It seemed afterward to Calista that she stood debating the matter with herself for an hour. In reality, it was not for two minutes. She listened to the voice of the tempter, and stretched out her hand for the gold. She would have taken it in another moment—made the false step which, perhaps, she would never have retrieved. What stopped her? Merely an old recollection. Merely the words which had come to her mind that night when she had first spoken to her Creator. The remembrance of Miss Malvina's words, "Your mother was a true Christian, and is waiting in her heavenly home for her little daughter." Calista drew back her hand, like one who had seen a rattlesnake coiled under the fruit he was just going to gather. In all haste she pushed to the cupboard door, closed the desk, and fled to her own room, utterly forgetting that she had left a witness of her presence behind her in the books she had laid aside. Once in her own room, she threw herself on the bed, sobbing hysterically. "Oh, mother! I didn't take it—I didn't take it!" she cried, as if speaking to an actual presence in the room. "Oh, mother! You saved me! I did not take the gold! I am not a thief! Oh, how glad I am that I didn't even touch it—" She was still sobbing when she heard the clock strike, and knew that her aunt must soon be at home. She arose, bathed her face and smoothed her hair, and went down to the kitchen just in time to let in Chloe. "I didn't mean to leave you alone so long, honey," said the old woman. "There's a cake old Sally sent you, to make up for it. But what's the matter?" she asked, looking curiously at Calista. "Did anything scare you?" "Yes; I was a little frightened at staying alone so long; but never mind. You must hurry and get tea ready, for my aunt will be here directly." "That's so, and she'll raise old Ned if she's kept waiting. There, put your cake away up stairs, and keep it for yourself. But first run and pick up some chips for me, there's a dear." Calista was not sorry to get into the fresh air. She picked up the chips, and then wandered across the road to the old graveyard, and read the inscription on her grandfather's monument. "Twelve years ago he died," she said to herself. "For twelve long years all his money and land have been no more to him. No, not as much as this little wild strawberry is to me. And his life in the other world has hardly begun yet. Twelve years. My mother has been dead longer than that; and what difference does it make to them that one died rich and the other poor!"