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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/137-0.txt b/137-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..91e7f5e --- /dev/null +++ b/137-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1846 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 137 *** + +SARA CREWE + +OR + +WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S + +BY + +FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT + + +In the first place, Miss Minchin lived in London. Her home was a large, +dull, tall one, in a large, dull square, where all the houses were +alike, and all the sparrows were alike, and where all the door-knockers +made the same heavy sound, and on still days--and nearly all the days +were still--seemed to resound through the entire row in which the knock +was knocked. On Miss Minchin's door there was a brass plate. On the +brass plate there was inscribed in black letters, + + MISS MINCHIN'S + + SELECT SEMINARY FOR YOUNG LADIES + +Little Sara Crewe never went in or out of the house without reading that +door-plate and reflecting upon it. By the time she was twelve, she had +decided that all her trouble arose because, in the first place, she was +not “Select,” and in the second she was not a “Young Lady.” When she was +eight years old, she had been brought to Miss Minchin as a pupil, and +left with her. Her papa had brought her all the way from India. Her +mamma had died when she was a baby, and her papa had kept her with him +as long as he could. And then, finding the hot climate was making her +very delicate, he had brought her to England and left her with Miss +Minchin, to be part of the Select Seminary for Young Ladies. Sara, who +had always been a sharp little child, who remembered things, recollected +hearing him say that he had not a relative in the world whom he knew +of, and so he was obliged to place her at a boarding-school, and he had +heard Miss Minchin's establishment spoken of very highly. The same day, +he took Sara out and bought her a great many beautiful clothes--clothes +so grand and rich that only a very young and inexperienced man would +have bought them for a mite of a child who was to be brought up in a +boarding-school. But the fact was that he was a rash, innocent young +man, and very sad at the thought of parting with his little girl, who +was all he had left to remind him of her beautiful mother, whom he had +dearly loved. And he wished her to have everything the most fortunate +little girl could have; and so, when the polite saleswomen in the shops +said, “Here is our very latest thing in hats, the plumes are exactly the +same as those we sold to Lady Diana Sinclair yesterday,” he immediately +bought what was offered to him, and paid whatever was asked. The +consequence was that Sara had a most extraordinary wardrobe. Her dresses +were silk and velvet and India cashmere, her hats and bonnets were +covered with bows and plumes, her small undergarments were adorned with +real lace, and she returned in the cab to Miss Minchin's with a doll +almost as large as herself, dressed quite as grandly as herself, too. + +Then her papa gave Miss Minchin some money and went away, and for +several days Sara would neither touch the doll, nor her breakfast, nor +her dinner, nor her tea, and would do nothing but crouch in a small +corner by the window and cry. She cried so much, indeed, that she made +herself ill. She was a queer little child, with old-fashioned ways and +strong feelings, and she had adored her papa, and could not be made to +think that India and an interesting bungalow were not better for her +than London and Miss Minchin's Select Seminary. The instant she had +entered the house, she had begun promptly to hate Miss Minchin, and +to think little of Miss Amelia Minchin, who was smooth and dumpy, and +lisped, and was evidently afraid of her older sister. Miss Minchin was +tall, and had large, cold, fishy eyes, and large, cold hands, which +seemed fishy, too, because they were damp and made chills run down +Sara's back when they touched her, as Miss Minchin pushed her hair off +her forehead and said: + +“A most beautiful and promising little girl, Captain Crewe. She will be +a favorite pupil; quite a favorite pupil, I see.” + +For the first year she was a favorite pupil; at least she was indulged a +great deal more than was good for her. And when the Select Seminary went +walking, two by two, she was always decked out in her grandest clothes, +and led by the hand at the head of the genteel procession, by Miss +Minchin herself. And when the parents of any of the pupils came, she was +always dressed and called into the parlor with her doll; and she used +to hear Miss Minchin say that her father was a distinguished Indian +officer, and she would be heiress to a great fortune. That her father +had inherited a great deal of money, Sara had heard before; and also +that some day it would be hers, and that he would not remain long in the +army, but would come to live in London. And every time a letter came, +she hoped it would say he was coming, and they were to live together +again. + +But about the middle of the third year a letter came bringing very +different news. Because he was not a business man himself, her papa had +given his affairs into the hands of a friend he trusted. The friend had +deceived and robbed him. All the money was gone, no one knew exactly +where, and the shock was so great to the poor, rash young officer, that, +being attacked by jungle fever shortly afterward, he had no strength to +rally, and so died, leaving Sara, with no one to take care of her. + +Miss Minchin's cold and fishy eyes had never looked so cold and fishy as +they did when Sara went into the parlor, on being sent for, a few days +after the letter was received. + +No one had said anything to the child about mourning, so, in her +old-fashioned way, she had decided to find a black dress for herself, +and had picked out a black velvet she had outgrown, and came into the +room in it, looking the queerest little figure in the world, and a sad +little figure too. The dress was too short and too tight, her face was +white, her eyes had dark rings around them, and her doll, wrapped in a +piece of old black crape, was held under her arm. She was not a pretty +child. She was thin, and had a weird, interesting little face, short +black hair, and very large, green-gray eyes fringed all around with +heavy black lashes. + +“I am the ugliest child in the school,” she had said once, after staring +at herself in the glass for some minutes. + +But there had been a clever, good-natured little French teacher who had +said to the music-master: + +“Zat leetle Crewe. Vat a child! A so ogly beauty! Ze so large eyes! ze +so little spirituelle face. Waid till she grow up. You shall see!” + +This morning, however, in the tight, small black frock, she looked +thinner and odder than ever, and her eyes were fixed on Miss Minchin +with a queer steadiness as she slowly advanced into the parlor, +clutching her doll. + +“Put your doll down!” said Miss Minchin. + +“No,” said the child, “I won't put her down; I want her with me. She is +all I have. She has stayed with me all the time since my papa died.” + +She had never been an obedient child. She had had her own way ever since +she was born, and there was about her an air of silent determination +under which Miss Minchin had always felt secretly uncomfortable. And +that lady felt even now that perhaps it would be as well not to insist +on her point. So she looked at her as severely as possible. + +“You will have no time for dolls in future,” she said; “you will have to +work and improve yourself, and make yourself useful.” + +Sara kept the big odd eyes fixed on her teacher and said nothing. + +“Everything will be very different now,” Miss Minchin went on. “I sent +for you to talk to you and make you understand. Your father is dead. You +have no friends. You have no money. You have no home and no one to take +care of you.” + +The little pale olive face twitched nervously, but the green-gray eyes +did not move from Miss Minchin's, and still Sara said nothing. + +“What are you staring at?” demanded Miss Minchin sharply. “Are you so +stupid you don't understand what I mean? I tell you that you are quite +alone in the world, and have no one to do anything for you, unless I +choose to keep you here.” + +The truth was, Miss Minchin was in her worst mood. To be suddenly +deprived of a large sum of money yearly and a show pupil, and to find +herself with a little beggar on her hands, was more than she could bear +with any degree of calmness. + +“Now listen to me,” she went on, “and remember what I say. If you work +hard and prepare to make yourself useful in a few years, I shall let you +stay here. You are only a child, but you are a sharp child, and you pick +up things almost without being taught. You speak French very well, and +in a year or so you can begin to help with the younger pupils. By the +time you are fifteen you ought to be able to do that much at least.” + +“I can speak French better than you, now,” said Sara; “I always spoke it +with my papa in India.” Which was not at all polite, but was painfully +true; because Miss Minchin could not speak French at all, and, indeed, +was not in the least a clever person. But she was a hard, grasping +business woman; and, after the first shock of disappointment, had seen +that at very little expense to herself she might prepare this clever, +determined child to be very useful to her and save her the necessity of +paying large salaries to teachers of languages. + +“Don't be impudent, or you will be punished,” she said. “You will have +to improve your manners if you expect to earn your bread. You are not a +parlor boarder now. Remember that if you don't please me, and I send you +away, you have no home but the street. You can go now.” + +Sara turned away. + +“Stay,” commanded Miss Minchin, “don't you intend to thank me?” + +Sara turned toward her. The nervous twitch was to be seen again in her +face, and she seemed to be trying to control it. + +“What for?” she said. + +“For my kindness to you,” replied Miss Minchin. “For my kindness in +giving you a home.” + +Sara went two or three steps nearer to her. Her thin little chest was +heaving up and down, and she spoke in a strange, unchildish voice. + +“You are not kind,” she said. “You are not kind.” And she turned +again and went out of the room, leaving Miss Minchin staring after her +strange, small figure in stony anger. + +The child walked up the staircase, holding tightly to her doll; she +meant to go to her bedroom, but at the door she was met by Miss Amelia. + +“You are not to go in there,” she said. “That is not your room now.” + +“Where is my room?” asked Sara. + +“You are to sleep in the attic next to the cook.” + +Sara walked on. She mounted two flights more, and reached the door of +the attic room, opened it and went in, shutting it behind her. She +stood against it and looked about her. The room was slanting-roofed and +whitewashed; there was a rusty grate, an iron bedstead, and some odd +articles of furniture, sent up from better rooms below, where they had +been used until they were considered to be worn out. Under the skylight +in the roof, which showed nothing but an oblong piece of dull gray sky, +there was a battered old red footstool. + +Sara went to it and sat down. She was a queer child, as I have said +before, and quite unlike other children. She seldom cried. She did not +cry now. She laid her doll, Emily, across her knees, and put her face +down upon her, and her arms around her, and sat there, her little black +head resting on the black crape, not saying one word, not making one +sound. + + +From that day her life changed entirely. Sometimes she used to feel as +if it must be another life altogether, the life of some other child. She +was a little drudge and outcast; she was given her lessons at odd times +and expected to learn without being taught; she was sent on errands by +Miss Minchin, Miss Amelia and the cook. Nobody took any notice of her +except when they ordered her about. She was often kept busy all day and +then sent into the deserted school-room with a pile of books to learn +her lessons or practise at night. She had never been intimate with +the other pupils, and soon she became so shabby that, taking her queer +clothes together with her queer little ways, they began to look upon +her as a being of another world than their own. The fact was that, as +a rule, Miss Minchin's pupils were rather dull, matter-of-fact young +people, accustomed to being rich and comfortable; and Sara, with her +elfish cleverness, her desolate life, and her odd habit of fixing her +eyes upon them and staring them out of countenance, was too much for +them. + +“She always looks as if she was finding you out,” said one girl, who was +sly and given to making mischief. “I am,” said Sara promptly, when +she heard of it. “That's what I look at them for. I like to know about +people. I think them over afterward.” + +She never made any mischief herself or interfered with any one. She +talked very little, did as she was told, and thought a great deal. +Nobody knew, and in fact nobody cared, whether she was unhappy or happy, +unless, perhaps, it was Emily, who lived in the attic and slept on the +iron bedstead at night. Sara thought Emily understood her feelings, +though she was only wax and had a habit of staring herself. Sara used to +talk to her at night. + +“You are the only friend I have in the world,” she would say to her. +“Why don't you say something? Why don't you speak? Sometimes I am sure +you could, if you would try. It ought to make you try, to know you are +the only thing I have. If I were you, I should try. Why don't you try?” + +It really was a very strange feeling she had about Emily. It arose from +her being so desolate. She did not like to own to herself that her only +friend, her only companion, could feel and hear nothing. She wanted to +believe, or to pretend to believe, that Emily understood and sympathized +with her, that she heard her even though she did not speak in answer. +She used to put her in a chair sometimes and sit opposite to her on +the old red footstool, and stare at her and think and pretend about her +until her own eyes would grow large with something which was almost like +fear, particularly at night, when the garret was so still, when the only +sound that was to be heard was the occasional squeak and scurry of rats +in the wainscot. There were rat-holes in the garret, and Sara detested +rats, and was always glad Emily was with her when she heard their +hateful squeak and rush and scratching. One of her “pretends” was that +Emily was a kind of good witch and could protect her. Poor little Sara! +everything was “pretend” with her. She had a strong imagination; there +was almost more imagination than there was Sara, and her whole forlorn, +uncared-for child-life was made up of imaginings. She imagined and +pretended things until she almost believed them, and she would scarcely +have been surprised at any remarkable thing that could have happened. So +she insisted to herself that Emily understood all about her troubles and +was really her friend. + +“As to answering,” she used to say, “I don't answer very often. I never +answer when I can help it. When people are insulting you, there is +nothing so good for them as not to say a word--just to look at them and +think. Miss Minchin turns pale with rage when I do it. Miss Amelia looks +frightened, so do the girls. They know you are stronger than they are, +because you are strong enough to hold in your rage and they are not, +and they say stupid things they wish they hadn't said afterward. There's +nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold it in--that's +stronger. It's a good thing not to answer your enemies. I scarcely ever +do. Perhaps Emily is more like me than I am like myself. Perhaps she +would rather not answer her friends, even. She keeps it all in her +heart.” + +But though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments, Sara did +not find it easy. When, after a long, hard day, in which she had been +sent here and there, sometimes on long errands, through wind and cold +and rain; and, when she came in wet and hungry, had been sent out again +because nobody chose to remember that she was only a child, and that +her thin little legs might be tired, and her small body, clad in +its forlorn, too small finery, all too short and too tight, might be +chilled; when she had been given only harsh words and cold, slighting +looks for thanks, when the cook had been vulgar and insolent; when Miss +Minchin had been in her worst moods, and when she had seen the girls +sneering at her among themselves and making fun of her poor, outgrown +clothes--then Sara did not find Emily quite all that her sore, proud, +desolate little heart needed as the doll sat in her little old chair and +stared. + +One of these nights, when she came up to the garret cold, hungry, tired, +and with a tempest raging in her small breast, Emily's stare seemed so +vacant, her sawdust legs and arms so limp and inexpressive, that Sara +lost all control over herself. + +“I shall die presently!” she said at first. + +Emily stared. + +“I can't bear this!” said the poor child, trembling. “I know I shall +die. I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm starving to death. I've walked a thousand +miles to-day, and they have done nothing but scold me from morning until +night. And because I could not find that last thing they sent me for, +they would not give me any supper. Some men laughed at me because my old +shoes made me slip down in the mud. I'm covered with mud now. And they +laughed! Do you hear!” + +She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent wax face, and +suddenly a sort of heartbroken rage seized her. She lifted her little +savage hand and knocked Emily off the chair, bursting into a passion of +sobbing. + +“You are nothing but a doll!” she cried. + +“Nothing but a doll-doll-doll! You care for nothing. You are stuffed +with sawdust. You never had a heart. Nothing could ever make you feel. +You are a doll!” + +Emily lay upon the floor, with her legs ignominiously doubled up over +her head, and a new flat place on the end of her nose; but she was still +calm, even dignified. + +Sara hid her face on her arms and sobbed. Some rats in the wall began +to fight and bite each other, and squeak and scramble. But, as I have +already intimated, Sara was not in the habit of crying. After a while +she stopped, and when she stopped she looked at Emily, who seemed to be +gazing at her around the side of one ankle, and actually with a kind of +glassy-eyed sympathy. Sara bent and picked her up. Remorse overtook her. + +“You can't help being a doll,” she said, with a resigned sigh, “any more +than those girls downstairs can help not having any sense. We are not +all alike. Perhaps you do your sawdust best.” + +None of Miss Minchin's young ladies were very remarkable for being +brilliant; they were select, but some of them were very dull, and some +of them were fond of applying themselves to their lessons. Sara, who +snatched her lessons at all sorts of untimely hours from tattered and +discarded books, and who had a hungry craving for everything readable, +was often severe upon them in her small mind. They had books they never +read; she had no books at all. If she had always had something to read, +she would not have been so lonely. She liked romances and history and +poetry; she would read anything. There was a sentimental housemaid in +the establishment who bought the weekly penny papers, and subscribed +to a circulating library, from which she got greasy volumes containing +stories of marquises and dukes who invariably fell in love with +orange-girls and gypsies and servant-maids, and made them the proud +brides of coronets; and Sara often did parts of this maid's work so that +she might earn the privilege of reading these romantic histories. There +was also a fat, dull pupil, whose name was Ermengarde St. John, who was +one of her resources. Ermengarde had an intellectual father, who, in +his despairing desire to encourage his daughter, constantly sent her +valuable and interesting books, which were a continual source of grief +to her. Sara had once actually found her crying over a big package of +them. + +“What is the matter with you?” she asked her, perhaps rather +disdainfully. + +And it is just possible she would not have spoken to her, if she had not +seen the books. The sight of books always gave Sara a hungry feeling, +and she could not help drawing near to them if only to read their +titles. + +“What is the matter with you?” she asked. + +“My papa has sent me some more books,” answered Ermengarde woefully, +“and he expects me to read them.” + +“Don't you like reading?” said Sara. + +“I hate it!” replied Miss Ermengarde St. John. “And he will ask me +questions when he sees me: he will want to know how much I remember; how +would you like to have to read all those?” + +“I'd like it better than anything else in the world,” said Sara. + +Ermengarde wiped her eyes to look at such a prodigy. + +“Oh, gracious!” she exclaimed. + +Sara returned the look with interest. A sudden plan formed itself in her +sharp mind. + +“Look here!” she said. “If you'll lend me those books, I'll read them +and tell you everything that's in them afterward, and I'll tell it +to you so that you will remember it. I know I can. The A B C children +always remember what I tell them.” + +“Oh, goodness!” said Ermengarde. “Do you think you could?” + +“I know I could,” answered Sara. “I like to read, and I always remember. +I'll take care of the books, too; they will look just as new as they do +now, when I give them back to you.” + +Ermengarde put her handkerchief in her pocket. + +“If you'll do that,” she said, “and if you'll make me remember, I'll +give you--I'll give you some money.” + +“I don't want your money,” said Sara. “I want your books--I want them.” + And her eyes grew big and queer, and her chest heaved once. + +“Take them, then,” said Ermengarde; “I wish I wanted them, but I am not +clever, and my father is, and he thinks I ought to be.” + +Sara picked up the books and marched off with them. But when she was at +the door, she stopped and turned around. + +“What are you going to tell your father?” she asked. + +“Oh,” said Ermengarde, “he needn't know; he'll think I've read them.” + +Sara looked down at the books; her heart really began to beat fast. + +“I won't do it,” she said rather slowly, “if you are going to tell him +lies about it--I don't like lies. Why can't you tell him I read them and +then told you about them?” + +“But he wants me to read them,” said Ermengarde. + +“He wants you to know what is in them,” said Sara; “and if I can tell +it to you in an easy way and make you remember, I should think he would +like that.” + +“He would like it better if I read them myself,” replied Ermengarde. + +“He will like it, I dare say, if you learn anything in any way,” said +Sara. “I should, if I were your father.” + +And though this was not a flattering way of stating the case, Ermengarde +was obliged to admit it was true, and, after a little more argument, +gave in. And so she used afterward always to hand over her books to +Sara, and Sara would carry them to her garret and devour them; and after +she had read each volume, she would return it and tell Ermengarde about +it in a way of her own. She had a gift for making things interesting. +Her imagination helped her to make everything rather like a story, +and she managed this matter so well that Miss St. John gained more +information from her books than she would have gained if she had read +them three times over by her poor stupid little self. When Sara sat down +by her and began to tell some story of travel or history, she made the +travellers and historical people seem real; and Ermengarde used to sit +and regard her dramatic gesticulations, her thin little flushed cheeks, +and her shining, odd eyes with amazement. + +“It sounds nicer than it seems in the book,” she would say. “I never +cared about Mary, Queen of Scots, before, and I always hated the French +Revolution, but you make it seem like a story.” + +“It is a story,” Sara would answer. “They are all stories. Everything is +a story--everything in this world. You are a story--I am a story--Miss +Minchin is a story. You can make a story out of anything.” + +“I can't,” said Ermengarde. + +Sara stared at her a minute reflectively. + +“No,” she said at last. “I suppose you couldn't. You are a little like +Emily.” + +“Who is Emily?” + +Sara recollected herself. She knew she was sometimes rather impolite in +the candor of her remarks, and she did not want to be impolite to a girl +who was not unkind--only stupid. Notwithstanding all her sharp little +ways she had the sense to wish to be just to everybody. In the hours she +spent alone, she used to argue out a great many curious questions with +herself. One thing she had decided upon was, that a person who was +clever ought to be clever enough not to be unjust or deliberately unkind +to any one. Miss Minchin was unjust and cruel, Miss Amelia was unkind +and spiteful, the cook was malicious and hasty-tempered--they all were +stupid, and made her despise them, and she desired to be as unlike them +as possible. So she would be as polite as she could to people who in the +least deserved politeness. + +“Emily is--a person--I know,” she replied. + +“Do you like her?” asked Ermengarde. + +“Yes, I do,” said Sara. + +Ermengarde examined her queer little face and figure again. She did +look odd. She had on, that day, a faded blue plush skirt, which barely +covered her knees, a brown Cloth sacque, and a pair of olive-green +stockings which Miss Minchin had made her piece out with black ones, +so that they would be long enough to be kept on. And yet Ermengarde was +beginning slowly to admire her. Such a forlorn, thin, neglected little +thing as that, who could read and read and remember and tell you things +so that they did not tire you all out! A child who could speak French, +and who had learned German, no one knew how! One could not help staring +at her and feeling interested, particularly one to whom the simplest +lesson was a trouble and a woe. + +“Do you like me?” said Ermengarde, finally, at the end of her scrutiny. + +Sara hesitated one second, then she answered: + +“I like you because you are not ill-natured--I like you for letting me +read your books--I like you because you don't make spiteful fun of me +for what I can't help. It's not your fault that--” + +She pulled herself up quickly. She had been going to say, “that you are +stupid.” + +“That what?” asked Ermengarde. + +“That you can't learn things quickly. If you can't, you can't. If I can, +why, I can--that's all.” She paused a minute, looking at the plump face +before her, and then, rather slowly, one of her wise, old-fashioned +thoughts came to her. + +“Perhaps,” she said, “to be able to learn things quickly isn't +everything. To be kind is worth a good deal to other people. If Miss +Minchin knew everything on earth, which she doesn't, and if she was like +what she is now, she'd still be a detestable thing, and everybody would +hate her. Lots of clever people have done harm and been wicked. Look at +Robespierre--” + +She stopped again and examined her companion's countenance. + +“Do you remember about him?” she demanded. “I believe you've forgotten.” + +“Well, I don't remember all of it,” admitted Ermengarde. + +“Well,” said Sara, with courage and determination, “I'll tell it to you +over again.” + +And she plunged once more into the gory records of the French +Revolution, and told such stories of it, and made such vivid pictures of +its horrors, that Miss St. John was afraid to go to bed afterward, and +hid her head under the blankets when she did go, and shivered until she +fell asleep. But afterward she preserved lively recollections of the +character of Robespierre, and did not even forget Marie Antoinette and +the Princess de Lamballe. + +“You know they put her head on a pike and danced around it,” Sara had +said; “and she had beautiful blonde hair; and when I think of her, I +never see her head on her body, but always on a pike, with those furious +people dancing and howling.” + +Yes, it was true; to this imaginative child everything was a story; and +the more books she read, the more imaginative she became. One of her +chief entertainments was to sit in her garret, or walk about it, and +“suppose” things. On a cold night, when she had not had enough to eat, +she would draw the red footstool up before the empty grate, and say in +the most intense voice: + +“Suppose there was a grate, wide steel grate here, and a great glowing +fire--a glowing fire--with beds of red-hot coal and lots of little +dancing, flickering flames. Suppose there was a soft, deep rug, and this +was a comfortable chair, all cushions and crimson velvet; and suppose I +had a crimson velvet frock on, and a deep lace collar, like a child in +a picture; and suppose all the rest of the room was furnished in lovely +colors, and there were book-shelves full of books, which changed by +magic as soon as you had read them; and suppose there was a little table +here, with a snow-white cover on it, and little silver dishes, and in +one there was hot, hot soup, and in another a roast chicken, and in +another some raspberry-jam tarts with crisscross on them, and in another +some grapes; and suppose Emily could speak, and we could sit and eat our +supper, and then talk and read; and then suppose there was a soft, warm +bed in the corner, and when we were tired we could go to sleep, and +sleep as long as we liked.” + +Sometimes, after she had supposed things like these for half an hour, +she would feel almost warm, and would creep into bed with Emily and fall +asleep with a smile on her face. + +“What large, downy pillows!” she would whisper. “What white sheets +and fleecy blankets!” And she almost forgot that her real pillows had +scarcely any feathers in them at all, and smelled musty, and that her +blankets and coverlid were thin and full of holes. + +At another time she would “suppose” she was a princess, and then she +would go about the house with an expression on her face which was a +source of great secret annoyance to Miss Minchin, because it seemed as +if the child scarcely heard the spiteful, insulting things said to her, +or, if she heard them, did not care for them at all. Sometimes, while +she was in the midst of some harsh and cruel speech, Miss Minchin would +find the odd, unchildish eyes fixed upon her with something like a proud +smile in them. At such times she did not know that Sara was saying to +herself: + +“You don't know that you are saying these things to a princess, and that +if I chose I could wave my hand and order you to execution. I only spare +you because I am a princess, and you are a poor, stupid, old, vulgar +thing, and don't know any better.” + +This used to please and amuse her more than anything else; and queer and +fanciful as it was, she found comfort in it, and it was not a bad thing +for her. It really kept her from being made rude and malicious by the +rudeness and malice of those about her. + +“A princess must be polite,” she said to herself. And so when the +servants, who took their tone from their mistress, were insolent and +ordered her about, she would hold her head erect, and reply to them +sometimes in a way which made them stare at her, it was so quaintly +civil. + +“I am a princess in rags and tatters,” she would think, “but I am a +princess, inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed +in cloth-of-gold; it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the +time when no one knows it. There was Marie Antoinette; when she was in +prison, and her throne was gone, and she had only a black gown on, +and her hair was white, and they insulted her and called her the Widow +Capet,--she was a great deal more like a queen then than when she was so +gay and had everything grand. I like her best then. Those howling mobs +of people did not frighten her. She was stronger than they were even +when they cut her head off.” + +Once when such thoughts were passing through her mind the look in her +eyes so enraged Miss Minchin that she flew at Sara and boxed her ears. + +Sara awakened from her dream, started a little, and then broke into a +laugh. + +“What are you laughing at, you bold, impudent child!” exclaimed Miss +Minchin. + +It took Sara a few seconds to remember she was a princess. Her cheeks +were red and smarting from the blows she had received. + +“I was thinking,” she said. + +“Beg my pardon immediately,” said Miss Minchin. + +“I will beg your pardon for laughing, if it was rude,” said Sara; “but I +won't beg your pardon for thinking.” + +“What were you thinking?” demanded Miss Minchin. “How dare you think? +What were you thinking?” + +This occurred in the school-room, and all the girls looked up from their +books to listen. It always interested them when Miss Minchin flew at +Sara, because Sara always said something queer, and never seemed in the +least frightened. She was not in the least frightened now, though her +boxed ears were scarlet, and her eyes were as bright as stars. + +“I was thinking,” she answered gravely and quite politely, “that you did +not know what you were doing.” + +“That I did not know what I was doing!” Miss Minchin fairly gasped. + +“Yes,” said Sara, “and I was thinking what would happen, if I were +a princess and you boxed my ears--what I should do to you. And I was +thinking that if I were one, you would never dare to do it, whatever I +said or did. And I was thinking how surprised and frightened you would +be if you suddenly found out--” + +She had the imagined picture so clearly before her eyes, that she spoke +in a manner which had an effect even on Miss Minchin. It almost seemed +for the moment to her narrow, unimaginative mind that there must be some +real power behind this candid daring. + +“What!” she exclaimed, “found out what?” + +“That I really was a princess,” said Sara, “and could do +anything--anything I liked.” + +“Go to your room,” cried Miss Minchin breathlessly, “this instant. Leave +the school-room. Attend to your lessons, young ladies.” + +Sara made a little bow. + +“Excuse me for laughing, if it was impolite,” she said, and walked out +of the room, leaving Miss Minchin in a rage and the girls whispering +over their books. + +“I shouldn't be at all surprised if she did turn out to be something,” + said one of them. “Suppose she should!” + + +That very afternoon Sara had an opportunity of proving to herself +whether she was really a princess or not. It was a dreadful afternoon. +For several days it had rained continuously, the streets were chilly and +sloppy; there was mud everywhere--sticky London mud--and over everything +a pall of fog and drizzle. Of course there were several long and +tiresome errands to be done,--there always were on days like this,--and +Sara was sent out again and again, until her shabby clothes were damp +through. The absurd old feathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled +and absurd than ever, and her down-trodden shoes were so wet they could +not hold any more water. Added to this, she had been deprived of her +dinner, because Miss Minchin wished to punish her. She was very hungry. +She was so cold and hungry and tired that her little face had a pinched +look, and now and then some kind-hearted person passing her in the +crowded street glanced at her with sympathy. But she did not know that. +She hurried on, trying to comfort herself in that queer way of hers by +pretending and “supposing,”--but really this time it was harder than she +had ever found it, and once or twice she thought it almost made her +more cold and hungry instead of less so. But she persevered obstinately. +“Suppose I had dry clothes on,” she thought. “Suppose I had good shoes +and a long, thick coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella. And +suppose--suppose, just when I was near a baker's where they sold hot +buns, I should find sixpence--which belonged to nobody. Suppose, if +I did, I should go into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns, and +should eat them all without stopping.” + +Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes. It certainly was +an odd thing which happened to Sara. She had to cross the street just as +she was saying this to herself--the mud was dreadful--she almost had to +wade. She picked her way as carefully as she could, but she could not +save herself much, only, in picking her way she had to look down at +her feet and the mud, and in looking down--just as she reached the +pavement--she saw something shining in the gutter. A piece of silver--a +tiny piece trodden upon by many feet, but still with spirit enough +to shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it--a +four-penny piece! In one second it was in her cold, little red and blue +hand. “Oh!” she gasped. “It is true!” + +And then, if you will believe me, she looked straight before her at the +shop directly facing her. And it was a baker's, and a cheerful, stout, +motherly woman, with rosy cheeks, was just putting into the window a +tray of delicious hot buns,--large, plump, shiny buns, with currants in +them. + +It almost made Sara feel faint for a few seconds--the shock and the +sight of the buns and the delightful odors of warm bread floating up +through the baker's cellar-window. + +She knew that she need not hesitate to use the little piece of money. +It had evidently been lying in the mud for some time, and its owner was +completely lost in the streams of passing people who crowded and jostled +each other all through the day. + +“But I'll go and ask the baker's woman if she has lost a piece of +money,” she said to herself, rather faintly. + +So she crossed the pavement and put her wet foot on the step of the +shop; and as she did so she saw something which made her stop. + +It was a little figure more forlorn than her own--a little figure which +was not much more than a bundle of rags, from which small, bare, red and +muddy feet peeped out--only because the rags with which the wearer was +trying to cover them were not long enough. Above the rags appeared a +shock head of tangled hair and a dirty face, with big, hollow, hungry +eyes. + +Sara knew they were hungry eyes the moment she saw them, and she felt a +sudden sympathy. + +“This,” she said to herself, with a little sigh, “is one of the +Populace--and she is hungrier than I am.” + +The child--this “one of the Populace”--stared up at Sara, and shuffled +herself aside a little, so as to give her more room. She was used to +being made to give room to everybody. She knew that if a policeman +chanced to see her, he would tell her to “move on.” + +Sara clutched her little four-penny piece, and hesitated a few seconds. +Then she spoke to her. + +“Are you hungry?” she asked. + +The child shuffled herself and her rags a little more. + +“Ain't I jist!” she said, in a hoarse voice. “Jist ain't I!” + +“Haven't you had any dinner?” said Sara. + +“No dinner,” more hoarsely still and with more shuffling, “nor yet no +bre'fast--nor yet no supper--nor nothin'.” + +“Since when?” asked Sara. + +“Dun'no. Never got nothin' to-day--nowhere. I've axed and axed.” + +Just to look at her made Sara more hungry and faint. But those queer +little thoughts were at work in her brain, and she was talking to +herself though she was sick at heart. + +“If I'm a princess,” she was saying--“if I'm a princess--! When they +were poor and driven from their thrones--they always shared--with the +Populace--if they met one poorer and hungrier. They always shared. Buns +are a penny each. If it had been sixpence! I could have eaten six. It +won't be enough for either of us--but it will be better than nothing.” + +“Wait a minute,” she said to the beggar-child. She went into the shop. +It was warm and smelled delightfully. The woman was just going to put +more hot buns in the window. + +“If you please,” said Sara, “have you lost fourpence--a silver +fourpence?” And she held the forlorn little piece of money out to her. + +The woman looked at it and at her--at her intense little face and +draggled, once-fine clothes. + +“Bless us--no,” she answered. “Did you find it?” + +“In the gutter,” said Sara. + +“Keep it, then,” said the woman. “It may have been there a week, and +goodness knows who lost it. You could never find out.” + +“I know that,” said Sara, “but I thought I'd ask you.” + +“Not many would,” said the woman, looking puzzled and interested and +good-natured all at once. “Do you want to buy something?” she added, as +she saw Sara glance toward the buns. + +“Four buns, if you please,” said Sara; “those at a penny each.” + +The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag. Sara noticed +that she put in six. + +“I said four, if you please,” she explained. “I have only the +fourpence.” + +“I'll throw in two for make-weight,” said the woman, with her +good-natured look. “I dare say you can eat them some time. Aren't you +hungry?” + +A mist rose before Sara's eyes. + +“Yes,” she answered. “I am very hungry, and I am much obliged to you for +your kindness, and,” she was going to add, “there is a child outside who +is hungrier than I am.” But just at that moment two or three customers +came in at once and each one seemed in a hurry, so she could only thank +the woman again and go out. + +The child was still huddled up on the corner of the steps. She looked +frightful in her wet and dirty rags. She was staring with a stupid look +of suffering straight before her, and Sara saw her suddenly draw the +back of her roughened, black hand across her eyes to rub away the tears +which seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way from under her +lids. She was muttering to herself. + +Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which had +already warmed her cold hands a little. + +“See,” she said, putting the bun on the ragged lap, “that is nice and +hot. Eat it, and you will not be so hungry.” + +The child started and stared up at her; then she snatched up the bun and +began to cram it into her mouth with great wolfish bites. + +“Oh, my! Oh, my!” Sara heard her say hoarsely, in wild delight. + +“Oh, my!” + +Sara took out three more buns and put them down. + +“She is hungrier than I am,” she said to herself. “She's starving.” But +her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. “I'm not starving,” + she said--and she put down the fifth. + +The little starving London savage was still snatching and devouring when +she turned away. She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even if she +had been taught politeness--which she had not. She was only a poor +little wild animal. + +“Good-bye,” said Sara. + +When she reached the other side of the street she looked back. The child +had a bun in both hands, and had stopped in the middle of a bite to +watch her. Sara gave her a little nod, and the child, after another +stare,--a curious, longing stare,--jerked her shaggy head in response, +and until Sara was out of sight she did not take another bite or even +finish the one she had begun. + +At that moment the baker-woman glanced out of her shop-window. + +“Well, I never!” she exclaimed. “If that young'un hasn't given her buns +to a beggar-child! It wasn't because she didn't want them, either--well, +well, she looked hungry enough. I'd give something to know what she did +it for.” She stood behind her window for a few moments and pondered. +Then her curiosity got the better of her. She went to the door and spoke +to the beggar-child. + +“Who gave you those buns?” she asked her. + +The child nodded her head toward Sara's vanishing figure. + +“What did she say?” inquired the woman. + +“Axed me if I was 'ungry,” replied the hoarse voice. + +“What did you say?” + +“Said I was jist!” + +“And then she came in and got buns and came out and gave them to you, +did she?” + +The child nodded. + +“How many?” + +“Five.” + +The woman thought it over. “Left just one for herself,” she said, in +a low voice. “And she could have eaten the whole six--I saw it in her +eyes.” + +She looked after the little, draggled, far-away figure, and felt more +disturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt for many a +day. + +“I wish she hadn't gone so quick,” she said. “I'm blest if she shouldn't +have had a dozen.” + +Then she turned to the child. + +“Are you hungry, yet?” she asked. + +“I'm allus 'ungry,” was the answer; “but 'tain't so bad as it was.” + +“Come in here,” said the woman, and she held open the shop-door. + +The child got up and shuffled in. To be invited into a warm place full +of bread seemed an incredible thing. She did not know what was going to +happen; she did not care, even. + +“Get yourself warm,” said the woman, pointing to a fire in a tiny back +room. “And, look here,--when you're hard up for a bite of bread, you can +come here and ask for it. I'm blest if I won't give it to you for that +young un's sake.” + + +Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun. It was hot; and it was a +great deal better than nothing. She broke off small pieces and ate them +slowly to make it last longer. + +“Suppose it was a magic bun,” she said, “and a bite was as much as a +whole dinner. I should be over-eating myself if I went on like this.” + +It was dark when she reached the square in which Miss Minchin's Select +Seminary was situated; the lamps were lighted, and in most of the +windows gleams of light were to be seen. It always interested Sara to +catch glimpses of the rooms before the shutters were closed. She liked +to imagine things about people who sat before the fires in the houses, +or who bent over books at the tables. There was, for instance, the Large +Family opposite. She called these people the Large Family--not because +they were large, for indeed most of them were little,--but because there +were so many of them. There were eight children in the Large Family, +and a stout, rosy mother, and a stout, rosy father, and a stout, rosy +grand-mamma, and any number of servants. The eight children were +always either being taken out to walk, or to ride in perambulators, by +comfortable nurses; or they were going to drive with their mamma; or +they were flying to the door in the evening to kiss their papa and +dance around him and drag off his overcoat and look for packages in +the pockets of it; or they were crowding about the nursery windows +and looking out and pushing each other and laughing,--in fact they were +always doing something which seemed enjoyable and suited to the tastes +of a large family. Sara was quite attached to them, and had given them +all names out of books. She called them the Montmorencys, when she did +not call them the Large Family. The fat, fair baby with the lace cap was +Ethelberta Beauchamp Montmorency; the next baby was Violet Cholmondely +Montmorency; the little boy who could just stagger, and who had such +round legs, was Sydney Cecil Vivian Montmorency; and then came Lilian +Evangeline, Guy Clarence, Maud Marian, Rosalind Gladys, Veronica +Eustacia, and Claude Harold Hector. + +Next door to the Large Family lived the Maiden Lady, who had a +companion, and two parrots, and a King Charles spaniel; but Sara was not +so very fond of her, because she did nothing in particular but talk to +the parrots and drive out with the spaniel. The most interesting person +of all lived next door to Miss Minchin herself. Sara called him the +Indian Gentleman. He was an elderly gentleman who was said to have lived +in the East Indies, and to be immensely rich and to have something the +matter with his liver,--in fact, it had been rumored that he had no +liver at all, and was much inconvenienced by the fact. At any rate, he +was very yellow and he did not look happy; and when he went out to his +carriage, he was almost always wrapped up in shawls and overcoats, as +if he were cold. He had a native servant who looked even colder than +himself, and he had a monkey who looked colder than the native servant. +Sara had seen the monkey sitting on a table, in the sun, in the +parlor window, and he always wore such a mournful expression that she +sympathized with him deeply. + +“I dare say,” she used sometimes to remark to herself, “he is thinking +all the time of cocoanut trees and of swinging by his tail under a +tropical sun. He might have had a family dependent on him too, poor +thing!” + +The native servant, whom she called the Lascar, looked mournful too, but +he was evidently very faithful to his master. + +“Perhaps he saved his master's life in the Sepoy rebellion,” she +thought. “They look as if they might have had all sorts of adventures. I +wish I could speak to the Lascar. I remember a little Hindustani.” + +And one day she actually did speak to him, and his start at the sound of +his own language expressed a great deal of surprise and delight. He was +waiting for his master to come out to the carriage, and Sara, who was +going on an errand as usual, stopped and spoke a few words. She had a +special gift for languages and had remembered enough Hindustani to make +herself understood by him. When his master came out, the Lascar spoke +to him quickly, and the Indian Gentleman turned and looked at her +curiously. And afterward the Lascar always greeted her with salaams of +the most profound description. And occasionally they exchanged a few +words. She learned that it was true that the Sahib was very rich--that +he was ill--and also that he had no wife nor children, and that England +did not agree with the monkey. + +“He must be as lonely as I am,” thought Sara. “Being rich does not seem +to make him happy.” + +That evening, as she passed the windows, the Lascar was closing the +shutters, and she caught a glimpse of the room inside. There was a +bright fire glowing in the grate, and the Indian Gentleman was sitting +before it, in a luxurious chair. The room was richly furnished, and +looked delightfully comfortable, but the Indian Gentleman sat with his +head resting on his hand, and looked as lonely and unhappy as ever. + +“Poor man!” said Sara; “I wonder what you are `supposing'?” + +When she went into the house she met Miss Minchin in the hall. + +“Where have you wasted your time?” said Miss Minchin. “You have been out +for hours!” + +“It was so wet and muddy,” Sara answered. “It was hard to walk, because +my shoes were so bad and slipped about so.” + +“Make no excuses,” said Miss Minchin, “and tell no falsehoods.” + +Sara went downstairs to the kitchen. + +“Why didn't you stay all night?” said the cook. + +“Here are the things,” said Sara, and laid her purchases on the table. + +The cook looked over them, grumbling. She was in a very bad temper +indeed. + +“May I have something to eat?” Sara asked rather faintly. + +“Tea's over and done with,” was the answer. “Did you expect me to keep +it hot for you?” + +Sara was silent a second. + +“I had no dinner,” she said, and her voice was quite low. She made it +low, because she was afraid it would tremble. + +“There's some bread in the pantry,” said the cook. “That's all you'll +get at this time of day.” + +Sara went and found the bread. It was old and hard and dry. The cook +was in too bad a humor to give her anything to eat with it. She had just +been scolded by Miss Minchin, and it was always safe and easy to vent +her own spite on Sara. + +Really it was hard for the child to climb the three long flights of +stairs leading to her garret. She often found them long and steep when +she was tired, but to-night it seemed as if she would never reach the +top. Several times a lump rose in her throat and she was obliged to stop +to rest. + +“I can't pretend anything more to-night,” she said wearily to herself. +“I'm sure I can't. I'll eat my bread and drink some water and then go to +sleep, and perhaps a dream will come and pretend for me. I wonder what +dreams are.” + +Yes, when she reached the top landing there were tears in her eyes, and +she did not feel like a princess--only like a tired, hungry, lonely, +lonely child. + +“If my papa had lived,” she said, “they would not have treated me like +this. If my papa had lived, he would have taken care of me.” + +Then she turned the handle and opened the garret-door. + +Can you imagine it--can you believe it? I find it hard to believe it +myself. And Sara found it impossible; for the first few moments she +thought something strange had happened to her eyes--to her mind--that +the dream had come before she had had time to fall asleep. + +“Oh!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Oh! it isn't true! I know, I know +it isn't true!” And she slipped into the room and closed the door and +locked it, and stood with her back against it, staring straight before +her. + +Do you wonder? In the grate, which had been empty and rusty and cold +when she left it, but which now was blackened and polished up quite +respectably, there was a glowing, blazing fire. On the hob was a little +brass kettle, hissing and boiling; spread upon the floor was a warm, +thick rug; before the fire was a folding-chair, unfolded and with +cushions on it; by the chair was a small folding-table, unfolded, +covered with a white cloth, and upon it were spread small covered +dishes, a cup and saucer, and a tea-pot; on the bed were new, warm +coverings, a curious wadded silk robe, and some books. The little, cold, +miserable room seemed changed into Fairyland. It was actually warm and +glowing. + +“It is bewitched!” said Sara. “Or I am bewitched. I only think I see +it all; but if I can only keep on thinking it, I don't care--I don't +care--if I can only keep it up!” + +She was afraid to move, for fear it would melt away. She stood with her +back against the door and looked and looked. But soon she began to feel +warm, and then she moved forward. + +“A fire that I only thought I saw surely wouldn't feel warm,” she said. +“It feels real--real.” + +She went to it and knelt before it. She touched the chair, the table; +she lifted the cover of one of the dishes. There was something hot and +savory in it--something delicious. The tea-pot had tea in it, ready for +the boiling water from the little kettle; one plate had toast on it, +another, muffins. + +“It is real,” said Sara. “The fire is real enough to warm me; I can sit +in the chair; the things are real enough to eat.” + +It was like a fairy story come true--it was heavenly. She went to the +bed and touched the blankets and the wrap. They were real too. She +opened one book, and on the title-page was written in a strange hand, +“The little girl in the attic.” + +Suddenly--was it a strange thing for her to do?--Sara put her face down +on the queer, foreign looking quilted robe and burst into tears. + +“I don't know who it is,” she said, “but somebody cares about me a +little--somebody is my friend.” + +Somehow that thought warmed her more than the fire. She had never had +a friend since those happy, luxurious days when she had had everything; +and those days had seemed such a long way off--so far away as to be only +like dreams--during these last years at Miss Minchin's. + +She really cried more at this strange thought of having a friend--even +though an unknown one--than she had cried over many of her worst +troubles. + +But these tears seemed different from the others, for when she had wiped +them away they did not seem to leave her eyes and her heart hot and +smarting. + +And then imagine, if you can, what the rest of the evening was like. +The delicious comfort of taking off the damp clothes and putting on the +soft, warm, quilted robe before the glowing fire--of slipping her cold +feet into the luscious little wool-lined slippers she found near her +chair. And then the hot tea and savory dishes, the cushioned chair and +the books! + +It was just like Sara, that, once having found the things real, she +should give herself up to the enjoyment of them to the very utmost. She +had lived such a life of imagining, and had found her pleasure so long +in improbabilities, that she was quite equal to accepting any wonderful +thing that happened. After she was quite warm and had eaten her supper +and enjoyed herself for an hour or so, it had almost ceased to be +surprising to her that such magical surroundings should be hers. As +to finding out who had done all this, she knew that it was out of the +question. She did not know a human soul by whom it could seem in the +least degree probable that it could have been done. + +“There is nobody,” she said to herself, “nobody.” She discussed the +matter with Emily, it is true, but more because it was delightful to +talk about it than with a view to making any discoveries. + +“But we have a friend, Emily,” she said; “we have a friend.” + +Sara could not even imagine a being charming enough to fill her grand +ideal of her mysterious benefactor. If she tried to make in her mind +a picture of him or her, it ended by being something glittering and +strange--not at all like a real person, but bearing resemblance to a +sort of Eastern magician, with long robes and a wand. And when she fell +asleep, beneath the soft white blanket, she dreamed all night of this +magnificent personage, and talked to him in Hindustani, and made salaams +to him. + +Upon one thing she was determined. She would not speak to any one of +her good fortune--it should be her own secret; in fact, she was +rather inclined to think that if Miss Minchin knew, she would take her +treasures from her or in some way spoil her pleasure. So, when she went +down the next morning, she shut her door very tight and did her best to +look as if nothing unusual had occurred. And yet this was rather hard, +because she could not help remembering, every now and then, with a sort +of start, and her heart would beat quickly every time she repeated to +herself, “I have a friend!” + +It was a friend who evidently meant to continue to be kind, for when she +went to her garret the next night--and she opened the door, it must be +confessed, with rather an excited feeling--she found that the same hands +had been again at work, and had done even more than before. The fire and +the supper were again there, and beside them a number of other things +which so altered the look of the garret that Sara quite lost her breath. +A piece of bright, strange, heavy cloth covered the battered mantel, and +on it some ornaments had been placed. All the bare, ugly things which +could be covered with draperies had been concealed and made to look +quite pretty. Some odd materials in rich colors had been fastened +against the walls with sharp, fine tacks--so sharp that they could be +pressed into the wood without hammering. Some brilliant fans were pinned +up, and there were several large cushions. A long, old wooden box was +covered with a rug, and some cushions lay on it, so that it wore quite +the air of a sofa. + +Sara simply sat down, and looked, and looked again. + +“It is exactly like something fairy come true,” she said; “there isn't +the least difference. I feel as if I might wish for anything--diamonds +and bags of gold--and they would appear! That couldn't be any stranger +than this. Is this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp Sara? +And to think how I used to pretend, and pretend, and wish there were +fairies! The one thing I always wanted was to see a fairy story come +true. I am living in a fairy story! I feel as if I might be a fairy +myself, and be able to turn things into anything else!” + +It was like a fairy story, and, what was best of all, it continued. +Almost every day something new was done to the garret. Some new comfort +or ornament appeared in it when Sara opened her door at night, until +actually, in a short time it was a bright little room, full of all sorts +of odd and luxurious things. And the magician had taken care that the +child should not be hungry, and that she should have as many books as +she could read. When she left the room in the morning, the remains of +her supper were on the table, and when she returned in the evening, the +magician had removed them, and left another nice little meal. Downstairs +Miss Minchin was as cruel and insulting as ever, Miss Amelia was as +peevish, and the servants were as vulgar. Sara was sent on errands, and +scolded, and driven hither and thither, but somehow it seemed as if she +could bear it all. The delightful sense of romance and mystery lifted +her above the cook's temper and malice. The comfort she enjoyed and +could always look forward to was making her stronger. If she came home +from her errands wet and tired, she knew she would soon be warm, after +she had climbed the stairs. In a few weeks she began to look less thin. +A little color came into her cheeks, and her eyes did not seem much too +big for her face. + +It was just when this was beginning to be so apparent that Miss Minchin +sometimes stared at her questioningly, that another wonderful thing +happened. A man came to the door and left several parcels. All were +addressed (in large letters) to “the little girl in the attic.” Sara +herself was sent to open the door, and she took them in. She laid +the two largest parcels down on the hall-table and was looking at the +address, when Miss Minchin came down the stairs. + +“Take the things upstairs to the young lady to whom they belong,” she +said. “Don't stand there staring at them.” + +“They belong to me,” answered Sara, quietly. + +“To you!” exclaimed Miss Minchin. “What do you mean?” + +“I don't know where they came from,” said Sara, “but they're addressed +to me.” + +Miss Minchin came to her side and looked at them with an excited +expression. + +“What is in them?” she demanded. + +“I don't know,” said Sara. + +“Open them!” she demanded, still more excitedly. + +Sara did as she was told. They contained pretty and comfortable +clothing,--clothing of different kinds; shoes and stockings and gloves, +a warm coat, and even an umbrella. On the pocket of the coat was pinned +a paper on which was written, “To be worn every day--will be replaced by +others when necessary.” + +Miss Minchin was quite agitated. This was an incident which suggested +strange things to her sordid mind. Could it be that she had made a +mistake after all, and that the child so neglected and so unkindly +treated by her had some powerful friend in the background? It would not +be very pleasant if there should be such a friend, and he or she should +learn all the truth about the thin, shabby clothes, the scant food, +the hard work. She felt queer indeed and uncertain, and she gave a +side-glance at Sara. + +“Well,” she said, in a voice such as she had never used since the day +the child lost her father--“well, some one is very kind to you. As you +have the things and are to have new ones when they are worn out, you +may as well go and put them on and look respectable; and after you +are dressed, you may come downstairs and learn your lessons in the +school-room.” + +So it happened that, about half an hour afterward, Sara struck the +entire school-room of pupils dumb with amazement, by making her +appearance in a costume such as she had never worn since the change of +fortune whereby she ceased to be a show-pupil and a parlor-boarder. She +scarcely seemed to be the same Sara. She was neatly dressed in a pretty +gown of warm browns and reds, and even her stockings and slippers were +nice and dainty. + +“Perhaps some one has left her a fortune,” one of the girls whispered. +“I always thought something would happen to her, she is so queer.” + +That night when Sara went to her room she carried out a plan she had +been devising for some time. She wrote a note to her unknown friend. It +ran as follows: + + +“I hope you will not think it is not polite that I should write this +note to you when you wish to keep yourself a secret, but I do not mean +to be impolite, or to try to find out at all, only I want to thank you +for being so kind to me--so beautiful kind, and making everything like a +fairy story. I am so grateful to you and I am so happy! I used to be so +lonely and cold and, hungry, and now, oh, just think what you have done +for me! Please let me say just these words. It seems as if I ought to +say them. Thank you--thank you--thank you! + +“THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE ATTIC.” + + +The next morning she left this on the little table, and it was taken +away with the other things; so she felt sure the magician had received +it, and she was happier for the thought. + +A few nights later a very odd thing happened. She found something in the +room which she certainly would never have expected. When she came in +as usual she saw something small and dark in her chair,--an odd, tiny +figure, which turned toward her a little, weird-looking, wistful face. + +“Why, it's the monkey!” she cried. “It is the Indian Gentleman's monkey! +Where can he have come from?” + +It was the monkey, sitting up and looking so like a mite of a child +that it really was quite pathetic; and very soon Sara found out how he +happened to be in her room. The skylight was open, and it was easy to +guess that he had crept out of his master's garret-window, which was +only a few feet away and perfectly easy to get in and out of, even for a +climber less agile than a monkey. He had probably climbed to the garret +on a tour of investigation, and getting out upon the roof, and being +attracted by the light in Sara's attic, had crept in. At all events this +seemed quite reasonable, and there he was; and when Sara went to him, he +actually put out his queer, elfish little hands, caught her dress, and +jumped into her arms. + +“Oh, you queer, poor, ugly, foreign little thing!” said Sara, caressing +him. “I can't help liking you. You look like a sort of baby, but I am +so glad you are not, because your mother could not be proud of you, and +nobody would dare to say you were like any of your relations. But I do +like you; you have such a forlorn little look in your face. Perhaps you +are sorry you are so ugly, and it's always on your mind. I wonder if you +have a mind?” + +The monkey sat and looked at her while she talked, and seemed much +interested in her remarks, if one could judge by his eyes and his +forehead, and the way he moved his head up and down, and held it +sideways and scratched it with his little hand. He examined Sara quite +seriously, and anxiously, too. He felt the stuff of her dress, touched +her hands, climbed up and examined her ears, and then sat on her +shoulder holding a lock of her hair, looking mournful but not at all +agitated. Upon the whole, he seemed pleased with Sara. + +“But I must take you back,” she said to him, “though I'm sorry to have +to do it. Oh, the company you would be to a person!” + +She lifted him from her shoulder, set him on her knee, and gave him a +bit of cake. He sat and nibbled it, and then put his head on one side, +looked at her, wrinkled his forehead, and then nibbled again, in the +most companionable manner. + +“But you must go home,” said Sara at last; and she took him in her arms +to carry him downstairs. Evidently he did not want to leave the room, +for as they reached the door he clung to her neck and gave a little +scream of anger. + +“You mustn't be an ungrateful monkey,” said Sara. “You ought to be +fondest of your own family. I am sure the Lascar is good to you.” + +Nobody saw her on her way out, and very soon she was standing on the +Indian Gentleman's front steps, and the Lascar had opened the door for +her. + +“I found your monkey in my room,” she said in Hindustani. “I think he +got in through the window.” + +The man began a rapid outpouring of thanks; but, just as he was in the +midst of them, a fretful, hollow voice was heard through the open door +of the nearest room. The instant he heard it the Lascar disappeared, and +left Sara still holding the monkey. + +It was not many moments, however, before he came back bringing a +message. His master had told him to bring Missy into the library. The +Sahib was very ill, but he wished to see Missy. + +Sara thought this odd, but she remembered reading stories of Indian +gentlemen who, having no constitutions, were extremely cross and full of +whims, and who must have their own way. So she followed the Lascar. + +When she entered the room the Indian Gentleman was lying on an easy +chair, propped up with pillows. He looked frightfully ill. His yellow +face was thin, and his eyes were hollow. He gave Sara a rather curious +look--it was as if she wakened in him some anxious interest. + +“You live next door?” he said. + +“Yes,” answered Sara. “I live at Miss Minchin's.” + +“She keeps a boarding-school?” + +“Yes,” said Sara. + +“And you are one of her pupils?” + +Sara hesitated a moment. + +“I don't know exactly what I am,” she replied. + +“Why not?” asked the Indian Gentleman. + +The monkey gave a tiny squeak, and Sara stroked him. + +“At first,” she said, “I was a pupil and a parlor boarder; but now--” + +“What do you mean by `at first'?” asked the Indian Gentleman. + +“When I was first taken there by my papa.” + +“Well, what has happened since then?” said the invalid, staring at her +and knitting his brows with a puzzled expression. + +“My papa died,” said Sara. “He lost all his money, and there was +none left for me--and there was no one to take care of me or pay Miss +Minchin, so--” + +“So you were sent up into the garret and neglected, and made into a +half-starved little drudge!” put in the Indian Gentleman. “That is about +it, isn't it?” + +The color deepened on Sara's cheeks. + +“There was no one to take care of me, and no money,” she said. “I belong +to nobody.” + +“What did your father mean by losing his money?” said the gentleman, +fretfully. + +The red in Sara's cheeks grew deeper, and she fixed her odd eyes on the +yellow face. + +“He did not lose it himself,” she said. “He had a friend he was fond +of, and it was his friend, who took his money. I don't know how. I don't +understand. He trusted his friend too much.” + +She saw the invalid start--the strangest start--as if he had been +suddenly frightened. Then he spoke nervously and excitedly: + +“That's an old story,” he said. “It happens every day; but sometimes +those who are blamed--those who do the wrong--don't intend it, and are +not so bad. It may happen through a mistake--a miscalculation; they may +not be so bad.” + +“No,” said Sara, “but the suffering is just as bad for the others. It +killed my papa.” + +The Indian Gentleman pushed aside some of the gorgeous wraps that +covered him. + +“Come a little nearer, and let me look at you,” he said. + +His voice sounded very strange; it had a more nervous and excited tone +than before. Sara had an odd fancy that he was half afraid to look at +her. She came and stood nearer, the monkey clinging to her and watching +his master anxiously over his shoulder. + +The Indian Gentleman's hollow, restless eyes fixed themselves on her. + +“Yes,” he said at last. “Yes; I can see it. Tell me your father's name.” + +“His name was Ralph Crewe,” said Sara. “Captain Crewe. Perhaps,”--a +sudden thought flashing upon her,--“perhaps you may have heard of him? +He died in India.” + +The Indian Gentleman sank back upon his pillows. He looked very weak, +and seemed out of breath. + +“Yes,” he said, “I knew him. I was his friend. I meant no harm. If he +had only lived he would have known. It turned out well after all. He was +a fine young fellow. I was fond of him. I will make it right. Call--call +the man.” + +Sara thought he was going to die. But there was no need to call the +Lascar. He must have been waiting at the door. He was in the room and by +his master's side in an instant. He seemed to know what to do. He lifted +the drooping head, and gave the invalid something in a small glass. The +Indian Gentleman lay panting for a few minutes, and then he spoke in an +exhausted but eager voice, addressing the Lascar in Hindustani: + +“Go for Carmichael,” he said. “Tell him to come here at once. Tell him I +have found the child!” + +When Mr. Carmichael arrived (which occurred in a very few minutes, for +it turned out that he was no other than the father of the Large Family +across the street), Sara went home, and was allowed to take the monkey +with her. She certainly did not sleep very much that night, though the +monkey behaved beautifully, and did not disturb her in the least. It was +not the monkey that kept her awake--it was her thoughts, and her wonders +as to what the Indian Gentleman had meant when he said, “Tell him I have +found the child.” “What child?” Sara kept asking herself. + +“I was the only child there; but how had he found me, and why did he +want to find me? And what is he going to do, now I am found? Is it +something about my papa? Do I belong to somebody? Is he one of my +relations? Is something going to happen?” + +But she found out the very next day, in the morning; and it seemed that +she had been living in a story even more than she had imagined. First, +Mr. Carmichael came and had an interview with Miss Minchin. And it +appeared that Mr. Carmichael, besides occupying the important situation +of father to the Large Family was a lawyer, and had charge of the +affairs of Mr. Carrisford--which was the real name of the Indian +Gentleman--and, as Mr. Carrisford's lawyer, Mr. Carmichael had come to +explain something curious to Miss Minchin regarding Sara. But, being the +father of the Large Family, he had a very kind and fatherly feeling for +children; and so, after seeing Miss Minchin alone, what did he do but +go and bring across the square his rosy, motherly, warm-hearted wife, +so that she herself might talk to the little lonely girl, and tell her +everything in the best and most motherly way. + +And then Sara learned that she was to be a poor little drudge and +outcast no more, and that a great change had come in her fortunes; for +all the lost fortune had come back to her, and a great deal had even +been added to it. It was Mr. Carrisford who had been her father's +friend, and who had made the investments which had caused him the +apparent loss of his money; but it had so happened that after poor young +Captain Crewe's death one of the investments which had seemed at the +time the very worst had taken a sudden turn, and proved to be such a +success that it had been a mine of wealth, and had more than doubled the +Captain's lost fortune, as well as making a fortune for Mr. Carrisford +himself. But Mr. Carrisford had been very unhappy. He had truly loved +his poor, handsome, generous young friend, and the knowledge that he had +caused his death had weighed upon him always, and broken both his health +and spirit. The worst of it had been that, when first he thought himself +and Captain Crewe ruined, he had lost courage and gone away because he +was not brave enough to face the consequences of what he had done, and +so he had not even known where the young soldier's little girl had +been placed. When he wanted to find her, and make restitution, he +could discover no trace of her; and the certainty that she was poor and +friendless somewhere had made him more miserable than ever. When he had +taken the house next to Miss Minchin's he had been so ill and wretched +that he had for the time given up the search. His troubles and the +Indian climate had brought him almost to death's door--indeed, he had +not expected to live more than a few months. And then one day the Lascar +had told him about Sara's speaking Hindustani, and gradually he had +begun to take a sort of interest in the forlorn child, though he had +only caught a glimpse of her once or twice and he had not connected +her with the child of his friend, perhaps because he was too languid +to think much about anything. But the Lascar had found out something +of Sara's unhappy little life, and about the garret. One evening he had +actually crept out of his own garret-window and looked into hers, which +was a very easy matter, because, as I have said, it was only a few feet +away--and he had told his master what he had seen, and in a moment of +compassion the Indian Gentleman had told him to take into the wretched +little room such comforts as he could carry from the one window to the +other. And the Lascar, who had developed an interest in, and an odd +fondness for, the child who had spoken to him in his own tongue, had +been pleased with the work; and, having the silent swiftness and agile +movements of many of his race, he had made his evening journeys across +the few feet of roof from garret-window to garret-window, without any +trouble at all. He had watched Sara's movements until he knew exactly +when she was absent from her room and when she returned to it, and so he +had been able to calculate the best times for his work. Generally he +had made them in the dusk of the evening; but once or twice, when he +had seen her go out on errands, he had dared to go over in the daytime, +being quite sure that the garret was never entered by any one but +herself. His pleasure in the work and his reports of the results had +added to the invalid's interest in it, and sometimes the master had +found the planning gave him something to think of, which made him almost +forget his weariness and pain. And at last, when Sara brought home the +truant monkey, he had felt a wish to see her, and then her likeness to +her father had done the rest. + +“And now, my dear,” said good Mrs. Carmichael, patting Sara's hand, “all +your troubles are over, I am sure, and you are to come home with me and +be taken care of as if you were one of my own little girls; and we are +so pleased to think of having you with us until everything is settled, +and Mr. Carrisford is better. The excitement of last night has made him +very weak, but we really think he will get well, now that such a load +is taken from his mind. And when he is stronger, I am sure he will be as +kind to you as your own papa would have been. He has a very good heart, +and he is fond of children--and he has no family at all. But we must +make you happy and rosy, and you must learn to play and run about, as my +little girls do--” + +“As your little girls do?” said Sara. “I wonder if I could. I used to +watch them and wonder what it was like. Shall I feel as if I belonged to +somebody?” + +“Ah, my love, yes!--yes!” said Mrs. Carmichael; “dear me, yes!” And her +motherly blue eyes grew quite moist, and she suddenly took Sara in her +arms and kissed her. That very night, before she went to sleep, Sara had +made the acquaintance of the entire Large Family, and such excitement +as she and the monkey had caused in that joyous circle could hardly be +described. There was not a child in the nursery, from the Eton boy who +was the eldest, to the baby who was the youngest, who had not laid +some offering on her shrine. All the older ones knew something of her +wonderful story. She had been born in India; she had been poor and +lonely and unhappy, and had lived in a garret and been treated unkindly; +and now she was to be rich and happy, and be taken care of. They were so +sorry for her, and so delighted and curious about her, all at once. The +girls wished to be with her constantly, and the little boys wished to be +told about India; the second baby, with the short round legs, simply +sat and stared at her and the monkey, possibly wondering why she had not +brought a hand-organ with her. + +“I shall certainly wake up presently,” Sara kept saying to herself. +“This one must be a dream. The other one turned out to be real; but this +couldn't be. But, oh! how happy it is!” + +And even when she went to bed, in the bright, pretty room not far from +Mrs. Carmichael's own, and Mrs. Carmichael came and kissed her and +patted her and tucked her in cozily, she was not sure that she would not +wake up in the garret in the morning. + +“And oh, Charles, dear,” Mrs. Carmichael said to her husband, when she +went downstairs to him, “We must get that lonely look out of her eyes! +It isn't a child's look at all. I couldn't bear to see it in one of my +own children. What the poor little love must have had to bear in that +dreadful woman's house! But, surely, she will forget it in time.” + + +But though the lonely look passed away from Sara's face, she never quite +forgot the garret at Miss Minchin's; and, indeed, she always liked to +remember the wonderful night when the tired princess crept upstairs, +cold and wet, and opening the door found fairy-land waiting for her. And +there was no one of the many stories she was always being called upon to +tell in the nursery of the Large Family which was more popular than that +particular one; and there was no one of whom the Large Family were so +fond as of Sara. Mr. Carrisford did not die, but recovered, and Sara +went to live with him; and no real princess could have been better taken +care of than she was. It seemed that the Indian Gentleman could not do +enough to make her happy, and to repay her for the past; and the Lascar +was her devoted slave. As her odd little face grew brighter, it grew so +pretty and interesting that Mr. Carrisford used to sit and watch it many +an evening, as they sat by the fire together. + +They became great friends, and they used to spend hours reading and +talking together; and, in a very short time, there was no pleasanter +sight to the Indian Gentleman than Sara sitting in her big chair on the +opposite side of the hearth, with a book on her knee and her soft, dark +hair tumbling over her warm cheeks. She had a pretty habit of looking +up at him suddenly, with a bright smile, and then he would often say to +her: + +“Are you happy, Sara?” + +And then she would answer: + +“I feel like a real princess, Uncle Tom.” + +He had told her to call him Uncle Tom. + +“There doesn't seem to be anything left to `suppose,'” she added. + +There was a little joke between them that he was a magician, and so +could do anything he liked; and it was one of his pleasures to invent +plans to surprise her with enjoyments she had not thought of. Scarcely +a day passed in which he did not do something new for her. Sometimes she +found new flowers in her room; sometimes a fanciful little gift tucked +into some odd corner, sometimes a new book on her pillow;--once as they +sat together in the evening they heard the scratch of a heavy paw on +the door of the room, and when Sara went to find out what it was, there +stood a great dog--a splendid Russian boar-hound with a grand silver and +gold collar. Stooping to read the inscription upon the collar, Sara was +delighted to read the words: “I am Boris; I serve the Princess Sara.” + +Then there was a sort of fairy nursery arranged for the entertainment of +the juvenile members of the Large Family, who were always coming to see +Sara and the Lascar and the monkey. Sara was as fond of the Large Family +as they were of her. She soon felt as if she were a member of it, and +the companionship of the healthy, happy children was very good for +her. All the children rather looked up to her and regarded her as the +cleverest and most brilliant of creatures--particularly after it was +discovered that she not only knew stories of every kind, and could +invent new ones at a moment's notice, but that she could help with +lessons, and speak French and German, and discourse with the Lascar in +Hindustani. + +It was rather a painful experience for Miss Minchin to watch her +ex-pupil's fortunes, as she had the daily opportunity to do, and to feel +that she had made a serious mistake, from a business point of view. She +had even tried to retrieve it by suggesting that Sara's education should +be continued under her care, and had gone to the length of making an +appeal to the child herself. + +“I have always been very fond of you,” she said. + +Then Sara fixed her eyes upon her and gave her one of her odd looks. + +“Have you?” she answered. + +“Yes,” said Miss Minchin. “Amelia and I have always said you were +the cleverest child we had with us, and I am sure we could make you +happy--as a parlor boarder.” + +Sara thought of the garret and the day her ears were boxed,--and of that +other day, that dreadful, desolate day when she had been told that she +belonged to nobody; that she had no home and no friends,--and she kept +her eyes fixed on Miss Minchin's face. + +“You know why I would not stay with you,” she said. + +And it seems probable that Miss Minchin did, for after that simple +answer she had not the boldness to pursue the subject. She merely sent +in a bill for the expense of Sara's education and support, and she made +it quite large enough. And because Mr. Carrisford thought Sara would +wish it paid, it was paid. When Mr. Carmichael paid it he had a brief +interview with Miss Minchin in which he expressed his opinion with much +clearness and force; and it is quite certain that Miss Minchin did not +enjoy the conversation. + +Sara had been about a month with Mr. Carrisford, and had begun to +realize that her happiness was not a dream, when one night the Indian +Gentleman saw that she sat a long time with her cheek on her hand +looking at the fire. + +“What are you `supposing,' Sara?” he asked. Sara looked up with a bright +color on her cheeks. + +“I was `supposing,'” she said; “I was remembering that hungry day, and a +child I saw.” + +“But there were a great many hungry days,” said the Indian Gentleman, +with a rather sad tone in his voice. “Which hungry day was it?” + +“I forgot you didn't know,” said Sara. “It was the day I found the +things in my garret.” + +And then she told him the story of the bun-shop, and the fourpence, and +the child who was hungrier than herself; and somehow as she told it, +though she told it very simply indeed, the Indian Gentleman found it +necessary to shade his eyes with his hand and look down at the floor. + +“And I was `supposing' a kind of plan,” said Sara, when she had +finished; “I was thinking I would like to do something.” + +“What is it?” said her guardian in a low tone. “You may do anything you +like to do, Princess.” + +“I was wondering,” said Sara,--“you know you say I have a great deal of +money--and I was wondering if I could go and see the bun-woman and +tell her that if, when hungry children--particularly on those dreadful +days--come and sit on the steps or look in at the window, she would just +call them in and give them something to eat, she might send the bills to +me and I would pay them--could I do that?” + +“You shall do it to-morrow morning,” said the Indian Gentleman. + +“Thank you,” said Sara; “you see I know what it is to be hungry, and it +is very hard when one can't even pretend it away.” + +“Yes, yes, my dear,” said the Indian Gentleman. “Yes, it must be. Try +to forget it. Come and sit on this footstool near my knee, and only +remember you are a princess.” + +“Yes,” said Sara, “and I can give buns and bread to the Populace.” And +she went and sat on the stool, and the Indian Gentleman (he used to +like her to call him that, too, sometimes,--in fact very often) drew her +small, dark head down upon his knee and stroked her hair. + +The next morning a carriage drew up before the door of the baker's shop, +and a gentleman and a little girl got out,--oddly enough, just as the +bun-woman was putting a tray of smoking hotbuns into the window. When +Sara entered the shop the woman turned and looked at her and, leaving +the buns, came and stood behind the counter. For a moment she looked at +Sara very hard indeed, and then her good-natured face lighted up. + +“I'm that sure I remember you, miss,” she said. “And yet--” + +“Yes,” said Sara, “once you gave me six buns for fourpence, and--” + +“And you gave five of 'em to a beggar-child,” said the woman. “I've +always remembered it. I couldn't make it out at first. I beg pardon, +sir, but there's not many young people that notices a hungry face in +that way, and I've thought of it many a time. Excuse the liberty, miss, +but you look rosier and better than you did that day.” + +“I am better, thank you,” said Sara, “and--and I am happier, and I have +come to ask you to do something for me.” + +“Me, miss!” exclaimed the woman, “why, bless you, yes, miss! What can I +do?” + +And then Sara made her little proposal, and the woman listened to it +with an astonished face. + +“Why, bless me!” she said, when she had heard it all. “Yes, miss, it'll +be a pleasure to me to do it. I am a working woman, myself, and can't +afford to do much on my own account, and there's sights of trouble on +every side; but if you'll excuse me, I'm bound to say I've given many +a bit of bread away since that wet afternoon, just along o' thinkin' of +you. An' how wet an' cold you was, an' how you looked,--an' yet you give +away your hot buns as if you was a princess.” + +The Indian Gentleman smiled involuntarily, and Sara smiled a little too. +“She looked so hungry,” she said. “She was hungrier than I was.” + +“She was starving,” said the woman. “Many's the time she's told me of it +since--how she sat there in the wet, and felt as if a wolf was a-tearing +at her poor young insides.” + +“Oh, have you seen her since then?” exclaimed Sara. “Do you know where +she is?” + +“I know!” said the woman. “Why, she's in that there back room now, miss, +an' has been for a month, an' a decent, well-meaning girl she's going to +turn out, an' such a help to me in the day shop, an' in the kitchen, as +you'd scarce believe, knowing how she's lived.” + +She stepped to the door of the little back parlor and spoke; and the +next minute a girl came out and followed her behind the counter. And +actually it was the beggar-child, clean and neatly clothed, and looking +as if she had not been hungry for a long time. She looked shy, but she +had a nice face, now that she was no longer a savage; and the wild look +had gone from her eyes. And she knew Sara in an instant, and stood and +looked at her as if she could never look enough. + +“You see,” said the woman, “I told her to come here when she was hungry, +and when she'd come I'd give her odd jobs to do, an' I found she was +willing, an' somehow I got to like her; an' the end of it was I've given +her a place an' a home, an' she helps me, an' behaves as well, an' is as +thankful as a girl can be. Her name's Anne--she has no other.” + +The two children stood and looked at each other a few moments. In Sara's +eyes a new thought was growing. + +“I'm glad you have such a good home,” she said. “Perhaps Mrs. Brown will +let you give the buns and bread to the children--perhaps you would like +to do it--because you know what it is to be hungry, too.” + +“Yes, miss,” said the girl. + +And somehow Sara felt as if she understood her, though the girl said +nothing more, and only stood still and looked, and looked after her as +she went out of the shop and got into the carriage and drove away. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sara Crewe, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 137 *** diff --git a/137-h/137-h.htm b/137-h/137-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..87c897f --- /dev/null +++ b/137-h/137-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2225 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Sara Crewe, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 137 ***</div> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + SARA CREWE <br /> OR <br /> WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S + </h1> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + In the first place, Miss Minchin lived in London. Her home was a large, + dull, tall one, in a large, dull square, where all the houses were alike, + and all the sparrows were alike, and where all the door-knockers made the + same heavy sound, and on still days—and nearly all the days were + still—seemed to resound through the entire row in which the knock + was knocked. On Miss Minchin's door there was a brass plate. On the brass + plate there was inscribed in black letters, + </p> + <h3> + MISS MINCHIN'S<br /> SELECT SEMINARY FOR YOUNG LADIES + </h3> + <p> + Little Sara Crewe never went in or out of the house without reading that + door-plate and reflecting upon it. By the time she was twelve, she had + decided that all her trouble arose because, in the first place, she was + not “Select,” and in the second she was not a “Young Lady.” When she was + eight years old, she had been brought to Miss Minchin as a pupil, and left + with her. Her papa had brought her all the way from India. Her mamma had + died when she was a baby, and her papa had kept her with him as long as he + could. And then, finding the hot climate was making her very delicate, he + had brought her to England and left her with Miss Minchin, to be part of + the Select Seminary for Young Ladies. Sara, who had always been a sharp + little child, who remembered things, recollected hearing him say that he + had not a relative in the world whom he knew of, and so he was obliged to + place her at a boarding-school, and he had heard Miss Minchin's + establishment spoken of very highly. The same day, he took Sara out and + bought her a great many beautiful clothes—clothes so grand and rich + that only a very young and inexperienced man would have bought them for a + mite of a child who was to be brought up in a boarding-school. But the + fact was that he was a rash, innocent young man, and very sad at the + thought of parting with his little girl, who was all he had left to remind + him of her beautiful mother, whom he had dearly loved. And he wished her + to have everything the most fortunate little girl could have; and so, when + the polite saleswomen in the shops said, “Here is our very latest thing in + hats, the plumes are exactly the same as those we sold to Lady Diana + Sinclair yesterday,” he immediately bought what was offered to him, and + paid whatever was asked. The consequence was that Sara had a most + extraordinary wardrobe. Her dresses were silk and velvet and India + cashmere, her hats and bonnets were covered with bows and plumes, her + small undergarments were adorned with real lace, and she returned in the + cab to Miss Minchin's with a doll almost as large as herself, dressed + quite as grandly as herself, too. + </p> + <p> + Then her papa gave Miss Minchin some money and went away, and for several + days Sara would neither touch the doll, nor her breakfast, nor her dinner, + nor her tea, and would do nothing but crouch in a small corner by the + window and cry. She cried so much, indeed, that she made herself ill. She + was a queer little child, with old-fashioned ways and strong feelings, and + she had adored her papa, and could not be made to think that India and an + interesting bungalow were not better for her than London and Miss + Minchin's Select Seminary. The instant she had entered the house, she had + begun promptly to hate Miss Minchin, and to think little of Miss Amelia + Minchin, who was smooth and dumpy, and lisped, and was evidently afraid of + her older sister. Miss Minchin was tall, and had large, cold, fishy eyes, + and large, cold hands, which seemed fishy, too, because they were damp and + made chills run down Sara's back when they touched her, as Miss Minchin + pushed her hair off her forehead and said: + </p> + <p> + “A most beautiful and promising little girl, Captain Crewe. She will be a + favorite pupil; quite a favorite pupil, I see.” + </p> + <p> + For the first year she was a favorite pupil; at least she was indulged a + great deal more than was good for her. And when the Select Seminary went + walking, two by two, she was always decked out in her grandest clothes, + and led by the hand at the head of the genteel procession, by Miss Minchin + herself. And when the parents of any of the pupils came, she was always + dressed and called into the parlor with her doll; and she used to hear + Miss Minchin say that her father was a distinguished Indian officer, and + she would be heiress to a great fortune. That her father had inherited a + great deal of money, Sara had heard before; and also that some day it + would be hers, and that he would not remain long in the army, but would + come to live in London. And every time a letter came, she hoped it would + say he was coming, and they were to live together again. + </p> + <p> + But about the middle of the third year a letter came bringing very + different news. Because he was not a business man himself, her papa had + given his affairs into the hands of a friend he trusted. The friend had + deceived and robbed him. All the money was gone, no one knew exactly + where, and the shock was so great to the poor, rash young officer, that, + being attacked by jungle fever shortly afterward, he had no strength to + rally, and so died, leaving Sara, with no one to take care of her. + </p> + <p> + Miss Minchin's cold and fishy eyes had never looked so cold and fishy as + they did when Sara went into the parlor, on being sent for, a few days + after the letter was received. + </p> + <p> + No one had said anything to the child about mourning, so, in her + old-fashioned way, she had decided to find a black dress for herself, and + had picked out a black velvet she had outgrown, and came into the room in + it, looking the queerest little figure in the world, and a sad little + figure too. The dress was too short and too tight, her face was white, her + eyes had dark rings around them, and her doll, wrapped in a piece of old + black crape, was held under her arm. She was not a pretty child. She was + thin, and had a weird, interesting little face, short black hair, and very + large, green-gray eyes fringed all around with heavy black lashes. + </p> + <p> + “I am the ugliest child in the school,” she had said once, after staring + at herself in the glass for some minutes. + </p> + <p> + But there had been a clever, good-natured little French teacher who had + said to the music-master: + </p> + <p> + “Zat leetle Crewe. Vat a child! A so ogly beauty! Ze so large eyes! ze so + little spirituelle face. Waid till she grow up. You shall see!” + </p> + <p> + This morning, however, in the tight, small black frock, she looked thinner + and odder than ever, and her eyes were fixed on Miss Minchin with a queer + steadiness as she slowly advanced into the parlor, clutching her doll. + </p> + <p> + “Put your doll down!” said Miss Minchin. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the child, “I won't put her down; I want her with me. She is + all I have. She has stayed with me all the time since my papa died.” + </p> + <p> + She had never been an obedient child. She had had her own way ever since + she was born, and there was about her an air of silent determination under + which Miss Minchin had always felt secretly uncomfortable. And that lady + felt even now that perhaps it would be as well not to insist on her point. + So she looked at her as severely as possible. + </p> + <p> + “You will have no time for dolls in future,” she said; “you will have to + work and improve yourself, and make yourself useful.” + </p> + <p> + Sara kept the big odd eyes fixed on her teacher and said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Everything will be very different now,” Miss Minchin went on. “I sent for + you to talk to you and make you understand. Your father is dead. You have + no friends. You have no money. You have no home and no one to take care of + you.” + </p> + <p> + The little pale olive face twitched nervously, but the green-gray eyes did + not move from Miss Minchin's, and still Sara said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “What are you staring at?” demanded Miss Minchin sharply. “Are you so + stupid you don't understand what I mean? I tell you that you are quite + alone in the world, and have no one to do anything for you, unless I + choose to keep you here.” + </p> + <p> + The truth was, Miss Minchin was in her worst mood. To be suddenly deprived + of a large sum of money yearly and a show pupil, and to find herself with + a little beggar on her hands, was more than she could bear with any degree + of calmness. + </p> + <p> + “Now listen to me,” she went on, “and remember what I say. If you work + hard and prepare to make yourself useful in a few years, I shall let you + stay here. You are only a child, but you are a sharp child, and you pick + up things almost without being taught. You speak French very well, and in + a year or so you can begin to help with the younger pupils. By the time + you are fifteen you ought to be able to do that much at least.” + </p> + <p> + “I can speak French better than you, now,” said Sara; “I always spoke it + with my papa in India.” Which was not at all polite, but was painfully + true; because Miss Minchin could not speak French at all, and, indeed, was + not in the least a clever person. But she was a hard, grasping business + woman; and, after the first shock of disappointment, had seen that at very + little expense to herself she might prepare this clever, determined child + to be very useful to her and save her the necessity of paying large + salaries to teachers of languages. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be impudent, or you will be punished,” she said. “You will have to + improve your manners if you expect to earn your bread. You are not a + parlor boarder now. Remember that if you don't please me, and I send you + away, you have no home but the street. You can go now.” + </p> + <p> + Sara turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Stay,” commanded Miss Minchin, “don't you intend to thank me?” + </p> + <p> + Sara turned toward her. The nervous twitch was to be seen again in her + face, and she seemed to be trying to control it. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “For my kindness to you,” replied Miss Minchin. “For my kindness in giving + you a home.” + </p> + <p> + Sara went two or three steps nearer to her. Her thin little chest was + heaving up and down, and she spoke in a strange, unchildish voice. + </p> + <p> + “You are not kind,” she said. “You are not kind.” And she turned again and + went out of the room, leaving Miss Minchin staring after her strange, + small figure in stony anger. + </p> + <p> + The child walked up the staircase, holding tightly to her doll; she meant + to go to her bedroom, but at the door she was met by Miss Amelia. + </p> + <p> + “You are not to go in there,” she said. “That is not your room now.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is my room?” asked Sara. + </p> + <p> + “You are to sleep in the attic next to the cook.” + </p> + <p> + Sara walked on. She mounted two flights more, and reached the door of the + attic room, opened it and went in, shutting it behind her. She stood + against it and looked about her. The room was slanting-roofed and + whitewashed; there was a rusty grate, an iron bedstead, and some odd + articles of furniture, sent up from better rooms below, where they had + been used until they were considered to be worn out. Under the skylight in + the roof, which showed nothing but an oblong piece of dull gray sky, there + was a battered old red footstool. + </p> + <p> + Sara went to it and sat down. She was a queer child, as I have said + before, and quite unlike other children. She seldom cried. She did not cry + now. She laid her doll, Emily, across her knees, and put her face down + upon her, and her arms around her, and sat there, her little black head + resting on the black crape, not saying one word, not making one sound. + </p> + <p> + From that day her life changed entirely. Sometimes she used to feel as if + it must be another life altogether, the life of some other child. She was + a little drudge and outcast; she was given her lessons at odd times and + expected to learn without being taught; she was sent on errands by Miss + Minchin, Miss Amelia and the cook. Nobody took any notice of her except + when they ordered her about. She was often kept busy all day and then sent + into the deserted school-room with a pile of books to learn her lessons or + practise at night. She had never been intimate with the other pupils, and + soon she became so shabby that, taking her queer clothes together with her + queer little ways, they began to look upon her as a being of another world + than their own. The fact was that, as a rule, Miss Minchin's pupils were + rather dull, matter-of-fact young people, accustomed to being rich and + comfortable; and Sara, with her elfish cleverness, her desolate life, and + her odd habit of fixing her eyes upon them and staring them out of + countenance, was too much for them. + </p> + <p> + “She always looks as if she was finding you out,” said one girl, who was + sly and given to making mischief. “I am,” said Sara promptly, when she + heard of it. “That's what I look at them for. I like to know about people. + I think them over afterward.” + </p> + <p> + She never made any mischief herself or interfered with any one. She talked + very little, did as she was told, and thought a great deal. Nobody knew, + and in fact nobody cared, whether she was unhappy or happy, unless, + perhaps, it was Emily, who lived in the attic and slept on the iron + bedstead at night. Sara thought Emily understood her feelings, though she + was only wax and had a habit of staring herself. Sara used to talk to her + at night. + </p> + <p> + “You are the only friend I have in the world,” she would say to her. “Why + don't you say something? Why don't you speak? Sometimes I am sure you + could, if you would try. It ought to make you try, to know you are the + only thing I have. If I were you, I should try. Why don't you try?” + </p> + <p> + It really was a very strange feeling she had about Emily. It arose from + her being so desolate. She did not like to own to herself that her only + friend, her only companion, could feel and hear nothing. She wanted to + believe, or to pretend to believe, that Emily understood and sympathized + with her, that she heard her even though she did not speak in answer. She + used to put her in a chair sometimes and sit opposite to her on the old + red footstool, and stare at her and think and pretend about her until her + own eyes would grow large with something which was almost like fear, + particularly at night, when the garret was so still, when the only sound + that was to be heard was the occasional squeak and scurry of rats in the + wainscot. There were rat-holes in the garret, and Sara detested rats, and + was always glad Emily was with her when she heard their hateful squeak and + rush and scratching. One of her “pretends” was that Emily was a kind of + good witch and could protect her. Poor little Sara! everything was + “pretend” with her. She had a strong imagination; there was almost more + imagination than there was Sara, and her whole forlorn, uncared-for + child-life was made up of imaginings. She imagined and pretended things + until she almost believed them, and she would scarcely have been surprised + at any remarkable thing that could have happened. So she insisted to + herself that Emily understood all about her troubles and was really her + friend. + </p> + <p> + “As to answering,” she used to say, “I don't answer very often. I never + answer when I can help it. When people are insulting you, there is nothing + so good for them as not to say a word—just to look at them and + think. Miss Minchin turns pale with rage when I do it. Miss Amelia looks + frightened, so do the girls. They know you are stronger than they are, + because you are strong enough to hold in your rage and they are not, and + they say stupid things they wish they hadn't said afterward. There's + nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold it in—that's + stronger. It's a good thing not to answer your enemies. I scarcely ever + do. Perhaps Emily is more like me than I am like myself. Perhaps she would + rather not answer her friends, even. She keeps it all in her heart.” + </p> + <p> + But though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments, Sara did not + find it easy. When, after a long, hard day, in which she had been sent + here and there, sometimes on long errands, through wind and cold and rain; + and, when she came in wet and hungry, had been sent out again because + nobody chose to remember that she was only a child, and that her thin + little legs might be tired, and her small body, clad in its forlorn, too + small finery, all too short and too tight, might be chilled; when she had + been given only harsh words and cold, slighting looks for thanks, when the + cook had been vulgar and insolent; when Miss Minchin had been in her worst + moods, and when she had seen the girls sneering at her among themselves + and making fun of her poor, outgrown clothes—then Sara did not find + Emily quite all that her sore, proud, desolate little heart needed as the + doll sat in her little old chair and stared. + </p> + <p> + One of these nights, when she came up to the garret cold, hungry, tired, + and with a tempest raging in her small breast, Emily's stare seemed so + vacant, her sawdust legs and arms so limp and inexpressive, that Sara lost + all control over herself. + </p> + <p> + “I shall die presently!” she said at first. + </p> + <p> + Emily stared. + </p> + <p> + “I can't bear this!” said the poor child, trembling. “I know I shall die. + I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm starving to death. I've walked a thousand miles + to-day, and they have done nothing but scold me from morning until night. + And because I could not find that last thing they sent me for, they would + not give me any supper. Some men laughed at me because my old shoes made + me slip down in the mud. I'm covered with mud now. And they laughed! Do + you hear!” + </p> + <p> + She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent wax face, and suddenly + a sort of heartbroken rage seized her. She lifted her little savage hand + and knocked Emily off the chair, bursting into a passion of sobbing. + </p> + <p> + “You are nothing but a doll!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing but a doll-doll-doll! You care for nothing. You are stuffed with + sawdust. You never had a heart. Nothing could ever make you feel. You are + a doll!” + </p> + <p> + Emily lay upon the floor, with her legs ignominiously doubled up over her + head, and a new flat place on the end of her nose; but she was still calm, + even dignified. + </p> + <p> + Sara hid her face on her arms and sobbed. Some rats in the wall began to + fight and bite each other, and squeak and scramble. But, as I have already + intimated, Sara was not in the habit of crying. After a while she stopped, + and when she stopped she looked at Emily, who seemed to be gazing at her + around the side of one ankle, and actually with a kind of glassy-eyed + sympathy. Sara bent and picked her up. Remorse overtook her. + </p> + <p> + “You can't help being a doll,” she said, with a resigned sigh, “any more + than those girls downstairs can help not having any sense. We are not all + alike. Perhaps you do your sawdust best.” + </p> + <p> + None of Miss Minchin's young ladies were very remarkable for being + brilliant; they were select, but some of them were very dull, and some of + them were fond of applying themselves to their lessons. Sara, who snatched + her lessons at all sorts of untimely hours from tattered and discarded + books, and who had a hungry craving for everything readable, was often + severe upon them in her small mind. They had books they never read; she + had no books at all. If she had always had something to read, she would + not have been so lonely. She liked romances and history and poetry; she + would read anything. There was a sentimental housemaid in the + establishment who bought the weekly penny papers, and subscribed to a + circulating library, from which she got greasy volumes containing stories + of marquises and dukes who invariably fell in love with orange-girls and + gypsies and servant-maids, and made them the proud brides of coronets; and + Sara often did parts of this maid's work so that she might earn the + privilege of reading these romantic histories. There was also a fat, dull + pupil, whose name was Ermengarde St. John, who was one of her resources. + Ermengarde had an intellectual father, who, in his despairing desire to + encourage his daughter, constantly sent her valuable and interesting + books, which were a continual source of grief to her. Sara had once + actually found her crying over a big package of them. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you?” she asked her, perhaps rather disdainfully. + </p> + <p> + And it is just possible she would not have spoken to her, if she had not + seen the books. The sight of books always gave Sara a hungry feeling, and + she could not help drawing near to them if only to read their titles. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “My papa has sent me some more books,” answered Ermengarde woefully, “and + he expects me to read them.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you like reading?” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + “I hate it!” replied Miss Ermengarde St. John. “And he will ask me + questions when he sees me: he will want to know how much I remember; how + would you like to have to read all those?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd like it better than anything else in the world,” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + Ermengarde wiped her eyes to look at such a prodigy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, gracious!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Sara returned the look with interest. A sudden plan formed itself in her + sharp mind. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” she said. “If you'll lend me those books, I'll read them and + tell you everything that's in them afterward, and I'll tell it to you so + that you will remember it. I know I can. The A B C children always + remember what I tell them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, goodness!” said Ermengarde. “Do you think you could?” + </p> + <p> + “I know I could,” answered Sara. “I like to read, and I always remember. + I'll take care of the books, too; they will look just as new as they do + now, when I give them back to you.” + </p> + <p> + Ermengarde put her handkerchief in her pocket. + </p> + <p> + “If you'll do that,” she said, “and if you'll make me remember, I'll give + you—I'll give you some money.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want your money,” said Sara. “I want your books—I want + them.” And her eyes grew big and queer, and her chest heaved once. + </p> + <p> + “Take them, then,” said Ermengarde; “I wish I wanted them, but I am not + clever, and my father is, and he thinks I ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + Sara picked up the books and marched off with them. But when she was at + the door, she stopped and turned around. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to tell your father?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Ermengarde, “he needn't know; he'll think I've read them.” + </p> + <p> + Sara looked down at the books; her heart really began to beat fast. + </p> + <p> + “I won't do it,” she said rather slowly, “if you are going to tell him + lies about it—I don't like lies. Why can't you tell him I read them + and then told you about them?” + </p> + <p> + “But he wants me to read them,” said Ermengarde. + </p> + <p> + “He wants you to know what is in them,” said Sara; “and if I can tell it + to you in an easy way and make you remember, I should think he would like + that.” + </p> + <p> + “He would like it better if I read them myself,” replied Ermengarde. + </p> + <p> + “He will like it, I dare say, if you learn anything in any way,” said + Sara. “I should, if I were your father.” + </p> + <p> + And though this was not a flattering way of stating the case, Ermengarde + was obliged to admit it was true, and, after a little more argument, gave + in. And so she used afterward always to hand over her books to Sara, and + Sara would carry them to her garret and devour them; and after she had + read each volume, she would return it and tell Ermengarde about it in a + way of her own. She had a gift for making things interesting. Her + imagination helped her to make everything rather like a story, and she + managed this matter so well that Miss St. John gained more information + from her books than she would have gained if she had read them three times + over by her poor stupid little self. When Sara sat down by her and began + to tell some story of travel or history, she made the travellers and + historical people seem real; and Ermengarde used to sit and regard her + dramatic gesticulations, her thin little flushed cheeks, and her shining, + odd eyes with amazement. + </p> + <p> + “It sounds nicer than it seems in the book,” she would say. “I never cared + about Mary, Queen of Scots, before, and I always hated the French + Revolution, but you make it seem like a story.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a story,” Sara would answer. “They are all stories. Everything is a + story—everything in this world. You are a story—I am a story—Miss + Minchin is a story. You can make a story out of anything.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't,” said Ermengarde. + </p> + <p> + Sara stared at her a minute reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said at last. “I suppose you couldn't. You are a little like + Emily.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Emily?” + </p> + <p> + Sara recollected herself. She knew she was sometimes rather impolite in + the candor of her remarks, and she did not want to be impolite to a girl + who was not unkind—only stupid. Notwithstanding all her sharp little + ways she had the sense to wish to be just to everybody. In the hours she + spent alone, she used to argue out a great many curious questions with + herself. One thing she had decided upon was, that a person who was clever + ought to be clever enough not to be unjust or deliberately unkind to any + one. Miss Minchin was unjust and cruel, Miss Amelia was unkind and + spiteful, the cook was malicious and hasty-tempered—they all were + stupid, and made her despise them, and she desired to be as unlike them as + possible. So she would be as polite as she could to people who in the + least deserved politeness. + </p> + <p> + “Emily is—a person—I know,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Do you like her?” asked Ermengarde. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do,” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + Ermengarde examined her queer little face and figure again. She did look + odd. She had on, that day, a faded blue plush skirt, which barely covered + her knees, a brown Cloth sacque, and a pair of olive-green stockings which + Miss Minchin had made her piece out with black ones, so that they would be + long enough to be kept on. And yet Ermengarde was beginning slowly to + admire her. Such a forlorn, thin, neglected little thing as that, who + could read and read and remember and tell you things so that they did not + tire you all out! A child who could speak French, and who had learned + German, no one knew how! One could not help staring at her and feeling + interested, particularly one to whom the simplest lesson was a trouble and + a woe. + </p> + <p> + “Do you like me?” said Ermengarde, finally, at the end of her scrutiny. + </p> + <p> + Sara hesitated one second, then she answered: + </p> + <p> + “I like you because you are not ill-natured—I like you for letting + me read your books—I like you because you don't make spiteful fun of + me for what I can't help. It's not your fault that—” + </p> + <p> + She pulled herself up quickly. She had been going to say, “that you are + stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “That what?” asked Ermengarde. + </p> + <p> + “That you can't learn things quickly. If you can't, you can't. If I can, + why, I can—that's all.” She paused a minute, looking at the plump + face before her, and then, rather slowly, one of her wise, old-fashioned + thoughts came to her. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” she said, “to be able to learn things quickly isn't everything. + To be kind is worth a good deal to other people. If Miss Minchin knew + everything on earth, which she doesn't, and if she was like what she is + now, she'd still be a detestable thing, and everybody would hate her. Lots + of clever people have done harm and been wicked. Look at Robespierre—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped again and examined her companion's countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember about him?” she demanded. “I believe you've forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't remember all of it,” admitted Ermengarde. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Sara, with courage and determination, “I'll tell it to you + over again.” + </p> + <p> + And she plunged once more into the gory records of the French Revolution, + and told such stories of it, and made such vivid pictures of its horrors, + that Miss St. John was afraid to go to bed afterward, and hid her head + under the blankets when she did go, and shivered until she fell asleep. + But afterward she preserved lively recollections of the character of + Robespierre, and did not even forget Marie Antoinette and the Princess de + Lamballe. + </p> + <p> + “You know they put her head on a pike and danced around it,” Sara had + said; “and she had beautiful blonde hair; and when I think of her, I never + see her head on her body, but always on a pike, with those furious people + dancing and howling.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, it was true; to this imaginative child everything was a story; and + the more books she read, the more imaginative she became. One of her chief + entertainments was to sit in her garret, or walk about it, and “suppose” + things. On a cold night, when she had not had enough to eat, she would + draw the red footstool up before the empty grate, and say in the most + intense voice: + </p> + <p> + “Suppose there was a grate, wide steel grate here, and a great glowing + fire—a glowing fire—with beds of red-hot coal and lots of + little dancing, flickering flames. Suppose there was a soft, deep rug, and + this was a comfortable chair, all cushions and crimson velvet; and suppose + I had a crimson velvet frock on, and a deep lace collar, like a child in a + picture; and suppose all the rest of the room was furnished in lovely + colors, and there were book-shelves full of books, which changed by magic + as soon as you had read them; and suppose there was a little table here, + with a snow-white cover on it, and little silver dishes, and in one there + was hot, hot soup, and in another a roast chicken, and in another some + raspberry-jam tarts with crisscross on them, and in another some grapes; + and suppose Emily could speak, and we could sit and eat our supper, and + then talk and read; and then suppose there was a soft, warm bed in the + corner, and when we were tired we could go to sleep, and sleep as long as + we liked.” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, after she had supposed things like these for half an hour, she + would feel almost warm, and would creep into bed with Emily and fall + asleep with a smile on her face. + </p> + <p> + “What large, downy pillows!” she would whisper. “What white sheets and + fleecy blankets!” And she almost forgot that her real pillows had scarcely + any feathers in them at all, and smelled musty, and that her blankets and + coverlid were thin and full of holes. + </p> + <p> + At another time she would “suppose” she was a princess, and then she would + go about the house with an expression on her face which was a source of + great secret annoyance to Miss Minchin, because it seemed as if the child + scarcely heard the spiteful, insulting things said to her, or, if she + heard them, did not care for them at all. Sometimes, while she was in the + midst of some harsh and cruel speech, Miss Minchin would find the odd, + unchildish eyes fixed upon her with something like a proud smile in them. + At such times she did not know that Sara was saying to herself: + </p> + <p> + “You don't know that you are saying these things to a princess, and that + if I chose I could wave my hand and order you to execution. I only spare + you because I am a princess, and you are a poor, stupid, old, vulgar + thing, and don't know any better.” + </p> + <p> + This used to please and amuse her more than anything else; and queer and + fanciful as it was, she found comfort in it, and it was not a bad thing + for her. It really kept her from being made rude and malicious by the + rudeness and malice of those about her. + </p> + <p> + “A princess must be polite,” she said to herself. And so when the + servants, who took their tone from their mistress, were insolent and + ordered her about, she would hold her head erect, and reply to them + sometimes in a way which made them stare at her, it was so quaintly civil. + </p> + <p> + “I am a princess in rags and tatters,” she would think, “but I am a + princess, inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in + cloth-of-gold; it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time + when no one knows it. There was Marie Antoinette; when she was in prison, + and her throne was gone, and she had only a black gown on, and her hair + was white, and they insulted her and called her the Widow Capet,—she + was a great deal more like a queen then than when she was so gay and had + everything grand. I like her best then. Those howling mobs of people did + not frighten her. She was stronger than they were even when they cut her + head off.” + </p> + <p> + Once when such thoughts were passing through her mind the look in her eyes + so enraged Miss Minchin that she flew at Sara and boxed her ears. + </p> + <p> + Sara awakened from her dream, started a little, and then broke into a + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “What are you laughing at, you bold, impudent child!” exclaimed Miss + Minchin. + </p> + <p> + It took Sara a few seconds to remember she was a princess. Her cheeks were + red and smarting from the blows she had received. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Beg my pardon immediately,” said Miss Minchin. + </p> + <p> + “I will beg your pardon for laughing, if it was rude,” said Sara; “but I + won't beg your pardon for thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “What were you thinking?” demanded Miss Minchin. “How dare you think? What + were you thinking?” + </p> + <p> + This occurred in the school-room, and all the girls looked up from their + books to listen. It always interested them when Miss Minchin flew at Sara, + because Sara always said something queer, and never seemed in the least + frightened. She was not in the least frightened now, though her boxed ears + were scarlet, and her eyes were as bright as stars. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking,” she answered gravely and quite politely, “that you did + not know what you were doing.” + </p> + <p> + “That I did not know what I was doing!” Miss Minchin fairly gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sara, “and I was thinking what would happen, if I were a + princess and you boxed my ears—what I should do to you. And I was + thinking that if I were one, you would never dare to do it, whatever I + said or did. And I was thinking how surprised and frightened you would be + if you suddenly found out—” + </p> + <p> + She had the imagined picture so clearly before her eyes, that she spoke in + a manner which had an effect even on Miss Minchin. It almost seemed for + the moment to her narrow, unimaginative mind that there must be some real + power behind this candid daring. + </p> + <p> + “What!” she exclaimed, “found out what?” + </p> + <p> + “That I really was a princess,” said Sara, “and could do anything—anything + I liked.” + </p> + <p> + “Go to your room,” cried Miss Minchin breathlessly, “this instant. Leave + the school-room. Attend to your lessons, young ladies.” + </p> + <p> + Sara made a little bow. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me for laughing, if it was impolite,” she said, and walked out of + the room, leaving Miss Minchin in a rage and the girls whispering over + their books. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't be at all surprised if she did turn out to be something,” + said one of them. “Suppose she should!” + </p> + <p> + That very afternoon Sara had an opportunity of proving to herself whether + she was really a princess or not. It was a dreadful afternoon. For several + days it had rained continuously, the streets were chilly and sloppy; there + was mud everywhere—sticky London mud—and over everything a + pall of fog and drizzle. Of course there were several long and tiresome + errands to be done,—there always were on days like this,—and + Sara was sent out again and again, until her shabby clothes were damp + through. The absurd old feathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled and + absurd than ever, and her down-trodden shoes were so wet they could not + hold any more water. Added to this, she had been deprived of her dinner, + because Miss Minchin wished to punish her. She was very hungry. She was so + cold and hungry and tired that her little face had a pinched look, and now + and then some kind-hearted person passing her in the crowded street + glanced at her with sympathy. But she did not know that. She hurried on, + trying to comfort herself in that queer way of hers by pretending and + “supposing,”—but really this time it was harder than she had ever + found it, and once or twice she thought it almost made her more cold and + hungry instead of less so. But she persevered obstinately. “Suppose I had + dry clothes on,” she thought. “Suppose I had good shoes and a long, thick + coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella. And suppose—suppose, + just when I was near a baker's where they sold hot buns, I should find + sixpence—which belonged to nobody. Suppose, if I did, I should go + into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns, and should eat them all + without stopping.” + </p> + <p> + Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes. It certainly was an + odd thing which happened to Sara. She had to cross the street just as she + was saying this to herself—the mud was dreadful—she almost had + to wade. She picked her way as carefully as she could, but she could not + save herself much, only, in picking her way she had to look down at her + feet and the mud, and in looking down—just as she reached the + pavement—she saw something shining in the gutter. A piece of silver—a + tiny piece trodden upon by many feet, but still with spirit enough to + shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it—a + four-penny piece! In one second it was in her cold, little red and blue + hand. “Oh!” she gasped. “It is true!” + </p> + <p> + And then, if you will believe me, she looked straight before her at the + shop directly facing her. And it was a baker's, and a cheerful, stout, + motherly woman, with rosy cheeks, was just putting into the window a tray + of delicious hot buns,—large, plump, shiny buns, with currants in + them. + </p> + <p> + It almost made Sara feel faint for a few seconds—the shock and the + sight of the buns and the delightful odors of warm bread floating up + through the baker's cellar-window. + </p> + <p> + She knew that she need not hesitate to use the little piece of money. It + had evidently been lying in the mud for some time, and its owner was + completely lost in the streams of passing people who crowded and jostled + each other all through the day. + </p> + <p> + “But I'll go and ask the baker's woman if she has lost a piece of money,” + she said to herself, rather faintly. + </p> + <p> + So she crossed the pavement and put her wet foot on the step of the shop; + and as she did so she saw something which made her stop. + </p> + <p> + It was a little figure more forlorn than her own—a little figure + which was not much more than a bundle of rags, from which small, bare, red + and muddy feet peeped out—only because the rags with which the + wearer was trying to cover them were not long enough. Above the rags + appeared a shock head of tangled hair and a dirty face, with big, hollow, + hungry eyes. + </p> + <p> + Sara knew they were hungry eyes the moment she saw them, and she felt a + sudden sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “This,” she said to herself, with a little sigh, “is one of the Populace—and + she is hungrier than I am.” + </p> + <p> + The child—this “one of the Populace”—stared up at Sara, and + shuffled herself aside a little, so as to give her more room. She was used + to being made to give room to everybody. She knew that if a policeman + chanced to see her, he would tell her to “move on.” + </p> + <p> + Sara clutched her little four-penny piece, and hesitated a few seconds. + Then she spoke to her. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hungry?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + The child shuffled herself and her rags a little more. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't I jist!” she said, in a hoarse voice. “Jist ain't I!” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't you had any dinner?” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + “No dinner,” more hoarsely still and with more shuffling, “nor yet no + bre'fast—nor yet no supper—nor nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Since when?” asked Sara. + </p> + <p> + “Dun'no. Never got nothin' to-day—nowhere. I've axed and axed.” + </p> + <p> + Just to look at her made Sara more hungry and faint. But those queer + little thoughts were at work in her brain, and she was talking to herself + though she was sick at heart. + </p> + <p> + “If I'm a princess,” she was saying—“if I'm a princess—! When + they were poor and driven from their thrones—they always shared—with + the Populace—if they met one poorer and hungrier. They always + shared. Buns are a penny each. If it had been sixpence! I could have eaten + six. It won't be enough for either of us—but it will be better than + nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute,” she said to the beggar-child. She went into the shop. It + was warm and smelled delightfully. The woman was just going to put more + hot buns in the window. + </p> + <p> + “If you please,” said Sara, “have you lost fourpence—a silver + fourpence?” And she held the forlorn little piece of money out to her. + </p> + <p> + The woman looked at it and at her—at her intense little face and + draggled, once-fine clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Bless us—no,” she answered. “Did you find it?” + </p> + <p> + “In the gutter,” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + “Keep it, then,” said the woman. “It may have been there a week, and + goodness knows who lost it. You could never find out.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” said Sara, “but I thought I'd ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not many would,” said the woman, looking puzzled and interested and + good-natured all at once. “Do you want to buy something?” she added, as + she saw Sara glance toward the buns. + </p> + <p> + “Four buns, if you please,” said Sara; “those at a penny each.” + </p> + <p> + The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag. Sara noticed + that she put in six. + </p> + <p> + “I said four, if you please,” she explained. “I have only the fourpence.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll throw in two for make-weight,” said the woman, with her good-natured + look. “I dare say you can eat them some time. Aren't you hungry?” + </p> + <p> + A mist rose before Sara's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered. “I am very hungry, and I am much obliged to you for + your kindness, and,” she was going to add, “there is a child outside who + is hungrier than I am.” But just at that moment two or three customers + came in at once and each one seemed in a hurry, so she could only thank + the woman again and go out. + </p> + <p> + The child was still huddled up on the corner of the steps. She looked + frightful in her wet and dirty rags. She was staring with a stupid look of + suffering straight before her, and Sara saw her suddenly draw the back of + her roughened, black hand across her eyes to rub away the tears which + seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way from under her lids. She + was muttering to herself. + </p> + <p> + Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which had + already warmed her cold hands a little. + </p> + <p> + “See,” she said, putting the bun on the ragged lap, “that is nice and hot. + Eat it, and you will not be so hungry.” + </p> + <p> + The child started and stared up at her; then she snatched up the bun and + began to cram it into her mouth with great wolfish bites. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my! Oh, my!” Sara heard her say hoarsely, in wild delight. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my!” + </p> + <p> + Sara took out three more buns and put them down. + </p> + <p> + “She is hungrier than I am,” she said to herself. “She's starving.” But + her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. “I'm not starving,” + she said—and she put down the fifth. + </p> + <p> + The little starving London savage was still snatching and devouring when + she turned away. She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even if she had + been taught politeness—which she had not. She was only a poor little + wild animal. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + When she reached the other side of the street she looked back. The child + had a bun in both hands, and had stopped in the middle of a bite to watch + her. Sara gave her a little nod, and the child, after another stare,—a + curious, longing stare,—jerked her shaggy head in response, and + until Sara was out of sight she did not take another bite or even finish + the one she had begun. + </p> + <p> + At that moment the baker-woman glanced out of her shop-window. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I never!” she exclaimed. “If that young'un hasn't given her buns to + a beggar-child! It wasn't because she didn't want them, either—well, + well, she looked hungry enough. I'd give something to know what she did it + for.” She stood behind her window for a few moments and pondered. Then her + curiosity got the better of her. She went to the door and spoke to the + beggar-child. + </p> + <p> + “Who gave you those buns?” she asked her. + </p> + <p> + The child nodded her head toward Sara's vanishing figure. + </p> + <p> + “What did she say?” inquired the woman. + </p> + <p> + “Axed me if I was 'ungry,” replied the hoarse voice. + </p> + <p> + “What did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Said I was jist!” + </p> + <p> + “And then she came in and got buns and came out and gave them to you, did + she?” + </p> + <p> + The child nodded. + </p> + <p> + “How many?” + </p> + <p> + “Five.” + </p> + <p> + The woman thought it over. “Left just one for herself,” she said, in a low + voice. “And she could have eaten the whole six—I saw it in her + eyes.” + </p> + <p> + She looked after the little, draggled, far-away figure, and felt more + disturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt for many a + day. + </p> + <p> + “I wish she hadn't gone so quick,” she said. “I'm blest if she shouldn't + have had a dozen.” + </p> + <p> + Then she turned to the child. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hungry, yet?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I'm allus 'ungry,” was the answer; “but 'tain't so bad as it was.” + </p> + <p> + “Come in here,” said the woman, and she held open the shop-door. + </p> + <p> + The child got up and shuffled in. To be invited into a warm place full of + bread seemed an incredible thing. She did not know what was going to + happen; she did not care, even. + </p> + <p> + “Get yourself warm,” said the woman, pointing to a fire in a tiny back + room. “And, look here,—when you're hard up for a bite of bread, you + can come here and ask for it. I'm blest if I won't give it to you for that + young un's sake.” + </p> + <p> + Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun. It was hot; and it was a + great deal better than nothing. She broke off small pieces and ate them + slowly to make it last longer. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose it was a magic bun,” she said, “and a bite was as much as a whole + dinner. I should be over-eating myself if I went on like this.” + </p> + <p> + It was dark when she reached the square in which Miss Minchin's Select + Seminary was situated; the lamps were lighted, and in most of the windows + gleams of light were to be seen. It always interested Sara to catch + glimpses of the rooms before the shutters were closed. She liked to + imagine things about people who sat before the fires in the houses, or who + bent over books at the tables. There was, for instance, the Large Family + opposite. She called these people the Large Family—not because they + were large, for indeed most of them were little,—but because there + were so many of them. There were eight children in the Large Family, and a + stout, rosy mother, and a stout, rosy father, and a stout, rosy + grand-mamma, and any number of servants. The eight children were always + either being taken out to walk, or to ride in perambulators, by + comfortable nurses; or they were going to drive with their mamma; or they + were flying to the door in the evening to kiss their papa and dance around + him and drag off his overcoat and look for packages in the pockets of it; + or they were crowding about the nursery windows and looking out and + pushing each other and laughing,—in fact they were always doing + something which seemed enjoyable and suited to the tastes of a large + family. Sara was quite attached to them, and had given them all names out + of books. She called them the Montmorencys, when she did not call them the + Large Family. The fat, fair baby with the lace cap was Ethelberta + Beauchamp Montmorency; the next baby was Violet Cholmondely Montmorency; + the little boy who could just stagger, and who had such round legs, was + Sydney Cecil Vivian Montmorency; and then came Lilian Evangeline, Guy + Clarence, Maud Marian, Rosalind Gladys, Veronica Eustacia, and Claude + Harold Hector. + </p> + <p> + Next door to the Large Family lived the Maiden Lady, who had a companion, + and two parrots, and a King Charles spaniel; but Sara was not so very fond + of her, because she did nothing in particular but talk to the parrots and + drive out with the spaniel. The most interesting person of all lived next + door to Miss Minchin herself. Sara called him the Indian Gentleman. He was + an elderly gentleman who was said to have lived in the East Indies, and to + be immensely rich and to have something the matter with his liver,—in + fact, it had been rumored that he had no liver at all, and was much + inconvenienced by the fact. At any rate, he was very yellow and he did not + look happy; and when he went out to his carriage, he was almost always + wrapped up in shawls and overcoats, as if he were cold. He had a native + servant who looked even colder than himself, and he had a monkey who + looked colder than the native servant. Sara had seen the monkey sitting on + a table, in the sun, in the parlor window, and he always wore such a + mournful expression that she sympathized with him deeply. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say,” she used sometimes to remark to herself, “he is thinking all + the time of cocoanut trees and of swinging by his tail under a tropical + sun. He might have had a family dependent on him too, poor thing!” + </p> + <p> + The native servant, whom she called the Lascar, looked mournful too, but + he was evidently very faithful to his master. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he saved his master's life in the Sepoy rebellion,” she thought. + “They look as if they might have had all sorts of adventures. I wish I + could speak to the Lascar. I remember a little Hindustani.” + </p> + <p> + And one day she actually did speak to him, and his start at the sound of + his own language expressed a great deal of surprise and delight. He was + waiting for his master to come out to the carriage, and Sara, who was + going on an errand as usual, stopped and spoke a few words. She had a + special gift for languages and had remembered enough Hindustani to make + herself understood by him. When his master came out, the Lascar spoke to + him quickly, and the Indian Gentleman turned and looked at her curiously. + And afterward the Lascar always greeted her with salaams of the most + profound description. And occasionally they exchanged a few words. She + learned that it was true that the Sahib was very rich—that he was + ill—and also that he had no wife nor children, and that England did + not agree with the monkey. + </p> + <p> + “He must be as lonely as I am,” thought Sara. “Being rich does not seem to + make him happy.” + </p> + <p> + That evening, as she passed the windows, the Lascar was closing the + shutters, and she caught a glimpse of the room inside. There was a bright + fire glowing in the grate, and the Indian Gentleman was sitting before it, + in a luxurious chair. The room was richly furnished, and looked + delightfully comfortable, but the Indian Gentleman sat with his head + resting on his hand, and looked as lonely and unhappy as ever. + </p> + <p> + “Poor man!” said Sara; “I wonder what you are `supposing'?” + </p> + <p> + When she went into the house she met Miss Minchin in the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you wasted your time?” said Miss Minchin. “You have been out + for hours!” + </p> + <p> + “It was so wet and muddy,” Sara answered. “It was hard to walk, because my + shoes were so bad and slipped about so.” + </p> + <p> + “Make no excuses,” said Miss Minchin, “and tell no falsehoods.” + </p> + <p> + Sara went downstairs to the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you stay all night?” said the cook. + </p> + <p> + “Here are the things,” said Sara, and laid her purchases on the table. + </p> + <p> + The cook looked over them, grumbling. She was in a very bad temper indeed. + </p> + <p> + “May I have something to eat?” Sara asked rather faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Tea's over and done with,” was the answer. “Did you expect me to keep it + hot for you?” + </p> + <p> + Sara was silent a second. + </p> + <p> + “I had no dinner,” she said, and her voice was quite low. She made it low, + because she was afraid it would tremble. + </p> + <p> + “There's some bread in the pantry,” said the cook. “That's all you'll get + at this time of day.” + </p> + <p> + Sara went and found the bread. It was old and hard and dry. The cook was + in too bad a humor to give her anything to eat with it. She had just been + scolded by Miss Minchin, and it was always safe and easy to vent her own + spite on Sara. + </p> + <p> + Really it was hard for the child to climb the three long flights of stairs + leading to her garret. She often found them long and steep when she was + tired, but to-night it seemed as if she would never reach the top. Several + times a lump rose in her throat and she was obliged to stop to rest. + </p> + <p> + “I can't pretend anything more to-night,” she said wearily to herself. + “I'm sure I can't. I'll eat my bread and drink some water and then go to + sleep, and perhaps a dream will come and pretend for me. I wonder what + dreams are.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, when she reached the top landing there were tears in her eyes, and + she did not feel like a princess—only like a tired, hungry, lonely, + lonely child. + </p> + <p> + “If my papa had lived,” she said, “they would not have treated me like + this. If my papa had lived, he would have taken care of me.” + </p> + <p> + Then she turned the handle and opened the garret-door. + </p> + <p> + Can you imagine it—can you believe it? I find it hard to believe it + myself. And Sara found it impossible; for the first few moments she + thought something strange had happened to her eyes—to her mind—that + the dream had come before she had had time to fall asleep. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Oh! it isn't true! I know, I know it + isn't true!” And she slipped into the room and closed the door and locked + it, and stood with her back against it, staring straight before her. + </p> + <p> + Do you wonder? In the grate, which had been empty and rusty and cold when + she left it, but which now was blackened and polished up quite + respectably, there was a glowing, blazing fire. On the hob was a little + brass kettle, hissing and boiling; spread upon the floor was a warm, thick + rug; before the fire was a folding-chair, unfolded and with cushions on + it; by the chair was a small folding-table, unfolded, covered with a white + cloth, and upon it were spread small covered dishes, a cup and saucer, and + a tea-pot; on the bed were new, warm coverings, a curious wadded silk + robe, and some books. The little, cold, miserable room seemed changed into + Fairyland. It was actually warm and glowing. + </p> + <p> + “It is bewitched!” said Sara. “Or I am bewitched. I only think I see it + all; but if I can only keep on thinking it, I don't care—I don't + care—if I can only keep it up!” + </p> + <p> + She was afraid to move, for fear it would melt away. She stood with her + back against the door and looked and looked. But soon she began to feel + warm, and then she moved forward. + </p> + <p> + “A fire that I only thought I saw surely wouldn't feel warm,” she said. + “It feels real—real.” + </p> + <p> + She went to it and knelt before it. She touched the chair, the table; she + lifted the cover of one of the dishes. There was something hot and savory + in it—something delicious. The tea-pot had tea in it, ready for the + boiling water from the little kettle; one plate had toast on it, another, + muffins. + </p> + <p> + “It is real,” said Sara. “The fire is real enough to warm me; I can sit in + the chair; the things are real enough to eat.” + </p> + <p> + It was like a fairy story come true—it was heavenly. She went to the + bed and touched the blankets and the wrap. They were real too. She opened + one book, and on the title-page was written in a strange hand, “The little + girl in the attic.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly—was it a strange thing for her to do?—Sara put her + face down on the queer, foreign looking quilted robe and burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know who it is,” she said, “but somebody cares about me a little—somebody + is my friend.” + </p> + <p> + Somehow that thought warmed her more than the fire. She had never had a + friend since those happy, luxurious days when she had had everything; and + those days had seemed such a long way off—so far away as to be only + like dreams—during these last years at Miss Minchin's. + </p> + <p> + She really cried more at this strange thought of having a friend—even + though an unknown one—than she had cried over many of her worst + troubles. + </p> + <p> + But these tears seemed different from the others, for when she had wiped + them away they did not seem to leave her eyes and her heart hot and + smarting. + </p> + <p> + And then imagine, if you can, what the rest of the evening was like. The + delicious comfort of taking off the damp clothes and putting on the soft, + warm, quilted robe before the glowing fire—of slipping her cold feet + into the luscious little wool-lined slippers she found near her chair. And + then the hot tea and savory dishes, the cushioned chair and the books! + </p> + <p> + It was just like Sara, that, once having found the things real, she should + give herself up to the enjoyment of them to the very utmost. She had lived + such a life of imagining, and had found her pleasure so long in + improbabilities, that she was quite equal to accepting any wonderful thing + that happened. After she was quite warm and had eaten her supper and + enjoyed herself for an hour or so, it had almost ceased to be surprising + to her that such magical surroundings should be hers. As to finding out + who had done all this, she knew that it was out of the question. She did + not know a human soul by whom it could seem in the least degree probable + that it could have been done. + </p> + <p> + “There is nobody,” she said to herself, “nobody.” She discussed the matter + with Emily, it is true, but more because it was delightful to talk about + it than with a view to making any discoveries. + </p> + <p> + “But we have a friend, Emily,” she said; “we have a friend.” + </p> + <p> + Sara could not even imagine a being charming enough to fill her grand + ideal of her mysterious benefactor. If she tried to make in her mind a + picture of him or her, it ended by being something glittering and strange—not + at all like a real person, but bearing resemblance to a sort of Eastern + magician, with long robes and a wand. And when she fell asleep, beneath + the soft white blanket, she dreamed all night of this magnificent + personage, and talked to him in Hindustani, and made salaams to him. + </p> + <p> + Upon one thing she was determined. She would not speak to any one of her + good fortune—it should be her own secret; in fact, she was rather + inclined to think that if Miss Minchin knew, she would take her treasures + from her or in some way spoil her pleasure. So, when she went down the + next morning, she shut her door very tight and did her best to look as if + nothing unusual had occurred. And yet this was rather hard, because she + could not help remembering, every now and then, with a sort of start, and + her heart would beat quickly every time she repeated to herself, “I have a + friend!” + </p> + <p> + It was a friend who evidently meant to continue to be kind, for when she + went to her garret the next night—and she opened the door, it must + be confessed, with rather an excited feeling—she found that the same + hands had been again at work, and had done even more than before. The fire + and the supper were again there, and beside them a number of other things + which so altered the look of the garret that Sara quite lost her breath. A + piece of bright, strange, heavy cloth covered the battered mantel, and on + it some ornaments had been placed. All the bare, ugly things which could + be covered with draperies had been concealed and made to look quite + pretty. Some odd materials in rich colors had been fastened against the + walls with sharp, fine tacks—so sharp that they could be pressed + into the wood without hammering. Some brilliant fans were pinned up, and + there were several large cushions. A long, old wooden box was covered with + a rug, and some cushions lay on it, so that it wore quite the air of a + sofa. + </p> + <p> + Sara simply sat down, and looked, and looked again. + </p> + <p> + “It is exactly like something fairy come true,” she said; “there isn't the + least difference. I feel as if I might wish for anything—diamonds + and bags of gold—and they would appear! That couldn't be any + stranger than this. Is this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp + Sara? And to think how I used to pretend, and pretend, and wish there were + fairies! The one thing I always wanted was to see a fairy story come true. + I am living in a fairy story! I feel as if I might be a fairy myself, and + be able to turn things into anything else!” + </p> + <p> + It was like a fairy story, and, what was best of all, it continued. Almost + every day something new was done to the garret. Some new comfort or + ornament appeared in it when Sara opened her door at night, until + actually, in a short time it was a bright little room, full of all sorts + of odd and luxurious things. And the magician had taken care that the + child should not be hungry, and that she should have as many books as she + could read. When she left the room in the morning, the remains of her + supper were on the table, and when she returned in the evening, the + magician had removed them, and left another nice little meal. Downstairs + Miss Minchin was as cruel and insulting as ever, Miss Amelia was as + peevish, and the servants were as vulgar. Sara was sent on errands, and + scolded, and driven hither and thither, but somehow it seemed as if she + could bear it all. The delightful sense of romance and mystery lifted her + above the cook's temper and malice. The comfort she enjoyed and could + always look forward to was making her stronger. If she came home from her + errands wet and tired, she knew she would soon be warm, after she had + climbed the stairs. In a few weeks she began to look less thin. A little + color came into her cheeks, and her eyes did not seem much too big for her + face. + </p> + <p> + It was just when this was beginning to be so apparent that Miss Minchin + sometimes stared at her questioningly, that another wonderful thing + happened. A man came to the door and left several parcels. All were + addressed (in large letters) to “the little girl in the attic.” Sara + herself was sent to open the door, and she took them in. She laid the two + largest parcels down on the hall-table and was looking at the address, + when Miss Minchin came down the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Take the things upstairs to the young lady to whom they belong,” she + said. “Don't stand there staring at them.” + </p> + <p> + “They belong to me,” answered Sara, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “To you!” exclaimed Miss Minchin. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know where they came from,” said Sara, “but they're addressed to + me.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Minchin came to her side and looked at them with an excited + expression. + </p> + <p> + “What is in them?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + “Open them!” she demanded, still more excitedly. + </p> + <p> + Sara did as she was told. They contained pretty and comfortable clothing,—clothing + of different kinds; shoes and stockings and gloves, a warm coat, and even + an umbrella. On the pocket of the coat was pinned a paper on which was + written, “To be worn every day—will be replaced by others when + necessary.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Minchin was quite agitated. This was an incident which suggested + strange things to her sordid mind. Could it be that she had made a mistake + after all, and that the child so neglected and so unkindly treated by her + had some powerful friend in the background? It would not be very pleasant + if there should be such a friend, and he or she should learn all the truth + about the thin, shabby clothes, the scant food, the hard work. She felt + queer indeed and uncertain, and she gave a side-glance at Sara. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said, in a voice such as she had never used since the day the + child lost her father—“well, some one is very kind to you. As you + have the things and are to have new ones when they are worn out, you may + as well go and put them on and look respectable; and after you are + dressed, you may come downstairs and learn your lessons in the + school-room.” + </p> + <p> + So it happened that, about half an hour afterward, Sara struck the entire + school-room of pupils dumb with amazement, by making her appearance in a + costume such as she had never worn since the change of fortune whereby she + ceased to be a show-pupil and a parlor-boarder. She scarcely seemed to be + the same Sara. She was neatly dressed in a pretty gown of warm browns and + reds, and even her stockings and slippers were nice and dainty. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps some one has left her a fortune,” one of the girls whispered. “I + always thought something would happen to her, she is so queer.” + </p> + <p> + That night when Sara went to her room she carried out a plan she had been + devising for some time. She wrote a note to her unknown friend. It ran as + follows: + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will not think it is not polite that I should write this note + to you when you wish to keep yourself a secret, but I do not mean to be + impolite, or to try to find out at all, only I want to thank you for being + so kind to me—so beautiful kind, and making everything like a fairy + story. I am so grateful to you and I am so happy! I used to be so lonely + and cold and, hungry, and now, oh, just think what you have done for me! + Please let me say just these words. It seems as if I ought to say them. + Thank you—thank you—thank you! + </p> + <p> + “THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE ATTIC.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning she left this on the little table, and it was taken away + with the other things; so she felt sure the magician had received it, and + she was happier for the thought. + </p> + <p> + A few nights later a very odd thing happened. She found something in the + room which she certainly would never have expected. When she came in as + usual she saw something small and dark in her chair,—an odd, tiny + figure, which turned toward her a little, weird-looking, wistful face. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's the monkey!” she cried. “It is the Indian Gentleman's monkey! + Where can he have come from?” + </p> + <p> + It was the monkey, sitting up and looking so like a mite of a child that + it really was quite pathetic; and very soon Sara found out how he happened + to be in her room. The skylight was open, and it was easy to guess that he + had crept out of his master's garret-window, which was only a few feet + away and perfectly easy to get in and out of, even for a climber less + agile than a monkey. He had probably climbed to the garret on a tour of + investigation, and getting out upon the roof, and being attracted by the + light in Sara's attic, had crept in. At all events this seemed quite + reasonable, and there he was; and when Sara went to him, he actually put + out his queer, elfish little hands, caught her dress, and jumped into her + arms. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you queer, poor, ugly, foreign little thing!” said Sara, caressing + him. “I can't help liking you. You look like a sort of baby, but I am so + glad you are not, because your mother could not be proud of you, and + nobody would dare to say you were like any of your relations. But I do + like you; you have such a forlorn little look in your face. Perhaps you + are sorry you are so ugly, and it's always on your mind. I wonder if you + have a mind?” + </p> + <p> + The monkey sat and looked at her while she talked, and seemed much + interested in her remarks, if one could judge by his eyes and his + forehead, and the way he moved his head up and down, and held it sideways + and scratched it with his little hand. He examined Sara quite seriously, + and anxiously, too. He felt the stuff of her dress, touched her hands, + climbed up and examined her ears, and then sat on her shoulder holding a + lock of her hair, looking mournful but not at all agitated. Upon the + whole, he seemed pleased with Sara. + </p> + <p> + “But I must take you back,” she said to him, “though I'm sorry to have to + do it. Oh, the company you would be to a person!” + </p> + <p> + She lifted him from her shoulder, set him on her knee, and gave him a bit + of cake. He sat and nibbled it, and then put his head on one side, looked + at her, wrinkled his forehead, and then nibbled again, in the most + companionable manner. + </p> + <p> + “But you must go home,” said Sara at last; and she took him in her arms to + carry him downstairs. Evidently he did not want to leave the room, for as + they reached the door he clung to her neck and gave a little scream of + anger. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't be an ungrateful monkey,” said Sara. “You ought to be fondest + of your own family. I am sure the Lascar is good to you.” + </p> + <p> + Nobody saw her on her way out, and very soon she was standing on the + Indian Gentleman's front steps, and the Lascar had opened the door for + her. + </p> + <p> + “I found your monkey in my room,” she said in Hindustani. “I think he got + in through the window.” + </p> + <p> + The man began a rapid outpouring of thanks; but, just as he was in the + midst of them, a fretful, hollow voice was heard through the open door of + the nearest room. The instant he heard it the Lascar disappeared, and left + Sara still holding the monkey. + </p> + <p> + It was not many moments, however, before he came back bringing a message. + His master had told him to bring Missy into the library. The Sahib was + very ill, but he wished to see Missy. + </p> + <p> + Sara thought this odd, but she remembered reading stories of Indian + gentlemen who, having no constitutions, were extremely cross and full of + whims, and who must have their own way. So she followed the Lascar. + </p> + <p> + When she entered the room the Indian Gentleman was lying on an easy chair, + propped up with pillows. He looked frightfully ill. His yellow face was + thin, and his eyes were hollow. He gave Sara a rather curious look—it + was as if she wakened in him some anxious interest. + </p> + <p> + “You live next door?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Sara. “I live at Miss Minchin's.” + </p> + <p> + “She keeps a boarding-school?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + “And you are one of her pupils?” + </p> + <p> + Sara hesitated a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know exactly what I am,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked the Indian Gentleman. + </p> + <p> + The monkey gave a tiny squeak, and Sara stroked him. + </p> + <p> + “At first,” she said, “I was a pupil and a parlor boarder; but now—” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by `at first'?” asked the Indian Gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “When I was first taken there by my papa.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what has happened since then?” said the invalid, staring at her and + knitting his brows with a puzzled expression. + </p> + <p> + “My papa died,” said Sara. “He lost all his money, and there was none left + for me—and there was no one to take care of me or pay Miss Minchin, + so—” + </p> + <p> + “So you were sent up into the garret and neglected, and made into a + half-starved little drudge!” put in the Indian Gentleman. “That is about + it, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + The color deepened on Sara's cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “There was no one to take care of me, and no money,” she said. “I belong + to nobody.” + </p> + <p> + “What did your father mean by losing his money?” said the gentleman, + fretfully. + </p> + <p> + The red in Sara's cheeks grew deeper, and she fixed her odd eyes on the + yellow face. + </p> + <p> + “He did not lose it himself,” she said. “He had a friend he was fond of, + and it was his friend, who took his money. I don't know how. I don't + understand. He trusted his friend too much.” + </p> + <p> + She saw the invalid start—the strangest start—as if he had + been suddenly frightened. Then he spoke nervously and excitedly: + </p> + <p> + “That's an old story,” he said. “It happens every day; but sometimes those + who are blamed—those who do the wrong—don't intend it, and are + not so bad. It may happen through a mistake—a miscalculation; they + may not be so bad.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Sara, “but the suffering is just as bad for the others. It + killed my papa.” + </p> + <p> + The Indian Gentleman pushed aside some of the gorgeous wraps that covered + him. + </p> + <p> + “Come a little nearer, and let me look at you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + His voice sounded very strange; it had a more nervous and excited tone + than before. Sara had an odd fancy that he was half afraid to look at her. + She came and stood nearer, the monkey clinging to her and watching his + master anxiously over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + The Indian Gentleman's hollow, restless eyes fixed themselves on her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said at last. “Yes; I can see it. Tell me your father's name.” + </p> + <p> + “His name was Ralph Crewe,” said Sara. “Captain Crewe. Perhaps,”—a + sudden thought flashing upon her,—“perhaps you may have heard of + him? He died in India.” + </p> + <p> + The Indian Gentleman sank back upon his pillows. He looked very weak, and + seemed out of breath. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “I knew him. I was his friend. I meant no harm. If he had + only lived he would have known. It turned out well after all. He was a + fine young fellow. I was fond of him. I will make it right. Call—call + the man.” + </p> + <p> + Sara thought he was going to die. But there was no need to call the + Lascar. He must have been waiting at the door. He was in the room and by + his master's side in an instant. He seemed to know what to do. He lifted + the drooping head, and gave the invalid something in a small glass. The + Indian Gentleman lay panting for a few minutes, and then he spoke in an + exhausted but eager voice, addressing the Lascar in Hindustani: + </p> + <p> + “Go for Carmichael,” he said. “Tell him to come here at once. Tell him I + have found the child!” + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Carmichael arrived (which occurred in a very few minutes, for it + turned out that he was no other than the father of the Large Family across + the street), Sara went home, and was allowed to take the monkey with her. + She certainly did not sleep very much that night, though the monkey + behaved beautifully, and did not disturb her in the least. It was not the + monkey that kept her awake—it was her thoughts, and her wonders as + to what the Indian Gentleman had meant when he said, “Tell him I have + found the child.” “What child?” Sara kept asking herself. + </p> + <p> + “I was the only child there; but how had he found me, and why did he want + to find me? And what is he going to do, now I am found? Is it something + about my papa? Do I belong to somebody? Is he one of my relations? Is + something going to happen?” + </p> + <p> + But she found out the very next day, in the morning; and it seemed that + she had been living in a story even more than she had imagined. First, Mr. + Carmichael came and had an interview with Miss Minchin. And it appeared + that Mr. Carmichael, besides occupying the important situation of father + to the Large Family was a lawyer, and had charge of the affairs of Mr. + Carrisford—which was the real name of the Indian Gentleman—and, + as Mr. Carrisford's lawyer, Mr. Carmichael had come to explain something + curious to Miss Minchin regarding Sara. But, being the father of the Large + Family, he had a very kind and fatherly feeling for children; and so, + after seeing Miss Minchin alone, what did he do but go and bring across + the square his rosy, motherly, warm-hearted wife, so that she herself + might talk to the little lonely girl, and tell her everything in the best + and most motherly way. + </p> + <p> + And then Sara learned that she was to be a poor little drudge and outcast + no more, and that a great change had come in her fortunes; for all the + lost fortune had come back to her, and a great deal had even been added to + it. It was Mr. Carrisford who had been her father's friend, and who had + made the investments which had caused him the apparent loss of his money; + but it had so happened that after poor young Captain Crewe's death one of + the investments which had seemed at the time the very worst had taken a + sudden turn, and proved to be such a success that it had been a mine of + wealth, and had more than doubled the Captain's lost fortune, as well as + making a fortune for Mr. Carrisford himself. But Mr. Carrisford had been + very unhappy. He had truly loved his poor, handsome, generous young + friend, and the knowledge that he had caused his death had weighed upon + him always, and broken both his health and spirit. The worst of it had + been that, when first he thought himself and Captain Crewe ruined, he had + lost courage and gone away because he was not brave enough to face the + consequences of what he had done, and so he had not even known where the + young soldier's little girl had been placed. When he wanted to find her, + and make restitution, he could discover no trace of her; and the certainty + that she was poor and friendless somewhere had made him more miserable + than ever. When he had taken the house next to Miss Minchin's he had been + so ill and wretched that he had for the time given up the search. His + troubles and the Indian climate had brought him almost to death's door—indeed, + he had not expected to live more than a few months. And then one day the + Lascar had told him about Sara's speaking Hindustani, and gradually he had + begun to take a sort of interest in the forlorn child, though he had only + caught a glimpse of her once or twice and he had not connected her with + the child of his friend, perhaps because he was too languid to think much + about anything. But the Lascar had found out something of Sara's unhappy + little life, and about the garret. One evening he had actually crept out + of his own garret-window and looked into hers, which was a very easy + matter, because, as I have said, it was only a few feet away—and he + had told his master what he had seen, and in a moment of compassion the + Indian Gentleman had told him to take into the wretched little room such + comforts as he could carry from the one window to the other. And the + Lascar, who had developed an interest in, and an odd fondness for, the + child who had spoken to him in his own tongue, had been pleased with the + work; and, having the silent swiftness and agile movements of many of his + race, he had made his evening journeys across the few feet of roof from + garret-window to garret-window, without any trouble at all. He had watched + Sara's movements until he knew exactly when she was absent from her room + and when she returned to it, and so he had been able to calculate the best + times for his work. Generally he had made them in the dusk of the evening; + but once or twice, when he had seen her go out on errands, he had dared to + go over in the daytime, being quite sure that the garret was never entered + by any one but herself. His pleasure in the work and his reports of the + results had added to the invalid's interest in it, and sometimes the + master had found the planning gave him something to think of, which made + him almost forget his weariness and pain. And at last, when Sara brought + home the truant monkey, he had felt a wish to see her, and then her + likeness to her father had done the rest. + </p> + <p> + “And now, my dear,” said good Mrs. Carmichael, patting Sara's hand, “all + your troubles are over, I am sure, and you are to come home with me and be + taken care of as if you were one of my own little girls; and we are so + pleased to think of having you with us until everything is settled, and + Mr. Carrisford is better. The excitement of last night has made him very + weak, but we really think he will get well, now that such a load is taken + from his mind. And when he is stronger, I am sure he will be as kind to + you as your own papa would have been. He has a very good heart, and he is + fond of children—and he has no family at all. But we must make you + happy and rosy, and you must learn to play and run about, as my little + girls do—” + </p> + <p> + “As your little girls do?” said Sara. “I wonder if I could. I used to + watch them and wonder what it was like. Shall I feel as if I belonged to + somebody?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my love, yes!—yes!” said Mrs. Carmichael; “dear me, yes!” And + her motherly blue eyes grew quite moist, and she suddenly took Sara in her + arms and kissed her. That very night, before she went to sleep, Sara had + made the acquaintance of the entire Large Family, and such excitement as + she and the monkey had caused in that joyous circle could hardly be + described. There was not a child in the nursery, from the Eton boy who was + the eldest, to the baby who was the youngest, who had not laid some + offering on her shrine. All the older ones knew something of her wonderful + story. She had been born in India; she had been poor and lonely and + unhappy, and had lived in a garret and been treated unkindly; and now she + was to be rich and happy, and be taken care of. They were so sorry for + her, and so delighted and curious about her, all at once. The girls wished + to be with her constantly, and the little boys wished to be told about + India; the second baby, with the short round legs, simply sat and stared + at her and the monkey, possibly wondering why she had not brought a + hand-organ with her. + </p> + <p> + “I shall certainly wake up presently,” Sara kept saying to herself. “This + one must be a dream. The other one turned out to be real; but this + couldn't be. But, oh! how happy it is!” + </p> + <p> + And even when she went to bed, in the bright, pretty room not far from + Mrs. Carmichael's own, and Mrs. Carmichael came and kissed her and patted + her and tucked her in cozily, she was not sure that she would not wake up + in the garret in the morning. + </p> + <p> + “And oh, Charles, dear,” Mrs. Carmichael said to her husband, when she + went downstairs to him, “We must get that lonely look out of her eyes! It + isn't a child's look at all. I couldn't bear to see it in one of my own + children. What the poor little love must have had to bear in that dreadful + woman's house! But, surely, she will forget it in time.” + </p> + <p> + But though the lonely look passed away from Sara's face, she never quite + forgot the garret at Miss Minchin's; and, indeed, she always liked to + remember the wonderful night when the tired princess crept upstairs, cold + and wet, and opening the door found fairy-land waiting for her. And there + was no one of the many stories she was always being called upon to tell in + the nursery of the Large Family which was more popular than that + particular one; and there was no one of whom the Large Family were so fond + as of Sara. Mr. Carrisford did not die, but recovered, and Sara went to + live with him; and no real princess could have been better taken care of + than she was. It seemed that the Indian Gentleman could not do enough to + make her happy, and to repay her for the past; and the Lascar was her + devoted slave. As her odd little face grew brighter, it grew so pretty and + interesting that Mr. Carrisford used to sit and watch it many an evening, + as they sat by the fire together. + </p> + <p> + They became great friends, and they used to spend hours reading and + talking together; and, in a very short time, there was no pleasanter sight + to the Indian Gentleman than Sara sitting in her big chair on the opposite + side of the hearth, with a book on her knee and her soft, dark hair + tumbling over her warm cheeks. She had a pretty habit of looking up at him + suddenly, with a bright smile, and then he would often say to her: + </p> + <p> + “Are you happy, Sara?” + </p> + <p> + And then she would answer: + </p> + <p> + “I feel like a real princess, Uncle Tom.” + </p> + <p> + He had told her to call him Uncle Tom. + </p> + <p> + “There doesn't seem to be anything left to `suppose,'” she added. + </p> + <p> + There was a little joke between them that he was a magician, and so could + do anything he liked; and it was one of his pleasures to invent plans to + surprise her with enjoyments she had not thought of. Scarcely a day passed + in which he did not do something new for her. Sometimes she found new + flowers in her room; sometimes a fanciful little gift tucked into some odd + corner, sometimes a new book on her pillow;—once as they sat + together in the evening they heard the scratch of a heavy paw on the door + of the room, and when Sara went to find out what it was, there stood a + great dog—a splendid Russian boar-hound with a grand silver and gold + collar. Stooping to read the inscription upon the collar, Sara was + delighted to read the words: “I am Boris; I serve the Princess Sara.” + </p> + <p> + Then there was a sort of fairy nursery arranged for the entertainment of + the juvenile members of the Large Family, who were always coming to see + Sara and the Lascar and the monkey. Sara was as fond of the Large Family + as they were of her. She soon felt as if she were a member of it, and the + companionship of the healthy, happy children was very good for her. All + the children rather looked up to her and regarded her as the cleverest and + most brilliant of creatures—particularly after it was discovered + that she not only knew stories of every kind, and could invent new ones at + a moment's notice, but that she could help with lessons, and speak French + and German, and discourse with the Lascar in Hindustani. + </p> + <p> + It was rather a painful experience for Miss Minchin to watch her + ex-pupil's fortunes, as she had the daily opportunity to do, and to feel + that she had made a serious mistake, from a business point of view. She + had even tried to retrieve it by suggesting that Sara's education should + be continued under her care, and had gone to the length of making an + appeal to the child herself. + </p> + <p> + “I have always been very fond of you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Then Sara fixed her eyes upon her and gave her one of her odd looks. + </p> + <p> + “Have you?” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Miss Minchin. “Amelia and I have always said you were the + cleverest child we had with us, and I am sure we could make you happy—as + a parlor boarder.” + </p> + <p> + Sara thought of the garret and the day her ears were boxed,—and of + that other day, that dreadful, desolate day when she had been told that + she belonged to nobody; that she had no home and no friends,—and she + kept her eyes fixed on Miss Minchin's face. + </p> + <p> + “You know why I would not stay with you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + And it seems probable that Miss Minchin did, for after that simple answer + she had not the boldness to pursue the subject. She merely sent in a bill + for the expense of Sara's education and support, and she made it quite + large enough. And because Mr. Carrisford thought Sara would wish it paid, + it was paid. When Mr. Carmichael paid it he had a brief interview with + Miss Minchin in which he expressed his opinion with much clearness and + force; and it is quite certain that Miss Minchin did not enjoy the + conversation. + </p> + <p> + Sara had been about a month with Mr. Carrisford, and had begun to realize + that her happiness was not a dream, when one night the Indian Gentleman + saw that she sat a long time with her cheek on her hand looking at the + fire. + </p> + <p> + “What are you `supposing,' Sara?” he asked. Sara looked up with a bright + color on her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “I was `supposing,'” she said; “I was remembering that hungry day, and a + child I saw.” + </p> + <p> + “But there were a great many hungry days,” said the Indian Gentleman, with + a rather sad tone in his voice. “Which hungry day was it?” + </p> + <p> + “I forgot you didn't know,” said Sara. “It was the day I found the things + in my garret.” + </p> + <p> + And then she told him the story of the bun-shop, and the fourpence, and + the child who was hungrier than herself; and somehow as she told it, + though she told it very simply indeed, the Indian Gentleman found it + necessary to shade his eyes with his hand and look down at the floor. + </p> + <p> + “And I was `supposing' a kind of plan,” said Sara, when she had finished; + “I was thinking I would like to do something.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said her guardian in a low tone. “You may do anything you + like to do, Princess.” + </p> + <p> + “I was wondering,” said Sara,—“you know you say I have a great deal + of money—and I was wondering if I could go and see the bun-woman and + tell her that if, when hungry children—particularly on those + dreadful days—come and sit on the steps or look in at the window, + she would just call them in and give them something to eat, she might send + the bills to me and I would pay them—could I do that?” + </p> + <p> + “You shall do it to-morrow morning,” said the Indian Gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Sara; “you see I know what it is to be hungry, and it is + very hard when one can't even pretend it away.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, my dear,” said the Indian Gentleman. “Yes, it must be. Try to + forget it. Come and sit on this footstool near my knee, and only remember + you are a princess.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sara, “and I can give buns and bread to the Populace.” And she + went and sat on the stool, and the Indian Gentleman (he used to like her + to call him that, too, sometimes,—in fact very often) drew her + small, dark head down upon his knee and stroked her hair. + </p> + <p> + The next morning a carriage drew up before the door of the baker's shop, + and a gentleman and a little girl got out,—oddly enough, just as the + bun-woman was putting a tray of smoking hotbuns into the window. When Sara + entered the shop the woman turned and looked at her and, leaving the buns, + came and stood behind the counter. For a moment she looked at Sara very + hard indeed, and then her good-natured face lighted up. + </p> + <p> + “I'm that sure I remember you, miss,” she said. “And yet—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sara, “once you gave me six buns for fourpence, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And you gave five of 'em to a beggar-child,” said the woman. “I've always + remembered it. I couldn't make it out at first. I beg pardon, sir, but + there's not many young people that notices a hungry face in that way, and + I've thought of it many a time. Excuse the liberty, miss, but you look + rosier and better than you did that day.” + </p> + <p> + “I am better, thank you,” said Sara, “and—and I am happier, and I + have come to ask you to do something for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Me, miss!” exclaimed the woman, “why, bless you, yes, miss! What can I + do?” + </p> + <p> + And then Sara made her little proposal, and the woman listened to it with + an astonished face. + </p> + <p> + “Why, bless me!” she said, when she had heard it all. “Yes, miss, it'll be + a pleasure to me to do it. I am a working woman, myself, and can't afford + to do much on my own account, and there's sights of trouble on every side; + but if you'll excuse me, I'm bound to say I've given many a bit of bread + away since that wet afternoon, just along o' thinkin' of you. An' how wet + an' cold you was, an' how you looked,—an' yet you give away your hot + buns as if you was a princess.” + </p> + <p> + The Indian Gentleman smiled involuntarily, and Sara smiled a little too. + “She looked so hungry,” she said. “She was hungrier than I was.” + </p> + <p> + “She was starving,” said the woman. “Many's the time she's told me of it + since—how she sat there in the wet, and felt as if a wolf was + a-tearing at her poor young insides.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, have you seen her since then?” exclaimed Sara. “Do you know where she + is?” + </p> + <p> + “I know!” said the woman. “Why, she's in that there back room now, miss, + an' has been for a month, an' a decent, well-meaning girl she's going to + turn out, an' such a help to me in the day shop, an' in the kitchen, as + you'd scarce believe, knowing how she's lived.” + </p> + <p> + She stepped to the door of the little back parlor and spoke; and the next + minute a girl came out and followed her behind the counter. And actually + it was the beggar-child, clean and neatly clothed, and looking as if she + had not been hungry for a long time. She looked shy, but she had a nice + face, now that she was no longer a savage; and the wild look had gone from + her eyes. And she knew Sara in an instant, and stood and looked at her as + if she could never look enough. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said the woman, “I told her to come here when she was hungry, + and when she'd come I'd give her odd jobs to do, an' I found she was + willing, an' somehow I got to like her; an' the end of it was I've given + her a place an' a home, an' she helps me, an' behaves as well, an' is as + thankful as a girl can be. Her name's Anne—she has no other.” + </p> + <p> + The two children stood and looked at each other a few moments. In Sara's + eyes a new thought was growing. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you have such a good home,” she said. “Perhaps Mrs. Brown will + let you give the buns and bread to the children—perhaps you would + like to do it—because you know what it is to be hungry, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + And somehow Sara felt as if she understood her, though the girl said + nothing more, and only stood still and looked, and looked after her as she + went out of the shop and got into the carriage and drove away. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 137 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9290560 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #137 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/137) diff --git a/old/137-0.txt b/old/137-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8fd6347 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/137-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2233 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sara Crewe, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sara Crewe + +Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett + +Release Date: March 8, 2006 [EBook #137] +Last Updated: March 2, 2018 + + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SARA CREWE *** + + + + +Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger + + + + + +SARA CREWE + +OR + +WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S + +BY + +FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT + + +In the first place, Miss Minchin lived in London. Her home was a large, +dull, tall one, in a large, dull square, where all the houses were +alike, and all the sparrows were alike, and where all the door-knockers +made the same heavy sound, and on still days--and nearly all the days +were still--seemed to resound through the entire row in which the knock +was knocked. On Miss Minchin's door there was a brass plate. On the +brass plate there was inscribed in black letters, + + MISS MINCHIN'S + + SELECT SEMINARY FOR YOUNG LADIES + +Little Sara Crewe never went in or out of the house without reading that +door-plate and reflecting upon it. By the time she was twelve, she had +decided that all her trouble arose because, in the first place, she was +not “Select,” and in the second she was not a “Young Lady.” When she was +eight years old, she had been brought to Miss Minchin as a pupil, and +left with her. Her papa had brought her all the way from India. Her +mamma had died when she was a baby, and her papa had kept her with him +as long as he could. And then, finding the hot climate was making her +very delicate, he had brought her to England and left her with Miss +Minchin, to be part of the Select Seminary for Young Ladies. Sara, who +had always been a sharp little child, who remembered things, recollected +hearing him say that he had not a relative in the world whom he knew +of, and so he was obliged to place her at a boarding-school, and he had +heard Miss Minchin's establishment spoken of very highly. The same day, +he took Sara out and bought her a great many beautiful clothes--clothes +so grand and rich that only a very young and inexperienced man would +have bought them for a mite of a child who was to be brought up in a +boarding-school. But the fact was that he was a rash, innocent young +man, and very sad at the thought of parting with his little girl, who +was all he had left to remind him of her beautiful mother, whom he had +dearly loved. And he wished her to have everything the most fortunate +little girl could have; and so, when the polite saleswomen in the shops +said, “Here is our very latest thing in hats, the plumes are exactly the +same as those we sold to Lady Diana Sinclair yesterday,” he immediately +bought what was offered to him, and paid whatever was asked. The +consequence was that Sara had a most extraordinary wardrobe. Her dresses +were silk and velvet and India cashmere, her hats and bonnets were +covered with bows and plumes, her small undergarments were adorned with +real lace, and she returned in the cab to Miss Minchin's with a doll +almost as large as herself, dressed quite as grandly as herself, too. + +Then her papa gave Miss Minchin some money and went away, and for +several days Sara would neither touch the doll, nor her breakfast, nor +her dinner, nor her tea, and would do nothing but crouch in a small +corner by the window and cry. She cried so much, indeed, that she made +herself ill. She was a queer little child, with old-fashioned ways and +strong feelings, and she had adored her papa, and could not be made to +think that India and an interesting bungalow were not better for her +than London and Miss Minchin's Select Seminary. The instant she had +entered the house, she had begun promptly to hate Miss Minchin, and +to think little of Miss Amelia Minchin, who was smooth and dumpy, and +lisped, and was evidently afraid of her older sister. Miss Minchin was +tall, and had large, cold, fishy eyes, and large, cold hands, which +seemed fishy, too, because they were damp and made chills run down +Sara's back when they touched her, as Miss Minchin pushed her hair off +her forehead and said: + +“A most beautiful and promising little girl, Captain Crewe. She will be +a favorite pupil; quite a favorite pupil, I see.” + +For the first year she was a favorite pupil; at least she was indulged a +great deal more than was good for her. And when the Select Seminary went +walking, two by two, she was always decked out in her grandest clothes, +and led by the hand at the head of the genteel procession, by Miss +Minchin herself. And when the parents of any of the pupils came, she was +always dressed and called into the parlor with her doll; and she used +to hear Miss Minchin say that her father was a distinguished Indian +officer, and she would be heiress to a great fortune. That her father +had inherited a great deal of money, Sara had heard before; and also +that some day it would be hers, and that he would not remain long in the +army, but would come to live in London. And every time a letter came, +she hoped it would say he was coming, and they were to live together +again. + +But about the middle of the third year a letter came bringing very +different news. Because he was not a business man himself, her papa had +given his affairs into the hands of a friend he trusted. The friend had +deceived and robbed him. All the money was gone, no one knew exactly +where, and the shock was so great to the poor, rash young officer, that, +being attacked by jungle fever shortly afterward, he had no strength to +rally, and so died, leaving Sara, with no one to take care of her. + +Miss Minchin's cold and fishy eyes had never looked so cold and fishy as +they did when Sara went into the parlor, on being sent for, a few days +after the letter was received. + +No one had said anything to the child about mourning, so, in her +old-fashioned way, she had decided to find a black dress for herself, +and had picked out a black velvet she had outgrown, and came into the +room in it, looking the queerest little figure in the world, and a sad +little figure too. The dress was too short and too tight, her face was +white, her eyes had dark rings around them, and her doll, wrapped in a +piece of old black crape, was held under her arm. She was not a pretty +child. She was thin, and had a weird, interesting little face, short +black hair, and very large, green-gray eyes fringed all around with +heavy black lashes. + +“I am the ugliest child in the school,” she had said once, after staring +at herself in the glass for some minutes. + +But there had been a clever, good-natured little French teacher who had +said to the music-master: + +“Zat leetle Crewe. Vat a child! A so ogly beauty! Ze so large eyes! ze +so little spirituelle face. Waid till she grow up. You shall see!” + +This morning, however, in the tight, small black frock, she looked +thinner and odder than ever, and her eyes were fixed on Miss Minchin +with a queer steadiness as she slowly advanced into the parlor, +clutching her doll. + +“Put your doll down!” said Miss Minchin. + +“No,” said the child, “I won't put her down; I want her with me. She is +all I have. She has stayed with me all the time since my papa died.” + +She had never been an obedient child. She had had her own way ever since +she was born, and there was about her an air of silent determination +under which Miss Minchin had always felt secretly uncomfortable. And +that lady felt even now that perhaps it would be as well not to insist +on her point. So she looked at her as severely as possible. + +“You will have no time for dolls in future,” she said; “you will have to +work and improve yourself, and make yourself useful.” + +Sara kept the big odd eyes fixed on her teacher and said nothing. + +“Everything will be very different now,” Miss Minchin went on. “I sent +for you to talk to you and make you understand. Your father is dead. You +have no friends. You have no money. You have no home and no one to take +care of you.” + +The little pale olive face twitched nervously, but the green-gray eyes +did not move from Miss Minchin's, and still Sara said nothing. + +“What are you staring at?” demanded Miss Minchin sharply. “Are you so +stupid you don't understand what I mean? I tell you that you are quite +alone in the world, and have no one to do anything for you, unless I +choose to keep you here.” + +The truth was, Miss Minchin was in her worst mood. To be suddenly +deprived of a large sum of money yearly and a show pupil, and to find +herself with a little beggar on her hands, was more than she could bear +with any degree of calmness. + +“Now listen to me,” she went on, “and remember what I say. If you work +hard and prepare to make yourself useful in a few years, I shall let you +stay here. You are only a child, but you are a sharp child, and you pick +up things almost without being taught. You speak French very well, and +in a year or so you can begin to help with the younger pupils. By the +time you are fifteen you ought to be able to do that much at least.” + +“I can speak French better than you, now,” said Sara; “I always spoke it +with my papa in India.” Which was not at all polite, but was painfully +true; because Miss Minchin could not speak French at all, and, indeed, +was not in the least a clever person. But she was a hard, grasping +business woman; and, after the first shock of disappointment, had seen +that at very little expense to herself she might prepare this clever, +determined child to be very useful to her and save her the necessity of +paying large salaries to teachers of languages. + +“Don't be impudent, or you will be punished,” she said. “You will have +to improve your manners if you expect to earn your bread. You are not a +parlor boarder now. Remember that if you don't please me, and I send you +away, you have no home but the street. You can go now.” + +Sara turned away. + +“Stay,” commanded Miss Minchin, “don't you intend to thank me?” + +Sara turned toward her. The nervous twitch was to be seen again in her +face, and she seemed to be trying to control it. + +“What for?” she said. + +“For my kindness to you,” replied Miss Minchin. “For my kindness in +giving you a home.” + +Sara went two or three steps nearer to her. Her thin little chest was +heaving up and down, and she spoke in a strange, unchildish voice. + +“You are not kind,” she said. “You are not kind.” And she turned +again and went out of the room, leaving Miss Minchin staring after her +strange, small figure in stony anger. + +The child walked up the staircase, holding tightly to her doll; she +meant to go to her bedroom, but at the door she was met by Miss Amelia. + +“You are not to go in there,” she said. “That is not your room now.” + +“Where is my room?” asked Sara. + +“You are to sleep in the attic next to the cook.” + +Sara walked on. She mounted two flights more, and reached the door of +the attic room, opened it and went in, shutting it behind her. She +stood against it and looked about her. The room was slanting-roofed and +whitewashed; there was a rusty grate, an iron bedstead, and some odd +articles of furniture, sent up from better rooms below, where they had +been used until they were considered to be worn out. Under the skylight +in the roof, which showed nothing but an oblong piece of dull gray sky, +there was a battered old red footstool. + +Sara went to it and sat down. She was a queer child, as I have said +before, and quite unlike other children. She seldom cried. She did not +cry now. She laid her doll, Emily, across her knees, and put her face +down upon her, and her arms around her, and sat there, her little black +head resting on the black crape, not saying one word, not making one +sound. + + +From that day her life changed entirely. Sometimes she used to feel as +if it must be another life altogether, the life of some other child. She +was a little drudge and outcast; she was given her lessons at odd times +and expected to learn without being taught; she was sent on errands by +Miss Minchin, Miss Amelia and the cook. Nobody took any notice of her +except when they ordered her about. She was often kept busy all day and +then sent into the deserted school-room with a pile of books to learn +her lessons or practise at night. She had never been intimate with +the other pupils, and soon she became so shabby that, taking her queer +clothes together with her queer little ways, they began to look upon +her as a being of another world than their own. The fact was that, as +a rule, Miss Minchin's pupils were rather dull, matter-of-fact young +people, accustomed to being rich and comfortable; and Sara, with her +elfish cleverness, her desolate life, and her odd habit of fixing her +eyes upon them and staring them out of countenance, was too much for +them. + +“She always looks as if she was finding you out,” said one girl, who was +sly and given to making mischief. “I am,” said Sara promptly, when +she heard of it. “That's what I look at them for. I like to know about +people. I think them over afterward.” + +She never made any mischief herself or interfered with any one. She +talked very little, did as she was told, and thought a great deal. +Nobody knew, and in fact nobody cared, whether she was unhappy or happy, +unless, perhaps, it was Emily, who lived in the attic and slept on the +iron bedstead at night. Sara thought Emily understood her feelings, +though she was only wax and had a habit of staring herself. Sara used to +talk to her at night. + +“You are the only friend I have in the world,” she would say to her. +“Why don't you say something? Why don't you speak? Sometimes I am sure +you could, if you would try. It ought to make you try, to know you are +the only thing I have. If I were you, I should try. Why don't you try?” + +It really was a very strange feeling she had about Emily. It arose from +her being so desolate. She did not like to own to herself that her only +friend, her only companion, could feel and hear nothing. She wanted to +believe, or to pretend to believe, that Emily understood and sympathized +with her, that she heard her even though she did not speak in answer. +She used to put her in a chair sometimes and sit opposite to her on +the old red footstool, and stare at her and think and pretend about her +until her own eyes would grow large with something which was almost like +fear, particularly at night, when the garret was so still, when the only +sound that was to be heard was the occasional squeak and scurry of rats +in the wainscot. There were rat-holes in the garret, and Sara detested +rats, and was always glad Emily was with her when she heard their +hateful squeak and rush and scratching. One of her “pretends” was that +Emily was a kind of good witch and could protect her. Poor little Sara! +everything was “pretend” with her. She had a strong imagination; there +was almost more imagination than there was Sara, and her whole forlorn, +uncared-for child-life was made up of imaginings. She imagined and +pretended things until she almost believed them, and she would scarcely +have been surprised at any remarkable thing that could have happened. So +she insisted to herself that Emily understood all about her troubles and +was really her friend. + +“As to answering,” she used to say, “I don't answer very often. I never +answer when I can help it. When people are insulting you, there is +nothing so good for them as not to say a word--just to look at them and +think. Miss Minchin turns pale with rage when I do it. Miss Amelia looks +frightened, so do the girls. They know you are stronger than they are, +because you are strong enough to hold in your rage and they are not, +and they say stupid things they wish they hadn't said afterward. There's +nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold it in--that's +stronger. It's a good thing not to answer your enemies. I scarcely ever +do. Perhaps Emily is more like me than I am like myself. Perhaps she +would rather not answer her friends, even. She keeps it all in her +heart.” + +But though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments, Sara did +not find it easy. When, after a long, hard day, in which she had been +sent here and there, sometimes on long errands, through wind and cold +and rain; and, when she came in wet and hungry, had been sent out again +because nobody chose to remember that she was only a child, and that +her thin little legs might be tired, and her small body, clad in +its forlorn, too small finery, all too short and too tight, might be +chilled; when she had been given only harsh words and cold, slighting +looks for thanks, when the cook had been vulgar and insolent; when Miss +Minchin had been in her worst moods, and when she had seen the girls +sneering at her among themselves and making fun of her poor, outgrown +clothes--then Sara did not find Emily quite all that her sore, proud, +desolate little heart needed as the doll sat in her little old chair and +stared. + +One of these nights, when she came up to the garret cold, hungry, tired, +and with a tempest raging in her small breast, Emily's stare seemed so +vacant, her sawdust legs and arms so limp and inexpressive, that Sara +lost all control over herself. + +“I shall die presently!” she said at first. + +Emily stared. + +“I can't bear this!” said the poor child, trembling. “I know I shall +die. I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm starving to death. I've walked a thousand +miles to-day, and they have done nothing but scold me from morning until +night. And because I could not find that last thing they sent me for, +they would not give me any supper. Some men laughed at me because my old +shoes made me slip down in the mud. I'm covered with mud now. And they +laughed! Do you hear!” + +She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent wax face, and +suddenly a sort of heartbroken rage seized her. She lifted her little +savage hand and knocked Emily off the chair, bursting into a passion of +sobbing. + +“You are nothing but a doll!” she cried. + +“Nothing but a doll-doll-doll! You care for nothing. You are stuffed +with sawdust. You never had a heart. Nothing could ever make you feel. +You are a doll!” + +Emily lay upon the floor, with her legs ignominiously doubled up over +her head, and a new flat place on the end of her nose; but she was still +calm, even dignified. + +Sara hid her face on her arms and sobbed. Some rats in the wall began +to fight and bite each other, and squeak and scramble. But, as I have +already intimated, Sara was not in the habit of crying. After a while +she stopped, and when she stopped she looked at Emily, who seemed to be +gazing at her around the side of one ankle, and actually with a kind of +glassy-eyed sympathy. Sara bent and picked her up. Remorse overtook her. + +“You can't help being a doll,” she said, with a resigned sigh, “any more +than those girls downstairs can help not having any sense. We are not +all alike. Perhaps you do your sawdust best.” + +None of Miss Minchin's young ladies were very remarkable for being +brilliant; they were select, but some of them were very dull, and some +of them were fond of applying themselves to their lessons. Sara, who +snatched her lessons at all sorts of untimely hours from tattered and +discarded books, and who had a hungry craving for everything readable, +was often severe upon them in her small mind. They had books they never +read; she had no books at all. If she had always had something to read, +she would not have been so lonely. She liked romances and history and +poetry; she would read anything. There was a sentimental housemaid in +the establishment who bought the weekly penny papers, and subscribed +to a circulating library, from which she got greasy volumes containing +stories of marquises and dukes who invariably fell in love with +orange-girls and gypsies and servant-maids, and made them the proud +brides of coronets; and Sara often did parts of this maid's work so that +she might earn the privilege of reading these romantic histories. There +was also a fat, dull pupil, whose name was Ermengarde St. John, who was +one of her resources. Ermengarde had an intellectual father, who, in +his despairing desire to encourage his daughter, constantly sent her +valuable and interesting books, which were a continual source of grief +to her. Sara had once actually found her crying over a big package of +them. + +“What is the matter with you?” she asked her, perhaps rather +disdainfully. + +And it is just possible she would not have spoken to her, if she had not +seen the books. The sight of books always gave Sara a hungry feeling, +and she could not help drawing near to them if only to read their +titles. + +“What is the matter with you?” she asked. + +“My papa has sent me some more books,” answered Ermengarde woefully, +“and he expects me to read them.” + +“Don't you like reading?” said Sara. + +“I hate it!” replied Miss Ermengarde St. John. “And he will ask me +questions when he sees me: he will want to know how much I remember; how +would you like to have to read all those?” + +“I'd like it better than anything else in the world,” said Sara. + +Ermengarde wiped her eyes to look at such a prodigy. + +“Oh, gracious!” she exclaimed. + +Sara returned the look with interest. A sudden plan formed itself in her +sharp mind. + +“Look here!” she said. “If you'll lend me those books, I'll read them +and tell you everything that's in them afterward, and I'll tell it +to you so that you will remember it. I know I can. The A B C children +always remember what I tell them.” + +“Oh, goodness!” said Ermengarde. “Do you think you could?” + +“I know I could,” answered Sara. “I like to read, and I always remember. +I'll take care of the books, too; they will look just as new as they do +now, when I give them back to you.” + +Ermengarde put her handkerchief in her pocket. + +“If you'll do that,” she said, “and if you'll make me remember, I'll +give you--I'll give you some money.” + +“I don't want your money,” said Sara. “I want your books--I want them.” + And her eyes grew big and queer, and her chest heaved once. + +“Take them, then,” said Ermengarde; “I wish I wanted them, but I am not +clever, and my father is, and he thinks I ought to be.” + +Sara picked up the books and marched off with them. But when she was at +the door, she stopped and turned around. + +“What are you going to tell your father?” she asked. + +“Oh,” said Ermengarde, “he needn't know; he'll think I've read them.” + +Sara looked down at the books; her heart really began to beat fast. + +“I won't do it,” she said rather slowly, “if you are going to tell him +lies about it--I don't like lies. Why can't you tell him I read them and +then told you about them?” + +“But he wants me to read them,” said Ermengarde. + +“He wants you to know what is in them,” said Sara; “and if I can tell +it to you in an easy way and make you remember, I should think he would +like that.” + +“He would like it better if I read them myself,” replied Ermengarde. + +“He will like it, I dare say, if you learn anything in any way,” said +Sara. “I should, if I were your father.” + +And though this was not a flattering way of stating the case, Ermengarde +was obliged to admit it was true, and, after a little more argument, +gave in. And so she used afterward always to hand over her books to +Sara, and Sara would carry them to her garret and devour them; and after +she had read each volume, she would return it and tell Ermengarde about +it in a way of her own. She had a gift for making things interesting. +Her imagination helped her to make everything rather like a story, +and she managed this matter so well that Miss St. John gained more +information from her books than she would have gained if she had read +them three times over by her poor stupid little self. When Sara sat down +by her and began to tell some story of travel or history, she made the +travellers and historical people seem real; and Ermengarde used to sit +and regard her dramatic gesticulations, her thin little flushed cheeks, +and her shining, odd eyes with amazement. + +“It sounds nicer than it seems in the book,” she would say. “I never +cared about Mary, Queen of Scots, before, and I always hated the French +Revolution, but you make it seem like a story.” + +“It is a story,” Sara would answer. “They are all stories. Everything is +a story--everything in this world. You are a story--I am a story--Miss +Minchin is a story. You can make a story out of anything.” + +“I can't,” said Ermengarde. + +Sara stared at her a minute reflectively. + +“No,” she said at last. “I suppose you couldn't. You are a little like +Emily.” + +“Who is Emily?” + +Sara recollected herself. She knew she was sometimes rather impolite in +the candor of her remarks, and she did not want to be impolite to a girl +who was not unkind--only stupid. Notwithstanding all her sharp little +ways she had the sense to wish to be just to everybody. In the hours she +spent alone, she used to argue out a great many curious questions with +herself. One thing she had decided upon was, that a person who was +clever ought to be clever enough not to be unjust or deliberately unkind +to any one. Miss Minchin was unjust and cruel, Miss Amelia was unkind +and spiteful, the cook was malicious and hasty-tempered--they all were +stupid, and made her despise them, and she desired to be as unlike them +as possible. So she would be as polite as she could to people who in the +least deserved politeness. + +“Emily is--a person--I know,” she replied. + +“Do you like her?” asked Ermengarde. + +“Yes, I do,” said Sara. + +Ermengarde examined her queer little face and figure again. She did +look odd. She had on, that day, a faded blue plush skirt, which barely +covered her knees, a brown Cloth sacque, and a pair of olive-green +stockings which Miss Minchin had made her piece out with black ones, +so that they would be long enough to be kept on. And yet Ermengarde was +beginning slowly to admire her. Such a forlorn, thin, neglected little +thing as that, who could read and read and remember and tell you things +so that they did not tire you all out! A child who could speak French, +and who had learned German, no one knew how! One could not help staring +at her and feeling interested, particularly one to whom the simplest +lesson was a trouble and a woe. + +“Do you like me?” said Ermengarde, finally, at the end of her scrutiny. + +Sara hesitated one second, then she answered: + +“I like you because you are not ill-natured--I like you for letting me +read your books--I like you because you don't make spiteful fun of me +for what I can't help. It's not your fault that--” + +She pulled herself up quickly. She had been going to say, “that you are +stupid.” + +“That what?” asked Ermengarde. + +“That you can't learn things quickly. If you can't, you can't. If I can, +why, I can--that's all.” She paused a minute, looking at the plump face +before her, and then, rather slowly, one of her wise, old-fashioned +thoughts came to her. + +“Perhaps,” she said, “to be able to learn things quickly isn't +everything. To be kind is worth a good deal to other people. If Miss +Minchin knew everything on earth, which she doesn't, and if she was like +what she is now, she'd still be a detestable thing, and everybody would +hate her. Lots of clever people have done harm and been wicked. Look at +Robespierre--” + +She stopped again and examined her companion's countenance. + +“Do you remember about him?” she demanded. “I believe you've forgotten.” + +“Well, I don't remember all of it,” admitted Ermengarde. + +“Well,” said Sara, with courage and determination, “I'll tell it to you +over again.” + +And she plunged once more into the gory records of the French +Revolution, and told such stories of it, and made such vivid pictures of +its horrors, that Miss St. John was afraid to go to bed afterward, and +hid her head under the blankets when she did go, and shivered until she +fell asleep. But afterward she preserved lively recollections of the +character of Robespierre, and did not even forget Marie Antoinette and +the Princess de Lamballe. + +“You know they put her head on a pike and danced around it,” Sara had +said; “and she had beautiful blonde hair; and when I think of her, I +never see her head on her body, but always on a pike, with those furious +people dancing and howling.” + +Yes, it was true; to this imaginative child everything was a story; and +the more books she read, the more imaginative she became. One of her +chief entertainments was to sit in her garret, or walk about it, and +“suppose” things. On a cold night, when she had not had enough to eat, +she would draw the red footstool up before the empty grate, and say in +the most intense voice: + +“Suppose there was a grate, wide steel grate here, and a great glowing +fire--a glowing fire--with beds of red-hot coal and lots of little +dancing, flickering flames. Suppose there was a soft, deep rug, and this +was a comfortable chair, all cushions and crimson velvet; and suppose I +had a crimson velvet frock on, and a deep lace collar, like a child in +a picture; and suppose all the rest of the room was furnished in lovely +colors, and there were book-shelves full of books, which changed by +magic as soon as you had read them; and suppose there was a little table +here, with a snow-white cover on it, and little silver dishes, and in +one there was hot, hot soup, and in another a roast chicken, and in +another some raspberry-jam tarts with crisscross on them, and in another +some grapes; and suppose Emily could speak, and we could sit and eat our +supper, and then talk and read; and then suppose there was a soft, warm +bed in the corner, and when we were tired we could go to sleep, and +sleep as long as we liked.” + +Sometimes, after she had supposed things like these for half an hour, +she would feel almost warm, and would creep into bed with Emily and fall +asleep with a smile on her face. + +“What large, downy pillows!” she would whisper. “What white sheets +and fleecy blankets!” And she almost forgot that her real pillows had +scarcely any feathers in them at all, and smelled musty, and that her +blankets and coverlid were thin and full of holes. + +At another time she would “suppose” she was a princess, and then she +would go about the house with an expression on her face which was a +source of great secret annoyance to Miss Minchin, because it seemed as +if the child scarcely heard the spiteful, insulting things said to her, +or, if she heard them, did not care for them at all. Sometimes, while +she was in the midst of some harsh and cruel speech, Miss Minchin would +find the odd, unchildish eyes fixed upon her with something like a proud +smile in them. At such times she did not know that Sara was saying to +herself: + +“You don't know that you are saying these things to a princess, and that +if I chose I could wave my hand and order you to execution. I only spare +you because I am a princess, and you are a poor, stupid, old, vulgar +thing, and don't know any better.” + +This used to please and amuse her more than anything else; and queer and +fanciful as it was, she found comfort in it, and it was not a bad thing +for her. It really kept her from being made rude and malicious by the +rudeness and malice of those about her. + +“A princess must be polite,” she said to herself. And so when the +servants, who took their tone from their mistress, were insolent and +ordered her about, she would hold her head erect, and reply to them +sometimes in a way which made them stare at her, it was so quaintly +civil. + +“I am a princess in rags and tatters,” she would think, “but I am a +princess, inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed +in cloth-of-gold; it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the +time when no one knows it. There was Marie Antoinette; when she was in +prison, and her throne was gone, and she had only a black gown on, +and her hair was white, and they insulted her and called her the Widow +Capet,--she was a great deal more like a queen then than when she was so +gay and had everything grand. I like her best then. Those howling mobs +of people did not frighten her. She was stronger than they were even +when they cut her head off.” + +Once when such thoughts were passing through her mind the look in her +eyes so enraged Miss Minchin that she flew at Sara and boxed her ears. + +Sara awakened from her dream, started a little, and then broke into a +laugh. + +“What are you laughing at, you bold, impudent child!” exclaimed Miss +Minchin. + +It took Sara a few seconds to remember she was a princess. Her cheeks +were red and smarting from the blows she had received. + +“I was thinking,” she said. + +“Beg my pardon immediately,” said Miss Minchin. + +“I will beg your pardon for laughing, if it was rude,” said Sara; “but I +won't beg your pardon for thinking.” + +“What were you thinking?” demanded Miss Minchin. “How dare you think? +What were you thinking?” + +This occurred in the school-room, and all the girls looked up from their +books to listen. It always interested them when Miss Minchin flew at +Sara, because Sara always said something queer, and never seemed in the +least frightened. She was not in the least frightened now, though her +boxed ears were scarlet, and her eyes were as bright as stars. + +“I was thinking,” she answered gravely and quite politely, “that you did +not know what you were doing.” + +“That I did not know what I was doing!” Miss Minchin fairly gasped. + +“Yes,” said Sara, “and I was thinking what would happen, if I were +a princess and you boxed my ears--what I should do to you. And I was +thinking that if I were one, you would never dare to do it, whatever I +said or did. And I was thinking how surprised and frightened you would +be if you suddenly found out--” + +She had the imagined picture so clearly before her eyes, that she spoke +in a manner which had an effect even on Miss Minchin. It almost seemed +for the moment to her narrow, unimaginative mind that there must be some +real power behind this candid daring. + +“What!” she exclaimed, “found out what?” + +“That I really was a princess,” said Sara, “and could do +anything--anything I liked.” + +“Go to your room,” cried Miss Minchin breathlessly, “this instant. Leave +the school-room. Attend to your lessons, young ladies.” + +Sara made a little bow. + +“Excuse me for laughing, if it was impolite,” she said, and walked out +of the room, leaving Miss Minchin in a rage and the girls whispering +over their books. + +“I shouldn't be at all surprised if she did turn out to be something,” + said one of them. “Suppose she should!” + + +That very afternoon Sara had an opportunity of proving to herself +whether she was really a princess or not. It was a dreadful afternoon. +For several days it had rained continuously, the streets were chilly and +sloppy; there was mud everywhere--sticky London mud--and over everything +a pall of fog and drizzle. Of course there were several long and +tiresome errands to be done,--there always were on days like this,--and +Sara was sent out again and again, until her shabby clothes were damp +through. The absurd old feathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled +and absurd than ever, and her down-trodden shoes were so wet they could +not hold any more water. Added to this, she had been deprived of her +dinner, because Miss Minchin wished to punish her. She was very hungry. +She was so cold and hungry and tired that her little face had a pinched +look, and now and then some kind-hearted person passing her in the +crowded street glanced at her with sympathy. But she did not know that. +She hurried on, trying to comfort herself in that queer way of hers by +pretending and “supposing,”--but really this time it was harder than she +had ever found it, and once or twice she thought it almost made her +more cold and hungry instead of less so. But she persevered obstinately. +“Suppose I had dry clothes on,” she thought. “Suppose I had good shoes +and a long, thick coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella. And +suppose--suppose, just when I was near a baker's where they sold hot +buns, I should find sixpence--which belonged to nobody. Suppose, if +I did, I should go into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns, and +should eat them all without stopping.” + +Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes. It certainly was +an odd thing which happened to Sara. She had to cross the street just as +she was saying this to herself--the mud was dreadful--she almost had to +wade. She picked her way as carefully as she could, but she could not +save herself much, only, in picking her way she had to look down at +her feet and the mud, and in looking down--just as she reached the +pavement--she saw something shining in the gutter. A piece of silver--a +tiny piece trodden upon by many feet, but still with spirit enough +to shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it--a +four-penny piece! In one second it was in her cold, little red and blue +hand. “Oh!” she gasped. “It is true!” + +And then, if you will believe me, she looked straight before her at the +shop directly facing her. And it was a baker's, and a cheerful, stout, +motherly woman, with rosy cheeks, was just putting into the window a +tray of delicious hot buns,--large, plump, shiny buns, with currants in +them. + +It almost made Sara feel faint for a few seconds--the shock and the +sight of the buns and the delightful odors of warm bread floating up +through the baker's cellar-window. + +She knew that she need not hesitate to use the little piece of money. +It had evidently been lying in the mud for some time, and its owner was +completely lost in the streams of passing people who crowded and jostled +each other all through the day. + +“But I'll go and ask the baker's woman if she has lost a piece of +money,” she said to herself, rather faintly. + +So she crossed the pavement and put her wet foot on the step of the +shop; and as she did so she saw something which made her stop. + +It was a little figure more forlorn than her own--a little figure which +was not much more than a bundle of rags, from which small, bare, red and +muddy feet peeped out--only because the rags with which the wearer was +trying to cover them were not long enough. Above the rags appeared a +shock head of tangled hair and a dirty face, with big, hollow, hungry +eyes. + +Sara knew they were hungry eyes the moment she saw them, and she felt a +sudden sympathy. + +“This,” she said to herself, with a little sigh, “is one of the +Populace--and she is hungrier than I am.” + +The child--this “one of the Populace”--stared up at Sara, and shuffled +herself aside a little, so as to give her more room. She was used to +being made to give room to everybody. She knew that if a policeman +chanced to see her, he would tell her to “move on.” + +Sara clutched her little four-penny piece, and hesitated a few seconds. +Then she spoke to her. + +“Are you hungry?” she asked. + +The child shuffled herself and her rags a little more. + +“Ain't I jist!” she said, in a hoarse voice. “Jist ain't I!” + +“Haven't you had any dinner?” said Sara. + +“No dinner,” more hoarsely still and with more shuffling, “nor yet no +bre'fast--nor yet no supper--nor nothin'.” + +“Since when?” asked Sara. + +“Dun'no. Never got nothin' to-day--nowhere. I've axed and axed.” + +Just to look at her made Sara more hungry and faint. But those queer +little thoughts were at work in her brain, and she was talking to +herself though she was sick at heart. + +“If I'm a princess,” she was saying--“if I'm a princess--! When they +were poor and driven from their thrones--they always shared--with the +Populace--if they met one poorer and hungrier. They always shared. Buns +are a penny each. If it had been sixpence! I could have eaten six. It +won't be enough for either of us--but it will be better than nothing.” + +“Wait a minute,” she said to the beggar-child. She went into the shop. +It was warm and smelled delightfully. The woman was just going to put +more hot buns in the window. + +“If you please,” said Sara, “have you lost fourpence--a silver +fourpence?” And she held the forlorn little piece of money out to her. + +The woman looked at it and at her--at her intense little face and +draggled, once-fine clothes. + +“Bless us--no,” she answered. “Did you find it?” + +“In the gutter,” said Sara. + +“Keep it, then,” said the woman. “It may have been there a week, and +goodness knows who lost it. You could never find out.” + +“I know that,” said Sara, “but I thought I'd ask you.” + +“Not many would,” said the woman, looking puzzled and interested and +good-natured all at once. “Do you want to buy something?” she added, as +she saw Sara glance toward the buns. + +“Four buns, if you please,” said Sara; “those at a penny each.” + +The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag. Sara noticed +that she put in six. + +“I said four, if you please,” she explained. “I have only the +fourpence.” + +“I'll throw in two for make-weight,” said the woman, with her +good-natured look. “I dare say you can eat them some time. Aren't you +hungry?” + +A mist rose before Sara's eyes. + +“Yes,” she answered. “I am very hungry, and I am much obliged to you for +your kindness, and,” she was going to add, “there is a child outside who +is hungrier than I am.” But just at that moment two or three customers +came in at once and each one seemed in a hurry, so she could only thank +the woman again and go out. + +The child was still huddled up on the corner of the steps. She looked +frightful in her wet and dirty rags. She was staring with a stupid look +of suffering straight before her, and Sara saw her suddenly draw the +back of her roughened, black hand across her eyes to rub away the tears +which seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way from under her +lids. She was muttering to herself. + +Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which had +already warmed her cold hands a little. + +“See,” she said, putting the bun on the ragged lap, “that is nice and +hot. Eat it, and you will not be so hungry.” + +The child started and stared up at her; then she snatched up the bun and +began to cram it into her mouth with great wolfish bites. + +“Oh, my! Oh, my!” Sara heard her say hoarsely, in wild delight. + +“Oh, my!” + +Sara took out three more buns and put them down. + +“She is hungrier than I am,” she said to herself. “She's starving.” But +her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. “I'm not starving,” + she said--and she put down the fifth. + +The little starving London savage was still snatching and devouring when +she turned away. She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even if she +had been taught politeness--which she had not. She was only a poor +little wild animal. + +“Good-bye,” said Sara. + +When she reached the other side of the street she looked back. The child +had a bun in both hands, and had stopped in the middle of a bite to +watch her. Sara gave her a little nod, and the child, after another +stare,--a curious, longing stare,--jerked her shaggy head in response, +and until Sara was out of sight she did not take another bite or even +finish the one she had begun. + +At that moment the baker-woman glanced out of her shop-window. + +“Well, I never!” she exclaimed. “If that young'un hasn't given her buns +to a beggar-child! It wasn't because she didn't want them, either--well, +well, she looked hungry enough. I'd give something to know what she did +it for.” She stood behind her window for a few moments and pondered. +Then her curiosity got the better of her. She went to the door and spoke +to the beggar-child. + +“Who gave you those buns?” she asked her. + +The child nodded her head toward Sara's vanishing figure. + +“What did she say?” inquired the woman. + +“Axed me if I was 'ungry,” replied the hoarse voice. + +“What did you say?” + +“Said I was jist!” + +“And then she came in and got buns and came out and gave them to you, +did she?” + +The child nodded. + +“How many?” + +“Five.” + +The woman thought it over. “Left just one for herself,” she said, in +a low voice. “And she could have eaten the whole six--I saw it in her +eyes.” + +She looked after the little, draggled, far-away figure, and felt more +disturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt for many a +day. + +“I wish she hadn't gone so quick,” she said. “I'm blest if she shouldn't +have had a dozen.” + +Then she turned to the child. + +“Are you hungry, yet?” she asked. + +“I'm allus 'ungry,” was the answer; “but 'tain't so bad as it was.” + +“Come in here,” said the woman, and she held open the shop-door. + +The child got up and shuffled in. To be invited into a warm place full +of bread seemed an incredible thing. She did not know what was going to +happen; she did not care, even. + +“Get yourself warm,” said the woman, pointing to a fire in a tiny back +room. “And, look here,--when you're hard up for a bite of bread, you can +come here and ask for it. I'm blest if I won't give it to you for that +young un's sake.” + + +Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun. It was hot; and it was a +great deal better than nothing. She broke off small pieces and ate them +slowly to make it last longer. + +“Suppose it was a magic bun,” she said, “and a bite was as much as a +whole dinner. I should be over-eating myself if I went on like this.” + +It was dark when she reached the square in which Miss Minchin's Select +Seminary was situated; the lamps were lighted, and in most of the +windows gleams of light were to be seen. It always interested Sara to +catch glimpses of the rooms before the shutters were closed. She liked +to imagine things about people who sat before the fires in the houses, +or who bent over books at the tables. There was, for instance, the Large +Family opposite. She called these people the Large Family--not because +they were large, for indeed most of them were little,--but because there +were so many of them. There were eight children in the Large Family, +and a stout, rosy mother, and a stout, rosy father, and a stout, rosy +grand-mamma, and any number of servants. The eight children were +always either being taken out to walk, or to ride in perambulators, by +comfortable nurses; or they were going to drive with their mamma; or +they were flying to the door in the evening to kiss their papa and +dance around him and drag off his overcoat and look for packages in +the pockets of it; or they were crowding about the nursery windows +and looking out and pushing each other and laughing,--in fact they were +always doing something which seemed enjoyable and suited to the tastes +of a large family. Sara was quite attached to them, and had given them +all names out of books. She called them the Montmorencys, when she did +not call them the Large Family. The fat, fair baby with the lace cap was +Ethelberta Beauchamp Montmorency; the next baby was Violet Cholmondely +Montmorency; the little boy who could just stagger, and who had such +round legs, was Sydney Cecil Vivian Montmorency; and then came Lilian +Evangeline, Guy Clarence, Maud Marian, Rosalind Gladys, Veronica +Eustacia, and Claude Harold Hector. + +Next door to the Large Family lived the Maiden Lady, who had a +companion, and two parrots, and a King Charles spaniel; but Sara was not +so very fond of her, because she did nothing in particular but talk to +the parrots and drive out with the spaniel. The most interesting person +of all lived next door to Miss Minchin herself. Sara called him the +Indian Gentleman. He was an elderly gentleman who was said to have lived +in the East Indies, and to be immensely rich and to have something the +matter with his liver,--in fact, it had been rumored that he had no +liver at all, and was much inconvenienced by the fact. At any rate, he +was very yellow and he did not look happy; and when he went out to his +carriage, he was almost always wrapped up in shawls and overcoats, as +if he were cold. He had a native servant who looked even colder than +himself, and he had a monkey who looked colder than the native servant. +Sara had seen the monkey sitting on a table, in the sun, in the +parlor window, and he always wore such a mournful expression that she +sympathized with him deeply. + +“I dare say,” she used sometimes to remark to herself, “he is thinking +all the time of cocoanut trees and of swinging by his tail under a +tropical sun. He might have had a family dependent on him too, poor +thing!” + +The native servant, whom she called the Lascar, looked mournful too, but +he was evidently very faithful to his master. + +“Perhaps he saved his master's life in the Sepoy rebellion,” she +thought. “They look as if they might have had all sorts of adventures. I +wish I could speak to the Lascar. I remember a little Hindustani.” + +And one day she actually did speak to him, and his start at the sound of +his own language expressed a great deal of surprise and delight. He was +waiting for his master to come out to the carriage, and Sara, who was +going on an errand as usual, stopped and spoke a few words. She had a +special gift for languages and had remembered enough Hindustani to make +herself understood by him. When his master came out, the Lascar spoke +to him quickly, and the Indian Gentleman turned and looked at her +curiously. And afterward the Lascar always greeted her with salaams of +the most profound description. And occasionally they exchanged a few +words. She learned that it was true that the Sahib was very rich--that +he was ill--and also that he had no wife nor children, and that England +did not agree with the monkey. + +“He must be as lonely as I am,” thought Sara. “Being rich does not seem +to make him happy.” + +That evening, as she passed the windows, the Lascar was closing the +shutters, and she caught a glimpse of the room inside. There was a +bright fire glowing in the grate, and the Indian Gentleman was sitting +before it, in a luxurious chair. The room was richly furnished, and +looked delightfully comfortable, but the Indian Gentleman sat with his +head resting on his hand, and looked as lonely and unhappy as ever. + +“Poor man!” said Sara; “I wonder what you are `supposing'?” + +When she went into the house she met Miss Minchin in the hall. + +“Where have you wasted your time?” said Miss Minchin. “You have been out +for hours!” + +“It was so wet and muddy,” Sara answered. “It was hard to walk, because +my shoes were so bad and slipped about so.” + +“Make no excuses,” said Miss Minchin, “and tell no falsehoods.” + +Sara went downstairs to the kitchen. + +“Why didn't you stay all night?” said the cook. + +“Here are the things,” said Sara, and laid her purchases on the table. + +The cook looked over them, grumbling. She was in a very bad temper +indeed. + +“May I have something to eat?” Sara asked rather faintly. + +“Tea's over and done with,” was the answer. “Did you expect me to keep +it hot for you?” + +Sara was silent a second. + +“I had no dinner,” she said, and her voice was quite low. She made it +low, because she was afraid it would tremble. + +“There's some bread in the pantry,” said the cook. “That's all you'll +get at this time of day.” + +Sara went and found the bread. It was old and hard and dry. The cook +was in too bad a humor to give her anything to eat with it. She had just +been scolded by Miss Minchin, and it was always safe and easy to vent +her own spite on Sara. + +Really it was hard for the child to climb the three long flights of +stairs leading to her garret. She often found them long and steep when +she was tired, but to-night it seemed as if she would never reach the +top. Several times a lump rose in her throat and she was obliged to stop +to rest. + +“I can't pretend anything more to-night,” she said wearily to herself. +“I'm sure I can't. I'll eat my bread and drink some water and then go to +sleep, and perhaps a dream will come and pretend for me. I wonder what +dreams are.” + +Yes, when she reached the top landing there were tears in her eyes, and +she did not feel like a princess--only like a tired, hungry, lonely, +lonely child. + +“If my papa had lived,” she said, “they would not have treated me like +this. If my papa had lived, he would have taken care of me.” + +Then she turned the handle and opened the garret-door. + +Can you imagine it--can you believe it? I find it hard to believe it +myself. And Sara found it impossible; for the first few moments she +thought something strange had happened to her eyes--to her mind--that +the dream had come before she had had time to fall asleep. + +“Oh!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Oh! it isn't true! I know, I know +it isn't true!” And she slipped into the room and closed the door and +locked it, and stood with her back against it, staring straight before +her. + +Do you wonder? In the grate, which had been empty and rusty and cold +when she left it, but which now was blackened and polished up quite +respectably, there was a glowing, blazing fire. On the hob was a little +brass kettle, hissing and boiling; spread upon the floor was a warm, +thick rug; before the fire was a folding-chair, unfolded and with +cushions on it; by the chair was a small folding-table, unfolded, +covered with a white cloth, and upon it were spread small covered +dishes, a cup and saucer, and a tea-pot; on the bed were new, warm +coverings, a curious wadded silk robe, and some books. The little, cold, +miserable room seemed changed into Fairyland. It was actually warm and +glowing. + +“It is bewitched!” said Sara. “Or I am bewitched. I only think I see +it all; but if I can only keep on thinking it, I don't care--I don't +care--if I can only keep it up!” + +She was afraid to move, for fear it would melt away. She stood with her +back against the door and looked and looked. But soon she began to feel +warm, and then she moved forward. + +“A fire that I only thought I saw surely wouldn't feel warm,” she said. +“It feels real--real.” + +She went to it and knelt before it. She touched the chair, the table; +she lifted the cover of one of the dishes. There was something hot and +savory in it--something delicious. The tea-pot had tea in it, ready for +the boiling water from the little kettle; one plate had toast on it, +another, muffins. + +“It is real,” said Sara. “The fire is real enough to warm me; I can sit +in the chair; the things are real enough to eat.” + +It was like a fairy story come true--it was heavenly. She went to the +bed and touched the blankets and the wrap. They were real too. She +opened one book, and on the title-page was written in a strange hand, +“The little girl in the attic.” + +Suddenly--was it a strange thing for her to do?--Sara put her face down +on the queer, foreign looking quilted robe and burst into tears. + +“I don't know who it is,” she said, “but somebody cares about me a +little--somebody is my friend.” + +Somehow that thought warmed her more than the fire. She had never had +a friend since those happy, luxurious days when she had had everything; +and those days had seemed such a long way off--so far away as to be only +like dreams--during these last years at Miss Minchin's. + +She really cried more at this strange thought of having a friend--even +though an unknown one--than she had cried over many of her worst +troubles. + +But these tears seemed different from the others, for when she had wiped +them away they did not seem to leave her eyes and her heart hot and +smarting. + +And then imagine, if you can, what the rest of the evening was like. +The delicious comfort of taking off the damp clothes and putting on the +soft, warm, quilted robe before the glowing fire--of slipping her cold +feet into the luscious little wool-lined slippers she found near her +chair. And then the hot tea and savory dishes, the cushioned chair and +the books! + +It was just like Sara, that, once having found the things real, she +should give herself up to the enjoyment of them to the very utmost. She +had lived such a life of imagining, and had found her pleasure so long +in improbabilities, that she was quite equal to accepting any wonderful +thing that happened. After she was quite warm and had eaten her supper +and enjoyed herself for an hour or so, it had almost ceased to be +surprising to her that such magical surroundings should be hers. As +to finding out who had done all this, she knew that it was out of the +question. She did not know a human soul by whom it could seem in the +least degree probable that it could have been done. + +“There is nobody,” she said to herself, “nobody.” She discussed the +matter with Emily, it is true, but more because it was delightful to +talk about it than with a view to making any discoveries. + +“But we have a friend, Emily,” she said; “we have a friend.” + +Sara could not even imagine a being charming enough to fill her grand +ideal of her mysterious benefactor. If she tried to make in her mind +a picture of him or her, it ended by being something glittering and +strange--not at all like a real person, but bearing resemblance to a +sort of Eastern magician, with long robes and a wand. And when she fell +asleep, beneath the soft white blanket, she dreamed all night of this +magnificent personage, and talked to him in Hindustani, and made salaams +to him. + +Upon one thing she was determined. She would not speak to any one of +her good fortune--it should be her own secret; in fact, she was +rather inclined to think that if Miss Minchin knew, she would take her +treasures from her or in some way spoil her pleasure. So, when she went +down the next morning, she shut her door very tight and did her best to +look as if nothing unusual had occurred. And yet this was rather hard, +because she could not help remembering, every now and then, with a sort +of start, and her heart would beat quickly every time she repeated to +herself, “I have a friend!” + +It was a friend who evidently meant to continue to be kind, for when she +went to her garret the next night--and she opened the door, it must be +confessed, with rather an excited feeling--she found that the same hands +had been again at work, and had done even more than before. The fire and +the supper were again there, and beside them a number of other things +which so altered the look of the garret that Sara quite lost her breath. +A piece of bright, strange, heavy cloth covered the battered mantel, and +on it some ornaments had been placed. All the bare, ugly things which +could be covered with draperies had been concealed and made to look +quite pretty. Some odd materials in rich colors had been fastened +against the walls with sharp, fine tacks--so sharp that they could be +pressed into the wood without hammering. Some brilliant fans were pinned +up, and there were several large cushions. A long, old wooden box was +covered with a rug, and some cushions lay on it, so that it wore quite +the air of a sofa. + +Sara simply sat down, and looked, and looked again. + +“It is exactly like something fairy come true,” she said; “there isn't +the least difference. I feel as if I might wish for anything--diamonds +and bags of gold--and they would appear! That couldn't be any stranger +than this. Is this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp Sara? +And to think how I used to pretend, and pretend, and wish there were +fairies! The one thing I always wanted was to see a fairy story come +true. I am living in a fairy story! I feel as if I might be a fairy +myself, and be able to turn things into anything else!” + +It was like a fairy story, and, what was best of all, it continued. +Almost every day something new was done to the garret. Some new comfort +or ornament appeared in it when Sara opened her door at night, until +actually, in a short time it was a bright little room, full of all sorts +of odd and luxurious things. And the magician had taken care that the +child should not be hungry, and that she should have as many books as +she could read. When she left the room in the morning, the remains of +her supper were on the table, and when she returned in the evening, the +magician had removed them, and left another nice little meal. Downstairs +Miss Minchin was as cruel and insulting as ever, Miss Amelia was as +peevish, and the servants were as vulgar. Sara was sent on errands, and +scolded, and driven hither and thither, but somehow it seemed as if she +could bear it all. The delightful sense of romance and mystery lifted +her above the cook's temper and malice. The comfort she enjoyed and +could always look forward to was making her stronger. If she came home +from her errands wet and tired, she knew she would soon be warm, after +she had climbed the stairs. In a few weeks she began to look less thin. +A little color came into her cheeks, and her eyes did not seem much too +big for her face. + +It was just when this was beginning to be so apparent that Miss Minchin +sometimes stared at her questioningly, that another wonderful thing +happened. A man came to the door and left several parcels. All were +addressed (in large letters) to “the little girl in the attic.” Sara +herself was sent to open the door, and she took them in. She laid +the two largest parcels down on the hall-table and was looking at the +address, when Miss Minchin came down the stairs. + +“Take the things upstairs to the young lady to whom they belong,” she +said. “Don't stand there staring at them.” + +“They belong to me,” answered Sara, quietly. + +“To you!” exclaimed Miss Minchin. “What do you mean?” + +“I don't know where they came from,” said Sara, “but they're addressed +to me.” + +Miss Minchin came to her side and looked at them with an excited +expression. + +“What is in them?” she demanded. + +“I don't know,” said Sara. + +“Open them!” she demanded, still more excitedly. + +Sara did as she was told. They contained pretty and comfortable +clothing,--clothing of different kinds; shoes and stockings and gloves, +a warm coat, and even an umbrella. On the pocket of the coat was pinned +a paper on which was written, “To be worn every day--will be replaced by +others when necessary.” + +Miss Minchin was quite agitated. This was an incident which suggested +strange things to her sordid mind. Could it be that she had made a +mistake after all, and that the child so neglected and so unkindly +treated by her had some powerful friend in the background? It would not +be very pleasant if there should be such a friend, and he or she should +learn all the truth about the thin, shabby clothes, the scant food, +the hard work. She felt queer indeed and uncertain, and she gave a +side-glance at Sara. + +“Well,” she said, in a voice such as she had never used since the day +the child lost her father--“well, some one is very kind to you. As you +have the things and are to have new ones when they are worn out, you +may as well go and put them on and look respectable; and after you +are dressed, you may come downstairs and learn your lessons in the +school-room.” + +So it happened that, about half an hour afterward, Sara struck the +entire school-room of pupils dumb with amazement, by making her +appearance in a costume such as she had never worn since the change of +fortune whereby she ceased to be a show-pupil and a parlor-boarder. She +scarcely seemed to be the same Sara. She was neatly dressed in a pretty +gown of warm browns and reds, and even her stockings and slippers were +nice and dainty. + +“Perhaps some one has left her a fortune,” one of the girls whispered. +“I always thought something would happen to her, she is so queer.” + +That night when Sara went to her room she carried out a plan she had +been devising for some time. She wrote a note to her unknown friend. It +ran as follows: + + +“I hope you will not think it is not polite that I should write this +note to you when you wish to keep yourself a secret, but I do not mean +to be impolite, or to try to find out at all, only I want to thank you +for being so kind to me--so beautiful kind, and making everything like a +fairy story. I am so grateful to you and I am so happy! I used to be so +lonely and cold and, hungry, and now, oh, just think what you have done +for me! Please let me say just these words. It seems as if I ought to +say them. Thank you--thank you--thank you! + +“THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE ATTIC.” + + +The next morning she left this on the little table, and it was taken +away with the other things; so she felt sure the magician had received +it, and she was happier for the thought. + +A few nights later a very odd thing happened. She found something in the +room which she certainly would never have expected. When she came in +as usual she saw something small and dark in her chair,--an odd, tiny +figure, which turned toward her a little, weird-looking, wistful face. + +“Why, it's the monkey!” she cried. “It is the Indian Gentleman's monkey! +Where can he have come from?” + +It was the monkey, sitting up and looking so like a mite of a child +that it really was quite pathetic; and very soon Sara found out how he +happened to be in her room. The skylight was open, and it was easy to +guess that he had crept out of his master's garret-window, which was +only a few feet away and perfectly easy to get in and out of, even for a +climber less agile than a monkey. He had probably climbed to the garret +on a tour of investigation, and getting out upon the roof, and being +attracted by the light in Sara's attic, had crept in. At all events this +seemed quite reasonable, and there he was; and when Sara went to him, he +actually put out his queer, elfish little hands, caught her dress, and +jumped into her arms. + +“Oh, you queer, poor, ugly, foreign little thing!” said Sara, caressing +him. “I can't help liking you. You look like a sort of baby, but I am +so glad you are not, because your mother could not be proud of you, and +nobody would dare to say you were like any of your relations. But I do +like you; you have such a forlorn little look in your face. Perhaps you +are sorry you are so ugly, and it's always on your mind. I wonder if you +have a mind?” + +The monkey sat and looked at her while she talked, and seemed much +interested in her remarks, if one could judge by his eyes and his +forehead, and the way he moved his head up and down, and held it +sideways and scratched it with his little hand. He examined Sara quite +seriously, and anxiously, too. He felt the stuff of her dress, touched +her hands, climbed up and examined her ears, and then sat on her +shoulder holding a lock of her hair, looking mournful but not at all +agitated. Upon the whole, he seemed pleased with Sara. + +“But I must take you back,” she said to him, “though I'm sorry to have +to do it. Oh, the company you would be to a person!” + +She lifted him from her shoulder, set him on her knee, and gave him a +bit of cake. He sat and nibbled it, and then put his head on one side, +looked at her, wrinkled his forehead, and then nibbled again, in the +most companionable manner. + +“But you must go home,” said Sara at last; and she took him in her arms +to carry him downstairs. Evidently he did not want to leave the room, +for as they reached the door he clung to her neck and gave a little +scream of anger. + +“You mustn't be an ungrateful monkey,” said Sara. “You ought to be +fondest of your own family. I am sure the Lascar is good to you.” + +Nobody saw her on her way out, and very soon she was standing on the +Indian Gentleman's front steps, and the Lascar had opened the door for +her. + +“I found your monkey in my room,” she said in Hindustani. “I think he +got in through the window.” + +The man began a rapid outpouring of thanks; but, just as he was in the +midst of them, a fretful, hollow voice was heard through the open door +of the nearest room. The instant he heard it the Lascar disappeared, and +left Sara still holding the monkey. + +It was not many moments, however, before he came back bringing a +message. His master had told him to bring Missy into the library. The +Sahib was very ill, but he wished to see Missy. + +Sara thought this odd, but she remembered reading stories of Indian +gentlemen who, having no constitutions, were extremely cross and full of +whims, and who must have their own way. So she followed the Lascar. + +When she entered the room the Indian Gentleman was lying on an easy +chair, propped up with pillows. He looked frightfully ill. His yellow +face was thin, and his eyes were hollow. He gave Sara a rather curious +look--it was as if she wakened in him some anxious interest. + +“You live next door?” he said. + +“Yes,” answered Sara. “I live at Miss Minchin's.” + +“She keeps a boarding-school?” + +“Yes,” said Sara. + +“And you are one of her pupils?” + +Sara hesitated a moment. + +“I don't know exactly what I am,” she replied. + +“Why not?” asked the Indian Gentleman. + +The monkey gave a tiny squeak, and Sara stroked him. + +“At first,” she said, “I was a pupil and a parlor boarder; but now--” + +“What do you mean by `at first'?” asked the Indian Gentleman. + +“When I was first taken there by my papa.” + +“Well, what has happened since then?” said the invalid, staring at her +and knitting his brows with a puzzled expression. + +“My papa died,” said Sara. “He lost all his money, and there was +none left for me--and there was no one to take care of me or pay Miss +Minchin, so--” + +“So you were sent up into the garret and neglected, and made into a +half-starved little drudge!” put in the Indian Gentleman. “That is about +it, isn't it?” + +The color deepened on Sara's cheeks. + +“There was no one to take care of me, and no money,” she said. “I belong +to nobody.” + +“What did your father mean by losing his money?” said the gentleman, +fretfully. + +The red in Sara's cheeks grew deeper, and she fixed her odd eyes on the +yellow face. + +“He did not lose it himself,” she said. “He had a friend he was fond +of, and it was his friend, who took his money. I don't know how. I don't +understand. He trusted his friend too much.” + +She saw the invalid start--the strangest start--as if he had been +suddenly frightened. Then he spoke nervously and excitedly: + +“That's an old story,” he said. “It happens every day; but sometimes +those who are blamed--those who do the wrong--don't intend it, and are +not so bad. It may happen through a mistake--a miscalculation; they may +not be so bad.” + +“No,” said Sara, “but the suffering is just as bad for the others. It +killed my papa.” + +The Indian Gentleman pushed aside some of the gorgeous wraps that +covered him. + +“Come a little nearer, and let me look at you,” he said. + +His voice sounded very strange; it had a more nervous and excited tone +than before. Sara had an odd fancy that he was half afraid to look at +her. She came and stood nearer, the monkey clinging to her and watching +his master anxiously over his shoulder. + +The Indian Gentleman's hollow, restless eyes fixed themselves on her. + +“Yes,” he said at last. “Yes; I can see it. Tell me your father's name.” + +“His name was Ralph Crewe,” said Sara. “Captain Crewe. Perhaps,”--a +sudden thought flashing upon her,--“perhaps you may have heard of him? +He died in India.” + +The Indian Gentleman sank back upon his pillows. He looked very weak, +and seemed out of breath. + +“Yes,” he said, “I knew him. I was his friend. I meant no harm. If he +had only lived he would have known. It turned out well after all. He was +a fine young fellow. I was fond of him. I will make it right. Call--call +the man.” + +Sara thought he was going to die. But there was no need to call the +Lascar. He must have been waiting at the door. He was in the room and by +his master's side in an instant. He seemed to know what to do. He lifted +the drooping head, and gave the invalid something in a small glass. The +Indian Gentleman lay panting for a few minutes, and then he spoke in an +exhausted but eager voice, addressing the Lascar in Hindustani: + +“Go for Carmichael,” he said. “Tell him to come here at once. Tell him I +have found the child!” + +When Mr. Carmichael arrived (which occurred in a very few minutes, for +it turned out that he was no other than the father of the Large Family +across the street), Sara went home, and was allowed to take the monkey +with her. She certainly did not sleep very much that night, though the +monkey behaved beautifully, and did not disturb her in the least. It was +not the monkey that kept her awake--it was her thoughts, and her wonders +as to what the Indian Gentleman had meant when he said, “Tell him I have +found the child.” “What child?” Sara kept asking herself. + +“I was the only child there; but how had he found me, and why did he +want to find me? And what is he going to do, now I am found? Is it +something about my papa? Do I belong to somebody? Is he one of my +relations? Is something going to happen?” + +But she found out the very next day, in the morning; and it seemed that +she had been living in a story even more than she had imagined. First, +Mr. Carmichael came and had an interview with Miss Minchin. And it +appeared that Mr. Carmichael, besides occupying the important situation +of father to the Large Family was a lawyer, and had charge of the +affairs of Mr. Carrisford--which was the real name of the Indian +Gentleman--and, as Mr. Carrisford's lawyer, Mr. Carmichael had come to +explain something curious to Miss Minchin regarding Sara. But, being the +father of the Large Family, he had a very kind and fatherly feeling for +children; and so, after seeing Miss Minchin alone, what did he do but +go and bring across the square his rosy, motherly, warm-hearted wife, +so that she herself might talk to the little lonely girl, and tell her +everything in the best and most motherly way. + +And then Sara learned that she was to be a poor little drudge and +outcast no more, and that a great change had come in her fortunes; for +all the lost fortune had come back to her, and a great deal had even +been added to it. It was Mr. Carrisford who had been her father's +friend, and who had made the investments which had caused him the +apparent loss of his money; but it had so happened that after poor young +Captain Crewe's death one of the investments which had seemed at the +time the very worst had taken a sudden turn, and proved to be such a +success that it had been a mine of wealth, and had more than doubled the +Captain's lost fortune, as well as making a fortune for Mr. Carrisford +himself. But Mr. Carrisford had been very unhappy. He had truly loved +his poor, handsome, generous young friend, and the knowledge that he had +caused his death had weighed upon him always, and broken both his health +and spirit. The worst of it had been that, when first he thought himself +and Captain Crewe ruined, he had lost courage and gone away because he +was not brave enough to face the consequences of what he had done, and +so he had not even known where the young soldier's little girl had +been placed. When he wanted to find her, and make restitution, he +could discover no trace of her; and the certainty that she was poor and +friendless somewhere had made him more miserable than ever. When he had +taken the house next to Miss Minchin's he had been so ill and wretched +that he had for the time given up the search. His troubles and the +Indian climate had brought him almost to death's door--indeed, he had +not expected to live more than a few months. And then one day the Lascar +had told him about Sara's speaking Hindustani, and gradually he had +begun to take a sort of interest in the forlorn child, though he had +only caught a glimpse of her once or twice and he had not connected +her with the child of his friend, perhaps because he was too languid +to think much about anything. But the Lascar had found out something +of Sara's unhappy little life, and about the garret. One evening he had +actually crept out of his own garret-window and looked into hers, which +was a very easy matter, because, as I have said, it was only a few feet +away--and he had told his master what he had seen, and in a moment of +compassion the Indian Gentleman had told him to take into the wretched +little room such comforts as he could carry from the one window to the +other. And the Lascar, who had developed an interest in, and an odd +fondness for, the child who had spoken to him in his own tongue, had +been pleased with the work; and, having the silent swiftness and agile +movements of many of his race, he had made his evening journeys across +the few feet of roof from garret-window to garret-window, without any +trouble at all. He had watched Sara's movements until he knew exactly +when she was absent from her room and when she returned to it, and so he +had been able to calculate the best times for his work. Generally he +had made them in the dusk of the evening; but once or twice, when he +had seen her go out on errands, he had dared to go over in the daytime, +being quite sure that the garret was never entered by any one but +herself. His pleasure in the work and his reports of the results had +added to the invalid's interest in it, and sometimes the master had +found the planning gave him something to think of, which made him almost +forget his weariness and pain. And at last, when Sara brought home the +truant monkey, he had felt a wish to see her, and then her likeness to +her father had done the rest. + +“And now, my dear,” said good Mrs. Carmichael, patting Sara's hand, “all +your troubles are over, I am sure, and you are to come home with me and +be taken care of as if you were one of my own little girls; and we are +so pleased to think of having you with us until everything is settled, +and Mr. Carrisford is better. The excitement of last night has made him +very weak, but we really think he will get well, now that such a load +is taken from his mind. And when he is stronger, I am sure he will be as +kind to you as your own papa would have been. He has a very good heart, +and he is fond of children--and he has no family at all. But we must +make you happy and rosy, and you must learn to play and run about, as my +little girls do--” + +“As your little girls do?” said Sara. “I wonder if I could. I used to +watch them and wonder what it was like. Shall I feel as if I belonged to +somebody?” + +“Ah, my love, yes!--yes!” said Mrs. Carmichael; “dear me, yes!” And her +motherly blue eyes grew quite moist, and she suddenly took Sara in her +arms and kissed her. That very night, before she went to sleep, Sara had +made the acquaintance of the entire Large Family, and such excitement +as she and the monkey had caused in that joyous circle could hardly be +described. There was not a child in the nursery, from the Eton boy who +was the eldest, to the baby who was the youngest, who had not laid +some offering on her shrine. All the older ones knew something of her +wonderful story. She had been born in India; she had been poor and +lonely and unhappy, and had lived in a garret and been treated unkindly; +and now she was to be rich and happy, and be taken care of. They were so +sorry for her, and so delighted and curious about her, all at once. The +girls wished to be with her constantly, and the little boys wished to be +told about India; the second baby, with the short round legs, simply +sat and stared at her and the monkey, possibly wondering why she had not +brought a hand-organ with her. + +“I shall certainly wake up presently,” Sara kept saying to herself. +“This one must be a dream. The other one turned out to be real; but this +couldn't be. But, oh! how happy it is!” + +And even when she went to bed, in the bright, pretty room not far from +Mrs. Carmichael's own, and Mrs. Carmichael came and kissed her and +patted her and tucked her in cozily, she was not sure that she would not +wake up in the garret in the morning. + +“And oh, Charles, dear,” Mrs. Carmichael said to her husband, when she +went downstairs to him, “We must get that lonely look out of her eyes! +It isn't a child's look at all. I couldn't bear to see it in one of my +own children. What the poor little love must have had to bear in that +dreadful woman's house! But, surely, she will forget it in time.” + + +But though the lonely look passed away from Sara's face, she never quite +forgot the garret at Miss Minchin's; and, indeed, she always liked to +remember the wonderful night when the tired princess crept upstairs, +cold and wet, and opening the door found fairy-land waiting for her. And +there was no one of the many stories she was always being called upon to +tell in the nursery of the Large Family which was more popular than that +particular one; and there was no one of whom the Large Family were so +fond as of Sara. Mr. Carrisford did not die, but recovered, and Sara +went to live with him; and no real princess could have been better taken +care of than she was. It seemed that the Indian Gentleman could not do +enough to make her happy, and to repay her for the past; and the Lascar +was her devoted slave. As her odd little face grew brighter, it grew so +pretty and interesting that Mr. Carrisford used to sit and watch it many +an evening, as they sat by the fire together. + +They became great friends, and they used to spend hours reading and +talking together; and, in a very short time, there was no pleasanter +sight to the Indian Gentleman than Sara sitting in her big chair on the +opposite side of the hearth, with a book on her knee and her soft, dark +hair tumbling over her warm cheeks. She had a pretty habit of looking +up at him suddenly, with a bright smile, and then he would often say to +her: + +“Are you happy, Sara?” + +And then she would answer: + +“I feel like a real princess, Uncle Tom.” + +He had told her to call him Uncle Tom. + +“There doesn't seem to be anything left to `suppose,'” she added. + +There was a little joke between them that he was a magician, and so +could do anything he liked; and it was one of his pleasures to invent +plans to surprise her with enjoyments she had not thought of. Scarcely +a day passed in which he did not do something new for her. Sometimes she +found new flowers in her room; sometimes a fanciful little gift tucked +into some odd corner, sometimes a new book on her pillow;--once as they +sat together in the evening they heard the scratch of a heavy paw on +the door of the room, and when Sara went to find out what it was, there +stood a great dog--a splendid Russian boar-hound with a grand silver and +gold collar. Stooping to read the inscription upon the collar, Sara was +delighted to read the words: “I am Boris; I serve the Princess Sara.” + +Then there was a sort of fairy nursery arranged for the entertainment of +the juvenile members of the Large Family, who were always coming to see +Sara and the Lascar and the monkey. Sara was as fond of the Large Family +as they were of her. She soon felt as if she were a member of it, and +the companionship of the healthy, happy children was very good for +her. All the children rather looked up to her and regarded her as the +cleverest and most brilliant of creatures--particularly after it was +discovered that she not only knew stories of every kind, and could +invent new ones at a moment's notice, but that she could help with +lessons, and speak French and German, and discourse with the Lascar in +Hindustani. + +It was rather a painful experience for Miss Minchin to watch her +ex-pupil's fortunes, as she had the daily opportunity to do, and to feel +that she had made a serious mistake, from a business point of view. She +had even tried to retrieve it by suggesting that Sara's education should +be continued under her care, and had gone to the length of making an +appeal to the child herself. + +“I have always been very fond of you,” she said. + +Then Sara fixed her eyes upon her and gave her one of her odd looks. + +“Have you?” she answered. + +“Yes,” said Miss Minchin. “Amelia and I have always said you were +the cleverest child we had with us, and I am sure we could make you +happy--as a parlor boarder.” + +Sara thought of the garret and the day her ears were boxed,--and of that +other day, that dreadful, desolate day when she had been told that she +belonged to nobody; that she had no home and no friends,--and she kept +her eyes fixed on Miss Minchin's face. + +“You know why I would not stay with you,” she said. + +And it seems probable that Miss Minchin did, for after that simple +answer she had not the boldness to pursue the subject. She merely sent +in a bill for the expense of Sara's education and support, and she made +it quite large enough. And because Mr. Carrisford thought Sara would +wish it paid, it was paid. When Mr. Carmichael paid it he had a brief +interview with Miss Minchin in which he expressed his opinion with much +clearness and force; and it is quite certain that Miss Minchin did not +enjoy the conversation. + +Sara had been about a month with Mr. Carrisford, and had begun to +realize that her happiness was not a dream, when one night the Indian +Gentleman saw that she sat a long time with her cheek on her hand +looking at the fire. + +“What are you `supposing,' Sara?” he asked. Sara looked up with a bright +color on her cheeks. + +“I was `supposing,'” she said; “I was remembering that hungry day, and a +child I saw.” + +“But there were a great many hungry days,” said the Indian Gentleman, +with a rather sad tone in his voice. “Which hungry day was it?” + +“I forgot you didn't know,” said Sara. “It was the day I found the +things in my garret.” + +And then she told him the story of the bun-shop, and the fourpence, and +the child who was hungrier than herself; and somehow as she told it, +though she told it very simply indeed, the Indian Gentleman found it +necessary to shade his eyes with his hand and look down at the floor. + +“And I was `supposing' a kind of plan,” said Sara, when she had +finished; “I was thinking I would like to do something.” + +“What is it?” said her guardian in a low tone. “You may do anything you +like to do, Princess.” + +“I was wondering,” said Sara,--“you know you say I have a great deal of +money--and I was wondering if I could go and see the bun-woman and +tell her that if, when hungry children--particularly on those dreadful +days--come and sit on the steps or look in at the window, she would just +call them in and give them something to eat, she might send the bills to +me and I would pay them--could I do that?” + +“You shall do it to-morrow morning,” said the Indian Gentleman. + +“Thank you,” said Sara; “you see I know what it is to be hungry, and it +is very hard when one can't even pretend it away.” + +“Yes, yes, my dear,” said the Indian Gentleman. “Yes, it must be. Try +to forget it. Come and sit on this footstool near my knee, and only +remember you are a princess.” + +“Yes,” said Sara, “and I can give buns and bread to the Populace.” And +she went and sat on the stool, and the Indian Gentleman (he used to +like her to call him that, too, sometimes,--in fact very often) drew her +small, dark head down upon his knee and stroked her hair. + +The next morning a carriage drew up before the door of the baker's shop, +and a gentleman and a little girl got out,--oddly enough, just as the +bun-woman was putting a tray of smoking hotbuns into the window. When +Sara entered the shop the woman turned and looked at her and, leaving +the buns, came and stood behind the counter. For a moment she looked at +Sara very hard indeed, and then her good-natured face lighted up. + +“I'm that sure I remember you, miss,” she said. “And yet--” + +“Yes,” said Sara, “once you gave me six buns for fourpence, and--” + +“And you gave five of 'em to a beggar-child,” said the woman. “I've +always remembered it. I couldn't make it out at first. I beg pardon, +sir, but there's not many young people that notices a hungry face in +that way, and I've thought of it many a time. Excuse the liberty, miss, +but you look rosier and better than you did that day.” + +“I am better, thank you,” said Sara, “and--and I am happier, and I have +come to ask you to do something for me.” + +“Me, miss!” exclaimed the woman, “why, bless you, yes, miss! What can I +do?” + +And then Sara made her little proposal, and the woman listened to it +with an astonished face. + +“Why, bless me!” she said, when she had heard it all. “Yes, miss, it'll +be a pleasure to me to do it. I am a working woman, myself, and can't +afford to do much on my own account, and there's sights of trouble on +every side; but if you'll excuse me, I'm bound to say I've given many +a bit of bread away since that wet afternoon, just along o' thinkin' of +you. An' how wet an' cold you was, an' how you looked,--an' yet you give +away your hot buns as if you was a princess.” + +The Indian Gentleman smiled involuntarily, and Sara smiled a little too. +“She looked so hungry,” she said. “She was hungrier than I was.” + +“She was starving,” said the woman. “Many's the time she's told me of it +since--how she sat there in the wet, and felt as if a wolf was a-tearing +at her poor young insides.” + +“Oh, have you seen her since then?” exclaimed Sara. “Do you know where +she is?” + +“I know!” said the woman. “Why, she's in that there back room now, miss, +an' has been for a month, an' a decent, well-meaning girl she's going to +turn out, an' such a help to me in the day shop, an' in the kitchen, as +you'd scarce believe, knowing how she's lived.” + +She stepped to the door of the little back parlor and spoke; and the +next minute a girl came out and followed her behind the counter. And +actually it was the beggar-child, clean and neatly clothed, and looking +as if she had not been hungry for a long time. She looked shy, but she +had a nice face, now that she was no longer a savage; and the wild look +had gone from her eyes. And she knew Sara in an instant, and stood and +looked at her as if she could never look enough. + +“You see,” said the woman, “I told her to come here when she was hungry, +and when she'd come I'd give her odd jobs to do, an' I found she was +willing, an' somehow I got to like her; an' the end of it was I've given +her a place an' a home, an' she helps me, an' behaves as well, an' is as +thankful as a girl can be. Her name's Anne--she has no other.” + +The two children stood and looked at each other a few moments. In Sara's +eyes a new thought was growing. + +“I'm glad you have such a good home,” she said. “Perhaps Mrs. Brown will +let you give the buns and bread to the children--perhaps you would like +to do it--because you know what it is to be hungry, too.” + +“Yes, miss,” said the girl. + +And somehow Sara felt as if she understood her, though the girl said +nothing more, and only stood still and looked, and looked after her as +she went out of the shop and got into the carriage and drove away. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sara Crewe, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SARA CREWE *** + +***** This file should be named 137-0.txt or 137-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/137/ + +Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sara Crewe + +Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett + +Release Date: March 8, 2006 [EBook #137] +Last Updated: March 2, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SARA CREWE *** + + + + +Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + SARA CREWE <br /> OR <br /> WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S + </h1> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + BY FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p> + In the first place, Miss Minchin lived in London. Her home was a large, + dull, tall one, in a large, dull square, where all the houses were alike, + and all the sparrows were alike, and where all the door-knockers made the + same heavy sound, and on still days—and nearly all the days were + still—seemed to resound through the entire row in which the knock + was knocked. On Miss Minchin's door there was a brass plate. On the brass + plate there was inscribed in black letters, + </p> + <h3> + MISS MINCHIN'S<br /> SELECT SEMINARY FOR YOUNG LADIES + </h3> + <p> + Little Sara Crewe never went in or out of the house without reading that + door-plate and reflecting upon it. By the time she was twelve, she had + decided that all her trouble arose because, in the first place, she was + not “Select,” and in the second she was not a “Young Lady.” When she was + eight years old, she had been brought to Miss Minchin as a pupil, and left + with her. Her papa had brought her all the way from India. Her mamma had + died when she was a baby, and her papa had kept her with him as long as he + could. And then, finding the hot climate was making her very delicate, he + had brought her to England and left her with Miss Minchin, to be part of + the Select Seminary for Young Ladies. Sara, who had always been a sharp + little child, who remembered things, recollected hearing him say that he + had not a relative in the world whom he knew of, and so he was obliged to + place her at a boarding-school, and he had heard Miss Minchin's + establishment spoken of very highly. The same day, he took Sara out and + bought her a great many beautiful clothes—clothes so grand and rich + that only a very young and inexperienced man would have bought them for a + mite of a child who was to be brought up in a boarding-school. But the + fact was that he was a rash, innocent young man, and very sad at the + thought of parting with his little girl, who was all he had left to remind + him of her beautiful mother, whom he had dearly loved. And he wished her + to have everything the most fortunate little girl could have; and so, when + the polite saleswomen in the shops said, “Here is our very latest thing in + hats, the plumes are exactly the same as those we sold to Lady Diana + Sinclair yesterday,” he immediately bought what was offered to him, and + paid whatever was asked. The consequence was that Sara had a most + extraordinary wardrobe. Her dresses were silk and velvet and India + cashmere, her hats and bonnets were covered with bows and plumes, her + small undergarments were adorned with real lace, and she returned in the + cab to Miss Minchin's with a doll almost as large as herself, dressed + quite as grandly as herself, too. + </p> + <p> + Then her papa gave Miss Minchin some money and went away, and for several + days Sara would neither touch the doll, nor her breakfast, nor her dinner, + nor her tea, and would do nothing but crouch in a small corner by the + window and cry. She cried so much, indeed, that she made herself ill. She + was a queer little child, with old-fashioned ways and strong feelings, and + she had adored her papa, and could not be made to think that India and an + interesting bungalow were not better for her than London and Miss + Minchin's Select Seminary. The instant she had entered the house, she had + begun promptly to hate Miss Minchin, and to think little of Miss Amelia + Minchin, who was smooth and dumpy, and lisped, and was evidently afraid of + her older sister. Miss Minchin was tall, and had large, cold, fishy eyes, + and large, cold hands, which seemed fishy, too, because they were damp and + made chills run down Sara's back when they touched her, as Miss Minchin + pushed her hair off her forehead and said: + </p> + <p> + “A most beautiful and promising little girl, Captain Crewe. She will be a + favorite pupil; quite a favorite pupil, I see.” + </p> + <p> + For the first year she was a favorite pupil; at least she was indulged a + great deal more than was good for her. And when the Select Seminary went + walking, two by two, she was always decked out in her grandest clothes, + and led by the hand at the head of the genteel procession, by Miss Minchin + herself. And when the parents of any of the pupils came, she was always + dressed and called into the parlor with her doll; and she used to hear + Miss Minchin say that her father was a distinguished Indian officer, and + she would be heiress to a great fortune. That her father had inherited a + great deal of money, Sara had heard before; and also that some day it + would be hers, and that he would not remain long in the army, but would + come to live in London. And every time a letter came, she hoped it would + say he was coming, and they were to live together again. + </p> + <p> + But about the middle of the third year a letter came bringing very + different news. Because he was not a business man himself, her papa had + given his affairs into the hands of a friend he trusted. The friend had + deceived and robbed him. All the money was gone, no one knew exactly + where, and the shock was so great to the poor, rash young officer, that, + being attacked by jungle fever shortly afterward, he had no strength to + rally, and so died, leaving Sara, with no one to take care of her. + </p> + <p> + Miss Minchin's cold and fishy eyes had never looked so cold and fishy as + they did when Sara went into the parlor, on being sent for, a few days + after the letter was received. + </p> + <p> + No one had said anything to the child about mourning, so, in her + old-fashioned way, she had decided to find a black dress for herself, and + had picked out a black velvet she had outgrown, and came into the room in + it, looking the queerest little figure in the world, and a sad little + figure too. The dress was too short and too tight, her face was white, her + eyes had dark rings around them, and her doll, wrapped in a piece of old + black crape, was held under her arm. She was not a pretty child. She was + thin, and had a weird, interesting little face, short black hair, and very + large, green-gray eyes fringed all around with heavy black lashes. + </p> + <p> + “I am the ugliest child in the school,” she had said once, after staring + at herself in the glass for some minutes. + </p> + <p> + But there had been a clever, good-natured little French teacher who had + said to the music-master: + </p> + <p> + “Zat leetle Crewe. Vat a child! A so ogly beauty! Ze so large eyes! ze so + little spirituelle face. Waid till she grow up. You shall see!” + </p> + <p> + This morning, however, in the tight, small black frock, she looked thinner + and odder than ever, and her eyes were fixed on Miss Minchin with a queer + steadiness as she slowly advanced into the parlor, clutching her doll. + </p> + <p> + “Put your doll down!” said Miss Minchin. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said the child, “I won't put her down; I want her with me. She is + all I have. She has stayed with me all the time since my papa died.” + </p> + <p> + She had never been an obedient child. She had had her own way ever since + she was born, and there was about her an air of silent determination under + which Miss Minchin had always felt secretly uncomfortable. And that lady + felt even now that perhaps it would be as well not to insist on her point. + So she looked at her as severely as possible. + </p> + <p> + “You will have no time for dolls in future,” she said; “you will have to + work and improve yourself, and make yourself useful.” + </p> + <p> + Sara kept the big odd eyes fixed on her teacher and said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Everything will be very different now,” Miss Minchin went on. “I sent for + you to talk to you and make you understand. Your father is dead. You have + no friends. You have no money. You have no home and no one to take care of + you.” + </p> + <p> + The little pale olive face twitched nervously, but the green-gray eyes did + not move from Miss Minchin's, and still Sara said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “What are you staring at?” demanded Miss Minchin sharply. “Are you so + stupid you don't understand what I mean? I tell you that you are quite + alone in the world, and have no one to do anything for you, unless I + choose to keep you here.” + </p> + <p> + The truth was, Miss Minchin was in her worst mood. To be suddenly deprived + of a large sum of money yearly and a show pupil, and to find herself with + a little beggar on her hands, was more than she could bear with any degree + of calmness. + </p> + <p> + “Now listen to me,” she went on, “and remember what I say. If you work + hard and prepare to make yourself useful in a few years, I shall let you + stay here. You are only a child, but you are a sharp child, and you pick + up things almost without being taught. You speak French very well, and in + a year or so you can begin to help with the younger pupils. By the time + you are fifteen you ought to be able to do that much at least.” + </p> + <p> + “I can speak French better than you, now,” said Sara; “I always spoke it + with my papa in India.” Which was not at all polite, but was painfully + true; because Miss Minchin could not speak French at all, and, indeed, was + not in the least a clever person. But she was a hard, grasping business + woman; and, after the first shock of disappointment, had seen that at very + little expense to herself she might prepare this clever, determined child + to be very useful to her and save her the necessity of paying large + salaries to teachers of languages. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be impudent, or you will be punished,” she said. “You will have to + improve your manners if you expect to earn your bread. You are not a + parlor boarder now. Remember that if you don't please me, and I send you + away, you have no home but the street. You can go now.” + </p> + <p> + Sara turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Stay,” commanded Miss Minchin, “don't you intend to thank me?” + </p> + <p> + Sara turned toward her. The nervous twitch was to be seen again in her + face, and she seemed to be trying to control it. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “For my kindness to you,” replied Miss Minchin. “For my kindness in giving + you a home.” + </p> + <p> + Sara went two or three steps nearer to her. Her thin little chest was + heaving up and down, and she spoke in a strange, unchildish voice. + </p> + <p> + “You are not kind,” she said. “You are not kind.” And she turned again and + went out of the room, leaving Miss Minchin staring after her strange, + small figure in stony anger. + </p> + <p> + The child walked up the staircase, holding tightly to her doll; she meant + to go to her bedroom, but at the door she was met by Miss Amelia. + </p> + <p> + “You are not to go in there,” she said. “That is not your room now.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is my room?” asked Sara. + </p> + <p> + “You are to sleep in the attic next to the cook.” + </p> + <p> + Sara walked on. She mounted two flights more, and reached the door of the + attic room, opened it and went in, shutting it behind her. She stood + against it and looked about her. The room was slanting-roofed and + whitewashed; there was a rusty grate, an iron bedstead, and some odd + articles of furniture, sent up from better rooms below, where they had + been used until they were considered to be worn out. Under the skylight in + the roof, which showed nothing but an oblong piece of dull gray sky, there + was a battered old red footstool. + </p> + <p> + Sara went to it and sat down. She was a queer child, as I have said + before, and quite unlike other children. She seldom cried. She did not cry + now. She laid her doll, Emily, across her knees, and put her face down + upon her, and her arms around her, and sat there, her little black head + resting on the black crape, not saying one word, not making one sound. + </p> + <p> + From that day her life changed entirely. Sometimes she used to feel as if + it must be another life altogether, the life of some other child. She was + a little drudge and outcast; she was given her lessons at odd times and + expected to learn without being taught; she was sent on errands by Miss + Minchin, Miss Amelia and the cook. Nobody took any notice of her except + when they ordered her about. She was often kept busy all day and then sent + into the deserted school-room with a pile of books to learn her lessons or + practise at night. She had never been intimate with the other pupils, and + soon she became so shabby that, taking her queer clothes together with her + queer little ways, they began to look upon her as a being of another world + than their own. The fact was that, as a rule, Miss Minchin's pupils were + rather dull, matter-of-fact young people, accustomed to being rich and + comfortable; and Sara, with her elfish cleverness, her desolate life, and + her odd habit of fixing her eyes upon them and staring them out of + countenance, was too much for them. + </p> + <p> + “She always looks as if she was finding you out,” said one girl, who was + sly and given to making mischief. “I am,” said Sara promptly, when she + heard of it. “That's what I look at them for. I like to know about people. + I think them over afterward.” + </p> + <p> + She never made any mischief herself or interfered with any one. She talked + very little, did as she was told, and thought a great deal. Nobody knew, + and in fact nobody cared, whether she was unhappy or happy, unless, + perhaps, it was Emily, who lived in the attic and slept on the iron + bedstead at night. Sara thought Emily understood her feelings, though she + was only wax and had a habit of staring herself. Sara used to talk to her + at night. + </p> + <p> + “You are the only friend I have in the world,” she would say to her. “Why + don't you say something? Why don't you speak? Sometimes I am sure you + could, if you would try. It ought to make you try, to know you are the + only thing I have. If I were you, I should try. Why don't you try?” + </p> + <p> + It really was a very strange feeling she had about Emily. It arose from + her being so desolate. She did not like to own to herself that her only + friend, her only companion, could feel and hear nothing. She wanted to + believe, or to pretend to believe, that Emily understood and sympathized + with her, that she heard her even though she did not speak in answer. She + used to put her in a chair sometimes and sit opposite to her on the old + red footstool, and stare at her and think and pretend about her until her + own eyes would grow large with something which was almost like fear, + particularly at night, when the garret was so still, when the only sound + that was to be heard was the occasional squeak and scurry of rats in the + wainscot. There were rat-holes in the garret, and Sara detested rats, and + was always glad Emily was with her when she heard their hateful squeak and + rush and scratching. One of her “pretends” was that Emily was a kind of + good witch and could protect her. Poor little Sara! everything was + “pretend” with her. She had a strong imagination; there was almost more + imagination than there was Sara, and her whole forlorn, uncared-for + child-life was made up of imaginings. She imagined and pretended things + until she almost believed them, and she would scarcely have been surprised + at any remarkable thing that could have happened. So she insisted to + herself that Emily understood all about her troubles and was really her + friend. + </p> + <p> + “As to answering,” she used to say, “I don't answer very often. I never + answer when I can help it. When people are insulting you, there is nothing + so good for them as not to say a word—just to look at them and + think. Miss Minchin turns pale with rage when I do it. Miss Amelia looks + frightened, so do the girls. They know you are stronger than they are, + because you are strong enough to hold in your rage and they are not, and + they say stupid things they wish they hadn't said afterward. There's + nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold it in—that's + stronger. It's a good thing not to answer your enemies. I scarcely ever + do. Perhaps Emily is more like me than I am like myself. Perhaps she would + rather not answer her friends, even. She keeps it all in her heart.” + </p> + <p> + But though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments, Sara did not + find it easy. When, after a long, hard day, in which she had been sent + here and there, sometimes on long errands, through wind and cold and rain; + and, when she came in wet and hungry, had been sent out again because + nobody chose to remember that she was only a child, and that her thin + little legs might be tired, and her small body, clad in its forlorn, too + small finery, all too short and too tight, might be chilled; when she had + been given only harsh words and cold, slighting looks for thanks, when the + cook had been vulgar and insolent; when Miss Minchin had been in her worst + moods, and when she had seen the girls sneering at her among themselves + and making fun of her poor, outgrown clothes—then Sara did not find + Emily quite all that her sore, proud, desolate little heart needed as the + doll sat in her little old chair and stared. + </p> + <p> + One of these nights, when she came up to the garret cold, hungry, tired, + and with a tempest raging in her small breast, Emily's stare seemed so + vacant, her sawdust legs and arms so limp and inexpressive, that Sara lost + all control over herself. + </p> + <p> + “I shall die presently!” she said at first. + </p> + <p> + Emily stared. + </p> + <p> + “I can't bear this!” said the poor child, trembling. “I know I shall die. + I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm starving to death. I've walked a thousand miles + to-day, and they have done nothing but scold me from morning until night. + And because I could not find that last thing they sent me for, they would + not give me any supper. Some men laughed at me because my old shoes made + me slip down in the mud. I'm covered with mud now. And they laughed! Do + you hear!” + </p> + <p> + She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent wax face, and suddenly + a sort of heartbroken rage seized her. She lifted her little savage hand + and knocked Emily off the chair, bursting into a passion of sobbing. + </p> + <p> + “You are nothing but a doll!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing but a doll-doll-doll! You care for nothing. You are stuffed with + sawdust. You never had a heart. Nothing could ever make you feel. You are + a doll!” + </p> + <p> + Emily lay upon the floor, with her legs ignominiously doubled up over her + head, and a new flat place on the end of her nose; but she was still calm, + even dignified. + </p> + <p> + Sara hid her face on her arms and sobbed. Some rats in the wall began to + fight and bite each other, and squeak and scramble. But, as I have already + intimated, Sara was not in the habit of crying. After a while she stopped, + and when she stopped she looked at Emily, who seemed to be gazing at her + around the side of one ankle, and actually with a kind of glassy-eyed + sympathy. Sara bent and picked her up. Remorse overtook her. + </p> + <p> + “You can't help being a doll,” she said, with a resigned sigh, “any more + than those girls downstairs can help not having any sense. We are not all + alike. Perhaps you do your sawdust best.” + </p> + <p> + None of Miss Minchin's young ladies were very remarkable for being + brilliant; they were select, but some of them were very dull, and some of + them were fond of applying themselves to their lessons. Sara, who snatched + her lessons at all sorts of untimely hours from tattered and discarded + books, and who had a hungry craving for everything readable, was often + severe upon them in her small mind. They had books they never read; she + had no books at all. If she had always had something to read, she would + not have been so lonely. She liked romances and history and poetry; she + would read anything. There was a sentimental housemaid in the + establishment who bought the weekly penny papers, and subscribed to a + circulating library, from which she got greasy volumes containing stories + of marquises and dukes who invariably fell in love with orange-girls and + gypsies and servant-maids, and made them the proud brides of coronets; and + Sara often did parts of this maid's work so that she might earn the + privilege of reading these romantic histories. There was also a fat, dull + pupil, whose name was Ermengarde St. John, who was one of her resources. + Ermengarde had an intellectual father, who, in his despairing desire to + encourage his daughter, constantly sent her valuable and interesting + books, which were a continual source of grief to her. Sara had once + actually found her crying over a big package of them. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you?” she asked her, perhaps rather disdainfully. + </p> + <p> + And it is just possible she would not have spoken to her, if she had not + seen the books. The sight of books always gave Sara a hungry feeling, and + she could not help drawing near to them if only to read their titles. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter with you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “My papa has sent me some more books,” answered Ermengarde woefully, “and + he expects me to read them.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you like reading?” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + “I hate it!” replied Miss Ermengarde St. John. “And he will ask me + questions when he sees me: he will want to know how much I remember; how + would you like to have to read all those?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd like it better than anything else in the world,” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + Ermengarde wiped her eyes to look at such a prodigy. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, gracious!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + Sara returned the look with interest. A sudden plan formed itself in her + sharp mind. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” she said. “If you'll lend me those books, I'll read them and + tell you everything that's in them afterward, and I'll tell it to you so + that you will remember it. I know I can. The A B C children always + remember what I tell them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, goodness!” said Ermengarde. “Do you think you could?” + </p> + <p> + “I know I could,” answered Sara. “I like to read, and I always remember. + I'll take care of the books, too; they will look just as new as they do + now, when I give them back to you.” + </p> + <p> + Ermengarde put her handkerchief in her pocket. + </p> + <p> + “If you'll do that,” she said, “and if you'll make me remember, I'll give + you—I'll give you some money.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want your money,” said Sara. “I want your books—I want + them.” And her eyes grew big and queer, and her chest heaved once. + </p> + <p> + “Take them, then,” said Ermengarde; “I wish I wanted them, but I am not + clever, and my father is, and he thinks I ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + Sara picked up the books and marched off with them. But when she was at + the door, she stopped and turned around. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to tell your father?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Ermengarde, “he needn't know; he'll think I've read them.” + </p> + <p> + Sara looked down at the books; her heart really began to beat fast. + </p> + <p> + “I won't do it,” she said rather slowly, “if you are going to tell him + lies about it—I don't like lies. Why can't you tell him I read them + and then told you about them?” + </p> + <p> + “But he wants me to read them,” said Ermengarde. + </p> + <p> + “He wants you to know what is in them,” said Sara; “and if I can tell it + to you in an easy way and make you remember, I should think he would like + that.” + </p> + <p> + “He would like it better if I read them myself,” replied Ermengarde. + </p> + <p> + “He will like it, I dare say, if you learn anything in any way,” said + Sara. “I should, if I were your father.” + </p> + <p> + And though this was not a flattering way of stating the case, Ermengarde + was obliged to admit it was true, and, after a little more argument, gave + in. And so she used afterward always to hand over her books to Sara, and + Sara would carry them to her garret and devour them; and after she had + read each volume, she would return it and tell Ermengarde about it in a + way of her own. She had a gift for making things interesting. Her + imagination helped her to make everything rather like a story, and she + managed this matter so well that Miss St. John gained more information + from her books than she would have gained if she had read them three times + over by her poor stupid little self. When Sara sat down by her and began + to tell some story of travel or history, she made the travellers and + historical people seem real; and Ermengarde used to sit and regard her + dramatic gesticulations, her thin little flushed cheeks, and her shining, + odd eyes with amazement. + </p> + <p> + “It sounds nicer than it seems in the book,” she would say. “I never cared + about Mary, Queen of Scots, before, and I always hated the French + Revolution, but you make it seem like a story.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a story,” Sara would answer. “They are all stories. Everything is a + story—everything in this world. You are a story—I am a story—Miss + Minchin is a story. You can make a story out of anything.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't,” said Ermengarde. + </p> + <p> + Sara stared at her a minute reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said at last. “I suppose you couldn't. You are a little like + Emily.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is Emily?” + </p> + <p> + Sara recollected herself. She knew she was sometimes rather impolite in + the candor of her remarks, and she did not want to be impolite to a girl + who was not unkind—only stupid. Notwithstanding all her sharp little + ways she had the sense to wish to be just to everybody. In the hours she + spent alone, she used to argue out a great many curious questions with + herself. One thing she had decided upon was, that a person who was clever + ought to be clever enough not to be unjust or deliberately unkind to any + one. Miss Minchin was unjust and cruel, Miss Amelia was unkind and + spiteful, the cook was malicious and hasty-tempered—they all were + stupid, and made her despise them, and she desired to be as unlike them as + possible. So she would be as polite as she could to people who in the + least deserved politeness. + </p> + <p> + “Emily is—a person—I know,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Do you like her?” asked Ermengarde. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do,” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + Ermengarde examined her queer little face and figure again. She did look + odd. She had on, that day, a faded blue plush skirt, which barely covered + her knees, a brown Cloth sacque, and a pair of olive-green stockings which + Miss Minchin had made her piece out with black ones, so that they would be + long enough to be kept on. And yet Ermengarde was beginning slowly to + admire her. Such a forlorn, thin, neglected little thing as that, who + could read and read and remember and tell you things so that they did not + tire you all out! A child who could speak French, and who had learned + German, no one knew how! One could not help staring at her and feeling + interested, particularly one to whom the simplest lesson was a trouble and + a woe. + </p> + <p> + “Do you like me?” said Ermengarde, finally, at the end of her scrutiny. + </p> + <p> + Sara hesitated one second, then she answered: + </p> + <p> + “I like you because you are not ill-natured—I like you for letting + me read your books—I like you because you don't make spiteful fun of + me for what I can't help. It's not your fault that—” + </p> + <p> + She pulled herself up quickly. She had been going to say, “that you are + stupid.” + </p> + <p> + “That what?” asked Ermengarde. + </p> + <p> + “That you can't learn things quickly. If you can't, you can't. If I can, + why, I can—that's all.” She paused a minute, looking at the plump + face before her, and then, rather slowly, one of her wise, old-fashioned + thoughts came to her. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” she said, “to be able to learn things quickly isn't everything. + To be kind is worth a good deal to other people. If Miss Minchin knew + everything on earth, which she doesn't, and if she was like what she is + now, she'd still be a detestable thing, and everybody would hate her. Lots + of clever people have done harm and been wicked. Look at Robespierre—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped again and examined her companion's countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember about him?” she demanded. “I believe you've forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't remember all of it,” admitted Ermengarde. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Sara, with courage and determination, “I'll tell it to you + over again.” + </p> + <p> + And she plunged once more into the gory records of the French Revolution, + and told such stories of it, and made such vivid pictures of its horrors, + that Miss St. John was afraid to go to bed afterward, and hid her head + under the blankets when she did go, and shivered until she fell asleep. + But afterward she preserved lively recollections of the character of + Robespierre, and did not even forget Marie Antoinette and the Princess de + Lamballe. + </p> + <p> + “You know they put her head on a pike and danced around it,” Sara had + said; “and she had beautiful blonde hair; and when I think of her, I never + see her head on her body, but always on a pike, with those furious people + dancing and howling.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, it was true; to this imaginative child everything was a story; and + the more books she read, the more imaginative she became. One of her chief + entertainments was to sit in her garret, or walk about it, and “suppose” + things. On a cold night, when she had not had enough to eat, she would + draw the red footstool up before the empty grate, and say in the most + intense voice: + </p> + <p> + “Suppose there was a grate, wide steel grate here, and a great glowing + fire—a glowing fire—with beds of red-hot coal and lots of + little dancing, flickering flames. Suppose there was a soft, deep rug, and + this was a comfortable chair, all cushions and crimson velvet; and suppose + I had a crimson velvet frock on, and a deep lace collar, like a child in a + picture; and suppose all the rest of the room was furnished in lovely + colors, and there were book-shelves full of books, which changed by magic + as soon as you had read them; and suppose there was a little table here, + with a snow-white cover on it, and little silver dishes, and in one there + was hot, hot soup, and in another a roast chicken, and in another some + raspberry-jam tarts with crisscross on them, and in another some grapes; + and suppose Emily could speak, and we could sit and eat our supper, and + then talk and read; and then suppose there was a soft, warm bed in the + corner, and when we were tired we could go to sleep, and sleep as long as + we liked.” + </p> + <p> + Sometimes, after she had supposed things like these for half an hour, she + would feel almost warm, and would creep into bed with Emily and fall + asleep with a smile on her face. + </p> + <p> + “What large, downy pillows!” she would whisper. “What white sheets and + fleecy blankets!” And she almost forgot that her real pillows had scarcely + any feathers in them at all, and smelled musty, and that her blankets and + coverlid were thin and full of holes. + </p> + <p> + At another time she would “suppose” she was a princess, and then she would + go about the house with an expression on her face which was a source of + great secret annoyance to Miss Minchin, because it seemed as if the child + scarcely heard the spiteful, insulting things said to her, or, if she + heard them, did not care for them at all. Sometimes, while she was in the + midst of some harsh and cruel speech, Miss Minchin would find the odd, + unchildish eyes fixed upon her with something like a proud smile in them. + At such times she did not know that Sara was saying to herself: + </p> + <p> + “You don't know that you are saying these things to a princess, and that + if I chose I could wave my hand and order you to execution. I only spare + you because I am a princess, and you are a poor, stupid, old, vulgar + thing, and don't know any better.” + </p> + <p> + This used to please and amuse her more than anything else; and queer and + fanciful as it was, she found comfort in it, and it was not a bad thing + for her. It really kept her from being made rude and malicious by the + rudeness and malice of those about her. + </p> + <p> + “A princess must be polite,” she said to herself. And so when the + servants, who took their tone from their mistress, were insolent and + ordered her about, she would hold her head erect, and reply to them + sometimes in a way which made them stare at her, it was so quaintly civil. + </p> + <p> + “I am a princess in rags and tatters,” she would think, “but I am a + princess, inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed in + cloth-of-gold; it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the time + when no one knows it. There was Marie Antoinette; when she was in prison, + and her throne was gone, and she had only a black gown on, and her hair + was white, and they insulted her and called her the Widow Capet,—she + was a great deal more like a queen then than when she was so gay and had + everything grand. I like her best then. Those howling mobs of people did + not frighten her. She was stronger than they were even when they cut her + head off.” + </p> + <p> + Once when such thoughts were passing through her mind the look in her eyes + so enraged Miss Minchin that she flew at Sara and boxed her ears. + </p> + <p> + Sara awakened from her dream, started a little, and then broke into a + laugh. + </p> + <p> + “What are you laughing at, you bold, impudent child!” exclaimed Miss + Minchin. + </p> + <p> + It took Sara a few seconds to remember she was a princess. Her cheeks were + red and smarting from the blows she had received. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Beg my pardon immediately,” said Miss Minchin. + </p> + <p> + “I will beg your pardon for laughing, if it was rude,” said Sara; “but I + won't beg your pardon for thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “What were you thinking?” demanded Miss Minchin. “How dare you think? What + were you thinking?” + </p> + <p> + This occurred in the school-room, and all the girls looked up from their + books to listen. It always interested them when Miss Minchin flew at Sara, + because Sara always said something queer, and never seemed in the least + frightened. She was not in the least frightened now, though her boxed ears + were scarlet, and her eyes were as bright as stars. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking,” she answered gravely and quite politely, “that you did + not know what you were doing.” + </p> + <p> + “That I did not know what I was doing!” Miss Minchin fairly gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sara, “and I was thinking what would happen, if I were a + princess and you boxed my ears—what I should do to you. And I was + thinking that if I were one, you would never dare to do it, whatever I + said or did. And I was thinking how surprised and frightened you would be + if you suddenly found out—” + </p> + <p> + She had the imagined picture so clearly before her eyes, that she spoke in + a manner which had an effect even on Miss Minchin. It almost seemed for + the moment to her narrow, unimaginative mind that there must be some real + power behind this candid daring. + </p> + <p> + “What!” she exclaimed, “found out what?” + </p> + <p> + “That I really was a princess,” said Sara, “and could do anything—anything + I liked.” + </p> + <p> + “Go to your room,” cried Miss Minchin breathlessly, “this instant. Leave + the school-room. Attend to your lessons, young ladies.” + </p> + <p> + Sara made a little bow. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me for laughing, if it was impolite,” she said, and walked out of + the room, leaving Miss Minchin in a rage and the girls whispering over + their books. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't be at all surprised if she did turn out to be something,” + said one of them. “Suppose she should!” + </p> + <p> + That very afternoon Sara had an opportunity of proving to herself whether + she was really a princess or not. It was a dreadful afternoon. For several + days it had rained continuously, the streets were chilly and sloppy; there + was mud everywhere—sticky London mud—and over everything a + pall of fog and drizzle. Of course there were several long and tiresome + errands to be done,—there always were on days like this,—and + Sara was sent out again and again, until her shabby clothes were damp + through. The absurd old feathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled and + absurd than ever, and her down-trodden shoes were so wet they could not + hold any more water. Added to this, she had been deprived of her dinner, + because Miss Minchin wished to punish her. She was very hungry. She was so + cold and hungry and tired that her little face had a pinched look, and now + and then some kind-hearted person passing her in the crowded street + glanced at her with sympathy. But she did not know that. She hurried on, + trying to comfort herself in that queer way of hers by pretending and + “supposing,”—but really this time it was harder than she had ever + found it, and once or twice she thought it almost made her more cold and + hungry instead of less so. But she persevered obstinately. “Suppose I had + dry clothes on,” she thought. “Suppose I had good shoes and a long, thick + coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella. And suppose—suppose, + just when I was near a baker's where they sold hot buns, I should find + sixpence—which belonged to nobody. Suppose, if I did, I should go + into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns, and should eat them all + without stopping.” + </p> + <p> + Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes. It certainly was an + odd thing which happened to Sara. She had to cross the street just as she + was saying this to herself—the mud was dreadful—she almost had + to wade. She picked her way as carefully as she could, but she could not + save herself much, only, in picking her way she had to look down at her + feet and the mud, and in looking down—just as she reached the + pavement—she saw something shining in the gutter. A piece of silver—a + tiny piece trodden upon by many feet, but still with spirit enough to + shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it—a + four-penny piece! In one second it was in her cold, little red and blue + hand. “Oh!” she gasped. “It is true!” + </p> + <p> + And then, if you will believe me, she looked straight before her at the + shop directly facing her. And it was a baker's, and a cheerful, stout, + motherly woman, with rosy cheeks, was just putting into the window a tray + of delicious hot buns,—large, plump, shiny buns, with currants in + them. + </p> + <p> + It almost made Sara feel faint for a few seconds—the shock and the + sight of the buns and the delightful odors of warm bread floating up + through the baker's cellar-window. + </p> + <p> + She knew that she need not hesitate to use the little piece of money. It + had evidently been lying in the mud for some time, and its owner was + completely lost in the streams of passing people who crowded and jostled + each other all through the day. + </p> + <p> + “But I'll go and ask the baker's woman if she has lost a piece of money,” + she said to herself, rather faintly. + </p> + <p> + So she crossed the pavement and put her wet foot on the step of the shop; + and as she did so she saw something which made her stop. + </p> + <p> + It was a little figure more forlorn than her own—a little figure + which was not much more than a bundle of rags, from which small, bare, red + and muddy feet peeped out—only because the rags with which the + wearer was trying to cover them were not long enough. Above the rags + appeared a shock head of tangled hair and a dirty face, with big, hollow, + hungry eyes. + </p> + <p> + Sara knew they were hungry eyes the moment she saw them, and she felt a + sudden sympathy. + </p> + <p> + “This,” she said to herself, with a little sigh, “is one of the Populace—and + she is hungrier than I am.” + </p> + <p> + The child—this “one of the Populace”—stared up at Sara, and + shuffled herself aside a little, so as to give her more room. She was used + to being made to give room to everybody. She knew that if a policeman + chanced to see her, he would tell her to “move on.” + </p> + <p> + Sara clutched her little four-penny piece, and hesitated a few seconds. + Then she spoke to her. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hungry?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + The child shuffled herself and her rags a little more. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't I jist!” she said, in a hoarse voice. “Jist ain't I!” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't you had any dinner?” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + “No dinner,” more hoarsely still and with more shuffling, “nor yet no + bre'fast—nor yet no supper—nor nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Since when?” asked Sara. + </p> + <p> + “Dun'no. Never got nothin' to-day—nowhere. I've axed and axed.” + </p> + <p> + Just to look at her made Sara more hungry and faint. But those queer + little thoughts were at work in her brain, and she was talking to herself + though she was sick at heart. + </p> + <p> + “If I'm a princess,” she was saying—“if I'm a princess—! When + they were poor and driven from their thrones—they always shared—with + the Populace—if they met one poorer and hungrier. They always + shared. Buns are a penny each. If it had been sixpence! I could have eaten + six. It won't be enough for either of us—but it will be better than + nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute,” she said to the beggar-child. She went into the shop. It + was warm and smelled delightfully. The woman was just going to put more + hot buns in the window. + </p> + <p> + “If you please,” said Sara, “have you lost fourpence—a silver + fourpence?” And she held the forlorn little piece of money out to her. + </p> + <p> + The woman looked at it and at her—at her intense little face and + draggled, once-fine clothes. + </p> + <p> + “Bless us—no,” she answered. “Did you find it?” + </p> + <p> + “In the gutter,” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + “Keep it, then,” said the woman. “It may have been there a week, and + goodness knows who lost it. You could never find out.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that,” said Sara, “but I thought I'd ask you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not many would,” said the woman, looking puzzled and interested and + good-natured all at once. “Do you want to buy something?” she added, as + she saw Sara glance toward the buns. + </p> + <p> + “Four buns, if you please,” said Sara; “those at a penny each.” + </p> + <p> + The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag. Sara noticed + that she put in six. + </p> + <p> + “I said four, if you please,” she explained. “I have only the fourpence.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll throw in two for make-weight,” said the woman, with her good-natured + look. “I dare say you can eat them some time. Aren't you hungry?” + </p> + <p> + A mist rose before Sara's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered. “I am very hungry, and I am much obliged to you for + your kindness, and,” she was going to add, “there is a child outside who + is hungrier than I am.” But just at that moment two or three customers + came in at once and each one seemed in a hurry, so she could only thank + the woman again and go out. + </p> + <p> + The child was still huddled up on the corner of the steps. She looked + frightful in her wet and dirty rags. She was staring with a stupid look of + suffering straight before her, and Sara saw her suddenly draw the back of + her roughened, black hand across her eyes to rub away the tears which + seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way from under her lids. She + was muttering to herself. + </p> + <p> + Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which had + already warmed her cold hands a little. + </p> + <p> + “See,” she said, putting the bun on the ragged lap, “that is nice and hot. + Eat it, and you will not be so hungry.” + </p> + <p> + The child started and stared up at her; then she snatched up the bun and + began to cram it into her mouth with great wolfish bites. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my! Oh, my!” Sara heard her say hoarsely, in wild delight. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my!” + </p> + <p> + Sara took out three more buns and put them down. + </p> + <p> + “She is hungrier than I am,” she said to herself. “She's starving.” But + her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. “I'm not starving,” + she said—and she put down the fifth. + </p> + <p> + The little starving London savage was still snatching and devouring when + she turned away. She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even if she had + been taught politeness—which she had not. She was only a poor little + wild animal. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + When she reached the other side of the street she looked back. The child + had a bun in both hands, and had stopped in the middle of a bite to watch + her. Sara gave her a little nod, and the child, after another stare,—a + curious, longing stare,—jerked her shaggy head in response, and + until Sara was out of sight she did not take another bite or even finish + the one she had begun. + </p> + <p> + At that moment the baker-woman glanced out of her shop-window. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I never!” she exclaimed. “If that young'un hasn't given her buns to + a beggar-child! It wasn't because she didn't want them, either—well, + well, she looked hungry enough. I'd give something to know what she did it + for.” She stood behind her window for a few moments and pondered. Then her + curiosity got the better of her. She went to the door and spoke to the + beggar-child. + </p> + <p> + “Who gave you those buns?” she asked her. + </p> + <p> + The child nodded her head toward Sara's vanishing figure. + </p> + <p> + “What did she say?” inquired the woman. + </p> + <p> + “Axed me if I was 'ungry,” replied the hoarse voice. + </p> + <p> + “What did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Said I was jist!” + </p> + <p> + “And then she came in and got buns and came out and gave them to you, did + she?” + </p> + <p> + The child nodded. + </p> + <p> + “How many?” + </p> + <p> + “Five.” + </p> + <p> + The woman thought it over. “Left just one for herself,” she said, in a low + voice. “And she could have eaten the whole six—I saw it in her + eyes.” + </p> + <p> + She looked after the little, draggled, far-away figure, and felt more + disturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt for many a + day. + </p> + <p> + “I wish she hadn't gone so quick,” she said. “I'm blest if she shouldn't + have had a dozen.” + </p> + <p> + Then she turned to the child. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hungry, yet?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I'm allus 'ungry,” was the answer; “but 'tain't so bad as it was.” + </p> + <p> + “Come in here,” said the woman, and she held open the shop-door. + </p> + <p> + The child got up and shuffled in. To be invited into a warm place full of + bread seemed an incredible thing. She did not know what was going to + happen; she did not care, even. + </p> + <p> + “Get yourself warm,” said the woman, pointing to a fire in a tiny back + room. “And, look here,—when you're hard up for a bite of bread, you + can come here and ask for it. I'm blest if I won't give it to you for that + young un's sake.” + </p> + <p> + Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun. It was hot; and it was a + great deal better than nothing. She broke off small pieces and ate them + slowly to make it last longer. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose it was a magic bun,” she said, “and a bite was as much as a whole + dinner. I should be over-eating myself if I went on like this.” + </p> + <p> + It was dark when she reached the square in which Miss Minchin's Select + Seminary was situated; the lamps were lighted, and in most of the windows + gleams of light were to be seen. It always interested Sara to catch + glimpses of the rooms before the shutters were closed. She liked to + imagine things about people who sat before the fires in the houses, or who + bent over books at the tables. There was, for instance, the Large Family + opposite. She called these people the Large Family—not because they + were large, for indeed most of them were little,—but because there + were so many of them. There were eight children in the Large Family, and a + stout, rosy mother, and a stout, rosy father, and a stout, rosy + grand-mamma, and any number of servants. The eight children were always + either being taken out to walk, or to ride in perambulators, by + comfortable nurses; or they were going to drive with their mamma; or they + were flying to the door in the evening to kiss their papa and dance around + him and drag off his overcoat and look for packages in the pockets of it; + or they were crowding about the nursery windows and looking out and + pushing each other and laughing,—in fact they were always doing + something which seemed enjoyable and suited to the tastes of a large + family. Sara was quite attached to them, and had given them all names out + of books. She called them the Montmorencys, when she did not call them the + Large Family. The fat, fair baby with the lace cap was Ethelberta + Beauchamp Montmorency; the next baby was Violet Cholmondely Montmorency; + the little boy who could just stagger, and who had such round legs, was + Sydney Cecil Vivian Montmorency; and then came Lilian Evangeline, Guy + Clarence, Maud Marian, Rosalind Gladys, Veronica Eustacia, and Claude + Harold Hector. + </p> + <p> + Next door to the Large Family lived the Maiden Lady, who had a companion, + and two parrots, and a King Charles spaniel; but Sara was not so very fond + of her, because she did nothing in particular but talk to the parrots and + drive out with the spaniel. The most interesting person of all lived next + door to Miss Minchin herself. Sara called him the Indian Gentleman. He was + an elderly gentleman who was said to have lived in the East Indies, and to + be immensely rich and to have something the matter with his liver,—in + fact, it had been rumored that he had no liver at all, and was much + inconvenienced by the fact. At any rate, he was very yellow and he did not + look happy; and when he went out to his carriage, he was almost always + wrapped up in shawls and overcoats, as if he were cold. He had a native + servant who looked even colder than himself, and he had a monkey who + looked colder than the native servant. Sara had seen the monkey sitting on + a table, in the sun, in the parlor window, and he always wore such a + mournful expression that she sympathized with him deeply. + </p> + <p> + “I dare say,” she used sometimes to remark to herself, “he is thinking all + the time of cocoanut trees and of swinging by his tail under a tropical + sun. He might have had a family dependent on him too, poor thing!” + </p> + <p> + The native servant, whom she called the Lascar, looked mournful too, but + he was evidently very faithful to his master. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he saved his master's life in the Sepoy rebellion,” she thought. + “They look as if they might have had all sorts of adventures. I wish I + could speak to the Lascar. I remember a little Hindustani.” + </p> + <p> + And one day she actually did speak to him, and his start at the sound of + his own language expressed a great deal of surprise and delight. He was + waiting for his master to come out to the carriage, and Sara, who was + going on an errand as usual, stopped and spoke a few words. She had a + special gift for languages and had remembered enough Hindustani to make + herself understood by him. When his master came out, the Lascar spoke to + him quickly, and the Indian Gentleman turned and looked at her curiously. + And afterward the Lascar always greeted her with salaams of the most + profound description. And occasionally they exchanged a few words. She + learned that it was true that the Sahib was very rich—that he was + ill—and also that he had no wife nor children, and that England did + not agree with the monkey. + </p> + <p> + “He must be as lonely as I am,” thought Sara. “Being rich does not seem to + make him happy.” + </p> + <p> + That evening, as she passed the windows, the Lascar was closing the + shutters, and she caught a glimpse of the room inside. There was a bright + fire glowing in the grate, and the Indian Gentleman was sitting before it, + in a luxurious chair. The room was richly furnished, and looked + delightfully comfortable, but the Indian Gentleman sat with his head + resting on his hand, and looked as lonely and unhappy as ever. + </p> + <p> + “Poor man!” said Sara; “I wonder what you are `supposing'?” + </p> + <p> + When she went into the house she met Miss Minchin in the hall. + </p> + <p> + “Where have you wasted your time?” said Miss Minchin. “You have been out + for hours!” + </p> + <p> + “It was so wet and muddy,” Sara answered. “It was hard to walk, because my + shoes were so bad and slipped about so.” + </p> + <p> + “Make no excuses,” said Miss Minchin, “and tell no falsehoods.” + </p> + <p> + Sara went downstairs to the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you stay all night?” said the cook. + </p> + <p> + “Here are the things,” said Sara, and laid her purchases on the table. + </p> + <p> + The cook looked over them, grumbling. She was in a very bad temper indeed. + </p> + <p> + “May I have something to eat?” Sara asked rather faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Tea's over and done with,” was the answer. “Did you expect me to keep it + hot for you?” + </p> + <p> + Sara was silent a second. + </p> + <p> + “I had no dinner,” she said, and her voice was quite low. She made it low, + because she was afraid it would tremble. + </p> + <p> + “There's some bread in the pantry,” said the cook. “That's all you'll get + at this time of day.” + </p> + <p> + Sara went and found the bread. It was old and hard and dry. The cook was + in too bad a humor to give her anything to eat with it. She had just been + scolded by Miss Minchin, and it was always safe and easy to vent her own + spite on Sara. + </p> + <p> + Really it was hard for the child to climb the three long flights of stairs + leading to her garret. She often found them long and steep when she was + tired, but to-night it seemed as if she would never reach the top. Several + times a lump rose in her throat and she was obliged to stop to rest. + </p> + <p> + “I can't pretend anything more to-night,” she said wearily to herself. + “I'm sure I can't. I'll eat my bread and drink some water and then go to + sleep, and perhaps a dream will come and pretend for me. I wonder what + dreams are.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, when she reached the top landing there were tears in her eyes, and + she did not feel like a princess—only like a tired, hungry, lonely, + lonely child. + </p> + <p> + “If my papa had lived,” she said, “they would not have treated me like + this. If my papa had lived, he would have taken care of me.” + </p> + <p> + Then she turned the handle and opened the garret-door. + </p> + <p> + Can you imagine it—can you believe it? I find it hard to believe it + myself. And Sara found it impossible; for the first few moments she + thought something strange had happened to her eyes—to her mind—that + the dream had come before she had had time to fall asleep. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Oh! it isn't true! I know, I know it + isn't true!” And she slipped into the room and closed the door and locked + it, and stood with her back against it, staring straight before her. + </p> + <p> + Do you wonder? In the grate, which had been empty and rusty and cold when + she left it, but which now was blackened and polished up quite + respectably, there was a glowing, blazing fire. On the hob was a little + brass kettle, hissing and boiling; spread upon the floor was a warm, thick + rug; before the fire was a folding-chair, unfolded and with cushions on + it; by the chair was a small folding-table, unfolded, covered with a white + cloth, and upon it were spread small covered dishes, a cup and saucer, and + a tea-pot; on the bed were new, warm coverings, a curious wadded silk + robe, and some books. The little, cold, miserable room seemed changed into + Fairyland. It was actually warm and glowing. + </p> + <p> + “It is bewitched!” said Sara. “Or I am bewitched. I only think I see it + all; but if I can only keep on thinking it, I don't care—I don't + care—if I can only keep it up!” + </p> + <p> + She was afraid to move, for fear it would melt away. She stood with her + back against the door and looked and looked. But soon she began to feel + warm, and then she moved forward. + </p> + <p> + “A fire that I only thought I saw surely wouldn't feel warm,” she said. + “It feels real—real.” + </p> + <p> + She went to it and knelt before it. She touched the chair, the table; she + lifted the cover of one of the dishes. There was something hot and savory + in it—something delicious. The tea-pot had tea in it, ready for the + boiling water from the little kettle; one plate had toast on it, another, + muffins. + </p> + <p> + “It is real,” said Sara. “The fire is real enough to warm me; I can sit in + the chair; the things are real enough to eat.” + </p> + <p> + It was like a fairy story come true—it was heavenly. She went to the + bed and touched the blankets and the wrap. They were real too. She opened + one book, and on the title-page was written in a strange hand, “The little + girl in the attic.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly—was it a strange thing for her to do?—Sara put her + face down on the queer, foreign looking quilted robe and burst into tears. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know who it is,” she said, “but somebody cares about me a little—somebody + is my friend.” + </p> + <p> + Somehow that thought warmed her more than the fire. She had never had a + friend since those happy, luxurious days when she had had everything; and + those days had seemed such a long way off—so far away as to be only + like dreams—during these last years at Miss Minchin's. + </p> + <p> + She really cried more at this strange thought of having a friend—even + though an unknown one—than she had cried over many of her worst + troubles. + </p> + <p> + But these tears seemed different from the others, for when she had wiped + them away they did not seem to leave her eyes and her heart hot and + smarting. + </p> + <p> + And then imagine, if you can, what the rest of the evening was like. The + delicious comfort of taking off the damp clothes and putting on the soft, + warm, quilted robe before the glowing fire—of slipping her cold feet + into the luscious little wool-lined slippers she found near her chair. And + then the hot tea and savory dishes, the cushioned chair and the books! + </p> + <p> + It was just like Sara, that, once having found the things real, she should + give herself up to the enjoyment of them to the very utmost. She had lived + such a life of imagining, and had found her pleasure so long in + improbabilities, that she was quite equal to accepting any wonderful thing + that happened. After she was quite warm and had eaten her supper and + enjoyed herself for an hour or so, it had almost ceased to be surprising + to her that such magical surroundings should be hers. As to finding out + who had done all this, she knew that it was out of the question. She did + not know a human soul by whom it could seem in the least degree probable + that it could have been done. + </p> + <p> + “There is nobody,” she said to herself, “nobody.” She discussed the matter + with Emily, it is true, but more because it was delightful to talk about + it than with a view to making any discoveries. + </p> + <p> + “But we have a friend, Emily,” she said; “we have a friend.” + </p> + <p> + Sara could not even imagine a being charming enough to fill her grand + ideal of her mysterious benefactor. If she tried to make in her mind a + picture of him or her, it ended by being something glittering and strange—not + at all like a real person, but bearing resemblance to a sort of Eastern + magician, with long robes and a wand. And when she fell asleep, beneath + the soft white blanket, she dreamed all night of this magnificent + personage, and talked to him in Hindustani, and made salaams to him. + </p> + <p> + Upon one thing she was determined. She would not speak to any one of her + good fortune—it should be her own secret; in fact, she was rather + inclined to think that if Miss Minchin knew, she would take her treasures + from her or in some way spoil her pleasure. So, when she went down the + next morning, she shut her door very tight and did her best to look as if + nothing unusual had occurred. And yet this was rather hard, because she + could not help remembering, every now and then, with a sort of start, and + her heart would beat quickly every time she repeated to herself, “I have a + friend!” + </p> + <p> + It was a friend who evidently meant to continue to be kind, for when she + went to her garret the next night—and she opened the door, it must + be confessed, with rather an excited feeling—she found that the same + hands had been again at work, and had done even more than before. The fire + and the supper were again there, and beside them a number of other things + which so altered the look of the garret that Sara quite lost her breath. A + piece of bright, strange, heavy cloth covered the battered mantel, and on + it some ornaments had been placed. All the bare, ugly things which could + be covered with draperies had been concealed and made to look quite + pretty. Some odd materials in rich colors had been fastened against the + walls with sharp, fine tacks—so sharp that they could be pressed + into the wood without hammering. Some brilliant fans were pinned up, and + there were several large cushions. A long, old wooden box was covered with + a rug, and some cushions lay on it, so that it wore quite the air of a + sofa. + </p> + <p> + Sara simply sat down, and looked, and looked again. + </p> + <p> + “It is exactly like something fairy come true,” she said; “there isn't the + least difference. I feel as if I might wish for anything—diamonds + and bags of gold—and they would appear! That couldn't be any + stranger than this. Is this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp + Sara? And to think how I used to pretend, and pretend, and wish there were + fairies! The one thing I always wanted was to see a fairy story come true. + I am living in a fairy story! I feel as if I might be a fairy myself, and + be able to turn things into anything else!” + </p> + <p> + It was like a fairy story, and, what was best of all, it continued. Almost + every day something new was done to the garret. Some new comfort or + ornament appeared in it when Sara opened her door at night, until + actually, in a short time it was a bright little room, full of all sorts + of odd and luxurious things. And the magician had taken care that the + child should not be hungry, and that she should have as many books as she + could read. When she left the room in the morning, the remains of her + supper were on the table, and when she returned in the evening, the + magician had removed them, and left another nice little meal. Downstairs + Miss Minchin was as cruel and insulting as ever, Miss Amelia was as + peevish, and the servants were as vulgar. Sara was sent on errands, and + scolded, and driven hither and thither, but somehow it seemed as if she + could bear it all. The delightful sense of romance and mystery lifted her + above the cook's temper and malice. The comfort she enjoyed and could + always look forward to was making her stronger. If she came home from her + errands wet and tired, she knew she would soon be warm, after she had + climbed the stairs. In a few weeks she began to look less thin. A little + color came into her cheeks, and her eyes did not seem much too big for her + face. + </p> + <p> + It was just when this was beginning to be so apparent that Miss Minchin + sometimes stared at her questioningly, that another wonderful thing + happened. A man came to the door and left several parcels. All were + addressed (in large letters) to “the little girl in the attic.” Sara + herself was sent to open the door, and she took them in. She laid the two + largest parcels down on the hall-table and was looking at the address, + when Miss Minchin came down the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Take the things upstairs to the young lady to whom they belong,” she + said. “Don't stand there staring at them.” + </p> + <p> + “They belong to me,” answered Sara, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “To you!” exclaimed Miss Minchin. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know where they came from,” said Sara, “but they're addressed to + me.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Minchin came to her side and looked at them with an excited + expression. + </p> + <p> + “What is in them?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + “Open them!” she demanded, still more excitedly. + </p> + <p> + Sara did as she was told. They contained pretty and comfortable clothing,—clothing + of different kinds; shoes and stockings and gloves, a warm coat, and even + an umbrella. On the pocket of the coat was pinned a paper on which was + written, “To be worn every day—will be replaced by others when + necessary.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Minchin was quite agitated. This was an incident which suggested + strange things to her sordid mind. Could it be that she had made a mistake + after all, and that the child so neglected and so unkindly treated by her + had some powerful friend in the background? It would not be very pleasant + if there should be such a friend, and he or she should learn all the truth + about the thin, shabby clothes, the scant food, the hard work. She felt + queer indeed and uncertain, and she gave a side-glance at Sara. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said, in a voice such as she had never used since the day the + child lost her father—“well, some one is very kind to you. As you + have the things and are to have new ones when they are worn out, you may + as well go and put them on and look respectable; and after you are + dressed, you may come downstairs and learn your lessons in the + school-room.” + </p> + <p> + So it happened that, about half an hour afterward, Sara struck the entire + school-room of pupils dumb with amazement, by making her appearance in a + costume such as she had never worn since the change of fortune whereby she + ceased to be a show-pupil and a parlor-boarder. She scarcely seemed to be + the same Sara. She was neatly dressed in a pretty gown of warm browns and + reds, and even her stockings and slippers were nice and dainty. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps some one has left her a fortune,” one of the girls whispered. “I + always thought something would happen to her, she is so queer.” + </p> + <p> + That night when Sara went to her room she carried out a plan she had been + devising for some time. She wrote a note to her unknown friend. It ran as + follows: + </p> + <p> + “I hope you will not think it is not polite that I should write this note + to you when you wish to keep yourself a secret, but I do not mean to be + impolite, or to try to find out at all, only I want to thank you for being + so kind to me—so beautiful kind, and making everything like a fairy + story. I am so grateful to you and I am so happy! I used to be so lonely + and cold and, hungry, and now, oh, just think what you have done for me! + Please let me say just these words. It seems as if I ought to say them. + Thank you—thank you—thank you! + </p> + <p> + “THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE ATTIC.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning she left this on the little table, and it was taken away + with the other things; so she felt sure the magician had received it, and + she was happier for the thought. + </p> + <p> + A few nights later a very odd thing happened. She found something in the + room which she certainly would never have expected. When she came in as + usual she saw something small and dark in her chair,—an odd, tiny + figure, which turned toward her a little, weird-looking, wistful face. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's the monkey!” she cried. “It is the Indian Gentleman's monkey! + Where can he have come from?” + </p> + <p> + It was the monkey, sitting up and looking so like a mite of a child that + it really was quite pathetic; and very soon Sara found out how he happened + to be in her room. The skylight was open, and it was easy to guess that he + had crept out of his master's garret-window, which was only a few feet + away and perfectly easy to get in and out of, even for a climber less + agile than a monkey. He had probably climbed to the garret on a tour of + investigation, and getting out upon the roof, and being attracted by the + light in Sara's attic, had crept in. At all events this seemed quite + reasonable, and there he was; and when Sara went to him, he actually put + out his queer, elfish little hands, caught her dress, and jumped into her + arms. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you queer, poor, ugly, foreign little thing!” said Sara, caressing + him. “I can't help liking you. You look like a sort of baby, but I am so + glad you are not, because your mother could not be proud of you, and + nobody would dare to say you were like any of your relations. But I do + like you; you have such a forlorn little look in your face. Perhaps you + are sorry you are so ugly, and it's always on your mind. I wonder if you + have a mind?” + </p> + <p> + The monkey sat and looked at her while she talked, and seemed much + interested in her remarks, if one could judge by his eyes and his + forehead, and the way he moved his head up and down, and held it sideways + and scratched it with his little hand. He examined Sara quite seriously, + and anxiously, too. He felt the stuff of her dress, touched her hands, + climbed up and examined her ears, and then sat on her shoulder holding a + lock of her hair, looking mournful but not at all agitated. Upon the + whole, he seemed pleased with Sara. + </p> + <p> + “But I must take you back,” she said to him, “though I'm sorry to have to + do it. Oh, the company you would be to a person!” + </p> + <p> + She lifted him from her shoulder, set him on her knee, and gave him a bit + of cake. He sat and nibbled it, and then put his head on one side, looked + at her, wrinkled his forehead, and then nibbled again, in the most + companionable manner. + </p> + <p> + “But you must go home,” said Sara at last; and she took him in her arms to + carry him downstairs. Evidently he did not want to leave the room, for as + they reached the door he clung to her neck and gave a little scream of + anger. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't be an ungrateful monkey,” said Sara. “You ought to be fondest + of your own family. I am sure the Lascar is good to you.” + </p> + <p> + Nobody saw her on her way out, and very soon she was standing on the + Indian Gentleman's front steps, and the Lascar had opened the door for + her. + </p> + <p> + “I found your monkey in my room,” she said in Hindustani. “I think he got + in through the window.” + </p> + <p> + The man began a rapid outpouring of thanks; but, just as he was in the + midst of them, a fretful, hollow voice was heard through the open door of + the nearest room. The instant he heard it the Lascar disappeared, and left + Sara still holding the monkey. + </p> + <p> + It was not many moments, however, before he came back bringing a message. + His master had told him to bring Missy into the library. The Sahib was + very ill, but he wished to see Missy. + </p> + <p> + Sara thought this odd, but she remembered reading stories of Indian + gentlemen who, having no constitutions, were extremely cross and full of + whims, and who must have their own way. So she followed the Lascar. + </p> + <p> + When she entered the room the Indian Gentleman was lying on an easy chair, + propped up with pillows. He looked frightfully ill. His yellow face was + thin, and his eyes were hollow. He gave Sara a rather curious look—it + was as if she wakened in him some anxious interest. + </p> + <p> + “You live next door?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Sara. “I live at Miss Minchin's.” + </p> + <p> + “She keeps a boarding-school?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sara. + </p> + <p> + “And you are one of her pupils?” + </p> + <p> + Sara hesitated a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know exactly what I am,” she replied. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked the Indian Gentleman. + </p> + <p> + The monkey gave a tiny squeak, and Sara stroked him. + </p> + <p> + “At first,” she said, “I was a pupil and a parlor boarder; but now—” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by `at first'?” asked the Indian Gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “When I was first taken there by my papa.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what has happened since then?” said the invalid, staring at her and + knitting his brows with a puzzled expression. + </p> + <p> + “My papa died,” said Sara. “He lost all his money, and there was none left + for me—and there was no one to take care of me or pay Miss Minchin, + so—” + </p> + <p> + “So you were sent up into the garret and neglected, and made into a + half-starved little drudge!” put in the Indian Gentleman. “That is about + it, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + The color deepened on Sara's cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “There was no one to take care of me, and no money,” she said. “I belong + to nobody.” + </p> + <p> + “What did your father mean by losing his money?” said the gentleman, + fretfully. + </p> + <p> + The red in Sara's cheeks grew deeper, and she fixed her odd eyes on the + yellow face. + </p> + <p> + “He did not lose it himself,” she said. “He had a friend he was fond of, + and it was his friend, who took his money. I don't know how. I don't + understand. He trusted his friend too much.” + </p> + <p> + She saw the invalid start—the strangest start—as if he had + been suddenly frightened. Then he spoke nervously and excitedly: + </p> + <p> + “That's an old story,” he said. “It happens every day; but sometimes those + who are blamed—those who do the wrong—don't intend it, and are + not so bad. It may happen through a mistake—a miscalculation; they + may not be so bad.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Sara, “but the suffering is just as bad for the others. It + killed my papa.” + </p> + <p> + The Indian Gentleman pushed aside some of the gorgeous wraps that covered + him. + </p> + <p> + “Come a little nearer, and let me look at you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + His voice sounded very strange; it had a more nervous and excited tone + than before. Sara had an odd fancy that he was half afraid to look at her. + She came and stood nearer, the monkey clinging to her and watching his + master anxiously over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + The Indian Gentleman's hollow, restless eyes fixed themselves on her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said at last. “Yes; I can see it. Tell me your father's name.” + </p> + <p> + “His name was Ralph Crewe,” said Sara. “Captain Crewe. Perhaps,”—a + sudden thought flashing upon her,—“perhaps you may have heard of + him? He died in India.” + </p> + <p> + The Indian Gentleman sank back upon his pillows. He looked very weak, and + seemed out of breath. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “I knew him. I was his friend. I meant no harm. If he had + only lived he would have known. It turned out well after all. He was a + fine young fellow. I was fond of him. I will make it right. Call—call + the man.” + </p> + <p> + Sara thought he was going to die. But there was no need to call the + Lascar. He must have been waiting at the door. He was in the room and by + his master's side in an instant. He seemed to know what to do. He lifted + the drooping head, and gave the invalid something in a small glass. The + Indian Gentleman lay panting for a few minutes, and then he spoke in an + exhausted but eager voice, addressing the Lascar in Hindustani: + </p> + <p> + “Go for Carmichael,” he said. “Tell him to come here at once. Tell him I + have found the child!” + </p> + <p> + When Mr. Carmichael arrived (which occurred in a very few minutes, for it + turned out that he was no other than the father of the Large Family across + the street), Sara went home, and was allowed to take the monkey with her. + She certainly did not sleep very much that night, though the monkey + behaved beautifully, and did not disturb her in the least. It was not the + monkey that kept her awake—it was her thoughts, and her wonders as + to what the Indian Gentleman had meant when he said, “Tell him I have + found the child.” “What child?” Sara kept asking herself. + </p> + <p> + “I was the only child there; but how had he found me, and why did he want + to find me? And what is he going to do, now I am found? Is it something + about my papa? Do I belong to somebody? Is he one of my relations? Is + something going to happen?” + </p> + <p> + But she found out the very next day, in the morning; and it seemed that + she had been living in a story even more than she had imagined. First, Mr. + Carmichael came and had an interview with Miss Minchin. And it appeared + that Mr. Carmichael, besides occupying the important situation of father + to the Large Family was a lawyer, and had charge of the affairs of Mr. + Carrisford—which was the real name of the Indian Gentleman—and, + as Mr. Carrisford's lawyer, Mr. Carmichael had come to explain something + curious to Miss Minchin regarding Sara. But, being the father of the Large + Family, he had a very kind and fatherly feeling for children; and so, + after seeing Miss Minchin alone, what did he do but go and bring across + the square his rosy, motherly, warm-hearted wife, so that she herself + might talk to the little lonely girl, and tell her everything in the best + and most motherly way. + </p> + <p> + And then Sara learned that she was to be a poor little drudge and outcast + no more, and that a great change had come in her fortunes; for all the + lost fortune had come back to her, and a great deal had even been added to + it. It was Mr. Carrisford who had been her father's friend, and who had + made the investments which had caused him the apparent loss of his money; + but it had so happened that after poor young Captain Crewe's death one of + the investments which had seemed at the time the very worst had taken a + sudden turn, and proved to be such a success that it had been a mine of + wealth, and had more than doubled the Captain's lost fortune, as well as + making a fortune for Mr. Carrisford himself. But Mr. Carrisford had been + very unhappy. He had truly loved his poor, handsome, generous young + friend, and the knowledge that he had caused his death had weighed upon + him always, and broken both his health and spirit. The worst of it had + been that, when first he thought himself and Captain Crewe ruined, he had + lost courage and gone away because he was not brave enough to face the + consequences of what he had done, and so he had not even known where the + young soldier's little girl had been placed. When he wanted to find her, + and make restitution, he could discover no trace of her; and the certainty + that she was poor and friendless somewhere had made him more miserable + than ever. When he had taken the house next to Miss Minchin's he had been + so ill and wretched that he had for the time given up the search. His + troubles and the Indian climate had brought him almost to death's door—indeed, + he had not expected to live more than a few months. And then one day the + Lascar had told him about Sara's speaking Hindustani, and gradually he had + begun to take a sort of interest in the forlorn child, though he had only + caught a glimpse of her once or twice and he had not connected her with + the child of his friend, perhaps because he was too languid to think much + about anything. But the Lascar had found out something of Sara's unhappy + little life, and about the garret. One evening he had actually crept out + of his own garret-window and looked into hers, which was a very easy + matter, because, as I have said, it was only a few feet away—and he + had told his master what he had seen, and in a moment of compassion the + Indian Gentleman had told him to take into the wretched little room such + comforts as he could carry from the one window to the other. And the + Lascar, who had developed an interest in, and an odd fondness for, the + child who had spoken to him in his own tongue, had been pleased with the + work; and, having the silent swiftness and agile movements of many of his + race, he had made his evening journeys across the few feet of roof from + garret-window to garret-window, without any trouble at all. He had watched + Sara's movements until he knew exactly when she was absent from her room + and when she returned to it, and so he had been able to calculate the best + times for his work. Generally he had made them in the dusk of the evening; + but once or twice, when he had seen her go out on errands, he had dared to + go over in the daytime, being quite sure that the garret was never entered + by any one but herself. His pleasure in the work and his reports of the + results had added to the invalid's interest in it, and sometimes the + master had found the planning gave him something to think of, which made + him almost forget his weariness and pain. And at last, when Sara brought + home the truant monkey, he had felt a wish to see her, and then her + likeness to her father had done the rest. + </p> + <p> + “And now, my dear,” said good Mrs. Carmichael, patting Sara's hand, “all + your troubles are over, I am sure, and you are to come home with me and be + taken care of as if you were one of my own little girls; and we are so + pleased to think of having you with us until everything is settled, and + Mr. Carrisford is better. The excitement of last night has made him very + weak, but we really think he will get well, now that such a load is taken + from his mind. And when he is stronger, I am sure he will be as kind to + you as your own papa would have been. He has a very good heart, and he is + fond of children—and he has no family at all. But we must make you + happy and rosy, and you must learn to play and run about, as my little + girls do—” + </p> + <p> + “As your little girls do?” said Sara. “I wonder if I could. I used to + watch them and wonder what it was like. Shall I feel as if I belonged to + somebody?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my love, yes!—yes!” said Mrs. Carmichael; “dear me, yes!” And + her motherly blue eyes grew quite moist, and she suddenly took Sara in her + arms and kissed her. That very night, before she went to sleep, Sara had + made the acquaintance of the entire Large Family, and such excitement as + she and the monkey had caused in that joyous circle could hardly be + described. There was not a child in the nursery, from the Eton boy who was + the eldest, to the baby who was the youngest, who had not laid some + offering on her shrine. All the older ones knew something of her wonderful + story. She had been born in India; she had been poor and lonely and + unhappy, and had lived in a garret and been treated unkindly; and now she + was to be rich and happy, and be taken care of. They were so sorry for + her, and so delighted and curious about her, all at once. The girls wished + to be with her constantly, and the little boys wished to be told about + India; the second baby, with the short round legs, simply sat and stared + at her and the monkey, possibly wondering why she had not brought a + hand-organ with her. + </p> + <p> + “I shall certainly wake up presently,” Sara kept saying to herself. “This + one must be a dream. The other one turned out to be real; but this + couldn't be. But, oh! how happy it is!” + </p> + <p> + And even when she went to bed, in the bright, pretty room not far from + Mrs. Carmichael's own, and Mrs. Carmichael came and kissed her and patted + her and tucked her in cozily, she was not sure that she would not wake up + in the garret in the morning. + </p> + <p> + “And oh, Charles, dear,” Mrs. Carmichael said to her husband, when she + went downstairs to him, “We must get that lonely look out of her eyes! It + isn't a child's look at all. I couldn't bear to see it in one of my own + children. What the poor little love must have had to bear in that dreadful + woman's house! But, surely, she will forget it in time.” + </p> + <p> + But though the lonely look passed away from Sara's face, she never quite + forgot the garret at Miss Minchin's; and, indeed, she always liked to + remember the wonderful night when the tired princess crept upstairs, cold + and wet, and opening the door found fairy-land waiting for her. And there + was no one of the many stories she was always being called upon to tell in + the nursery of the Large Family which was more popular than that + particular one; and there was no one of whom the Large Family were so fond + as of Sara. Mr. Carrisford did not die, but recovered, and Sara went to + live with him; and no real princess could have been better taken care of + than she was. It seemed that the Indian Gentleman could not do enough to + make her happy, and to repay her for the past; and the Lascar was her + devoted slave. As her odd little face grew brighter, it grew so pretty and + interesting that Mr. Carrisford used to sit and watch it many an evening, + as they sat by the fire together. + </p> + <p> + They became great friends, and they used to spend hours reading and + talking together; and, in a very short time, there was no pleasanter sight + to the Indian Gentleman than Sara sitting in her big chair on the opposite + side of the hearth, with a book on her knee and her soft, dark hair + tumbling over her warm cheeks. She had a pretty habit of looking up at him + suddenly, with a bright smile, and then he would often say to her: + </p> + <p> + “Are you happy, Sara?” + </p> + <p> + And then she would answer: + </p> + <p> + “I feel like a real princess, Uncle Tom.” + </p> + <p> + He had told her to call him Uncle Tom. + </p> + <p> + “There doesn't seem to be anything left to `suppose,'” she added. + </p> + <p> + There was a little joke between them that he was a magician, and so could + do anything he liked; and it was one of his pleasures to invent plans to + surprise her with enjoyments she had not thought of. Scarcely a day passed + in which he did not do something new for her. Sometimes she found new + flowers in her room; sometimes a fanciful little gift tucked into some odd + corner, sometimes a new book on her pillow;—once as they sat + together in the evening they heard the scratch of a heavy paw on the door + of the room, and when Sara went to find out what it was, there stood a + great dog—a splendid Russian boar-hound with a grand silver and gold + collar. Stooping to read the inscription upon the collar, Sara was + delighted to read the words: “I am Boris; I serve the Princess Sara.” + </p> + <p> + Then there was a sort of fairy nursery arranged for the entertainment of + the juvenile members of the Large Family, who were always coming to see + Sara and the Lascar and the monkey. Sara was as fond of the Large Family + as they were of her. She soon felt as if she were a member of it, and the + companionship of the healthy, happy children was very good for her. All + the children rather looked up to her and regarded her as the cleverest and + most brilliant of creatures—particularly after it was discovered + that she not only knew stories of every kind, and could invent new ones at + a moment's notice, but that she could help with lessons, and speak French + and German, and discourse with the Lascar in Hindustani. + </p> + <p> + It was rather a painful experience for Miss Minchin to watch her + ex-pupil's fortunes, as she had the daily opportunity to do, and to feel + that she had made a serious mistake, from a business point of view. She + had even tried to retrieve it by suggesting that Sara's education should + be continued under her care, and had gone to the length of making an + appeal to the child herself. + </p> + <p> + “I have always been very fond of you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Then Sara fixed her eyes upon her and gave her one of her odd looks. + </p> + <p> + “Have you?” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Miss Minchin. “Amelia and I have always said you were the + cleverest child we had with us, and I am sure we could make you happy—as + a parlor boarder.” + </p> + <p> + Sara thought of the garret and the day her ears were boxed,—and of + that other day, that dreadful, desolate day when she had been told that + she belonged to nobody; that she had no home and no friends,—and she + kept her eyes fixed on Miss Minchin's face. + </p> + <p> + “You know why I would not stay with you,” she said. + </p> + <p> + And it seems probable that Miss Minchin did, for after that simple answer + she had not the boldness to pursue the subject. She merely sent in a bill + for the expense of Sara's education and support, and she made it quite + large enough. And because Mr. Carrisford thought Sara would wish it paid, + it was paid. When Mr. Carmichael paid it he had a brief interview with + Miss Minchin in which he expressed his opinion with much clearness and + force; and it is quite certain that Miss Minchin did not enjoy the + conversation. + </p> + <p> + Sara had been about a month with Mr. Carrisford, and had begun to realize + that her happiness was not a dream, when one night the Indian Gentleman + saw that she sat a long time with her cheek on her hand looking at the + fire. + </p> + <p> + “What are you `supposing,' Sara?” he asked. Sara looked up with a bright + color on her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “I was `supposing,'” she said; “I was remembering that hungry day, and a + child I saw.” + </p> + <p> + “But there were a great many hungry days,” said the Indian Gentleman, with + a rather sad tone in his voice. “Which hungry day was it?” + </p> + <p> + “I forgot you didn't know,” said Sara. “It was the day I found the things + in my garret.” + </p> + <p> + And then she told him the story of the bun-shop, and the fourpence, and + the child who was hungrier than herself; and somehow as she told it, + though she told it very simply indeed, the Indian Gentleman found it + necessary to shade his eyes with his hand and look down at the floor. + </p> + <p> + “And I was `supposing' a kind of plan,” said Sara, when she had finished; + “I was thinking I would like to do something.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said her guardian in a low tone. “You may do anything you + like to do, Princess.” + </p> + <p> + “I was wondering,” said Sara,—“you know you say I have a great deal + of money—and I was wondering if I could go and see the bun-woman and + tell her that if, when hungry children—particularly on those + dreadful days—come and sit on the steps or look in at the window, + she would just call them in and give them something to eat, she might send + the bills to me and I would pay them—could I do that?” + </p> + <p> + “You shall do it to-morrow morning,” said the Indian Gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Sara; “you see I know what it is to be hungry, and it is + very hard when one can't even pretend it away.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, my dear,” said the Indian Gentleman. “Yes, it must be. Try to + forget it. Come and sit on this footstool near my knee, and only remember + you are a princess.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sara, “and I can give buns and bread to the Populace.” And she + went and sat on the stool, and the Indian Gentleman (he used to like her + to call him that, too, sometimes,—in fact very often) drew her + small, dark head down upon his knee and stroked her hair. + </p> + <p> + The next morning a carriage drew up before the door of the baker's shop, + and a gentleman and a little girl got out,—oddly enough, just as the + bun-woman was putting a tray of smoking hotbuns into the window. When Sara + entered the shop the woman turned and looked at her and, leaving the buns, + came and stood behind the counter. For a moment she looked at Sara very + hard indeed, and then her good-natured face lighted up. + </p> + <p> + “I'm that sure I remember you, miss,” she said. “And yet—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Sara, “once you gave me six buns for fourpence, and—” + </p> + <p> + “And you gave five of 'em to a beggar-child,” said the woman. “I've always + remembered it. I couldn't make it out at first. I beg pardon, sir, but + there's not many young people that notices a hungry face in that way, and + I've thought of it many a time. Excuse the liberty, miss, but you look + rosier and better than you did that day.” + </p> + <p> + “I am better, thank you,” said Sara, “and—and I am happier, and I + have come to ask you to do something for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Me, miss!” exclaimed the woman, “why, bless you, yes, miss! What can I + do?” + </p> + <p> + And then Sara made her little proposal, and the woman listened to it with + an astonished face. + </p> + <p> + “Why, bless me!” she said, when she had heard it all. “Yes, miss, it'll be + a pleasure to me to do it. I am a working woman, myself, and can't afford + to do much on my own account, and there's sights of trouble on every side; + but if you'll excuse me, I'm bound to say I've given many a bit of bread + away since that wet afternoon, just along o' thinkin' of you. An' how wet + an' cold you was, an' how you looked,—an' yet you give away your hot + buns as if you was a princess.” + </p> + <p> + The Indian Gentleman smiled involuntarily, and Sara smiled a little too. + “She looked so hungry,” she said. “She was hungrier than I was.” + </p> + <p> + “She was starving,” said the woman. “Many's the time she's told me of it + since—how she sat there in the wet, and felt as if a wolf was + a-tearing at her poor young insides.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, have you seen her since then?” exclaimed Sara. “Do you know where she + is?” + </p> + <p> + “I know!” said the woman. “Why, she's in that there back room now, miss, + an' has been for a month, an' a decent, well-meaning girl she's going to + turn out, an' such a help to me in the day shop, an' in the kitchen, as + you'd scarce believe, knowing how she's lived.” + </p> + <p> + She stepped to the door of the little back parlor and spoke; and the next + minute a girl came out and followed her behind the counter. And actually + it was the beggar-child, clean and neatly clothed, and looking as if she + had not been hungry for a long time. She looked shy, but she had a nice + face, now that she was no longer a savage; and the wild look had gone from + her eyes. And she knew Sara in an instant, and stood and looked at her as + if she could never look enough. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said the woman, “I told her to come here when she was hungry, + and when she'd come I'd give her odd jobs to do, an' I found she was + willing, an' somehow I got to like her; an' the end of it was I've given + her a place an' a home, an' she helps me, an' behaves as well, an' is as + thankful as a girl can be. Her name's Anne—she has no other.” + </p> + <p> + The two children stood and looked at each other a few moments. In Sara's + eyes a new thought was growing. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you have such a good home,” she said. “Perhaps Mrs. Brown will + let you give the buns and bread to the children—perhaps you would + like to do it—because you know what it is to be hungry, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + And somehow Sara felt as if she understood her, though the girl said + nothing more, and only stood still and looked, and looked after her as she + went out of the shop and got into the carriage and drove away. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sara Crewe, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SARA CREWE *** + +***** This file should be named 137-h.htm or 137-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/137/ + +Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sara Crewe + +Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett + +Release Date: March 8, 2006 [EBook #137] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SARA CREWE *** + + + + +Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger + + + + + +SARA CREWE + +OR + +WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S + +BY + +FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT + + +In the first place, Miss Minchin lived in London. Her home was a large, +dull, tall one, in a large, dull square, where all the houses were +alike, and all the sparrows were alike, and where all the door-knockers +made the same heavy sound, and on still days--and nearly all the days +were still--seemed to resound through the entire row in which the knock +was knocked. On Miss Minchin's door there was a brass plate. On the +brass plate there was inscribed in black letters, + + MISS MINCHIN'S + + SELECT SEMINARY FOR YOUNG LADIES + +Little Sara Crewe never went in or out of the house without reading that +door-plate and reflecting upon it. By the time she was twelve, she had +decided that all her trouble arose because, in the first place, she was +not "Select," and in the second she was not a "Young Lady." When she was +eight years old, she had been brought to Miss Minchin as a pupil, and +left with her. Her papa had brought her all the way from India. Her +mamma had died when she was a baby, and her papa had kept her with him +as long as he could. And then, finding the hot climate was making her +very delicate, he had brought her to England and left her with Miss +Minchin, to be part of the Select Seminary for Young Ladies. Sara, who +had always been a sharp little child, who remembered things, recollected +hearing him say that he had not a relative in the world whom he knew +of, and so he was obliged to place her at a boarding-school, and he had +heard Miss Minchin's establishment spoken of very highly. The same day, +he took Sara out and bought her a great many beautiful clothes--clothes +so grand and rich that only a very young and inexperienced man would +have bought them for a mite of a child who was to be brought up in a +boarding-school. But the fact was that he was a rash, innocent young +man, and very sad at the thought of parting with his little girl, who +was all he had left to remind him of her beautiful mother, whom he had +dearly loved. And he wished her to have everything the most fortunate +little girl could have; and so, when the polite saleswomen in the shops +said, "Here is our very latest thing in hats, the plumes are exactly the +same as those we sold to Lady Diana Sinclair yesterday," he immediately +bought what was offered to him, and paid whatever was asked. The +consequence was that Sara had a most extraordinary wardrobe. Her dresses +were silk and velvet and India cashmere, her hats and bonnets were +covered with bows and plumes, her small undergarments were adorned with +real lace, and she returned in the cab to Miss Minchin's with a doll +almost as large as herself, dressed quite as grandly as herself, too. + +Then her papa gave Miss Minchin some money and went away, and for +several days Sara would neither touch the doll, nor her breakfast, nor +her dinner, nor her tea, and would do nothing but crouch in a small +corner by the window and cry. She cried so much, indeed, that she made +herself ill. She was a queer little child, with old-fashioned ways and +strong feelings, and she had adored her papa, and could not be made to +think that India and an interesting bungalow were not better for her +than London and Miss Minchin's Select Seminary. The instant she had +entered the house, she had begun promptly to hate Miss Minchin, and +to think little of Miss Amelia Minchin, who was smooth and dumpy, and +lisped, and was evidently afraid of her older sister. Miss Minchin was +tall, and had large, cold, fishy eyes, and large, cold hands, which +seemed fishy, too, because they were damp and made chills run down +Sara's back when they touched her, as Miss Minchin pushed her hair off +her forehead and said: + +"A most beautiful and promising little girl, Captain Crewe. She will be +a favorite pupil; quite a favorite pupil, I see." + +For the first year she was a favorite pupil; at least she was indulged a +great deal more than was good for her. And when the Select Seminary went +walking, two by two, she was always decked out in her grandest clothes, +and led by the hand at the head of the genteel procession, by Miss +Minchin herself. And when the parents of any of the pupils came, she was +always dressed and called into the parlor with her doll; and she used +to hear Miss Minchin say that her father was a distinguished Indian +officer, and she would be heiress to a great fortune. That her father +had inherited a great deal of money, Sara had heard before; and also +that some day it would be hers, and that he would not remain long in the +army, but would come to live in London. And every time a letter came, +she hoped it would say he was coming, and they were to live together +again. + +But about the middle of the third year a letter came bringing very +different news. Because he was not a business man himself, her papa had +given his affairs into the hands of a friend he trusted. The friend had +deceived and robbed him. All the money was gone, no one knew exactly +where, and the shock was so great to the poor, rash young officer, that, +being attacked by jungle fever shortly afterward, he had no strength to +rally, and so died, leaving Sara, with no one to take care of her. + +Miss Minchin's cold and fishy eyes had never looked so cold and fishy as +they did when Sara went into the parlor, on being sent for, a few days +after the letter was received. + +No one had said anything to the child about mourning, so, in her +old-fashioned way, she had decided to find a black dress for herself, +and had picked out a black velvet she had outgrown, and came into the +room in it, looking the queerest little figure in the world, and a sad +little figure too. The dress was too short and too tight, her face was +white, her eyes had dark rings around them, and her doll, wrapped in a +piece of old black crape, was held under her arm. She was not a pretty +child. She was thin, and had a weird, interesting little face, short +black hair, and very large, green-gray eyes fringed all around with +heavy black lashes. + +"I am the ugliest child in the school," she had said once, after staring +at herself in the glass for some minutes. + +But there had been a clever, good-natured little French teacher who had +said to the music-master: + +"Zat leetle Crewe. Vat a child! A so ogly beauty! Ze so large eyes! ze +so little spirituelle face. Waid till she grow up. You shall see!" + +This morning, however, in the tight, small black frock, she looked +thinner and odder than ever, and her eyes were fixed on Miss Minchin +with a queer steadiness as she slowly advanced into the parlor, +clutching her doll. + +"Put your doll down!" said Miss Minchin. + +"No," said the child, "I won't put her down; I want her with me. She is +all I have. She has stayed with me all the time since my papa died." + +She had never been an obedient child. She had had her own way ever since +she was born, and there was about her an air of silent determination +under which Miss Minchin had always felt secretly uncomfortable. And +that lady felt even now that perhaps it would be as well not to insist +on her point. So she looked at her as severely as possible. + +"You will have no time for dolls in future," she said; "you will have to +work and improve yourself, and make yourself useful." + +Sara kept the big odd eyes fixed on her teacher and said nothing. + +"Everything will be very different now," Miss Minchin went on. "I sent +for you to talk to you and make you understand. Your father is dead. You +have no friends. You have no money. You have no home and no one to take +care of you." + +The little pale olive face twitched nervously, but the green-gray eyes +did not move from Miss Minchin's, and still Sara said nothing. + +"What are you staring at?" demanded Miss Minchin sharply. "Are you so +stupid you don't understand what I mean? I tell you that you are quite +alone in the world, and have no one to do anything for you, unless I +choose to keep you here." + +The truth was, Miss Minchin was in her worst mood. To be suddenly +deprived of a large sum of money yearly and a show pupil, and to find +herself with a little beggar on her hands, was more than she could bear +with any degree of calmness. + +"Now listen to me," she went on, "and remember what I say. If you work +hard and prepare to make yourself useful in a few years, I shall let you +stay here. You are only a child, but you are a sharp child, and you pick +up things almost without being taught. You speak French very well, and +in a year or so you can begin to help with the younger pupils. By the +time you are fifteen you ought to be able to do that much at least." + +"I can speak French better than you, now," said Sara; "I always spoke it +with my papa in India." Which was not at all polite, but was painfully +true; because Miss Minchin could not speak French at all, and, indeed, +was not in the least a clever person. But she was a hard, grasping +business woman; and, after the first shock of disappointment, had seen +that at very little expense to herself she might prepare this clever, +determined child to be very useful to her and save her the necessity of +paying large salaries to teachers of languages. + +"Don't be impudent, or you will be punished," she said. "You will have +to improve your manners if you expect to earn your bread. You are not a +parlor boarder now. Remember that if you don't please me, and I send you +away, you have no home but the street. You can go now." + +Sara turned away. + +"Stay," commanded Miss Minchin, "don't you intend to thank me?" + +Sara turned toward her. The nervous twitch was to be seen again in her +face, and she seemed to be trying to control it. + +"What for?" she said. + +"For my kindness to you," replied Miss Minchin. "For my kindness in +giving you a home." + +Sara went two or three steps nearer to her. Her thin little chest was +heaving up and down, and she spoke in a strange, unchildish voice. + +"You are not kind," she said. "You are not kind." And she turned +again and went out of the room, leaving Miss Minchin staring after her +strange, small figure in stony anger. + +The child walked up the staircase, holding tightly to her doll; she +meant to go to her bedroom, but at the door she was met by Miss Amelia. + +"You are not to go in there," she said. "That is not your room now." + +"Where is my room?" asked Sara. + +"You are to sleep in the attic next to the cook." + +Sara walked on. She mounted two flights more, and reached the door of +the attic room, opened it and went in, shutting it behind her. She +stood against it and looked about her. The room was slanting-roofed and +whitewashed; there was a rusty grate, an iron bedstead, and some odd +articles of furniture, sent up from better rooms below, where they had +been used until they were considered to be worn out. Under the skylight +in the roof, which showed nothing but an oblong piece of dull gray sky, +there was a battered old red footstool. + +Sara went to it and sat down. She was a queer child, as I have said +before, and quite unlike other children. She seldom cried. She did not +cry now. She laid her doll, Emily, across her knees, and put her face +down upon her, and her arms around her, and sat there, her little black +head resting on the black crape, not saying one word, not making one +sound. + + +From that day her life changed entirely. Sometimes she used to feel as +if it must be another life altogether, the life of some other child. She +was a little drudge and outcast; she was given her lessons at odd times +and expected to learn without being taught; she was sent on errands by +Miss Minchin, Miss Amelia and the cook. Nobody took any notice of her +except when they ordered her about. She was often kept busy all day and +then sent into the deserted school-room with a pile of books to learn +her lessons or practise at night. She had never been intimate with +the other pupils, and soon she became so shabby that, taking her queer +clothes together with her queer little ways, they began to look upon +her as a being of another world than their own. The fact was that, as +a rule, Miss Minchin's pupils were rather dull, matter-of-fact young +people, accustomed to being rich and comfortable; and Sara, with her +elfish cleverness, her desolate life, and her odd habit of fixing her +eyes upon them and staring them out of countenance, was too much for +them. + +"She always looks as if she was finding you out," said one girl, who was +sly and given to making mischief. "I am," said Sara promptly, when +she heard of it. "That's what I look at them for. I like to know about +people. I think them over afterward." + +She never made any mischief herself or interfered with any one. She +talked very little, did as she was told, and thought a great deal. +Nobody knew, and in fact nobody cared, whether she was unhappy or happy, +unless, perhaps, it was Emily, who lived in the attic and slept on the +iron bedstead at night. Sara thought Emily understood her feelings, +though she was only wax and had a habit of staring herself. Sara used to +talk to her at night. + +"You are the only friend I have in the world," she would say to her. +"Why don't you say something? Why don't you speak? Sometimes I am sure +you could, if you would try. It ought to make you try, to know you are +the only thing I have. If I were you, I should try. Why don't you try?" + +It really was a very strange feeling she had about Emily. It arose from +her being so desolate. She did not like to own to herself that her only +friend, her only companion, could feel and hear nothing. She wanted to +believe, or to pretend to believe, that Emily understood and sympathized +with her, that she heard her even though she did not speak in answer. +She used to put her in a chair sometimes and sit opposite to her on +the old red footstool, and stare at her and think and pretend about her +until her own eyes would grow large with something which was almost like +fear, particularly at night, when the garret was so still, when the only +sound that was to be heard was the occasional squeak and scurry of rats +in the wainscot. There were rat-holes in the garret, and Sara detested +rats, and was always glad Emily was with her when she heard their +hateful squeak and rush and scratching. One of her "pretends" was that +Emily was a kind of good witch and could protect her. Poor little Sara! +everything was "pretend" with her. She had a strong imagination; there +was almost more imagination than there was Sara, and her whole forlorn, +uncared-for child-life was made up of imaginings. She imagined and +pretended things until she almost believed them, and she would scarcely +have been surprised at any remarkable thing that could have happened. So +she insisted to herself that Emily understood all about her troubles and +was really her friend. + +"As to answering," she used to say, "I don't answer very often. I never +answer when I can help it. When people are insulting you, there is +nothing so good for them as not to say a word--just to look at them and +think. Miss Minchin turns pale with rage when I do it. Miss Amelia looks +frightened, so do the girls. They know you are stronger than they are, +because you are strong enough to hold in your rage and they are not, +and they say stupid things they wish they hadn't said afterward. There's +nothing so strong as rage, except what makes you hold it in--that's +stronger. It's a good thing not to answer your enemies. I scarcely ever +do. Perhaps Emily is more like me than I am like myself. Perhaps she +would rather not answer her friends, even. She keeps it all in her +heart." + +But though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments, Sara did +not find it easy. When, after a long, hard day, in which she had been +sent here and there, sometimes on long errands, through wind and cold +and rain; and, when she came in wet and hungry, had been sent out again +because nobody chose to remember that she was only a child, and that +her thin little legs might be tired, and her small body, clad in +its forlorn, too small finery, all too short and too tight, might be +chilled; when she had been given only harsh words and cold, slighting +looks for thanks, when the cook had been vulgar and insolent; when Miss +Minchin had been in her worst moods, and when she had seen the girls +sneering at her among themselves and making fun of her poor, outgrown +clothes--then Sara did not find Emily quite all that her sore, proud, +desolate little heart needed as the doll sat in her little old chair and +stared. + +One of these nights, when she came up to the garret cold, hungry, tired, +and with a tempest raging in her small breast, Emily's stare seemed so +vacant, her sawdust legs and arms so limp and inexpressive, that Sara +lost all control over herself. + +"I shall die presently!" she said at first. + +Emily stared. + +"I can't bear this!" said the poor child, trembling. "I know I shall +die. I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm starving to death. I've walked a thousand +miles to-day, and they have done nothing but scold me from morning until +night. And because I could not find that last thing they sent me for, +they would not give me any supper. Some men laughed at me because my old +shoes made me slip down in the mud. I'm covered with mud now. And they +laughed! Do you hear!" + +She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent wax face, and +suddenly a sort of heartbroken rage seized her. She lifted her little +savage hand and knocked Emily off the chair, bursting into a passion of +sobbing. + +"You are nothing but a doll!" she cried. + +"Nothing but a doll-doll-doll! You care for nothing. You are stuffed +with sawdust. You never had a heart. Nothing could ever make you feel. +You are a doll!" + +Emily lay upon the floor, with her legs ignominiously doubled up over +her head, and a new flat place on the end of her nose; but she was still +calm, even dignified. + +Sara hid her face on her arms and sobbed. Some rats in the wall began +to fight and bite each other, and squeak and scramble. But, as I have +already intimated, Sara was not in the habit of crying. After a while +she stopped, and when she stopped she looked at Emily, who seemed to be +gazing at her around the side of one ankle, and actually with a kind of +glassy-eyed sympathy. Sara bent and picked her up. Remorse overtook her. + +"You can't help being a doll," she said, with a resigned sigh, "any more +than those girls downstairs can help not having any sense. We are not +all alike. Perhaps you do your sawdust best." + +None of Miss Minchin's young ladies were very remarkable for being +brilliant; they were select, but some of them were very dull, and some +of them were fond of applying themselves to their lessons. Sara, who +snatched her lessons at all sorts of untimely hours from tattered and +discarded books, and who had a hungry craving for everything readable, +was often severe upon them in her small mind. They had books they never +read; she had no books at all. If she had always had something to read, +she would not have been so lonely. She liked romances and history and +poetry; she would read anything. There was a sentimental housemaid in +the establishment who bought the weekly penny papers, and subscribed +to a circulating library, from which she got greasy volumes containing +stories of marquises and dukes who invariably fell in love with +orange-girls and gypsies and servant-maids, and made them the proud +brides of coronets; and Sara often did parts of this maid's work so that +she might earn the privilege of reading these romantic histories. There +was also a fat, dull pupil, whose name was Ermengarde St. John, who was +one of her resources. Ermengarde had an intellectual father, who, in +his despairing desire to encourage his daughter, constantly sent her +valuable and interesting books, which were a continual source of grief +to her. Sara had once actually found her crying over a big package of +them. + +"What is the matter with you?" she asked her, perhaps rather +disdainfully. + +And it is just possible she would not have spoken to her, if she had not +seen the books. The sight of books always gave Sara a hungry feeling, +and she could not help drawing near to them if only to read their +titles. + +"What is the matter with you?" she asked. + +"My papa has sent me some more books," answered Ermengarde woefully, +"and he expects me to read them." + +"Don't you like reading?" said Sara. + +"I hate it!" replied Miss Ermengarde St. John. "And he will ask me +questions when he sees me: he will want to know how much I remember; how +would you like to have to read all those?" + +"I'd like it better than anything else in the world," said Sara. + +Ermengarde wiped her eyes to look at such a prodigy. + +"Oh, gracious!" she exclaimed. + +Sara returned the look with interest. A sudden plan formed itself in her +sharp mind. + +"Look here!" she said. "If you'll lend me those books, I'll read them +and tell you everything that's in them afterward, and I'll tell it +to you so that you will remember it. I know I can. The A B C children +always remember what I tell them." + +"Oh, goodness!" said Ermengarde. "Do you think you could?" + +"I know I could," answered Sara. "I like to read, and I always remember. +I'll take care of the books, too; they will look just as new as they do +now, when I give them back to you." + +Ermengarde put her handkerchief in her pocket. + +"If you'll do that," she said, "and if you'll make me remember, I'll +give you--I'll give you some money." + +"I don't want your money," said Sara. "I want your books--I want them." +And her eyes grew big and queer, and her chest heaved once. + +"Take them, then," said Ermengarde; "I wish I wanted them, but I am not +clever, and my father is, and he thinks I ought to be." + +Sara picked up the books and marched off with them. But when she was at +the door, she stopped and turned around. + +"What are you going to tell your father?" she asked. + +"Oh," said Ermengarde, "he needn't know; he'll think I've read them." + +Sara looked down at the books; her heart really began to beat fast. + +"I won't do it," she said rather slowly, "if you are going to tell him +lies about it--I don't like lies. Why can't you tell him I read them and +then told you about them?" + +"But he wants me to read them," said Ermengarde. + +"He wants you to know what is in them," said Sara; "and if I can tell +it to you in an easy way and make you remember, I should think he would +like that." + +"He would like it better if I read them myself," replied Ermengarde. + +"He will like it, I dare say, if you learn anything in any way," said +Sara. "I should, if I were your father." + +And though this was not a flattering way of stating the case, Ermengarde +was obliged to admit it was true, and, after a little more argument, +gave in. And so she used afterward always to hand over her books to +Sara, and Sara would carry them to her garret and devour them; and after +she had read each volume, she would return it and tell Ermengarde about +it in a way of her own. She had a gift for making things interesting. +Her imagination helped her to make everything rather like a story, +and she managed this matter so well that Miss St. John gained more +information from her books than she would have gained if she had read +them three times over by her poor stupid little self. When Sara sat down +by her and began to tell some story of travel or history, she made the +travellers and historical people seem real; and Ermengarde used to sit +and regard her dramatic gesticulations, her thin little flushed cheeks, +and her shining, odd eyes with amazement. + +"It sounds nicer than it seems in the book," she would say. "I never +cared about Mary, Queen of Scots, before, and I always hated the French +Revolution, but you make it seem like a story." + +"It is a story," Sara would answer. "They are all stories. Everything is +a story--everything in this world. You are a story--I am a story--Miss +Minchin is a story. You can make a story out of anything." + +"I can't," said Ermengarde. + +Sara stared at her a minute reflectively. + +"No," she said at last. "I suppose you couldn't. You are a little like +Emily." + +"Who is Emily?" + +Sara recollected herself. She knew she was sometimes rather impolite in +the candor of her remarks, and she did not want to be impolite to a girl +who was not unkind--only stupid. Notwithstanding all her sharp little +ways she had the sense to wish to be just to everybody. In the hours she +spent alone, she used to argue out a great many curious questions with +herself. One thing she had decided upon was, that a person who was +clever ought to be clever enough not to be unjust or deliberately unkind +to any one. Miss Minchin was unjust and cruel, Miss Amelia was unkind +and spiteful, the cook was malicious and hasty-tempered--they all were +stupid, and made her despise them, and she desired to be as unlike them +as possible. So she would be as polite as she could to people who in the +least deserved politeness. + +"Emily is--a person--I know," she replied. + +"Do you like her?" asked Ermengarde. + +"Yes, I do," said Sara. + +Ermengarde examined her queer little face and figure again. She did +look odd. She had on, that day, a faded blue plush skirt, which barely +covered her knees, a brown Cloth sacque, and a pair of olive-green +stockings which Miss Minchin had made her piece out with black ones, +so that they would be long enough to be kept on. And yet Ermengarde was +beginning slowly to admire her. Such a forlorn, thin, neglected little +thing as that, who could read and read and remember and tell you things +so that they did not tire you all out! A child who could speak French, +and who had learned German, no one knew how! One could not help staring +at her and feeling interested, particularly one to whom the simplest +lesson was a trouble and a woe. + +"Do you like me?" said Ermengarde, finally, at the end of her scrutiny. + +Sara hesitated one second, then she answered: + +"I like you because you are not ill-natured--I like you for letting me +read your books--I like you because you don't make spiteful fun of me +for what I can't help. It's not your fault that--" + +She pulled herself up quickly. She had been going to say, "that you are +stupid." + +"That what?" asked Ermengarde. + +"That you can't learn things quickly. If you can't, you can't. If I can, +why, I can--that's all." She paused a minute, looking at the plump face +before her, and then, rather slowly, one of her wise, old-fashioned +thoughts came to her. + +"Perhaps," she said, "to be able to learn things quickly isn't +everything. To be kind is worth a good deal to other people. If Miss +Minchin knew everything on earth, which she doesn't, and if she was like +what she is now, she'd still be a detestable thing, and everybody would +hate her. Lots of clever people have done harm and been wicked. Look at +Robespierre--" + +She stopped again and examined her companion's countenance. + +"Do you remember about him?" she demanded. "I believe you've forgotten." + +"Well, I don't remember all of it," admitted Ermengarde. + +"Well," said Sara, with courage and determination, "I'll tell it to you +over again." + +And she plunged once more into the gory records of the French +Revolution, and told such stories of it, and made such vivid pictures of +its horrors, that Miss St. John was afraid to go to bed afterward, and +hid her head under the blankets when she did go, and shivered until she +fell asleep. But afterward she preserved lively recollections of the +character of Robespierre, and did not even forget Marie Antoinette and +the Princess de Lamballe. + +"You know they put her head on a pike and danced around it," Sara had +said; "and she had beautiful blonde hair; and when I think of her, I +never see her head on her body, but always on a pike, with those furious +people dancing and howling." + +Yes, it was true; to this imaginative child everything was a story; and +the more books she read, the more imaginative she became. One of her +chief entertainments was to sit in her garret, or walk about it, and +"suppose" things. On a cold night, when she had not had enough to eat, +she would draw the red footstool up before the empty grate, and say in +the most intense voice: + +"Suppose there was a grate, wide steel grate here, and a great glowing +fire--a glowing fire--with beds of red-hot coal and lots of little +dancing, flickering flames. Suppose there was a soft, deep rug, and this +was a comfortable chair, all cushions and crimson velvet; and suppose I +had a crimson velvet frock on, and a deep lace collar, like a child in +a picture; and suppose all the rest of the room was furnished in lovely +colors, and there were book-shelves full of books, which changed by +magic as soon as you had read them; and suppose there was a little table +here, with a snow-white cover on it, and little silver dishes, and in +one there was hot, hot soup, and in another a roast chicken, and in +another some raspberry-jam tarts with crisscross on them, and in another +some grapes; and suppose Emily could speak, and we could sit and eat our +supper, and then talk and read; and then suppose there was a soft, warm +bed in the corner, and when we were tired we could go to sleep, and +sleep as long as we liked." + +Sometimes, after she had supposed things like these for half an hour, +she would feel almost warm, and would creep into bed with Emily and fall +asleep with a smile on her face. + +"What large, downy pillows!" she would whisper. "What white sheets +and fleecy blankets!" And she almost forgot that her real pillows had +scarcely any feathers in them at all, and smelled musty, and that her +blankets and coverlid were thin and full of holes. + +At another time she would "suppose" she was a princess, and then she +would go about the house with an expression on her face which was a +source of great secret annoyance to Miss Minchin, because it seemed as +if the child scarcely heard the spiteful, insulting things said to her, +or, if she heard them, did not care for them at all. Sometimes, while +she was in the midst of some harsh and cruel speech, Miss Minchin would +find the odd, unchildish eyes fixed upon her with something like a proud +smile in them. At such times she did not know that Sara was saying to +herself: + +"You don't know that you are saying these things to a princess, and that +if I chose I could wave my hand and order you to execution. I only spare +you because I am a princess, and you are a poor, stupid, old, vulgar +thing, and don't know any better." + +This used to please and amuse her more than anything else; and queer and +fanciful as it was, she found comfort in it, and it was not a bad thing +for her. It really kept her from being made rude and malicious by the +rudeness and malice of those about her. + +"A princess must be polite," she said to herself. And so when the +servants, who took their tone from their mistress, were insolent and +ordered her about, she would hold her head erect, and reply to them +sometimes in a way which made them stare at her, it was so quaintly +civil. + +"I am a princess in rags and tatters," she would think, "but I am a +princess, inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed +in cloth-of-gold; it is a great deal more of a triumph to be one all the +time when no one knows it. There was Marie Antoinette; when she was in +prison, and her throne was gone, and she had only a black gown on, +and her hair was white, and they insulted her and called her the Widow +Capet,--she was a great deal more like a queen then than when she was so +gay and had everything grand. I like her best then. Those howling mobs +of people did not frighten her. She was stronger than they were even +when they cut her head off." + +Once when such thoughts were passing through her mind the look in her +eyes so enraged Miss Minchin that she flew at Sara and boxed her ears. + +Sara awakened from her dream, started a little, and then broke into a +laugh. + +"What are you laughing at, you bold, impudent child!" exclaimed Miss +Minchin. + +It took Sara a few seconds to remember she was a princess. Her cheeks +were red and smarting from the blows she had received. + +"I was thinking," she said. + +"Beg my pardon immediately," said Miss Minchin. + +"I will beg your pardon for laughing, if it was rude," said Sara; "but I +won't beg your pardon for thinking." + +"What were you thinking?" demanded Miss Minchin. "How dare you think? +What were you thinking?" + +This occurred in the school-room, and all the girls looked up from their +books to listen. It always interested them when Miss Minchin flew at +Sara, because Sara always said something queer, and never seemed in the +least frightened. She was not in the least frightened now, though her +boxed ears were scarlet, and her eyes were as bright as stars. + +"I was thinking," she answered gravely and quite politely, "that you did +not know what you were doing." + +"That I did not know what I was doing!" Miss Minchin fairly gasped. + +"Yes," said Sara, "and I was thinking what would happen, if I were +a princess and you boxed my ears--what I should do to you. And I was +thinking that if I were one, you would never dare to do it, whatever I +said or did. And I was thinking how surprised and frightened you would +be if you suddenly found out--" + +She had the imagined picture so clearly before her eyes, that she spoke +in a manner which had an effect even on Miss Minchin. It almost seemed +for the moment to her narrow, unimaginative mind that there must be some +real power behind this candid daring. + +"What!" she exclaimed, "found out what?" + +"That I really was a princess," said Sara, "and could do +anything--anything I liked." + +"Go to your room," cried Miss Minchin breathlessly, "this instant. Leave +the school-room. Attend to your lessons, young ladies." + +Sara made a little bow. + +"Excuse me for laughing, if it was impolite," she said, and walked out +of the room, leaving Miss Minchin in a rage and the girls whispering +over their books. + +"I shouldn't be at all surprised if she did turn out to be something," +said one of them. "Suppose she should!" + + +That very afternoon Sara had an opportunity of proving to herself +whether she was really a princess or not. It was a dreadful afternoon. +For several days it had rained continuously, the streets were chilly and +sloppy; there was mud everywhere--sticky London mud--and over everything +a pall of fog and drizzle. Of course there were several long and +tiresome errands to be done,--there always were on days like this,--and +Sara was sent out again and again, until her shabby clothes were damp +through. The absurd old feathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled +and absurd than ever, and her down-trodden shoes were so wet they could +not hold any more water. Added to this, she had been deprived of her +dinner, because Miss Minchin wished to punish her. She was very hungry. +She was so cold and hungry and tired that her little face had a pinched +look, and now and then some kind-hearted person passing her in the +crowded street glanced at her with sympathy. But she did not know that. +She hurried on, trying to comfort herself in that queer way of hers by +pretending and "supposing,"--but really this time it was harder than she +had ever found it, and once or twice she thought it almost made her +more cold and hungry instead of less so. But she persevered obstinately. +"Suppose I had dry clothes on," she thought. "Suppose I had good shoes +and a long, thick coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella. And +suppose--suppose, just when I was near a baker's where they sold hot +buns, I should find sixpence--which belonged to nobody. Suppose, if +I did, I should go into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns, and +should eat them all without stopping." + +Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes. It certainly was +an odd thing which happened to Sara. She had to cross the street just as +she was saying this to herself--the mud was dreadful--she almost had to +wade. She picked her way as carefully as she could, but she could not +save herself much, only, in picking her way she had to look down at +her feet and the mud, and in looking down--just as she reached the +pavement--she saw something shining in the gutter. A piece of silver--a +tiny piece trodden upon by many feet, but still with spirit enough +to shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it--a +four-penny piece! In one second it was in her cold, little red and blue +hand. "Oh!" she gasped. "It is true!" + +And then, if you will believe me, she looked straight before her at the +shop directly facing her. And it was a baker's, and a cheerful, stout, +motherly woman, with rosy cheeks, was just putting into the window a +tray of delicious hot buns,--large, plump, shiny buns, with currants in +them. + +It almost made Sara feel faint for a few seconds--the shock and the +sight of the buns and the delightful odors of warm bread floating up +through the baker's cellar-window. + +She knew that she need not hesitate to use the little piece of money. +It had evidently been lying in the mud for some time, and its owner was +completely lost in the streams of passing people who crowded and jostled +each other all through the day. + +"But I'll go and ask the baker's woman if she has lost a piece of +money," she said to herself, rather faintly. + +So she crossed the pavement and put her wet foot on the step of the +shop; and as she did so she saw something which made her stop. + +It was a little figure more forlorn than her own--a little figure which +was not much more than a bundle of rags, from which small, bare, red and +muddy feet peeped out--only because the rags with which the wearer was +trying to cover them were not long enough. Above the rags appeared a +shock head of tangled hair and a dirty face, with big, hollow, hungry +eyes. + +Sara knew they were hungry eyes the moment she saw them, and she felt a +sudden sympathy. + +"This," she said to herself, with a little sigh, "is one of the +Populace--and she is hungrier than I am." + +The child--this "one of the Populace"--stared up at Sara, and shuffled +herself aside a little, so as to give her more room. She was used to +being made to give room to everybody. She knew that if a policeman +chanced to see her, he would tell her to "move on." + +Sara clutched her little four-penny piece, and hesitated a few seconds. +Then she spoke to her. + +"Are you hungry?" she asked. + +The child shuffled herself and her rags a little more. + +"Ain't I jist!" she said, in a hoarse voice. "Jist ain't I!" + +"Haven't you had any dinner?" said Sara. + +"No dinner," more hoarsely still and with more shuffling, "nor yet no +bre'fast--nor yet no supper--nor nothin'." + +"Since when?" asked Sara. + +"Dun'no. Never got nothin' to-day--nowhere. I've axed and axed." + +Just to look at her made Sara more hungry and faint. But those queer +little thoughts were at work in her brain, and she was talking to +herself though she was sick at heart. + +"If I'm a princess," she was saying--"if I'm a princess--! When they +were poor and driven from their thrones--they always shared--with the +Populace--if they met one poorer and hungrier. They always shared. Buns +are a penny each. If it had been sixpence! I could have eaten six. It +won't be enough for either of us--but it will be better than nothing." + +"Wait a minute," she said to the beggar-child. She went into the shop. +It was warm and smelled delightfully. The woman was just going to put +more hot buns in the window. + +"If you please," said Sara, "have you lost fourpence--a silver +fourpence?" And she held the forlorn little piece of money out to her. + +The woman looked at it and at her--at her intense little face and +draggled, once-fine clothes. + +"Bless us--no," she answered. "Did you find it?" + +"In the gutter," said Sara. + +"Keep it, then," said the woman. "It may have been there a week, and +goodness knows who lost it. You could never find out." + +"I know that," said Sara, "but I thought I'd ask you." + +"Not many would," said the woman, looking puzzled and interested and +good-natured all at once. "Do you want to buy something?" she added, as +she saw Sara glance toward the buns. + +"Four buns, if you please," said Sara; "those at a penny each." + +The woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag. Sara noticed +that she put in six. + +"I said four, if you please," she explained. "I have only the +fourpence." + +"I'll throw in two for make-weight," said the woman, with her +good-natured look. "I dare say you can eat them some time. Aren't you +hungry?" + +A mist rose before Sara's eyes. + +"Yes," she answered. "I am very hungry, and I am much obliged to you for +your kindness, and," she was going to add, "there is a child outside who +is hungrier than I am." But just at that moment two or three customers +came in at once and each one seemed in a hurry, so she could only thank +the woman again and go out. + +The child was still huddled up on the corner of the steps. She looked +frightful in her wet and dirty rags. She was staring with a stupid look +of suffering straight before her, and Sara saw her suddenly draw the +back of her roughened, black hand across her eyes to rub away the tears +which seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way from under her +lids. She was muttering to herself. + +Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which had +already warmed her cold hands a little. + +"See," she said, putting the bun on the ragged lap, "that is nice and +hot. Eat it, and you will not be so hungry." + +The child started and stared up at her; then she snatched up the bun and +began to cram it into her mouth with great wolfish bites. + +"Oh, my! Oh, my!" Sara heard her say hoarsely, in wild delight. + +"Oh, my!" + +Sara took out three more buns and put them down. + +"She is hungrier than I am," she said to herself. "She's starving." But +her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. "I'm not starving," +she said--and she put down the fifth. + +The little starving London savage was still snatching and devouring when +she turned away. She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even if she +had been taught politeness--which she had not. She was only a poor +little wild animal. + +"Good-bye," said Sara. + +When she reached the other side of the street she looked back. The child +had a bun in both hands, and had stopped in the middle of a bite to +watch her. Sara gave her a little nod, and the child, after another +stare,--a curious, longing stare,--jerked her shaggy head in response, +and until Sara was out of sight she did not take another bite or even +finish the one she had begun. + +At that moment the baker-woman glanced out of her shop-window. + +"Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "If that young'un hasn't given her buns +to a beggar-child! It wasn't because she didn't want them, either--well, +well, she looked hungry enough. I'd give something to know what she did +it for." She stood behind her window for a few moments and pondered. +Then her curiosity got the better of her. She went to the door and spoke +to the beggar-child. + +"Who gave you those buns?" she asked her. + +The child nodded her head toward Sara's vanishing figure. + +"What did she say?" inquired the woman. + +"Axed me if I was 'ungry," replied the hoarse voice. + +"What did you say?" + +"Said I was jist!" + +"And then she came in and got buns and came out and gave them to you, +did she?" + +The child nodded. + +"How many?" + +"Five." + +The woman thought it over. "Left just one for herself," she said, in +a low voice. "And she could have eaten the whole six--I saw it in her +eyes." + +She looked after the little, draggled, far-away figure, and felt more +disturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt for many a +day. + +"I wish she hadn't gone so quick," she said. "I'm blest if she shouldn't +have had a dozen." + +Then she turned to the child. + +"Are you hungry, yet?" she asked. + +"I'm allus 'ungry," was the answer; "but 'tain't so bad as it was." + +"Come in here," said the woman, and she held open the shop-door. + +The child got up and shuffled in. To be invited into a warm place full +of bread seemed an incredible thing. She did not know what was going to +happen; she did not care, even. + +"Get yourself warm," said the woman, pointing to a fire in a tiny back +room. "And, look here,--when you're hard up for a bite of bread, you can +come here and ask for it. I'm blest if I won't give it to you for that +young un's sake." + + +Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun. It was hot; and it was a +great deal better than nothing. She broke off small pieces and ate them +slowly to make it last longer. + +"Suppose it was a magic bun," she said, "and a bite was as much as a +whole dinner. I should be over-eating myself if I went on like this." + +It was dark when she reached the square in which Miss Minchin's Select +Seminary was situated; the lamps were lighted, and in most of the +windows gleams of light were to be seen. It always interested Sara to +catch glimpses of the rooms before the shutters were closed. She liked +to imagine things about people who sat before the fires in the houses, +or who bent over books at the tables. There was, for instance, the Large +Family opposite. She called these people the Large Family--not because +they were large, for indeed most of them were little,--but because there +were so many of them. There were eight children in the Large Family, +and a stout, rosy mother, and a stout, rosy father, and a stout, rosy +grand-mamma, and any number of servants. The eight children were +always either being taken out to walk, or to ride in perambulators, by +comfortable nurses; or they were going to drive with their mamma; or +they were flying to the door in the evening to kiss their papa and +dance around him and drag off his overcoat and look for packages in +the pockets of it; or they were crowding about the nursery windows +and looking out and pushing each other and laughing,--in fact they were +always doing something which seemed enjoyable and suited to the tastes +of a large family. Sara was quite attached to them, and had given them +all names out of books. She called them the Montmorencys, when she did +not call them the Large Family. The fat, fair baby with the lace cap was +Ethelberta Beauchamp Montmorency; the next baby was Violet Cholmondely +Montmorency; the little boy who could just stagger, and who had such +round legs, was Sydney Cecil Vivian Montmorency; and then came Lilian +Evangeline, Guy Clarence, Maud Marian, Rosalind Gladys, Veronica +Eustacia, and Claude Harold Hector. + +Next door to the Large Family lived the Maiden Lady, who had a +companion, and two parrots, and a King Charles spaniel; but Sara was not +so very fond of her, because she did nothing in particular but talk to +the parrots and drive out with the spaniel. The most interesting person +of all lived next door to Miss Minchin herself. Sara called him the +Indian Gentleman. He was an elderly gentleman who was said to have lived +in the East Indies, and to be immensely rich and to have something the +matter with his liver,--in fact, it had been rumored that he had no +liver at all, and was much inconvenienced by the fact. At any rate, he +was very yellow and he did not look happy; and when he went out to his +carriage, he was almost always wrapped up in shawls and overcoats, as +if he were cold. He had a native servant who looked even colder than +himself, and he had a monkey who looked colder than the native servant. +Sara had seen the monkey sitting on a table, in the sun, in the +parlor window, and he always wore such a mournful expression that she +sympathized with him deeply. + +"I dare say," she used sometimes to remark to herself, "he is thinking +all the time of cocoanut trees and of swinging by his tail under a +tropical sun. He might have had a family dependent on him too, poor +thing!" + +The native servant, whom she called the Lascar, looked mournful too, but +he was evidently very faithful to his master. + +"Perhaps he saved his master's life in the Sepoy rebellion," she +thought. "They look as if they might have had all sorts of adventures. I +wish I could speak to the Lascar. I remember a little Hindustani." + +And one day she actually did speak to him, and his start at the sound of +his own language expressed a great deal of surprise and delight. He was +waiting for his master to come out to the carriage, and Sara, who was +going on an errand as usual, stopped and spoke a few words. She had a +special gift for languages and had remembered enough Hindustani to make +herself understood by him. When his master came out, the Lascar spoke +to him quickly, and the Indian Gentleman turned and looked at her +curiously. And afterward the Lascar always greeted her with salaams of +the most profound description. And occasionally they exchanged a few +words. She learned that it was true that the Sahib was very rich--that +he was ill--and also that he had no wife nor children, and that England +did not agree with the monkey. + +"He must be as lonely as I am," thought Sara. "Being rich does not seem +to make him happy." + +That evening, as she passed the windows, the Lascar was closing the +shutters, and she caught a glimpse of the room inside. There was a +bright fire glowing in the grate, and the Indian Gentleman was sitting +before it, in a luxurious chair. The room was richly furnished, and +looked delightfully comfortable, but the Indian Gentleman sat with his +head resting on his hand, and looked as lonely and unhappy as ever. + +"Poor man!" said Sara; "I wonder what you are `supposing'?" + +When she went into the house she met Miss Minchin in the hall. + +"Where have you wasted your time?" said Miss Minchin. "You have been out +for hours!" + +"It was so wet and muddy," Sara answered. "It was hard to walk, because +my shoes were so bad and slipped about so." + +"Make no excuses," said Miss Minchin, "and tell no falsehoods." + +Sara went downstairs to the kitchen. + +"Why didn't you stay all night?" said the cook. + +"Here are the things," said Sara, and laid her purchases on the table. + +The cook looked over them, grumbling. She was in a very bad temper +indeed. + +"May I have something to eat?" Sara asked rather faintly. + +"Tea's over and done with," was the answer. "Did you expect me to keep +it hot for you?" + +Sara was silent a second. + +"I had no dinner," she said, and her voice was quite low. She made it +low, because she was afraid it would tremble. + +"There's some bread in the pantry," said the cook. "That's all you'll +get at this time of day." + +Sara went and found the bread. It was old and hard and dry. The cook +was in too bad a humor to give her anything to eat with it. She had just +been scolded by Miss Minchin, and it was always safe and easy to vent +her own spite on Sara. + +Really it was hard for the child to climb the three long flights of +stairs leading to her garret. She often found them long and steep when +she was tired, but to-night it seemed as if she would never reach the +top. Several times a lump rose in her throat and she was obliged to stop +to rest. + +"I can't pretend anything more to-night," she said wearily to herself. +"I'm sure I can't. I'll eat my bread and drink some water and then go to +sleep, and perhaps a dream will come and pretend for me. I wonder what +dreams are." + +Yes, when she reached the top landing there were tears in her eyes, and +she did not feel like a princess--only like a tired, hungry, lonely, +lonely child. + +"If my papa had lived," she said, "they would not have treated me like +this. If my papa had lived, he would have taken care of me." + +Then she turned the handle and opened the garret-door. + +Can you imagine it--can you believe it? I find it hard to believe it +myself. And Sara found it impossible; for the first few moments she +thought something strange had happened to her eyes--to her mind--that +the dream had come before she had had time to fall asleep. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Oh! it isn't true! I know, I know +it isn't true!" And she slipped into the room and closed the door and +locked it, and stood with her back against it, staring straight before +her. + +Do you wonder? In the grate, which had been empty and rusty and cold +when she left it, but which now was blackened and polished up quite +respectably, there was a glowing, blazing fire. On the hob was a little +brass kettle, hissing and boiling; spread upon the floor was a warm, +thick rug; before the fire was a folding-chair, unfolded and with +cushions on it; by the chair was a small folding-table, unfolded, +covered with a white cloth, and upon it were spread small covered +dishes, a cup and saucer, and a tea-pot; on the bed were new, warm +coverings, a curious wadded silk robe, and some books. The little, cold, +miserable room seemed changed into Fairyland. It was actually warm and +glowing. + +"It is bewitched!" said Sara. "Or I am bewitched. I only think I see +it all; but if I can only keep on thinking it, I don't care--I don't +care--if I can only keep it up!" + +She was afraid to move, for fear it would melt away. She stood with her +back against the door and looked and looked. But soon she began to feel +warm, and then she moved forward. + +"A fire that I only thought I saw surely wouldn't feel warm," she said. +"It feels real--real." + +She went to it and knelt before it. She touched the chair, the table; +she lifted the cover of one of the dishes. There was something hot and +savory in it--something delicious. The tea-pot had tea in it, ready for +the boiling water from the little kettle; one plate had toast on it, +another, muffins. + +"It is real," said Sara. "The fire is real enough to warm me; I can sit +in the chair; the things are real enough to eat." + +It was like a fairy story come true--it was heavenly. She went to the +bed and touched the blankets and the wrap. They were real too. She +opened one book, and on the title-page was written in a strange hand, +"The little girl in the attic." + +Suddenly--was it a strange thing for her to do?--Sara put her face down +on the queer, foreign looking quilted robe and burst into tears. + +"I don't know who it is," she said, "but somebody cares about me a +little--somebody is my friend." + +Somehow that thought warmed her more than the fire. She had never had +a friend since those happy, luxurious days when she had had everything; +and those days had seemed such a long way off--so far away as to be only +like dreams--during these last years at Miss Minchin's. + +She really cried more at this strange thought of having a friend--even +though an unknown one--than she had cried over many of her worst +troubles. + +But these tears seemed different from the others, for when she had wiped +them away they did not seem to leave her eyes and her heart hot and +smarting. + +And then imagine, if you can, what the rest of the evening was like. +The delicious comfort of taking off the damp clothes and putting on the +soft, warm, quilted robe before the glowing fire--of slipping her cold +feet into the luscious little wool-lined slippers she found near her +chair. And then the hot tea and savory dishes, the cushioned chair and +the books! + +It was just like Sara, that, once having found the things real, she +should give herself up to the enjoyment of them to the very utmost. She +had lived such a life of imagining, and had found her pleasure so long +in improbabilities, that she was quite equal to accepting any wonderful +thing that happened. After she was quite warm and had eaten her supper +and enjoyed herself for an hour or so, it had almost ceased to be +surprising to her that such magical surroundings should be hers. As +to finding out who had done all this, she knew that it was out of the +question. She did not know a human soul by whom it could seem in the +least degree probable that it could have been done. + +"There is nobody," she said to herself, "nobody." She discussed the +matter with Emily, it is true, but more because it was delightful to +talk about it than with a view to making any discoveries. + +"But we have a friend, Emily," she said; "we have a friend." + +Sara could not even imagine a being charming enough to fill her grand +ideal of her mysterious benefactor. If she tried to make in her mind +a picture of him or her, it ended by being something glittering and +strange--not at all like a real person, but bearing resemblance to a +sort of Eastern magician, with long robes and a wand. And when she fell +asleep, beneath the soft white blanket, she dreamed all night of this +magnificent personage, and talked to him in Hindustani, and made salaams +to him. + +Upon one thing she was determined. She would not speak to any one of +her good fortune--it should be her own secret; in fact, she was +rather inclined to think that if Miss Minchin knew, she would take her +treasures from her or in some way spoil her pleasure. So, when she went +down the next morning, she shut her door very tight and did her best to +look as if nothing unusual had occurred. And yet this was rather hard, +because she could not help remembering, every now and then, with a sort +of start, and her heart would beat quickly every time she repeated to +herself, "I have a friend!" + +It was a friend who evidently meant to continue to be kind, for when she +went to her garret the next night--and she opened the door, it must be +confessed, with rather an excited feeling--she found that the same hands +had been again at work, and had done even more than before. The fire and +the supper were again there, and beside them a number of other things +which so altered the look of the garret that Sara quite lost her breath. +A piece of bright, strange, heavy cloth covered the battered mantel, and +on it some ornaments had been placed. All the bare, ugly things which +could be covered with draperies had been concealed and made to look +quite pretty. Some odd materials in rich colors had been fastened +against the walls with sharp, fine tacks--so sharp that they could be +pressed into the wood without hammering. Some brilliant fans were pinned +up, and there were several large cushions. A long, old wooden box was +covered with a rug, and some cushions lay on it, so that it wore quite +the air of a sofa. + +Sara simply sat down, and looked, and looked again. + +"It is exactly like something fairy come true," she said; "there isn't +the least difference. I feel as if I might wish for anything--diamonds +and bags of gold--and they would appear! That couldn't be any stranger +than this. Is this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp Sara? +And to think how I used to pretend, and pretend, and wish there were +fairies! The one thing I always wanted was to see a fairy story come +true. I am living in a fairy story! I feel as if I might be a fairy +myself, and be able to turn things into anything else!" + +It was like a fairy story, and, what was best of all, it continued. +Almost every day something new was done to the garret. Some new comfort +or ornament appeared in it when Sara opened her door at night, until +actually, in a short time it was a bright little room, full of all sorts +of odd and luxurious things. And the magician had taken care that the +child should not be hungry, and that she should have as many books as +she could read. When she left the room in the morning, the remains of +her supper were on the table, and when she returned in the evening, the +magician had removed them, and left another nice little meal. Downstairs +Miss Minchin was as cruel and insulting as ever, Miss Amelia was as +peevish, and the servants were as vulgar. Sara was sent on errands, and +scolded, and driven hither and thither, but somehow it seemed as if she +could bear it all. The delightful sense of romance and mystery lifted +her above the cook's temper and malice. The comfort she enjoyed and +could always look forward to was making her stronger. If she came home +from her errands wet and tired, she knew she would soon be warm, after +she had climbed the stairs. In a few weeks she began to look less thin. +A little color came into her cheeks, and her eyes did not seem much too +big for her face. + +It was just when this was beginning to be so apparent that Miss Minchin +sometimes stared at her questioningly, that another wonderful thing +happened. A man came to the door and left several parcels. All were +addressed (in large letters) to "the little girl in the attic." Sara +herself was sent to open the door, and she took them in. She laid +the two largest parcels down on the hall-table and was looking at the +address, when Miss Minchin came down the stairs. + +"Take the things upstairs to the young lady to whom they belong," she +said. "Don't stand there staring at them." + +"They belong to me," answered Sara, quietly. + +"To you!" exclaimed Miss Minchin. "What do you mean?" + +"I don't know where they came from," said Sara, "but they're addressed +to me." + +Miss Minchin came to her side and looked at them with an excited +expression. + +"What is in them?" she demanded. + +"I don't know," said Sara. + +"Open them!" she demanded, still more excitedly. + +Sara did as she was told. They contained pretty and comfortable +clothing,--clothing of different kinds; shoes and stockings and gloves, +a warm coat, and even an umbrella. On the pocket of the coat was pinned +a paper on which was written, "To be worn every day--will be replaced by +others when necessary." + +Miss Minchin was quite agitated. This was an incident which suggested +strange things to her sordid mind. Could it be that she had made a +mistake after all, and that the child so neglected and so unkindly +treated by her had some powerful friend in the background? It would not +be very pleasant if there should be such a friend, and he or she should +learn all the truth about the thin, shabby clothes, the scant food, +the hard work. She felt queer indeed and uncertain, and she gave a +side-glance at Sara. + +"Well," she said, in a voice such as she had never used since the day +the child lost her father--"well, some one is very kind to you. As you +have the things and are to have new ones when they are worn out, you +may as well go and put them on and look respectable; and after you +are dressed, you may come downstairs and learn your lessons in the +school-room." + +So it happened that, about half an hour afterward, Sara struck the +entire school-room of pupils dumb with amazement, by making her +appearance in a costume such as she had never worn since the change of +fortune whereby she ceased to be a show-pupil and a parlor-boarder. She +scarcely seemed to be the same Sara. She was neatly dressed in a pretty +gown of warm browns and reds, and even her stockings and slippers were +nice and dainty. + +"Perhaps some one has left her a fortune," one of the girls whispered. +"I always thought something would happen to her, she is so queer." + +That night when Sara went to her room she carried out a plan she had +been devising for some time. She wrote a note to her unknown friend. It +ran as follows: + + +"I hope you will not think it is not polite that I should write this +note to you when you wish to keep yourself a secret, but I do not mean +to be impolite, or to try to find out at all, only I want to thank you +for being so kind to me--so beautiful kind, and making everything like a +fairy story. I am so grateful to you and I am so happy! I used to be so +lonely and cold and, hungry, and now, oh, just think what you have done +for me! Please let me say just these words. It seems as if I ought to +say them. Thank you--thank you--thank you! + +"THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE ATTIC." + + +The next morning she left this on the little table, and it was taken +away with the other things; so she felt sure the magician had received +it, and she was happier for the thought. + +A few nights later a very odd thing happened. She found something in the +room which she certainly would never have expected. When she came in +as usual she saw something small and dark in her chair,--an odd, tiny +figure, which turned toward her a little, weird-looking, wistful face. + +"Why, it's the monkey!" she cried. "It is the Indian Gentleman's monkey! +Where can he have come from?" + +It was the monkey, sitting up and looking so like a mite of a child +that it really was quite pathetic; and very soon Sara found out how he +happened to be in her room. The skylight was open, and it was easy to +guess that he had crept out of his master's garret-window, which was +only a few feet away and perfectly easy to get in and out of, even for a +climber less agile than a monkey. He had probably climbed to the garret +on a tour of investigation, and getting out upon the roof, and being +attracted by the light in Sara's attic, had crept in. At all events this +seemed quite reasonable, and there he was; and when Sara went to him, he +actually put out his queer, elfish little hands, caught her dress, and +jumped into her arms. + +"Oh, you queer, poor, ugly, foreign little thing!" said Sara, caressing +him. "I can't help liking you. You look like a sort of baby, but I am +so glad you are not, because your mother could not be proud of you, and +nobody would dare to say you were like any of your relations. But I do +like you; you have such a forlorn little look in your face. Perhaps you +are sorry you are so ugly, and it's always on your mind. I wonder if you +have a mind?" + +The monkey sat and looked at her while she talked, and seemed much +interested in her remarks, if one could judge by his eyes and his +forehead, and the way he moved his head up and down, and held it +sideways and scratched it with his little hand. He examined Sara quite +seriously, and anxiously, too. He felt the stuff of her dress, touched +her hands, climbed up and examined her ears, and then sat on her +shoulder holding a lock of her hair, looking mournful but not at all +agitated. Upon the whole, he seemed pleased with Sara. + +"But I must take you back," she said to him, "though I'm sorry to have +to do it. Oh, the company you would be to a person!" + +She lifted him from her shoulder, set him on her knee, and gave him a +bit of cake. He sat and nibbled it, and then put his head on one side, +looked at her, wrinkled his forehead, and then nibbled again, in the +most companionable manner. + +"But you must go home," said Sara at last; and she took him in her arms +to carry him downstairs. Evidently he did not want to leave the room, +for as they reached the door he clung to her neck and gave a little +scream of anger. + +"You mustn't be an ungrateful monkey," said Sara. "You ought to be +fondest of your own family. I am sure the Lascar is good to you." + +Nobody saw her on her way out, and very soon she was standing on the +Indian Gentleman's front steps, and the Lascar had opened the door for +her. + +"I found your monkey in my room," she said in Hindustani. "I think he +got in through the window." + +The man began a rapid outpouring of thanks; but, just as he was in the +midst of them, a fretful, hollow voice was heard through the open door +of the nearest room. The instant he heard it the Lascar disappeared, and +left Sara still holding the monkey. + +It was not many moments, however, before he came back bringing a +message. His master had told him to bring Missy into the library. The +Sahib was very ill, but he wished to see Missy. + +Sara thought this odd, but she remembered reading stories of Indian +gentlemen who, having no constitutions, were extremely cross and full of +whims, and who must have their own way. So she followed the Lascar. + +When she entered the room the Indian Gentleman was lying on an easy +chair, propped up with pillows. He looked frightfully ill. His yellow +face was thin, and his eyes were hollow. He gave Sara a rather curious +look--it was as if she wakened in him some anxious interest. + +"You live next door?" he said. + +"Yes," answered Sara. "I live at Miss Minchin's." + +"She keeps a boarding-school?" + +"Yes," said Sara. + +"And you are one of her pupils?" + +Sara hesitated a moment. + +"I don't know exactly what I am," she replied. + +"Why not?" asked the Indian Gentleman. + +The monkey gave a tiny squeak, and Sara stroked him. + +"At first," she said, "I was a pupil and a parlor boarder; but now--" + +"What do you mean by `at first'?" asked the Indian Gentleman. + +"When I was first taken there by my papa." + +"Well, what has happened since then?" said the invalid, staring at her +and knitting his brows with a puzzled expression. + +"My papa died," said Sara. "He lost all his money, and there was +none left for me--and there was no one to take care of me or pay Miss +Minchin, so--" + +"So you were sent up into the garret and neglected, and made into a +half-starved little drudge!" put in the Indian Gentleman. "That is about +it, isn't it?" + +The color deepened on Sara's cheeks. + +"There was no one to take care of me, and no money," she said. "I belong +to nobody." + +"What did your father mean by losing his money?" said the gentleman, +fretfully. + +The red in Sara's cheeks grew deeper, and she fixed her odd eyes on the +yellow face. + +"He did not lose it himself," she said. "He had a friend he was fond +of, and it was his friend, who took his money. I don't know how. I don't +understand. He trusted his friend too much." + +She saw the invalid start--the strangest start--as if he had been +suddenly frightened. Then he spoke nervously and excitedly: + +"That's an old story," he said. "It happens every day; but sometimes +those who are blamed--those who do the wrong--don't intend it, and are +not so bad. It may happen through a mistake--a miscalculation; they may +not be so bad." + +"No," said Sara, "but the suffering is just as bad for the others. It +killed my papa." + +The Indian Gentleman pushed aside some of the gorgeous wraps that +covered him. + +"Come a little nearer, and let me look at you," he said. + +His voice sounded very strange; it had a more nervous and excited tone +than before. Sara had an odd fancy that he was half afraid to look at +her. She came and stood nearer, the monkey clinging to her and watching +his master anxiously over his shoulder. + +The Indian Gentleman's hollow, restless eyes fixed themselves on her. + +"Yes," he said at last. "Yes; I can see it. Tell me your father's name." + +"His name was Ralph Crewe," said Sara. "Captain Crewe. Perhaps,"--a +sudden thought flashing upon her,--"perhaps you may have heard of him? +He died in India." + +The Indian Gentleman sank back upon his pillows. He looked very weak, +and seemed out of breath. + +"Yes," he said, "I knew him. I was his friend. I meant no harm. If he +had only lived he would have known. It turned out well after all. He was +a fine young fellow. I was fond of him. I will make it right. Call--call +the man." + +Sara thought he was going to die. But there was no need to call the +Lascar. He must have been waiting at the door. He was in the room and by +his master's side in an instant. He seemed to know what to do. He lifted +the drooping head, and gave the invalid something in a small glass. The +Indian Gentleman lay panting for a few minutes, and then he spoke in an +exhausted but eager voice, addressing the Lascar in Hindustani: + +"Go for Carmichael," he said. "Tell him to come here at once. Tell him I +have found the child!" + +When Mr. Carmichael arrived (which occurred in a very few minutes, for +it turned out that he was no other than the father of the Large Family +across the street), Sara went home, and was allowed to take the monkey +with her. She certainly did not sleep very much that night, though the +monkey behaved beautifully, and did not disturb her in the least. It was +not the monkey that kept her awake--it was her thoughts, and her wonders +as to what the Indian Gentleman had meant when he said, "Tell him I have +found the child." "What child?" Sara kept asking herself. + +"I was the only child there; but how had he found me, and why did he +want to find me? And what is he going to do, now I am found? Is it +something about my papa? Do I belong to somebody? Is he one of my +relations? Is something going to happen?" + +But she found out the very next day, in the morning; and it seemed that +she had been living in a story even more than she had imagined. First, +Mr. Carmichael came and had an interview with Miss Minchin. And it +appeared that Mr. Carmichael, besides occupying the important situation +of father to the Large Family was a lawyer, and had charge of the +affairs of Mr. Carrisford--which was the real name of the Indian +Gentleman--and, as Mr. Carrisford's lawyer, Mr. Carmichael had come to +explain something curious to Miss Minchin regarding Sara. But, being the +father of the Large Family, he had a very kind and fatherly feeling for +children; and so, after seeing Miss Minchin alone, what did he do but +go and bring across the square his rosy, motherly, warm-hearted wife, +so that she herself might talk to the little lonely girl, and tell her +everything in the best and most motherly way. + +And then Sara learned that she was to be a poor little drudge and +outcast no more, and that a great change had come in her fortunes; for +all the lost fortune had come back to her, and a great deal had even +been added to it. It was Mr. Carrisford who had been her father's +friend, and who had made the investments which had caused him the +apparent loss of his money; but it had so happened that after poor young +Captain Crewe's death one of the investments which had seemed at the +time the very worst had taken a sudden turn, and proved to be such a +success that it had been a mine of wealth, and had more than doubled the +Captain's lost fortune, as well as making a fortune for Mr. Carrisford +himself. But Mr. Carrisford had been very unhappy. He had truly loved +his poor, handsome, generous young friend, and the knowledge that he had +caused his death had weighed upon him always, and broken both his health +and spirit. The worst of it had been that, when first he thought himself +and Captain Crewe ruined, he had lost courage and gone away because he +was not brave enough to face the consequences of what he had done, and +so he had not even known where the young soldier's little girl had +been placed. When he wanted to find her, and make restitution, he +could discover no trace of her; and the certainty that she was poor and +friendless somewhere had made him more miserable than ever. When he had +taken the house next to Miss Minchin's he had been so ill and wretched +that he had for the time given up the search. His troubles and the +Indian climate had brought him almost to death's door--indeed, he had +not expected to live more than a few months. And then one day the Lascar +had told him about Sara's speaking Hindustani, and gradually he had +begun to take a sort of interest in the forlorn child, though he had +only caught a glimpse of her once or twice and he had not connected +her with the child of his friend, perhaps because he was too languid +to think much about anything. But the Lascar had found out something +of Sara's unhappy little life, and about the garret. One evening he had +actually crept out of his own garret-window and looked into hers, which +was a very easy matter, because, as I have said, it was only a few feet +away--and he had told his master what he had seen, and in a moment of +compassion the Indian Gentleman had told him to take into the wretched +little room such comforts as he could carry from the one window to the +other. And the Lascar, who had developed an interest in, and an odd +fondness for, the child who had spoken to him in his own tongue, had +been pleased with the work; and, having the silent swiftness and agile +movements of many of his race, he had made his evening journeys across +the few feet of roof from garret-window to garret-window, without any +trouble at all. He had watched Sara's movements until he knew exactly +when she was absent from her room and when she returned to it, and so he +had been able to calculate the best times for his work. Generally he +had made them in the dusk of the evening; but once or twice, when he +had seen her go out on errands, he had dared to go over in the daytime, +being quite sure that the garret was never entered by any one but +herself. His pleasure in the work and his reports of the results had +added to the invalid's interest in it, and sometimes the master had +found the planning gave him something to think of, which made him almost +forget his weariness and pain. And at last, when Sara brought home the +truant monkey, he had felt a wish to see her, and then her likeness to +her father had done the rest. + +"And now, my dear," said good Mrs. Carmichael, patting Sara's hand, "all +your troubles are over, I am sure, and you are to come home with me and +be taken care of as if you were one of my own little girls; and we are +so pleased to think of having you with us until everything is settled, +and Mr. Carrisford is better. The excitement of last night has made him +very weak, but we really think he will get well, now that such a load +is taken from his mind. And when he is stronger, I am sure he will be as +kind to you as your own papa would have been. He has a very good heart, +and he is fond of children--and he has no family at all. But we must +make you happy and rosy, and you must learn to play and run about, as my +little girls do--" + +"As your little girls do?" said Sara. "I wonder if I could. I used to +watch them and wonder what it was like. Shall I feel as if I belonged to +somebody?" + +"Ah, my love, yes!--yes!" said Mrs. Carmichael; "dear me, yes!" And her +motherly blue eyes grew quite moist, and she suddenly took Sara in her +arms and kissed her. That very night, before she went to sleep, Sara had +made the acquaintance of the entire Large Family, and such excitement +as she and the monkey had caused in that joyous circle could hardly be +described. There was not a child in the nursery, from the Eton boy who +was the eldest, to the baby who was the youngest, who had not laid +some offering on her shrine. All the older ones knew something of her +wonderful story. She had been born in India; she had been poor and +lonely and unhappy, and had lived in a garret and been treated unkindly; +and now she was to be rich and happy, and be taken care of. They were so +sorry for her, and so delighted and curious about her, all at once. The +girls wished to be with her constantly, and the little boys wished to be +told about India; the second baby, with the short round legs, simply +sat and stared at her and the monkey, possibly wondering why she had not +brought a hand-organ with her. + +"I shall certainly wake up presently," Sara kept saying to herself. +"This one must be a dream. The other one turned out to be real; but this +couldn't be. But, oh! how happy it is!" + +And even when she went to bed, in the bright, pretty room not far from +Mrs. Carmichael's own, and Mrs. Carmichael came and kissed her and +patted her and tucked her in cozily, she was not sure that she would not +wake up in the garret in the morning. + +"And oh, Charles, dear," Mrs. Carmichael said to her husband, when she +went downstairs to him, "We must get that lonely look out of her eyes! +It isn't a child's look at all. I couldn't bear to see it in one of my +own children. What the poor little love must have had to bear in that +dreadful woman's house! But, surely, she will forget it in time." + + +But though the lonely look passed away from Sara's face, she never quite +forgot the garret at Miss Minchin's; and, indeed, she always liked to +remember the wonderful night when the tired princess crept upstairs, +cold and wet, and opening the door found fairy-land waiting for her. And +there was no one of the many stories she was always being called upon to +tell in the nursery of the Large Family which was more popular than that +particular one; and there was no one of whom the Large Family were so +fond as of Sara. Mr. Carrisford did not die, but recovered, and Sara +went to live with him; and no real princess could have been better taken +care of than she was. It seemed that the Indian Gentleman could not do +enough to make her happy, and to repay her for the past; and the Lascar +was her devoted slave. As her odd little face grew brighter, it grew so +pretty and interesting that Mr. Carrisford used to sit and watch it many +an evening, as they sat by the fire together. + +They became great friends, and they used to spend hours reading and +talking together; and, in a very short time, there was no pleasanter +sight to the Indian Gentleman than Sara sitting in her big chair on the +opposite side of the hearth, with a book on her knee and her soft, dark +hair tumbling over her warm cheeks. She had a pretty habit of looking +up at him suddenly, with a bright smile, and then he would often say to +her: + +"Are you happy, Sara?" + +And then she would answer: + +"I feel like a real princess, Uncle Tom." + +He had told her to call him Uncle Tom. + +"There doesn't seem to be anything left to `suppose,'" she added. + +There was a little joke between them that he was a magician, and so +could do anything he liked; and it was one of his pleasures to invent +plans to surprise her with enjoyments she had not thought of. Scarcely +a day passed in which he did not do something new for her. Sometimes she +found new flowers in her room; sometimes a fanciful little gift tucked +into some odd corner, sometimes a new book on her pillow;--once as they +sat together in the evening they heard the scratch of a heavy paw on +the door of the room, and when Sara went to find out what it was, there +stood a great dog--a splendid Russian boar-hound with a grand silver and +gold collar. Stooping to read the inscription upon the collar, Sara was +delighted to read the words: "I am Boris; I serve the Princess Sara." + +Then there was a sort of fairy nursery arranged for the entertainment of +the juvenile members of the Large Family, who were always coming to see +Sara and the Lascar and the monkey. Sara was as fond of the Large Family +as they were of her. She soon felt as if she were a member of it, and +the companionship of the healthy, happy children was very good for +her. All the children rather looked up to her and regarded her as the +cleverest and most brilliant of creatures--particularly after it was +discovered that she not only knew stories of every kind, and could +invent new ones at a moment's notice, but that she could help with +lessons, and speak French and German, and discourse with the Lascar in +Hindustani. + +It was rather a painful experience for Miss Minchin to watch her +ex-pupil's fortunes, as she had the daily opportunity to do, and to feel +that she had made a serious mistake, from a business point of view. She +had even tried to retrieve it by suggesting that Sara's education should +be continued under her care, and had gone to the length of making an +appeal to the child herself. + +"I have always been very fond of you," she said. + +Then Sara fixed her eyes upon her and gave her one of her odd looks. + +"Have you?" she answered. + +"Yes," said Miss Minchin. "Amelia and I have always said you were +the cleverest child we had with us, and I am sure we could make you +happy--as a parlor boarder." + +Sara thought of the garret and the day her ears were boxed,--and of that +other day, that dreadful, desolate day when she had been told that she +belonged to nobody; that she had no home and no friends,--and she kept +her eyes fixed on Miss Minchin's face. + +"You know why I would not stay with you," she said. + +And it seems probable that Miss Minchin did, for after that simple +answer she had not the boldness to pursue the subject. She merely sent +in a bill for the expense of Sara's education and support, and she made +it quite large enough. And because Mr. Carrisford thought Sara would +wish it paid, it was paid. When Mr. Carmichael paid it he had a brief +interview with Miss Minchin in which he expressed his opinion with much +clearness and force; and it is quite certain that Miss Minchin did not +enjoy the conversation. + +Sara had been about a month with Mr. Carrisford, and had begun to +realize that her happiness was not a dream, when one night the Indian +Gentleman saw that she sat a long time with her cheek on her hand +looking at the fire. + +"What are you `supposing,' Sara?" he asked. Sara looked up with a bright +color on her cheeks. + +"I was `supposing,'" she said; "I was remembering that hungry day, and a +child I saw." + +"But there were a great many hungry days," said the Indian Gentleman, +with a rather sad tone in his voice. "Which hungry day was it?" + +"I forgot you didn't know," said Sara. "It was the day I found the +things in my garret." + +And then she told him the story of the bun-shop, and the fourpence, and +the child who was hungrier than herself; and somehow as she told it, +though she told it very simply indeed, the Indian Gentleman found it +necessary to shade his eyes with his hand and look down at the floor. + +"And I was `supposing' a kind of plan," said Sara, when she had +finished; "I was thinking I would like to do something." + +"What is it?" said her guardian in a low tone. "You may do anything you +like to do, Princess." + +"I was wondering," said Sara,--"you know you say I have a great deal of +money--and I was wondering if I could go and see the bun-woman and +tell her that if, when hungry children--particularly on those dreadful +days--come and sit on the steps or look in at the window, she would just +call them in and give them something to eat, she might send the bills to +me and I would pay them--could I do that?" + +"You shall do it to-morrow morning," said the Indian Gentleman. + +"Thank you," said Sara; "you see I know what it is to be hungry, and it +is very hard when one can't even pretend it away." + +"Yes, yes, my dear," said the Indian Gentleman. "Yes, it must be. Try +to forget it. Come and sit on this footstool near my knee, and only +remember you are a princess." + +"Yes," said Sara, "and I can give buns and bread to the Populace." And +she went and sat on the stool, and the Indian Gentleman (he used to +like her to call him that, too, sometimes,--in fact very often) drew her +small, dark head down upon his knee and stroked her hair. + +The next morning a carriage drew up before the door of the baker's shop, +and a gentleman and a little girl got out,--oddly enough, just as the +bun-woman was putting a tray of smoking hotbuns into the window. When +Sara entered the shop the woman turned and looked at her and, leaving +the buns, came and stood behind the counter. For a moment she looked at +Sara very hard indeed, and then her good-natured face lighted up. + +"I'm that sure I remember you, miss," she said. "And yet--" + +"Yes," said Sara, "once you gave me six buns for fourpence, and--" + +"And you gave five of 'em to a beggar-child," said the woman. "I've +always remembered it. I couldn't make it out at first. I beg pardon, +sir, but there's not many young people that notices a hungry face in +that way, and I've thought of it many a time. Excuse the liberty, miss, +but you look rosier and better than you did that day." + +"I am better, thank you," said Sara, "and--and I am happier, and I have +come to ask you to do something for me." + +"Me, miss!" exclaimed the woman, "why, bless you, yes, miss! What can I +do?" + +And then Sara made her little proposal, and the woman listened to it +with an astonished face. + +"Why, bless me!" she said, when she had heard it all. "Yes, miss, it'll +be a pleasure to me to do it. I am a working woman, myself, and can't +afford to do much on my own account, and there's sights of trouble on +every side; but if you'll excuse me, I'm bound to say I've given many +a bit of bread away since that wet afternoon, just along o' thinkin' of +you. An' how wet an' cold you was, an' how you looked,--an' yet you give +away your hot buns as if you was a princess." + +The Indian Gentleman smiled involuntarily, and Sara smiled a little too. +"She looked so hungry," she said. "She was hungrier than I was." + +"She was starving," said the woman. "Many's the time she's told me of it +since--how she sat there in the wet, and felt as if a wolf was a-tearing +at her poor young insides." + +"Oh, have you seen her since then?" exclaimed Sara. "Do you know where +she is?" + +"I know!" said the woman. "Why, she's in that there back room now, miss, +an' has been for a month, an' a decent, well-meaning girl she's going to +turn out, an' such a help to me in the day shop, an' in the kitchen, as +you'd scarce believe, knowing how she's lived." + +She stepped to the door of the little back parlor and spoke; and the +next minute a girl came out and followed her behind the counter. And +actually it was the beggar-child, clean and neatly clothed, and looking +as if she had not been hungry for a long time. She looked shy, but she +had a nice face, now that she was no longer a savage; and the wild look +had gone from her eyes. And she knew Sara in an instant, and stood and +looked at her as if she could never look enough. + +"You see," said the woman, "I told her to come here when she was hungry, +and when she'd come I'd give her odd jobs to do, an' I found she was +willing, an' somehow I got to like her; an' the end of it was I've given +her a place an' a home, an' she helps me, an' behaves as well, an' is as +thankful as a girl can be. Her name's Anne--she has no other." + +The two children stood and looked at each other a few moments. In Sara's +eyes a new thought was growing. + +"I'm glad you have such a good home," she said. "Perhaps Mrs. Brown will +let you give the buns and bread to the children--perhaps you would like +to do it--because you know what it is to be hungry, too." + +"Yes, miss," said the girl. + +And somehow Sara felt as if she understood her, though the girl said +nothing more, and only stood still and looked, and looked after her as +she went out of the shop and got into the carriage and drove away. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sara Crewe, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SARA CREWE *** + +***** This file should be named 137.txt or 137.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/137/ + +Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + SARA CREWE + OR + WHAT HAPPENED AT MISS MINCHIN'S + + BY + FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT + + +In the first place, Miss Minchin lived in London. +Her home was a large, dull, tall one, in a large, +dull square, where all the houses were alike, +and all the sparrows were alike, and where all the +door-knockers made the same heavy sound, and +on still days--and nearly all the days were still-- +seemed to resound through the entire row in which +the knock was knocked. On Miss Minchin's door there +was a brass plate. On the brass plate there was +inscribed in black letters, + +MISS MINCHIN'S +SELECT SEMINARY FOR YOUNG LADIES + +Little Sara Crewe never went in or out of the house +without reading that door-plate and reflecting upon it. +By the time she was twelve, she had decided that +all her trouble arose because, in the first place, +she was not "Select," and in the second she was not +a "Young Lady." When she was eight years old, +she had been brought to Miss Minchin as a pupil, +and left with her. Her papa had brought her all +the way from India. Her mamma had died when she +was a baby, and her papa had kept her with him as +long as he could. And then, finding the hot climate +was making her very delicate, he had brought her to +England and left her with Miss Minchin, to be part +of the Select Seminary for Young Ladies. Sara, who +had always been a sharp little child, who remembered +things, recollected hearing him say that he had +not a relative in the world whom he knew of, and +so he was obliged to place her at a boarding-school, +and he had heard Miss Minchin's establishment +spoken of very highly. The same day, he took Sara +out and bought her a great many beautiful clothes-- +clothes so grand and rich that only a very young +and inexperienced man would have bought them for +a mite of a child who was to be brought up in a +boarding-school. But the fact was that he was a rash, +innocent young man, and very sad at the thought of +parting with his little girl, who was all he had left +to remind him of her beautiful mother, whom he had +dearly loved. And he wished her to have everything +the most fortunate little girl could have; and so, +when the polite saleswomen in the shops said, +"Here is our very latest thing in hats, the plumes +are exactly the same as those we sold to Lady +Diana Sinclair yesterday," he immediately bought +what was offered to him, and paid whatever was asked. +The consequence was that Sara had a most +extraordinary wardrobe. Her dresses were silk +and velvet and India cashmere, her hats and +bonnets were covered with bows and plumes, her +small undergarments were adorned with real lace, +and she returned in the cab to Miss Minchin's +with a doll almost as large as herself, dressed +quite as grandly as herself, too. + +Then her papa gave Miss Minchin some money +and went away, and for several days Sara would +neither touch the doll, nor her breakfast, nor her +dinner, nor her tea, and would do nothing but +crouch in a small corner by the window and cry. +She cried so much, indeed, that she made herself ill. +She was a queer little child, with old-fashioned +ways and strong feelings, and she had adored +her papa, and could not be made to think that +India and an interesting bungalow were not +better for her than London and Miss Minchin's +Select Seminary. The instant she had entered +the house, she had begun promptly to hate Miss +Minchin, and to think little of Miss Amelia +Minchin, who was smooth and dumpy, and lisped, +and was evidently afraid of her older sister. +Miss Minchin was tall, and had large, cold, fishy +eyes, and large, cold hands, which seemed fishy, +too, because they were damp and made chills run +down Sara's back when they touched her, as +Miss Minchin pushed her hair off her forehead +and said: + +"A most beautiful and promising little girl, +Captain Crewe. She will be a favorite pupil; +quite a favorite pupil, I see." + +For the first year she was a favorite pupil; +at least she was indulged a great deal more than +was good for her. And when the Select Seminary +went walking, two by two, she was always decked +out in her grandest clothes, and led by the hand +at the head of the genteel procession, by Miss +Minchin herself. And when the parents of any +of the pupils came, she was always dressed and +called into the parlor with her doll; and she used +to hear Miss Minchin say that her father was a +distinguished Indian officer, and she would be +heiress to a great fortune. That her father had +inherited a great deal of money, Sara had heard +before; and also that some day it would be +hers, and that he would not remain long in +the army, but would come to live in London. +And every time a letter came, she hoped it would +say he was coming, and they were to live together again. + +But about the middle of the third year a letter +came bringing very different news. Because he +was not a business man himself, her papa had +given his affairs into the hands of a friend +he trusted. The friend had deceived and robbed him. +All the money was gone, no one knew exactly where, +and the shock was so great to the poor, rash young +officer, that, being attacked by jungle fever +shortly afterward, he had no strength to rally, +and so died, leaving Sara, with no one to take care +of her. + +Miss Minchin's cold and fishy eyes had never +looked so cold and fishy as they did when Sara +went into the parlor, on being sent for, a few days +after the letter was received. + +No one had said anything to the child about +mourning, so, in her old-fashioned way, she had +decided to find a black dress for herself, and had +picked out a black velvet she had outgrown, and +came into the room in it, looking the queerest little +figure in the world, and a sad little figure too. +The dress was too short and too tight, her face +was white, her eyes had dark rings around them, +and her doll, wrapped in a piece of old black +crape, was held under her arm. She was not a +pretty child. She was thin, and had a weird, +interesting little face, short black hair, and very +large, green-gray eyes fringed all around with +heavy black lashes. + +I am the ugliest child in the school," she had +said once, after staring at herself in the glass for +some minutes. + +But there had been a clever, good-natured little +French teacher who had said to the music-master: + +"Zat leetle Crewe. Vat a child! A so ogly beauty! +Ze so large eyes! ze so little spirituelle face. +Waid till she grow up. You shall see!" + +This morning, however, in the tight, small +black frock, she looked thinner and odder than +ever, and her eyes were fixed on Miss Minchin +with a queer steadiness as she slowly advanced +into the parlor, clutching her doll. + +"Put your doll down!" said Miss Minchin. + +"No," said the child, I won't put her down; +I want her with me. She is all I have. She has +stayed with me all the time since my papa died." + +She had never been an obedient child. She had +had her own way ever since she was born, and there +was about her an air of silent determination under +which Miss Minchin had always felt secretly uncomfortable. +And that lady felt even now that perhaps it would be +as well not to insist on her point. So she looked +at her as severely as possible. + +"You will have no time for dolls in future," +she said; "you will have to work and improve +yourself, and make yourself useful." + +Sara kept the big odd eyes fixed on her teacher +and said nothing. + +"Everything will be very different now," Miss +Minchin went on. "I sent for you to talk to +you and make you understand. Your father +is dead. You have no friends. You have +no money. You have no home and no one to take +care of you." + +The little pale olive face twitched nervously, +but the green-gray eyes did not move from Miss +Minchin's, and still Sara said nothing. + +"What are you staring at?" demanded Miss +Minchin sharply. "Are you so stupid you don't +understand what I mean? I tell you that you are +quite alone in the world, and have no one to do +anything for you, unless I choose to keep you here." + +The truth was, Miss Minchin was in her worst mood. +To be suddenly deprived of a large sum of money +yearly and a show pupil, and to find herself +with a little beggar on her hands, was more than +she could bear with any degree of calmness. + +"Now listen to me," she went on, "and remember +what I say. If you work hard and prepare to make +yourself useful in a few years, I shall let you +stay here. You are only a child, but you are a +sharp child, and you pick up things almost +without being taught. You speak French very well, +and in a year or so you can begin to help with the +younger pupils. By the time you are fifteen you +ought to be able to do that much at least." + +"I can speak French better than you, now," said +Sara; "I always spoke it with my papa in India." +Which was not at all polite, but was painfully true; +because Miss Minchin could not speak French at all, +and, indeed, was not in the least a clever person. +But she was a hard, grasping business woman; and, +after the first shock of disappointment, had seen +that at very little expense to herself she might +prepare this clever, determined child to be very +useful to her and save her the necessity of paying +large salaries to teachers of languages. + +"Don't be impudent, or you will be punished," she said. +"You will have to improve your manners if you expect +to earn your bread. You are not a parlor boarder now. +Remember that if you don't please me, and I send you +away, you have no home but the street. You can go now." + +Sara turned away. + +"Stay," commanded Miss Minchin, "don't you intend +to thank me?" + +Sara turned toward her. The nervous twitch +was to be seen again in her face, and she seemed +to be trying to control it. + +"What for?" she said. + +For my kindness to you," replied Miss Minchin. +"For my kindness in giving you a home." + +Sara went two or three steps nearer to her. +Her thin little chest was heaving up and down, +and she spoke in a strange, unchildish voice. + +"You are not kind," she said. "You are not kind." +And she turned again and went out of the room, +leaving Miss Minchin staring after her strange, +small figure in stony anger. + +The child walked up the staircase, holding tightly +to her doll; she meant to go to her bedroom, +but at the door she was met by Miss Amelia. + +"You are not to go in there," she said. "That is +not your room now." + +"Where is my room? " asked Sara. + +"You are to sleep in the attic next to the cook." + +Sara walked on. She mounted two flights more, +and reached the door of the attic room, opened +it and went in, shutting it behind her. She stood +against it and looked about her. The room was +slanting-roofed and whitewashed; there was a +rusty grate, an iron bedstead, and some odd +articles of furniture, sent up from better rooms +below, where they had been used until they were +considered to be worn out. Under the skylight +in the roof, which showed nothing but an oblong +piece of dull gray sky, there was a battered +old red footstool. + +Sara went to it and sat down. She was a queer child, +as I have said before, and quite unlike other children. +She seldom cried. She did not cry now. She laid her +doll, Emily, across her knees, and put her face down +upon her, and her arms around her, and sat there, +her little black head resting on the black crape, +not saying one word, not making one sound. + + +From that day her life changed entirely. Sometimes she +used to feel as if it must be another life altogether, +the life of some other child. She was a little +drudge and outcast; she was given her lessons at +odd times and expected to learn without being taught; +she was sent on errands by Miss Minchin, Miss Amelia +and the cook. Nobody took any notice of her except +when they ordered her about. She was often kept busy +all day and then sent into the deserted school-room +with a pile of books to learn her lessons or practise +at night. She had never been intimate with the +other pupils, and soon she became so shabby that, +taking her queer clothes together with her queer +little ways, they began to look upon her as a being +of another world than their own. The fact was that, +as a rule, Miss Minchin's pupils were rather dull, +matter-of-fact young people, accustomed to being rich +and comfortable; and Sara, with her elfish cleverness, +her desolate life, and her odd habit of fixing her +eyes upon them and staring them out of countenance, +was too much for them. + +"She always looks as if she was finding you out," +said one girl, who was sly and given to making mischief. +"I am," said Sara promptly, when she heard of it. +"That's what I look at them for. I like to know +about people. I think them over afterward." + +She never made any mischief herself or interfered +with any one. She talked very little, did as she +was told, and thought a great deal. Nobody knew, +and in fact nobody cared, whether she was unhappy +or happy, unless, perhaps, it was Emily, who lived +in the attic and slept on the iron bedstead at night. +Sara thought Emily understood her feelings, though +she was only wax and had a habit of staring herself. +Sara used to talk to her at night. + +"You are the only friend I have in the world," +she would say to her. "Why don't you say something? +Why don't you speak? Sometimes I am sure you could, +if you would try. It ought to make you try, +to know you are the only thing I have. If I were +you, I should try. Why don't you try?" + +It really was a very strange feeling she had +about Emily. It arose from her being so desolate. +She did not like to own to herself that her +only friend, her only companion, could feel and +hear nothing. She wanted to believe, or to pretend +to believe, that Emily understood and sympathized +with her, that she heard her even though she did +not speak in answer. She used to put her in a +chair sometimes and sit opposite to her on the old +red footstool, and stare at her and think and +pretend about her until her own eyes would grow +large with something which was almost like fear, +particularly at night, when the garret was so still, +when the only sound that was to be heard was the +occasional squeak and scurry of rats in the wainscot. +There were rat-holes in the garret, and Sara +detested rats, and was always glad Emily was with +her when she heard their hateful squeak and rush +and scratching. One of her "pretends" was that +Emily was a kind of good witch and could protect her. +Poor little Sara! everything was "pretend" with her. +She had a strong imagination; there was almost more +imagination than there was Sara, and her whole forlorn, +uncared-for child-life was made up of imaginings. +She imagined and pretended things until she almost +believed them, and she would scarcely have been surprised +at any remarkable thing that could have happened. +So she insisted to herself that Emily understood all +about her troubles and was really her friend. + +"As to answering," she used to say, "I don't +answer very often. I never answer when I can +help it. When people are insulting you, there is +nothing so good for them as not to say a word-- +just to look at them and think. Miss Minchin +turns pale with rage when I do it. Miss Amelia +looks frightened, so do the girls. They know you +are stronger than they are, because you are strong +enough to hold in your rage and they are not, +and they say stupid things they wish they hadn't +said afterward. There's nothing so strong as rage, +except what makes you hold it in--that's stronger. +It's a good thing not to answer your enemies. +I scarcely ever do. Perhaps Emily is more like +me than I am like myself. Perhaps she would +rather not answer her friends, even. She keeps +it all in her heart." + +But though she tried to satisfy herself with these +arguments, Sara did not find it easy. When, after +a long, hard day, in which she had been sent +here and there, sometimes on long errands, +through wind and cold and rain; and, when she +came in wet and hungry, had been sent out again +because nobody chose to remember that she was +only a child, and that her thin little legs might be +tired, and her small body, clad in its forlorn, too +small finery, all too short and too tight, might be +chilled; when she had been given only harsh +words and cold, slighting looks for thanks, when +the cook had been vulgar and insolent; when +Miss Minchin had been in her worst moods, and +when she had seen the girls sneering at her among +themselves and making fun of her poor, outgrown +clothes--then Sara did not find Emily quite all +that her sore, proud, desolate little heart needed +as the doll sat in her little old chair and stared. + +One of these nights, when she came up to the +garret cold, hungry, tired, and with a tempest +raging in her small breast, Emily's stare seemed +so vacant, her sawdust legs and arms so limp and +inexpressive, that Sara lost all control over herself. + +"I shall die presently!" she said at first. + +Emily stared. + +"I can't bear this!" said the poor child, trembling. +"I know I shall die. I'm cold, I'm wet, I'm +starving to death. I've walked a thousand miles +to-day, and they have done nothing but scold me +from morning until night. And because I could +not find that last thing they sent me for, they +would not give me any supper. Some men +laughed at me because my old shoes made me +slip down in the mud. I'm covered with mud now. +And they laughed! Do you hear!" + +She looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent +wax face, and suddenly a sort of heartbroken rage +seized her. She lifted her little savage hand and +knocked Emily off the chair, bursting into a passion +of sobbing. + +You are nothing but a doll!" she cried. + +"Nothing but a doll-doll-doll! You care for nothing. +You are stuffed with sawdust. You never had a heart. +Nothing could ever make you feel. You are a doll!" + +Emily lay upon the floor, with her legs ignominiously +doubled up over her head, and a new flat place on the +end of her nose; but she was still calm, even dignified. + +Sara hid her face on her arms and sobbed. Some rats +in the wall began to fight and bite each other, +and squeak and scramble. But, as I have already +intimated, Sara was not in the habit of crying. +After a while she stopped, and when she stopped +she looked at Emily, who seemed to be gazing at her +around the side of one ankle, and actually with a +kind of glassy-eyed sympathy. Sara bent and picked +her up. Remorse overtook her. + +"You can't help being a doll," she said, with a +resigned sigh, "any more than those girls downstairs +can help not having any sense. We are not all alike. +Perhaps you do your sawdust best." + +None of Miss Minchin's young ladies were very +remarkable for being brilliant; they were select, +but some of them were very dull, and some of them +were fond of applying themselves to their lessons. +Sara, who snatched her lessons at all sorts of +untimely hours from tattered and discarded books, +and who had a hungry craving for everything readable, +was often severe upon them in her small mind. +They had books they never read; she had no books +at all. If she had always had something to read, +she would not have been so lonely. She liked +romances and history and poetry; she would +read anything. There was a sentimental housemaid +in the establishment who bought the weekly penny +papers, and subscribed to a circulating library, +from which she got greasy volumes containing stories +of marquises and dukes who invariably fell in love +with orange-girls and gypsies and servant-maids, +and made them the proud brides of coronets; and +Sara often did parts of this maid's work so that +she might earn the privilege of reading these +romantic histories. There was also a fat, +dull pupil, whose name was Ermengarde St. John, +who was one of her resources. Ermengarde had an +intellectual father, who, in his despairing desire +to encourage his daughter, constantly sent her +valuable and interesting books, which were a +continual source of grief to her. Sara had once +actually found her crying over a big package of them. + +"What is the matter with you?" she asked her, +perhaps rather disdainfully. + +And it is just possible she would not have +spoken to her, if she had not seen the books. +The sight of books always gave Sara a hungry feeling, +and she could not help drawing near to them if +only to read their titles. + +"What is the matter with you?" she asked. + +"My papa has sent me some more books," +answered Ermengarde woefully, "and he expects +me to read them." + +"Don't you like reading?" said Sara. + +"I hate it!" replied Miss Ermengarde St. John. +"And he will ask me questions when he sees me: +he will want to know how much I remember; how +would you like to have to read all those?" + +"I'd like it better than anything else in the world," +said Sara. + +Ermengarde wiped her eyes to look at such a prodigy. + +"Oh, gracious!" she exclaimed. + +Sara returned the look with interest. A sudden plan +formed itself in her sharp mind. + +"Look here!" she said. "If you'll lend me those books, +I'll read them and tell you everything that's in them +afterward, and I'll tell it to you so that you will +remember it. I know I can. The A B C children always +remember what I tell them." + +"Oh, goodness!" said Ermengarde. "Do you +think you could?" + +"I know I could," answered Sara. "I like to read, +and I always remember. I'll take care of the books, +too; they will look just as new as they do now, +when I give them back to you." + +Ermengarde put her handkerchief in her pocket. + +"If you'll do that," she said, "and if you'll make +me remember, I'll give you--I'll give you some money." + +"I don't want your money," said Sara. "I want +your books--I want them." And her eyes grew +big and queer, and her chest heaved once. + +"Take them, then," said Ermengarde; "I wish +I wanted them, but I am not clever, and my father +is, and he thinks I ought to be." + +Sara picked up the books and marched off with them. +But when she was at the door, she stopped and turned around. + +"What are you going to tell your father?" she asked. + +"Oh," said Ermengarde, "he needn't know; +he'll think I've read them." + +Sara looked down at the books; her heart really began +to beat fast. + +"I won't do it," she said rather slowly, "if you are +going to tell him lies about it--I don't like lies. +Why can't you tell him I read them and then told you +about them?" + +"But he wants me to read them," said Ermengarde. + +"He wants you to know what is in them," said Sara; +and if I can tell it to you in an easy way and make +you remember, I should think he would like that." + +"He would like it better if I read them myself," +replied Ermengarde. + +"He will like it, I dare say, if you learn anything in +any way," said Sara. "I should, if I were your father." + +And though this was not a flattering way of +stating the case, Ermengarde was obliged to +admit it was true, and, after a little more +argument, gave in. And so she used afterward +always to hand over her books to Sara, and Sara +would carry them to her garret and devour them; +and after she had read each volume, she would return +it and tell Ermengarde about it in a way of her own. +She had a gift for making things interesting. +Her imagination helped her to make everything +rather like a story, and she managed this matter +so well that Miss St. John gained more information +from her books than she would have gained if she +had read them three times over by her poor +stupid little self. When Sara sat down by her +and began to tell some story of travel or history, +she made the travellers and historical people +seem real; and Ermengarde used to sit and regard +her dramatic gesticulations, her thin little flushed +cheeks, and her shining, odd eyes with amazement. + +"It sounds nicer than it seems in the book," she +would say. "I never cared about Mary, Queen +of Scots, before, and I always hated the French +Revolution, but you make it seem like a story." + +"It is a story," Sara would answer. "They are +all stories. Everything is a story--everything in +this world. You are a story--I am a story--Miss Minchin +is a story. You can make a story out of anything." + +"I can't," said Ermengarde. + +Sara stared at her a minute reflectively. + +"No," she said at last. "I suppose you couldn't. +You are a little like Emily." + +"Who is Emily?" + +Sara recollected herself. She knew she was +sometimes rather impolite in the candor of her +remarks, and she did not want to be impolite +to a girl who was not unkind--only stupid. +Notwithstanding all her sharp little ways she had +the sense to wish to be just to everybody. In the +hours she spent alone, she used to argue out a great +many curious questions with herself. One thing +she had decided upon was, that a person who was +clever ought to be clever enough not to be unjust +or deliberately unkind to any one. Miss Minchin +was unjust and cruel, Miss Amelia was unkind +and spiteful, the cook was malicious and hasty- +tempered--they all were stupid, and made her +despise them, and she desired to be as unlike them +as possible. So she would be as polite as she +could to people who in the least deserved politeness. + +"Emily is--a person--I know," she replied. + +"Do you like her?" asked Ermengarde. + +"Yes, I do," said Sara. + +Ermengarde examined her queer little face and +figure again. She did look odd. She had on, +that day, a faded blue plush skirt, which barely +covered her knees, a brown Cloth sacque, and a +pair of olive-green stockings which Miss Minchin +had made her piece out with black ones, so that +they would be long enough to be kept on. And yet +Ermengarde was beginning slowly to admire her. +Such a forlorn, thin, neglected little thing +as that, who could read and read and remember +and tell you things so that they did not tire you +all out! A child who could speak French, and +who had learned German, no one knew how! One could +not help staring at her and feeling interested, +particularly one to whom the simplest lesson was +a trouble and a woe. + +"Do you like me?" said Ermengarde, finally, at +the end of her scrutiny. + +Sara hesitated one second, then she answered: + +"I like you because you are not ill-natured--I +like you for letting me read your books--I like +you because you don't make spiteful fun of me for +what I can't help. It's not your fault that--" + +She pulled herself up quickly. She had been +going to say, "that you are stupid." + +"That what?" asked Ermengarde. + +"That you can't learn things quickly. If you +can't, you can't. If I can, why, I can--that's all." +She paused a minute, looking at the plump face +before her, and then, rather slowly, one of her +wise, old-fashioned thoughts came to her. + +"Perhaps," she said, "to be able to learn things +quickly isn't everything. To be kind is worth a +good deal to other people. If Miss Minchin knew +everything on earth, which she doesn't, and if she +was like what she is now, she'd still be a detestable +thing, and everybody would hate her. Lots of clever +people have done harm and been wicked. Look at Robespierre--" + +She stopped again and examined her companion's countenance. + +"Do you remember about him?" she demanded. "I believe +you've forgotten." + +"Well, I don't remember all of it," admitted Ermengarde. + +"Well," said Sara, with courage and determination, +"I'll tell it to you over again." + +And she plunged once more into the gory records of +the French Revolution, and told such stories of it, +and made such vivid pictures of its horrors, that +Miss St. John was afraid to go to bed afterward, +and hid her head under the blankets when she did go, +and shivered until she fell asleep. But afterward +she preserved lively recollections of the character +of Robespierre, and did not even forget Marie Antoinette +and the Princess de Lamballe. + +"You know they put her head on a pike and +danced around it," Sara had said; "and she had +beautiful blonde hair; and when I think of her, I +never see her head on her body, but always on a +pike, with those furious people dancing and howling." + +Yes, it was true; to this imaginative child +everything was a story; and the more books she +read, the more imaginative she became. One of +her chief entertainments was to sit in her garret, +or walk about it, and "suppose" things. On a +cold night, when she had not had enough to eat, +she would draw the red footstool up before the +empty grate, and say in the most intense voice: + +"Suppose there was a grate, wide steel grate +here, and a great glowing fire--a glowing fire-- +with beds of red-hot coal and lots of little dancing, +flickering flames. Suppose there was a soft, +deep rug, and this was a comfortable chair, all +cushions and crimson velvet; and suppose I had +a crimson velvet frock on, and a deep lace collar, +like a child in a picture; and suppose all the rest +of the room was furnished in lovely colors, and +there were book-shelves full of books, which +changed by magic as soon as you had read them; +and suppose there was a little table here, with a +snow-white cover on it, and little silver dishes, +and in one there was hot, hot soup, and in another +a roast chicken, and in another some raspberry-jam +tarts with crisscross on them, and in another +some grapes; and suppose Emily could speak, +and we could sit and eat our supper, and then +talk and read; and then suppose there was a soft, +warm bed in the corner, and when we were tired +we could go to sleep, and sleep as long as we liked." + +Sometimes, after she had supposed things like +these for half an hour, she would feel almost +warm, and would creep into bed with Emily and +fall asleep with a smile on her face. + +"What large, downy pillows!" she would whisper. +"What white sheets and fleecy blankets!" And she +almost forgot that her real pillows had scarcely +any feathers in them at all, and smelled musty, +and that her blankets and coverlid were thin and +full of holes. + +At another time she would "suppose" she was a +princess, and then she would go about the house +with an expression on her face which was a source +of great secret annoyance to Miss Minchin, because +it seemed as if the child scarcely heard the +spiteful, insulting things said to her, or, if +she heard them, did not care for them at all. +Sometimes, while she was in the midst of some harsh +and cruel speech, Miss Minchin would find the odd, +unchildish eyes fixed upon her with something like +a proud smile in them. At such times she did not +know that Sara was saying to herself: + +"You don't know that you are saying these things +to a princess, and that if I chose I could +wave my hand and order you to execution. I only +spare you because I am a princess, and you are +a poor, stupid, old, vulgar thing, and don't +know any better." + +This used to please and amuse her more than +anything else; and queer and fanciful as it was, +she found comfort in it, and it was not a bad +thing for her. It really kept her from being +made rude and malicious by the rudeness and +malice of those about her. + +"A princess must be polite," she said to herself. +And so when the servants, who took their tone +from their mistress, were insolent and ordered +her about, she would hold her head erect, and +reply to them sometimes in a way which made +them stare at her, it was so quaintly civil. + +"I am a princess in rags and tatters," she would +think, "but I am a princess, inside. It would be +easy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth-of- +gold; it is a great deal more of a triumph to be +one all the time when no one knows it. There was +Marie Antoinette; when she was in prison, +and her throne was gone, and she had only a +black gown on, and her hair was white, and they +insulted her and called her the Widow Capet,-- +she was a great deal more like a queen then than +when she was so gay and had everything grand. +I like her best then. Those howling mobs of +people did not frighten her. She was stronger +than they were even when they cut her head off." + +Once when such thoughts were passing through +her mind the look in her eyes so enraged Miss +Minchin that she flew at Sara and boxed her ears. + +Sara awakened from her dream, started a little, +and then broke into a laugh. + +"What are you laughing at, you bold, impudent child!" +exclaimed Miss Minchin. + +It took Sara a few seconds to remember she was +a princess. Her cheeks were red and smarting +from the blows she had received. + +"I was thinking," she said. + +"Beg my pardon immediately," said Miss Minchin. + +"I will beg your pardon for laughing, if it was +rude," said Sara; "but I won't beg your pardon +for thinking." + +"What were you thinking?" demanded Miss Minchin. +"How dare you think? What were you thinking? + +This occurred in the school-room, and all the +girls looked up from their books to listen. +It always interested them when Miss Minchin flew at +Sara, because Sara always said something queer, +and never seemed in the least frightened. She was +not in the least frightened now, though her +boxed ears were scarlet, and her eyes were as +bright as stars. + +"I was thinking," she answered gravely and +quite politely, "that you did not know what you +were doing." + +"That I did not know what I was doing!" +Miss Minchin fairly gasped. + +"Yes," said Sara, "and I was thinking what +would happen, if I were a princess and you boxed +my ears--what I should do to you. And I was +thinking that if I were one, you would never dare +to do it, whatever I said or did. And I was +thinking how surprised and frightened you would +be if you suddenly found out--" + +She had the imagined picture so clearly before her eyes, +that she spoke in a manner which had an effect even +on Miss Minchin. It almost seemed for the moment +to her narrow, unimaginative mind that there must +be some real power behind this candid daring. + +"What!" she exclaimed, "found out what?" + +"That I really was a princess," said Sara, "and +could do anything--anything I liked." + +"Go to your room," cried Miss Minchin breathlessly, +this instant. Leave the school-room. Attend to your +lessons, young ladies." + +Sara made a little bow. + +"Excuse me for laughing, if it was impolite," +she said, and walked out of the room, leaving +Miss Minchin in a rage and the girls whispering +over their books. + +"I shouldn't be at all surprised if she did +turn out to be something," said one of them. +"Suppose she should!" + + +That very afternoon Sara had an opportunity +of proving to herself whether she was really a +princess or not. It was a dreadful afternoon. +For several days it had rained continuously, the +streets were chilly and sloppy; there was mud +everywhere--sticky London mud--and over +everything a pall of fog and drizzle. Of course +there were several long and tiresome errands to +be done,--there always were on days like this,-- +and Sara was sent out again and again, until her +shabby clothes were damp through. The absurd +old feathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled +and absurd than ever, and her down-trodden shoes +were so wet they could not hold any more water. +Added to this, she had been deprived of her dinner, +because Miss Minchin wished to punish her. She was +very hungry. She was so cold and hungry and tired +that her little face had a pinched look, and now +and then some kind-hearted person passing her in +the crowded street glanced at her with sympathy. +But she did not know that. She hurried on, +trying to comfort herself in that queer way of +hers by pretending and "supposing,"--but really +this time it was harder than she had ever found it, +and once or twice she thought it almost made her +more cold and hungry instead of less so. But she +persevered obstinately. "Suppose I had dry +clothes on," she thought. "Suppose I had good +shoes and a long, thick coat and merino stockings +and a whole umbrella. And suppose--suppose, just +when I was near a baker's where they sold hot buns, +I should find sixpence--which belonged to nobody. +Suppose, if I did, I should go into the shop and +buy six of the hottest buns, and should eat them +all without stopping." + +Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes. +It certainly was an odd thing which happened +to Sara. She had to cross the street just as +she was saying this to herself--the mud was +dreadful--she almost had to wade. She picked +her way as carefully as she could, but she +could not save herself much, only, in picking her +way she had to look down at her feet and the mud, +and in looking down--just as she reached the +pavement--she saw something shining in the gutter. +A piece of silver--a tiny piece trodden upon by +many feet, but still with spirit enough to shine +a little. Not quite a sixpence, but the next +thing to it--a four-penny piece! In one second +it was in her cold, little red and blue hand. +"Oh!" she gasped. "It is true!" + +And then, if you will believe me, she looked +straight before her at the shop directly facing her. +And it was a baker's, and a cheerful, stout, +motherly woman, with rosy cheeks, was just +putting into the window a tray of delicious hot +buns,--large, plump, shiny buns, with currants in them. + +It almost made Sara feel faint for a few seconds--the +shock and the sight of the buns and the delightful +odors of warm bread floating up through the baker's +cellar-window. + +She knew that she need not hesitate to use the +little piece of money. It had evidently been lying +in the mud for some time, and its owner was +completely lost in the streams of passing people +who crowded and jostled each other all through +the day. + +"But I'll go and ask the baker's woman if she +has lost a piece of money," she said to herself, +rather faintly. + +So she crossed the pavement and put her wet +foot on the step of the shop; and as she did so +she saw something which made her stop. + +It was a little figure more forlorn than her own +--a little figure which was not much more than a +bundle of rags, from which small, bare, red and +muddy feet peeped out--only because the rags +with which the wearer was trying to cover them +were not long enough. Above the rags appeared +a shock head of tangled hair and a dirty face, +with big, hollow, hungry eyes. + +Sara knew they were hungry eyes the moment +she saw them, and she felt a sudden sympathy. + +"This," she said to herself, with a little sigh, +"is one of the Populace--and she is hungrier +than I am." + +The child--this "one of the Populace"--stared up +at Sara, and shuffled herself aside a little, so +as to give her more room. She was used to being +made to give room to everybody. She knew that if +a policeman chanced to see her, he would tell her +to "move on." + +Sara clutched her little four-penny piece, and +hesitated a few seconds. Then she spoke to her. + +"Are you hungry?" she asked. + +The child shuffled herself and her rags a little more. + +"Ain't I jist!" she said, in a hoarse voice. +"Jist ain't I!" + +"Haven't you had any dinner?" said Sara. + +"No dinner," more hoarsely still and with more +shuffling, "nor yet no bre'fast--nor yet no supper +--nor nothin'." + +"Since when?" asked Sara. + +"Dun'no. Never got nothin' to-day--nowhere. +I've axed and axed." + +Just to look at her made Sara more hungry and faint. +But those queer little thoughts were at work in her +brain, and she was talking to herself though she was +sick at heart. + +"If I'm a princess," she was saying--"if I'm +a princess--! When they were poor and driven +from their thrones--they always shared--with the +Populace--if they met one poorer and hungrier. +They always shared. Buns are a penny each. +If it had been sixpence! I could have eaten six. +It won't be enough for either of us--but it will +be better than nothing." + +"Wait a minute," she said to the beggar-child. +She went into the shop. It was warm and +smelled delightfully. The woman was just going +to put more hot buns in the window. + +"If you please," said Sara, "have you lost fourpence-- +a silver fourpence?" And she held the forlorn little +piece of money out to her. + +The woman looked at it and at her--at her intense +little face and draggled, once-fine clothes. + +"Bless us--no," she answered. "Did you find it?" + +"In the gutter," said Sara. + +"Keep it, then," said the woman. "It may have +been there a week, and goodness knows who lost it. +You could never find out." + +"I know that," said Sara, "but I thought I'd ask you." + +"Not many would," said the woman, looking puzzled +and interested and good-natured all at once. +"Do you want to buy something?" she added, +as she saw Sara glance toward the buns. + +"Four buns, if you please," said Sara; "those +at a penny each." + +The woman went to the window and put some in a +paper bag. Sara noticed that she put in six. + +"I said four, if you please," she explained. +"I have only the fourpence." + +"I'll throw in two for make-weight," said the +woman, with her good-natured look. "I dare say +you can eat them some time. Aren't you hungry?" + +A mist rose before Sara's eyes. + +"Yes," she answered. "I am very hungry, and +I am much obliged to you for your kindness, and," +she was going to add, "there is a child outside +who is hungrier than I am." But just at that +moment two or three customers came in at once and +each one seemed in a hurry, so she could only +thank the woman again and go out. + +The child was still huddled up on the corner of +the steps. She looked frightful in her wet and +dirty rags. She was staring with a stupid look +of suffering straight before her, and Sara saw her +suddenly draw the back of her roughened, black +hand across her eyes to rub away the tears which +seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way +from under her lids. She was muttering to herself. + +Sara opened the paper bag and took out one of +the hot buns, which had already warmed her cold +hands a little. + +"See," she said, putting the bun on the ragged lap, +"that is nice and hot. Eat it, and you will not be +so hungry." + +The child started and stared up at her; then +she snatched up the bun and began to cram it +into her mouth with great wolfish bites. + +"Oh, my! Oh, my!" Sara heard her say hoarsely, +in wild delight. + +"Oh, my!" + +Sara took out three more buns and put them down. + +"She is hungrier than I am," she said to herself. +"She's starving." But her hand trembled when she +put down the fourth bun. "I'm not starving," +she said--and she put down the fifth. + +The little starving London savage was still +snatching and devouring when she turned away. +She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even if +she had been taught politeness--which she had not. +She was only a poor little wild animal. + +"Good-bye," said Sara. + +When she reached the other side of the street +she looked back. The child had a bun in both +hands, and had stopped in the middle of a bite to +watch her. Sara gave her a little nod, and the +child, after another stare,--a curious, longing +stare,--jerked her shaggy head in response, and +until Sara was out of sight she did not take +another bite or even finish the one she had begun. + +At that moment the baker-woman glanced out +of her shop-window. + +"Well, I never!" she exclaimed. "If that +young'un hasn't given her buns to a beggar-child! +It wasn't because she didn't want them, either-- +well, well, she looked hungry enough. I'd give +something to know what she did it for." She stood +behind her window for a few moments and pondered. +Then her curiosity got the better of her. She went +to the door and spoke to the beggar-child. + +"Who gave you those buns?" she asked her. + +The child nodded her head toward Sara's vanishing figure. + +"What did she say?" inquired the woman. + +"Axed me if I was 'ungry," replied the hoarse voice. + +"What did you say?" + +"Said I was jist!" + +"And then she came in and got buns and came out +and gave them to you, did she?" + +The child nodded. + +"How many?" + +"Five." + +The woman thought it over. "Left just one for +herself," she said, in a low voice. "And she could +have eaten the whole six--I saw it in her eyes." + +She looked after the little, draggled, far-away +figure, and felt more disturbed in her usually +comfortable mind than she had felt for many a day. + +"I wish she hadn't gone so quick," she said. +"I'm blest if she shouldn't have had a dozen." + +Then she turned to the child. + +"Are you hungry, yet?" she asked. + +"I'm allus 'ungry," was the answer; "but 'tain't +so bad as it was." + +"Come in here," said the woman, and she held open +the shop-door. + +The child got up and shuffled in. To be invited into +a warm place full of bread seemed an incredible thing. +She did not know what was going to happen; she did not +care, even. + +"Get yourself warm," said the woman, pointing +to a fire in a tiny back room. "And, look here,-- +when you're hard up for a bite of bread, you can +come here and ask for it. I'm blest if I won't give +it to you for that young un's sake." + + +Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun. It was +hot; and it was a great deal better than nothing. +She broke off small pieces and ate them slowly to +make it last longer. + +"Suppose it was a magic bun," she said, "and a bite +was as much as a whole dinner. I should be over- +eating myself if I went on like this." + +It was dark when she reached the square in which +Miss Minchin's Select Seminary was situated; the +lamps were lighted, and in most of the windows +gleams of light were to be seen. It always +interested Sara to catch glimpses of the rooms +before the shutters were closed. She liked to +imagine things about people who sat before the +fires in the houses, or who bent over books at +the tables. There was, for instance, the Large +Family opposite. She called these people the Large +Family--not because they were large, for indeed +most of them were little,--but because there were +so many of them. There were eight children in +the Large Family, and a stout, rosy mother, and +a stout, rosy father, and a stout, rosy grand-mamma, +and any number of servants. The eight-}children +were always either being taken out to walk, +or to ride in perambulators, by comfortable +nurses; or they were going to drive with their +mamma; or they were flying to the door in the +evening to kiss their papa and dance around him +and drag off his overcoat and look for packages +in the pockets of it; or they were crowding about +the nursery windows and looking out and pushing +ach other and laughing,--in fact they were +always doing something which seemed enjoyable +and suited to the tastes of a large family. +Sara was quite attached to them, and had given +them all names out of books. She called them +the Montmorencys, when she did not call them the +Large Family. The fat, fair baby with the lace +cap was Ethelberta Beauchamp Montmorency; +the next baby was Violet Cholmondely Montmorency; +the little boy who could just stagger, and who had +such round legs, was Sydney Cecil Vivian Montmorency; +and then came Lilian Evangeline, Guy Clarence, +Maud Marian, Rosalind Gladys, Veronica Eustacia, +and Claude Harold Hector. + +Next door to the Large Family lived the Maiden Lady, +who had a companion, and two parrots, and a King +Charles spaniel; but Sara was not so very fond of her, +because she did nothing in particular but talk to +the parrots and drive out with the spaniel. The most +interesting person of all lived next door to Miss +Minchin herself. Sara called him the Indian Gentleman. +He was an elderly gentleman who was said to have +lived in the East Indies, and to be immensely rich +and to have something the matter with his liver,-- +in fact, it had been rumored that he had no liver +at all, and was much inconvenienced by the fact. +At any rate, he was very yellow and he did not look +happy; and when he went out to his carriage, he +was almost always wrapped up in shawls and +overcoats, as if he were cold. He had a native +servant who looked even colder than himself, and +he had a monkey who looked colder than the +native servant. Sara had seen the monkey sitting +on a table, in the sun, in the parlor window, and +he always wore such a mournful expression that +she sympathized with him deeply. + +"I dare say," she used sometimes to remark to +herself, "he is thinking all the time of cocoanut +trees and of swinging by his tail under a tropical sun. +He might have had a family dependent on him too, +poor thing!" + +The native servant, whom she called the Lascar, +looked mournful too, but he was evidently very +faithful to his master. + +"Perhaps he saved his master's life in the Sepoy +rebellion," she thought. "They look as if they might +have had all sorts of adventures. I wish I could +speak to the Lascar. I remember a little Hindustani." + +And one day she actually did speak to him, and his +start at the sound of his own language expressed +a great deal of surprise and delight. He was +waiting for his master to come out to the carriage, +and Sara, who was going on an errand as usual, +stopped and spoke a few words. She had a special +gift for languages and had remembered enough +Hindustani to make herself understood by him. +When his master came out, the Lascar spoke to him +quickly, and the Indian Gentleman turned and looked +at her curiously. And afterward the Lascar always +greeted her with salaams of the most profound description. +And occasionally they exchanged a few words. She learned +that it was true that the Sahib was very rich--that he +was ill--and also that he had no wife nor children, +and that England did not agree with the monkey. + +"He must be as lonely as I am," thought Sara. +"Being rich does not seem to make him happy." + +That evening, as she passed the windows, the Lascar +was closing the shutters, and she caught a glimpse of +the room inside. There was a bright fire glowing in +the grate, and the Indian Gentleman was sitting +before it, in a luxurious chair. The room was richly +furnished, and looked delightfully comfortable, but +the Indian Gentleman sat with his head resting on his +hand, and looked as lonely and unhappy as ever. + +"Poor man!" said Sara; "I wonder what you are `supposing'?" + +When she went into the house she met Miss Minchin +in the hall. + +"Where have you wasted your time?" said +Miss Minchin. "You have been out for hours!" + +"It was so wet and muddy," Sara answered. +"It was hard to walk, because my shoes were so +bad and slipped about so." + +"Make no excuses," said Miss Minchin, "and tell +no falsehoods." + +Sara went downstairs to the kitchen. + +"Why didn't you stay all night?" said the cook. + +"Here are the things," said Sara, and laid her +purchases on the table. + +The cook looked over them, grumbling. She was in +a very bad temper indeed. + +"May I have something to eat?" Sara asked +rather faintly. + +"Tea's over and done with," was the answer. +"Did you expect me to keep it hot for you? + +Sara was silent a second. + +"I had no dinner," she said, and her voice was +quite low. She made it low, because she was +afraid it would tremble. + +"There's some bread in the pantry," said the cook. +"That's all you'll get at this time of day." + +Sara went and found the bread. It was old and +hard and dry. The cook was in too bad a humor +to give her anything to eat with it. She had just +been scolded by Miss Minchin, and it was always +safe and easy to vent her own spite on Sara. + +Really it was hard for the child to climb the +three long flights of stairs leading to her garret. +She often found them long and steep when she +was tired, but to-night it seemed as if she would +never reach the top. Several times a lump rose +in her throat and she was obliged to stop to rest. + +"I can't pretend anything more to-night," she +said wearily to herself. "I'm sure I can't. +I'll eat my bread and drink some water and then go +to sleep, and perhaps a dream will come and pretend +for me. I wonder what dreams are." + +Yes, when she reached the top landing there were +tears in her eyes, and she did not feel like a +princess--only like a tired, hungry, lonely, lonely child. + +"If my papa had lived," she said, "they would +not have treated me like this. If my papa had +lived, he would have taken care of me." + +Then she turned the handle and opened the garret-door. + +Can you imagine it--can you believe it? I find +it hard to believe it myself. And Sara found it +impossible; for the first few moments she thought +something strange had happened to her eyes--to +her mind--that the dream had come before she +had had time to fall asleep. + +"Oh!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Oh! it isn't true! +I know, I know it isn't true!" And she slipped into +the room and closed the door and locked it, and stood +with her back against it, staring straight before her. + +Do you wonder? In the grate, which had been +empty and rusty and cold when she left it, but +which now was blackened and polished up quite +respectably, there was a glowing, blazing fire. +On the hob was a little brass kettle, hissing and +boiling; spread upon the floor was a warm, thick +rug; before the fire was a folding-chair, unfolded +and with cushions on it; by the chair was a small +folding-table, unfolded, covered with a white +cloth, and upon it were spread small covered +dishes, a cup and saucer, and a tea-pot; on the +bed were new, warm coverings, a curious wadded +silk robe, and some books. The little, cold, +miserable room seemed changed into Fairyland. +It was actually warm and glowing. + +"It is bewitched!" said Sara. "Or I am bewitched. +I only think I see it all; but if I can only keep +on thinking it, I don't care--I don't care-- +if I can only keep it up!" + +She was afraid to move, for fear it would melt away. +She stood with her back against the door and looked +and looked. But soon she began to feel warm, and +then she moved forward. + +"A fire that I only thought I saw surely wouldn't +feel warm," she said. "It feels real--real." + +She went to it and knelt before it. She touched +the chair, the table; she lifted the cover of one +of the dishes. There was something hot and savory +in it--something delicious. The tea-pot had tea +in it, ready for the boiling water from the little +kettle; one plate had toast on it, another, muffins. + +"It is real," said Sara. "The fire is real enough +to warm me; I can sit in the chair; the things are +real enough to eat." + +It was like a fairy story come true--it was heavenly. +She went to the bed and touched the blankets and the wrap. +They were real too. She opened one book, and on the +title-page was written in a strange hand, "The little +girl in the attic." + +Suddenly--was it a strange thing for her to do? +--Sara put her face down on the queer, foreign +looking quilted robe and burst into tears. + +"I don't know who it is," she said, "but somebody +cares about me a little--somebody is my friend." + +Somehow that thought warmed her more than the fire. +She had never had a friend since those happy, +luxurious days when she had had everything; and +those days had seemed such a long way off--so far +away as to be only like dreams--during these last +years at Miss Minchin's. + +She really cried more at this strange thought of +having a friend--even though an unknown one-- +than she had cried over many of her worst troubles. + +But these tears seemed different from the others, +for when she had wiped them away they did not seem +to leave her eyes and her heart hot and smarting. + +And then imagine, if you can, what the rest of +the evening was like. The delicious comfort of +taking off the damp clothes and putting on the +soft, warm, quilted robe before the glowing fire-- +of slipping her cold feet into the luscious little +wool-lined slippers she found near her chair. +And then the hot tea and savory dishes, the +cushioned chair and the books! + +It was just like Sara, that, once having found the +things real, she should give herself up to the +enjoyment of them to the very utmost. She had +lived such a life of imagining, and had found her +pleasure so long in improbabilities, that she was +quite equal to accepting any wonderful thing +that happened. After she was quite warm and +had eaten her supper and enjoyed herself for an +hour or so, it had almost ceased to be surprising +to her that such magical surroundings should be hers. +As to finding out who had done all this, she knew +that it was out of the question. She did not know +a human soul by whom it could seem in the least +degree probable that it could have been done. + +"There is nobody," she said to herself, "nobody." +She discussed the matter with Emily, it is true, +but more because it was delightful to talk about it +than with a view to making any discoveries. + +"But we have a friend, Emily," she said; "we have +a friend." + +Sara could not even imagine a being charming enough +to fill her grand ideal of her mysterious benefactor. +If she tried to make in her mind a picture of him +or her, it ended by being something glittering and +strange--not at all like a real person, but bearing +resemblance to a sort of Eastern magician, with +long robes and a wand. And when she fell asleep, +beneath the soft white blanket, she dreamed all +night of this magnificent personage, and talked to +him in Hindustani, and made salaams to him. + +Upon one thing she was determined. She would not +speak to any one of her good fortune--it should +be her own secret; in fact, she was rather +inclined to think that if Miss Minchin knew, +she would take her treasures from her or in +some way spoil her pleasure. So, when she +went down the next morning, she shut her door +very tight and did her best to look as if nothing +unusual had occurred. And yet this was rather +hard, because she could not help remembering, +every now and then, with a sort of start, and her +heart would beat quickly every time she repeated +to herself, "I have a friend!" + +It was a friend who evidently meant to continue +to be kind, for when she went to her garret the +next night--and she opened the door, it must be +confessed, with rather an excited feeling--she +found that the same hands had been again at work, +and had done even more than before. The fire +and the supper were again there, and beside +them a number of other things which so altered +the look of the garret that Sara quite lost +her breath. A piece of bright, strange, heavy +cloth covered the battered mantel, and on it +some ornaments had been placed. All the bare, +ugly things which could be covered with draperies +had been concealed and made to look quite pretty. +Some odd materials in rich colors had been +fastened against the walls with sharp, fine +tacks--so sharp that they could be pressed into +the wood without hammering. Some brilliant +fans were pinned up, and there were several +large cushions. A long, old wooden box was covered +with a rug, and some cushions lay on it, so that it +wore quite the air of a sofa. + +Sara simply sat down, and looked, and looked again. + +"It is exactly like something fairy come true," +she said; "there isn't the least difference. I feel +as if I might wish for anything--diamonds and bags +of gold--and they would appear! That couldn't be +any stranger than this. Is this my garret? +Am I the same cold, ragged, damp Sara? And to +think how I used to pretend, and pretend, and +wish there were fairies! The one thing I always +wanted was to see a fairy story come true. I am +living in a fairy story! I feel as if I might be +a fairy myself, and be able to turn things into +anything else!" + +It was like a fairy story, and, what was best of all, +it continued. Almost every day something new was +done to the garret. Some new comfort or ornament +appeared in it when Sara opened her door at night, +until actually, in a short time it was a bright +little room, full of all sorts of odd and +luxurious things. And the magician had taken +care that the child should not be hungry, and that +she should have as many books as she could read. +When she left the room in the morning, the remains +of her supper were on the table, and when she +returned in the evening, the magician had removed them, +and left another nice little meal. Downstairs Miss +Minchin was as cruel and insulting as ever, Miss +Amelia was as peevish, and the servants were as vulgar. +Sara was sent on errands, and scolded, and driven +hither and thither, but somehow it seemed as if she +could bear it all. The delightful sense of romance +and mystery lifted her above the cook's temper +and malice. The comfort she enjoyed and could +always look forward to was making her stronger. +If she came home from her errands wet and tired, +she knew she would soon be warm, after she had +climbed the stairs. In a few weeks she began +to look less thin. A little color came into her +cheeks, and her eyes did not seem much too big +for her face. + +It was just when this was beginning to be so +apparent that Miss Minchin sometimes stared at +her questioningly, that another wonderful +thing happened. A man came to the door and left +several parcels. All were addressed (in large +letters) to "the little girl in the attic." +Sara herself was sent to open the door, and she +took them in. She laid the two largest parcels +down on the hall-table and was looking at the +address, when Miss Minchin came down the stairs. + +"Take the things upstairs to the young lady to +whom they belong," she said. "Don't stand there +staring at them." + +"They belong to me," answered Sara, quietly. + +"To you!" exclaimed Miss Minchin. "What do you mean?" + +"I don't know where they came from," said Sara, +"but they're addressed to me." + +Miss Minchin came to her side and looked at +them with an excited expression. + +"What is in them?" she demanded. + +"I don't know," said Sara. + +"Open them!" she demanded, still more excitedly. + +Sara did as she was told. They contained pretty +and comfortable clothing,--clothing of different +kinds; shoes and stockings and gloves, a warm +coat, and even an umbrella. On the pocket of +the coat was pinned a paper on which was written, +"To be worn every day--will be replaced by others +when necessary." + +Miss Minchin was quite agitated. This was an +incident which suggested strange things to her +sordid mind. Could it be that she had made a +mistake after all, and that the child so neglected +and so unkindly treated by her had some powerful +friend in the background? It would not be very +pleasant if there should be such a friend, +and he or she should learn all the truth about the +thin, shabby clothes, the scant food, the hard work. +She felt queer indeed and uncertain, and she gave a +side-glance at Sara. + +"Well," she said, in a voice such as she had +never used since the day the child lost her father +--"well, some one is very kind to you. As you +have the things and are to have new ones when +they are worn out, you may as well go and put +them on and look respectable; and after you are +dressed, you may come downstairs and learn your +lessons in the school-room." + +So it happened that, about half an hour afterward, +Sara struck the entire school-room of pupils +dumb with amazement, by making her appearance +in a costume such as she had never worn since +the change of fortune whereby she ceased to be +a show-pupil and a parlor-boarder. She scarcely +seemed to be the same Sara. She was neatly +dressed in a pretty gown of warm browns and +reds, and even her stockings and slippers were +nice and dainty. + +"Perhaps some one has left her a fortune," one +of the girls whispered. "I always thought something +would happen to her, she is so queer." + +That night when Sara went to her room she carried +out a plan she had been devising for some time. +She wrote a note to her unknown friend. It ran +as follows: + + +"I hope you will not think it is not polite that I +should write this note to you when you wish to keep +yourself a secret, but I do not mean to be impolite, +or to try to find out at all, only I want to thank +you for being so kind to me--so beautiful kind, and +making everything like a fairy story. I am so +grateful to you and I am so happy! I used to be so +lonely and cold and, hungry, and now, oh, just think +what you have done for me! Please let me say just +these words. It seems as if I ought to say them. +Thank you--thank you--thank you! + + "THE LITTLE GIRL IN THE ATTIC." + + +The next morning she left this on the little table, +and it was taken away with the other things; +so she felt sure the magician had received it, +and she was happier for the thought. + +A few nights later a very odd thing happened. +She found something in the room which she certainly +would never have expected. When she came in as +usual she saw something small and dark in her chair,-- +an odd, tiny figure, which turned toward her a little, +weird-looking, wistful face. + +"Why, it's the monkey!" she cried. "It is the Indian +Gentleman's monkey! Where can he have come from?" + +It was the monkey, sitting up and looking so +like a mite of a child that it really was quite +pathetic; and very soon Sara found out how he +happened to be in her room. The skylight was +open, and it was easy to guess that he had crept +out of his master's garret-window, which was only +a few feet away and perfectly easy to get in and +out of, even for a climber less agile than a monkey. +He had probably climbed to the garret on a tour of +investigation, and getting out upon the roof, +and being attracted by the light in Sara's attic, +had crept in. At all events this seemed +quite reasonable, and there he was; and when +Sara went to him, he actually put out his queer, +elfish little hands, caught her dress, and jumped +into her arms. + +"Oh, you queer, poor, ugly, foreign little thing!" +said Sara, caressing him. "I can't help +liking you. You look like a sort of baby, but I +am so glad you are not, because your mother +could not be proud of you, and nobody would dare +to say you were like any of your relations. But I +do like you; you have such a forlorn little look +in your face. Perhaps you are sorry you are so +ugly, and it's always on your mind. I wonder if +you have a mind?" + +The monkey sat and looked at her while she talked, +and seemed much interested in her remarks, if one +could judge by his eyes and his forehead, and the +way he moved his head up and down, and held it +sideways and scratched it with his little hand. +He examined Sara quite seriously, and anxiously, too. +He felt the stuff of her dress, touched her hands, +climbed up and examined her ears, and then sat on +her shoulder holding a lock of her hair, looking +mournful but not at all agitated. Upon the whole, +he seemed pleased with Sara. + +"But I must take you back," she said to him, +"though I'm sorry to have to do it. Oh, the +company you would be to a person!" + +She lifted him from her shoulder, set him on +her knee, and gave him a bit of cake. He sat +and nibbled it, and then put his head on one side, +looked at her, wrinkled his forehead, and then +nibbled again, in the most companionable manner. + +"But you must go home," said Sara at last; and +she took him in her arms to carry him downstairs. +Evidently he did not want to leave the room, +for as they reached the door he clung to +her neck and gave a little scream of anger. + +"You mustn't be an ungrateful monkey," said Sara. +"You ought to be fondest of your own family. +I am sure the Lascar is good to you." + +Nobody saw her on her way out, and very soon +she was standing on the Indian Gentleman's front +steps, and the Lascar had opened the door for her. + +"I found your monkey in my room," she said +in Hindustani. "I think he got in through +the window." + +The man began a rapid outpouring of thanks; +but, just as he was in the midst of them, a fretful, +hollow voice was heard through the open door of +the nearest room. The instant he heard it the +Lascar disappeared, and left Sara still holding +the monkey. + +It was not many moments, however, before he came +back bringing a message. His master had told +him to bring Missy into the library. The Sahib +was very ill, but he wished to see Missy. + +Sara thought this odd, but she remembered +reading stories of Indian gentlemen who, having +no constitutions, were extremely cross and full of +whims, and who must have their own way. So she +followed the Lascar. + +When she entered the room the Indian Gentleman was +lying on an easy chair, propped up with pillows. +He looked frightfully ill. His yellow face was thin, +and his eyes were hollow. He gave Sara a rather +curious look--it was as if she wakened in him some +anxious interest. + +"You live next door?" he said. + +"Yes," answered Sara. "I live at Miss Minchin's." + +"She keeps a boarding-school?" + +"Yes," said Sara. + +"And you are one of her pupils?" + +Sara hesitated a moment. + +"I don't know exactly what I am," she replied. + +"Why not?" asked the Indian Gentleman. + +The monkey gave a tiny squeak, and Sara +stroked him. + +"At first," she said, "I was a pupil and a parlor +boarder; but now--" + +"What do you mean by `at first'?" asked the +Indian Gentleman. + +"When I was first taken there by my papa." + +"Well, what has happened since then?" said the +invalid, staring at her and knitting his brows +with a puzzled expression. + +"My papa died," said Sara. "He lost all his money, +and there was none left for me--and there was no +one to take care of me or pay Miss Minchin, so--" + +"So you were sent up into the garret and +neglected, and made into a half-starved little +drudge!" put in the Indian Gentleman. That is +about it, isn't it?" + +The color deepened on Sara's cheeks. + +"There was no one to take care of me, and no +money," she said. "I belong to nobody." + +"What did your father mean by losing his money?" +said the gentleman, fretfully. + +The red in Sara's cheeks grew deeper, and she +fixed her odd eyes on the yellow face. + +"He did not lose it himself," she said. "He had a +friend he was fond of, and it was his friend, who +took his money. I don't know how. I don't understand. +He trusted his friend too much." + +She saw the invalid start--the strangest start-- +as if he had been suddenly frightened. Then he +spoke nervously and excitedly: + +"That's an old story," he said. "It happens +every day; but sometimes those who are blamed +--those who do the wrong--don't intend it, and +are not so bad. It may happen through a mistake +--a miscalculation; they may not be so bad." + +"No," said Sara, "but the suffering is just as +bad for the others. It killed my papa." + +The Indian Gentleman pushed aside some of +the gorgeous wraps that covered him. + +"Come a little nearer, and let me look at you," +he said. + +His voice sounded very strange; it had a more +nervous and excited tone than before. Sara had +an odd fancy that he was half afraid to look at her. +She came and stood nearer, the monkey clinging to her +and watching his master anxiously over his shoulder. + +The Indian Gentleman's hollow, restless eyes +fixed themselves on her. + +"Yes," he said at last. "Yes; I can see it. +Tell me your father's name." + +"His name was Ralph Crewe," said Sara. "Captain Crewe. +Perhaps,"--a sudden thought flashing upon her,-- +"perhaps you may have heard of him? He died in India." + +The Indian Gentleman sank back upon his pillows. +He looked very weak, and seemed out of breath. + +"Yes," he said, "I knew him. I was his friend. +I meant no harm. If he had only lived he would +have known. It turned out well after all. He was +a fine young fellow. I was fond of him. I will +make it right. Call--call the man." + +Sara thought he was going to die. But there +was no need to call the Lascar. He must have +been waiting at the door. He was in the room +and by his master's side in an instant. He seemed +to know what to do. He lifted the drooping head, +and gave the invalid something in a small glass. +The Indian Gentleman lay panting for a few minutes, +and then he spoke in an exhausted but eager voice, +addressing the Lascar in Hindustani: + +"Go for Carmichael," he said. Tell him to come +here at once. Tell him I have found the child!" + +When Mr. Carmichael arrived (which occurred +in a very few minutes, for it turned out that he +was no other than the father of the Large Family +across the street), Sara went home, and was allowed +to take the monkey with her. She certainly did +not sleep very much that night, though the monkey +behaved beautifully, and did not disturb her in +the least. It was not the monkey that kept her +awake--it was her thoughts, and her wonders as to +what the Indian Gentleman had meant when he said, +"Tell him I have found the child." "What child?" +Sara kept asking herself. + +"I was the only child there; but how had he +found me, and why did he want to find me? +And what is he going to do, now I am found? +Is it something about my papa? Do I belong +to somebody? Is he one of my relations? +Is something going to happen?" + +But she found out the very next day, in the +morning; and it seemed that she had been living +in a story even more than she had imagined. +First, Mr. Carmichael came and had an interview +with Miss Minchin. And it appeared that Mr. +Carmichael, besides occupying the important +situation of father to the Large Family was a +lawyer, and had charge of the affairs of Mr. +Carrisford--which was the real name of the Indian +Gentleman--and, as Mr. Carrisford's lawyer, Mr. +Carmichael had come to explain something curious +to Miss Minchin regarding Sara. But, being +the father of the Large Family, he had a very +kind and fatherly feeling for children; and so, +after seeing Miss Minchin alone, what did he do +but go and bring across the square his rosy, +motherly, warm-hearted wife, so that she herself +might talk to the little lonely girl, and tell +her everything in the best and most motherly way. + +And then Sara learned that she was to be a poor +little drudge and outcast no more, and that +a great change had come in her fortunes; for all +the lost fortune had come back to her, and a great +deal had even been added to it. It was Mr. Carrisford +who had been her father's friend, and who had made +the investments which had caused him the apparent +loss of his money; but it had so happened that +after poor young Captain Crewe's death one of the +investments which had seemed at the time the very +worst had taken a sudden turn, and proved to be +such a success that it had been a mine of wealth, +and had more than doubled the Captain's lost +fortune, as well as making a fortune for Mr. +Carrisford himself. But Mr. Carrisford had +been very unhappy. He had truly loved his poor, +handsome, generous young friend, and the +knowledge that he had caused his death +had weighed upon him always, and broken both +his health and spirit. The worst of it had been +that, when first he thought himself and Captain +Crewe ruined, he had lost courage and gone +away because he was not brave enough to face +the consequences of what he had done, and so he +had not even known where the young soldier's +little girl had been placed. When he wanted to +find her, and make restitution, he could discover +no trace of her; and the certainty that she was +poor and friendless somewhere had made him +more miserable than ever. When he had taken +the house next to Miss Minchin's he had been +so ill and wretched that he had for the time +given up the search. His troubles and the Indian +climate had brought him almost to death's door-- +indeed, he had not expected to live more than a +few months. And then one day the Lascar had +told him about Sara's speaking Hindustani, and +gradually he had begun to take a sort of interest +in the forlorn child, though he had only caught a +glimpse of her once or twice and he had not +connected her with the child of his friend, +perhaps because he was too languid to think much +about anything. But the Lascar had found out +something of Sara's unhappy little life, and about +the garret. One evening he had actually crept out +of his own garret-window and looked into hers, which +was a very easy matter, because, as I have said, +it was only a few feet away--and he had told his +master what he had seen, and in a moment of +compassion the Indian Gentleman had told him to +take into the wretched little room such comforts +as he could carry from the one window to the other. +And the Lascar, who had developed an interest in, +and an odd fondness for, the child who had +spoken to him in his own tongue, had been +pleased with the work; and, having the silent +swiftness and agile movements of many of his +race, he had made his evening journeys across +the few feet of roof from garret-window to garret- +window, without any trouble at all. He had +watched Sara's movements until he knew exactly +when she was absent from her room and when +she returned to it, and so he had been able to +calculate the best times for his work. Generally he +had made them in the dusk of the evening; but +once or twice, when he had seen her go out on +errands, he had dared to go over in the daytime, +being quite sure that the garret was never entered +by any one but herself. His pleasure in the work +and his reports of the results had added to the +invalid's interest in it, and sometimes the master +had found the planning gave him something to +think of, which made him almost forget his weariness +and pain. And at last, when Sara brought home the +truant monkey, he had felt a wish to see her, +and then her likeness to her father had done the rest. + +"And now, my dear," said good Mrs. Carmichael, +patting Sara's hand, "all your troubles are over, +I am sure, and you are to come home with me and +be taken care of as if you were one of my own +little girls; and we are so pleased to think of +having you with us until everything is settled, +and Mr. Carrisford is better. The excitement of +last night has made him very weak, but we really +think he will get well, now that such a load is +taken from his mind. And when he is stronger, +I am sure he will be as kind to you as your own +papa would have been. He has a very good heart, +and he is fond of children--and he has no family +at all. But we must make you happy and rosy, +and you must learn to play and run about, +as my little girls do--" + +"As your little girls do?" said Sara. "I wonder if +I could. I used to watch them and wonder what it +was like. Shall I feel as if I belonged to somebody?" + +"Ah, my love, yes!--yes!" said Mrs. Carmichael; +"dear me, yes!" And her motherly blue eyes grew +quite moist, and she suddenly took Sara in her +arms and kissed her. That very night, before +she went to sleep, Sara had made the acquaintance +of the entire Large Family, and such excitement +as she and the monkey had caused in that joyous +circle could hardly be described. There was not +a child in the nursery, from the Eton boy who +was the eldest, to the baby who was the youngest, +who had not laid some offering on her shrine. +All the older ones knew something of her +wonderful story. She had been born in India; +she had been poor and lonely and unhappy, and +had lived in a garret and been treated unkindly; +and now she was to be rich and happy, and be +taken care of. They were so sorry for her, and +so delighted and curious about her, all at once. +The girls wished to be with her constantly, and +the little boys wished to be told about India; +the second baby, with the short round legs, simply +sat and stared at her and the monkey, possibly +wondering why she had not brought a hand-organ +with her. + +"I shall certainly wake up presently," Sara kept +saying to herself. "This one must be a dream. +The other one turned out to be real; but this +couldn't be. But, oh! how happy it is!" + +And even when she went to bed, in the bright, +pretty room not far from Mrs. Carmichael's own, +and Mrs. Carmichael came and kissed her and +patted her and tucked her in cozily, she was not +sure that she would not wake up in the garret in +the morning. + +"And oh, Charles, dear," Mrs. Carmichael said +to her husband, when she went downstairs to him, +"We must get that lonely look out of her eyes! +It isn't a child's look at all. I couldn't bear to +see it in one of my own children. What the poor +little love must have had to bear in that dreadful +woman's house! But, surely, she will forget it in time." + + +But though the lonely look passed away from +Sara's face, she never quite forgot the garret at +Miss Minchin's; and, indeed, she always liked to +remember the wonderful night when the tired +princess crept upstairs, cold and wet, and opening +the door found fairy-land waiting for her. +And there was no one of the many stories she was +always being called upon to tell in the nursery +of the Large Family which was more popular than +that particular one; and there was no one of +whom the Large Family were so fond as of Sara. +Mr. Carrisford did not die, but recovered, and +Sara went to live with him; and no real princess +could have been better taken care of than she was. +It seemed that the Indian Gentleman could not +do enough to make her happy, and to repay her for +the past; and the Lascar was her devoted slave. +As her odd little face grew brighter, it grew so +pretty and interesting that Mr. Carrisford used +to sit and watch it many an evening, as they +sat by the fire together. + +They became great friends, and they used to +spend hours reading and talking together; and, +in a very short time, there was no pleasanter +sight to the Indian Gentleman than Sara sitting +in her big chair on the opposite side of the +hearth, with a book on her knee and her soft, +dark hair tumbling over her warm cheeks. +She had a pretty habit of looking up at him +suddenly, with a bright smile, and then he +would often say to her: + +"Are you happy, Sara?" + +And then she would answer: + +"I feel like a real princess, Uncle Tom." + +He had told her to call him Uncle Tom. + +"There doesn't seem to be anything left to +`suppose,'" she added. + +There was a little joke between them that he +was a magician, and so could do anything he +liked; and it was one of his pleasures to invent +plans to surprise her with enjoyments she had not +thought of. Scarcely a day passed in which he +did not do something new for her. Sometimes she +found new flowers in her room; sometimes a +fanciful little gift tucked into some odd corner, +sometimes a new book on her pillow;--once as +they sat together in the evening they heard the +scratch of a heavy paw on the door of the room, +and when Sara went to find out what it was, there +stood a great dog--a splendid Russian boar-hound +with a grand silver and gold collar. Stooping to +read the inscription upon the collar, Sara was +delighted to read the words: "I am Boris; I serve +the Princess Sara." + +Then there was a sort of fairy nursery arranged +for the entertainment of the juvenile members of +the Large Family, who were always coming to see +Sara and the Lascar and the monkey. Sara was +as fond of the Large Family as they were of her. +She soon felt as if she were a member of it, +and the companionship of the healthy, happy +children was very good for her. All the children +rather looked up to her and regarded her as the +cleverest and most brilliant of creatures-- +particularly after it was discovered that she not +only knew stories of every kind, and could invent +new ones at a moment's notice, but that she could +help with lessons, and speak French and German, +and discourse with the Lascar in Hindustani. + +It was rather a painful experience for Miss +Minchin to watch her ex-pupil's fortunes, as she +had the daily opportunity to do, and to feel that +she had made a serious mistake, from a business +point of view. She had even tried to retrieve it +by suggesting that Sara's education should be +continued under her care, and had gone to the +length of making an appeal to the child herself. + +"I have always been very fond of you," she said. + +Then Sara fixed her eyes upon her and gave her +one of her odd looks. + +"Have you?" she answered. + +"Yes," said Miss Minchin. "Amelia and I have +always said you were the cleverest child we had +with us, and I am sure we could make you happy +--as a parlor boarder." + +Sara thought of the garret and the day her ears +were boxed,--and of that other day, that dreadful, +desolate day when she had been told that she +belonged to nobody; that she had no home and +no friends,--and she kept her eyes fixed on Miss +Minchin's face. + +"You know why I would not stay with you," +she said. + +And it seems probable that Miss Minchin did, +for after that simple answer she had not the +boldness to pursue the subject. She merely sent +in a bill for the expense of Sara's education and +support, and she made it quite large enough. +And because Mr. Carrisford thought Sara would wish +it paid, it was paid. When Mr. Carmichael paid +it he had a brief interview with Miss Minchin in +which he expressed his opinion with much clearness +and force; and it is quite certain that Miss +Minchin did not enjoy the conversation. + +Sara had been about a month with Mr. Carrisford, +and had begun to realize that her happiness was not +a dream, when one night the Indian Gentleman saw +that she sat a long time with her cheek on her hand +looking at the fire. + +"What are you `supposing,' Sara?" he asked. +Sara looked up with a bright color on her cheeks. + +"I was `supposing,'" she said; "I was remembering +that hungry day, and a child I saw." + +"But there were a great many hungry days," +said the Indian Gentleman, with a rather sad tone +in his voice. "Which hungry day was it?" + +"I forgot you didn't know," said Sara. "It was +the day I found the things in my garret." + +And then she told him the story of the bun-shop, +and the fourpence, and the child who was hungrier +than herself; and somehow as she told it, though +she told it very simply indeed, the Indian Gentleman +found it necessary to shade his eyes with his hand +and look down at the floor. + +"And I was `supposing' a kind of plan," said +Sara, when she had finished; "I was thinking I +would like to do something." + +"What is it?" said her guardian in a low tone. +"You may do anything you like to do, Princess." + +"I was wondering," said Sara,--"you know you +say I have a great deal of money--and I was +wondering if I could go and see the bun-woman +and tell her that if, when hungry children-- +particularly on those dreadful days--come and +sit on the steps or look in at the window, she +would just call them in and give them something +to eat, she might send the bills to me and I +would pay them--could I do that?" + +"You shall do it to-morrow morning," said the +Indian Gentleman. + +"Thank you," said Sara; "you see I know what it +is to be hungry, and it is very hard when one +can't even pretend it away." + +"Yes, yes, my dear," said the Indian Gentleman. +"Yes, it must be. Try to forget it. Come and +sit on this footstool near my knee, and only +remember you are a princess." + +"Yes," said Sara, "and I can give buns and +bread to the Populace." And she went and +sat on the stool, and the Indian Gentleman (he +used to like her to call him that, too, sometimes, +--in fact very often) drew her small, dark head +down upon his knee and stroked her hair. + +The next morning a carriage drew up before +the door of the baker's shop, and a gentleman +and a little girl got out,--oddly enough, just as +the bun-woman was putting a tray of smoking +hotbuns into the window. When Sara entered +the shop the woman turned and looked at her and, +leaving the buns, came and stood behind the counter. +For a moment she looked at Sara very hard indeed, +and then her good-natured face lighted up. + +"I'm that sure I remember you, miss," she said. +"And yet--" + +"Yes," said Sara, "once you gave me six buns for +fourpence, and--" + +"And you gave five of 'em to a beggar-child," +said the woman. "I've always remembered it. +I couldn't make it out at first. I beg pardon, +sir, but there's not many young people that +notices a hungry face in that way, and I've +thought of it many a time. Excuse the liberty, +miss, but you look rosier and better than you did +that day." + +"I am better, thank you," said Sara, "and--and +I am happier, and I have come to ask you to do +something for me." + +"Me, miss!" exclaimed the woman, "why, bless you, +yes, miss! What can I do?" + +And then Sara made her little proposal, and the +woman listened to it with an astonished face. + +"Why, bless me!" she said, when she had heard +it all. "Yes, miss, it'll be a pleasure to me to +do it. I am a working woman, myself, and can't +afford to do much on my own account, and there's +sights of trouble on every side; but if you'll +excuse me, I'm bound to say I've given many a bit +of bread away since that wet afternoon, just along +o' thinkin' of you. An' how wet an' cold you was, +an' how you looked,--an' yet you give away your +hot buns as if you was a princess." + +The Indian Gentleman smiled involuntarily, +and Sara smiled a little too. "She looked so +hungry," she said. "She was hungrier than I was." + +"She was starving," said the woman. "Many's the +time she's told me of it since--how she sat there +in the wet, and felt as if a wolf was a-tearing at +her poor young insides." + +"Oh, have you seen her since then?" exclaimed Sara. +"Do you know where she is?" + +"I know!" said the woman. "Why, she's in +that there back room now, miss, an' has been for +a month, an' a decent, well-meaning girl she's +going to turn out, an' such a help to me in the +day shop, an' in the kitchen, as you'd scarce believe, +knowing how she's lived." + +She stepped to the door of the little back parlor +and spoke; and the next minute a girl came out +and followed her behind the counter. And actually +it was the beggar-child, clean and neatly clothed, +and looking as if she had not been hungry for a +long time. She looked shy, but she had a nice face, +now that she was no longer a savage; and the wild +look had gone from her eyes. And she knew Sara in +an instant, and stood and looked at her as if she +could never look enough. + +"You see," said the woman, "I told her to +come here when she was hungry, and when she'd +come I'd give her odd jobs to do, an' I found she +was willing, an' somehow I got to like her; an' +the end of it was I've given her a place an' a home, +an' she helps me, an' behaves as well, an' is as +thankful as a girl can be. Her name's Anne--she +has no other." + +The two children stood and looked at each +other a few moments. In Sara's eyes a new +thought was growing. + +"I'm glad you have such a good home," she said. +"Perhaps Mrs. Brown will let you give the buns +and bread to the children--perhaps you would +like to do it--because you know what it is to +be hungry, too." + +"Yes, miss," said the girl. + +And somehow Sara felt as if she understood her, +though the girl said nothing more, and only stood +still and looked, and looked after her as she +went out of the shop and got into the carriage +and drove away. + + +The End of Project Gutenberg etext of "Sara Crewe" + + diff --git a/old/old/sarac10.zip b/old/old/sarac10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a58a6eb --- /dev/null +++ b/old/old/sarac10.zip |