"You might let her have some new frocks and a little money for this work nonsense. I tell you, Priscilla, you are making yourself the town talk, and if you push the child to the wall, she will rebel." "I can't," said Miss Priscilla. "I shall die in the poor-house." "You might let her have her mother's things, at least. She has a right to them, and she is quite old enough—" Calista heard no more, for a movement within awoke to the fact that it would not be well for her to be caught listening, and she hastened back to her room. She had heard enough to give her food for reflection and wonder. Her mother's things! What did Miss Druett mean? She went back to her childish days when she lived with Miss Malvina, and tried to recall everything that the old lady had said to her. There was a vision floating before her of some boxes carefully put away, and of Miss Malvina showing her several things, and especially a beautiful book, and saying something about her dear mother. But think as she could, the vision would not assume any distinctness. "Oh dear, if I could only remember!" said she at last. "If I could only remember my mother! But I can't. All I can think of is a pale lady lying on a sofa, or something, and dressing a doll for me, and then holding me on her lap and teaching me to say, 'Now I lay me down to sleep.' Oh, if she had only lived, wouldn't I have worked my fingers off for her! I do think it was very hard I could not have a father and mother like other people. Mary would say I had a Father in heaven, but that does not seem the same at all." Then came one of those vivid flashes of memory which do come unbidden, though they will seldom obey the will. She saw herself seated upon Miss Malvina's lap by the side of the great open fireplace filled with generous logs, before which stood a row of roasting apples. She could see the very smoothing-irons on the mantlepiece, the stand with the great Bible in the corner, the patchwork cushioned chairs, and Miss Malvina's chintz short-gown and quilted petticoat, and heard the old lady's tremulous voice as she said, "That was your dear mother's favorite hymn, Calista, my love. Never forget it; never forget that your dear mother was a true Christian, if a Christian ever lived. The Lord was her shepherd, and he will be yours too, and lead you home to himself and to her if you will only give your heart to him." "Then my mother is in heaven now!" said Calista to herself, with a feeling of awe. She sat a few minutes longer, and then lighting her very small end of candle, she got out her old ragged Bible and opened it at random. "'Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.'" (Matt. 11: 28, 29). Calista sighed. She knew that she was not meek or lowly. She tried again, and opened to the third of Colossians, where she read,—