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.

"What is infectious?" asked Susan.

"Anything you can catch," answered Nanna.

"If it's scarlet fever, or measles, or anything of that kind, I should
think 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, I
have to go to the chemist's for aunt."

She went down-stairs, and Susan was left to her own thoughts. She hoped
that Aunt Hannah would not send her away, for she felt sure she could be
of great use in nursing Sophia Jane if they would only let her try. And
where could she be sent? Perhaps to stay with Mrs Bevis, the
minister's wife, who lived in a dull house near the chapel with no
children but only Mr Bevis. The idea was an alarming one, but it did
not trouble her long, for when Dr Martin called the next morning he
declared 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, though
she ought not be much in the sick-room. Alter this she was allowed to
do very much as she liked; the days passed as they had done in London
when Freddie was so ill, for the thought of every one in the house was
fixed on the patient. Suddenly, from utter insignificance Sophia Jane
was raised to importance. Her whims and fancies, once unheeded, were
now attended to with care; the least change in her condition was marked
with interest, and her name was in every one's mouth, spoken softly and
with kindness. Poor little Sophia Jane! She had not much strength, Dr
Martin said, to fight against this attack; it was a serious matter for
any one so frail and weak, and she must be carefully nursed. Every one
did their best. Aunt Hannah sat up at night with her, and in