Aunt Hannah hesitated. "If it's not too cold for Susan, you may. If it is, you must come and play at some quiet game in here. But understand that you must make no noise while I am busy." "Come along," said Sophia Jane. She caught hold of Susan's hand and led her quickly out of the room and upstairs, casting rapid glances at her over her shoulder as they went. "Fond of dolls?" she inquired as they were climbing the second flight of stairs. "I'm fond of _this_ one," answered Susan, clasping Grace a little closer. "I had one once," said Sophia Jane with a superior air; "but I haven't got her now." "Where is she?" asked Susan. "I killed her," said Sophia Jane in a cold voice. "Oh!" said Susan stopping still a moment; "what did you do that for?" "I hated her," replied Sophia Jane shortly; "she had such starin' eyes." Susan gazed at the small murderess with awe. "How did you do it?" she asked at length in a lowered tone. "Drove a nail right through her skull," answered Sophia Jane, with a spiteful gleam in her blue eyes. "Here's the attic!" They had reached the top storey after a last short flight of stairs without any carpet. Here there were only two rooms, one for Buskin, the maid-servant, and the other unfurnished. Sophia Jane flung open the door of this last with an air of triumph. "We can do just as we like here," she said; "and down-stairs we couldn't talk above a whisper while they're doing lessons." Susan entered wondering. Everything seemed very odd at Aunt Hannah's; but somehow its strangeness made it rather interesting, it was such a contrast to home. There she had always played in well-furnished rooms with plenty of toys, and good fires in winter. The attic had no carpet and no fire, and the only things in it were one broken old chair, a poker, some rolls of dusty wall-paper, and some large black boxes. Its single attraction was its lone-ness; there was no one here who could say "don't," and no need for lowered voices and quietness. This Susan soon found to be a very delightful thing, for her life at home had been carried on as it were on tip-toe, for fear of disturbing Freddie, and she had always been taught that little girls should be never heard, and very seldom seen. "If you like dolls," continued Sophia Jane in an off-hand manner, "perhaps Nanna would lend you Black Dinah. She's more good-natured than Margaretta." "I don't want to ask her, thank you," said Susan. "Why does she have a doll? she's too old to play with it, isn't she?" "Oh, gracious me, yes, of course," said Sophia Jane with a shrug. "They're both quite grown-up. Nanna's seventeen, and Margaretta's eighteen. They only keep it as a cur'osity; all made of rags and covered with black silk, and dressed like a native. The nuns made it in the convent at Bahia." "What is Bahia?" asked Susan. "It's a place in America where they come from. They came over in a ship." "What for?"