ctures
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!

"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 "o