"That stone will fall with somebody one of these days," said Calista. "Why doesn't Aunt Priscilla have it mended?" "Little girls shouldn't ask questions," replied Miss Druett. "I am not a little girl any longer!" said Calista, her color rising a little. "I wish I were, and then my frocks would not all be so outgrown that I am ashamed of them." Miss Druett deigned no answer to this remark, but Calista was used to having her remarks remain unanswered. She hastened away, and presently returned equipped in her school bonnet of gray batist a good deal the worse for wear, and carrying in one hand her school books and in the other a work-bag—every one carried a work-bag in those days—with the ends of knitting needles sticking out. It would be hard to find a handsomer girl in all Cohansey than Calista Stanfield, but she certainly owed very little to her dress. "Where is Aunt Priscilla?" asked Calista, as she took her place in the queer shaky little chaise where Miss Druett was already sitting. "In her room," was the reply. "She is out of sorts this morning, or she would have gone to town herself." Calista said no more till they were out of sight of the house. Then she began again. "Miss Druett, I do wish I could have some new frocks this spring. My best frock, that blue bombazette, is ever so much too short, and mended in three or four places. I declare I am ashamed to be seen; there is not a servant girl in Cohansey who goes as shabby as I do." Miss Druett seemed to be fully occupied in driving a fly off the pony's back, and did not answer a word. "Then my Sunday bonnet is a perfect fright. It is three years old, and not the least like what any one else wears. And it is just so in everything," continued Calista, with growing heat as she recounted her wrongs. "I can never have a bit of pretty work like the other girls, or have a bit of pocket-money, or any privileges as the rest do. I think it is too bad." "What do you expect me to do about it?" asked Miss Druett. "If aunt were as poor as Miss Malvina used to be, and had to work for a living, I would never say a word," continued Calista. "I would work hard, too, and earn my own clothes; but when she is so rich and laying up money all the time, I do think it is a very hard case." "How do you know your aunt is laying up money all the time?" "Because it is always coming in and never going out," was the prompt reply. "Don't you think I have eyes and ears, Miss Druett? Don't I know that she gets the rents for her buildings in Philadelphia and Cohansey, and for the farms she lets out, and the butter and hay, and so on? What becomes of all that, if she does not lay it up?" "You had better ask her," rejoined Miss Druett. "And if you think the servant girls are so much better off than yourself, you had better try living out, and see how you like it."