Susan, by Amy Walton_______________________________________________________________________

This charming little book was expressly written for younger children, aged about 11 or 12. There's plenty in the book for children of thatage to enjoy, but older children might be a bit impatient. 

Susan and her family live in London, but she has a brother of ten yearsold who has a nasty chronic illness, and is bed-ridden. His family areadvised to take him for the rest of the winter to a warmer climate, sohis mother takes him to Algiers. During this interlude Susan is to goto stay with a great-aunt who lives at Ramsgate, a small town by the seain the eastern part of Kent, the county of England to the south-east ofLondon. 

There are several other girls staying with the aunt, two of them a bitolder than Susan, grown-up, almost, while Sophia Jane is Susan's age. Sophia Jane appears to have what we would now call behavioural problems, but during the course of the book we learn to see her in a better light, and it is Susan who can be not altogether excellent. 

Both little girls learn a lot about life from each other. 

Intertwined with the story are the affairs of a charming French brotherand sister. We won't give away more of the story than that. Enjoy thebook. NH_______________________________________________________________________

SUSAN

BY AMY WALTON

CHAPTER ONE. 

"MY AUNT ENTICKNAPP. "

"So there ain't no idea, then, of takin' Miss Susan?"

"No, indeed! My mistress will have enough on her hands as it is, whatwith the journey, and poor Master Freddie such a care an' all, an' sohelpless. I don't deny I've a sinkin' myself when I think of it; but ifit's to do the poor child good, I'm not the one to stand in his way. "

"Where's she to stay, then, while you're all away?"

"With an aunt of Missis' at Ramsgate. An old lady by what I hear. "

"Por little thing!"

Susan heard all this; for, though she was snugly curled up in her littlebed at the other end of the room, she was not asleep. Now and then sheopened her eyes drowsily and peeped from the bed-clothes, which nearlycovered her round face, at Nurse and Maria bending over their work bythe fire. There was only one candle on the table, and they poked theirheads so near the flame as they talked that she wondered the caps didnot catch light, particularly Maria's, which was very high and fussy infront. Susan began to count the narrow escapes she had, but before shehad got far she became so interested in the conversation that she gaveit up. 

Not that they said anything at all new to her, for it had been settledlong ago, and her mother often talked about it. Susan knew it all aswell as possible. How the doctor had said that Freddie, her elderbrother, who was always ill and weakly, must now be taken out of Englandto a warm climate for the winter months. She had heard her mother saywhat a long journey it would be, how much it would cost, how difficultit was to leave London; and yet it was the only chance for Freddie, andso it must be done. She knew that very soon they were to start, andNurse was to go too; but she herself was to be left behind, with an oldlady she had never seen, all the time they were gone. 

But, although she knew all this she had not felt that it was a thing todread, or that she was much to be pitied; she had even looked forward toit with a sort of pleased wonder about all the new things she should seeand do, for this old lady lived by the sea-side, and Susan had neverbeen there. She had seen it in pictures and read of it in story-books, and her mother had told her of many pleasures she would find which werenot to be had anywhere else. When she thought of it, therefore, it wasof some unknown but very agreeable place where she would dig in the sandand perhaps bathe in the sea, and pick up beautiful shells for Freddieand herself. 

To-night, however, for the first time, as she listened to Nurse andMaria mumbling over their work in the half-light, she began to think ofit differently, and even to be a little alarmed; so that when Mariasaid, "Por little thing!" with such a broad accent of pity, Susan feltsorry too. She _was_ a poor little thing, no doubt, to be left behind;and then there was another matter she had not thought of much--the oldlady. "My Aunt Enticknapp, " her mother always called her; a difficultand ugly name to begin with, and very hard to pronounce. Would she bepleasant? or would she be cross and full of corners like her name?Whatever she was, she was a perfect stranger, and Susan felt sure sheshould not want to stay with her all the winter. It was certainly ahard case, and the more she considered it the less she liked it. Shewondered if Nurse and Maria would say anything more, but soon the littleclock on the mantelpiece struck ten, they put away their work and wentdown to supper. Then Susan fixed her round brown eyes on the glowingfire. "Por little thing!" someone seemed to go on saying over and overagain, each time more slowly. At last it got very slow indeed: "Por--little--" and while she waited for it to say "thing, " she fell asleep. 

But she remembered it all directly she woke the next morning, and madeup her mind that she must find out more about Aunt Enticknapp than shehad yet done. Amongst other things she must know her Christian name. It would not be very easy, because just now everyone in the house, andher mother above all, seemed to have so much to think of that they hadno time to answer questions properly. Susan had never been encouragedto ask questions, and it would be more than usually difficult atpresent, for there was a mysterious bustle going on all over the house, and nothing was just as usual. She constantly found strange boxes andpackages in different rooms, with her mother and nurse in anxiousconsultation over them, and she was allowed to go where she liked and doas she liked, provided only that she did not get in the way or givetrouble; above all, she knew she must not ask many questions, or say"why" often, for that worried people more than anything. The governess, who came every day to teach Susan and Freddie, had given them her lastlesson yesterday, and said "good-bye;" she was not coming again, shetold them, for the whole winter. In this state of things the onlyperson in the house who seemed always good-tempered and ready to talkwas Maria, the nursery-maid--perhaps she had not so much on her mind. It was not, however, at all satisfactory to make inquiries of Maria, for, with the best will in the world, and an eager desire to please, shewas rather stupid, and could seldom give any answer worth having. 

So Susan had little hope of learning much about Aunt Enticknapp, and yetthe more she thought of it the more she felt she must try to do so--evenif she had to ask her mother, which she was afraid to do, for Mother wasalways so occupied and anxious about Freddie that Susan's wants andwonders had to give way, or be kept to herself, and this she thoughtquite natural because Freddie was ill. 

After breakfast she took a doll, a small work-box, and a tattered book, and settled herself quietly in her favourite corner; this was inFreddie's room, between the back of his couch and the wall, and, thoughrather dark, very snug and private, and not too retired for her to seeall that went on. From here she could watch her mother as she came inand out, and judge when it would be best to speak to her. Not yetevidently. Mother's face looked full of worry and business thismorning, and if she sat down for one minute a maid-servant would be sureto appear with, "If you please, ma'am, " and then she would have to goaway again. Susan sighed as she pushed her sticky needle in and out thedoll's frock she was making. Her mind was full of Aunt Enticknapp; ifshe was Mother's aunt she must, of course, be very very old. Very oldladies always looked cross, and were nearly always deaf. Ought she tocall her "aunt" when she spoke to her? What was her other name?Perhaps Freddie could tell her that, at any rate! She stood up andlooked at him over the back of the sofa--there he was, reading as usual, with a frown on his white forehead, and all his thick black hair pushedup by his impatient hand. Freddie was ten, two years older than Susan;he had never been able to run about and play like other boys, and herearliest recollection of him was that he was always lying on his back, and always reading. The books he liked best were those that had plentyof fighting and hunting and hardships in them. He was reading now atale of the Coral Islands, and she knew quite well that he would notlike to be disturbed. He was not always good-tempered, but Mother hadtold Susan that she ought to be patient with him because he was so oftenin pain. She stood there with her doll under her arm staringthoughtfully at him, and at last he turned a page. 

"Freddie!" she said very quickly, so that he might not have time to getinterested again. "What do you think I ought to call her?"

Freddie turned his great black eyes upon her with a puzzled and rathervexed look in them; it was a long way from the Coral Islands to Susan. But she stood expecting an answer, and he said at last with an impatientglance at the doll:

"Call her! Oh, call her what you like!"

Susan saw his mistake at once. 

"Oh, I don't mean the doll!" she said in a great hurry. "I mean Aunt--Aunt--Emptycap. "

Freddie's attention was caught at last. He put the book down on hisknees. 

"Aunt _who_?" he said with real interest in his voice. 

Susan knew he was going to laugh at her, and this she never liked. 

"You know who I mean, " she said, "it's not _quite_ the name, but itsounds like that. I want to know if I ought to call her `Aunt. '"

Freddie's eyes twinkled, though his face was quite grave:

"I should just take care of one thing if I were you, " he said; "and thatis, not to say her name wrong. "

"Why?" asked Susan. 

"Because nothing makes old ladies so angry as that. Why, if you were towalk in and say, `How do you do, Aunt Emptycap?' it might make her crossall the time you stay. "

"Might it really?" said Susan. She felt a little doubtful whetherFreddie was to be trusted, and yet he spoke as if he knew. It wassomething, however, to have made him talk about it at all. 

"She's got another name, I suppose, " she continued; "something easier tosay. I shall call her that, and then she couldn't be angry. "

"Oh, yes, she could, " said Freddie quickly; "she would think that rude, because she's Mother's aunt, you know, our _great_ aunt. "

"Do you suppose she's very old?" asked Susan, putting the next questionthat had filled her mind. 

"Very, " said Freddie; "and as for crossness!" He lifted up his eyes andhands without finishing the sentence. 

Susan felt discouraged, though she had a feeling that Freddie was"making up. " Still, what he said was so like what she thought of thematter herself that it had a great effect upon her. 

"If you like, " continued Freddie graciously, "I'll tell you just what Ithink she'll be like. "

Susan nodded, though she inwardly dreaded the description. 

"You know, " began Freddie, opening his large eyes very wide, "thatpicture of old Mother Holle in Grimm?"

Susan knew it very well, for it always made her uncomfortable to look atit, and she thought of it sometimes at night. 

"Aunt Enticknapp is something like that, " he went on, speaking withrelish in a low tone, "only uglier. With a hookier nose, and biggereyebrows, and a hump on her back. She talks in a croaky sort of voicelike a frog, and she takes snuff, and carries a black stick with asilver top. "

Susan stared at her brother without speaking, and clutched her doll moretightly to her chest; but though this terrible picture really alarmedher, she had a proud spirit, and was not going to let him know it. 

"You don't suppose I believe that, " she said scornfully; "that's onlylike a fairy old woman. "

"You just wait, " said Freddie solemnly, "till you get down there and seeher. "

Just then Maria came into the room with her bonnet on. Miss Susan wasto go out with her, she said, and do some shopping for Nurse, and shemust come and be dressed at once. Susan collected her property andmarched out of the room, holding her head very high to show Freddie thatshe did not care for what he had said; but, as soon as she was alonewith Maria, she thought of it with a very heavy mind. 

Late in the afternoon of that same day she was sitting in thedrawing-room window seat threading beads, when Mother's great friendcame to pay a visit. Susan knew her very well. She was a lady wholived near, and often went out with Mother when she had to choose a newbonnet or do shopping. Her name was Mrs Millet; but Mother alwayscalled her "dear" or "Emily. " Susan did not like her much; so sheremained quietly in her corner, and hoped she would not be called out tosay "How do you do?" It was a snug corner almost hidden by the windowcurtain, and Mother had perhaps forgotten she was in the room at all. At any rate no notice was taken of her, and she went on happily with herwork, but presently something in the conversation caught her attention. 

"So you really go on Tuesday, dear?" said Mrs Millet with a sigh. 

"Yes, " said Mrs Ingram; "it's a great undertaking. "

"It is, _indeed_, " agreed Mrs Millet in a deeply sympathetic tone. Then, catching a glimpse of herself in a glass opposite, she patted herbonnet-strings, looked more cheerful, and added, "And how about Susan?"

"She goes to Ramsgate on Monday to my Aunt Enticknapp. "

"Ah, " said Mrs Millet. "Quite satisfactory, I suppose?"

"Perfectly. I heard this morning. I feared she might not have roombecause of those Bahia girls, you know. "

"Exactly, " replied Mrs Millet. "Quite _desirable_, I suppose?"

"Quite. Susan, you can go upstairs now. It's nearly tea-time. Clearthose things away, and shut the door softly. "

Deeply disappointed, for she felt she had been on the very edge ofhearing something about Aunt Enticknapp, Susan slowly put her beads intothe box, and advanced to say good-bye to the visitor. 

"_Good_-bye, darling, " said Mrs Millet, kissing her caressingly. "Why, you _are_ a lucky little girl to be going to the sea-side. "

Her manner was always affectionate, but her voice never sounded kind toSusan, and these words did not make half the impression of Maria's "Porlittle thing. "

That remark still lingered in Susan's mind, and as she climbed slowlyupstairs to the top of the house, she thought to herself that the onlychance now of speaking to Mother was when she came up to see her aftershe was in bed. That was sometimes very late indeed, often when Susanwas fast asleep, and knew nothing about it. 

"But to-night, " she said to herself, "I _will_ keep awake. I'll pinchmyself directly I feel the least bit sleepy;" for the mysterysurrounding Aunt Enticknapp's house had deepened. Susan had now towonder what sort of things Bahia girls were, and why she kept them atRamsgate. 

So, after Nurse and Maria had gone down-stairs she lay with her eyeswide open, watching the glimmering light which the lamps outside cast onthe ceiling, and listening to the noise in the street below. Roll, roll, rumble, rumble, it went on without a break, for the house was inthe midst of the great city of London. In the day-time she nevernoticed this noise much, but at night when everything else was silent, and everyone was going to sleep, it was strange to think that it stillwent on and on like that. Did it never stop? Sometimes she had triedto keep awake, so that she might find out, but she had never been ableto do it. She had always fallen asleep with that roll, roll, roll, sounding in her ears. It must be getting very late now, surely Mothermust come soon! I'll count a hundred, said Susan to herself, and then Ishall hear her coming upstairs. But when she had done there was nosound at all in the house; not even a door shutting. It was all quitequiet. 

"Can I have _been_ asleep without knowing it?" she thought in alarm, andthen--"can Mother have forgotten to come?" This last thought was sopainful that she sat up in bed, stretched out her arms towards the door, and said out loud:

"Oh, _do_ come, Mother. " There was no answer, and no sound except thecinders falling in the grate, and the rumble of the wheels below. Susangave a little sob; she felt deserted, disappointed, and ill-used. If_only_ Mother would come!

All sorts of fancies, too, began to make the dark corners of the roomdreadful, and chief amongst them loomed the form of Aunt Enticknapp justas Freddie had pictured her that day. In another minute Susan felt sheshould scream out with fear; but she must not do it, because it wouldfrighten Freddie, and make Mother so angry. What was that sudden gleamon the wall? The fire or the lamps? Neither, because it jigged abouttoo much; it was the light of a candle, coming nearer and nearer, andthere was a step on the stairs at last. Almost directly someone gavethe half-open door a little push and came quickly into the room; it wasMother in her pink dressing-gown which Susan always thought sobeautiful, and her fair hair all plaited up in one long tail for thenight. She came up to the bed, shading the flame of the candle with onehand:

"What, awake?" she said, "and crying! Oh, naughty Susan! What's thematter?"

Susan gulped down her tears. It was all right now that mother had notforgotten to come. 

"I thought you weren't coming, " she said. 

"Well, but here I am, you see. And now you must be a good little girl, and go to sleep directly. Kiss me and lie down. "

In another second Mother would be out of the room again Susan knew. Sheput up her hand and took hold of the lace frilling round the neck of thepink dressing-gown to keep her from going away. 

"I've got something to ask you, " she whispered eagerly. 

"Well, what is it? Make haste, there's a good child, for I must go toFreddie; he's very restless to-night. "

Susan's head felt in a whirl. What should she ask first? She must doit directly, or Mother would be gone. It all seemed confusion, and atlast she could only stammer out:

"What's her other name? Is she cross?"

"Whose? Oh, you little goose, you mean Aunt Enticknapp, I suppose. Hername is Hannah. She's a very nice kind old lady, and she'll spoil youdreadfully, I don't doubt. Now Susan, " in a graver tone, "rememberyou've promised not to give trouble, and if you're going to cry it willtrouble me very much. You must think of poor Freddie and not be sillyand selfish, but go away cheerfully on Monday. Will you?"

"Are you coming with me?" asked Susan, lifting her large eyes anxiouslyto her mother's face. 

"All the way to Ramsgate! No, indeed, I shouldn't have time. You knowwe start ourselves the next day. Maria's going with you. "

Susan's little chest heaved, and her fingers clung tightly to the lacefrilling; Mother gently unclasped them one by one. 

"Lie down and I will tuck you up nicely. There now, a kiss. Good-night, darling. "

In another second the light of the candle, the pink dressing-gown, thefair hair, had all vanished together, and Susan was alone again. Afterall she had not been able to ask nearly all the questions she hadprepared, and she could not help crying softly to herself for a littlewhile before she went to sleep; for the noises in the street seemed tobe saying now over and over again:

"All the way to Ramsgate, all the way to Ramsgate. Maria's going withyou. "

After this it was surprising how quickly the days went by and Mondaycame. Susan had her own little preparations to make for leaving home, and while Nurse was packing her clothes she brought her many odd-lookingparcels, and asked anxiously:

"Can you get this in?"

Some of them _were_ got in, but others had to be left behind--put awayin the nursery cupboard for the whole winter. It seemed to Susan justthe same thing as putting them away for ever. She chose, after carefulthought, among her family of dolls the one to be taken with her; not thenewest one, or the most smartly dressed, but one she had always beenfond of, because she secretly considered her rather like Mother, especially when she plaited up her hair. It was a wax doll calledGrace, with very blue eyes and yellow curls. After Grace's wardrobe hadbeen looked through and packed up in a work-box, there was another veryimportant thing to be finished, and that was a parting present formother. As she was not to know of it, this had to be done in secretcorners, and hastily hidden whenever she came near, so it had taken agood deal of time. It was a tiny pink silk pin-cushion in the shape ofa heart, which Maria had cut out and fixed for her, and when it was donethe letters "SI" were to be marked on it with pins, and it was to be puton mother's dressing-table on Sunday-night. There was more than onesmall speck of blood on it, where Susan had pricked her hot littlefingers in a too earnest effort to take very small stitches, which was apity; perhaps, however, as it was _pink_ silk they would not show much, and mother would not notice. Monday came; every one in the house was ina greater bustle than ever, and every minute there was a fresh questionto be asked about something--about the journey to-day, or the journeyto-morrow, and so many small details, that a wearied frown gathered onMr Ingram's forehead and remained there; added to these troublesFreddie had one of his bad headaches, and would hardly let his motherleave him for a moment. Susan had scarcely spoken to her that morning, and now she stood in the nursery ready for her journey, clasping Gracein one arm, and a warm little cloak in the other. It was almost time tostart, all her other farewells had been said, but she hesitated. 

"Now, Miss Susan, my lamb, " said Nurse kissing her again, "you've justtime to run down and say good-bye to Missis and Master Freddie, and thenyou must be off. "

She went down-stairs and softly into the room. It was darkened; Freddiewas lying on his couch with a wet bandage on his forehead, and there wasa strong smell of eau de Cologne. Mother stood near and changed thebandage now and then for a fresh one; she looked round, and held up herfinger when she heard the door open. 

"Ah, it's you dear, " she said in a low voice; "be very quiet. Is ittime for you to go? Is the cab there? Where's Maria?"

Susan walked up to the sofa; she had promised not to cry, and her throatfelt so funny that she thought she had better not speak, so she did notanswer any of these questions. 

"Good-bye, darling, " said Mrs Ingram, stooping to kiss her. "Give mylove to Aunt Hannah, and remember that Maria has a note for her; and begood and obedient. You may write to me once every week, and I shallwrite to you when I can. "

Susan clung silently to her mother's neck. If only she might havecried! Freddie pushed up the handkerchief, and looked at her with hisdark heavy eyes. 

"Good-bye, Susie, " he murmured; "don't let old Emptycap bully you. "

"And now, " said her mother, "you must really go. Is Maria there? KissFreddie. "

She led Susan to the door where Maria waited; in the hall the cabman wasjust shouldering the luggage. 

"You know what I have told you, Maria. Take care of Miss Susan, and Ishall expect you home early to-morrow. "

Susan looked back when she reached the foot of the stair, and Mothersmiled and nodded, waving her hand; then there was an impatient cry of"Mother!" from Freddie's room, and she vanished. 

When Susan was in the cab with only Maria and Grace to see, she cried, and refused all comfort for some time; not only because she was goingaway to strangers, but also because up to the last minute she had somuch hoped that Mother would say something about the pink pin-cushion. On rattled the cab past all the shops that Susan knew so well, andthrough the streets where she had often walked with Mother or Nurse. The journey to Ramsgate was to be made by sea, and they were to bedriven to Saint Katharine's Docks to take the steamer which started fromthere at ten o'clock. Susan had heard her mother's directions to Maria, and knew exactly what they had to do; she felt indeed that she shouldremember them better, for she was accustomed to hear Nurse say thatMaria had "no head. " She had not therefore much respect for her, andthought it likely that she would make mistakes and forget things; butthough this was the case, there was a great deal to be liked in Maria. For one thing she was always good-natured, and such a very goodlistener; really interested in all Susan's information and startled atany wonderful story, for she was a country girl, and had not yet ceasedto be surprised at London life. Presently, therefore, as they gotfurther on, Susan felt bound to point out and explain any objects orbuildings of interest they passed. She dried her eyes, looked out ofthe window, and drew her companion's attention by sudden digs of herelbow, which at last became so frequent that Maria's head was constantlyon the move from one side to the other for fear she should missanything. Soon with a more violent nudge than usual Susan shouted inher ear:

"Look, Maria! there's the Tower of London!"

"Mercy on us!" exclaimed Maria, gazing open-mouthed; "what a big place!"

"It's where they used to cut off people's heads, you know, " continuedSusan excitedly; "and kept them in dungeons years and years. And wherethey smothered the little princes with a pillow, and buried them underthe stairs. "

"Lawk!" said Maria. 

"And the queen keeps her crown there now in a glass case. "

"Well, I wouldn't do that, " said Maria; "not if _I_ was queen. Whatever's the good of having a crown?"

What with the rattling of the cab, the noise in the street, and Susan'sown uncertainty on the subject, it was difficult to make Mariaunderstand this; so any further explanation was put off, and they bothlooked silently out of the windows till they reached Saint Katharine'sDocks. 

Here there was a good deal of bustle and confusion, and also a littledelay; for Maria, who had held the cabman's exact fare tightly graspedin one hand all the way, dropped it in getting out of the cab. A briskyoung porter, however, came to their assistance: he picked up the money, shouldered the luggage, and showed Maria where to take the tickets; thenhe led them down some slippery steps and on board the steamboat, whichlay alongside the wharf ready to start. It was all new and confusing toSusan, and it was not till she was settled on deck, wrapped in a warmshawl with Grace in her arms, that she looked round her at what wasgoing on. There was so much to see that she could hardly open her eyeswide enough to take it all in. First there was the captain standing onhis bridge with his rough blue pea-coat buttoned up to his chin, and agold band round his cap; his face was quite round, and quite red, exceptin places where it was a sort of blue colour. His voice was veryhoarse, and Susan could not make out a word he said, though he shoutedout very loud now and then. Then there were the passengers, hurryingacross the narrow gangway, with all sorts of bags, and parcels, andbundles of wraps, jostling each other in their eagerness to secure goodplaces, and over their heads meanwhile dark smoke came rushing out ofthe tall black funnel, and there was a constant hissing noise. ThenSusan noticed a silent man standing behind a great wheel at one end ofthe boat, and in front of this was written, "Please do not speak to theman at the wheel. " She thought this very strange--it was almost asthough the man at the wheel were in disgrace. As she was gazing at himand thinking how dull he must be, shut out from all conversation, shesaw him turn the wheel backwards and forwards by some handles on whichhis hands were resting: at the same moment the captain gave a gruffroar, a great rope was hauled on board, and the steamer, which till nowhad been curtseying gently up and down on the water, began to movesmoothly on her way. 

Maria, who up to this time had not ceased to inquire if this was theright boat for Ramsgate, settled herself at Susan's side when the startwas really made. The sun shone so brightly that it was warm andpleasant on deck, and they found plenty to admire and point out to eachother as they went along. A journey by the steamboat was much nicer, they agreed, than by the train. This agreeable state of things lastedwhile they were on the river, but presently the steamer began to roll alittle, and to be tossed about by the waves of the open sea. Then Mariabecame more and more silent, until quite suddenly, to Susan's alarm, sherose, said hastily, "You stop here, Miss Susan, " and dived down into thecabin near which they were sitting. What could be the matter? Susanlooked helplessly round; she did not like to follow her, and yet it wasnot at all pleasant to be left here alone amongst all these strangers;she felt frightened and deserted. Next to her sat a tall thin manreading a book. He was tightly buttoned up to the chin in a threadbaregreat-coat greenish with age, and wore leather straps under his boots. She had noticed this when he came on board, and thought he lookeddifferent somehow from everyone else; now she lifted her eyes, and madea side-way examination of his face. He was clean shaven except for ashort-pointed beard, and his greyish hair was very closely-cropped. Hiseyes she could not see, for they were bent on the pages before him, butpresently raising them his glance fell on her, and he smiledreassuringly. Susan had never been used to smile at strangers; so, though she did not remove her gaze, it continued to be a very seriousone, and also rather distressed. 

"The Bonne has mal de mer?" he asked, after they had looked at eachother for a minute in silence. Susan did not answer, and, indeed, didnot know what he meant. This was a Frenchman, she thought to herself, and that was why he looked different to the other people. 

"She is vot you call sea-seek, " he repeated--"that is a bad thing--butshe will be soon better. " It was a comfort to hear this, though Susancould not imagine how he knew what was the matter with Maria. 

"It arrives often, " he remarked again, "to those who travel on the sea--myself, I have also suffered from it. "

He looked so very kind as he said this, that Susan was encouraged tosmile at him, and little by little to say a few words. After that theyquickly became friends, and he proved a very amusing companion; for, putting down his book, he devoted himself to her entirely, and told hermany wonderful facts about the sea, and ships, and the sea-gulls flyingoverhead. She listened to these with great attention, bent on storingthem up to tell Maria afterwards, and then became confidential in herturn. She told him about her home in London, and Freddie's illness, andthe long journey he was going to begin to-morrow, and Monsieur appearedto take the very deepest interest in it all. By degrees Susan almostforgot poor Maria in the pleasure of this new and agreeableacquaintance. 

It was now between one and two o'clock, and Monsieur produced from underthe seat a long narrow black bag, and unlocked it In it Susan could nothelp seeing there were a roll of manuscript, one or two books, a pair ofslippers, and a flat white paper parcel. This last being opened, disclosed a hard round biscuit with seeds in it. 

"Voyons!" he said gaily, "let us dine, ma petite demoiselle. "

Now Susan was hungry, for it was past dinnertime, and she hadbreakfasted early. She knew that Maria had brought sandwiches and bunswith her, but in her hasty retreat she had taken the bag, and hadevidently forgotten all about it. She looked hesitatingly at thebiscuit which her companion had broken in halves, and was now holding onthe paper in front of her. It was the French gentleman's only biscuit--ought she to take it?

He guessed what was passing in her mind, and smiled kindly at her, nodding his head. 

"If you will eat with me I shall have better appetite, " he said. "It isperhaps a little dry--but after all, if one is hungry!--"

He shrugged his shoulders without finishing the sentence, and Susan tookthe half-biscuit, finding when she began it that she was even hungrierthan she thought. She was still hungry when it was all gone, and shefelt sure the French gentleman could easily have eaten more. She wouldhave liked to offer him some of her sandwiches or a bun, but there wasstill no sign of Maria. 

So hour after hour went by, until, late in the afternoon, her companiontold her they were getting near Ramsgate. 

"In one quarter of an hour we shall be at the pier. The journey willthen be over. The passage has been fine and tranquil. "

But poor Maria had not found it so, for it was not until the steamer wasstopping that she appeared on deck looking very white, and staggeringabout helplessly. It was fortunate, therefore, that Susan's new friendwas there, and that she herself could point out the luggage, for Mariahad now quite lost her head, and was of no use at all. 

The French gentleman, however, was most active and kind in theirservice, and did not leave them till they were safely in a cab withtheir property. Even then Maria had forgotten the address, and it wasSusan who said:

"It is Belmont Cottage, Chatham Road. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Susan's friend; "it is the house of Madame Enticknapp!We shall then perhaps meet again, ma petite amie. "

He put his feet quite close together and executed a graceful bow as thecab drove away, with his hat pressed against his chest. 

"What an old figure of fun!" was Maria's remark. 

"I like him, " said Susan. "He was very kind, and gave me half hisdinner. "

Maria said no more, for she was still in a very depressed state from theeffects of the journey, and her head was "all of a swim, " as sheexpressed it. So Susan was left to her own thoughts; and as the cabrattled along the road in front of the sea, she wondered anxiously whichof those tall houses with balconies was Mrs Enticknapp's. Butpresently they turned up a side street, lost sight of the seaaltogether, and drove through a town, where the shops were being lightedup, and came at last to a quiet road. The houses were not tall herelike those facing the sea, and were not built in terraces, but stoodeach alone with its own name on its gate, and its own little garden infront, bordered with tamarisk bushes. Susan felt sure that one of thosewould be called Belmont Cottage, and she was right, for the cab stoppedat last, and she really had arrived at Aunt Enticknapp's house! It wasjust like the others, except that it had an extra room built on at theside; the roof was low, and the windows had small diamond-shaped panesin them. Susan noticed, as they walked up the strip of garden to thedoor, that the borders were edged with cockle shells and whelk shells, which she thought very pretty but rather wasteful. She was, however, now beginning to feel extremely tired, and hungry with the sea-air, andthe two together produced a dizziness which made it difficult to thinkof anything else. She could not even feel frightened at the idea ofseeing Mrs Enticknapp and the Bahia girls, and they hardly seemed likereal people when she was actually in the room with them. She knew thatthere was a tall old lady with black curls and a cap, who spoke to herand kissed her, and two "grown-up" girls who came and knelt down infront of her and unpinned her shawl, chattering all the time. She alsoheard one of them say to the other: "Pretty?" and the answer, "No. Sheonly looks so after Sophia Jane. "

Later on, after some supper, she became sleepier still and more giddyand confused, so that she hardly knew that Maria was undressing her andputting her to bed. When there, however, she roused herselfsufficiently to say:

"Maria, I can hear noises in the street here just like there are athome. "

Maria's answer was the last sound she heard that night: "Bless yer 'art, Miss Susan, that ain't noises in the street. That's that botherin' seagoin' on like that. Worse luck!"

CHAPTER TWO. 

"SOPHIA JANE. "

Poor Maria was to go back to London the next morning, and she came intoSusan's room early to say good-bye, prepared for her journey in a verytearful state. It was not merely that she looked forward with anythingbut pleasure to another sea-voyage, but she had an affectionate nature, and, was fond of Susan, who on her side was sorry to think that sheshould not see Maria again. There were many parting messages to beconveyed to Mother, and Nurse, and Freddie. But at last it was reallytime to go, and Maria tore herself away with difficulty, hurriedlypressing into Susan's hand a new sixpence with a hole in it. She wasgone now, and had taken the last bit of home with her--Susan was for thefirst time in her life alone with strangers. As she dressed herself shelooked forward with alarm to meeting them all at breakfast, for shecould not even remember what they were like last night; they seemed allmixed up together like things in a dream. 

At last she gathered courage to leave the room, made her way very slowlydown-stairs, and opening the first door she came to on the ground floorpeeped timidly in. There was no one there, but the table was laid forbreakfast, and she went in and stood before the fire. It was a longroom, very low, with faded furniture, and a French window opening into asmall garden, where there were gooseberry bushes. At the end oppositethe fireplace there were two steps leading up to a door, and Susanwondered what was on the other side of it. On the mantelpiece, and in acorner cupboard and on a side-table, there were quantities of blue chinamugs and plates and dishes, which she thought were queer things to havefor ornaments; there were also some funny little figures carved in ivoryand wood--dear little stumpy elephants amongst them, which she likedvery much. The only picture in the room she presently noticed, hungover the fireplace in an oval frame. It was a portrait of a gentlemanwith powdered hair and a pig-tail; his eyes were as blue as the cups anddishes; he was clean shaven, and wore a blue coat and a very large whiteshirt frill. As Susan was looking up at him the door at the end of theroom opened, and a maid-servant came stepping down with a dish in herhand. Susan could now see that the door led straight into a kitchen, which she thought odd but rather interesting. Almost immediately AuntHannah, the two girls she had seen the night before, and a little girlof about her own age came in, and they all sat down to breakfast. Inspite of great shyness, Susan was able to take many furtive glances ather companions, and was relieved to find that at any rate Aunt Hannahwas not a bit like what Freddie had said. She was a tall, straight oldlady with a high cap, black curls, and a velvet band across herforehead. She did not look either witch-like or cross, and Susan feltthat she should not be afraid of her when she knew her better. She soonfound that the names of the two "grown-up" girls, as she called them inher mind, were Nanna and Margaretta; Nanna was fair and freckled, andMargaretta very swarthy, with a quantity of black curls. They chatteredand laughed incessantly, and tried to pet Susan and make her talk, butdid not succeed very well. She thought she did not like either of themmuch, and wished they would leave her alone, for she was interested inwatching the movements of the little girl and wondering who she was. She was a very thin little thing with high shoulders and skinny arms, dressed in a dingy-green plaid frock. Everything about her lookedsharp--her chin was sharp, her elbows were sharp; the glances she castat Susan over her bread and milk were sharp, and when she spoke hervoice sounded sharp also. Her features were not ugly, but herexpression was unchildlike and old. No one seemed to notice her much, but if Nanna or Margaretta said anything to her, it was not in thecoaxing tones they used to Susan, but had a reproving sound. 

After breakfast came prayers, in which Buskin the maid-servant joined, sitting a little apart at the end of the room with a severe look on herface. Then Aunt Hannah sat down in the arm-chair near the fire. "Andnow, my little Susan, " she said, "come here and talk to me. "

Susan stood submissively at her side, and answered all the questions putto her about Mother and Freddie and herself; but she did not do much ofthe talking, for she was shy, and everything seemed forlorn and strangeto her. What a comfort Maria's well-known face would have been! As itwas, the only familiar object was her doll Grace, which she had broughtdown-stairs, and now held tightly clutched under one arm. 

"And here, " said Mrs Enticknapp, when she had finished her inquiries;"here, you see is a nice little companion for you of your own age. Shewill learn lessons with you, and play with you, and I hope you will soonbe good friends. Sophia Jane, come here. "

Sophia Jane came and stood on the other side of Aunt Hannah, rolled herarms tightly up in her pinafore, and stared without winking at Susan andher doll. 

"To-day, " continued Mrs Enticknapp, "you shall not do any lessons, andwhile I am busy with Nanna and Margaretta you may amuse yourselvesquietly. After dinner you shall all go out for a walk. If you crumpleup your pinafore in that way, Sophia Jane, " she added, "you will haveanother bad mark. "

Sophia Jane unrolled her arms, and smoothed the pinafore down in frontwith her small bony hands; then she thrust out her pointed chin, andasked eagerly:

"May we go and play in the attic?"

Aunt Hannah hesitated. "If it's not too cold for Susan, you may. If itis, you must come and play at some quiet game in here. But understandthat you must make no noise while I am busy. "

"Come along, " said Sophia Jane. She caught hold of Susan's hand and ledher quickly out of the room and upstairs, casting rapid glances at herover her shoulder as they went. "Fond of dolls?" she inquired as theywere climbing the second flight of stairs. 

"I'm fond of _this_ one, " answered Susan, clasping Grace a littlecloser. 

"I had one once, " said Sophia Jane with a superior air; "but I haven'tgot her now. "

"Where is she?" asked Susan. 

"I killed her, " said Sophia Jane in a cold voice. 

"Oh!" said Susan stopping still a moment; "what did you do that for?"

"I hated her, " replied Sophia Jane shortly; "she had such starin' eyes. "

Susan gazed at the small murderess with awe. "How did you do it?" sheasked at length in a lowered tone. 

"Drove a nail right through her skull, " answered Sophia Jane, with aspiteful gleam in her blue eyes. "Here's the attic!"

They had reached the top storey after a last short flight of stairswithout any carpet. Here there were only two rooms, one for Buskin, themaid-servant, and the other unfurnished. Sophia Jane flung open thedoor of this last with an air of triumph. "We can do just as we likehere, " she said; "and down-stairs we couldn't talk above a whisper whilethey're doing lessons. "

Susan entered wondering. Everything seemed very odd at Aunt Hannah's;but somehow its strangeness made it rather interesting, it was such acontrast to home. There she had always played in well-furnished roomswith plenty of toys, and good fires in winter. The attic had no carpetand no fire, and the only things in it were one broken old chair, apoker, some rolls of dusty wall-paper, and some large black boxes. Itssingle attraction was its lone-ness; there was no one here who could say"don't, " and no need for lowered voices and quietness. This Susan soonfound to be a very delightful thing, for her life at home had beencarried on as it were on tip-toe, for fear of disturbing Freddie, andshe had always been taught that little girls should be never heard, andvery seldom seen. 

"If you like dolls, " continued Sophia Jane in an off-hand manner, "perhaps Nanna would lend you Black Dinah. She's more good-natured thanMargaretta. "

"I don't want to ask her, thank you, " said Susan. "Why does she have adoll? she's too old to play with it, isn't she?"

"Oh, gracious me, yes, of course, " said Sophia Jane with a shrug. "They're both quite grown-up. Nanna's seventeen, and Margaretta'seighteen. They only keep it as a cur'osity; all made of rags andcovered with black silk, and dressed like a native. The nuns made it inthe convent at Bahia. "

"What is Bahia?" asked Susan. 

"It's a place in America where they come from. They came over in aship. "

"What for?"

"Why, to learn English, of course, you silly thing!--and French too--andall sorts of things. There's a French master comes once a week to teachthem. And they learn lessons with Aunt too. They're doing them now. "

So this was the meaning of Bahia girls! Susan thought it over a littleand then asked:

"Did you come over in the ship too?"

Sophia Jane paused in the midst of a fantastic dance she was performing, with the poker brandished in one hand. 

"Of course not, " she said scornfully. "I'm English. "

"Who are you, then?" asked Susan. She felt that the question soundedrude, but it was a thing that she must know. 

"I'm an orphan, " said Sophia Jane cheerfully, and she took an agile leapon to one of the old bores. 

Susan gazed at her. She was not at all her idea of an orphan. Inpictures they always wore black and looked sad, and at home there was acrossing-sweeper who said he was an orphan, and seemed to think it ahard thing, and that he was much to be pitied. Then another thoughtstruck her: "If Aunt Hannah's your aunt as well as mine, I suppose we'recousins--ain't we?" she asked. 

"She isn't, " said Sophia Jane, swinging her arms round and preparing tojump off the box. "We all call her Aunt. She likes it better. See ifyou can jump as far as I can. "

In these and other amusements the morning passed quickly away in a verydifferent manner to anything Susan had known before. It was certainlybetter than playing alone, though the attic was bare and Sophia Jane'sspeech and behaviour were sometimes strange and startling. Susan almostforgot her home-sickness for a while, and found a companion of her ownage far more interesting than imaginary conversations with dolls. Afterthey were both tired of jumping, in which exercise Sophia Jane's spareform was by far the most successful, the headless body of the murdereddoll was dragged out from behind a box and examined. 

"She _used_ to be a pretty doll, " said its owner, looking enviously atGrace. 

"It's a pity you killed her, " said Susan, "because we could play at somany more things if we had a doll each. "

"Well, she's dead, " said Sophia Jane recklessly. "Where's her head?"asked Susan; "perhaps we might mend it. "

"Broken all up into tiny little bits, " said the other. 

Susan looked silently at the limp pink leather body stretched out on thefloor, then she exclaimed suddenly:

"I tell you what!"

"What?" said Sophia Jane. 

"We'll get a new head for her at the shop. I know you can do it, because Maria once bought one for one of mine. "

"That's all very well, " said Sophia Jane sharply; "but I haven't gotenough money. I've only got twopence-halfpenny left. "

"Oh, that wouldn't do, of course, " said Susan. "You couldn't get onelarge enough for the body under eighteenpence. When will you have somemore?"

"Not till Saturday week, because I've lost all the next in bad marks. "

"What do you have bad marks for?" asked Susan. 

"Lots of things: rumpling my pinafores, leaving the door open, standingon one side of my foot, making faces, not knowing my lessons--a farthingevery time. "

Susan's eyes opened wide. 

"Why don't you leave off doing them?" she asked. 

"Oh, I don't care to, " said Sophia Jane; pressing her lips tightlytogether. "I like to vex 'em sometimes. I'd rather do it than have themoney. "

Susan's round face grew more and more serious. She did not know what tomake of Sophia Jane, who seemed a very naughty little girl and certainlydid not deserve to be helped. She had thought of offering to give hersomething towards the doll's head, but now she did not quite know whetto do. 

"Well, " she said patronisingly, "if you want to buy the new head you'llhave to be good, you know; and then you'll save your money. "

"Fiddle-di-dee!" was Sophia Jane's rude reply, tauntingly. This mighthave led to a quarrel, for Susan, much shocked, was just preparing areproachful speech, but fortunately the voice of Nanna was heard callingthem down to dinner. During this both the little girls were silent andsubdued, and were seldom spoken to, except that Sophia Jane wasrepeatedly corrected. It was wonderful how often she was told not tofidget, not to eat so fast, not to shrug her shoulders, not to makefaces. As surely as anyone looked in her direction there was somethingwrong. It did not seem to make much impression on her, although herthin little face looked very sullen; and once when Nanna called Susan"darling" a dark frown gathered on her brow. 

"Unless you can look more pleasant and aimiable, Sophia Jane, " said AuntHannah, observing this, "you will be left at home this afternoon. "

All this strengthened Susan's opinion that Sophia Jane was a verynaughty little girl. If it were not so they would not surely speak toher so sharply and reprove her so often. She hoped, nevertheless, thatthis last threat would not be carried out, for however naughty she mightbe she was a companion with whom conversation was possible, and a walkalone with Nanna and Margaretta would be dull. She was relieved, therefore, at three o'clock to find that Sophia Jane was ready to gotoo, dressed in a very unbecoming poke bonnet and black cape. Theymight be out one hour and a half, Aunt Hannah said, but there was alittle delay at starting because each of the elder girls wished to go ina different direction. Nanna preferred the town, and Margaretta to walkon the parade, and it was some minutes before it was settled that theyshould go one way and return the other, dividing the time equally. 

"Which way do you like best?" inquired Susan as she and Sophia Janefollowed closely behind their companions. 

"Neither of 'em, " answered she. "I like to go on the beach and pick upthings, but they won't ever do that except in summer when they bathe. "

Neither of the little girls cared much about the walk in the town; forthough some of the shops looked interesting, these were not the onesnear which Nanna and Margaretta lingered. They only stopped and lookedin at the windows of bonnet shops or jewellers' shops, and these werenot attractive to Sophia Jane or Susan. But after a while they turneddown a street where there were no shops at all, and at the end of itthey came on to the parade and saw the sea. It was a wonderful sight toSusan, for she had been too tired to notice it much the day she hadarrived, and now it burst upon her suddenly like something new. It wasso beautiful and there was so much of it that it made her quite gasp forbreath; the sun shining on it made a great glittering high-roadstretching away in the distance till it joined the sky and was lostthere; the waves came rolling, rolling, one after the other, up to theshore, curled over, and dashed themselves down so hard that they werebroken up into hissing silver foam and tossed their spray high in theair. Everything seemed to be silver and gold and diamonds at thesea-side, it all sparkled, and twinkled, and shone so much. Susan'seyes were dazzled and she put up her hand to shield them, for she wasused to the shadow and gloom of the London streets. 

"Oh, " she cried, "how I should like to go down on the sands!"

"Perhaps they'll let us go some day, " said Sophia Jane. "It's best togo on the rocks when the sea's out. "

"Out!" said Susan in astonishment. "Does it ever go quite away?"

Sophia Jane was so amused at this innocent question that she was unableto answer for some moments. She giggled so much and so loud thatMargaretta turned round and said angrily:

"Vulgar child! Be quiet and walk properly. "

Susan did not like to be laughed at. She walked along in silence, withhot cheeks, and determined that she would ask no more questions. 

Sophia Jane continued to chuckle softly to herself for a little whileand then said:

"There's a low tide and a high tide, of course. When it's low it's everso far out, and when it's high it's ever so far in. "

"Oh yes, I know, I remember now; I've learned that, " said Susan hastily, for she did not wish Sophia Jane to think her quite ignorant. "It hassomething to do with the moon. "

"The moon!" exclaimed Sophia Jane with utter disdain in her voice, "you're muddling things up. "

"It has, " repeated Susan positively, "it's in the geography book. "

"I don't believe it, " said Sophia Jane. 

"I wonder, " said Susan half to herself, with her eyes fixed on the sea, "what prevents it from running right over all the land. "

Sophia Jane shrugged her shoulders. 

"That is a thing _no one_ understands, " she said, "so it's no use tobother about it. " Then with a sudden sharp glance to the left, "Theregoes Monsieur La Roche. "

Susan looked round and saw a tall thin figure just hurrying round acorner, but she had time to recognise it before it disappeared; it wasthe kind French gentleman. 

"He's the French master, " continued Sophia Jane; "such a silly oldthing. We all laugh at him. "

"Why?" asked Susan. 

"Oh, we can't help it. He makes such funny bows and he smiles so, andsays his words wrong. You'll laugh at him too. "

Susan was silent. Somehow after this description she did not feelinclined to tell Sophia Jane of her meeting with Monsieur La Roche onthe steamboat, and his kindness to her. 

"I should think he did not like to be laughed at, " she said at last. 

"Oh, what does it matter, " said Sophia Jane with much contempt, "he'sonly a poor eggsile. "

"What does `eggsile' mean?" asked Susan. 

Sophia Jane hesitated; she did not know, but she would not confessignorance. 

"It means any person who isn't English, " she said. 

For the rest of the walk Susan thought a good deal about the Frenchmaster. He had been kind to her when she needed a friend, and she hadfelt grateful to him, and hoped she should see him again; she hadconsidered him a very pleasant gentleman. But now that Sophia Jane hadspoken so slightingly of him, and called him a "silly old thing, " andturned him into a sort of joke, she began to feel differently. She wasnow rather sorry that she knew him, for she was afraid Sophia Jane wouldlaugh at her too, and she disliked that more than anything in the world. It seemed easier now to join her in finding something ridiculous in the"eggsile" as she called him, than to remember his kindness andgood-nature to herself and Maria. She hoped, therefore, that when hecame to Belmont Cottage to give his lesson that he would have forgottenher, and would say nothing of the meeting on the steamboat. This firstday at Ramsgate had been full of so many strange sights and new peoplethat Susan had had no time to be home-sick, but when evening came shesuddenly felt a great longing to see some one she knew--Mother or Nurseor Freddie, or even Maria. It seemed an immense while since she hadparted from them all; and when she remembered that it was really onlyone day and one night, and how many days and nights must pass before shesaw them again, she could hardly bear it without crying. They were allvery kind to her here, but they were all strange. She did not care forNanna's and Margaretta's frequent kisses and endearing names, it wasimpossible to be fond of them in a minute; as for Sophia Jane, thoughshe was amusing to play with, there was no comfort at all in her. Itwas Aunt Hannah at length who saw her sitting dolefully in a corner, andtried to give her consolation She called her to come and sit near her, and talked so kindly that Susan forgot her troubles and becameinterested. Aunt Hannah told her shout Algiers, the place where Freddiewas going, and how he would get there in a ship, and what he would seeand do; and then, pointing to the funny little figures and china things, she said that they had been brought over the sea from countries a longway off. 

When Susan ventured to ask who brought them, her aunt showed her theportrait of the gentleman with the pig-tail hanging over themantle-piece. 

"It was your great-grandfather who brought them, " she said, "CaptainJohn Enticknapp. He made many long voyages to China and Japan, and theWest Indies. Once he found out some islands where no one had ever beenbefore, and they are called after his name. "

Susan thought this very wonderful and she gazed up at her aunt with suchinterest in her eyes that the old lady was pleased, and stroked her hairkindly. 

"Some day, if you are a good child, " she said, "and try to make yourselfhappy here, I will tell you a story about Captain Enticknapp. A veryinteresting one, and quite true. "

"May Sophia Jane hear it too?" asked Susan. 

Aunt Hannah's manner changed. 

"When Sophia Jane tries to please me, and correct her faults, " she said, "I shall be willing to give her pleasure, but not till then. "

Susan felt more and more certain that Sophia Jane was a very naughtylittle girl. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

MONSIEUR LA ROCHE. 

And this feeling grew stronger as the days went on, for Susan found thatSophia Jane was always in disgrace about something; she was soconstantly having bad marks and losing farthings, that there seemed nochance at all that she would ever save enough money to buy a new headfor the doll. This was partly her own fault, and partly because thewhole household seemed to take for granted that she would behave badlyand never do right; indeed there were days when, after she had beenscolded and punished very often, a spirit of obstinacy entered her smallframe, and her whole being was bent upon ill-behaviour and mischief. 

Susan looked on in dismay, and counted up the farthings as one after theother they were recklessly forfeited by some fresh piece of naughtiness. 

"You've lost two week's money, " she whispered in Sophia Jane's ear, hoping to check her; but its only result was to urge her to wilder acts, and the next minute she was detected in making a grimace at Margaretta, whom she specially disliked. Sophia Jane was certainly not a pleasantchild, and it was not surprising that no one loved her. 

"Look at Susan, " they said to her constantly, "how well Susan behaves!how upright Susan sits! how perfectly Susan says her lessons! how goodSusan is!"--but Sophia Jane took no heed, it did not improve her a bit, but if possible made her worse to have this shining example held up forher to copy. As to Susan, she now heard her own praises so often thatshe began to think not only that Sophia Jane was very bad, but that sheherself must be uncommonly good. At home it had always been taken as amatter of course that she would be quiet, obedient, and useful, andlearn her lessons properly; it had never been considered anythingremarkable. Here, however, she was continually called "clever, " and"good, " and "dear little thing, " when she did the most common things, sothat she soon began to hold her head higher and to look down upon SophiaJane with a very condescending air. 

Meanwhile there was one thing she dreaded, and that was Monsieur LaRoche's French lesson in which she was to join; she had now been a weekat Ramsgate, and the day was approaching. Whenever he was mentionedMargaretta had always some giggling joke to make, and Sophia Jane echoedthem. They imitated the way in which he spoke English, and the way inwhich he bowed when he came into the room, and the way in which hesmiled and rubbed his hands; everything he did appeared to be laughable, and though Susan had not found it so on the steamboat, she now began tothink that they must be right. Even Maria, she remembered, had calledhim "a figure of fun. " How she hoped that he would not say anythingabout that journey! Her cheeks grew quite hot when she thought of howshe had told him her name, and where she lived, and all sorts ofconfidential things. They would all laugh at her--it would be dreadful. Now, to laugh at Monsieur might be pleasant, but to be laughed atherself was, Susan felt, a very different matter. 

So when the day came, and they were all sitting round the table withtheir books ready for the class, she bent her head down as the Frenchmaster entered the room, in the faint hope that he would not notice her. But that was of no use. Monsieur had hardly made his bow and taken hisseat before Aunt Hannah looked round from her arm-chair at the fireside. 

"You have a new pupil to-day, Monsieur. My little niece, Miss SusanIngram. "

His attention thus directed, Monsieur leaned forward, and a kindly smileof recognition brightened his face as he saw Susan. 

"Ah! c'est vrai, " he said; "it is my leetle friend, Mees Susanne. Weknow ourselves already; is it not so?"

The dreaded moment had come, and it was even more uncomfortable than shehad expected. Everyone was looking at her, and waiting for her toanswer, and she saw a mischievous glitter in Sophia Jane's eyes whichwere fixed on her like two blue beads. 

Aunt Hannah said, "Indeed, how is that?" and Monsieur still leanttowards her, stroking his short beard and wrinkling up his face with apleased smile. But Susan said nothing. She hung down her head, hercheeks crimsoned, and she looked as guilty and ashamed as though she haddone something wrong; a very different little girl to the one who hadchatted with Monsieur on board the steamboat and shared his biscuit. She was shy, he thought, as the English miss very often was; and, thoughhe did not understand the complaint, he was far too good-natured tolengthen her discomfort. "Nevare mind, " he said kindly, "we shall talktogether later. " Turning to Aunt Hannah he explained as well as hecould in English how he and Susan had met on the journey, his pupilslistening open-mouthed meanwhile and giggling at his broken attempts tomake his meaning clear. Then to Susan's relief the lesson began, andshe was no longer the object of everyone's attention; but she wassurprised to find how very little trouble they took to learn anything. Instead of this they seemed to try which could remember least andpronounce the words worst. When Nanna and Margaretta read aloud theymade the same mistakes a dozen times in one page, pitched their voicesin a high sing-song drawl, and stopped now and then to laugh in asmothered manner at some hidden joke. A little worried frown gatheredon their patient master's brow as this went on, but he never lost histemper or failed to make his corrections with courtesy. Susan at first, from force of habit, bent her attention on the page of French dialoguewhich she and Sophia Jane had to learn; but too soon the bad exampleround her had its effect. She began to return Sophia Jane's nudges, tolisten to her whispers, to look out of the window opposite, and to makeno sort of effort to learn her lesson. True, when the time came to sayit, she was a little ashamed of not knowing a word correctly, and wassorry when Monsieur returned the book with a sad shake of the head. Butthis feeling did not last; none of the others cared to please him, sowhy should she? He was only Monsieur La Roche, the French master, the"poor eggsile, " as Sophia Jane had called him. It did not matter. Encouraged by her companions Susan soon became as rude, as careless, andas troublesome as they were. If Monsieur had had any hope that shewould prove a better pupil than the rest he was sadly mistaken. "Soyezsage, Mademoiselle, " he said to her pleadingly, but it was of no use. Susan had forgotten for the time how to behave wisely. And it was thesame on every occasion: the French lesson was always a scene ofimpertinence and ill-behaviour. There were moments when Susan, seeingMonsieur look unusually tired and worn, had twinges of conscience andalmost resolved to be good. But she had been naughty so long now thatit was too late to turn back; they would laugh at her, and it would bequite impossible to be good all alone. Sophia Jane had only to rub herhands like Monsieur, and say in broken English: "Ah! it is my leetlefriend, Miss Susanne, " to make Susan ashamed and give up all idea ofchanging her conduct. 

Now a complaint to Aunt Hannah would have altered all this at once; but, unfortunately, Monsieur was far too good-natured to make one. Indeed, as she always sat in the room during the French class, he may havethought that she saw nothing wrong, and that these manners were usual inEngland. The fact was, however, that Aunt Hannah knew very littleFrench, and concluded that as the girls were never troublesome at theirlessons with her it was the same thing with Monsieur. If she chanced tohear the sound of a titter, it was at once checked when she glancedround at the offender, and she would have been surprised, indeed, if shehad known of the sufferings the French master endured. 

When she inquired about the progress made, his reply was always thesame: "Assez bien, " which she considered quite satisfactory. 

Time went on. Monsieur had given four lessons, Susan had written fourletters to Mother and had been four times to chapel with Aunt Hannah. She had, therefore, now been four whole weeks at Ramsgate, and the daysseemed to go by quickly, instead of creeping along as they did at first. And this was in a great measure owing to the companionship of SophiaJane, for, though Aunt Hannah was kind and Nanna and Margarettacaressing, Susan's life would have been dull without someone to inventgames with her and play in the attic; and, although she thought herselffar superior to Sophia Jane, she knew this very well. When she wrote toher mother she was able to say that she liked being at the sea-side verymuch, but she always added: "We have not been on the sands yet. " Nowthis was a thing she longed to do, for Sophia Jane had told her of somany delightful things to do and find there, that it seemed the mostdesirable place on earth; besides, she wanted very much to begin acollection of shells and sea-weed for Freddie. There was a card hangingin her bed-room, on which pink and green sea-weeds were arranged in asort of bouquet, with some verses written underneath, each ending withthe line: "Call us not weeds, we are flowers of the sea. " Susan thoughtthat very beautiful, and determined to try and make one just like it forMother. But the right day never seemed to come for the sands; it wasalways too cold, or too windy, or Nanna and Margaretta wanted to gosomewhere else. Almost in despair, Susan made her usual request to AuntHannah one morning: "May we go on the sands?" It was a Saturday, awhole holiday, and the day was sunny and mild. 

"On the sands, my dear?" said her Aunt. "I am too busy to go, but Idaresay the girls will take you. "

But as usual, Nanna and Margaretta had widely different plans forspending their Saturday, and neither of them wished to go on the sands. Nanna had a hat to trim, and Margaretta was to visit some friends. AuntHannah saw Susan's disappointment. 

"Well, " she said, "we will manage it in this way. I will spare Buskinto go with you and Sophia Jane as far as the little cove near the pier;there she shall leave you to play for an hour and then fetch you again. You must both promise me, however, not to stray further away, not to getwet, not to lose sight of the pier, and to come back with Buskindirectly you see her. Can I trust you?"

They both promised eagerly, much excited at the thought of such anexpedition, and above all at the idea of being left alone for a wholehour. During the morning they watched the weather anxiously and mademany plans. 

"I shall take Grace, " said Susan, "and my little basket. What shall_you_ take?"

Poor Sophia Jane had not many possessions to choose from. 

"I shall take my skipping-rope, " she said. 

Thus provided, they set forth at three o'clock with the grave Buskin inattendance. Susan jumped, and laughed, and chattered with pleasure, shewas so glad to think that she was going on the sands at last, and SophiaJane, though she never showed high spirits in the same manner, was in acheerful and agreeable mood. 

Soon they came to the little cove. The sea was as she had expressed it, very far out indeed, and had left the great black rocks wet and shining, all ready to be played on. Between them there were deep quiet pools, soclear that you could see down to the very bottom, and watch all sorts ofcunning live things, which darted, or or lay motionless in them;shrimps, tiny pale crabs, pink star-fishes, and strange horny shellsclinging so tightly to the rock that no small fingers could stir them. Some of the rocks were bare, and others covered with masses of darksea-weed which made a popping noise when it was trodden on, like thesound of little pistols. Here and there were spaces of sand, so whiteand firm that it made you long to draw pictures on it, or at least towrite your name there. Could there, altogether, be a better playgroundthan this on a sunny day? Sophia Jane had been quite right; it was alovely place!

It offered so many attractions, and was so new to Susan, that she didnot know where to begin first, but stood still uttering exclamations ofdelight and wonder. Sophia Jane, however, had made the best of her timealready. As soon as Buskin disappeared, she at once removed her shoesand stockings, and now stood bare-legged in the middle of a deepish poolpoking out crabs from under a ledge of rock. 

"You'd better begin to collect things, " she called out to Susan, "oryou'll waste all your time. "

Susan felt that this was true, but the difficulty now was what to putinto the basket, and what to leave out; there were so many lovely thingsshe wanted to keep, and yet it would not hold them all She wandered fromrock to rock finding something fresh and curious every minute, andcalling out to Sophia Jane to ask what it was. Sometimes she knew, sometimes she did not, but she always gave some sort of name to it whichsatisfied her companion. So the time went by, and Susan's little baskethad been full and empty over and over again, but she had at last firmlydetermined to keep the treasures that were now in it, and not to betempted to change them for anything new; she sat down on a comfortableflat rock, and spread them all out beside her to examine them. At ashort distance was the witch-like form of Sophia Jane, bent nearlydouble in her efforts to peer into the dwelling-place of somesea-creature amongst the rocky crevices; she was very successful inthese sharp-eyed inquiries, a match even for the little scurrying crabs, whose only chance of escape was to bury themselves hurriedly deep in thewet sand. All at once she gave a short shriek of surprise and rapturewhich was evidently wrung from her by some startling discovery. Susanhastened to join her, tumbling over the slippery rocks, and leaving allher possessions behind. It was indeed a very strange and a verybeautiful thing that Sophia had found sticking on to the ledge of arock. Something like a jelly, something like a flower, with crimsonpetals which stirred faintly about as if moved by the wind. 

"Oh, _what_ is it?" said Susan in great excitement, "is it a sea-weed?"

"Of _course_ not, " answered Sophia Jane. "I've found 'em before, often. It's a `Seen Enemy. '"

"I've heard of a _flower_ with a name something like that, " said Susan. 

"That's a `Wooden Enemy, '" replied Sophia Jane with scorn; "this isn't aplant, it's an animal. "

"Is it alive, then?" asked Susan. 

"I should just think it is! It can eat like anything. "

"What does it eat?"

"Little tiny crabs and shrimps. Now, I'm going to drop a pebble intoit, and you'll see it will think it's something to eat, and shut itsmouth. Look!"

Susan thought it rather cruel to deceive the Enemy in this manner, butshe could not help watching curiously to see what it would do, as SophiaJane popped a little stone into the midst of its soft waving petals. Ithappened just as she had said. The Enemy tucked them all in, andsuddenly became nothing but a mould of smooth red jelly. 

The two little girls bent over this new discovery for some time with thekeenest interest, but by and by there arose a dispute, for one wished totear it from its resting-place and carry it home, and the other to leaveit where it was. Sophia Jane declared that it was her Enemy because shehad found it, and she should do as she liked, and Susan begged her withtears not to disturb it. When these were of no use she became angry, and called Sophia cruel and naughty; but for that Sophia Jane did notcare one whit. She only repeated doggedly, "I shall take it home, andkeep it in a basin of salt water. "

"Then it will die, " said Susan hotly, "and you're very cruel andwicked. "

Sophia Jane did not answer. She was gazing fixedly over Susan'sshoulder at the spot where the basket and collection had been left. 

"Ha! ha!" she suddenly exclaimed triumphantly, pointing to it. 

Susan looked quickly round. Alas! while her back was turned thedeceitful sea had crawled quietly up and taken possession of hertreasures. The flat rock was covered by the waves, and the basket wasbobbing lightly up and down on the water. 

With a cry of vexation she scrambled over the rocks towards it; at leastshe would try and save the basket, though the other things were lost; itwas one Mother had given her, and she was very fond of it. But no, shecould not reach it. Sometimes the waves brought it back almost to herfeet, but before she could seize it, it sailed merrily away further thanever. After many vain efforts she stood looking hopelessly at it muchcast down and disappointed. Not only had she lost her collection, thelabours of nearly an hour, but now even if she made another she hadnothing to carry it home in. Sophia Jane, who had watched her failureswith chuckles of delight, now came and stood by her with herskipping-rope in her hand. 

"I can get it, " she said. 

Susan looked round in surprise; this was kind of Sophia Jane after shehad said so many cross things to her. 

"If I get it, " she went on, tying a sort of noose at the end of therope, "will you give it me for my own?"

Susan hesitated. She did not want to lose the basket, and yet it wouldbe almost the same thing to give it to Sophia Jane. Meanwhile it cameagain nearly within reach of her outstretched fingers, just escapedthem, and was borne away by the waves. Sophia Jane stood waiting heranswer. 

"You may have it, " said Susan, for she could not bear to see the basketlost for ever. 

Then Sophia Jane watched her opportunity, cast the rope over it just atthe right instant, caught it in the noose, and drew it safely on to therock. 

"Now it's mine!" she cried exultingly, holding up her dripping prize, "and I shall take the enemy home in it. "

What an unpleasant little girl Sophia Jane was! Susan felt at thatmoment that she almost hated her; she was selfish, and mean, and crueland unkind, and deserved all the scoldings she had from everyone. Shecould not bear to be near her just now; she would go as far from her asshe possibly could. Leaving her, therefore, crouched on the rock nearher prey, Susan turned her back upon her and started off by herself inanother direction, and in doing this she also turned her back upon thepier. She was so injured in her mind, however, and so occupied withhard thoughts about Sophia Jane, that she could not notice this oranything else for some time. On she went, jumping from rock to rockwith Grace tucked under one arm, pausing now and then to look at somestrange and beautiful thing which lay in her path; how she wished forher basket, that she might pick some of them up! But at least she couldtake a few in her pocket, though it was inconveniently small. Soon itwas heavy with damp stones, sea-weed, and shells, then she lifted theskirt of her frock in front and filled that, and all this while she wasgoing further from Sophia Jane, further from the pier, further from thelittle cove, where they had promised to wait for Buskin. She never oncelooked back, however, for there were always lovely things still furtherin the distance that she must get. When she was close to these lovelythings they sometimes turned out to be quite common and not worthpicking up; but there was sure to be something more tempting just alittle way beyond. So she went on and on, and would have gone muchfurther but her progress was suddenly checked in a very disagreeablemanner; for, springing too heedlessly on to a slippery rock, andoverbalanced by her burden, she fell straightway into a large shallowpool of water. It was such a sudden shock that all her treasures werescattered far and wide, and poor Grace was thrown out of her arms tosome distance where she lay flat on her face. Confused and startled, Susan's first thought was that she should be drowned, and she cried outfor help; but, having winked the water out of her eyes, she at once sawthat it was quite a shallow pool, scrambled quickly out and stood on therock. Then she looked down at herself with dismay; for, though therewas not enough water to drown her, it had wetted her from top to toe, and she was a forlorn object indeed--her clothes hung to her dripping, her straw-hat floated in the pool, and she had cut her chin in fallingagainst a sharp stone. The only thing to be done now was to get back toSophia Jane as fast as possible, and she also remembered for the firsttime that Buskin must be waiting; so, shivering a good deal and feelingvery wretched, she fished out her hat, picked up Grace who was the onlydry piece of property she now possessed, and prepared to return. Butlo! when she looked round, the whole place seemed to have changed!There was no Sophia Jane to be seen, no pier, nothing but high whitecliffs, and rocks, and sea. Sophia Jane must be hiding, and Susan felttoo miserable now to stand on her dignity, so she called her as loud asshe could, several times. 

No answer. No one to be seen. And where was the pier? How could thathave gone away? Confused, and still giddy with her tumble, Susan hardlyknew what she was doing, but her one idea was that she must find thepier, and if it was not in this direction it must be in the other. Soshe turned again, and went on _the wrong way_. Now, it was only hiddenfrom her by the projecting cliffs which formed the little bay into whichshe had wandered, and at that very minute Buskin and Sophia Jane werenot really far away. But they could not see or hear her, and now shewas going further from them as quickly as she could. 

Not very quickly, because it was so difficult to get on, with her wetclothes clinging so heavily; even her boots were full of water and madequeer gurgling noises at every step, and her hair hung limp and draggledover her shoulders. Susan had never been so uncomfortable. The cut onher chin hurt a good deal too, for the salt water got into it and madeit smart; when she drew her handkerchief out of her pocket, it was onlya little damp rag, and no use at all; everything was salt watery exceptGrace, who was dry and clean, and had only suffered a dinge on her noseby her fall. Susan envied her neat appearance; she was a dignifiedlittle girl, and could not bear to look odd or ridiculous, so at firstshe hoped she should meet no one before she got to Buskin and SophiaJane. The latter would certainly laugh at her; but, after all, theaccident had been her fault, for if she had not been so ill-behavedabout the Enemy and the basket, it would not have happened. 

Stumbling on, with these things in her mind, she expected every momentto see the pier, but there were still only rocks and cliffs and sea. The waves came rolling in, each one a tiny bit further than the last, and one splashed suddenly so near her, that it covered her with spray. She started back to avoid it; but "after all, " she thought the nextminute, "it couldn't make me wetter than I am. " On, on, on, and nowevery step began to be more and more painful, for the sand was so wetthat she had to walk on the rough stony beach close to the foot of thecliffs. Poor Susan! she felt very tired and desolate; her feet ached, and her arms ached, and her head ached, she would have been thankful tomeet people now, even though they might laugh at her. Worst of all, thethought suddenly darted into her mind that she had lost the way; shestood still and looked vainly round for some familiar object, somethingto guide her--there was nothing. As far as she could see, it was allthe same--tall white cliffs, yellow sand, and tossing waves. The onlyliving creature besides herself was a beautiful grey and white bird withlong wings which flew skimming about over the water, and sometimesdipped down into it. As Susan watched it, she remembered where she hadseen birds of that kind before, and who had told her that they werecalled sea-gulls; the steamboat, and Monsieur La Roche's kind voice cameback to her. How good he had been, and how badly she had repaid himsince; she had indeed been ungrateful and naughty to laugh at him. Howthankful she would be to see him now, and to hear him say, "My leetlefriend, Mees Susanne!" But there was no chance of that; Monsieur hadhelped her once in trouble, but he could not come down from the skies toher assistance, and there was no one in sight on land or sea. Suddenlyshe felt too tired and aching and miserable to struggle on any further, and sinking down on the hard beach like a little damp heap of clothes, she hugged Grace up to her breast and hid her face against her. She satin this way for some minutes, hearing nothing but the breaking of thewaves on the shore and the rattle of the pebbles, when suddenly anothernoise caught her ear--the regular tramp, tramp of a footstep crushingdown on the hard loose stones. She looked up; was it a dream? Notthree yards from her was the tall figure of the man she had beenthinking of--the French master! Yes, it really was he! There were histhreadbare greenish coat and his tightly-strapped trousers, there washis kind face with its high cheek-bones and short-pointed beard. Had heindeed come down from the skies? There seemed no other way, for Susandid not know till afterwards that there were some steps cut zigzag downthe cliff just behind her. But wherever he had come from he wasundoubtedly there, real flesh and blood, and she was no longer alonewith the dreadful roaring sea. It was such a joyful relief that it gaveher new strength; she forgot her bedraggled and woebegone state, andstarting up began to try and explain how she had lost herself. Greatlyto her own surprise, however, something suddenly choked in her throat, and she was obliged to burst into tears in the middle of her story. 

Monsieur looked at the little sobbing figure with much compassion in hisface and some dismay, then he touched her frock gently:

"Ciel! how you are wet!" he exclaimed; "and cold too, without doubt, mypoor leetle friend. " He fingered the top button of his coat doubtfully, as though wishing to take it off and wrap her in it; but although it wasa great-coat there was no other underneath it, and he changed his mindwith a little shake of the head. 

"Come, then, " he said, taking her small cold hand in his, "we will gohome together. You are now quite safe, and soon we shall be there. Donot then cry any more. "

Susan did her best to stop her tears, and limped along the beach by hisside, clinging tightly on to his hand; but she was tired and worn out, and her wet boots were so stiff and pressed so painfully upon her feet, that at last she stumbled and nearly fell. Monsieur looked down at herwith concern. 

"Ah!" he said, "the road is rough, and the feet are very small. Voyons!An idea comes to me! Instead of going to Madame your aunt, which is sofar, we will go to the house of my sister; it is scarcely ten minutesfrom here. There I leave you, and go to assure Madame of your safety. "

If Susan had not been so worn out with fatigue she would have objectedstrongly to this plan of Monsieur's, for his sister was a perfectstranger to her, and she would much rather have gone home to AuntHannah. But, feeling no strength or spirit left to resist anything, shenodded her head silently and suffered him to lift her gently in his armsand carry her up the steps cut in the cliff. How odd it all was!Confused thoughts passed quickly through her mind as she clung fast tothe collar of the greenish coat. How kind Monsieur was! how many stepsthere were, and how very steep! how heavy she was for him to carry, andhow he panted as he toiled slowly up! finally, how her dripping clothespressed against his neatly-brushed garments and made discoloured patcheson them. Would the steps never end? But at last, to her great relief, they were at the top, and Monsieur was once more striding along on levelground, uttering from time to time little sentences in broken Englishfor her encouragement and comfort. They were now in a part of Ramsgatethat she did not know at all, quite out of the town, and away from allthe tall terraces that faced the sea. The houses were mean and poor, and the streets narrow; now and then came a dingy shop, and in almostevery window there was a card with "Apartments" on it. At one of theseMonsieur stopped and rang the bell. The door was opened at once, as ifsomeone had been waiting to do so, and a brown-faced, black-eyed ladyappeared, who talked very fast in French, and held up her hands at thesight of Monsieur's damp burden. He answered in the same language, calling the lady Delphine, who, chattering all the time, led themdown-stairs to a room where there was a good fire burning. Susanwondered to herself why Monsieur and his sister sat in the kitchen, forshe saw pots and pans and dishes, all very bright and clean, at one endof the room. The floor was covered with oil-cloth; but by the fire, onwhich a saucepan hissed and bubbled gently, was spread a bright crimsonrug, which made a little spot of comfort. On it there stood a smalltable neatly laid with preparations for a meal, and a pair oflarge-sized carpet slippers, carefully tilted so that they might catchthe full warmth of the blaze. Sharing this place of honour a fluffygrey cat sat gravely blinking, with its tail curled round its toes. Opposite the table were a rocking-chair and a work-basket, and Susannoticed that someone had been darning a large brown sock. 

While she looked at these things from the arm-chair where Monsieur hadplaced her on his entrance, she also watched the eager face of Delphinewho had not ceased to exclaim, to ask questions, to clasp her hands, andotherwise to express great interest and surprise. But it was all inFrench, as were also Monsieur's patient replies and explanations. Susancould not understand what they said, but she could make out a good dealby Delphine's signs and gestures. It was easy to see that she wished topersuade her brother not to go out again, for when he took up his hatshe tried to take it away, and pointed to the bubbling saucepan and warmslippers. Monsieur, however, cast a gently regretful glance at them, shook his head, and presently succeeded in freeing himself from hereager grasp; then, when his steps had ceased to sound upon the stairs, she shrugged her shoulders and said half aloud:

"Certainly it is my brother Adolphe, who has the temper of an angel, andthe obstinacy of a pig!"

CHAPTER FOUR. 

"HALF-A-CROWN. "

Mademoiselle now turned her attention to her guest with manyexclamations of pity and endearment. She took off Susan's wet frock, boots, and stockings, rubbed her cold feet and hands, and placed her, wrapped in a large shawl in the rocking-chair close to the fire. Nextshe poured something out of the saucepan into a little white basin andknelt beside her, saying coaxingly:

"Take this, cherie, it will do you good. "

It was Monsieur's soup Susan knew, prepared for his supper, and thesaucepan was so small that there could not be much left; it was as badas taking half his biscuit, and after having been so ungrateful to him, she felt she could not do it. 

"No, thank you, " she said faintly, turning her head away from Delphine'ssharp black eyes and the steaming basin. 

But Mademoiselle was a person of authority, and would not have itdisputed. 

"Mais oui, mais oui, " she said impatiently, taking some of the broth inthe spoon. "Take it at once, mon enfant, it will do you good. "

She looked so determined that Susan, much against her own will, submissively took the spoon and drank the soup. It tasted poor andthin, like hot water with something bitter in it; but she finished itall, and Mademoiselle received the empty basin with a nod ofsatisfaction. Then she busied herself in examining the condition ofSusan's wet clothes, and presently hung them all to dry at a carefuldistance from the hearth. Susan herself, meanwhile, leaning lazily backin the rocking-chair, began to feel warm and comfortable again; howdelicious it was after being so cold and wet and frightened! What wouldshe have done without Monsieur's help? His fire had warmed her, hisbroth had fed her, his house had sheltered her, and now he had gone outagain into the cold night on her service. And yet, she had always beenrude and naughty to him. What would Delphine say, Susan wondered, ifshe knew of it? She did not look as though she had the "temper of anangel" like her brother. Her black eyes had quick sparkles in them, quite unlike his, which were grey and quiet, shining always with agentle light. Mademoiselle Delphine looked quite capable of beingangry. Susan felt half afraid of her; and yet, it was pleasant to watchher neat movements as she darted swiftly about the room preparinganother dish for Adolphe's supper, and Susan kept her eyes fixed on her. At last, her arrangements over, she drew a chair near Susan, and tookup her darning; as she did so there was a sudden pattering of rain-dropsagainst the window-pane. 

"Ah!" she exclaimed, holding up the brown sock, "that poor Adolphe! Howhe will be wet!"

This made Susan feel still more guilty, but she could not think ofanything to say, and Delphine, who seemed to like talking better thansilence, soon began again. 

"Always rain, always clouds and mist, and shadow. The sun does notshine here as in our beautiful, bright Paris?"

"Doesn't it ever rain in Paris?" asked Susan. 

"Mais certainement, at moments, " replied Mademoiselle; "enough to give acharming freshness to the air. "

"Why did you come away?" asked Susan, gathering courage. 

Delphine dropped the brown sock into her lap, and raised her eyes to theceiling. 

"Mon enfant, " she said slowly, "we are exiles! Exiles of poverty. "

Susan remembered that Sophia Jane had called Monsieur "a poor eggsile;"but this way of putting it sounded much better, and she repeated it toherself that she might be able to tell her when she went home. 

Meanwhile Mademoiselle bent her eyes on her darning again, andproceeded:

"We were never rich, you see, in Paris, but we had enough to live in apretty little appartement, very different from this. My brother Adolphewrote articles for a paper of celebrity on political affairs; he had agreat name for them, and if the pay was small it was certain. For me, Iwas occupied with the cares of the menage, and we were both content withour lives--often even gay. But trouble came. There was a crise inaffaires. Adolphe's opinions were no longer those of the many; thepaper for which he wrote changed its views to suit the world. Adolphewas offered a magnificent sum to change also, and write against hisconscience. He lost his post; we became poorer every day. `Unless youwrite, Adolphe, ' I said to him, `we starve. ' He has a noble heart, mybrother, full of honesty and truth. `I will rather starve, ' he replied, `than write lies. ' So after a time we resolved to try our fortune herein this cold, grey England. And we came. Adolphe was to become aProfessor of French, but it was long before he found work, and wesuffered. Mon Dieu! how we suffered during that first month!"

She paused a moment when she reached this point, and nodded her headseveral times without speaking, as though words failed her. Susan, whohad listened to it all with the most earnest attention, feared she wouldnot go on, and she wanted very much to know what happened next. 

"Was it because you had no money?" she asked softly at length. 

"My child, " said Delphine, her bright eyes moist with tears, which shewinked quickly away, "it is a terrible thing to be hungry one's self, but it is far worse to see anyone you love hungry and heart-broken, andyet patient. That is a thing one does not forget. But at last, when wealmost despaired, the Bon Dieu sent us a friend. It is a little historywhich may, perhaps, amuse you; it was like this:--

"One night Adolphe was returning to me to say, as usual, that he couldfind no place; no one wanted a French master. He had scarcely eatenthat day, and for weeks we had neither of us tasted meat, for we livedon what I could make by sewing, and it was very little. Adolphetherefore felt low in spirits and body, for he had walked about all theday, and his heart was heavy. As he passed a butcher's shop near here, the wife, who stood in the doorway, greeted him. He had once bought ofher some scraps of meat, such as you English give to your cats and dogs, but which, in hands that understand the French cuisine, can be made toform a ragout of great delicacy. 

"`Good evening, ' said she; `and how did the cat like his dinner?'

"My brother removed his hat and bowed, (you may have observed his nobleair at such moments), then, drawing himself to his full height:--

"`Madame, ' he replied, `_I_ am the cat!'

"This answer, joined to the graceful manner of Adolphe, struck the goodMadame Jones deeply. They at once enter into conversation, and mybrother relates to her his vain attempts to find employment. Shelistens with pity; she gives encouragement. Finally, before they partshe forces upon his acceptance two pounds of fillet steak. He returnsto me with the meat enveloped in a cabbage leaf, and that night wesatisfy our hunger with appetising food, and our hearts are full ofgratitude to Heaven and this good Madame Jones. And from that time, "finished Mademoiselle holding up one hand with the sock stretched uponit, "things mend. Madame Jones recommends Adolphe to Madame, your aunt;she again tells others of him, and he has now, enough to do. We arehungry no longer. It is not very gay in the appartement; the sun doesnot shine much, but we are together. Some day, who knows? we may beable to return to our dear Paris. One must have courage. " She stoopedand kissed Susan's upturned face, which was full of sympathy. 

"If she knew how badly I've always behaved to Monsieur she wouldn't havedone that, " thought Susan penitently. 

"There now rests one great wish in Adolphe's heart, " continued Delphine, "and that is, to be able some day to reward Madame Jones for hergoodness. Strangers, and without money, she fed and cheered us, and itis to her we owe our success. Never could either of us be so baselyungrateful as to forget that if we are again blessed by prosperity. Often has Adolphe, who is a fine English scholar, repeated to me thelines of your poet, Shakespeare:--

 "Freeze, freeze thou winter sky; Thou dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot. "

Susan had remained wide awake in spite of great fatigue during the wholeof Mademoiselle's story; but now, when she came to the poetry, which sherepeated with difficulty and very slowly, there seemed to be somethinglulling in her voice. The room was warm too, and presently the soundsin it got mixed up together. The crackling of the fire, the bubbling ofthe saucepan, and Delphine's tones, joined in a sort of lullaby. Susan's eyelids gently closed, and she was fast asleep. So fast thatthe next thing she knew was that Buskin had somehow arrived and wascarrying her upstairs; that Monsieur was in attendance with a candle, and that a cab was waiting at the door. But having noticed this, it wasquite easy to go to sleep again, and she scarcely awoke when theyarrived at Aunt Hannah's and she was put to bed. 

So it was not till broad daylight the next morning that she began tothink over her adventures, and to remember all the wonderful things thathad happened the day before. And in particular all the details ofDelphine's story came back to her, and the earnest gratitude with whichshe had talked of Mrs Jones' kindness. "`Strangers, and without money, she fed and cheered us. ' Now that is just exactly what Monsieur did forme when I first saw him, " thought Susan; "and all I've done in return isto laugh at him and give him trouble. I haven't been grateful at all. "The more she considered her conduct the more ashamed she began to feel, and she could not help wondering what Mademoiselle Delphine would thinkof her if she knew. "At any rate, " she resolved, "I won't do it anymore. I never will laugh at lesson-time, and I'll learn everythingquite perfectly and be as good as ever I can, whatever Sophia Jane likesto say. " Sophia Jane, that naughty, badly behaved child! After all, itwas her fault that Susan had done wrong, she went on to think, and itwas also her fault that she had lost herself yesterday, because she hadbeen so disagreeable about the Enemy and the basket. It was a comfortto be able to shift the blame on Sophia Jane's shoulder, for Susan likedto think well of herself, and she began to feel more cheerful andsatisfied as she dressed and went down-stairs. Here Nanna andMargaretta were prepared with all manner of questions about Monsieur, his house, and his sister, but Susan was quite determined to tell themvery little. She repeated gravely, "They were very kind, and I likethem very much;" and this was most unsatisfactory to her listeners, whocraved for the tiniest details of her adventure. Sophia Jane alone satmute, but sharply attentive to all that passed, hunching up hershoulders and fixing her blue eyes on each speaker in turn. She was, asusual, in disgrace Susan and, and had been forbidden to speak at meals;but as soon as breakfast was over she made the best use of the hourbefore lessons began, and examined her companion narrowly:

"Whatever makes you look so solemn?" she asked at last. 

"I'm not going to laugh at Monsieur La Roche ever again, " said Susansolemnly. "I've made a good resolution. "

"What for?" asked Sophia Jane. 

"Because he's been very kind, and it's wrong to laugh at him, " answeredSusan. 

Sophia Jane made a face that Susan very much disliked, it was so full ofcontempt. 

"He hasn't been kind to me, and I don't care if it is wrong, " she said. "I shall do as I like. "

"But I want you not to either, " said Susan. 

"I don't care a bit. Why should I?" asked Sophia Jane, who wasevidently in one of her most reckless moods. 

Susan was silent. There was not much reason certainly that Sophia Janeshould wish to please her; then a bright idea came into her head. 

"If you'll promise not to laugh at French lessons, " she said, "I'll giveyou a new head for your doll as soon as I've got enough money. "

Sophia Jane considered this offer with her head on one side; then sheasked:

"What price?"

"Half-a-crown, " answered Susan, "and that will buy the very best you canget. "

"Well, " said Sophia Jane slowly, "I promise. "

"But if you whisper, or make faces, or nudge me with your elbow youwon't have it, " added Susan hastily. 

"You didn't say all that at first, " said Sophia Jane; "but I _will_promise. "

So the agreement was made, and moreover written down in Susan's bestprinting hand, and signed by Sophia Jane. Even then Susan felt by nomeans sure of the result, for it was so much more natural to hercompanion to be naughty than good. 

Thursday came, and Monsieur La Roche also at his usual hour; Susan puton her most discreet behaviour, and kept anxious watch over Sophia Jane. But there was no need for anxiety, her conduct was perfect, and she notonly preserved the strictest gravity, but also showed the mostmarvellous quickness in learning her lessons. Though she might be anaughty child, no one could accuse her of being a dull one; she graspedthe meaning of anything like lightning, and while Susan was steadilybringing her mind to bear on a French verb, Sophia Jane knew it already, and could repeat it without a mistake. She showed indeed such zeal andattention throughout the lessons, that it had a sobering effect evenupon Nanna and Margaretta, who were so employed in wondering at her thatthey did not giggle nearly so much as usual. 

Monsieur himself was not less surprised at this sudden improvement inhis class, and above all in Sophia Jane, who had, without question, beenhis worst and most backward pupil. When his lesson was finished hebeamed kindly at her and said, "It is _tr-res_ bien, mademoiselle. I ammuch pleased with you to-day. "

It was such a new thing for anyone to be much pleased with Sophia Janethat it hardly seemed possible, and everyone stared at her. Aunt Hannahturned round from her chair at the fireside to see who had deserved thispraise. Sophia Jane! It was an unheard-of thing. The child herselfwas so unused to the sound of kindness and approval, that it startledher as though she had received a blow. She reddened, gave all herfeatures a sudden twist, and blinked her eyes at Monsieur for an answer. 

"Sit straight, Sophia Jane, and don't make faces, " said Aunt Hannah, andthe well-known accents of blame at once restored her to her usual state. The moment Monsieur was gone she was the old Sophia Jane again, tiresome and disobedient as ever. And Susan, remembering the compactabout the half-crown, was not surprised at this, for, she thought toherself, "she's not really doing it because she wants to be good, butbecause she wants a new head for the doll. " It was quite possible, therefore, still to feel that she was much better than her companion, and this was not unpleasant. 

Meanwhile she was much looking forward to seeing Mademoiselle Delphineagain, for Aunt Hannah intended to pay her a visit soon to thank her forher kindness, and she had promised to take both the little girls withher. Grace, the doll, must also be fetched home, for Susan had been toosleepy to remember her, and had left her behind. Monsieur's house wasfound with some difficulty, but at length Sophia Jane's sharp eyes spieda dusty card in a window with "Monsieur La Roche, Professor of French, "written on it, and they knew that this must be the right one. Susanwondered whether Mademoiselle would quickly open the door herself as shehad done before, but this time a very untidy maid-servant appeared withsmudges on her face. There were many other lodgers in the house besideMonsieur and his sister, who had the cheapest rooms of all, anunderground one which Susan had thought to be the kitchen, and two tinyattics in the roof. They found Mademoiselle waiting to receive themwith a yellow ribbon at her neck, and a manner full of graciousaffability. Gambetta sat on the hearth, and the room was perfectly neatand clean, but by daylight; it wanted the air of snugness and comfortwhich Susan remembered. There was a very tiny fire, and it all lookedbare and cold, for the window was so placed that the sunlight could notpossibly enter. Mademoiselle partly made up, however, for thedreariness of her lodging by smiles and pleasant conversation. She wasdelighted to see them all, and to renew her acquaintance with Susan, chattering so fast that Sophia Jane had plenty of time to noticeeverything, and presently fixed her eyes, full of admiration, onGambetta, who sat with rather a vexed look on his face by the smallfire. 

Presently he rose, stretched himself, humped his back, and then jumpedup on his mistress' lap. 

"Fi donc!" said she, settling her knees more comfortably for him. 

"That is a fine cat, " remarked Aunt Hannah; "a great pet, no doubt?"

"You say truly, Madame, " replied Delphine gently rubbing Gambetta underthe chin; "but above all with my brother. I may say that Gambetta isthe pupil of his eye. How often have I made him reproaches because hewill leave the best of his potage, and pour it in the saucer for thiscat! And that in the days when there was not too much potage, look you, for either of us. On his side the animal adores Adolphe. He knows hisstep, he has his little pleasantries for him, and his caresses. When mybrother arrives at night tired, and perhaps a little dejected, it isGambetta who knows how to cheer him. And then, he reminds us of Paris, he is the only thing of value we brought from there. He is an exile aswell as we, and has shared our fortunes. "

"No wonder you are so fond of him, " said Aunt Hannah; "but I see he hasno collar. Are you not afraid of losing such a valuable cat?"

"That is often in my mind, " replied Mademoiselle. "I fear it may arrivesome day, for at times he makes long courses. The next time we have alittle money to spare we will buy him one, and cause the address to begraved upon it. "

Both Susan and Sophia Jane listened with much interest to all this, andthe latter was particularly impressed by it; she looked from Delphine'sexpressive face to Gambetta's when the collar was mentioned, and seemedabout to ask a question, but checked herself suddenly. Grace being nowproduced from a table drawer, it was found that Mademoiselle's cleverfingers had actually made for her a new bonnet, a most elegant one, ofdrawn grey silk. While Susan was admiring it, Delphine turned to SophiaJane:

"And the leetle companion?" she said, "has she also a poupee?"

Sophia Jane hung her head, and looked rather ashamed. "Only one withouta head, " she muttered. 

"Ah! that is sad indeed, " said Mademoiselle. "It is impossible tofashion a bonnet for a lady without a head, is it not? But when youhave a new one, I will also make her a bonnet like this. I have yetsome more silk. "

Susan could not help giving a glance full of meaning at her companion, but Sophia Jane did not respond to it, except by a dark frown. 

"When Mademoiselle La Roche is so kind, Sophia Jane, " said Aunt Hannah, "the least you can do is to thank her and look pleasant. You never seeSusan frown like that. "

On the way home there was a great deal to be said about MademoiselleDelphine, and Susan was so delighted with Grace's new bonnet that shecould not repeat too often how kind it was of her to have made it. 

"And aren't you glad she's going to make one for you too?" she asked. 

Sophia Jane had been unusually silent and thoughtful since they hadstarted, and made absent replies to all Susan's remarks. She seemed tobe turning something over in her mind, and the question had to berepeated before she took any notice. Then she only answered calmly:

"Oh, yes, of course, " as if it were the very merest trifle, and she hadpresents every day, which was by no means the case. Susan lookedcuriously at her, there were often moments when she did not know what tomake of Sophia Jane. Then she said:

"Shall I ask Aunt Hannah to let us stop and look up at Miss Powter'swindow?"

Miss Powter kept a toy-shop in the High Street, and only a few days agohad shown in her window quite a collection of dolls' heads, both chinaand wax. 

"If you like, " said Sophia Jane indifferently. 

Susan ran up to Aunt Hannah, who was walking a little way in front, andput her request, which being granted, the little girls were soon gazingin at Mrs Powter's shop-front. The heads were still there, a long rowof them, some fair, some dark, some with blue eyes, some with black. 

"Now, which should you choose?" asked Susan with much interest; "a waxor a china one?"

"A wax one, " said Sophia Jane; "because I could brush her hair. "

"But you couldn't wash her, " objected Susan; "and china wears best. "

Sophia Jane did not seem disposed to linger long, though generally shewas never tired of Miss Powter's window. She did not enter into thematter with nearly enough spirit to please Susan, who as they walked onsuggested:

"If I were you I should have that one--the last in the row, with fairhair. She's rather like Grace, and you see, as their bonnets will bealike, we might call them sisters. "

"If I buy a head at all perhaps I may, " was Sophia's puzzling remark. 

"Well, but you're sure to, " said Susan. "Next week I shall have thehalf-crown, and we can go and choose it together. You mean to, don'tyou?"

"Perhaps I do and perhaps I don't, " answered Sophia Jane, and could notbe induced to say more on the subject. 

Certainly she would win that half-crown easily, for her behaviour toMonsieur La Roche was worthy of all praise. Susan even began to thinkthat she was overdoing it a little, for she was now beyond all theothers in the class. Earnest effort, and a naturally quick intelligencejoined to it, produced such good results that Monsieur had now a habitof turning to Sophia Jane when he asked an unusually difficult question. Could it be entirely for the sake of the half-crown that she made theseextraordinary exertions? Susan began to feel jealous of her companion'sprogress and a little ill-used; for although she tried hard to pleaseMonsieur, it was quite evident that the pupil he was most proud of wasSophia Jane. "If he knew, " thought Susan to herself, "why she does it, perhaps he wouldn't be so pleased. And I don't suppose she'll take somuch trouble when once she's got the money. "

It was a very new thing for Sophia Jane to be more praised than herself;and though Susan would not perhaps have acknowledged that she was sorryto see her good behaviour, it yet made her feel uncomfortable whenMonsieur looked so very pleased with her. She had fully intended to behis model pupil herself, an example to all the others, and it wasdisappointing to give up that place to one whom she had considered sofar beneath her. Besides this, it was a little difficult when the timecame to part with the half-crown. It would only leave sixpence in herpurse--Maria's lucky sixpence with a hole in it--and that she did notwant to spend. It was comforting, however, to remember that herbirthday was near, when her mother would certainly send her some moneyas a present. And she was really anxious for Sophia Jane to have a dollto play with, and it would be nice to go and see Mademoiselle Delphineagain about the bonnet; and finally, a bargain was a bargain, anddecidedly the half-crown had been fairly earned. So, all these thingsconsidered, she cheerfully counted out one shilling, two sixpences, andsix pennies, and went to look for Sophia Jane. 

She was in the sitting-room alone, seated in Aunt Hannah's largearm-chair with an open book in her lap which she was intently studying. 

"Here's your money, " said Susan, plunging at once into the business onhand. 

Sophia Jane neither answered or took the least notice; but as this wasoften a tiresome way of hers Susan was not surprised, and only repeateda little louder:

"Here's your money!"

Sophia Jane looked up from her book, which Susan now saw to be a Frenchgrammar, and said, holding out her hand:

"Give it to me. "

"You ought to say `Thank you, '" remarked Susan in the reproving voiceshe often used to her companion. 

Sophia Jane counted the coins carefully, going twice through the penniesto be sure there were the right number. Then she said shortly:

"It's all right. "

"Of course it's right!" cried Susan indignantly. But it was not of theleast use to be angry with Sophia Jane; she was now dropping the piecesof money one by one into her pocket with a thoughtful air, and seemedhardly to know that Susan was there. The latter waited a moment andthen said:

"Shall I ask Aunt Hannah if we may go to Miss Powter's this afternoon?"

"What for?" asked Sophia Jane. 

"What for!" repeated Jane in extreme astonishment. "Why, of course, nowyou've got the money, you'll go and buy the head. "

Sophia Jane took up her grammar again and bent her eyes doggedly uponit. 

"I'm not going to buy a head, " she answered. 

This decided reply was so unexpected that for the moment Susan wasspeechless; for on the whole Sophia Jane had seemed to look forward tothe purchase, and they had made many plans together about it, so thatshe had come to think of it as a settled thing. It made her feelinjured and disappointed to be thrust out of the matter in this suddenway, for if the head was not to be bought how would Sophia Jane spendthe money? She evidently had some secret plan of her own in which Susanwas not to share. With a rising colour in her face she said at last:

"I don't think that's fair. "

"It's my money, and I shall do as I like with it, " was Sophia Jane'sonly reply. 

"But I shouldn't have given it you, " said Susan hotly, "unless you weregoing to buy a head. "

Sophia Jane chuckled. "Well, I've got it now, " she said, "and I shallkeep it. "

"What a naughty, selfish, disagreeable little girl she was!" thoughtSusan as she stood looking angrily at her. 

"What are you going to do with it?" she asked. 

"That's a secret, " said Sophia Jane, chinking the money gently in herpocket. 

"I believe, " said Susan, now irritated beyond endurance, "that you meanto spend it all on Billy Stokes' day. "

Billy Stokes was a man who came round once a week selling sweetmeats, and it was Sophia Jane's custom to spend her pennies in this way whenshe had any. 

"If you do, " continued Susan, getting more cross every moment, "you'llbe dreadfully greedy, and most likely you'll make yourself ill. "

Sophia Jane only smiled gently and settled herself more comfortably inher chair. 

"And I suppose you remember, " said Susan, whose voice became louder andmore defiant with each sentence, "that if you don't get the head youcan't have the bonnet. "

The last word was almost shrieked, for she had now quite lost hertemper, and at this moment Margaretta looked into the room. Now it wasalways taken for granted by the household that in any dispute SophiaJane must be in the wrong; so now Margaretta came at once to thisconclusion, in spite of Susan's hot and angry looks. 

"How can you be so naughty, Sophia Jane, " she said, "as to quarrel witha sweet-tempered child like Susan? You must have been very unkind andtiresome to vex her so much. "

Neither of the little girls spoke, for Susan was still feeling tooangry, and Sophia Jane took a scolding as a matter of course. 

"If you don't say you're sorry, " pursued Margaretta, "I sha'n't take youout with me this afternoon. I don't wish to have a sulky little girlwith me. Susan shall go alone. "

There was no word from Sophia Jane, or even any sign of having heardthis speech. At another time Susan would have said something in herdefence, for she knew this blame to be entirely unjust. But just nowshe was so vexed with her that she kept silence, and allowed Margarettato go on without interruption. 

"Very well, " said the latter, "then you stay at home by yourself. Auntand Nanna are going to see Mrs Bevis, and Susan and I shall have a walktogether. Very likely we should call in at Buzzard's as we come backand have some tarts. "

Susan glanced at her companion's face to see how she took this lastremark. Buzzard's open tarts were things that Sophia Jane speciallyliked. Was she vexed? No. One corner of her mouth was tucked in, in away which looked far more like secret satisfaction. It was veryannoying, but after all she could not prefer to be left alone in thedull house that bright day, so most likely she was concealing herdisappointment. 

Susan herself did not enjoy that walk so much as usual, though the bandwas playing gay tunes, and the sun shone, and the sea twinkled merrily. For one thing she felt that she had been unjust to Sophia Jane, andallowed her to be punished for no fault; for, after all, it _was_ hermoney, and she had a right to do as she liked with it. Only why shouldshe be so perverse and stupid as to have a will of her own, and not tocarry out Susan's wishes? What could she possibly be going to do withthat half-crown? What could it be that she wanted so much that she wasready to give up all the nice games and plans they had thought oftogether? As she walked soberly along by Margaretta's side Susan cameto the conclusion that it would be best to make no more inquiries aboutit; she had noticed that Sophia Jane would seldom yield to persuasionand never to force, but sometimes if you left her quite alone she woulddo what you wished of her own accord. This once settled in her mind shefelt more cheerful, but the walk was dull with no one but Margaretta totalk to, the open tarts at Buzzard's had lost their flavour, and she wasnot at all sorry to get home. 

To do Sophia Jane justice she was quite ready to meet Susan's advancesin a friendly spirit, and did not seem disposed to bear malice. Thelittle girls played together as usual, and Susan, true to herresolution, made not the smallest reference to the half-crown, but thissilence made her think of it all the more. It was, indeed, seldom outof her mind, and every day her curiosity grew more intense; morning, noon, and night she wondered about that half-crown, and at last her headwas so full of it that she mixed it up with everything she did inlessons or play-time. And at last, one day when she and Sophia Janewere reading aloud to Aunt Hannah, a new idea, and she thought a verygood one, was suggested to her. 

In the lesson there happened to be an account of a miser, who lived in awretched hovel, went without sufficient clothing, and almost starvedhimself for the sake of hoarding money; everyone thought him poor, butafter his death it was found that he had lots of gold and silver coinshidden away in the mattress of his bed. 

"What makes people misers?" asked Susan, when she came to the end ofthis history. 

"Love of money, my dear, " answered Aunt Hannah. 

"Is every one who saves up money a miser?" continued Susan. 

"No. Because they may be saving it for a wise and good purpose; but ifthey hide it up as this man did, and only keep it for the pleasure oflooking at it, then they certainly would be called misers. "

"Are there any now?" asked Susan, fixing her eyes on Sophia Jane. 

"Oh, yes, I daresay there are, plenty, " answered Aunt Hannah, who wasgetting tired of the subject. "Now, get your geography books. "

But during the rest of the lesson Susan's mind was very far away, andshe made all kinds of stupid mistakes, for what she was thinking of hadnothing to do with the map of England. It was something much moreinteresting and important; for quite suddenly, while reading about themisers, an idea relating to Sophia Jane and the half-crown had dartedinto her head. She had hidden it away somewhere, and did not mean tospend it at all. The manner in which she had chinked those coins in herpocket and counted them over, and her secret and crafty behaviour since, all pointed to this. The next question was, "_Where_ had she hiddenit?" What mysterious hole had she found unknown to anyone? Susan ranover all the possible places in her mind, and was earnestly occupied inthis when Aunt Hannah suddenly asked her a question:

"Where is the town of Croydon?"

"In the attic, " answered Susan hurriedly, and then flushed up and gave aguilty look at Sophia Jane, who merely stared in amazement. 

"My dear Susan, " said Aunt Hannah, "you are strangely inattentive thismorning. I can't let you play in the attic if you think of your gamesduring lesson-time. "

As the days passed, Susan, watching her companion narrowly, felt moreand more certain that her suspicions were correct. True, she never sawher retire to the attic alone to count over and rejoice in her secrethoard, which real misers were always known to do; but there was this tobe remarked: _she bought nothing of Billy Stokes_. When Susan saw herlook wistfully at the cocoa-nut rock, and twisted sticks of sugar-candy, and remembered all those pennies, she asked:

"Which are you going to buy?"

"None of 'em, " said Sophia Jane, turning away. And now Susan doubted nolonger. Sophia Jane was a miser!

Sunday came soon after this. It was a day the children never likedmuch, because, for several reasons, it was dull. Aunt Hannah did notallow them either to play at their usual games or to read their usualbooks. Grace was put away, the attic was forbidden, and they had to bevery quiet; the only books considered "fit for Sunday, " were _Line uponLine_, _The Peep of Day_, _The Dairyman's Daughter_ and _The Pilgrim'sProgress_. Bits of this last were always interesting, and the more sobecause it was a large old copy with big print and plenty of picturesthroughout. That of Saul raising Samuel had a never-ceasing attractionfor Susan, and Sophia Jane was fond of the part about Giant Despair andhis grievous crab-tree cudgel. In the morning they all went with AuntHannah to chapel, which was only five minutes' walk from the house; theprayers were long, and they could seldom understand the sermon, thoughthey had to listen to it because Aunt Hannah asked them questions aboutit afterwards. 

Mr Bevis, the minister, who was a great friend of hers, often came toBelmont Cottage, and stayed to have tea. On these occasions it wasdifficult to Susan to think that he really was the same man who wore along black gown on Sundays, and white bands under his chin, and oftenhit the red cushion so hard that she had seen dust rise from it. Hisvoice was quite different, all mystery had left him, and he became justa common grey-haired gentleman, eating muffins and asking for more sugarin his tea. She was afraid sometimes that he would ask her somequestions about his sermons, or perhaps where some text came from out ofthe Bible, but he never did so, and indeed took very little notice ofthe children. On this Sunday they were surprised to find, when the timecame up for the sermon, that it was not Mr Bevis that was going topreach. A much younger man mounted the steep stairs into the pulpit, and gave out a text about the widow's mite, and Susan began to listenattentively to the sermon which followed, for, strangely enough, it wasall about "giving. " How exactly suited to Sophia Jane!

"To give, " said the minister at the close of the sermon, "though itleaves a man poor, yet makes him rich; but to keep and hoard uptreasure, though he be called wealthy, yet makes him exceeding poor. But the thing given need not be money; it may only be a kind effort, aforgiving word, a little trouble for some one, but if love go with it, then it becomes great and worthy at once, for it is part of the giver'svery self. It is not what a man gives, but how he gives it, thatmatters. Gold and silver coming from a full purse and a cold heart, isa barren gift compared to the widow's mite, which was `all she had. '

 "`Not what we give, but what we share, For the gift without the giver is bare. '"

On the way home Aunt Hannah talked about the sermon a good deal withNanna and Margaretta, for it was rather an event to hear a stranger atthe chapel. She said that the preacher was "original, " but that she didnot consider it a "Gospel" sermon, and preferred Mr Bevis; she doubtedalso whether the lines quoted at the end were from a sacred writer. Nowthese lines were just what Susan remembered best; they came into herhead again and again that afternoon while she was learning a hymn byheart, and it was difficult not to mix the two up together. She wasalso occupied with wondering whether Sophia Jane had attended to thesermon, and would alter her mind about the half-crown. That was asmysterious as ever, and Sophia Jane's pointed little face told nothing, though Susan fancied that there was a softer look upon it now and then, and an expression as of secret satisfaction. 

CHAPTER FIVE. 

 "O what a tangled web we weave, When first we practise to deceive!"

Susan's mind was very full of all this, and she was still watching hercompanion with suspicion, when something happened which gave herthoughts a new direction; for shortly after the strange minister hadpreached at the chapel, Sophia Jane became very ill. She had beenailing for some time, and had refused to join Susan in their usualgames; complaining of headache, but no one had taken much notice ofthis; she was so often perverse and tiresome that it was natural tothink her only sulky when she sat about in corners with her head proppedon her hand and her eyes closed. But at last Aunt Hannah called in thedoctor, and after his visit she looked very grave, and talked in a lowvoice to Buskin. Susan could not hear all she said, but she gatheredenough to know that the doctor thought Sophia Jane very ill, and that hecould not yet say what sort of illness it would be. She longed to asksome questions about it, but she knew from the worried look on AuntHannah's face that it would be better to wait, so she took Grace andstole upstairs to Sophia Jane's door. She had been put to bed in asmall inner room opening out of Aunt Hannah's, which was rather apartfrom the other bed-rooms, and had a little flight of stairs all toitself. On these stairs Susan took up her post, and listened anxiouslyto the sounds within; the door was a little open and she could hear heraunt giving some orders to Buskin, who presently came hurriedly out, nearly tumbling over her in her haste. 

"Gracious me, miss! find some other place to sit in, do, " she saidcrossly clutching at the balusters. 

"What's the matter with Sophia Jane?" asked Susan. But Buskin onlymuttered to herself, rubbed her elbow, and went quickly on. Susanwished they would let her go in and sit with Sophia Jane. She would bevery useful and quiet, she thought to herself; she was quite used tothat when Freddie had bad headaches. She wished now that she had notcalled her companion cross and stupid so often lately; but perhapsto-morrow she would be better, and then she would tell her she wassorry. Just then Nanna came up, and not being so full of business asBuskin, was able to answer a few questions. From her Susan learned thatDr Martin thought Sophia Jane was sickening from a fever of some kind;perhaps, if it did not prove infectious, Susan would be allowed to seeher sometimes. 

"What is infectious?" asked Susan. 

"Anything you can catch, " answered Nanna. 

"If it's scarlet fever, or measles, or anything of that kind, I shouldthink aunt will send you away. "

"Where to?" asked Susan in alarm. 

"Oh, I don't know, " replied Nanna; "anywhere. But I can't stay now, Ihave to go to the chemist's for aunt. "

She went down-stairs, and Susan was left to her own thoughts. She hopedthat Aunt Hannah would not send her away, for she felt sure she could beof great use in nursing Sophia Jane if they would only let her try. Andwhere could she be sent? Perhaps to stay with Mrs Bevis, theminister's wife, who lived in a dull house near the chapel with nochildren but only Mr Bevis. The idea was an alarming one, but it didnot trouble her long, for when Dr Martin called the next morning hedeclared the illness to be a low fever, and not in the least infectious;there was no necessity, he said, for Susan to leave the house, thoughshe ought not be much in the sick-room. Alter this she was allowed todo very much as she liked; the days passed as they had done in Londonwhen Freddie was so ill, for the thought of every one in the house wasfixed on the patient. Suddenly, from utter insignificance Sophia Janewas raised to importance. Her whims and fancies, once unheeded, werenow attended to with care; the least change in her condition was markedwith interest, and her name was in every one's mouth, spoken softly andwith kindness. Poor little Sophia Jane! She had not much strength, DrMartin said, to fight against this attack; it was a serious matter forany one so frail and weak, and she must be carefully nursed. Every onedid their best. Aunt Hannah sat up at night with her, and in theday-time while she rested, Nanna and Margaretta took turns to be in thesick-room. Buskin bent her whole mind on beef-tea, broth, and jelly, became shorter in her speech, and less inclined to answer questions asthe days went on. Only Susan, in spite of her most earnest wish, wasnot allowed to go into Sophia Jane's room, and found there was verylittle she could do to help. She had no opportunity, therefore, oftelling her companion that she was sorry for her past unkindness; shecould only sit on the stairs outside her room ready to carry messageswhen wanted, watching for the visits of the doctor, and trying to gatherfrom the expression of his face whether Sophia Jane were better. 

It was hard to be left out when every one else was doing something, andat last Susan bethought herself that Grace might be a comfort to theinvalid, and sent her in by Nanna. To her disappointment, however, shebrought the doll back almost directly, dropped it into Susan's lap, andsaid:

"She's too ill to take any notice of it. "

Too ill to take any notice of Grace dressed in her new bonnet, SophiaJane must indeed be unlike herself. Perhaps her head ached very badlylike Freddie's. "How I wish they would let me help with the bandages!"sighed Susan to herself. Day after day followed, till Sophia Jane hadbeen ill a week. No improvement. The fever did not leave her; eachmorning she seemed a little weaker and less able to bear it, and eachmorning Aunt Hannah's face looked graver and more conscious, so thatSusan did not like to ask the question always in her mind, "May I seeSophia Jane to-day?"

One afternoon, however, she was in her usual place on the stairs readingwhen the door behind her opened, and some one said softly, "Susan. " Shelooked up; Aunt Hannah stood there beckoning her to come in. 

"You may see Sophia Jane for five minutes, " she said; "she wants to askyou something. You must promise her to do whatever she wishes, andspeak very gently. "

Susan followed on tip-toe through the first room, where there weremedicine bottles and a strong smell of vinegar, into the second. Shelooked timidly towards the bed and felt as though she should see astranger there and not Sophia Jane. This was almost the case, for thelittle figure sitting propped up with pillows had nothing familiar aboutit. Her hair had been cut quite short, and stood up in spikes all overher head, there was a burning pink flush on each cheek, and her eyesglistened like two steel beads. 

"My darling, " said Aunt Hannah soothingly, as she led Susan forward, "here is Susan, tell her what you wish, and then you must lie downquietly and go to sleep, as you promised. "

What a different voice Aunt Hannah had now that Sophia Jane was ill!And she had called her "darling!" Such a thing had never happenedbefore!

But Sophia Jane took no notice of the caressing tone: she waved her handfretfully as Aunt Hannah bent over her, and the gesture said moreplainly than words, "Go away, and let me speak to her. " Everythingseemed strangely altered, for, to Susan's surprise, Aunt Hannah meeklyobeyed, went into the next room, and shut the door. 

At this Sophia Jane put out a hand about the size of a canary's claw, and caught hold of Susan's sleeve:

"It's behind the big box in the attic!" she said, in a small hoarsevoice. Of course it was the half-crown, but Susan was so confused bythe eager gaze fixed on her, that she only said:

"What is?"

"A parcel. Done up in newspaper. For Madmozal. You must give it her. "

Susan nodded. 

"Soon, " said Sophia Jane, with a feeble pull at the sleeve. 

"To-morrow, if I can, " answered Susan earnestly. "What shall I say toher?"

Sophia Jane's fingers let go their hold, her head drooped on thepillows, and she closed her eyes; but she murmured something as she didso, and, bending down to listen, Susan heard:

"A collar for his cat. "

"Come away, my dear, " said Aunt Hannah's voice. "She is too tired totalk any more. Perhaps she will sleep now. "

Susan went softly out of the room and sat down in her old place on thestairs. So this was how Sophia Jane had spent the half-crown! Howdifferently to anything Susan had imagined. Instead of being miserlyand selfish, she was generous and self-sacrificing--instead of her ownpleasure, she had preferred to give pleasure to Monsieur. And why?Because he had been kind to her. He was the only person, Susanremembered, who had ever praised Sophia Jane, or had looked at her asthough he liked her; and so, in return, she had given him her verybest--all she had. As she considered this she grew more and more sorryto think how she had despised her poor little companion, and suspectedher of being mean; how she had always joined Margaretta and Nanna inblaming and laughing at her, and how ready she had been to say, "It'sSophia Jane's fault. " She longed more than ever now to be able to tellher how sorry she was for all this, and resolved very earnestly thatwhen she got well she would never behave unkindly to her again. Meanwhile, there was the collar--she would go and look for it at once, so that on the first opportunity she might take it to MademoiselleDelphine. She could not give it to Monsieur, for his lessons had beendiscontinued since Sophia Jane's illness. 

She went up to the attic which she and Sophia Jane had made theirplay-room, and where they had had such merry games together. Howdeserted and cheerless it looked! Everything seemed to know that SophiaJane was ill. It was late in the afternoon, dark, and gloomy; there wasnever too much light in the attic at the brightest of times, and now itwas so shadowy and dull that Susan shivered as she glanced round it. There was the dusty roll of wall-paper leaning up in one corner; therewas the thin, bent, old poker, which had somehow a queer likeness toSophia Jane; there was the body of the poor doll, still headless andforlorn, stretched on the floor; and there, under the cobwebby window, was the big black box. Behind that was what she had come to seek--thecollar. 

Susan knelt on the top of the box, and, peering down, could plainly seethe parcel jammed tightly between it and the wall. It was too far forher to reach, but presently with the help of the poker she got it up, and proceeded to examine it, quite breathless with excitement. Thenewspaper had been partly torn away from it already, and soon the collaritself was in her hands. She gave an exclamation of delight. It _was_a pretty collar! Not only was it made of brass and lined with brightscarlet leather, but at the side was fastened a little round bell whichgave a charming tinkle. The very present of all others which Susanwould have chosen herself for Monsieur--if she had thought of it. Butit was not her present at all; it was Sophia Jane who had thought of it, and of course it was very good of her. And yet--she went on to think, turning the collar round and round--Sophia Jane couldn't have bought itif I hadn't given her that half-crown. It _really_ is as much mypresent as hers, but Monsieur and Mademoiselle won't ever know anythingabout that. It was not nice of Sophia Jane to keep it all to herself;if she had told me I should have said, "Let me pay half, " and then wecould have given it together. I liked Monsieur and Mademoiselle beforeshe did. 

Every moment, as she looked at the pretty collar, Susan's thoughtsbecame more and more jealous and unjust; she almost forgot hercompanion's illness and what she had asked her to do, in the sense thatshe herself had been hardly treated; she forgot, too, all her resolvesto behave more kindly. As she sat thus, the shadows grew deeper anddeeper in the attic until it became almost dark, and looking up, shecould only see one thing quite distinctly: it was the body of SophiaJane's doll. There it lay without a head--it would most likely neverhave one now; it had a sad deserted look, and yet it reminded her asnothing else would have done of her promise half an hour ago. Sheseemed to see Sophia Jane's eager little face, to hear her whisper"soon, " and to feel the clasp of her weak fingers. Better feelings cameback, to her. She put her jealous thoughts aside with a struggle, andas she wrapped up the collar again determined that to-morrow, ifpossible, she would take it to Mademoiselle and tell her. It was SophiaJane's present. 

Strange dreams visited Susan that night: sometimes she saw Gambetta'scomfortable furry face, which seemed to smile smugly at her; and then itchanged; and there was Sophia Jane frowning angrily, with terriblybright eyes. The first thing she saw when she woke in the morning wasthe collar, which she had put on a chair by her bedside, and she at onceremembered what she was to do that day. As she dressed herself shecould not help the wish returning strongly that it was to be her presentas well as Sophia Jane's. How well Gambetta would look in it, and howdelighted Mademoiselle would be! And this time nothing happened tocheck those reflections, so that by the time she went down-stairs theyfilled her mind entirely. 

Aunt Hannah looked much more cheerful this morning. Sophia Jane hadslept quietly for some hours, and the fever was less; it was the firstimprovement she had seen. 

She was quite ready to consent when Susan asked if she might go to seeMademoiselle. 

"Certainly, " she said; "Margaretta shall take you, and, if convenient toMademoiselle La Roche, you can stay there an hour or so. Perhaps shewill bring you back herself in the afternoon; if not, I will manage tosend Buskin. "

So it was settled, and at twelve o'clock they set forth, the preciousparcel tucked under Susan's arm, and reminding her every moment of herpromise to Sophia Jane. Mademoiselle was not there when they arrived;she was generally out at this hour, the woman of the house said, butwould certainly return before long. Susan, therefore, was left withAunt Hannah's note to wait her coming, while Margaretta hastened back atonce. There was no one in the room but Gambetta, who sat stifflyupright in Monsieur's arm-chair blinking his yellow eyes. Susan went upto him, scratched his head, and made some friendly advances, but he tookvery little notice of her. He evidently kept his "pleasantries, " asMademoiselle called them, for his friends, and would not waste them onstrangers. How soft and thick his fur was! particularly just at theneck, where it stood out in a sort of ruff. How would he look in thenew collar, and would it fit him properly? He had such a large neck. It would surely be a good plan to put the collar on, so thatMademoiselle might have all the pleasure of a great surprise when shecame in. It was such a splendid idea, and there was so much risk of herarriving too soon, that Susan's fingers quite trembled with excitementas she unwrapped the newspaper. As she did so, the little bell tinkled, and Gambetta looked up in lazy surprise at the noise close to his ears. "Pretty puss, " said Susan coaxingly, and she quickly slipped the collarover his head and fastened the strap. It fitted beautifully, and thoughit gave Gambetta a somewhat constrained air, like that of a gentlemanwith too tight a shirt collar, it was certainly very becoming, and madehim look like a cat of dignity and high rank. It was hardly done, andSusan still stood with clasped hands admiring his appearance, whenMademoiselle's quick step and quicker chatter were heard on the stairs. In a moment she hurried in with a neat basket on her arm, and her facealive with eagerness. She chattered so fast in French and English thatit was some minutes before Susan could present her aunt's note, and whenMademoiselle had read that, she had still more to say. For in onebreath she was charmed to see Susan, and in the next desolated to hearthat Sophia Jane was ill, and she flew from one subject to the otherwith such astonishing rapidity that Susan gave up trying to follow her, and waited patiently till she should have leisure to notice Gambetta. And at length he drew attention to himself, for evidently feelingneglected, he opened his mouth and uttered a tiny plaintive mew. Mademoiselle looked round at once at her favourite, and her eye fell onthe new decoration. 

"Mais--ciel!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands. She was a person ofsuch quick thoughts and impulses that, waiting for no explanation, sheat once took for granted that Susan had given the collar, and poured outher delighted thanks mingled with caresses. It was really difficult toget in a word, though Susan several times tried to begin the sentence, "It's Sophia Jane's present;" but the words were choked by hugs andkisses, and she said to herself, "I'll tell her presently when she getsquieter. "

This time did not come soon, for even when her first excitement was overMademoiselle's spirits continued to be very gay, and she talked withoutceasing; she was unusually happy, she presently told Susan, becauseAdolphe had that very day obtained another excellent engagement. 

"Figure to yourself, " she said, as she carefully took some fresh eggsout of her basket and laid them on a dish, "how rejoiced I am that hispatience is at length rewarded. As I went out this morning I said tomyself, `Delphine, this occasion demands a little fete of some kind; itwould be well to prepare an omelette au fines herbes for supper. ' Itherefore buy fresh eggs in addition to my usual outlay. I return, andbehold! all good things arrive at once. You are here, petite, and havebeen so amiable for our cherished Gambetta. He, too, will join the fetethis evening in his charming new toilette, for I have not forgotten toprovide the morsel of liver he loves much. "

Susan looked on and listened, and soon became very much interested inMademoiselle's preparations. It appeared that as Adolphe was never hometill late they were accustomed to have their principal meal together inthe evening; to-day, however, in honour of her guest, she was bent onpreparing a choice little mid-day repast. First she made some coffeeand put the pot on the hearth to keep warm, and then, Susan havinghelped her to lay the table, she proceeded to make a sweet omelette. This process was most attractive. It was delightful to see how deftlyshe shook the handle of the little pan, how she coaxed and patted andtossed the eggs into the form of an omelette, and how, just at the veryright moment, she hastily removed it into a hot dish, swiftly insertedthe jam, and folded it over. It looked like magic to Susan, and for themoment it put everything about Sophia Jane out of her head. She soonthought of her again, however. Mademoiselle, having taken off a largewhite apron, sat down to do the honour of the table with a slightlyincreased colour but unsubdued powers of conversation, and her firstremark was:

"So the poor little companion is ill. That is a great pity. You arequite alone, petite, are you not?"

Here was the very moment to correct the mistake, and Susan was justgoing to speak when Delphine added:

"Adolphe has informed me of the excellent progress she has lately made. It is a child of much ability he considers, and very amiable. "

Alas for Susan! This remark checked the words on her lips, and broughtback all her jealous feelings of Sophia Jane. She could not bear tohear her praised. She would put off saying anything about the presentjust now, she thought. She would still do it of course; but it would beeasier out of doors when she and Mademoiselle were walking hometogether. And it really seemed as though she were to have constantopportunities given to her; for, when they started an hour or so later, Mademoiselle remarked that the doll Grace wore her new bonnet, andasked:

"And does your little friend yet possess a doll with a head?"

What could be better? The answer in Susan's mind was, "she might havehad one, but she bought the collar instead;" but somehow she could notget the words out. A strange voice seemed to reply for her:

"She doesn't care about dolls, now she's ill. "

"Pauvre petite!" exclaimed Mademoiselle in a tone full of sympathy, thensuddenly glancing across the road her face became alight with smiles, she waved her hand to someone, bowed repeatedly, and said in a lowvoice, "It is that brave Madame Jones!" Susan looked in the samedirection; she had always been curious to see Madame Jones since thestory of the beefsteak. There she was, standing at the door of her shopwith her sleeves tucked up; joints of meat and carcasses hung all round. Her face was broad and red, and she wore a black net cap with pinkroses in it. She might be brave, and noble, and all that Mademoisellehad said, but Susan thought her not at all nice-looking, and was quitedisappointed. She had not expected her to be like that. 

"It is a most excellent woman, " murmured Delphine enthusiastically, "andof a noble heart. It is to her we owe the commencement of our success. "

Aunt Hannah's gate was reached wonderfully soon after this, and stillSusan had not told her of the mistake. "It was only put off, however, "she said to herself, "and it really had not been her fault. She wouldexplain all, the very next time they met. "

Mademoiselle left her at the gate with an affectionate good-bye, and asSusan walked up the path to the door the doctor came out. He wasgenerally in's great hurry, but to-day he stopped and smiled at her:

"Good news, " he said. "If this improvement continues you may see yourcompanion to-morrow, and sit with her an hour. She's much stronger andbetter. "

Was it good news? Of course Susan was glad that Sophia was better, butthe thought at once came into her mind, as she watched the doctor out ofthe gate, "she will ask me about the collar. She will expect a messagefrom Mademoiselle. " All that evening she was troubled about this, andeven hoped that Sophia Jane might not be _quite_ so well to-morrow, sothat she might have time to see Mademoiselle again and make it allright. "What should I do if Sophia Jane asks me straight out whether Isaid the collar was from her? I couldn't tell her I didn't, and Icouldn't tell her I did. Oh, how I wish I had not put it off. " Now, inall her reflections, Susan still made excuses for herself, and stillsaid, "it was not my fault. " She did not see that she had been mean andjealous and deceitful; but she did see that she had got herself into adifficulty, and was anxious, not to atone for her fault, but to escapethe consequences of it. When conscience told her that the right thingwas confession to her companion, she would not listen. "After all, " shesaid, "she perhaps won't ask me, and then it will be all right; for I_certainly will_ explain it to Mademoiselle, as I always meant to. " Andin this way Susan got more and more enclosed in the tangled web she wasweaving; for how can we make anything right unless we first see that itis wrong?

Sophia Jane continued better, and was much looking forward, Aunt Hannahsaid, to her companion's visit. Susan was cautioned before she wentupstairs to be very kind and gentle, not to vex or thwart the invalid, and to call Buskin if anything should be wanted. Aunt Hannah would goout a little while, which she had scarcely done since Sophia Jane'sillness. All this was promised, and it seemed another reason againstsaying anything about the collar; for, if Sophia Jane knew the truth, itwould certainly vex and thwart her. Susan collected some things whichshe thought might amuse her, and perhaps prevent her from dwelling longon the dreaded subject. The game of dominoes, Grace, a box of beads, and Andersen's fairy tales. Struggling upstairs with these, she wassoon in the invalid's room. 

Sophia Jane looked much more like herself than when Susan had last seenher. She was lying quietly down among her pillows with a very whitelittle face, and one hand resting feebly on the substantial form ofDinah, Margaretta's black doll. By her side was a tiny bunch ofsnowdrops which Nanna had found in the garden that morning; how kindeveryone was to her now! It gave Susan a little pang to remember thatshe herself had done nothing to please her, but just the opposite. Often, when Sophia Jane was well, she had asked to be allowed to haveDinah to herself for a little while, but had always been refused. Now, here she was. She was a most attractive doll, for there was a foreignair about her that distinguished her from all English ones. The nuns atBahia had stuffed her so cleverly that her plump black face and limbsglistened; she wore earrings, a gay turban, and very full floweredchintz skirts. All her under-garments would "take off, " and weretrimmed with curious hand-made lace. It was a great privilege to beallowed to play with her. 

Sophia Jane received her visitor quietly, with a small pinched smile. In answer to Susan's inquiries she pronounced herself better, but addedwith her usual old-fashioned air:

"I'm not well yet, though. I'm still ill and shaky. "

"What would you like to play at?" was Susan's next inquiry put ratherhastily. 

"Nothing at all, " was the decided answer. "I want to talk. "

"But, " said Susan earnestly, "aunt told me you were not to talk much--she did, really. "

"Well, I'll ask questions, and you talk, " said Sophia Jane. 

"Wouldn't you rather have a game of dominoes?" Susan ventured tosuggest. 

"No, " answered Sophia Jane snappishly, "I wouldn't. " Such an angrygleam came into her eyes that Susan, remembering she was not to vex orthwart her, resigned herself to be questioned. Her heart beat quickly. What would the first question be? It was quite an easy one. 

"Did she like it?" asked Sophia Jane, settling herself comfortably onher elbow, and staring at her companion. 

"Very much indeed, " answered Susan. 

"Did it fit him? Tell me all about it. "

"Beautifully. I put it on myself, and he looked very nice in it. I haddinner with Mademoiselle, and she made an omelette--and coffee--and Ihelped to lay the table--and to wash the things afterwards--and she toldme Monsieur has got some more lessons. Then she brought me home, and onthe way we saw Mrs Jones standing in the door of the shop. She's not anice-looking woman, but Mademoiselle says she has a noble heart. Ishould think it must be horrid to be a butcher's wife. Shouldn't you?"

Pausing for a reply, Susan gave a nervous glance at her companion, whoseeyes were still fixed upon her, and who took no notice whatever of thequestion. 

"Did Mademoiselle send a message to me about the collar?" she asked. 

"No, she didn't, " said Susan. Then, seeing how crest-fallen the poorlittle face looked, she added hastily:

"I expect she means to come and thank you herself, or perhaps to writeyou a letter. "

A small tear had gathered in each of Sophia Jane's eyes, but she winkedthem quickly away. 

"You're _sure_, " she said in a troubled voice, "that she understood itwas from me?"

The moment had come. Susan looked straight back in her friend's faceand answered instantly:

"Yes; I am quite sure. "

It was over. She had now told a real story--a very bad one. Nothingworse could happen. 

Sophia Jane seemed satisfied, She gave a little sigh, and said softly:

"Thank you. Then I expect she'll write. "

After this she did not mention the collar again, but was willing to playat dominoes, though she could not get through more than one game. 

"I'm tired now, " she said. "You may read aloud. " When, however, shefound that Susan had only brought a book of fairy tales, she was muchdispleased, and declared fretfully that fairy tales were nonsense. "They're wicked too, " she added, "because they tell stories. "

Susan disputed this, whereupon Sophia Jane grew so excited and angry, and spoke in such a shrill voice that Buskin came in from the next roomto see what was the matter. 

"You've been here long enough, Miss Susan, " she said, glancing at SophiaJane's flushed cheeks. "You better go down-stairs and let Miss SophiaJane be quiet. It's time she took her medicine. "

Susan collected her property and went away. There were a good manythings to carry, but she took one with her which weighed more heavilythan all the rest put together--the knowledge that she had told a story. 

And now, at last, her eyes were opened wide, and she could see clearlythe tangled web she had been weaving for some time past. She could seethat she had first despised Sophia Jane, and then been jealous of her;first been conceited and proud, and then mean and deceitful. Good Susanno longer, but far far worse than her poor little friend, whom she hadalways considered so naughty. Little by little the web had become moreand more twisted and confused. Would it ever be straight again? Shemade no excuse for herself now. Her heart was so full of sorrow andrepentance that she hardly knew how to bear it, and, creepingsorrowfully up into the attic, she cast herself down on the big blackbox and cried. She had thought herself so good since she had come toRamsgate, they had all told her so, and yet how naughty she had been--naughtier and naughtier, until at last she had told a story. Whatshould she do? An old rhyme of Maria's came into her head as she laythere sobbing:

 "A fault confessed Is half redressed. "

That was what she must do. Confess it all to Sophia Jane. But what ahumbling, miserable thing! She could see the expression on SophiaJane's face when she heard that Susan--good Susan--who had always beenheld up as an example, had deceived Mademoiselle and told a story. "Oh, I _couldn't_!" said Susan to herself. "Anything else--any otherpunishment I would bear, but _not_ that. " And then she went on toremember Monsieur and Mademoiselle would know too, and they would neverlike her again, or think her a good little girl--it would be toodreadful. "I shall never never be happy again any way, " said Susan halfaloud. "If I don't tell I shall be miserable, and if I do tell I shallbe miserable too. "

Nanna's voice calling her down to tea put an end for the moment to thesethoughts; but they came back during the evening with yet greater force, and when she went to bed she felt unhappier than she had ever been inher life. She was still, however, undecided about confessing her fault. 

During the next few days she did not see Sophia Jane, though theimprovement continued. It was a relief not to see her; and yet to goabout with a feeling like a lump of lead in her bosom was not, Susanfound, a comfortable thing. It did not get lighter as each day passed, and at last something happened which so increased its weight that shethought any punishment--any open disgrace--would be easier to bear. For, how it happened no one could tell, Sophia Jane managed to catch achill, the fever returned with renewed violence, and she becameseriously ill again. Susan could soon tell from the grave face of thedoctor, and from the scraps of conversation she overheard, that her poorlittle companion was even worse than she had been. Besides this, MrBevis came one evening, and after he had talked a little while to AuntHannah her eyes filled with tears, and Susan heard her say:

"The child's life hangs on a thread. "

Mr Bevis said some texts and soon went away, but that one sentenceremained in Susan's mind and made her more miserable than ever. Athread! It was such a thin, weak thing to hang on, and if it snappedwhere would Sophia Jane's life be? Perhaps it would break soon, thatvery night, before she could see her again and ask her pardon. It wassuch a dreadful thought that Susan was unable to keep it to herself anylonger. She shut her eyes, said her evening prayer all through, and atthe end added very earnestly: "Don't let it break. _Please_ don't letit break. "

Then Margaretta came rushing into the sitting-room where Susan wascurled up in the window seat. She looked pale and frightened. 

"Where's Aunt Hannah?" she said. 

"Just gone out of the room, " answered Susan. 

"Oh!" she added, "_do_ tell me--is Sophia Jane worse?"

"I don't know, " said Margaretta hurriedly. "I want aunt. She ought tosee her; I think perhaps she would send for Dr Martin again. "

Dr Martin was sent for, and came, but he did not give much comfort. 

"You can't do anything, " he said, "but try and keep up her strength. Agreat deal will depend on the next few hours. "

From her lonely corner Susan watched and waited all that wretchedevening, and, not daring to ask questions, stayed there, chill withmisery, until long past her usual bed-time. At last Buskin came to findher. Wonder of wonders! there were tears in Buskin's eyes, and Susanwas encouraged by this display of softness to stretch out her arms toher for comfort, and whisper, "Will she get better?"

"The Lord only knows, my dear, " answered Buskin gruffly; "_we're_ all inHis hands. "

CHAPTER SIX. 

SOPHIA JANE POSTS A LETTER, AND SUSAN PAYS A VISIT. 

Susan remained awake a long, long time that night listening withstrained ears to the subdued noises in the house. She heard Dr Martincome and go away again, his boots creaking softly on each stair; sheheard Aunt Hannah's voice, mysterious and low, wishing him good-night, and after that the shutting of the door. Then a great stillness seemedto fall over everything, and she went to sleep at last. 

When she next opened her eyes the darkness was over--here was brightdaylight again, and Buskin drawing up her blind. The first words sheheard were like part of a dream:

"She's had a beautiful sleep, and the fever's taken a turn. "

Susan rubbed her eyes to be quite sure she was awake, and that the goodnews was true. 

"The doctor's been already this morning, " continued Buskin, coming up tothe bedside, "and he says she'll do now with care. "

Susan had a hundred questions to ask, and her joy and relief were sogreat that she wanted to pour it all out at once. But this morningBuskin was "herself again, " her soft expression was gone; she was coldand stiff as usual, and would scarcely say more than "yes" and "no" tothese eager inquiries. "I shall hear all about it, " said Susan toherself, "at breakfast-time;" and she dressed as quickly as she couldand went down-stairs. 

She was right, for no one mentioned any other subject throughout themeal. Sophia Jane had been neither liked or valued while she was strongand well, but her illness seemed to have drawn all hearts towards her. And yet she was the same Sophia Jane!

"I never could have believed, " said Aunt Hannah with tears in her eyes, as she put down her tea-cup, "that I should have grown so fond of thatchild!"

"Poor little darling!" said Nanna. 

"I cried my eyes out last night, " added Margaretta, "after Dr Martinhad gone. "

"The relief of seeing her fall asleep!" continued Aunt Hannah. "I shallnever forget it! It was just two o'clock, and I had sent Buskin to bed. Presently, I thought the child was lying more quietly, and herbreathing sounded different. I hardly dared to look at her, but when Idid she was sleeping as calmly as a baby, and her forehead quite moist. I shall never forget it!"

"Dear little thing!" repeated Nanna. 

"We shall all be very thankful, I'm sure, " said Aunt Hannah lookinground the table, "if Sophia Jane gets quite well again. "

"Of course we shall!" exclaimed everyone together. 

"And during her illness I have felt that when she was well we were allsometimes too hard upon her faults. "

There was silence. 

"Everyone is better for being loved, " pursued Aunt Hannah. "And I fancyno one has ever loved Sophia Jane much in her life. Perhaps this hasmade her hard and disagreeable. At any rate, I think we might all withadvantage be more patient and kind than we have been. "

It seemed difficult to Aunt Hannah to get through this speech, for shestopped very often; and Susan could see that once she was nearly crying. She had been sitting up half the night and was no doubt very tired, buthow wonderful it was to hear her speak like that of Sophia Jane! Itmade her resolve still more firmly than she had yet done, that as soonas ever her companion was well enough she would make full and freeconfession of her fault. 

And this time Sophia Jane seemed to have made up her mind to go straighton and get well, for she improved every day; and though it was only alittle way at a time there were no drawbacks. The morning arrived whichSusan had long been waiting for, when Aunt Hannah said, "You may seeSophia Jane. " Susan thought that Mary Queen of Scots could not havefelt worse when they told her that the block was ready; but she did notflinch. The moment she was alone with Sophia Jane she faltered out herstory, and stood before her with burning cheeks and downcast eyes. Thelittle invalid peered curiously out of the frilled white cap she wore. It was one of Aunt Hannah's adapted to her size, because she complainedthat her head felt cold, and it gave her such a strangely old witch-likeair that it greatly increased Susan's fear and distress. 

"But I thought you said Mademoiselle understood I sent it?"

"So I did, " murmured Susan. 

"But that was a story?"

No answer. 

"But I thought you were always good?" with a gleam of gratification inher eyes. 

"I'm very sorry, " said the culprit. 

Sophia Jane paused a moment, then she asked:

"Does Mademoiselle know now?"

"No, " said Susan. "I haven't seen her. "

"Well!" exclaimed Sophia Jane scornfully, "I should think you mightwrite. "

"So I will, " said Susan earnestly; "and then will you forgive me?"

"Oh, I don't know about that!" said Sophia Jane, shaking her head tillthe frill of her cap trembled. "You see it was so very bad of you. "

"I know, " said Susan humbly. Then venturing to glance at Sophia Jane'sface she was surprised to see a sudden little smile appear, and to hearher exclaim:

"At any rate there's _one_ thing! They'll never be able to say again, `try to be as good as Susan, ' because you've been much naughtier nowthan I've ever been!"

She chuckled softly to herself, and then said--suddenly and sharply:

"Why don't you write the letter?"

It was not the least part of Susan's punishment to be treated as a childwho could not be trusted. But she bore it patiently, fetched her desk, and wrote the words sternly dictated by Sophia Jane. The latter thenrequested that she might read the letter, and having done so watchedwhile Susan directed the envelope and put a stamp on it. Then she said:

"Give it me, " and immediately pushed it under her pillow. 

"Sha'n't I post it?" asked Susan humbly. 

"Certainly not!" said Sophia Jane decidedly. "That would be a prettything indeed!"

Susan felt humbled to the dust, and yet when she left her companion'sroom her heart was lighter, and she was really happier than she had beenfor a long time. She had done what she could to repair her fault, andall the pricks and stabs which Sophia Jane thrust into her were notnearly so hard to bear as the reproaches of her own self. True theywere painful, for Susan was a proud child and liked to be well thoughtof; but after all she was suffering justly. Even if Monsieur andMademoiselle should always despise her after reading that letter sheshould deserve it. But, oh, what a pity it was! So the thing next tobe dreaded was the meeting with Mademoiselle Delphine, and to see herkindly brown face look cold and displeased. Susan could not help hopingthat it would not happen just yet. She did not want to see either heror Monsieur for a long time. She wondered whether Sophia Jane had sentthe letter at once, and whether Mademoiselle would write in answer orcome herself. She was not, however, kept long in uncertainty aboutthis, for two days after her interview with Sophia Jane there came anote for Aunt Hannah, which she opened at breakfast, saying:

"This is from Mademoiselle Delphine. "

Susan watched her face anxiously, and saw a puzzled expression as sheread on. 

"She wants to know, " said Aunt Hannah, at last looking up, "if she maycome and see Sophia Jane this evening at five o'clock, and says shebrings a friend. What friend can she mean?"

"Very strange, indeed!" said Margaretta. "I've no objection whatever toMademoiselle's seeing the child, " continued Aunt Hannah. "In fact, Ithink it would interest and amuse her to have a visitor. But thefriend! I must say I consider that rather thoughtless and ill-judged. I am always glad to see Monsieur La Roche or his sister--but their_friends_! That is quite another matter. "

"Quite, " said Nanna and Margaretta both at once. 

Susan was at first too occupied with the idea that Mademoiselle wascoming that very evening to think about the friend at all, or to wonderwhom it could be; she hastened with the news to Sophia Jane, who had nowso far improved in strength that she was allowed to sit up a littlewhile every afternoon. She was delighted at the idea of the visit, andat once made a suggestion about the friend which filled Susan withdismay, it was this:

"Perhaps, as she's so fond of Mrs Jones, she means to bring her. "

What an idea! and yet when Susan thought it over it did not seemunlikely, for Mademoiselle always spoke with great admiration of "MadameJones" as an acquaintance to be much valued. "A noble-hearted being, "she had called her more than once. Susan wondered what Margaretta andNanna would think of her if she came. They always talked so much aboutappearance, and manner, and dress, and if they disapproved of it theysaid, "rather common. " They would certainly call Madame Jones "rathercommon, " for they would not understand about her noble heart; and indeedSusan remembered she should not have done so herself withoutMademoiselle's explanation. It was a pity that when people had noblehearts it did not make them look noble outside, and she ended by hopingvery much that Madame Jones would not come. 

It was between four and five o'clock in the afternoon of the expectedvisit, and the little girls were alone together. Aunt Hannah hadpromised that Mademoiselle should have a snug tea with them upstairs ifshe came alone, so that they were awaiting her arrival with someanxiety. Susan could not help a little secret hope now that she would_not_ be alone, so that the dreaded meeting might be deferred. SophiaJane had made no further reference to the collar, but Susan felt as muchabashed in her presence as any prisoner before his judge, and sometimesfound it difficult to talk. She gave a timid look at her; she was in alarge arm-chair close to the fire, very much covered up and surroundedby pillows, in the midst of which she looked like a small white mouse ina red-flannel gown. Her features were sharpened by illness, and shestill insisted on wearing Aunt Hannah's cap; but though all this madeher more like an old woman than a child, there was to-day a softenedlight in her blue eyes which Susan noticed at once. She had never seenit there before. She took courage. 

"Do you suppose, " she said, glancing at black Dinah, "that Margarettawill let you play with Dinah when you are well?"

"I don't want to get well, " said Sophia Jane at once. 

"Don't--want--to get--well!" repeated Susan in surprise. 

"I shouldn't mind always being ill, " said Sophia Jane. "Everyone'skind, no one scolds you; you have nice things to eat, and lemonade. Idon't want to get well. "

"I want you to get well to play with me again, " said Susan. "And I knoweverybody wants you to get well. "

"Why do they?" asked the invalid. 

"Oh, because--of course they do, " was the only reason Susan could give. 

"Well, " said Sophia Jane thoughtfully, "of course there's the trouble ofit, and the doctor to pay. "

She wrinkled her brow as she said this, and looked sideways at Susanwith her old cunning expression. 

"Oh, it isn't that, " said Susan very earnestly; "why, they're alldreadfully sorry. That night you were worst, you know, Aunt Hannahcried, and every one, and so did Buskin. "

"I don't think I should cry if they were ill, " said Sophia Jane aftersome reflection. 

"Well, it shows how fond they are of you, doesn't it?" remarked Susan. 

"Perhaps, " replied Sophia Jane, and after that she was silent for a longtime, and Susan stationed herself at the window to watch forMademoiselle and her friend. 

Whenever she saw two people in the distance she cried out, "Here theyare!" And this happened so often, and turned out to be not the leastlike them, that at last it made the invalid quite peevish. So manyfalse alarms, when she could not look out of the window herself, weremost distracting. 

"You're not to say it again, " she exclaimed in a weak voice of command, "unless you see them _acshally_ coming in at the gate. "

Susan controlled herself with difficulty, for she was getting very muchexcited as the time drew near. And now, stepping quickly and neatlyalong with a large basket on her arm, Mademoiselle's figure did reallyappear--alone. Where was the friend? Susan's heart sank, and her handsgrew quite cold. In another minute she must meet Mademoiselle, andthen-- "She's coming in at the gate, " she announced to the invalid in atrembling voice; "and she hasn't brought Mrs Jones or anyone, but onlya large basket. "

"You're sure?" said Sophia Jane in a husky agitated tone; "then lookhere, quick, before she comes in. "

Susan turned sharply round from the window. Sophia Jane was leaningforward over the grate, with a flush on her white cheeks and her eyesvery bright, and in her hand she held, soiled and crumpled, Susan'sletter of confession. The next second it had dropped into the heart ofthe fire, and as the door opened to admit Mademoiselle a little flamesprang brightly up. And that was how Sophia Jane posted the letter. Itwas such a sudden thing, and so completely altered the state of affairsthat Susan could not at first take it in, or remember that she might nowanswer Mademoiselle's greetings without shame. These were mostaffectionate and cheerful, and she presently seated herself close toSophia Jane's arm-chair with her basket on her knees, and untied herbonnet-strings. 

"Madame, your aunt, is so kind to ask me to take tea with you, " shesaid, "and I have taken the liberty to bring also a Monsieur who isanxious to make his compliments to Miss Sophia. "

"Is he down-stairs?" asked Sophia Jane. 

"Mais non, " said Mademoiselle with a little burst of laughter; "he ishere, in this room, and waits to make himself known. "

She opened the lid of the basket a very little way and peeped in. 

"It's Gambetta!" exclaimed Sophia Jane, in a voice hoarse withexcitement; "that's what you meant by a friend. "

There was the tiny tinkle of a bell. Mademoiselle opened the basketwide, and there indeed was Gambetta in all the dignity of the newcollar. 

Nothing could exceed Sophia Jane's delight as she clasped her hands inan ecstasy and laughed aloud. "Doesn't he look nice in it?" she said. Mademoiselle smiled and nodded in return; everyone looked pleased exceptGambetta himself, who held his neck stiffly as though he said, "Pridemust suffer pain. "

Susan stood a little behind the group while this was going on; now shecame in front of Mademoiselle and caressed Gambetta's soft furry neck. 

"It's Sophia Jane's present, " she said, "not mine. She sent it toMonsieur for him. "

Mademoiselle looked puzzled. 

"It was got with Susan's half-crown, " added Sophia Jane quickly, "soit's from both of us. "

"Ah, that is very amiable of you both, " said Mademoiselle. "Gambettahas both the two of you to thank--and Adolphe also; that is veryagreeable. "

And so the event which Susan had thought of and dreaded so much passedwith this slight remark. The confession had been made, and her mind wasclear again, and free. Free to laugh, and talk, and look peoplestraight in the face, and be her old happy self. But there was onething she never forgot, and that was Sophia Jane's generosity. Byburning that letter she had gained not only Susan's affection but herrespect; she should never look down upon her again. 

Meanwhile Gambetta became restive, and, in spite of all his mistress'sentreaties, broke away from her, and refused to settle down till he hadmade a thorough examination of the room. He jumped on to the table, smelt all the chairs, looked suspiciously behind the chest of drawers, and walked gingerly in his high furry boots amongst Sophia Jane'smedicine bottles. His every movement was watched and admired, and bythe time Buskin brought in tea he had finished his inquiries and drawnnear the group by the fire. Then, after one thoughtful glance round, hechose Sophia Jane's position as being the warmest, softly leapt on toher lap, and snuggled himself among her shawls, In this situation hepresently began a purring song of comfort, in which he was joined by thetea-kettle. Sophia Jane's satisfaction was now complete. MademoiselleDelphine's face beamed, and Susan, pouring out tea with Aunt Hannah'sbest pink set, felt almost too happy for words. Probably few rooms heldfour happier creatures that evening. 

It was pleasant to see how Mademoiselle enjoyed herself; how she said, "Excellente!" to the tea, and water-cresses, and muffins, and how shecoaxed Sophia Jane to eat, and made her laugh. She was one of thosefortunate people who pick up pleasures everywhere, and find amusement inthe most common things of life. After tea she told them stories. Interesting details about Paris, and Adolphe, and their journey toEngland with poor Gambetta in a basket, and all this made the time passso quickly, that when the clock struck seven everyone was startled. Mademoiselle herself sprang up at once with a little shriek. She hadpromised to meet Adolphe at a certain point on her way home, and hewould without doubt be waiting for her. Gambetta, therefore, washustled into his basket before he had time to resist, and Mademoiselle, having embraced her little friends heartily, was soon on her way. 

The two little girls were silent for a minute after she had gone. Sophia Jane, languid after such unusual excitement, stared absently atthe fire, and Susan, not yet quite at her ease, did not like to speakfirst. But when Buskin entered it seemed to give her courage, and shesaid:

"Haven't we had a nice tea-party?"

"Yes, " answered Sophia Jane; and added thoughtfully, "it's very nice tobe ill. "

"But I want you to get well, " said Susan. "You can't think how dull itis down-stairs without you. "

Buskin would not allow any further conversation, and Susan had to saygood-night and go away. As she kissed her friend's tiny befrilled face, she felt for the first time really fond of her, and grateful also. Shehad made the discovery lately that you could not judge people by theiroutsides, or even by what others said of them. Under her cross, crabbedmanner Sophia Jane had hidden a grateful heart, which had answered tothe first touch of kindness; and disguised by sharp and shrewish words, she had shown a really generous and forgiving spirit. Like MadameJones, it appeared that she had a noble heart. 

The next day was one of some excitement to Susan, for it had beenarranged that she was to spend it with some friends of Margaretta andNanna who lived at Ramsgate. Their name was Winslow. It was notaltogether a pleasant prospect, for she had never been there before, andshe had very little hope that she should find them agreeable. Not thatshe knew anything against them; on the contrary, their name was neveruttered without words of admiration, and if Nanna or Margaretta wishedto bestow high approval on anything, they always said it was likesomething the Winslows had. It appeared, indeed, that these friendswere much favoured by fortune. Their house was the pleasantest, theirhorses the best, their taste the most excellent, their children theprettiest and most clever. It was this last point which had speciallyinterested Sophia Jane and Susan, and they had gradually come to dislikethe little Winslows, though they knew nothing of them but their namesand appearance. Whenever Nanna or Margaretta returned from seeing thesefriends they were brimful of admiration at the excellent conduct andtalent of the children, and did not fail to draw unfavourable contrasts. They described their dresses, repeated their speeches, and gave manyinstances of their polite behaviour and obedience to rules. Little Eva, who was not so old as Susan, could already play "The HarmoniousBlacksmith" without a mistake. Dear Julia, who was Sophia Jane's exactage, danced the minuet with the utmost elegance, and always held herselfupright. As for darling Lucy, she spoke French with ease, and hadbegged to be allowed to begin German. 

Although they had never spoken to these wonderful children, the littlegirls had often met them out of doors walking with their governess, andhad long ago made up their minds about them. 

They thought them prim and dull-looking, and found something annoying intheir neatly-dressed little figures, and the perfect propriety withwhich they stepped along, holding their small round heads rather high. They imagined, too, that they had seen them cast glances of surprise anddisdain on Sophia Jane's clothes, which were often shabby, and neverbecoming. They agreed, therefore, in considering them disagreeablechildren, and were by no means anxious for their acquaintance. 

Remembering all this, Susan felt there was no chance at all that sheshould enjoy herself, and she did not get much comfort from Sophia Jane, when she went to say good-bye. 

"I'm glad I'm not going, " she said. "I know I should hate 'em. Youknow we always have. "

"Perhaps they'll be nicer in-doors, " said Susan, though she did notthink it probable. 

"I believe they're all horrid, every one of 'em, " said Sophia Janedecidedly, "in-doors and out, and I'm glad I'm not going. "

"It wouldn't be quite so bad if you were, " said Susan with a sigh, "because we could talk about it afterwards. But I must go; there'sMargaretta calling me. "

"I hope, Susan, " said Margaretta, as they walked along the paradetogether, "that you will remember to behave very nicely, and answerproperly when Mrs Winslow speaks to you. Don't blush and look shy. The little Winslows never look silly, and I have never seen them blush. "

"Are you fond of Mrs Winslow?" asked Susan. "She's very kind, "answered Margaretta, "and very clever. She knows a great deal abouteducation. "

Susan asked no more questions, and in a quarter of an hour they arrivedat the house which was large and tall, with green balconies, and a greatmany windows. Part of it faced the sea, and part of it went round thecorner into a street, and it all looked, inside and out, so bright andclean and new that it was quite dazzling. Susan thought she had neverseen a house where everything shone so much, and there was so muchlight. Not a shadow, not a dark corner anywhere, and all the furniturewas polished so highly that she saw herself and Margaretta reflected adozen times as they moved along. When they reached the drawing-room itwas still more confusing, for there were so many mirrors, and windows, and statuettes under glass cases, that the brilliancy almost broughttears to her eyes, it was such a contrast to the dimness of AuntHannah's low ceilings and small rooms. Wherever she turned her head, too, another Susan stared at her, and this made her feel shy anduncomfortable. 

"Isn't it a beautiful room?" said Margaretta, seating herself on apompous yellow sofa. "So cheerful!"

Before Susan could answer, Mrs Winslow came in. She was a fair ladywith a very straight nose, and she welcomed them kindly, and asked afterSophia Jane. 

"My little people, " she continued, scarcely waiting, Susan noticed, forMargaretta's answer, "are just returning from their walk. Air and lightare as necessary to the young as to flowers, are they not? How can weexpect their minds to expand unless the body is healthy?"

"No, indeed, " said Margaretta. 

Mrs Winslow then proposed that they should go and take off their hats, which being done she led the way down-stairs into the dining-room, wherethe "little people" were already assembled with their governess fortheir early dinner. During this Susan had plenty of time forobservation, and she soon decided that she should have to tell SophiaJane that they were _not_ nicer in-doors than out. They werewonderfully alike: all had little straight noses, fair complexions, andpale blue eyes, and when they spoke they said all their words verydistinctly, and never cut any of them short. They were very polite toSusan. 

"I encourage conversation with my children during meal-time, onprinciple, " said Mrs Winslow. "How can you expect them to acquireright habits of speaking if silence is imposed?"

"No, indeed, " said Margaretta again. 

"The force of habit, " continued Mrs Winslow, putting down her knife andfork, and looking from Margaretta to Miss Pink, the governess, "hasnever, it seems to me, been sufficiently considered in education. It ina giant power. It rests with us to turn it this way or that, to give ita right or a wrong direction, to use it for good or for evil. I say tomy children, for instance, `always think before you act, in the smallestas well as the greatest things. ' By degrees I thus form in them habitsof steadiness, thoughtfulness, calmness, which will not desert them whencalled upon to act in moments of danger and difficulty. `Train up achild in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not departfrom it'--nay more, he _cannot_ depart from it. "

It was quite by chance as Mrs Winslow said these last words that hereyes rested on Susan, who had been staring at her all the while she hadbeen speaking, and who now felt that an answer of some kind wasexpected. She had none to give, however, for she had not been listeningat all to what had been said, her mind being filled with wonder and aweat Mrs Winslow, who talked as though she were reading aloud. She onlyblushed, therefore, and immediately became aware that three pairs ofpale blue eyes were fastened upon her from the other side of the table. The little Winslows never blushed, Margaretta had said, and of coursethey thought her very silly. She longed for the meal to be over, andthe visit also. Why, she wondered, were Margaretta and Nanna so fond ofcoming here? Margaretta did not look as if she were enjoying herselfmuch. She was sitting in a stiff position, with her head a little onone side, watching every glance of Mrs Winslow's, so that she mightsay, "yes, indeed, " or "quite so, " or "exactly, " in the right place. Her voice did not sound like the voice she had at Aunt Hannah's, butsmaller, and she said her words mincingly. Susan felt sure she was notenjoying herself. Why _did_ she come?

Presently the conversation became more interesting, and Susan nowlistened to it with some anxiety, for Mrs Winslow was makingarrangements for the afternoon, and she hoped to hear of an early returnto Belmont Cottage. She did not want to see any more of the littleWinslows, and quite longed to get back to Sophia Jane and tell her allabout them. It was disappointing, therefore, to hear it decided thatMargaretta should drive out with Mrs Winslow, who would leave her atAunt Hannah's, and that Susan should walk back later with Miss Pink andthe little people. Margaretta was almost to be envied. Perhaps it wasbecause she liked driving in a carriage with a pair of swift horses thatshe liked coming here. And yet Mrs Winslow's presence would spoilanything, Susan thought. If she went on talking like that, andMargaretta had to sit up and listen to her and make little remarks, thedrive would not be worth having; it could not be much worse to walk homewith the little Winslows. 

After dinner the little girls took their visitor into the schoolroom, where they were to amuse themselves until it was time to start for theirwalk. It was a large bright room like all the others in the house; butthis cheerfulness did not seem to have affected the Winslows themselves. They were quiet children, always good and obedient, but rather dull. They did not seem to understand games, and seldom laughed. How verydifferent they were to Sophia Jane! Certainly she was not nearly sowell behaved, but then she was a far more amusing companion. Theafternoon seemed endless. 

"Don't you ever play with dolls?" Susan asked at last. 

"No, " answered Lucy the eldest, "we are too old. Eva has one, but weput away our dolls on my last birthday. "

"What _do_ you play at?" inquired Susan. 

"We haven't much time to play, " replied Lucy seriously, "because webelong to so many things. "

"What things?"

"There's the `Early Rising Society, ' and the `Half-hour Needlework forthe East-End Society, ' and the `Reading Society, ' and the `ZenanaMeetings;' and we're all `Young Abstainers. '"

"What's that?" asked Susan. 

"It's the children's temperance society. We pledge ourselves not totake alcohol, and to prevent others from taking it if we can. There's ameeting once a month. It's our turn next time to have it here. "

"What do you do when you meet?" inquired Susan. 

"Some of us work, " said Lucy, "and someone reads aloud. "

"And then, " added little Eva, "we have tea. "

There was a faint look of satisfaction on Eva's face as she said this. 

"Eva thinks tea is the best part of all, " said Julia, the next sister, rather scornfully. 

"Well, " said Susan, "I expect I should too, because I'm not fond ofneedlework. Unless, " she added, "the book was _very_ interesting tolisten to. "

"Sometimes it is, " said Julia, "and sometimes it isn't. Are you fond ofreading?"

"Some books, " answered Susan. 

"If you belonged to the Reading Society, " put in Lucy, "you'd have toread an improving book for half an hour every day, and perhaps at theend of the year you'd get a prize. "

"I suppose you mean an uninteresting book like a lesson book, " saidSusan. "I shouldn't like that. "

"Well, of course, it mustn't be a _story_-book, " said Julia. 

"Would the _Pilgrim's Progress_ do?" asked Susan. 

The little girls looked doubtfully at each other. "I'm not sure, " saidLucy, "whether that that _would_ be considered an improving book. "

Susan proceeded to make more inquiries about the various societies, butshe did not think any of them sounded attractive, and certainly had nowish to join the little Winslows in belonging to them. This filled upthe time until four o'clock, when, with Miss Pink, they all set out ontheir walk to Belmont Cottage. Susan was surprised to see that eachlittle girl was provided with a hoop, which was the nearest approach toa toy of any kind that she had observed during her visit. 

"We always take hoops out in the afternoon until the month of May, "explained Lucy. "Mother considers the exercise healthy. "

It was such a relief to Susan to feel that the visit was over, and thatshe was really going back, that she could not walk quite soberly withMiss Pink, but danced along the parade by little Eva's side as shebowled her hoop, and was almost inclined to sing aloud with pleasure. There were a great many people about, and quite a crowd of carriages, and soon in the distance they saw Mrs Winslow's black horsesapproaching. She had left Margaretta at Belmont Cottage, and was nowreturning. Just as the carriage passed, Eva, who was staring at hermother, gave her hoop a blow which sent it in the wrong direction, andit trundled out into the middle of the road, almost under the horses'feet. Not quite, however, for Susan, who was watching it, sprang afterit and caught it away just in time. Mrs Winslow nodded and smiled atthe children, the carriage drove on, and Susan carried the hoop back tothe path where the little Winslows were drawn up in a row with veryserious faces. 

"You might have been run over, " said Lucy gravely. 

"I didn't think about it, " said Susan. 

"Mother says, " continued Lucy, "_Always_ think before you act. "

"My dear, " interrupted Miss Pink hastily, "Susan has done very well. There are exceptions to every rule. "

When Susan reached home she found Sophia Jane still sitting up, andeager to hear all the news about the visit. She at once inquired if theWinslows were "horrid;" but Susan would not quite say that. "They werevery kind to her and very good, but--" she added, "I haven't enjoyedmyself a bit, and I never want to go there again or see them any more. "

"I told you so, " said Sophia Jane, and she gave herself a hug ofsatisfaction. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

"CAPTAIN ENTICKNAPP. "

It was the end of March before Sophia Jane was allowed to godown-stairs. She had been ill six long weeks, and even now she was veryfar from strong, and walked in a tottering manner like a little oldlady. Susan, much excited and pleased, hovered round her, anxious to beuseful and add to her comfort. She led her carefully to the largearm-chair which she had dragged near the window, put a cushion at herback and a footstool under her feet, and brought her a cup of beef-tea. Sophia Jane looked out of the window and clapped her hands withpleasure. 

"How beautiful it is!" she exclaimed. 

For the sun was shining very brightly, and all the crocuses in AuntHannah's garden were in bloom--smart little soldiers in their trimuniforms of purple, gold, and white, standing in rows amongst theirbristling green spears. There were tiny green leaves on all thegooseberry bushes, the sky was blue, and it all looked like a fresh newworld to her after she had been shut up so long in one room. 

"I may go out of doors to-morrow, mayn't I?" she asked eagerly as AuntHannah came into the room. But Aunt shook her head. 

"You must be patient, my dear, " she said. "The sun is hot, but the windis in the east, and it is not really warm yet. The doctor says we mustbe careful not to risk a chill. Susan must think of something to amuseyou in-doors. "

"I know something she would like, " said Susan. She nodded her headtowards the portrait over the mantelpiece, and the gentleman in thepig-tail seemed to answer her glance with his kind blue eyes. 

"You promised long ago you would tell us a story about him--a true one. We should both like that. "

"Perhaps I will this evening, " replied Aunt Hannah; "but you must amuseSophia Jane quietly until then, and be careful not to tire her. "

This Susan readily promised, and looked forward with great pleasure tothe evening, not only because she was extremely fond of hearing a story, but because she had gradually come to take a good deal of interest inCaptain Enticknapp. He was her mother's aunt's father, and thereforeSusan's great-grandfather, and it was wonderful to think how long ago helived, and what strange things he must have seen and done. Thesitting-room, and indeed the whole house, was full of objects he hadbrought home from his different voyages: oddly shaped-cups and bowls anddishes of blue china, ivory carvings, and curious inlaid snuff-boxes. There was one idol Susan specially liked. He was made of sandalwood, and sat cross-legged in the middle of the mantelpiece just under theportrait. His forehead was high and shining, and his expressionbenevolent; here and there, he had been chipped and notched, so that onemight smell the fragrance of the wood. In her own mind Susan had givenhim the name of Robin Grey, which she thought seemed to suit his face. He was the nicest of all the idols, and there were a great many of allkinds. 

Captain Enticknapp's blue eyes looked quietly down from the picture uponall these things, and also upon sundry of his personal possessions whichhad gone on many and many a voyage with him, and seen rough weather inhis company. There stood the square camphor-wood chest which had fittedinto his cabin, and since its last journey had remained here in the calmretreat of Aunt Hannah's sitting-room. There was his great watch, double cased, with a hole through it; made, Susan had heard, by a bulletwhich might have killed Captain Enticknapp if it had not struck againstthe watch first. There, too, was the snuff-box he had always carried. It was a flat silver one, with portraits of Queen Anne and DrSacheverel engraved upon it; but they were so faint now with age, andthe constant pressure of the captain's thumb that they could hardly betraced. 

These things served to keep her great-grandfather and his voyages andadventures constantly before Susan's mind, and she thought of him veryoften. At night, when the wind was high, and she heard the great wavestossing and tumbling on the shore, she liked to fancy him far out at seain his ship, and to wonder if he ever felt afraid. When Aunt Hannahread prayers she came to a verse in the Psalms sometimes, which seemedquite to belong to him:

"Such as go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their business in greatwaters; these men see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in thedeep. "

That was just what Captain Enticknapp had done, and Susan had now madeup so many stories about him in her head, that she was very glad tothink she was really to hear a true one at last. 

Aunt Hannah did not forget her promise, and that evening, Margaretta andNanna being away, and the children comfortably settled near the fire, she took up her knitting and began as follows:

"You both know that the old watch I have shown you sometimes, with holesthrough the case, belonged to my father, Captain John Enticknapp. I amgoing to tell you the story of how those holes were made, and how thatwatch and the gratitude of a man were once the means of saving his life. It happened long ago, when I was a little girl of Susan's age, andlived with my father and mother in a house on the river at Wapping. "

The children gazed at Aunt Hannah. She wore a front and a cap; her facewas wrinkled. What did she look like when she was a little girl ofSusan's age?

"You know, Susan, " continued she, looking up at the portrait, "thatCaptain Enticknapp was your great-grandfather, and I daresay it seemsimpossible to you to think of him as young as as he was when thatpicture was painted. "

"Was he young?" asked Sophia Jane. "Then, why has he got grey hair?"

"That is not grey hair, my dear, it is powder; nearly every one whocould afford to pay the tax wore powder in those days. When thatpicture was done my father was only thirty-five years old. Well, as Itold you, we lived at Wapping, on the banks of the river Thames, closeto the great London Docks. Since then other docks have been built, andWapping is no longer such an important place; but then it was the chiefentrance for shipping, and nearly all the great merchantmen came inthere with their cargoes, or started thence for foreign countries. Manylarge vessels lay there for months at a time to be refitted, and as ourhouse stood close to the water's-edge you could see from its windows allthat went on, and all the different crafts and barges which passed onthe river. When you wished to go anywhere by water you had only to stepdown a narrow flight of stone stairs outside, get into a boat, and berowed where you pleased, and this was a very pleasant way of travellingand cost little. At that time few lived at Wapping but sea-faringpeople, and those who owned great wharfs, and had to do with merchandiseand shipping. My father was in the merchant service, well-known for hissuccessful voyages, and always to be trusted to carry through a matterhonourably and well. He was a man of his word, firm and true, and onewho would look neither to right or left, but go straight on where hisduty led. When you think of your great-grandfather, Susan, you canalways feel proud of this; there is nothing better than to have hadpeople belonging to us in the past who have been high-minded and good. He was, of course, often absent from us for months at a time, and hadmuch to tell us about his voyages when he returned. He was the first totake out a gang of convicts in the ship _Scarborough_, and land them inthe place which was afterwards called Botany Bay, then a wild anddesolate country; this happened in the year 1788, when a new law waspassed to establish a penal settlement in Australia with a governor atits head. Until then convicts had been sent to America and the WestIndies. The account of this landing always interested me very much;but, on his second voyage to Australia, there happened to my father sucha strange adventure, and such a narrow escape from a dreadful death thatI never wearied of hearing about it, and it is now as fresh in my memoryas if he had just told it to me. This is how it came to pass. It wasin the spring of 1789, when he had been at home with us for a month, that he received orders to start for the colony with a second lot of 200convicts, some to be taken on board at Woolwich, and some at Portsmouth;he was afterwards to proceed to China for a cargo of tea, and wouldtherefore be away a long, long time. The whole household was sorry forthis, because we all missed his cheerful companionship; but my mothergrieved most of all, for she understood better than we did, the dangershe would go through, and felt each time he left her, that she mightnever see him again. But she showed her trouble as little as she coulduntil he was out of her sight, so that he might go on his way with agood heart, and not be too much cast down at leaving us alone. 

"Well, he got down to Portsmouth, and the convicts came on board, looking at the first glance all very much alike, with their croppedheads and their prison clothes. But this was not really so, there was agreat difference between them; for some were men of education and somewere ignorant; some were brutal and wicked by nature, and others onlyweak and foolish; some were stupid, and others clever, and each of thesethings stamps its own expression on the face and form. 

"As my father stood on the quay watching the men as they passed him, someone tapped him on the shoulder, and turning he saw a certain MajorGrose standing there. 

"`Captain Enticknapp, ' he said; `a word with you about one of those men. Notice the one standing fourth from us now; his name is Birt. I knowhim well and his father too. He can be trusted; it is misfortune ratherthan vice which has brought him to this evil pass. If you can, allowhim some privileges, and show him kindness during the voyage. You willdo me a service if you will bear this in mind. '

"Now my father was a man only too ready to think well of others, and todo them a kindness if possible, so he willingly promised, and observedBirt closely that he might know him again. He was a slight young fellowof about twenty, with delicate features and large melancholy eyes whichhe bent on the ground; so shame-faced and sad looking, and such acontrast in his bearing to the recklessness of many of the other men, that my father's heart was at once touched with pity for him. 

"On the voyage he took every possible occasion of being kind to Birt, and allowed him the privilege of being on deck all day instead of onlytwo hours like the rest of the convicts. He also lent him books, encouraged him to talk of his troubles, and by degrees learned the wholestory of his misfortunes. Now, in doing this my father became fond ofhim, for to bestow benefits on anyone is a sure way to make a friendlyfeeling towards them, and as for Birt he would have done anything toserve the captain and show his gratitude. Very soon this chance wasgiven to him. 

"At night the convicts were all locked down under hatches and sentinelsplaced over them. The men lay six in a berth, and it so happened thatone of these disclosed to Birt a plot that forty of them had made andsigned with their blood. Would he join them and have his share of theprize?

"Now Birt dared not say no, for he feared for his life amongst thosedesperate men. 

"`Before I say that I will, ' he replied, `I must know your plan. How isit possible to seize the ship when such a good look-out is kept?'

"Then the convict told him all that had been settled by the mutineers. At four o'clock when the hatches were raised most of the officers wentto their cabins, and there would be more than twenty convicts on deckwho were all in the plot. They would then knock down the sentinels, getpossession of the quarter-deck, and seize the firearms which were readyloaded. They would next release their other comrades and alter thecourse of the ship. 

"`But what, ' asked Birt, `will you do with the captain, officers, andsoldiers?'

"`We will kill the captain, ' replied the wretch, `and put his head atthe main topgallant masthead--and we will put the first-mate's head atthe mizzen, and the boatswain's at the fore. The other convicts who arenot with us in the matter we shall put on shore at some island, andleave them to shift for themselves, they are worth nothing. The ship isa good prize, for the captain has a large sum of money on board to takeout for the East India Company. These things done, we shall kill thegreat hog, and with plenty of drink we shall have a good time of it. Doyou join us?'

"Birt consented, for he dared not do otherwise; but all night long hethought, and thought, and wondered how to get the plot to the captain'sknowledge. He was determined to save his life and that of the crew; butit was not an easy matter, for he knew that the convicts would now watchhim narrowly and that he must not be seen talking to any of theofficers. The only thing to do was to put it down in writing and get itsomehow into their hands. But how to write it, when he was never amoment alone? and it must be done the next day. 

"At last after much puzzling he hit upon a plan. 

"In the morning when he went on deck he washed a shirt and took it up tothe foretop to dry. Now the foretop is a place high up in the riggingof the ship, a very giddy height indeed, and when a man is there he isreally almost out of sight and it is impossible to see what he is doingfrom the deck. Birt had a little pocket book with him, and in it, as hesat on the foretop, he wrote down all he knew about the intended mutiny. When he went below he hoped to get a chance of slipping it into thecaptain's hand, or of putting it where he would be likely to find it. 

"But luck was against him, for he could not get near the captain thewhole of that day, and there were keen eyes always fastened upon him bythe convicts, who were on deck by fifty at a time, and watched eachother closely for fear of treachery. Amongst each fifty there werealways some who were in the plot, and if they had suspected Birt ofbetraying them they would have made short work of him, and this he knewvery well. Evening came, and still he had been able to do nothing. Thenext morning at four o'clock the bloody deed was to be done. He pacedthe deck to and fro, to and fro, almost in despair, and yet determinedto venture something for the captain's sake. Then he noticed that thefirst-mate was in the hold, serving out water, and suddenly an idea cameinto Birt's head. He pretended to stumble, threw himself right down thehatchway as though by accident, and fell a distance of sixteen feet intothe hold. As you may imagine all was immediately stir and excitement, for at first they thought he was killed--and, indeed, he was badlybruised, having fallen on to a water-cask. In the bustle, however, hemanaged to slip the book into the mate's hand, and the thing was done. The surgeon was sent for and they got him up on deck, where, while hishurts were being looked to, he had the satisfaction of seeing the matego aft and then into the captain's cabin. 

"Promptly the soldiers were ordered up, but when the convicts on deckfound their plot discovered they did not yield without a struggle. Itwas a short but a violent one, for in the confusion they got hold ofsome fire arms and fought desperately. The captain was twice wounded, and it was then that the old watch you see there had its share in savinghis life. For the bullet, striking against the case and passing throughit, was thus lessened in force, and did not reach a vital part of thebody. It was, nevertheless, a serious hurt, and caused him muchsuffering, for it was some days before the bit of metal could beextracted from the wound. 

"Meanwhile the convicts, being overpowered, were secured under hatchesagain, and the captain then made Birt point out the ringleaders and themost desperate of the men, which he did to the number of thirteen. These were placed in irons for the rest of the voyage, and when thevessel arrived at Port Jackson it was supposed they would have beenhanged. But the governor declaring that it was not in his power to doso, they were registered to be kept in irons, chained two and twotogether, all their lives long. 

"And thus this wicked plot was found out, and those wicked men punished, and thus it pleased Heaven to preserve your great-grandfather's life--first by reason of the gratitude and devotion of Mr Birt, and secondlythrough his stout old watch which did him good service and turned asidethe enemy's bullet. "

Aunt Hannah paused, and looked up at the picture again. 

"But, " said Susan, "what became of Mr Birt?"

"He was pardoned, " replied my aunt, "on the representation of myfather--because of the service he had rendered in saving the ship andcrew at the risk of his own life. "

"I'm glad of that, " said Sophia Jane; "because it was so very good ofhim to tumble down the hatchway. "

"He never returned to England, " continued Aunt Hannah, "but settled inChina, where I believe he prospered and became at last a rich man. Myfather often heard from him and always spoke of him with affection. "

"That's a very nice story, indeed, " said Susan. "I'm sorry it's over. "

------------------------------------------------------------------------

The account of the convicts' mutiny is taken from the Unpublished diaryof Captain John Marshall, In command of the ship _Scarborough_ at thetime. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

SHRIMPS AND GOOD-BYES. 

Six months had passed. Susan's visit to Ramsgate was drawing to aclose, for her mother had said in her last letter that she should soonbe able to fix the day of her return. Six whole months! How long, howendless they had seemed to look forward to, but how very short they wereto look back on. Susan could hardly believe they were really gone. Sheremembered well how desolate she had felt at first, how strangeeverything had been to her, and how she had longed to see a familiarface; but now, though of course it would be delightful to go home, therereally were some things in Ramsgate she would be sorry to leave. One ofthese was the sea. It had almost frightened her at first, but now shehad grown to love its changing face and voice, which were scarcely everthe same for two days together. For sometimes, sparkling with smiles, it would keep up a pleasant ripple of conversation, breaking now andagain into laughter. At other times, darkly frowning, it would tossitself up and down in restless vexations, and hurl its waves on theshore with hoarse exclamations of anger. You could never be sure of itfor long together, and in this it was strangely like the other thingwhich Susan felt she should miss--Sophia Jane. She and the sea wereabout equal in the uncertainty of their moods, for it must not besupposed that her nature was so changed by her illness that she becameat once a good and agreeable little girl. This is not easy when one hasbecome used for a long while to be tiresome and ill-tempered, for"habit, " as Mrs Winslow had said, is a "giant power. " The longer wehave done wrong the more difficult it is to do right. And yet in someways she was altered; she was not quite the same Sophia Jane who hadsaid, "I like to vex 'em, " six months ago. 

Grateful for past kindness she now made many small efforts to pleaseAunt Hannah, and would even sometimes check herself when most irritatedby Nanna's and Margaretta's reproofs. Naughty or good, she had nowbecome such a close companion to Susan that any pleasure or amusementunshared by her would have been blank and dull. Now Susan knew what itwas to have a companion she did not like to think of the time when sheshould learn lessons alone, and play alone, and have no one to talk overthings with and make plans. Troubles were lessened and joys doubled bybeing shared, and when she thought of life at home without Sophia Janeshe felt quite sad. At such moments she wondered whether her friendwould be sorry too when the time came for them to part, and whether shereally cared at all about her. It was difficult to find out, for SophiaJane was not given to express herself affectionately, or to use terms ofendearment to anyone. She had never been accustomed to it. The twopeople to whom she showed most attachment were Monsieur La Roche and hissister, and even to these she was never what Mademoiselle called"expansive. " Remembering this, Susan felt it was quite possible thatSophia Jane would see her depart with an unmoved face and no word ofregret, and sometimes this made her unhappy. She would have given agood deal for a word of fondness from her once despised companion, butall her efforts to extract it were useless. 

"Shall you be dull after I go away?" she would ask, and Sophia Janewould answer shortly:

"You're not going yet. What's the good of talking about it?"

A day was now drawing near in which both the little girls were muchinterested--Sophia Jane's birthday. Susan's present, prepared with muchcaution and secrecy, was quite ready, and put away in a drawer till thetime came. She had bought the wax head out of Miss Powter's shop whichSophia Jane had admired long ago, and fixed it to the body of the olddoll. Then little by little she had carefully made a complete set ofclothing for it, after the pattern of those Grace wore, and MademoiselleDelphine had added the promised grey silk bonnet to the costume. Altogether it made a substantial and handsome present, and Susan oftenwent to look at it, and pictured to herself her companion's surprise andpleasure. And besides this there was something else to look forward to, for Aunt Hannah had promised that on this same occasion the childrenshould go to Pegwell Bay and have shrimps for tea. 

The Pegwell Bay shrimps were already famous in those days, and wereconsidered far superior to any caught elsewhere; but the place itselfhad not yet become noisy and crowded as was the case in after years. Itwas still a quiet and beautiful little bay with only one countrified innstanding close to the shore. In the garden of this there were greenarbours, or boxes, with neat tables and chairs, where you might sit atyour ease, look out over the sea, watch the vessels sailing in thedistance, and eat the dusky-brown shrimps for which Pegwell Bay waswell-known. To these were added small new loaves of a peculiar shape, fresh butter, and tea. Nothing else could be had, but this simple farewas all very good of its kind, and to Susan and Sophia Jane it was moreattractive than the finest banquet. And its attractions were increasedby the fact that Aunt Hannah had given Sophia Jane leave to ask whom shechose to join her birthday party. 

"Whom shall you ask?" said Susan as soon as they were alone after thispermission. 

"Only two people beside you, " answered Sophia Jane immediately. "Monsieur La Roche and his sister. "

"Oh!" exclaimed Susan. She paused a moment, for it seemed a bold strokeon Sophia Jane's part; then she added:

"I should like them to go very much; but sha'n't you ask anyone else?Not Margaretta and Nanna?"

"I don't mind _asking_ them, " said Sophia Jane, "because I know theywon't come. "

And she was quite right, for on hearing of who were to form SophiaJane's party to Pegwell Bay, Nanna and Margaretta became very scornful. 

"What a ridiculous party!" exclaimed Margaretta. "Now, if you were toask the little Winslows and their governess, and Mr and Mrs Bevis andthose nice-looking pupils, how much better it would be. Nanna and Iwould go with you then. "

"_Of course_, " added Nanna, "if you're going to have Monsieur and hissister, who always look such absurd objects, you _couldn't_ ask any oneelse. But I call it very nonsensical. I wonder Aunt Hannah allows it?"

"Aunt said I might ask who I liked, " replied Sophia Jane, "and I do likeMonsieur and Mademoiselle, and I don't like the Winslows, and I can'tbear Mr Bevis' pupils. You and Nanna may come if you like. "

"We're much obliged to you, " answered Margaretta with dignity, "but wegreatly prefer staying at home. "

So as Sophia Jane had said, there were only to be two guests besideSusan, for though Aunt Hannah was invited and made no objection at allto the party, she excused herself from joining it. 

The invitation written and accepted, they had now only to wait till thetime came, to wish heartily for a fine day, and to look forward to theevent with an excitement quite unknown to those who have many pleasures. It seemed slow in coming, but it came. The weather was bright andcloudless, and nothing was wanting to their satisfaction. It is trueNanna and Margaretta still looked scornfully superior when the party wasmentioned, but that was not enough to spoil it, and both Susan andSophia Jane set forth on their expedition with the lightest possiblehearts, prepared for enjoyment. 

Aunt Hannah was to take them to meet Monsieur and Mademoiselle at theplace where the omnibus started for Pegwell Bay, and when they gotwithin a short distance they could see that their punctual guests werealready there waiting. They were both in the most cheerful spirits, andhad attired themselves in a manner suitable to "le voyage. " Monsieur, in particular, had cast aside his ordinary garments, and had now quite amarine and holiday air. He wore a white waistcoat and trousers rathershrunk, a sailor hat, and a short blue coat; slung round him by a brightnew leather strap he carried a telescope in a neat case, with which tosurvey distant shipping, and in his hand a cane with a tassel. Mademoiselle on her side had not forgotten to do honour to the occasionby a freshly-trimmed bonnet, and a small bouquet of spring flowers inthe front of her black dress. 

After some delay--partly caused by Monsieur, who had many politespeeches to make, and stepped about in front of Aunt Hannah withrepeated bows, and partly by Mademoiselle's extreme reluctance togetting on to the top of the omnibus--the start was really made. Susandrew a deep breath of delight, and thought it was the most beautifuldrive she had ever had. 

Their way, after they had rattled through the streets of the town, layfor some distance along a sandy road with woods on each side of it. Thesea was hidden, but there were the fresh green buds on the trees to lookat, and the blue sky overhead flecked with little white clouds, and thelarks to listen to singing high up in the air over distant cornfields. By and by the road came out on the cliff again, and soon made a suddendip so that the sea was now quite close to them, and on the other sideanother sea of freshly-springing wheat stretched away inland for miles. It was such a steep and stony hill that Mademoiselle began to be seizedwith panics of terror in case the horses should slip, so that she oftenclung tightly to Adolphe and cried, "Ciel!" This enlivened the journeya good deal, and she joined in laughing at herself with muchgood-nature, though it was really with a sigh of relief that sheexclaimed, "Nous voici!" when the omnibus stopped at the door of theinn. It stood about half-way down the road leading to the shore, highenough to have a broad view over the sea, which was now at low tide. Inthe distance you could see the shrimpers slowly pushing their netsbefore them, and nearer on the rocks below the bent forms of peoplegathering cockles; the grey gulls wheeled about overhead and poisedthemselves on their broad wings, or rode triumphantly on the gentlerippling of the water, and far far away on the edge of everything theshadowy sails of ships glided slowly past like ghosts. To these lastMonsieur turned his attention, and having unstrapped his telescope tookup a commanding position on a rising mound in the garden, and proceededto sweep the horizon. Not with much success at first, but after it hadbeen pointed out to him that he was looking at the wrong end he got onbetter, and Mademoiselle and the children leaving him thus employedstrolled down to the shore until the tea should be ready. When there itwas astonishing and delightful to discover Mademoiselle's extremeignorance of marine objects. She had lived nearly all her life inParis, she told them, and since she had been at Ramsgate had been toobusy to go further than the town. It was most interesting, therefore, to search for curiosities, explain their habits to her and tell hertheir names, and she never failed to express the utmost wonder andadmiration as each fresh one appeared. Even when Susan suddenly placeda star-fish on her lap as she sat gazing over the sea, and requested herto feel how flabby it was, she came bravely through the trial, thoughshe inwardly regarded it with disgust and fear. Then with garments heldtightly round her, and feverishly grasping her parasol, she waspersuaded to venture on a little journey over the slippery rocks. Sophia Jane and Susan, on either hand, advised the safest places totread on, watched each footstep carefully, and made encouraging remarksas though to a child. Finally, after many perils and narrow escapes, she was conducted with much applause safely back to the dry land, and upagain to the inn garden. 

Here they found Monsieur in a state of placid enjoyment expecting theirreturn, and in a convenient arbour facing the sea the meal was readyprepared. Sophia Jane poured out the tea because it was her birthday, but not without difficulty, for the tea-pot was enormous, and her handsso small and weak, that she had to stand up and use her utmost strength. No one offered to help, however, for they well knew that it would havebeen considered an insult. Unlike some entertainments much lookedforward to, Sophia Jane's party was a complete success. There were nodisappointments at Pegwell Bay. Everything was good, everyone wasmerry, the shrimps more than came up to everyone's expectation. 

The meal was nearly finished, and it was drawing near the time for theomnibus to start back to Ramsgate, when Mademoiselle suddenly drew aletter from her pocket. 

"Stupid animal that I am!" she exclaimed, "I have till this momentforgotten to give you this, Adolphe. It arrived after you left thismorning. My head is turned, it appears, by going to fetes. "

She smiled at the little girls as she handed the letter to her brother, and he put on his spectacles and opened it. Susan watched him. It wasa thin foreign envelope, and the letter inside it was short, but itseemed to puzzle him a great deal. He held it out at arm's length, frowned at it, and gave it an impatient tap with one finger. Then hetook off his glasses, rubbed them, put them on, and read it again, afterwhich he rose suddenly, and leaning across the table, stretched theletter out to his sister, and said in a strange excited voice:

"Read Delphine--read, my sister. "

Delphine was not long in doing so, one swift glance was enough, andnext, to the children's surprise, she rushed from her place to Adolphe'sside, threw her arms round his neck, kissed him a great many times, andburst into a torrent of tears. What could be the matter? What dreadfulmisfortune could have happened? Susan and Sophia Jane looked at eachother in alarm. A moment before all had been happiness and gaiety, andnow both Monsieur and his sister appeared to have lost all control overthemselves, and were giving way to the most heartfelt distress. Someterrible news must have been contained in that letter. They stood at alittle distance from the table, clasping each other's hands, utteringbroken French sentences, and lifting their eyes to the sky, while tearsrolled unrestrained down their faces. "If any one else saw them, " saidSusan to herself, "they would think they were mad, " and she looked withsome anxiety towards the inn door. There was no one in sightfortunately, and soon, a little subdued but still in a strange excitedstate, the brother and sister advanced hand in hand to the table. Theodd part of it was that Mademoiselle was now actually laughing thoughher eyes were wet with tears. 

"Forgive us, my children, " she said, "it relieves the heart to weep. Trouble we have borne without complaint, but now joy comes, the tearscome also. Adolphe, my brother, you are more able to speak. Tell them. I can no more. "

She sunk down in a chair and covered her face with her hands. 

Thus appealed to, Monsieur stood up at the end of the table facing thesea, like one prepared to make a speech, took off his sailor hat, andpassed his hand thoughtfully over his closely-cropped head. Susan andSophia Jane, still puzzled and confused, stared up at him spellboundwithout saying a word, deeply impressed. For suddenly there seemed tobe a change in Monsieur. He looked taller, and drew a deep breath likeone who is relieved from some oppression. It was as though a burden haddropped from his shoulders, and set him free to stand quite upright atlast. 

His grey eyes, though red with weeping, had a light in them now of hopeand courage, and he fixed them on the distance as though he were talkingto someone far away across the sea in his native country. 

"My children, " he said, "my sister has told you that we have borne ourtroubles without complaint, and that is true. But they have been hardtroubles. Not only often to be hungry and very weary in the body--thatis bad, but there is worse. It is a sore thing to be hungry in the mindand grieved in the spirit. To leave one's real work undone, so that onemay earn something to eat and drink, to have no outlet for one'sthoughts, to lose the conversation and sympathy of literary men. Thatis a bondage and a slavery, and that is what a man who is very poor mustdo. He must leave his best part unused, wasted, unknown. He is boundand fettered as though with iron. But that is now past. To-day we hearthat we are no longer poor people. This letter tells me that I am now arich man. Free. Free to go back to Paris to take up again my neglectedwork, to see my sister's adorable patience rewarded by a life of easeand leisure--to see again my friends--"

Monsieur stopped suddenly, and Mademoiselle, clasping his hand, immediately rushed in with a mixture of French and English. 

"Oh, Adolphe! Adolphe! it is too much. Figure it all to yourself! TheChamps Elysees, and the Bois, and the toilettes and the sunshine. Todine at Phillippe's perhaps, and go the theatre, and to hear Frenchwords, and see French faces, and taste a French cuisine again. Nothingmore English at all! No more cold looks and cold skies--"

"Calm yourself, Delphine, my sister, " said Monsieur, "we forget ourlittle friends here. "

"It is true, " said Mademoiselle wiping her eyes with herpocket-handkerchief, and glancing at the children's upturned astonishedfaces, "I am too much exalted. I will restrain myself. Voyons petitesamies, " she continued, sitting down between them, "it is this which hasso much moved us. It is that a magnificent, yes, a magnificent fortunecomes to my brother by the death of his cousin. It is a little suddenat first, but, " drawing herself up with dignity, "he will adorn theposition, and we shall now resume the `De' in our name, for our familyis an ancient one. "

"Shall you go away?" asked Sophia Jane. 

"Assuredly. My brother, " looking with much admiration at Adolphe, "willnow have large and important affairs to conduct in Paris. "

"I am sorry, " said Sophia Jane dejectedly. 

Mademoiselle kissed her and Susan with much affection. 

"If the sky is cold and grey here in England, we have also found goodand warm hearts, " she said, "which we shall never forget. It isGambetta with his little tinkling bell who will remind us of some ofthem. "

But Sophia Jane still looked grave. It was difficult to be glad thatMonsieur and his sister were going away, and Susan's spirits were alsomore sober, though it was a relief to find that the letter had containedgood news. A quietness had indeed fallen upon the whole party, forAdolphe, now that the first excitement was over, sat silently musingwith his gaze fixed dreamily on the distance. Even for Mademoiselle itwas almost impossible to keep on talking all alone, and her remarksgradually became fewer until the start homewards was made. Then themovement and the chill evening air seemed to restore her usualbriskness, and she proceeded to describe to the children the exactsituation of the "appartement" which she and Adolphe would occupy ontheir return to Paris, and make many brilliant plans for the future. Asthey entered the town, observing that her brother still remained silentand thoughtful, she touched him gently on the knee. 

"A quoi pense tu, mon frere?" she asked. 

"Of many things, my sister, " he replied in French; "and amongst them, ofhow we shall best recompense the brave Madame Jones. "

Buskin was waiting to take the little girls home, and looked on withseverity at Monsieur's parting bows and graceful wavings of the sailorhat. 

"Make my compliments to Madame, your aunt, " said Delphine to Susan, "andsay that I shall wait on her to-morrow. "

So Sophia Jane's party to Pegwell Bay was over, and all that remainedwas to repeat the wonderful news of Monsieur's fortune at BelmontCottage. It was received with enough excitement and interest to bequite satisfactory, and to be sufficient reason for sitting up muchlater than usual. There were many questions to answer from everyone, and Nanna and Margaretta appeared to find the smallest details welcome. "How did Monsieur look when he opened the letter? What did he say?What did Mademoiselle say? How large was the fortune? What was thecousin's name who left it to him?"

"They're an ancient family, " said Sophia Jane, "and you must be sure tocall them _De_ La Roche now. "

"I always thought, " said Margaretta, "that there was somethinggentlemanly about Monsieur. Odd, you know, but not common. "

"Oh, certainly not common!" replied Nanna. 

It seemed strange to Susan to hear that, for she remembered how they hadboth thought it impossible to invite anyone to meet him at Pegwell Bay. 

She was still occupied with wondering about this when the evening postcame in. There was a letter for Aunt Hannah, and when she had read itshe looked over her glasses at Susan. 

"Dear me!" she said. "This is sudden news indeed. Your mother writesfrom London, my dear, where she arrived yesterday. "

"Am I to go home?" said Susan, getting up from her chair as though readyto start at once. 

"Nurse is to fetch you the day after to-morrow, " said Aunt Hannah, looking at the letter again. "Are you in such a great hurry to leave usthat you cannot wait till then?"

Susan had grown fond of Aunt Hannah, and did not wish to seemungrateful. She went and stood by her chair and said earnestly:

"I'm very sorry to go away. I am, indeed; but, of course, I want to seeMother. "

As she spoke she gave a glance at Sophia Jane. "Did she mind? Was shesorry now that the time had come?"

If she were she gave no sign of it. Her face expressed neithersurprise, or interest, or sorrow, but was bent closely over some shellsshe had brought from Pegwell Bay. 

"We shall all miss our little Susan, " continued Aunt Hannah, kissing heraffectionately. 

"That we shall, " said Nanna. 

"Dear, good little thing!" said Margaretta. 

Surely Sophia Jane would say something too. No. She went on arrangingher shells in small heaps, and took no manner of notice. 

"And as for Sophia Jane, " continued Aunt Hannah, "she will be completelylost without her companion. "

Susan looked entreatingly at her friend, longing for a word or look ofaffection, but not a muscle of the small face moved; it might have beenmade of stone. 

"Won't you be sorry to lose Susan, my dear?" asked Aunt Hannah. 

"I suppose so, " was all the answer, with an impatient jerk of theshoulders. 

Susan was so hurt at this coldness that she went to bed in low spirits, and thought of it sorrowfully for a long while before she slept. Itcast a gloom over the prospect even of going home to think that SophiaJane did not love her. 

She had evidently not forgotten Susan's behaviour in the past, and didnot wish to have her for a friend. It was the more distressing becauseSusan had made a plan which she thought a very pleasant one, and wasanxious to carry out. It was to ask her mother to allow her to haveSophia Jane on a visit in London. She would then be able to show hermany things and places she had never seen, and enjoy her enjoyment andsurprise. The Tower, the Zoological Gardens, Astley's, WestminsterAbbey, Saint Paul's, and all the wonders and delights of town. It was abeautiful idea, but if Sophia Jane held aloof in this way it must begiven up. And yet it was a most puzzling thing to account for thischilling behaviour, because lately she had been more kind and pleasantthan usual, and sometimes almost affectionate. It was useless, however, as Susan now knew, to wonder about Sophia Jane's moods. They came andthey went, and it was, after all, just possible that she would be quitedifferent in the morning. 

When the next day came she got up with a feeling that she had a greatdeal on her hands, for it was her last day at Ramsgate, and she must saygood-bye to everyone and let them know she was going away. Atbreakfast-time something was said about going to make a farewell visitto the Winslows, but Susan thought there were more important matters tobe done first. 

"I'll go if I've time, " she said seriously; "but you see I have a greatdeal to do, because this is my last day. "

Her round of acquaintances was not large, but the people who formed itlived at long distances from each other, so that it took up a good dealof time to see them all. There was the periwinkle woman, who sat at thecorner of Aunt Hannah's road; there was the donkey and bath-chair man, and a favourite white donkey; there was Billy Stokes, the sweetmeat man;and Miss Powter, who kept the toy-shop. There was also a certainwrinkled, old Cap'en Jemmy, who walked up and down the parade with atelescope under his arm and said, "A boat yer honour!" to passers-by. 

The children had made these acquaintances in their daily walks, and wereon friendly terms with them all; so that Susan was not satisfied tillshe had found each of them and gone through the same form of farewell. 

"Good morning!" she said. "I've come to say good-bye, because I'm goinghome to-morrow. "

None of them seemed so much surprised and interested to hear this as shehad hoped. They took it with a calm cheerfulness, which was ratherdisappointing, for it seemed that her departure would not make muchdifference to anyone in Ramsgate. It was a little depressing. Therewere now only two more good-byes to be said, and they were to Monsieurand Mademoiselle De La Roche, who arrived in the afternoon and stayedsome time receiving congratulations, and talking over the wonderfulchange in their fortunes with Aunt Hannah. Compared to this, Susan'sgoing away seemed a very insignificant thing, and though they were bothkind, and Mademoiselle invited her to stay some day with her in Paris, she did not feel that it made much impression on them; they soon beganto talk again of their own affairs. Susan felt disappointed. She wouldhave liked someone to be very sorry indeed that she was going away fromRamsgate, and, after the visitors had left, she looked round for SophiaJane, with a lingering hope that she might be in a softer frame of mind. She was not in the room, and Susan hesitated. Should she go and findher, and risk the rebuff which was nearly sure to come, or should sheleave her alone? This would be the only chance. To-morrow, in thebustle and hurry of preparation, they would not be a moment alone. Shestood considering, and then the desire for sympathy was too strong to berestrained, and she took her way slowly towards the attic. She felt nodoubt that Sophia Jane was there, but on the threshold of the half-opendoor she stopped a minute to get courage, for she was very uncertain asto how she might be received. Perhaps her companion might be angry atbeing followed. Presently as she stood there she heard a little gaspingnoise. She listened attentively; it was like someone crying, andstruggling to keep it from being heard. Could it be Sophia Jane, andwas she really sorry? Much encouraged by the idea Susan hesitated nolonger, but marched boldly in. There was Sophia Jane lying flat on thebig black box, face downwards, her little frame shaken with stormy sobs, which she tried in vain to control. As Susan entered she raised herhead for an instant, and then turned from her to the wall. 

Susan perched herself on the end of the box and sat silent for a momentbefore she said gently:

"What's the matter?"

"Go away!" sobbed Sophia Jane. "I'm very poorly. My head aches. "

"Let me put wet rags on it, " said Susan eagerly. "I've done it oftenfor Freddie. I'll fetch Aunt Hannah's eau de Cologne. It'll soon makeit better. "

Sophia Jane turned her head round from the wall and fixed two inflamedblue eyes upon her companion. 

"I'm not crying, " she said, "but I'm very poorly. The sun made my eyeswater when we were out this afternoon, and my head aches. "

"I'll soon do it good, " said Susan. 

She jumped off the box and ran down-stairs, quickly returning with someeau de Cologne mixed with water in a tumbler, and a cleanpocket-handkerchief. 

Sophia Jane was quieter now, and lay watching her preparations with somesatisfaction, though her chest heaved now and then, and she blinked herred eyelids as though the light hurt them. When the cool bandage wasput on her forehead she gave a sigh of comfort, and rested her head onSusan's lap as she sat behind her on the edge of the box. 

"I'll tell you something, " she said presently. 

"I _was_ crying. I'm dreadfully, dreadfully sorry you're going away. "

"I'm glad you're sorry, " said Susan, "because I was afraid you didn'tmind. "

"Everyone's going away but me, " went on Sophia Jane. "Monsieur andMademoiselle and Gambetta and you. Everyone I like. There's no oneleft. I don't think I can bear it. What shall I do?"

A tear rolled from under the bandage. 

"There'll be Aunt Hannah, " said Susan. 

"I only like her pretty well, " said Sophia Jane. "I could easily dowithout her. I used not to like anyone at all; but now I do, they'reall going away. "

"Well, " said Susan, casting about in her mind for some crumb of comfort, "I shall write to you when I get home, and tell you everything onceevery week, and you must write to me. "

"You'll forget, " said Sophia Jane in a miserable voice. 

"I _never_ forget, " answered Susan firmly. "And then there's anotherthing--I mean to ask Mother to ask you to come and stay with me. Wouldn't that be fun? Just think of all the things we could do!"

"Do you think she would?" asked Sophia Jane. 

She started up so suddenly to look at Susan that the bandage fell overone eye. A little quivering smile appeared round her mouth. 

"I _think_ so, " said Susan with caution, "if I wanted it very much. "

"And _do_ you?"

"I'm _sure_ I do, " replied Susan earnestly, and she ventured to kiss thecheek nearest her, wet with tears and eau de Cologne. 

It had been Sophia Jane's custom on such occasions, either to rub offthe kiss impatiently or to make a face expressing disgust. This timeshe did neither; she laid her head down again in Susan's lap and saidquietly:

"I like you very much. "

The words of affection she had wished for had come at last, and fewthough they were, Susan liked them better than any she had heard sinceshe had been in Ramsgate. And, indeed, they were worth more than manycaressing speeches from some people, for Sophia Jane never said morethan she meant. Susan felt quite proud and satisfied, now that she knewSophia Jane really liked her. 

And so, on the morrow, when the time really came to say good-bye toBelmont Cottage and everyone in it, it was a comfort to think thatperhaps she should soon see her companion again. It was, indeed, theonly thing that kept up her spirits at all as she drove away with Nurse, and left the little group gathered round the gate. Aunt Hannah, Nanna, and Margaretta, even the stiff Buskin, had all come out to see the "lastof Susan" and wave their farewells, but the person she was most sorry toleave was the once despised Sophia Jane. 

Thus they parted; Susan to go back to the busy murmur of the Londonstreets, Sophia Jane to remain within sound of the great sea. Wouldthey meet again? Perhaps, at some future time, they would, but whetherthey did or not, they had taught each other certain lessons at Ramsgatewhich it is possible for us all to learn. Only we must open our eyesand take the trouble to study them, for though they lie close roundabout us we cannot always see them, because we are blinded by pride andvanity, and despise or lightly esteem the very people who could teachthem. Then we miss them altogether; and that is a great pity, for theyare the best things we can learn in life--Lessons of Self-sacrifice, Humility, and Love. 

THE END.