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.

Miss Druett had been troubled with a cough for two or three years, 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.