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?"