Under such influences Calista had grown up to the age of fifteen. About that time she left off saying her lessons to Miss Druett, and began going to an old-fashioned ladies' school in Cohansey, the chief town in the neighborhood. In pleasant weather she walked; when it was wet or stormy, she rode an elderly white pony named Jeff, or sometimes drove him in a little old chaise which Miss Priscilla had taken on a debt. Calista believed she owed this change to Miss Druett, and was grateful to that lady accordingly. She liked her school and her lessons, she was friendly with the girls, and she had made one intimate friend in the person of Mary Settson. Then, too, she had now and then an errand to do for her aunt, and she often had a kind word and sometimes a little present from old Mr. Settson, the lawyer, who had had charge of General Stanfield's business, and took an interest in poor Richard's child. CHAPTER SECOND. SCHOOL. CALISTA had not been religiously brought up. True, she attended church once every Sunday with Miss Druett, sitting in the family pew in the old brick church in Cohansey. At home the subject was never even mentioned. Miss Priscilla never went to church, never read the Bible or had family prayers, or asked a blessing at table, or acknowledged God in any of her ways. Calista had found a ragged old Bible among some waste papers in the garret, and sometimes read it for the stories when she was tired of "Evelina" and the few odd volumes of "Camilla" and "Sir Charles Grandison" of which she had become possessed in the same way. These readings, the Sunday services, the prayers in school, and some faint remembrance of Miss Malvina's teaching, kept the girl from utter heathenism. Of personal religion, of any obligation on her own part to a God or a Saviour, it is hardly an exaggeration to say Calista had no more notion than her old white pony. She had a kind of attachment to Miss Druett, tempered by a good deal of fear. She had begun by dreading Aunt Priscilla, and ended, I fear, by hating her; but she was not naturally unamiable, and, as Miss McPherson, the schoolmistress, observed, she had the making or marring of a fine woman in her. "Calista!" called a somewhat harsh yet not altogether unpleasant voice, with then a musical ring in it as of some neglected instrument. Then in a moment—"Calista, do you mean to stand dreaming there all day? It is time you were getting ready for school." "Yes, Miss Druett," replied Calista, promptly; "I am all ready, and there is plenty of time. Where are you going?" she asked, in surprise, as Miss Druett appeared in the door with her bonnet on. "I am going to drive into town with you, so don't keep me waiting, child." Calista skipped lightly up the ruined steps, which looked dangerous for anything heavier than a goat to climb. As she reached the broad flat stone at the top, it tilted a little under her tread. "Take care!" said Miss Druett.