"I came to tell you that I was sorry for being rude to you this morning," said Calista, blushing; "and then I found you were ill, and staid to wait on you. Are you better?" "Oh, yes. It is over for this time. But you unfastened my dress!" she added, in a tone of alarm. "Did you see?" "I saw you had a great trouble," answered Calista, gravely; "but don't be alarmed, Miss Meeks. I shall never mention it, I give you my word. But—excuse me—ought you not to have a doctor?" "No, no, child. There is nothing to be done—at least, not yet. Oh, what will become of me and my poor sister?" Miss Meeks leaned against Calista, and gave way to a burst of agonized sobs. Calista wisely let her cry on, supporting her, and looking down on her former enemy with a mixture of pity and reverence which she never thought she could feel for Miss Meeks. "There is the bell," said Miss Meeks, starting; "I must go down." "You are not fit," said Calista; "cannot you lie still and rest till dinner?" "No; there are the little girls' spelling and reading classes; and Miss Jessy is too busy to hear them." "Could not I hear them, for once?" asked Calista, wondering at herself. "They are all nice little things. I dare say they would be good with me." "But your grammar lesson?" "I learned it before I came to school. Do keep still and let me try, Miss Meeks. It won't do any such great harm if I don't succeed as well as you, for once; and I am sure you are not fit to go down. Your lips are white now." "The pain takes a great deal out of me," said the poor lady, yielding to the temptation and leaning back in her chair. "Well, Calista, if you think you can, and Miss McPherson is willing, you may try. The children are good little things, as you say, and will make no trouble." "And you will forgive me for being so rude this morning?" said Calista. "Indeed, Miss Meeks, I have my own troubles, too, or I should not have forgotten myself so." "Oh, my dear, don't mention it. I dare say I was unreasonable. I have been in so much pain all the morning. You won't tell what you have seen—not to any one?" Miss Meeks held her hand and looked imploringly in her face. "No, indeed," answered Calista, solemnly. "I promise you, Miss Meeks, I never will. Now, can I do anything else for you? For I suppose I should be going." "Only hand me my Bible from the table. Thank you. Oh, my love, believe me, if you have trouble, as you say, this is the only source of comfort. I should die without it, or go mad. There, there, God bless you! Go." "Who would have thought,—" said Calista, as, having obtained Miss McPherson's permission, she assumed Miss Meeks's place in the little school-room, and called the children to their lessons—"who would have thought that I, of all people, should be Miss Meeks's deputy?" CHAPTER EIGHTH. MARY. "WHERE have you been all the morning?" asked Mary Settson, as she met Calista just after the noon recess was proclaimed. "I have not had a sight of you."