace collar, and smiled. She knew the strength that lay in silence.
"Shall I get you the cloak, aunt?"
"Yes; I don't choose that my dead father's clothes should be in such
hands. And do not call me 'aunt,' if you please. I acknowledge no
relationship to you any more."
Miss Priscilla departed, and crossed the road to Mr. Settson's
office, from which she was seen to issue after a somewhat lengthened
conference, followed by Mr. Settson with a large tin box, which he
placed carefully in the chaise. Rejecting the gentleman's assistance,
Miss Priscilla unfastened Jeff, the pony, and drove out of Cohansey
town, never to enter its streets again.
Calista retired to her room and, girl-like, indulged in a hearty fit of
crying. She could not return with Aunt Priscilla, and yet the thought
of her aunt living alone, without even the solace of her evening
cribbage and backgammon, was dreadful to her. But there was no use
crying about it to annoy Mrs. Fabian, and nothing she could do about
it—and then she remembered she could pray about it. She could not
influence or comfort or protect Aunt Priscilla, but there was One who
could do all these things, and to that One Calista betook herself with
simple and child-like faith.
The next day but one, as Calista set out for school, she saw Chloe and
David talking to Mr. Settson at his office gate. He beckoned her across
the street.
"Here is a new state of things," said he. "Chloe tells me that your
aunt has turned her and David away, almost at a moment's warning. Worse
than that, she has taken that woman Jael and her husband into the house
to live."
"Oh, Mr. Settson, can nothing be done?" exclaimed Calista, much
distressed. "Think of her alone with those dreadful creatures! She will
be ill-treated, if not robbed and murdered. Can nothing be done to save
her from them? Surely, she must be crazy!"
"I must turn the matter over and see what can be done," said Mr.
Settson; "but I don't know where to get hold of the case. Miss
Stanfield has an undoubted right to take whom she pleases into her own
house, and, so long as she displays such acuteness in money matters, we
can hardly call her insane. But do not be distressed, my dear; we will
try to keep watch of their doings. At any rate, it is not your fault."
"How did she manage it?" asked Calista of Chloe.
"Well, she came home in a great tantrum, ready to turn the house out
of window; then she calls me in and wants to know how you got out. And
says I,—
"'Why, Miss Priscy, you told me yourself she went away in the carriage
with Mr. Fabian.'
"Then she wanted to know if any of your things was left behind in the
house, and I said, not that I knew of. For, you see, just as soon as
she was gone, David and me, we moved your trunks to a safe place,
thinking to send them to you. Then she didn't say any more, only went
up and rummaged over your room. That night old Jael came and stayed all
the evening, and the next morning came again. And then Miss Priscy told
David and me we could go—she didn't want any more of us, and paid us
up. And we bundled up our things and borrowed Cash's old wagon and came
away. And we's got your things along with ours, and I suppose we've got
to look-out for some place to be in and something to do."
"I wouldn't have cared," said David, who was a man of few words, "only
for the dumb beasts—Jeff and the farm horses, and the cows." And David
turned away and wiped a suspicious drop from his eyelids.
"Miss McPherson wants a cook and a coachman, I know," said Calista;
"how would that suit you?"
"First-rate," said Chloe, speaking for both, as usual; "wouldn't it,
old man?"
"Suit me," said David. "I ain't afraid to groom horses, nor drive
horses, with any man in Cumberland County. But I don't know as you
could cook good enough for the young ladies."
"Oh, you go 'long! He will have his joke, you see, David will," said
Chloe, apologizing for her partner's light-mindedness. "Well, maybe you
might speak to the lady, Miss Calista. We'll leave your trunks to Mrs.
Fabian's, and then I guess we'll go to Jubalina's."
"That is just what I have been expecting," said Calista, as she walked
along to school with Mary. "If such things were, I should think Jael
had bewitched her, as Chloe says. To think of her taking those people
into the house to live with her!"
"Perhaps if you had staid she would not have done it," said Mary, who
had been planning for Calista a grand self-sacrifice, and did not like
to have her romance destroyed.
"I don't think it would have made any difference," said Calista.
"One thing she wanted me for was that she might use me in her
treasure-seeking scheme. And do you know she showed me a guinea which
Jael professed to have found, and it was one of the very pieces which
I found when I looked over grandfather's desk. I knew it, because they
were all marked."
"How could she come by it?"
"I suppose aunt paid it to them—she has given them ever so much money
already—and Jael gave it back, trusting to aunt's blindness not to
recognize it. Oh dear! I wish this will business was finished; then we
could soon clear out the poor old house."
"I should hardly think you would wish to turn your poor aunt out of the
house where she has lived so long, even if you don't want to live with
her," said Mary, reproachfully.
Calista faced round upon her rather sharply.
"Who said I did? Or why should you suppose that one invariably means
to do the very worst thing possible under the circumstances? Would you
like to have any one do so by you? You said only yesterday that it was
a great cross to have your mother's aunt come into the family and take
up the best room, though she seems to be a very nice, kind old lady."
"She smokes," said Mary.
"Well, do you think it would be very much better if, instead of
smoking, she addressed some insulting or sarcastic remark to you, or
now and then threw a book at you for variety?"
"But I have taken up my cross," said Mary, somewhat taken aback.
"Would you if you could help it?" asked Calista. "Wouldn't you be glad
this minute if the old lady were sent somewhere else?"
Mary did not answer.
"That is not my idea of taking up the cross," Calista continued. "And
any way, Mary, it is my duty to obey those whom Providence has set over
me, as your father says. I won't deny that I enjoy the change. It is
something not to go to bed hungry, and to have a comfortable bed to
sleep in."
"Surely you did not go hungry?"
"Indeed I did, half the time; and I had not bed-clothes enough for
decent neatness, not to say warmth. I wonder how that would suit you,
who must have at least three or four clean towels every week. Only for
Miss Druett, I should have had nothing but woollen sheets all winter.
More than that, I never had a cent of pocket-money for any use till
Miss Druett took charge of me. But I don't mean that my present life
shall make me self-indulgent. I have been trying to lay down some rules
for myself, like Mrs. Fletcher. Oh, Mary, I wish you would read that
book!"
"I should like to see it," said Mary, beginning to feel a little
ashamed.
"I will lend it to you. Then no one could live with Mrs. Fabian without
being the better for it," continued Calista. "She is so good and
gentle, and does so much in such a quiet way. Just think! She sends
poor Mrs. Rolfe a dinner fit for a sick person every day, and always
sees to it herself."
"I am glad you told me," said Mary, feeling still more ashamed of her
harsh judgment. "I wonder if I could not do something for her."
"She wants old linen very much. I have just been making some
handkerchiefs for her, out of a fine old linen night-dress of mother's."
"I don't see how you could do that; I should think everything of your
mother's would be sacred," said Mary.
"I thought mother would like it if she were here," said Calista,
simply; "and I wanted to give something of my own."
Here the conversation ended.
But as Mary sat down to her desk, she said to herself, "I am envious
and jealous, and that is the whole of it. Calista's money has spoiled
me more than it has her." And the snake, being called by his right
name, dived into his den to be seen no more that day.
CHAPTER TWENTIETH.
AN EXPLOSION.
THE weeks went on very quietly with Calista for a time—so quietly and
pleasantly that she sometimes wondered whether either her present or
her former life were not a dream. She worked as hard in school as if
she still had no other prospect than that of becoming a teacher, and
found great delight in her drawing; for which she showed a special
talent. At home she took the place of a daughter. She helped in the
housekeeping, and learned to make cakes, and preserves, and pickles in
endless variety. She read aloud to Mrs. Fabian, and saw, in a quiet
way, a good deal of company, and listened to a great deal of clever
conversation.
She would have been perfectly happy only for that thought which was
always in the background—poor Aunt Priscilla. She could hear very
little about her. Mr. Davis, who managed the farm, reported that he
rarely saw her. He thought she was shut in her room a good deal. Jael
had a younger woman with her,—her daughter, he thought,—and he feared
Miss Priscilla did not fare very well.
At last, one crisp, delightful morning in late October, Calista came
in from an early run in the garden with her hands full of the hardy
flowers which that mild climate often spares till Christmas. As she
came into the entry, she found old Cassius talking with Mr. Fabian, and
both wearing such anxious, perturbed faces that she started and dropped
her basket.
"Oh, I am sure something has happened to aunt!" said she. "Do tell me!
What is it?"
"Don't alarm yourself, my dear," said Mr. Fabian. "I think the time has
come for interfering in your poor aunt's behalf. Tell Miss Calista your
story, Cassius, but first come in out of the draught."
"Tom Edgar and me was a-coming home from sitting up with old Mr.
Heminway," Cassius began, without any of his usual prefaces; "it was
about five, and not very light, when we see old Zeke and Jael come out
of Miss Stanfield's house, all loaded down with bundles. They hid 'em
away in the Red Hollow, and started back for more, I suppose. Tom says,
says he,—
"'Uncle Cash, they're robbing the house. I wonder if they've killed the
old lady?'
"Says I, 'Tom, you keep watch here, and I'll run home and get my horse
and ride into town as fast as I can go.'
"You see, I thought Tom was the strongest, if it came to a tussle, and
I knew the old mare would go faster with me than with any one."
"Oh, Mr. Fabian, do let us go out there at once!" said Calista, in an
agony of impatience. "Oh, won't you do something?"
"We will do everything. Don't distress yourself, my dear. We must get
some force together, and proper authority, and then we will set out
directly," said Mr. Fabian.
"But you will take me with you?" said Calista.
"No, my dear, not till we find out what state things are in. I promise
you, you shall go the moment there is anything to do. Now, be a good
girl and try to keep composed."
"I will," said Calista; "only do send for me as soon as you can."
Mr. Fabian was not the man to let grass grow under his feet, but it
seemed an age of agonized suspense before Tom Edgar arrived on his
splendid black horse, about the last relic of his prosperous days.
"We've caught them—caught them in the very act!" said he, as soon as
he could speak. "I believe they would have got off, but the old woman,
in her hurry, tried to cross the middle of the hollow, and got bogged.
I had hard work to save her, I can tell you. I thought I should go in
myself. They had cleaned out the house pretty well, but we have got
some of the things, and I guess we shall find the rest."
"But my aunt!" exclaimed Calista. "Never mind the things."
"Well, I'm afraid the old lady is in a pretty bad way," said Tom,
gravely. "Mr. Fabian says you are to come out in the little carriage
directly, and bring Aunt Betsy and the doctor; and here's a note for
madam. I spoke to the old lady coming along, and she will be all ready,
and the doctor is half way there by this time. Here's the note."
"Mr. Fabian says:
"'I wish you to come at once, and bring some clean linen and clothes
for the poor thing, who is in a pitiful condition, and quite
unconscious. Let Calista come with you. It is possible her voice may
rouse Miss Stanfield. Only for Cassius and Tom we should never have
succeeded.'"
"You must have some refreshment, Mr. Edgar," said Mrs. Fabian, always
considerate. "Will you take some breakfast? Miranda, give Mr. Edgar
some breakfast. Put on your bonnet, Calista. I will quickly get
together what is needed."
With such a perfect housekeeper as Mrs. Fabian, it was the work of a
few minutes to collect a basket of clean linen, tea, and sugar, and
whatever a sick person would be likely to need. They called for Aunt
Betsy, but she had already "caught a ride" with Dr. Elsmore, and when
they arrived at the Stanfield mansion, she met them at the door.
"I'm glad you've come. Did thee bring some clean linen, Maria Fabian?
Yes, I see: trust thee to think of everything. Doctor says she has
been drugged with something, though he doesn't know what, and that
washing her and changing her clothes will be as likely to rouse her as
anything. Calista, thee 'd better stay down here till we get her fixed
a little."
"No, no, let her come up," said the doctor. "Miss Stanfield may notice
her niece's voice."
"Oh yes, do," said Calista.
And in a moment she had run up the well-remembered stairs, and was
bending over her aunt, kissing her and speaking words of love and
tenderness into her ear. But there was no voice, nor any that answered.
Priscilla lay on her bed, her eyes half open and dull as a dead
person's. Her night-dress and bed-clothes looked as if they had not
been changed for weeks. Some dry remnants of bread and a tumbler of
sour milk stood near her on a little table. She was terribly emaciated,
and was hardly to be recognized by those who had seen her a few weeks
before.
"She looks starved," whispered Calista.