"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.