CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.

OLD JAEL.

CALISTA rose early as usual, with the feeling that she was entering on a new life. She had lived heretofore for herself—now she must begin to live for him who had live and died, and lived again, for her. She read over again her mother's letter, and saw hosts of new meanings in it. Especially was she struck with these words:

"You must expect to meet with many trials within and without. It may be that you will no sooner resolve to be wholly a Christian than you will find yourself assaulted with more ad sorer temptations than you have ever experienced. This will be partly because you will see things to be wrong which you never thought to be so before—partly, but not wholly. Satan makes his fiercest assaults upon those who are just escaping from his grasp. Be instant in prayer, study your Bible daily, and I would advise you also to study the 'Pilgrim's Progress.' You will find it a treasury of help and instruction."

Some persons might have been discouraged by such a warning—Calista was not so.

"Sure I must fight if I would win," she said to herself. "I always did like that hymn."

And she began to sing it, and then instantly checked herself as she considered that might wake her neighbors.

"I believe I will go out and get the flowers I promised Tessy," said she. "When I am out in the woods, I can sing as much as I please."

She put on her oldest frock and shoes—not that there was so very much to choose between oldest and newest—and, crossing the burying-place, was soon in the shady place where she knew the laurel lingered longest. It was a little hollow on the edge of the woods, and was kept green and damp by three or four springs which united their waters to form a rill—a somewhat uncommon sight in those parts. The place was no favorite with the country people. On one side of the dell was a curious grave-shaped mound, from beneath which rose one of the little springs I have mentioned, which was reddened by oxide of iron. It was believed that a murdered man and his murderer had there been buried in one grave, and that the water, in its color, still bore witness to the deed—and that a kind of venomous snake was found there which lived nowhere else.

Calista had no superstitious fears, and she had never seen any of the snakes, so she was not at all alarmed, but went on gathering her flowers, and then, catching sight of a great prize—a fine cluster of yellow moccasin-flowers—she descended to the centre of the hollow, and, stepping lightly and carefully—for the centre of the hollow was dangerously soft and boggy—she secured her prize. As she did so, she was startled by an odd, hollow-sounding laugh, and rose hastily, to find herself face to face with a very tall woman, dressed in indescribable rags, whom she at once guessed to be Old Jael, the fortune-teller.

"Well done!" said the woman, with another mocking laugh. "'Tis a bold young lady who comes alone to the Murderer's Hollow to gather flowers."

"Why, you come here yourself, it seems," said Calista, whose spirit always rose against any attempt to frighten her; "why should I need any more boldness than you?"

"Ah, but I go to many places where the young lady dare not go," answered the old woman; "and in the dead of night, too."

"I dare say," returned Calista; "but you see I come in broad day, and for a good purpose, so I carry the blessing of God with me, and have nothing to fear."

"Nothing!" repeated the old woman. "Not even the snakes!"

"I have often been here and have never seen any snakes," said Calista.

"Well, I like a bold spirit," said the old woman. "Don't pretty Missy want her fortune told? Old Jael can tell her any fine things past and future."

"I know the past for myself, and as for the future, it is in God's hands," answered Calista; "he knows it, and that is far better than knowing it myself."

"Mighty fine words!" said the old woman; "but maybe I can make the proud young lady change her tune, when I tell her where she was—say last Wednesday evening—peeping and looking for the red gold all alone in the secret chamber!"

"I can do as much as that," said Calista, struck by a sudden thought; "I can tell who was climbing up on an old wall, peeping through holes and crannies like a cat."

The old Woman, who had evidently calculated greatly on the effect of her words, drew back as if some one had struck her, and turned more ashy pale than she was before.

"No, Mother Jael, I want none of your skill," said Calista, as she turned to go. "As you have offered to tell my fortune, I will tell you something in return: 'he that believeth on the Son of God hath eternal life, and he that believeth not shall not see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him.' I advise you to go to the meeting Wednesday night, and learn what will do you good. Good-morning."

The woman nodded not ungraciously, and stood looking till Calista was out of sight.

"You are a bold one, anyhow, and I like your spunk; but—Yes, we must have her out of the way, or we shall do nothing."

Muttering thus to herself, she walked away in the opposite direction with more activity than could have been expected.

Calista put her flowers in water, changed her draggled dress and shoes, and then went to see Miss Druett, whom she found, to her surprise, up and ready for breakfast.

"Are you able to go down?" asked Calista. "I was coming to ask if I had better not stay at home and take care of you."

"Nonsense, child! I am not sick; it is only a cold. Where have you been so early?"

"I have been in the Red Hollow after flowers, and I have met the presiding genius of the place."

And Calista recounted her adventure.

"Were you not frightened?" asked Miss Druett.

"Not a bit! I believe I scared her a good deal more than she did me."

"Still, I don't like your meeting her."

"But, dear Miss Druett, I can't stay in the house all the time for fear of Old Jael. Do you think, like Chloe, that she is a witch?"

"I think she is an unscrupulous, wicked woman, and that is bad enough," replied Miss Druett. "I don't like to have you lose one of your few pleasures, but I must say I don't fancy your meeting her. How bright you look!"

"I feel bright; I feel as if I were in a new world. Oh, Miss Druett, if you would only find him too! Why won't you try?"

"There, don't talk about it, child," replied Miss Druett, hastily; "pray that he may find me, and perhaps he will. Come, it is time to go down."

Calista walked somewhat more slowly than usual this morning, and reached the school-room just as the first bell rung. She went directly to her desk and looked into it, half hoping to see the missing needle-case, which she disliked losing, both for its own sake and because she knew the trouble the loss would occasion at home. It was not there, however, and her desk was exactly as she left it.

"It is very strange," thought Calista; "anyway, I am sure Mary did not take it."

Mary Burns and Antoinette Diaments were the last to enter—the latter in her riding-dress, which she had had no time to change. She had hoped to reach school in time to restore the case to its place, but in this she was disappointed; and as she looked at its beauty, she could hardly make up her mind to return it at all.

"Calista is so giddy, Miss McPherson will think she lost it herself; and so will Miss Meeks, if I can only get held of her first."

Mary Burns looked tired and worn with grief and watching, as, indeed, she was; but her face, in all its sorrowful paleness, had a steadfast, settled expression. She knew in whom she had put her trust, and she did not believe he would desert her in the hour of need, however he might suffer her to be tried. For this poor, plain, stammering tailor's daughter had a faith which nothing could shake. She would have faced all the sophistry of all the infidels in the world with the simple unanswerable argument of St. John:

"WE have SEEN him."

It was the custom on Monday morning for each person in the school-room, beginning with Miss McPherson herself, to recite a verse from Holy Scripture. The verses this morning were unusually significant to those who were in the secrets of the past few days. Miss McPherson's was from the thirty-second Psalm and fifth verse:

"'I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord; and thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin.'"

Miss Jessy's (with a beseeching glance at poor Mary) was:

"'If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.'" (1 John 1:9.)

Miss Meeks (sharply, and with a glance in the same direction):

"'Be sure your sin will find you out.'" (Numbers 32:23.)

It was Mary Burns's turn next, and she spoke up clearly, and with a bright light in her usually pale blue eyes.

"He shall bring forth thy righteousness as the light, and thy judgment as the noonday." (Ps. 37:6.)

"How hardened she must be to choose that verse!" thought Miss Meeks.

But Miss McPherson and Miss Jessy exchanged a glance which said, "She is innocent, whoever is guilty."

Antoinette was unfortunate. She had opened hastily to the same Psalm, and, keeping her Bible in her lap (for she had quite forgotten to learn a verse), she read the first her eye fell upon:

"The wicked borroweth, and payeth not again: but the righteous is merciful, and giveth." (Ps. 37:21.)

Calista's eyes brightened and her color deepened beautifully as she repeated:

"We have found him, of whom Moses in the law, and the prophets, did write, Jesus of Nazareth." (John 1:45.)

There was a short silence after Miss McPherson's prayer, is which she asked that the innocent might be justified and the guilty led to confession and amendment. Then she made a little speech. She said most of those before her had heard of the loss of the needle-case from Miss Stanfield's desk, and the suspicion which had fallen on one of their number. If the matter had not become public already, she should not have made it so, but she hoped all would suspend their judgment.

Then she asked, "Can any one throw any light on this matter?"

Then, as no one else said anything, Calista spoke modestly:

"Miss McPherson, there is one point at least in which Mary Burns can be cleared. She said that she saw Antoinette come out of the school-room at a quarter to nine, but Miss Meeks thought she must be wrong, because Antoinette went away before eight."

She paused and looked at Antoinette, who gave her a vengeful glance in return.

"Well, what then?" asked Miss McPherson, after waiting a moment for Antoinette to speak.

"Tessy told me that her cousin came back because some accident happened to the horse," answered Calista. "Antoinette staid in Tessy's room till just before the quarter bell rung, and then went to the school-room, or so Tessy thought. So Mary might have seen her, as she said."

"Is this true?" asked Miss McPherson of Antoinette.

"Yes, ma'am," answered Antoinette, temper and the wish for revenge getting the better of her prudence. "I did not mean to say anything, but, since Miss Stanfield seems determined to throw the blame upon me, I must tell the whole story. I was in the school-room a moment, my skirt came untied, and I stepped behind the study door to fasten it. As I stood there, I saw Mary Burns come into the room and look into Miss Stanfield's desk. She turned the things over till she found something, and dropped it into her inside pocket. Then she took a book, shut the desk, and went hastily out."

"You did not see what she took?" said Miss McPherson.

"No, ma'am. It was something pretty heavy, which pulled her pocket down, and jingled a little."

"What do you say to this, Mary Burns?" asked Miss McPherson, turning to her.

"It is not true, Miss McPherson. I did not turn over one thing. I took up the 'Lady of the Lake' and read a little, and then I laid it down, took the volume of Goldsmith, and carried it away. I have no more to say."

"I am sure I don't know what to think," said Miss McPherson, much perplexed.

"I should say it was all very plain," said Miss Meeks, not perplexed at all, as, indeed, people seldom are who have made up their minds beforehand. "Here is positive evidence on one side, and simple denial on the other."

"Good!" thought Antoinette. "You might have held your tongue, Miss Stanfield."

But another witness was to the fore on whom she had not calculated. Elizabeth Howell had come a little late and sat down quietly by the door. She now rose up, tall, fair, and prim, as delicate as an August lily, in her light-gray bombazine and clean muslin kerchief and apron.

"I should like to speak to thee in private, Friend McPherson."

"What can she have to say?" thought Antoinette, but without much misgiving. "She does not know anything about the matter. I took care of that."

After a few minutes' conversation, Miss McPherson opened the door of her private room and called—

"Miss Meeks, will you come in? Miss Burns, Miss Stanfield, Miss Antoinette Diaments, Miss Settson, please come also. The young ladies will recite their French grammar to Miss Jessy."

The party tolerably filled the little room. Elizabeth looked a little flushed, and Miss McPherson both grieved and angry.

"You will please listen, Miss Meeks and young ladies, to what Elizabeth Howell has to say."

"First, if Friend McPherson pleases, I should like, Calista, to hear thee describe the needle-case."

Calista did so, taxing her memory to be exact in every particular.

"Precisely so!" said Elizabeth. "I saw Antoinette Diaments at her cousin Richard Whitecar's, in Graywich, and she had and was using just such a case as Calista describes."

"How could you see it, I should like to know, when I put it in my pocket before you came into the room?" asked Antoinette, unguardedly.

"Then you admit that you had it!" said Miss McPherson.

Antoinette saw she had betrayed herself, and was sullenly silent.

"Please answer her question, Elizabeth."

"I saw the whole through the window, and reflected in the large mirror opposite," answered Elizabeth. "I came in by the back way, as I often do." (The two families being relations as well as neighbors.) "I stood two or three minutes watching some kittens at play, and then looked into the room. I could not see Antoinette—only her reflection in the glass, and this case on the table, with the scissors, by her side. Antoinette was using the thimble. I was rather struck, and it did occur to me to wonder whether this was the needle-case that had made all the trouble. Then Richard Whitecar came along and spoke to me, and I saw Antoinette hastily gather up the things and put them in her pocket. Then I felt quite sure. I meant to speak to Antoinette about the matter, but had no private opportunity. It seemed to me this morning that the attempt to throw blame on Mary Burns was a clear call to tell what I knew."

There was a moment's silence, and then Miss McPherson said, in a sterner tone than had ever been heard from her before—

"Antoinette, where is the needle-case?"

Antoinette was obstinately silent.

"Miss Meeks, you will please search Miss Diaments's room thoroughly, and especially her travelling-basket and work-bag. Antoinette, stay here—" (For Antoinette was moving toward the door). "Sit down on that chair, and do not stir from it till I give you permission. I will have this matter sifted to the bottom."

There was a short but very awkward pause till Miss Meeks returned without the needle-case, and looking a good deal excited.

"I cannot find it," said she.

"Of course you can't, when it is not there!" said Antoinette, in a tone of triumph.

"Look in her desk," was the next order.

"Look as much as you please!" said Antoinette insolently.

But her manner changed as Miss Meeks said pointedly, "There are some things in Miss Diaments's room which need investigation."

"I will attend to that matter," said the principal. "Look in her pockets."

Antoinette turned pale.

"I won't have my pockets searched!" she stammered. "It is a pity if the daughter of one of the richest men in the state is to be insulted for the sake of beggarly tailor's girl!"

Antoinette had kept fast hold of her work-bag, but in her agitation she dropped it. It fell on the floor with a heavy, ringing sound.

Miss Meeks picked it up and opened it. There was the case.

"Antoinette, I beg for your own sake you will confess the whole matter," said Miss McPherson, earnestly. "Tell the whole truth, my poor child."

"I shall not tell anything!" answered Antoinette. "If you choose to make a fuss about it you can. I guess you will lose more than I shall. I don't think you will make much by quarrelling with the richest man in the state for the sake of tippling old tailor Burns's daughter."

Those who knew Miss McPherson actually trembled for the effect of these words. That lady, however, answered with a calmness more alarming than any storm—

"Miss Diaments, you are no longer a member of this school. You will remain in this room till I can send for your uncle. Mary Burns, my dear, you are entirely cleared from the shadow of blame. Is she not, Miss Meeks?"

"So far as this matter is concerned, certainly," said Miss Meeks; "but I must remind her that but for certain past equivocations, to call them by a mild name, I should not have suspected her."

"I know I have not always told the truth exactly, Miss Meeks," answered Mary, humbly. "I have been easily frightened and confused, and sometimes I have seemed to tell lies when I did not mean to. But I hope I shall be enabled to do better, and not think so much of what men will think of me."

Miss Meeks was melted. She kissed Mary, and told her she had no doubt she meant to be a very good girl.

"You will now all return to your places," said Miss McPherson. "Miss Meeks will clear Miss Burns, and I hope we shall none of us be the worse for the lesson we have received."

Miss McPherson spent some time in trying to persuade Antoinette to a confession, but Antoinette was obstinate. The fact was, she did not believe Miss McPherson would dare to expel her, and took all her persuasive gentleness for a method of getting gracefully out of the scrape.

"Very well, I shall say no more," said Miss McPherson. And rising she led Antoinette to a smaller room which opened from her own, and which was used in extreme cases as a kind of chamber of penitence. "You will remain in this room, seeing no one, till I can see your uncle, and make arrangements for you to return with him."

"I must put up my things," said Antoinette, for the first time showing some alarm.

"I shall myself look over and put up your things with the assistance of Mrs. McGregor."

Antoinette now gave way entirely, and with tears and sobs and the most abject entreaties begged to be allowed to go to her room, if only for a few minutes, to put up her own things.

"No," answered Miss McPherson, her suspicions confirmed by Antoinette's conduct. "I must attend to that matter myself. The servant will bring your dinner, but you will not leave this room."

So saying Miss McPherson left the room, shutting and locking the door. She was sorry for the girl, but hers was not the false compassion which will expose the innocent to contamination on the mere chance of reforming the guilty. She found more than enough in her search of Antoinette's room to confirm her resolution. It was astonishing to see how many little articles, some of considerable value, which had been given up for lost by their owners, were found carefully hidden in boxes and under beds. It seemed evident that Antoinette must have carried on the business of petty thieving almost ever since she had been in the school.

Antoinette departed in the afternoon, regretted by no one, unless by Tessy, who had been the greatest sufferer by her meanness. I may as well say that neither her father nor mother believed one word against their daughter, her mother declaring that Antoinette never told a lie in her life. Two or three large sums paid on account of shoplifting performances, and a final disgraceful elopement, partly opened her father's eyes, but her mother persisted in declaring that it was all the fault of the influences under which poor Antoinette was thrown at that abominable Cohansey school.

This is no fancy sketch, as many a teacher can testify. It is no wonder, seeing of what it is the root and spring, that God abhors covetousness.