Mary listened with great attention to the end. Then she said, gravely: "Have you thought, Calista, how much this plan involves? If you leave your aunt in that way, will she not be very much displeased?" "There is no telling whether she will be or not. One thing is certain, I cannot and will not live alone with Aunt Priscilla. I don't think your father would advise it. As to the estate, if that is what you are thinking of, I try to give up all thought of it." "That is the best way, I suppose. And yet, do you think you shall like living with Miss Druett? Is she not very odd-tempered?" "She is odd-tempered, but not ill-tempered, if you understand the difference," answered Calista. "She sometimes says very sharp and sarcastic things; but she does not delight to hurt and mortify one, like Aunt Priscilla; and she is very just. You always know where to find her. And she has not one way of Aunt Priscilla's which is particularly exasperating—that of taking up some perfectly harmless word or observation, and twisting and turning it into a great offence. Then, I know all her ways and she knows mine. We are used to each other, and, as old Mrs. Graves said the other day, when her husband died,— "'We have lived together so long that we have got kind of wonted to each other.'" "Would not you rather come to us, Calista, if it could be arranged so?" said Mary. "You know my father spoke of it the other day." "Of course I should, for most reasons," answered Calista. "But then, you see, Mary, I owe a great deal to Miss Druett. She was my only friend for a great many years. I should never have had any education but for her; and now that I look back at it, I can see how she stood between me and Aunt Priscilla's stinginess and tyranny. I verily believe I should never have been anything but a down-trodden drudge of a servant girl but for her. She is very fond of me, in her way, too, and she has no one else. So, if she wants me to go with her, I think I ought to do it." "But don't you owe any duty to your aunt, Calista?" "No, Mary, I do not," said Calista, flushing. "I believe, at this moment, my aunt is keeping me out of my inheritance, and enjoying—no, not enjoying, but holding—what is my rightful property. She owes me a great deal more than the bare support she has given me. But there, I don't want to talk or think about that; it does me no good. See how beautifully these handles polish. I believe they are gold, and not gilded, after all." "I should think so, but I am no judge. I dare say Mr. Parvin can tell you. See, I have rubbed up the velvet and morocco so that it is almost as good as new. You ought to take great care of this case, Calista."