“To give,” said the minister at the close of the sermon, “though it leaves a man poor, yet makes him rich; but to keep and hoard up treasure, 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, a forgiving 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’s very self. It is not what a man gives, but how he gives it, that matters. Gold and silver coming from a full purse and a cold heart, is a 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 with Nanna and Margaretta, for it was rather an event to hear a stranger at the chapel. She said that the preacher was “original,” but that she did not consider it a “Gospel” sermon, and preferred Mr Bevis; she doubted also whether the lines quoted at the end were from a sacred writer. Now these lines were just what Susan remembered best; they came into her head again and again that afternoon while she was learning a hymn by heart, and it was difficult not to mix the two up together. She was also occupied with wondering whether Sophia Jane had attended to the sermon, and would alter her mind about the half-crown. That was as mysterious 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 her companion with suspicion, when something happened which gave her thoughts a new direction; for shortly after the strange minister had preached at the chapel, Sophia Jane became very ill. She had been ailing for some time, and had refused to join Susan in their usual games; complaining of headache, but no one had taken much notice of this; she was so often perverse and tiresome that it was natural to think her only sulky when she sat about in corners with her head propped on her hand and her eyes closed. But at last Aunt Hannah called in the doctor, and after his visit she looked very grave, and talked in a low voice to Buskin. Susan could not hear all she said, but she gathered enough to know that the doctor thought Sophia Jane very ill, and that he could not yet say what sort of illness it would be. She longed to ask some questions about it, but she knew from the worried look on Aunt Hannah’s face that it would be better to wait, so she took Grace and stole upstairs to Sophia Jane’s door. She had been put to bed in a small inner room opening out of Aunt Hannah’s, which was rather apart from the other bed-rooms, and had a little flight of stairs all to itself. On these stairs Susan took up her post, and listened anxiously to the sounds within; the door was a little open and she could hear her aunt 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 said crossly clutching at the balusters.
“What’s the matter with Sophia Jane?” asked Susan. But Buskin only muttered to herself, rubbed her elbow, and went quickly on. Susan wished they would let her go in and sit with Sophia Jane. She would be very useful and quiet, she thought to herself; she was quite used to that when Freddie had bad headaches. She wished now that she had not called her companion cross and stupid so often lately; but perhaps to-morrow she would be better, and then she would tell her she was sorry. Just then Nanna came up, and not being so full of business as Buskin, was able to answer a few questions. From her Susan learned that Dr Martin thought Sophia Jane was sickening from a fever of some kind; perhaps, if it did not prove infectious, Susan would be allowed to see her sometimes.