"I think you said you had recovered all the property," said Mrs. Fabian. "All that is recoverable; that is, all the silver and such like. A great deal has been destroyed in mere wantonness. And as for the wines, real Burgundy and the most valuable Madeira wasted like water." And Mr. Fabian shut his eyes and groaned. "They must have been tipsy when they planned their flight, or they would have been more clever about it. The old woman, who seemed to feel some gratitude to Tom Edgar for rescuing her from a terrible death in the bog, said they tried to open the bricked up cellar, but every time they did, they heard the old gentleman firing pistols at them inside." "Lawful Suz!" said Sally. "What do you s'pose it was?" "No doubt the bursting of champagne and cider bottles disturbed by the concussion. I think, my love, we had better go back and send Calista some comforts and necessaries in the way of provisions and the like. One or both of us can come out in the morning." Mrs. Fabian bade Calista farewell with many embraces. In about two hours the horses came back with a load of bedding, provisions, and the like, and also with Chloe, who, on hearing of the catastrophe, had at once and adroitly inserted Jubalina in her place at Miss McPherson's, and came out to help take care of her old and her young miss. Calista's watch was destined to last more than one or two days. Miss Priscilla remained in about the same state, eating and drinking what was given her, but, as it seemed, almost without consciousness. Mrs. Fabian had fitted up a comfortable room for Calista, and Miss Betsy would not allow her to sit up at night; but by day she only left the sick room for her meals and the open air exercise her friends insisted on. One afternoon she was sitting alone with her aunt, Miss Betsy having gone to lie down. It was one of those perfect days which never come except late in the autumn, and both windows were open, though a little fire was burning on the hearth. Calista sat by the open window musing over all the changes that had taken place in a year. She almost felt inclined to doubt her own identity. Chloe had just been up to ask what Miss Calista would have for supper; and as Miss Calista, as usual, had no opinion of her own, she had suggested hot cream biscuit and fried oysters. "Just to think,—" said Calista to herself, as she leaned out of the window to watch a flight of birds making for the reed-beds on the river—"just to think of Chloe's asking 'me' what I would like for supper! I, who used to be snapped at and sent away from the table for asking for more butter. To think how many times I have gone to bed hungry in this very house! I wonder if it is all a dream, like the dreams of pudding and roast meat I used to have in those days."