There was nothing else to be found except an old pocketbook, which contained nothing whatever. She took down her treasured "Cecelia" from its niche; but even the story of the silver gauze and the trouble resulting from its purchase could not fix her attention, so she took out her knitting, and found a more effectual diversion in the intricacies of feather stitch. Calista had almost forgotten her trouble for the moment, when the door was unlocked, and Chloe put her head into the room. "You are to go down to supper, Miss Calista, if that is any great privilege," said she. "Who says so?" asked Calista. "Miss Priscilla. She says you are to come down now. Reckon she's afraid to stay alone any longer. Well, I know one thing—if I didn't believe in the Lord, I wouldn't be so dreadful afraid of the devil." "Perhaps you would, now," said Calista, as she took up her work and prepared to go down stairs. "I rather think those who fear the Lord most are just those who have fewest fears of anything else." "I reckon you are about right there," said Chloe. "Anyhow, I know one thing: I ain't a-going to stay here much longer. But I must go and get supper." Calista descended to the sitting-room, wondering what kind of a reception she should meet, and determining if her aunt laid hands on her again, to leave the house at once. But Miss Priscilla's mood had worked itself out for the time. "Well, Miss Stanfield—so you have condescended to come down?" said she, in the bitter, sarcastic tone in which she usually spoke to her niece. "And, pray, how many carpet-rags have you cut this afternoon." "None at all," answered Calista, concisely. "Oh! I suppose such work is not fine enough for your mother's daughter." "Neither my mother's daughter nor any one else can cut carpet-rags without scissors, and you know very well I have none," answered Calista. "Oh! Is it possible? But if you had them, no doubt you would not use them. Of course, Miss Folsom's daughter would not stoop to anything so ungenteel. She must keep her hands white and soft, so that she may catch a rich husband, like her mother." "Miss Stanfield," said Calista firmly, "if you say another word about my mother, I will leave this house and never enter it again while you are in it!" Miss Priscilla looked at Calista, as she stood tall and stately in her young beauty, and seemed to think she had gone far enough. "Don't be a fool, child," said she. "Sit down and be quiet! Who cares for your mother?" "I do!" said Calista, firmly. "And I will not hear her abused." "Well, well, sit down! What is that in your hand?" "The knitting I am doing for Miss McPherson." Miss Priscilla gave a kind of grunt, and the two sat in silence till Chloe came in to set the table.