CHAPTER FIFTEENTH.

EVIL INFLUENCES.

"WELL, I am sorry for Antoinette, after all," said Calista, as the girls gathered in the play-ground.

"So am not I," returned Mary Settson. "She brought it all on herself, and deserves a far worse punishment."

"I don't deny that, but still I am sorry for her. And, Mary, what would have become of all of us if somebody had not been sorry for us while we were yet sinners?"

"But she was so mean to try to throw all on poor Mary."

"That is true. I don't extenuate her fault in the least, but still I am sorry for her."

"Well, I ain't so sure, after all, about this business," said Charity Latch, who was a great worshipper of wealth. "It seems a great deal more likely that a poor beggar like Mary Burns should steal than that Antoinette should."

"I should like to know what makes Mary Burns a beggar," said two or three girls at once, and Emma added, "Did she ever beg anything of you?"

"If she did, she didn't get it," said Belle. "We all know Mary is poor, but there is not a girl in the school less of a beggar than she. I think she even goes too far the other way. She just hates to receive a favor. As to Antoinette, there can be no doubt. She not only took the needle-case, but a good many other things besides, my button-hole scissors and cornelian necklace, that I thought I lost in the street, among others. One would think she need not have done that, when she had such lovely cameos of her own."

"I am glad Mary is cleared, anyhow," observed Calista. "Dear little soul, how pretty she looked when she stood up and said her verse! And I am glad I have my needle-case back, but I am sorry for Antoinette, and I think—" Calista hesitated a little and blushed as she added—"I think we ought to pray for her."

"What, is Saul among the prophets?" said Belle. "Are you going to be another Mary Settson? We sinners are likely to be deserted entirely."

Mary put on her "martyr face," as Belle called it, and turned away. Calista only said, gently and seriously—

"Don't, Belle. I know you don't mean any harm, but don't make fun of religion or things connected with it. Think if your words should come true!"

"Well, I won't," said Belle, more seriously; "I know you are right, even as a matter of good taste. But tell us, Calista, do you really mean to be a Christian, like Mary and Clarissa Whitman?"

"I don't know that I shall be like anybody," replied Calista, "but I do really mean to be a Christian if I can."

"Well, for my part, I'd wait and see if I was going to persevere, if I were you, before I spoke out so plainly," said Charity. "But I don't call any girl in this school a consistent Christian, for my part. There's Clary Whitman—just look at her playing battledore and shuttlecock with Emma Ross."

"Well, where is the harm? I don't know anything in the Bible against playing battledore and shuttlecock, do you? I am sure Clary Whitman is a good girl, if there ever was one," said Belle, warmly; for she was one of those happy spirits that delight in the goodness of other people. "Come, Calista, will you have a game, or do you think it is wicked?"

"Not a bit," said Calista; "but I can't play now, Belle. I must find Mary; I have something to tell her."

Calista found Mary Settson sitting pensively in the school-room, and sat down by her.

"What is the matter?" she asked. "Surely you don't mind Belle's words. You know she means no harm."

"I don't know how you can say that, when she laughs at religion as she does."

"Oh, she was not laughing at religion exactly, she was laughing at us. Besides, when I told her I did not think it was right, she stopped directly. But I want to tell you ever so many things, Mary—so many, I don't know where to begin. But, first of all, Mary, I have found him, as my verse said. I have found Jesus of Nazareth."

The little snake of jealousy and ill-humor which had been hissing in Mary's heart for a few minutes was silent and dived into his den. She kissed Calista.

"Tell me how it was," said she.

"It began with mother's Bible, and some letters I found in her desk—for you must know that, thanks to Miss Druett, I have all mother's things. I made up my mind that I must and would be a Christian, and then I found a letter—such a letter!—from Aunt Priscilla to mother.

"That upset me again, for I knew I must forgive, or my own sins would never be forgiven; and I felt sure I never could. But Sunday evening Mr. Alger preached in the old red meeting-house, and I went to hear him. His text was,—

"'Behold the Lamb of God!'

"Oh, Mary, I can't tell it all, but he made me see him in the garden and on the cross, and all for me. All the bitterness seemed to go out of my heart, and I felt I could forgive anything—even the cruelty to my poor, gentle mother. I said,—

"'Lord, if thou wilt—'

"And he did. I did not do it at all."

"I am sure I am very thankful," said Mary; "I did not suppose Mr. Alger was a very eloquent preacher."

"I don't know whether he was eloquent or not," said Calista; "I did not think of the preacher at all—it was what he said. He brought me just the help I wanted. And we are to have another meeting Wednesday evening, and perhaps a Sunday-school."

"I rather wonder your aunt should let you go," said Mary.

"Oh, I did not ask her. Miss Druett let me. I am to be Miss Druett's girl now. But, all the same, I mean to qualify myself for a teacher, as you advised me. I think one can do as much good in that way as any other; don't you?"

"Yes, indeed; but I hope you won't ever have to work for a living, Calista."

"Oh, I shall not mind, if only I am as well and strong as I am now. By the way, when is your father coming home?"

"Oh, not for a long time, and that is something I had to tell you," replied Mary. "Father has written from Princeton for Alice and me to join him there, and we are going a long journey with him up to Vermont or somewhere. This is the last day I shall have in school."

"Oh, how sorry I am! I was counting on having you sit with me."

"I will next term. And, Calista, if you like, you can have my place in the drawing-class. There are three weeks to vacation, and you might do quite a good deal in that time."

"Oh, thank you! I shall like it ever so much! I have all mother's pencils and paints. But I am so sorry you are going away. I shall miss you more than ever now."

"You will have a better friend than I," said Mary. "I shall feel a 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.