ach cheek, and her eyes
glistened 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 down
quietly 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 happened
before!

But Sophia Jane took no notice of the caressing tone: she waved her hand
fretfully as Aunt Hannah bent over her, and the gesture said more
plainly than words, "Go away, and let me speak to her." Everything
seemed strangely altered, for, to Susan's surprise, Aunt Hannah meekly
obeyed, 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 hoarse
voice. Of course it was the half-crown, but Susan was so confused by
the 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 to
her?"

Sophia Jane's fingers let go their hold, her head drooped on the
pillows, and she closed her eyes; but she murmured something as she did
so, 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 to
talk any more. Perhaps she will sleep now."

Susan went softly out of the room and sat down in her old place on the
stairs. So this was how Sophia Jane had spent the half-crown! How
differently to anything Susan had imagined. Instead of being miserly
and selfish, she was generous and self-sacrificing--instead of her own
pleasure, she had preferred to give pleasure to Monsieur. And why?
Because he had been kind to her. He was the only person, Susan
remembered, who had ever praised Sophia Jane, or had looked at her as
though he liked her; and so, in return, she had given him her very
best--all she had. As she considered this she grew more and more sorry
to think how she had despised her poor little companion, and suspected
her of being mean; how she had always joined Margaretta and Nanna in
blaming and laughing at her, and how ready she had been to say, "It's
Sophia Jane's fault." She longed more th