“Oh, yes, I daresay there are, plenty,” answered Aunt Hannah, who was getting tired of the subject. “Now, get your geography books.”
But during the rest of the lesson Susan’s mind was very far away, and she made all kinds of stupid mistakes, for what she was thinking of had nothing to do with the map of England. It was something much more interesting and important; for quite suddenly, while reading about the misers, an idea relating to Sophia Jane and the half-crown had darted into her head. She had hidden it away somewhere, and did not mean to spend it at all. The manner in which she had chinked those coins in her pocket and counted them over, and her secret and crafty behaviour since, all pointed to this. The next question was, “Where had she hidden it?” What mysterious hole had she found unknown to anyone? Susan ran over all the possible places in her mind, and was earnestly occupied in this 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 a guilty look at Sophia Jane, who merely stared in amazement.
“My dear Susan,” said Aunt Hannah, “you are strangely inattentive this morning. I can’t let you play in the attic if you think of your games during lesson-time.”
As the days passed, Susan, watching her companion narrowly, felt more and more certain that her suspicions were correct. True, she never saw her retire to the attic alone to count over and rejoice in her secret hoard, which real misers were always known to do; but there was this to be remarked: she bought nothing of Billy Stokes. When Susan saw her look 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 no longer. Sophia Jane was a miser!
Sunday came soon after this. It was a day the children never liked much, because, for several reasons, it was dull. Aunt Hannah did not allow them either to play at their usual games or to read their usual books. Grace was put away, the attic was forbidden, and they had to be very quiet; the only books considered “fit for Sunday,” were Line upon Line, The Peep of Day, The Dairyman’s Daughter and The Pilgrim’s Progress. Bits of this last were always interesting, and the more so because it was a large old copy with big print and plenty of pictures throughout. That of Saul raising Samuel had a never-ceasing attraction for Susan, and Sophia Jane was fond of the part about Giant Despair and his grievous crab-tree cudgel. In the morning they all went with Aunt Hannah to chapel, which was only five minutes’ walk from the house; the prayers were long, and they could seldom understand the sermon, though they had to listen to it because Aunt Hannah asked them questions about it afterwards.
Mr Bevis, the minister, who was a great friend of hers, often came to Belmont Cottage, and stayed to have tea. On these occasions it was difficult to Susan to think that he really was the same man who wore a long black gown on Sundays, and white bands under his chin, and often hit the red cushion so hard that she had seen dust rise from it. His voice was quite different, all mystery had left him, and he became just a common grey-haired gentleman, eating muffins and asking for more sugar in his tea. She was afraid sometimes that he would ask her some questions about his sermons, or perhaps where some text came from out of the Bible, but he never did so, and indeed took very little notice of the children. On this Sunday they were surprised to find, when the time came up for the sermon, that it was not Mr Bevis that was going to preach. 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 listen attentively to the sermon which followed, for, strangely enough, it was all about “giving.” How exactly suited to Sophia Jane!