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diff --git a/37332-h/37332-h.htm b/37332-h/37332-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e1445f0 --- /dev/null +++ b/37332-h/37332-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10040 @@ +<!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" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Little Princess, Being the whole story of Sara Crewe now told for the first time, by Frances Hodgson Burnett. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + +h1,h2 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + +h1 {font-size: 250%; line-height: 180%; letter-spacing: .1em;} +h2 {line-height: 180%; font-size: 110%;} + +p {margin-top: .75em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: .75em;} + +p.tp1 {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: 110%; line-height: 160%; + margin-top: 3em;} +p.tp2 {text-align: center; font-size: 80%; font-weight: bold;} + +.author {text-align: center; font-weight: bold; font-size: 170%;} +.rights {text-align: center; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; font-size: 80%;} +.wholestory {font-style: italic;} + +hr.l1 {width: 60%; margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 4em; + margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} +hr.l2 {width: 30%; margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 4em; + margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} +hr.l3 {width: 4em;} + +table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; font-size: 90%;} +td.col1 {text-align: right; padding-right: 1em; vertical-align: top;} +td.col2 {text-align: left; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em; + vertical-align: top; font-variant: small-caps;} +td.col3 {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} +td.col4 {text-align: left; padding-left: 1em; text-indent: -1em; + vertical-align: top;} +td.col5 {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom;} +td.col6 {white-space: nowrap; text-align: center; font-style: italic; + padding-right: 2em; font-size: 90%;} +td.col7 {white-space: nowrap; text-align: left; padding-right: 2em; + font-size: 90%;} +td.col8 {white-space: nowrap; text-align: left; font-size: 90%;} +td.col9 {white-space: nowrap; text-align: left; text-indent: 1.5em; + font-size: 90%;} + +.pagenum {position: absolute; left: 94%; font-size: 60%; text-align: right; + color: #999999; letter-spacing: 0; font-style: normal; + font-weight: normal;} + +.blockquot {margin-top: 1.4em; margin-bottom: 1.4em; + margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + +.f11 {font-size: 110%;} +.f14 {font-size: 140%;} +.f16 {font-size: 160%;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right; margin-right: 2em;} + +.caption {font-size: 80%; font-weight: normal;} + +.r4 {margin-top: 4em;} + +.dot {text-align: center; letter-spacing: 1.5em; margin-left: 1.5em;} + +p.cap:first-letter {float: left; clear: left; margin: 0 0 0 0; + padding-right: .1em; font-size: 400%; line-height: 90%;} +p.cap2:first-letter {float: left; clear: left; margin: 0 0 0 0; + padding-right: .1em; font-size: 200%; line-height: 90%;} +.upper {text-transform: uppercase;} + +.figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center; max-width: 400px; + padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;} +.figcover {margin: auto; text-align: center; + padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + +.tnote {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; + padding: .5em 1em .5em 1em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Little Princess, 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: A Little Princess + Being the whole story of Sara Crewe now told for the first time + +Author: Frances Hodgson Burnett + +Illustrator: Ethel Franklin Betts + +Release Date: September 7, 2011 [EBook #37332] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE PRINCESS *** + + + + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, eagkw and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcover"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="551" height="600" alt="Cover" title="Cover" /> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="frontispiece" id="frontispiece"></a> +<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="400" height="531" alt="“I am not—I am not dreaming!”" title="Frontispiece" /> +<br /><span class="caption"><a href="#Page_211">“I am <em>not</em>—I am <em>not</em> dreaming!”</a></span> +</div> + + +<h1>A<br /> + +LITTLE PRINCESS</h1> + +<p class="tp1">BEING THE WHOLE STORY OF SARA CREWE<br /> +NOW TOLD FOR THE FIRST TIME</p> + +<p class="tp1">BY</p> + +<p class="author">FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT</p> + +<p class="tp1">WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLORS BY<br /> +<span class="f11">ETHEL FRANKLIN BETTS</span></p> + +<p> </p> + +<p class="tp1"><big>CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS</big><br /> +<big>NEW YORK</big> . . . . . 1937 +</p> + +<hr class="l2"/> + +<p class="tp2"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1888 and 1905, by</span><br /> +CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS</p> +<hr class="l3"/> +<p class="tp2"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1916, by</span><br /> +FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT</p> +<hr class="l3"/> +<p class="tp2">Printed in the United States of America</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="rights">All rights reserved. No part of this book<br /> +may be reproduced in any form without<br /> +the permission of Charles Scribner’s Sons</p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/logo.png" width="75" height="86" alt="logo" title="logo" /> +</div> +<hr class="l2"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> + + +<div class="wholestory"> +<h2>THE WHOLE OF THE STORY</h2> + + +<p>I do not know whether many people realize how much +more than is ever written there really is in a story—how +many parts of it are never told—how much more really +happened than there is in the book one holds in one’s hand +and pores over. Stories are something like letters. When +a letter is written, how often one remembers things omitted +and says, “Ah, why did I not tell them that?” In writing +a book one relates all that one remembers at the time, and if +one told all that really happened perhaps the book would +never end. Between the lines of every story there is another +story, and that is one that is never heard and can only +be guessed at by the people who are good at guessing. The +person who writes the story may never know all of it, but +sometimes he does and wishes he had the chance to begin +again.</p> + +<p>When I wrote the story of “Sara Crewe” I guessed that +a great deal more had happened at Miss Minchin’s than I +had had time to find out just then. I knew, of course, that +there must have been chapters full of things going on all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span> +the time; and when I began to make a play out of the book +and called it “A Little Princess,” I discovered three acts +full of things. What interested me most was that I found +that there had been girls at the school whose names I had +not even known before. There was a little girl whose name +was Lottie, who was an amusing little person; there was a +hungry scullery-maid who was Sara’s adoring friend; Ermengarde +was much more entertaining than she had +seemed at first; things happened in the garret which had +never been hinted at in the book; and a certain gentleman +whose name was Melchisedec was an intimate friend of +Sara’s who should never have been left out of the story if +he had only walked into it in time. He and Becky and +Lottie lived at Miss Minchin’s, and I cannot understand +why they did not mention themselves to me at first. They +were as real as Sara, and it was careless of them not to come +out of the story shadowland and say, “Here I am—tell +about me.” But they did not—which was their fault and +not mine. People who live in the story one is writing ought +to come forward at the beginning and tap the writing person +on the shoulder and say, “Hallo, what about me?” If +they don’t, no one can be blamed but themselves and their +slouching, idle ways.</p> + +<p>After the play of “A Little Princess” was produced in +New York, and so many children went to see it and liked +Becky and Lottie and Melchisedec, my publishers asked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span> +me if I could not write Sara’s story over again and put +into it all the things and people who had been left out before, +and so I have done it; and when I began I found there +were actually pages and pages of things which had happened +that had never been put even into the play, so in this +new “Little Princess” I have put all I have been able to +discover.</p> + +<p class="right">FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT.</p> +</div> + +<hr class="l2"/> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td class="col1"><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td class="col2"> </td><td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">I</td><td class="col2">SARA</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">II</td><td class="col2">A FRENCH LESSON</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">III</td><td class="col2">ERMENGARDE</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">IV</td><td class="col2">LOTTIE</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">V</td><td class="col2">BECKY</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">VI</td><td class="col2">THE DIAMOND-MINES</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">VII</td><td class="col2">THE DIAMOND-MINES AGAIN</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">VIII</td><td class="col2">IN THE ATTIC</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">IX</td><td class="col2">MELCHISEDEC</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">X</td><td class="col2">THE INDIAN GENTLEMAN</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XI</td><td class="col2">RAM DASS</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XII</td><td class="col2">THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XIII</td><td class="col2">ONE OF THE POPULACE</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XIV</td><td class="col2">WHAT MELCHISEDEC HEARD AND SAW</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_175">175</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XV</td><td class="col2">THE MAGIC</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_182">182</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XVI</td><td class="col2">THE VISITOR</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_213">213</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XVII</td><td class="col2">“IT IS THE CHILD!”</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_233">233</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XVIII</td><td class="col2">“I TRIED NOT TO BE”</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_243">243</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col1">XIX</td><td class="col2">“ANNE”</td><td class="col3"><a href="#Page_258">258</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="l2"/> + +<h2>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td class="col4">“I am <em>not</em>—I am <em>not</em> dreaming!”</td><td align="right"><i><a href="#frontispiece">Frontispiece</a></i></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col4">She was not abashed at all by the many pairs of eyes +watching her</td><td class="col3"><a href="#illus028">16</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col4">More than once she had been known to have a tea-party</td><td class="col3"><a href="#illus052">38</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col4">The children crowded clamoring around her</td><td class="col3"><a href="#illus092">76</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col4">She seldom cried. She did not cry now</td><td class="col3"><a href="#illus112">94</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col4">The sparrows twittered and hopped about quite without +fear</td><td class="col3"><a href="#illus132">112</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col4">The beggar girl was still huddled up in the corner</td><td class="col3"><a href="#illus190">168</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col4">She sat down and held him on her knee</td><td class="col3"><a href="#illus254">230</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="col4">Noticed that his companion … sat gazing into the fire</td><td class="col3"><a href="#illus286">260</a></td></tr> +</table></div> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p> + + +<h1><small>A LITTLE PRINCESS</small></h1> + + +<h2>CHAPTER I<br /> + +<small>SARA</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">Once</span> on a dark winter’s day, when the yellow fog +hung so thick and heavy in the streets of London +that the lamps were lighted and the shop windows +blazed with gas as they do at night, an odd-looking little +girl sat in a cab with her father and was driven rather +slowly through the big thoroughfares.</p> + +<p>She sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned +against her father, who held her in his arm, as she stared +out of the window at the passing people with a queer old-fashioned +thoughtfulness in her big eyes.</p> + +<p>She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see +such a look on her small face. It would have been an old +look for a child of twelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven. +The fact was, however, that she was always dreaming and +thinking odd things and could not herself remember any +time when she had not been thinking things about grown-up +people and the world they belonged to. She felt as if +she had lived a long, long time.</p> + +<p>At this moment she was remembering the voyage she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> +had just made from Bombay with her father, Captain +Crewe. She was thinking of the big ship, of the Lascars +passing silently to and fro on it, of the children playing +about on the hot deck, and of some young officers’ wives +who used to try to make her talk to them and laugh at the +things she said.</p> + +<p>Principally, she was thinking of what a queer thing it +was that at one time one was in India in the blazing sun, +and then in the middle of the ocean, and then driving in a +strange vehicle through strange streets where the day was +as dark as the night. She found this so puzzling that she +moved closer to her father.</p> + +<p>“Papa,” she said in a low, mysterious little voice which +was almost a whisper, “papa.”</p> + +<p>“What is it, darling?” Captain Crewe answered, holding +her closer and looking down into her face. “What is +Sara thinking of?”</p> + +<p>“Is this the place?” Sara whispered, cuddling still +closer to him. “Is it, papa?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, little Sara, it is. We have reached it at last.” +And though she was only seven years old, she knew that +he felt sad when he said it.</p> + +<p>It seemed to her many years since he had begun to prepare +her mind for “the place,” as she always called it. Her +mother had died when she was born, so she had never known +or missed her. Her young, handsome, rich, petting father +seemed to be the only relation she had in the world. They +had always played together and been fond of each other. +She only knew he was rich because she had heard people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> +say so when they thought she was not listening, and she had +also heard them say that when she grew up she would be +rich, too. She did not know all that being rich meant. She +had always lived in a beautiful bungalow, and had been +used to seeing many servants who made salaams to her and +called her “Missee Sahib,” and gave her her own way in +everything. She had had toys and pets and an ayah who +worshipped her, and she had gradually learned that people +who were rich had these things. That, however, was all she +knew about it.</p> + +<p>During her short life only one thing had troubled her, +and that thing was “the place” she was to be taken to some +day. The climate of India was very bad for children, and +as soon as possible they were sent away from it—generally +to England and to school. She had seen other children go +away, and had heard their fathers and mothers talk about +the letters they received from them. She had known that +she would be obliged to go also, and though sometimes her +father’s stories of the voyage and the new country had attracted +her, she had been troubled by the thought that he +could not stay with her.</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t you go to that place with me, papa?” she +had asked when she was five years old. “Couldn’t you go +to school, too? I would help you with your lessons.”</p> + +<p>“But you will not have to stay for a very long time, little +Sara,” he had always said. “You will go to a nice house +where there will be a lot of little girls, and you will play +together, and I will send you plenty of books, and you +will grow so fast that it will seem scarcely a year before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> +you are big enough and clever enough to come back and +take care of papa.”</p> + +<p>She had liked to think of that. To keep the house +for her father; to ride with him, and sit at the head +of his table when he had dinner-parties; to talk to him +and read his books—that would be what she would like +most in the world, and if one must go away to “the place” +in England to attain it, she must make up her mind to go. +She did not care very much for other little girls, but if she +had plenty of books she could console herself. She liked +books more than anything else, and was, in fact, always inventing +stories of beautiful things and telling them to herself. +Sometimes she had told them to her father, and he +had liked them as much as she did.</p> + +<p>“Well, papa,” she said softly, “if we are here I suppose +we must be resigned.”</p> + +<p>He laughed at her old-fashioned speech and kissed her. +He was really not at all resigned himself, though he knew +he must keep that a secret. His quaint little Sara had been +a great companion to him, and he felt he should be a lonely +fellow when, on his return to India, he went into his bungalow +knowing he need not expect to see the small figure in +its white frock come forward to meet him. So he held +her very closely in his arm as the cab rolled into the big, +dull square in which stood the house which was their destination.</p> + +<p>It was a big, dull, brick house, exactly like all the others +in its row, but that on the front door there shone a brass +plate on which was engraved in black letters:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"> +<span class="smcap">Miss Minchin,</span><br /> +Select Seminary for Young Ladies.<br /> +</p> + +<p>“Here we are, Sara,” said Captain Crewe, making his +voice sound as cheerful as possible. Then he lifted her out +of the cab and they mounted the steps and rang the bell. +Sara often thought afterward that the house was somehow +exactly like Miss Minchin. It was respectable and well +furnished, but everything in it was ugly; and the very arm-chairs +seemed to have hard bones in them. In the hall +everything was hard and polished—even the red cheeks of +the moon face on the tall clock in the corner had a severe +varnished look. The drawing-room into which they were +ushered was covered by a carpet with a square pattern upon +it, the chairs were square, and a heavy marble timepiece +stood upon the heavy marble mantel.</p> + +<p>As she sat down in one of the stiff mahogany chairs, +Sara cast one of her quick looks about her.</p> + +<p>“I don’t like it, papa,” she said. “But then I dare say +soldiers—even brave ones—don’t really <em>like</em> going into +battle.”</p> + +<p>Captain Crewe laughed outright at this. He was young +and full of fun, and he never tired of hearing Sara’s queer +speeches.</p> + +<p>“Oh, little Sara,” he said. “What shall I do when I +have no one to say solemn things to me? No one else is +quite as solemn as you are.”</p> + +<p>“But why do solemn things make you laugh so?” inquired +Sara.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Because you are such fun when you say them,” he answered, +laughing still more. And then suddenly he swept +her into his arms and kissed her very hard, stopping laughing +all at once and looking almost as if tears had come into +his eyes.</p> + +<p>It was just then that Miss Minchin entered the room. She +was very like her house, Sara felt: tall and dull, and respectable +and ugly. She had large, cold, fishy eyes, and a large, +cold, fishy smile. It spread itself into a very large smile +when she saw Sara and Captain Crewe. She had heard a +great many desirable things of the young soldier from the +lady who had recommended her school to him. Among +other things, she had heard that he was a rich father who +was willing to spend a great deal of money on his little +daughter.</p> + +<p>“It will be a great privilege to have charge of such a +beautiful and promising child, Captain Crewe,” she said, +taking Sara’s hand and stroking it. “Lady Meredith has +told me of her unusual cleverness. A clever child is a great +treasure in an establishment like mine.”</p> + +<p>Sara stood quietly, with her eyes fixed upon Miss Minchin’s +face. She was thinking something odd, as usual.</p> + +<p>“Why does she say I am a beautiful child,” she was +thinking. “I am not beautiful at all. Colonel Grange’s +little girl, Isobel, is beautiful. She has dimples and rose-colored +cheeks, and long hair the color of gold. I have +short black hair and green eyes; besides which, I am a thin +child and not fair in the least. I am one of the ugliest children +I ever saw. She is beginning by telling a story.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p> + +<p>She was mistaken, however, in thinking she was an ugly +child. She was not in the least like Isobel Grange, who had +been the beauty of the regiment, but she had an odd charm +of her own. She was a slim, supple creature, rather tall for +her age, and had an intense, attractive little face. Her hair +was heavy and quite black and only curled at the tips; her +eyes were greenish gray, it is true, but they were big, wonderful +eyes with long, black lashes, and though she herself +did not like the color of them, many other people did. Still +she was very firm in her belief that she was an ugly little +girl, and she was not at all elated by Miss Minchin’s flattery.</p> + +<p>“I should be telling a story if I said she was beautiful,” +she thought; “and I should know I was telling a story. I +believe I am as ugly as she is—in my way. What did she +say that for?”</p> + +<p>After she had known Miss Minchin longer she learned +why she had said it. She discovered that she said the same +thing to each papa and mamma who brought a child to her +school.</p> + +<p>Sara stood near her father and listened while he and Miss +Minchin talked. She had been brought to the seminary +because Lady Meredith’s two little girls had been educated +there, and Captain Crewe had a great respect for +Lady Meredith’s experience. Sara was to be what was +known as “a parlor-boarder,” and she was to enjoy +even greater privileges than parlor-boarders usually did. +She was to have a pretty bedroom and sitting-room of +her own; she was to have a pony and a carriage, and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> +maid to take the place of the ayah who had been her nurse +in India.</p> + +<p>“I am not in the least anxious about her education,” +Captain Crewe said, with his gay laugh, as he held Sara’s +hand and patted it. “The difficulty will be to keep her +from learning too fast and too much. She is always sitting +with her little nose burrowing into books. She doesn’t +read them, Miss Minchin; she gobbles them up as if she +were a little wolf instead of a little girl. She is always +starving for new books to gobble, and she wants grown-up +books—great, big, fat ones—French and German as well +as English—history and biography and poets, and all sorts +of things. Drag her away from her books when she reads +too much. Make her ride her pony in the Row or go out +and buy a new doll. She ought to play more with dolls.”</p> + +<p>“Papa,” said Sara. “You see, if I went out and bought +a new doll every few days I should have more than I could +be fond of. Dolls ought to be intimate friends. Emily is +going to be my intimate friend.”</p> + +<p>Captain Crewe looked at Miss Minchin and Miss Minchin +looked at Captain Crewe.</p> + +<p>“Who is Emily?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>“Tell her, Sara,” Captain Crewe said, smiling.</p> + +<p>Sara’s green-gray eyes looked very solemn and quite soft +as she answered.</p> + +<p>“She is a doll I haven’t got yet,” she said. “She is a doll +papa is going to buy for me. We are going out together to +find her. I have called her Emily. She is going to be my +friend when papa is gone. I want her to talk to about +him.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span></p> + +<p>Miss Minchin’s large, fishy smile became very flattering +indeed.</p> + +<p>“What an original child!” she said. “What a darling +little creature!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Captain Crewe, drawing Sara close. “She +is a darling little creature. Take great care of her for me, +Miss Minchin.”</p> + +<p>Sara stayed with her father at his hotel for several days; +in fact, she remained with him until he sailed away again to +India. They went out and visited many big shops together, +and bought a great many things. They bought, +indeed, a great many more things than Sara needed; but +Captain Crewe was a rash, innocent young man and wanted +his little girl to have everything she admired and everything +he admired himself, so between them they collected +a wardrobe much too grand for a child of seven. There +were velvet dresses trimmed with costly furs, and lace +dresses, and embroidered ones, and hats with great, soft ostrich +feathers, and ermine coats and muffs, and boxes of +tiny gloves and handkerchiefs and silk stockings in such +abundant supplies that the polite young women behind the +counters whispered to each other that the odd little girl +with the big, solemn eyes must be at least some foreign +princess—perhaps the little daughter of an Indian rajah.</p> + +<p>And at last they found Emily, but they went to a number +of toy-shops and looked at a great many dolls before +they finally discovered her.</p> + +<p>“I want her to look as if she wasn’t a doll really,” Sara +said. “I want her to look as if she <em>listens</em> when I talk to +her. The trouble with dolls, papa”—and she put her head<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> +on one side and reflected as she said it—“the trouble with +dolls is that they never seem to <em>hear</em>.” So they looked at +big ones and little ones—at dolls with black eyes and dolls +with blue—at dolls with brown curls and dolls with golden +braids, dolls dressed and dolls undressed.</p> + +<p>“You see,” Sara said when they were examining one +who had no clothes. “If, when I find her, she has no frocks, +we can take her to a dressmaker and have her things made +to fit. They will fit better if they are tried on.”</p> + +<p>After a number of disappointments they decided to walk +and look in at the shop windows and let the cab follow +them. They had passed two or three places without even +going in, when, as they were approaching a shop which was +really not a very large one, Sara suddenly started and +clutched her father’s arm.</p> + +<p>“Oh, papa!” she cried. “There is Emily!”</p> + +<p>A flush had risen to her face and there was an expression +in her green-gray eyes as if she had just recognized some +one she was intimate with and fond of.</p> + +<p>“She is actually waiting for us!” she said. “Let us go +in to her.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said Captain Crewe; “I feel as if we ought +to have some one to introduce us.”</p> + +<p>“You must introduce me and I will introduce you,” said +Sara. “But I knew her the minute I saw her—so perhaps +she knew me, too.”</p> + +<p>Perhaps she had known her. She had certainly a very +intelligent expression in her eyes when Sara took her in her +arms. She was a large doll, but not too large to carry about<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> +easily; she had naturally curling golden-brown hair, which +hung like a mantle about her, and her eyes were a deep, +clear, gray blue, with soft, thick eyelashes which were real +eyelashes and not mere painted lines.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” said Sara, looking into her face as she held +her on her knee—“of course, papa, this is Emily.”</p> + +<p>So Emily was bought and actually taken to a children’s +outfitter’s shop, and measured for a wardrobe as grand as +Sara’s own. She had lace frocks, too, and velvet and muslin +ones, and hats and coats and beautiful lace-trimmed +underclothes, and gloves and handkerchiefs and furs.</p> + +<p>“I should like her always to look as if she was a child +with a good mother,” said Sara. “I’m her mother, though +I am going to make a companion of her.”</p> + +<p>Captain Crewe would really have enjoyed the shopping +tremendously, but that a sad thought kept tugging at his +heart. This all meant that he was going to be separated +from his beloved, quaint little comrade.</p> + +<p>He got out of his bed in the middle of that night and +went and stood looking down at Sara, who lay asleep with +Emily in her arms. Her black hair was spread out on the +pillow and Emily’s golden-brown hair mingled with it, both +of them had lace-ruffled night-gowns, and both had long +eyelashes which lay and curled up on their cheeks. Emily +looked so like a real child that Captain Crewe felt glad she +was there. He drew a big sigh and pulled his mustache +with a boyish expression.</p> + +<p>“Heigh-ho, little Sara!” he said to himself. “I don’t +believe you know how much your daddy will miss you.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> + +<p>The next day he took her to Miss Minchin’s and left her +there. He was to sail away the next morning. He explained +to Miss Minchin that his solicitors, Messrs. Barrow +& Skipworth, had charge of his affairs in England and +would give her any advice she wanted, and that they would +pay the bills she sent in for Sara’s expenses. He would +write to Sara twice a week, and she was to be given every +pleasure she asked for.</p> + +<p>“She is a sensible little thing, and she never wants anything +it isn’t safe to give her,” he said.</p> + +<p>Then he went with Sara into her little sitting-room and +they bade each other good-by. Sara sat on his knee and +held the lapels of his coat in her small hands, and looked +long and hard at his face.</p> + +<p>“Are you learning me by heart, little Sara,” he said, +stroking her hair.</p> + +<p>“No,” she answered. “I know you by heart. You are +inside my heart.” And they put their arms round each +other and kissed as if they would never let each other go.</p> + +<p>When the cab drove away from the door, Sara was sitting +on the floor of her sitting-room, with her hands under her +chin and her eyes following it until it had turned the corner +of the square. Emily was sitting by her, and she looked +after it, too. When Miss Minchin sent her sister, Miss +Amelia, to see what the child was doing, she found she +could not open the door.</p> + +<p>“I have locked it,” said a queer, polite little voice from +inside. “I want to be quite by myself, if you please.”</p> + +<p>Miss Amelia was fat and dumpy, and stood very much<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> +in awe of her sister. She was really the better-natured person +of the two, but she never disobeyed Miss Minchin. She +went down-stairs again, looking almost alarmed.</p> + +<p>“I never saw such a funny, old-fashioned child, sister,” +she said. “She has locked herself in, and she is not making +the least particle of noise.”</p> + +<p>“It is much better than if she kicked and screamed, as +some of them do,” Miss Minchin answered. “I expected +that a child as much spoiled as she is would set the whole +house in an uproar. If ever a child was given her own way +in everything, she is.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve been opening her trunks and putting her things +away,” said Miss Amelia. “I never saw anything like +them—sable and ermine on her coats, and real Valenciennes +lace on her underclothing. You have seen some of her +clothes. What <em>do</em> you think of them?”</p> + +<p>“I think they are perfectly ridiculous,” replied Miss +Minchin, sharply; “but they will look very well at the head +of the line when we take the school-children to church on +Sunday. She has been provided for as if she were a little +princess.”</p> + +<p>And up-stairs in the locked room Sara and Emily sat +on the floor and stared at the corner round which the cab +had disappeared, while Captain Crewe looked backward, +waving and kissing his hand as if he could not bear to stop.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER II<br /> + +<small>A FRENCH LESSON</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">When</span> Sara entered the school-room the next +morning everybody looked at her with wide, +interested eyes. By that time every pupil—from +Lavinia Herbert, who was nearly thirteen and felt +quite grown up, to Lottie Legh, who was only just four +and the baby of the school—had heard a great deal about +her. They knew very certainly that she was Miss Minchin’s +show pupil and was considered a credit to the establishment. +One or two of them had even caught a glimpse +of her French maid, Mariette, who had arrived the evening +before. Lavinia had managed to pass Sara’s room when +the door was open, and had seen Mariette opening a box +which had arrived late from some shop.</p> + +<p>“It was full of petticoats with lace frills on them—frills +and frills,” she whispered to her friend Jessie as she bent +over her geography. “I saw her shaking them out. I +heard Miss Minchin say to Miss Amelia that her clothes +were so grand that they were ridiculous for a child. My +mamma says that children should be dressed simply. She +has got one of those petticoats on now. I saw it when she +sat down.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> + +<p>“She has silk stockings on!” whispered Jessie, bending +over her geography also. “And what little feet! I never +saw such little feet.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” sniffed Lavinia, spitefully, “that is the way her +slippers are made. My mamma says that even big feet can +be made to look small if you have a clever shoemaker. I +don’t think she is pretty at all. Her eyes are such a queer +color.”</p> + +<p>“She isn’t pretty as other pretty people are,” said Jessie, +stealing a glance across the room; “but she makes you want +to look at her again. She has tremendously long eyelashes, +but her eyes are almost green.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="illus028" id="illus028"></a> +<img src="images/illus028.jpg" width="400" height="542" alt="She was not abashed at all by the many pairs of eyes watching her." title="" /> +<br /><span class="caption">She was not abashed at all by the many pairs of eyes watching her.</span> +</div> + +<p>Sara was sitting quietly in her seat, waiting to be told +what to do. She had been placed near Miss Minchin’s +desk. She was not abashed at all by the many pairs of +eyes watching her. She was interested and looked back +quietly at the children who looked at her. She wondered +what they were thinking of, and if they liked Miss Minchin, +and if they cared for their lessons, and if any of them had +a papa at all like her own. She had had a long talk with +Emily about her papa that morning.</p> + +<p>“He is on the sea now, Emily,” she had said. “We +must be very great friends to each other and tell each other +things. Emily, look at me. You have the nicest eyes I +ever saw,—but I wish you could speak.”</p> + +<p>She was a child full of imaginings and whimsical +thoughts, and one of her fancies was that there would be a +great deal of comfort in even pretending that Emily was +alive and really heard and understood. After Mariette had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> +dressed her in her dark-blue school-room frock and tied her +hair with a dark-blue ribbon, she went to Emily, who sat +in a chair of her own, and gave her a book.</p> + +<p>“You can read that while I am down-stairs,” she said; +and, seeing Mariette looking at her curiously, she spoke to +her with a serious little face.</p> + +<p>“What I believe about dolls,” she said, “is that they can +do things they will not let us know about. Perhaps, really, +Emily can read and talk and walk, but she will only do it +when people are out of the room. That is her secret. You +see, if people knew that dolls could do things, they would +make them work. So, perhaps, they have promised each +other to keep it a secret. If you stay in the room, Emily +will just sit there and stare; but if you go out, she will begin +to read, perhaps, or go and look out of the window. Then +if she heard either of us coming, she would just run back +and jump into her chair and pretend she had been there all +the time.”</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Comme elle est drôle!”</i> Mariette said to herself, and when +she went down-stairs she told the head housemaid about it. +But she had already begun to like this odd little girl who +had such an intelligent small face and such perfect manners. +She had taken care of children before who were not +so polite. Sara was a very fine little person, and had a gentle, +appreciative way of saying, “If you please, Mariette,” +“Thank you, Mariette,” which was very charming. Mariette +told the head housemaid that she thanked her as if she +was thanking a lady.</p> + +<p>“<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Elle a l’air d’une princesse, cette petite,</i>” she said. Indeed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> +she was very much pleased with her new little mistress +and liked her place greatly.</p> + +<p>After Sara had sat in her seat in the school-room for a +few minutes, being looked at by the pupils, Miss Minchin +rapped in a dignified manner upon her desk.</p> + +<p>“Young ladies,” she said, “I wish to introduce you to +your new companion.” All the little girls rose in their +places, and Sara rose also. “I shall expect you all to be +very agreeable to Miss Crewe; she has just come to us from +a great distance—in fact, from India. As soon as lessons +are over you must make each other’s acquaintance.”</p> + +<p>The pupils bowed ceremoniously, and Sara made a little +courtesy, and then they sat down and looked at each other +again.</p> + +<p>“Sara,” said Miss Minchin in her school-room manner, +“come here to me.”</p> + +<p>She had taken a book from the desk and was turning over +its leaves. Sara went to her politely.</p> + +<p>“As your papa has engaged a French maid for you,” she +began, “I conclude that he wishes you to make a special +study of the French language.”</p> + +<p>Sara felt a little awkward.</p> + +<p>“I think he engaged her,” she said, “because he—he +thought I would like her, Miss Minchin.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid,” said Miss Minchin, with a slightly sour +smile, “that you have been a very spoiled little girl and +always imagine that things are done because you like them. +My impression is that your papa wished you to learn +French.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span></p> + +<p>If Sara had been older or less punctilious about being +quite polite to people, she could have explained herself in a +very few words. But, as it was, she felt a flush rising on +her cheeks. Miss Minchin was a very severe and imposing +person, and she seemed so absolutely sure that Sara knew +nothing whatever of French that she felt as if it would be +almost rude to correct her. The truth was that Sara could +not remember the time when she had not seemed to know +French. Her father had often spoken it to her when +she had been a baby. Her mother had been a Frenchwoman, +and Captain Crewe had loved her language, so it +happened that Sara had always heard and been familiar +with it.</p> + +<p>“I—I have never really learned French, but—but—” +she began, trying shyly to make herself clear.</p> + +<p>One of Miss Minchin’s chief secret annoyances was that +she did not speak French herself, and was desirous of concealing +the irritating fact. She, therefore, had no intention +of discussing the matter and laying herself open to innocent +questioning by a new little pupil.</p> + +<p>“That is enough,” she said with polite tartness. “If +you have not learned, you must begin at once. The French +master, Monsieur Dufarge, will be here in a few minutes. +Take this book and look at it until he arrives.”</p> + +<p>Sara’s cheeks felt warm. She went back to her seat and +opened the book. She looked at the first page with a grave +face. She knew it would be rude to smile, and she was very +determined not to be rude. But it was very odd to find herself +expected to study a page which told her that “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">le<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> +père</i>” meant “the father,” and “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">la mère</i>” meant “the +mother.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin glanced toward her scrutinizingly.</p> + +<p>“You look rather cross, Sara,” she said. “I am sorry +you do not like the idea of learning French.”</p> + +<p>“I am very fond of it,” answered Sara, thinking she +would try again; “but—”</p> + +<p>“You must not say ‘but’ when you are told to do +things,” said Miss Minchin. “Look at your book again.”</p> + +<p>And Sara did so, and did not smile, even when she found +that “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">le fils</i>” meant “the son,” and “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">le frère</i>” meant +“the brother.”</p> + +<p>“When Monsieur Dufarge comes,” she thought, “I can +make him understand.”</p> + +<p>Monsieur Dufarge arrived very shortly afterward. He +was a very nice, intelligent, middle-aged Frenchman, and +he looked interested when his eyes fell upon Sara trying +politely to seem absorbed in her little book of phrases.</p> + +<p>“Is this a new pupil for me, madame?” he said to Miss +Minchin. “I hope that is my good fortune.”</p> + +<p>“Her papa—Captain Crewe—is very anxious that she +should begin the language. But I am afraid she has a +childish prejudice against it. She does not seem to wish to +learn,” said Miss Minchin.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry of that, mademoiselle,” he said kindly to +Sara. “Perhaps, when we begin to study together, I may +show you that it is a charming tongue.”</p> + +<p>Little Sara rose in her seat. She was beginning to feel +rather desperate, as if she were almost in disgrace. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> +looked up into Monsieur Dufarge’s face with her big, +green-gray eyes, and they were quite innocently appealing. +She knew that he would understand as soon as she spoke. +She began to explain quite simply in pretty and fluent +French. Madame had not understood. She had not +learned French exactly,—not out of books,—but her papa +and other people had always spoken it to her, and she had +read it and written it as she had read and written English. +Her papa loved it, and she loved it because he did. Her +dear mamma, who had died when she was born, had been +French. She would be glad to learn anything monsieur +would teach her, but what she had tried to explain to madame +was that she already knew the words in this book—and +she held out the little book of phrases.</p> + +<p>When she began to speak Miss Minchin started quite +violently and sat staring at her over her eye-glasses, almost +indignantly, until she had finished. Monsieur Dufarge +began to smile, and his smile was one of great pleasure. To +hear this pretty childish voice speaking his own language so +simply and charmingly made him feel almost as if he were +in his native land—which in dark, foggy days in London +sometimes seemed worlds away. When she had finished, +he took the phrase-book from her, with a look almost affectionate. +But he spoke to Miss Minchin.</p> + +<p>“Ah, madame,” he said, “there is not much I can teach +her. She has not <em>learned</em> French; she <em>is</em> French. Her accent +is exquisite.”</p> + +<p>“You ought to have told me,” exclaimed Miss Minchin, +much mortified, turning on Sara.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I—I tried,” said Sara. “I—I suppose I did not begin +right.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin knew she had tried, and that it had not +been her fault that she was not allowed to explain. And +when she saw that the pupils had been listening and that +Lavinia and Jessie were giggling behind their French +grammars, she felt infuriated.</p> + +<p>“Silence, young ladies!” she said severely, rapping upon +the desk. “Silence at once!”</p> + +<p>And she began from that minute to feel rather a grudge +against her show pupil.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER III<br /> + +<small>ERMENGARDE</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">On</span> that first morning, when Sara sat at Miss Minchin’s +side, aware that the whole school-room was +devoting itself to observing her, she had noticed +very soon one little girl, about her own age, who looked at +her very hard with a pair of light, rather dull, blue eyes. She +was a fat child who did not look as if she were in the least +clever, but she had a good-naturedly pouting mouth. Her +flaxen hair was braided in a tight pigtail, tied with a ribbon, +and she had pulled this pigtail round her neck, and +was biting the end of the ribbon, resting her elbows on the +desk, as she stared wonderingly at the new pupil. When +Monsieur Dufarge began to speak to Sara, she looked a +little frightened; and when Sara stepped forward and, +looking at him with the innocent, appealing eyes, answered +him, without any warning, in French, the fat little girl gave +a startled jump, and grew quite red in her awed amazement. +Having wept hopeless tears for weeks in her efforts +to remember that “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">la mère</i>” meant “the mother,” and “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">le +père</i>,” “the father,”—when one spoke sensible English,—it +was almost too much for her to suddenly find herself +listening to a child her own age who seemed not only quite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> +familiar with these words, but apparently knew any number +of others, and could mix them up with verbs as if they +were mere trifles.</p> + +<p>She stared so hard and bit the ribbon on her pigtail so +fast that she attracted the attention of Miss Minchin, who, +feeling extremely cross at the moment, immediately +pounced upon her.</p> + +<p>“Miss St. John!” she exclaimed severely. “What do +you mean by such conduct? Remove your elbows! Take +your ribbon out of your mouth! Sit up at once!”</p> + +<p>Upon which Miss St. John gave another jump, and +when Lavinia and Jessie tittered she became redder than +ever—so red, indeed, that she almost looked as if tears were +coming into her poor, dull, childish eyes; and Sara saw her +and was so sorry for her that she began to rather like her +and want to be her friend. It was a way of hers always to +want to spring into any fray in which some one was made +uncomfortable or unhappy.</p> + +<p>“If Sara had been a boy and lived a few centuries ago,” +her father used to say, “she would have gone about the +country with her sword drawn, rescuing and defending +every one in distress. She always wants to fight when she +sees people in trouble.”</p> + +<p>So she took rather a fancy to fat, slow, little Miss St. +John, and kept glancing toward her through the morning. +She saw that lessons were no easy matter to her, and that +there was no danger of her ever being spoiled by being +treated as a show pupil. Her French lesson was a pathetic +thing. Her pronunciation made even Monsieur Dufarge<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> +smile in spite of himself, and Lavinia and Jessie and the +more fortunate girls either giggled or looked at her in wondering +disdain. But Sara did not laugh. She tried to look +as if she did not hear when Miss St. John called “<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">le bon +pain</i>,” “<cite>lee bong pang</cite>.” She had a fine, hot little temper +of her own, and it made her feel rather savage when she +heard the titters and saw the poor, stupid, distressed child’s +face.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t funny, really,” she said between her teeth, as +she bent over her book. “They ought not to laugh.”</p> + +<p>When lessons were over and the pupils gathered together +in groups to talk, Sara looked for Miss St. John, +and finding her bundled rather disconsolately in a window-seat, +she walked over to her and spoke. She only said +the kind of thing little girls always say to each other +by way of beginning an acquaintance, but there was something +nice and friendly about Sara, and people always +felt it.</p> + +<p>“What is your name?” she said.</p> + +<p>To explain Miss St. John’s amazement one must recall +that a new pupil is, for a short time, a somewhat uncertain +thing; and of this new pupil the entire school had talked +the night before until it fell asleep quite exhausted by excitement +and contradictory stories. A new pupil with a +carriage and a pony and a maid, and a voyage from India +to discuss, was not an ordinary acquaintance.</p> + +<p>“My name’s Ermengarde St. John,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Mine is Sara Crewe,” said Sara. “Yours is very +pretty. It sounds like a story-book.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Do you like it?” fluttered Ermengarde. “I—I like +yours.”</p> + +<p>Miss St. John’s chief trouble in life was that she had a +clever father. Sometimes this seemed to her a dreadful calamity. +If you have a father who knows everything, who +speaks seven or eight languages, and has thousands of +volumes which he has apparently learned by heart, he frequently +expects you to be familiar with the contents of +your lesson-books at least; and it is not improbable that he +will feel you ought to be able to remember a few incidents +of history and to write a French exercise. Ermengarde +was a severe trial to Mr. St. John. He could not understand +how a child of his could be a notably and unmistakably +dull creature who never shone in anything.</p> + +<p>“Good heavens!” he had said more than once, as he +stared at her, “there are times when I think she is as stupid +as her Aunt Eliza!”</p> + +<p>If her Aunt Eliza had been slow to learn and quick to +forget a thing entirely when she had learned it, Ermengarde +was strikingly like her. She was the monumental +dunce of the school, and it could not be denied.</p> + +<p>“She must be <em>made</em> to learn,” her father said to Miss +Minchin.</p> + +<p>Consequently Ermengarde spent the greater part of her +life in disgrace or in tears. She learned things and forgot +them; or, if she remembered them, she did not understand +them. So it was natural that, having made Sara’s acquaintance, +she should sit and stare at her with profound admiration.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You can speak French, can’t you?” she said respectfully.</p> + +<p>Sara got on to the window-seat, which was a big, deep +one, and, tucking up her feet, sat with her hands clasped +round her knees.</p> + +<p>“I can speak it because I have heard it all my life,” +she answered. “You could speak it if you had always +heard it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, I couldn’t,” said Ermengarde. “I <em>never</em> could +speak it!”</p> + +<p>“Why?” inquired Sara, curiously.</p> + +<p>Ermengarde shook her head so that the pigtail wabbled.</p> + +<p>“You heard me just now,” she said. “I’m always like +that. I can’t <em>say</em> the words. They’re so queer.”</p> + +<p>She paused a moment, and then added with a touch of +awe in her voice:</p> + +<p>“You are <em>clever</em>, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>Sara looked out of the window into the dingy square, +where the sparrows were hopping and twittering on the +wet, iron railings and the sooty branches of the trees. She +reflected a few moments. She had heard it said very often +that she was “clever,” and she wondered if she was,—and +<em>if</em> she was, how it had happened.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” she said. “I can’t tell.” Then, seeing +a mournful look on the round, chubby face, she gave a little +laugh and changed the subject.</p> + +<p>“Would you like to see Emily?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>“Who is Emily?” Ermengarde asked, just as Miss Minchin +had done.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Come up to my room and see,” said Sara, holding out +her hand.</p> + +<p>They jumped down from the window-seat together, and +went up-stairs.</p> + +<p>“Is it true,” Ermengarde whispered, as they went +through the hall—“is it true that you have a play-room all +to yourself?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Sara answered. “Papa asked Miss Minchin to +let me have one, because—well, it was because when I play +I make up stories and tell them to myself, and I don’t like +people to hear me. It spoils it if I think people listen.”</p> + +<p>They had reached the passage leading to Sara’s room +by this time, and Ermengarde stopped short, staring, and +quite losing her breath.</p> + +<p>“You <em>make up</em> stories!” she gasped. “Can you do that—as +well as speak French? <em>Can</em> you?”</p> + +<p>Sara looked at her in simple surprise.</p> + +<p>“Why, any one can make up things,” she said. “Have +you never tried?”</p> + +<p>She put her hand warningly on Ermengarde’s.</p> + +<p>“Let us go very quietly to the door,” she whispered, +“and then I will open it quite suddenly; perhaps we may +catch her.”</p> + +<p>She was half laughing, but there was a touch of mysterious +hope in her eyes which fascinated Ermengarde, +though she had not the remotest idea what it meant, or +whom it was she wanted to “catch,” or why she wanted to +catch her. Whatsoever she meant, Ermengarde was sure +it was something delightfully exciting. So, quite thrilled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> +with expectation, she followed her on tiptoe along the passage. +They made not the least noise until they reached +the door. Then Sara suddenly turned the handle, and +threw it wide open. Its opening revealed the room quite +neat and quiet, a fire gently burning in the grate, and a +wonderful doll sitting in a chair by it, apparently reading +a book.</p> + +<p>“Oh, she got back to her seat before we could see her!” +Sara exclaimed. “Of course they always do. They are as +quick as lightning.”</p> + +<p>Ermengarde looked from her to the doll and back again.</p> + +<p>“Can she—walk?” she asked breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Sara. “At least I believe she can. At +least I <em>pretend</em> I believe she can. And that makes it seem +as if it were true. Have you never pretended things?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Ermengarde. “Never. I—tell me about +it.”</p> + +<p>She was so bewitched by this odd, new companion that +she actually stared at Sara instead of at Emily—notwithstanding +that Emily was the most attractive doll person +she had ever seen.</p> + +<p>“Let us sit down,” said Sara, “and I will tell you. It’s +so easy that when you begin you can’t stop. You just go +on and on doing it always. And it’s beautiful. Emily, +you must listen. This is Ermengarde St. John, Emily. +Ermengarde, this is Emily. Would you like to hold her?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, may I?” said Ermengarde. “May I, really? She +<em>is</em> beautiful!” And Emily was put into her arms.</p> + +<p>Never in her dull, short life had Miss St. John dreamed +of such an hour as the one she spent with the queer new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> +pupil before they heard the lunch-bell ring and were +obliged to go down-stairs.</p> + +<p>Sara sat upon the hearth-rug and told her strange things. +She sat rather huddled up, and her green eyes shone and +her cheeks flushed. She told stories of the voyage, and +stories of India; but what fascinated Ermengarde the +most was her fancy about the dolls who walked and talked, +and who could do anything they chose when the human +beings were out of the room, but who must keep their powers +a secret and so flew back to their places “like lightning” +when people returned to the room.</p> + +<p>“<em>We</em> couldn’t do it,” said Sara, seriously. “You see, +it’s a kind of magic.”</p> + +<p>Once, when she was relating the story of the search for +Emily, Ermengarde saw her face suddenly change. A +cloud seemed to pass over it and put out the light in her +shining eyes. She drew her breath in so sharply that it +made a funny, sad little sound, and then she shut her lips +and held them tightly closed, as if she was determined +either to do or <em>not</em> to do something. Ermengarde had an +idea that if she had been like any other little girl, she might +have suddenly burst out sobbing and crying. But she did +not.</p> + +<p>“Have you a—a pain?” Ermengarde ventured.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Sara answered, after a moment’s silence. “But +it is not in my body.” Then she added something in +a low voice which she tried to keep quite steady, and it was +this: “Do you love your father more than anything else in +all the whole world?”</p> + +<p>Ermengarde’s mouth fell open a little. She knew that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> +it would be far from behaving like a respectable child at a +select seminary to say that it had never occurred to you +that you <em>could</em> love your father, that you would do anything +desperate to avoid being left alone in his society for +ten minutes. She was, indeed, greatly embarrassed.</p> + +<p>“I—I scarcely ever see him,” she stammered. “He is +always in the library—reading things.”</p> + +<p>“I love mine more than all the world ten times over,” +Sara said. “That is what my pain is. He has gone away.”</p> + +<p>She put her head quietly down on her little, huddled-up +knees, and sat very still for a few minutes.</p> + +<p>“She’s going to cry out loud,” thought Ermengarde, +fearfully.</p> + +<p>But she did not. Her short, black locks tumbled about +her ears, and she sat still. Then she spoke without lifting +her head.</p> + +<p>“I promised him I would bear it,” she said. “And I +will. You have to bear things. Think what soldiers bear! +Papa is a soldier. If there was a war he would have to bear +marching and thirstiness and, perhaps, deep wounds. And +he would never say a word—not one word.”</p> + +<p>Ermengarde could only gaze at her, but she felt that she +was beginning to adore her. She was so wonderful and +different from any one else.</p> + +<p>Presently, she lifted her face and shook back her black +locks, with a queer little smile.</p> + +<p>“If I go on talking and talking,” she said, “and telling +you things about pretending, I shall bear it better. You +don’t forget, but you bear it better.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ermengarde did not know why a lump came into her +throat and her eyes felt as if tears were in them.</p> + +<p>“Lavinia and Jessie are ‘best friends,’” she said rather +huskily. “I wish we could be ‘best friends.’ Would you +have me for yours? You’re clever, and I’m the stupidest +child in the school, but I—oh, I do so like you!”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad of that,” said Sara. “It makes you thankful +when you are liked. Yes. We will be friends. And +I’ll tell you what”—a sudden gleam lighting her face—“I +can help you with your French lessons.”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER IV<br /> + +<small>LOTTIE</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">If</span> Sara had been a different kind of child, the life she +led at Miss Minchin’s Select Seminary for the next +ten years would not have been at all good for her. +She was treated more as if she were a distinguished guest at +the establishment than as if she were a mere little girl. If +she had been a self-opinionated, domineering child, she +might have become disagreeable enough to be unbearable +through being so much indulged and flattered. If she had +been an indolent child, she would have learned nothing. +Privately Miss Minchin disliked her, but she was far too +worldly a woman to do or say anything which might make +such a desirable pupil wish to leave her school. She knew +quite well that if Sara wrote to her papa to tell him she was +uncomfortable or unhappy, Captain Crewe would remove +her at once. Miss Minchin’s opinion was that if a child +were continually praised and never forbidden to do what +she liked, she would be sure to be fond of the place where +she was so treated. Accordingly, Sara was praised for her +quickness at her lessons, for her good manners, for her amiability +to her fellow-pupils, for her generosity if she gave +sixpence to a beggar out of her full little purse; the simplest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> +thing she did was treated as if it were a virtue, and if +she had not had a disposition and a clever little brain, she +might have been a very self-satisfied young person. But +the clever little brain told her a great many sensible and +true things about herself and her circumstances, and now +and then she talked these things over to Ermengarde as +time went on.</p> + +<p>“Things happen to people by accident,” she used to say. +“A lot of nice accidents have happened to me. It just +<em>happened</em> that I always liked lessons and books, and could +remember things when I learned them. It just happened +that I was born with a father who was beautiful and nice +and clever, and could give me everything I liked. Perhaps +I have not really a good temper at all, but if you have +everything you want and every one is kind to you, how can +you help but be good-tempered? I don’t know”—looking +quite serious—“how I shall ever find out whether I am +really a nice child or a horrid one. Perhaps I’m a <em>hideous</em> +child, and no one will ever know, just because I never have +any trials.”</p> + +<p>“Lavinia has no trials,” said Ermengarde, stolidly, “and +she is horrid enough.”</p> + +<p>Sara rubbed the end of her little nose reflectively, as she +thought the matter over.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said at last, “perhaps—perhaps that is because +Lavinia is <em>growing</em>.”</p> + +<p>This was the result of a charitable recollection of having +heard Miss Amelia say that Lavinia was growing so fast +that she believed it affected her health and temper.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span></p> + +<p>Lavinia, in fact, was spiteful. She was inordinately +jealous of Sara. Until the new pupil’s arrival, she had felt +herself the leader in the school. She had led because she +was capable of making herself extremely disagreeable if +the others did not follow her. She domineered over the little +children, and assumed grand airs with those big enough +to be her companions. She was rather pretty, and had +been the best-dressed pupil in the procession when the +Select Seminary walked out two by two, until Sara’s velvet +coats and sable muffs appeared, combined with drooping +ostrich feathers, and were led by Miss Minchin at the head +of the line. This, at the beginning, had been bitter enough; +but as time went on it became apparent that Sara was a +leader, too, and not because she could make herself disagreeable, +but because she never did.</p> + +<p>“There’s one thing about Sara Crewe,” Jessie had enraged +her “best friend” by saying honestly,—“she’s never +‘grand’ about herself the least bit, and you know she might +be, Lavvie. I believe I couldn’t help being—just a little—if +I had so many fine things and was made such a fuss +over. It’s disgusting, the way Miss Minchin shows her off +when parents come.”</p> + +<p>“‘Dear Sara must come into the drawing-room and talk +to Mrs. Musgrave about India,’” mimicked Lavinia, in her +most highly flavored imitation of Miss Minchin. “‘Dear +Sara must speak French to Lady Pitkin. Her accent is so +perfect.’ She didn’t learn her French at the Seminary, at +any rate. And there’s nothing so clever in her knowing it. +She says herself she didn’t learn it at all. She just picked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> +it up, because she always heard her papa speak it. And, as +to her papa, there is nothing so grand in being an Indian +officer.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Jessie, slowly, “he’s killed tigers. He +killed the one in the skin Sara has in her room. That’s why +she likes it so. She lies on it and strokes its head, and talks +to it as if it was a cat.”</p> + +<p>“She’s always doing something silly,” snapped Lavinia. +“My mamma says that way of hers of pretending +things is silly. She says she will grow up eccentric.”</p> + +<p>It was quite true that Sara was never “grand.” She was +a friendly little soul, and shared her privileges and belongings +with a free hand. The little ones, who were accustomed +to being disdained and ordered out of the way by +mature ladies aged ten and twelve, were never made to +cry by this most envied of them all. She was a motherly +young person, and when people fell down and scraped their +knees, she ran and helped them up and patted them, or +found in her pocket a bonbon or some other article of a +soothing nature. She never pushed them out of her way +or alluded to their years as a humiliation and a blot upon +their small characters.</p> + +<p>“If you are four you are four,” she said severely to Lavinia +on an occasion of her having—it must be confessed—slapped +Lottie and called her “a brat”; “but you will be +five next year, and six the year after that. And,” opening +large, convicting eyes, “it only takes sixteen years to make +you twenty.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” said Lavinia; “how we can calculate!” In<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> +fact, it was not to be denied that sixteen and four made +twenty,—and twenty was an age the most daring were +scarcely bold enough to dream of.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="illus052" id="illus052"></a> +<img src="images/illus052.jpg" width="400" height="540" alt="More than once she had been known to have a tea-party.…" title="" /> +<br /><span class="caption">More than once she had been known to have a tea-party.…</span> +</div> + +<p>So the younger children adored Sara. More than once +she had been known to have a tea-party, made up of these +despised ones, in her own room. And Emily had been +played with, and Emily’s own tea-service used—the one +with cups which held quite a lot of much-sweetened weak +tea and had blue flowers on them. No one had seen such +a very real doll’s tea-set before. From that afternoon Sara +was regarded as a goddess and a queen by the entire alphabet +class.</p> + +<p>Lottie Legh worshipped her to such an extent that if +Sara had not been a motherly person, she would have found +her tiresome. Lottie had been sent to school by a rather +flighty young papa who could not imagine what else to do +with her. Her young mother had died, and as the child had +been treated like a favorite doll or a very spoiled pet monkey +or lap-dog ever since the first hour of her life, she was a +very appalling little creature. When she wanted anything +or did not want anything she wept and howled; and, as she +always wanted the things she could not have, and did not +want the things that were best for her, her shrill little voice +was usually to be heard uplifted in wails in one part of the +house or another.</p> + +<p>Her strongest weapon was that in some mysterious way +she had found out that a very small girl who had lost her +mother was a person who ought to be pitied and made +much of. She had probably heard some grown-up people<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> +talking her over in the early days, after her mother’s +death. So it became her habit to make great use of this +knowledge.</p> + +<p>The first time Sara took her in charge was one morning +when, on passing a sitting-room, she heard both Miss Minchin +and Miss Amelia trying to suppress the angry wails +of some child who, evidently, refused to be silenced. She +refused so strenuously indeed that Miss Minchin was +obliged to almost shout—in a stately and severe manner—to +make herself heard.</p> + +<p>“What <em>is</em> she crying for?” she almost yelled.</p> + +<p>“Oh—oh—oh!” Sara heard; “I haven’t got any mam—ma-a!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Lottie!” screamed Miss Amelia. “Do stop, darling! +Don’t cry! Please don’t!”</p> + +<p>“Oh! oh! oh!” Lottie howled tempestuously. “Haven’t—got—any—mam—ma-a!”</p> + +<p>“She ought to be whipped,” Miss Minchin proclaimed. +“You <em>shall</em> be whipped, you naughty child!”</p> + +<p>Lottie wailed more loudly than ever. Miss Amelia began +to cry. Miss Minchin’s voice rose until it almost thundered, +then suddenly she sprang up from her chair in impotent +indignation and flounced out of the room, leaving Miss +Amelia to arrange the matter.</p> + +<p>Sara had paused in the hall, wondering if she ought to +go into the room, because she had recently begun a friendly +acquaintance with Lottie and might be able to quiet her. +When Miss Minchin came out and saw her, she looked +rather annoyed. She realized that her voice, as heard from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> +inside the room, could not have sounded either dignified or +amiable.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sara!” she exclaimed, endeavoring to produce a +suitable smile.</p> + +<p>“I stopped,” explained Sara, “because I knew it was +Lottie,—and I thought, perhaps—just perhaps, I could +make her be quiet. May I try, Miss Minchin?”</p> + +<p>“If you can. You are a clever child,” answered Miss +Minchin, drawing in her mouth sharply. Then, seeing that +Sara looked slightly chilled by her asperity, she changed +her manner. “But you are clever in everything,” she said +in her approving way. “I dare say you can manage her. +Go in.” And she left her.</p> + +<p>When Sara entered the room, Lottie was lying upon the +floor, screaming and kicking her small fat legs violently, +and Miss Amelia was bending over her in consternation +and despair, looking quite red and damp with heat. Lottie +had always found, when in her own nursery at home, that +kicking and screaming would always be quieted by any +means she insisted on. Poor plump Miss Amelia was trying +first one method, and then another.</p> + +<p>“Poor darling!” she said one moment; “I know you +haven’t any mamma, poor—” Then in quite another tone: +“If you don’t stop, Lottie, I will shake you. Poor little +angel! There—there! You wicked, bad, detestable child, +I will smack you! I will!”</p> + +<p>Sara went to them quietly. She did not know at all what +she was going to do, but she had a vague inward conviction +that it would be better not to say such different kinds of +things quite so helplessly and excitedly.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Miss Amelia,” she said in a low voice, “Miss Minchin +says I may try to make her stop—may I?”</p> + +<p>Miss Amelia turned and looked at her hopelessly. “Oh, +<em>do</em> you think you can?” she gasped.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know whether I <em>can</em>,” answered Sara, still in +her half-whisper; “but I will try.”</p> + +<p>Miss Amelia stumbled up from her knees with a heavy +sigh, and Lottie’s fat little legs kicked as hard as ever.</p> + +<p>“If you will steal out of the room,” said Sara, “I will +stay with her.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sara!” almost whimpered Miss Amelia. “We +never had such a dreadful child before. I don’t believe we +<em>can</em> keep her.”</p> + +<p>But she crept out of the room, and was very much relieved +to find an excuse for doing it.</p> + +<p>Sara stood by the howling, furious child for a few moments, +and looked down at her without saying anything. +Then she sat down flat on the floor beside her and waited. +Except for Lottie’s angry screams, the room was quite +quiet. This was a new state of affairs for little Miss Legh, +who was accustomed, when she screamed, to hear other people +protest and implore and command and coax by turns. +To lie and kick and shriek, and find the only person near +you not seeming to mind in the least, attracted her attention. +She opened her tight-shut streaming eyes to see who +this person was. And it was only another little girl. But +it was the one who owned Emily and all the nice things. +And she was looking at her steadily and as if she was +merely thinking. Having paused for a few seconds to find +this out, Lottie thought she must begin again, but the quiet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> +of the room and of Sara’s odd, interested face made her +first howl rather half-hearted.</p> + +<p>“I—haven’t—any—ma—ma—ma-a!” she announced; +but her voice was not so strong.</p> + +<p>Sara looked at her still more steadily, but with a sort of +understanding in her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Neither have I,” she said.</p> + +<p>This was so unexpected that it was astounding. Lottie +actually dropped her legs, gave a wriggle, and lay and +stared. A new idea will stop a crying child when nothing +else will. Also it was true that while Lottie disliked Miss +Minchin, who was cross, and Miss Amelia, who was foolishly +indulgent, she rather liked Sara, little as she knew her. +She did not want to give up her grievance, but her thoughts +were distracted from it, so she wriggled again, and, after a +sulky sob, said:</p> + +<p>“Where is she?”</p> + +<p>Sara paused a moment. Because she had been told that +her mamma was in heaven, she had thought a great deal +about the matter, and her thoughts had not been quite like +those of other people.</p> + +<p>“She went to heaven,” she said. “But I am sure she +comes out sometimes to see me—though I don’t see her. +So does yours. Perhaps they can both see us now. Perhaps +they are both in this room.”</p> + +<p>Lottie sat bolt upright, and looked about her. She +was a pretty, little, curly-headed creature, and her round +eyes were like wet forget-me-nots. If her mamma had +seen her during the last half-hour, she might not have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> +thought her the kind of child who ought to be related to +an angel.</p> + +<p>Sara went on talking. Perhaps some people might think +that what she said was rather like a fairy story, but it was +all so real to her own imagination that Lottie began to listen +in spite of herself. She had been told that her mamma +had wings and a crown, and she had been shown pictures of +ladies in beautiful white night-gowns, who were said to be +angels. But Sara seemed to be telling a real story about a +lovely country where real people were.</p> + +<p>“There are fields and fields of flowers,” she said, forgetting +herself, as usual, when she began, and talking rather +as if she were in a dream—“fields and fields of lilies—and +when the soft wind blows over them it wafts the scent of +them into the air—and everybody always breathes it, because +the soft wind is always blowing. And little children +run about in the lily-fields and gather armsful of them, +and laugh and make little wreaths. And the streets are +shining. And no one is ever tired, however far they walk. +They can float anywhere they like. And there are walls +made of pearl and gold all round the city, but they are low +enough for the people to go and lean on them, and look +down on to the earth and smile, and send beautiful messages.”</p> + +<p>Whatsoever story she had begun to tell, Lottie would, no +doubt, have stopped crying, and been fascinated into listening; +but there was no denying that this story was prettier +than most others. She dragged herself close to Sara, and +drank in every word until the end came—far too soon.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> +When it did come, she was so sorry that she put up her lip +ominously.</p> + +<p>“I want to go there,” she cried. “I—haven’t any +mamma in this school.”</p> + +<p>Sara saw the danger-signal, and came out of her dream. +She took hold of the chubby hand and pulled her close to +her side with a coaxing little laugh.</p> + +<p>“I will be your mamma,” she said. “We will play that +you are my little girl. And Emily shall be your sister.”</p> + +<p>Lottie’s dimples all began to show themselves.</p> + +<p>“Shall she?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Sara, jumping to her feet. “Let us +go and tell her. And then I will wash your face and brush +your hair.”</p> + +<p>To which Lottie agreed quite cheerfully, and trotted out +of the room and up-stairs with her, without seeming even +to remember that the whole of the last hour’s tragedy had +been caused by the fact that she had refused to be washed +and brushed for lunch and Miss Minchin had been called +in to use her majestic authority.</p> + +<p>And from that time Sara was an adopted mother.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER V<br /> + +<small>BECKY</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">Of</span> course the greatest power Sara possessed and the +one which gained her even more followers than +her luxuries and the fact that she was “the show +pupil,” the power that Lavinia and certain other girls +were most envious of, and at the same time most fascinated +by in spite of themselves, was her power of telling stories +and of making everything she talked about seem like a +story, whether it was one or not.</p> + +<p>Any one who has been at school with a teller of stories +knows what the wonder means—how he or she is followed +about and besought in a whisper to relate romances; how +groups gather round and hang on the outskirts of the favored +party in the hope of being allowed to join it and +listen. Sara not only could tell stories, but she adored telling +them. When she sat or stood in the midst of a circle +and began to invent wonderful things, her green eyes grew +big and shining, her cheeks flushed, and, without knowing +that she was doing it, she began to act and made what she +told lovely or alarming by the raising or dropping of her +voice, the bend and sway of her slim body, and the dramatic +movement of her hands. She forgot that she was talking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> +to listening children; she saw and lived with the fairy folk, +or the kings and queens and beautiful ladies, whose adventures +she was narrating. Sometimes when she had finished +her story, she was quite out of breath with excitement, and +would lay her hand on her thin, little, quick-rising chest, +and half laugh as if at herself.</p> + +<p>“When I am telling it,” she would say, “it doesn’t seem +as if it was only made up. It seems more real than you +are—more real than the school-room. I feel as if I were +all the people in the story—one after the other. It <em>is</em> +queer.”</p> + +<p>She had been at Miss Minchin’s school about two years +when, one foggy winter’s afternoon, as she was getting +out of her carriage, comfortably wrapped up in her warmest +velvets and furs and looking very much grander than +she knew, she caught sight, as she crossed the pavement, +of a dingy little figure standing on the area steps, and +stretching its neck so that its wide-open eyes might peer at +her through the railings. Something in the eagerness and +timidity of the smudgy face made her look at it, and when +she looked she smiled because it was her way to smile at +people.</p> + +<p>But the owner of the smudgy face and the wide-open +eyes evidently was afraid that she ought not to have been +caught looking at pupils of importance. She dodged out +of sight like a Jack-in-the-box and scurried back into the +kitchen, disappearing so suddenly that if she had not been +such a poor, little forlorn thing, Sara would have laughed +in spite of herself. That very evening, as Sara was sitting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> +in the midst of a group of listeners in a corner of the school-room +telling one of her stories, the very same figure timidly +entered the room, carrying a coal-box much too heavy +for her, and knelt down upon the hearth-rug to replenish +the fire and sweep up the ashes.</p> + +<p>She was cleaner than she had been when she peeped +through the area railings, but she looked just as frightened. +She was evidently afraid to look at the children or seem to +be listening. She put on pieces of coal cautiously with her +fingers so that she might make no disturbing noise, and +she swept about the fire-irons very softly. But Sara saw +in two minutes that she was deeply interested in what was +going on, and that she was doing her work slowly in the +hope of catching a word here and there. And realizing +this, she raised her voice and spoke more clearly.</p> + +<p>“The Mermaids swam softly about in the crystal-green +water, and dragged after them a fishing-net woven of deep-sea +pearls,” she said. “The Princess sat on the white rock +and watched them.”</p> + +<p>It was a wonderful story about a princess who was loved +by a Prince Merman, and went to live with him in shining +caves under the sea.</p> + +<p>The small drudge before the grate swept the hearth once +and then swept it again. Having done it twice, she did it +three times; and, as she was doing it the third time, the +sound of the story so lured her to listen that she fell under +the spell and actually forgot that she had no right to listen +at all, and also forgot everything else. She sat down upon +her heels as she knelt on the hearth-rug, and the brush hung<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> +idly in her fingers. The voice of the story-teller went on +and drew her with it into winding grottos under the sea, +glowing with soft, clear blue light, and paved with pure +golden sands. Strange sea flowers and grasses waved +about her, and far away faint singing and music echoed.</p> + +<p>The hearth-brush fell from the work-roughened hand, +and Lavinia Herbert looked round.</p> + +<p>“That girl has been listening,” she said.</p> + +<p>The culprit snatched up her brush, and scrambled to her +feet. She caught at the coal-box and simply scuttled out +of the room like a frightened rabbit.</p> + +<p>Sara felt rather hot-tempered.</p> + +<p>“I knew she was listening,” she said. “Why shouldn’t +she?”</p> + +<p>Lavinia tossed her head with great elegance.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she remarked, “I do not know whether your +mamma would like you to tell stories to servant girls, but I +know <em>my</em> mamma wouldn’t like <em>me</em> to do it.”</p> + +<p>“My mamma!” said Sara, looking odd. “I don’t believe +she would mind in the least. She knows that stories +belong to everybody.”</p> + +<p>“I thought,” retorted Lavinia, in severe recollection, +“that your mamma was dead. How can she know things?”</p> + +<p>“Do you think she <em>doesn’t</em> know things?” said Sara, in +her stern little voice. Sometimes she had a rather stern +little voice.</p> + +<p>“Sara’s mamma knows everything,” piped in Lottie. +“So does my mamma—’cept Sara is my mamma at Miss +Minchin’s—my other one knows everything. The streets<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> +are shining, and there are fields and fields of lilies, and +everybody gathers them. Sara tells me when she puts me +to bed.”</p> + +<p>“You wicked thing,” said Lavinia, turning on Sara; +“making fairy stories about heaven.”</p> + +<p>“There are much more splendid stories in Revelation,” +returned Sara. “Just look and see! How do you know +mine are fairy stories? But I can tell you”—with a fine bit +of unheavenly temper—“you will never find out whether +they are or not if you’re not kinder to people than you are +now. Come along, Lottie.” And she marched out of the +room, rather hoping that she might see the little servant +again somewhere, but she found no trace of her when she +got into the hall.</p> + +<p>“Who is that little girl who makes the fires?” she asked +Mariette that night.</p> + +<p>Mariette broke forth into a flow of description.</p> + +<p>Ah, indeed, Mademoiselle Sara might well ask. She +was a forlorn little thing who had just taken the place of +scullery-maid—though, as to being scullery-maid, she was +everything else besides. She blacked boots and grates, and +carried heavy coal-scuttles up and down stairs, and +scrubbed floors and cleaned windows, and was ordered +about by everybody. She was fourteen years old, but was +so stunted in growth that she looked about twelve. In +truth, Mariette was sorry for her. She was so timid that +if one chanced to speak to her it appeared as if her poor, +frightened eyes would jump out of her head.</p> + +<p>“What is her name?” asked Sara, who had sat by the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> +table, with her chin on her hands, as she listened absorbedly +to the recital.</p> + +<p>Her name was Becky. Mariette heard every one below-stairs +calling, “Becky, do this,” and “Becky, do that,” +every five minutes in the day.</p> + +<p>Sara sat and looked into the fire, reflecting on Becky for +some time after Mariette left her. She made up a story +of which Becky was the ill-used heroine. She thought she +looked as if she had never had quite enough to eat. Her +very eyes were hungry. She hoped she should see her +again, but though she caught sight of her carrying things +up or down stairs on several occasions, she always seemed in +such a hurry and so afraid of being seen that it was impossible +to speak to her.</p> + +<p>But a few weeks later, on another foggy afternoon, +when she entered her sitting-room she found herself confronting +a rather pathetic picture. In her own special +and pet easy-chair before the bright fire, Becky—with a +coal smudge on her nose and several on her apron, with +her poor little cap hanging half off her head, and an +empty coal-box on the floor near her—sat fast asleep, tired +out beyond even the endurance of her hard-working young +body. She had been sent up to put the bedrooms in order +for the evening. There were a great many of them, and +she had been running about all day. Sara’s rooms she had +saved until the last. They were not like the other rooms, +which were plain and bare. Ordinary pupils were expected +to be satisfied with mere necessaries. Sara’s comfortable +sitting-room seemed a bower of luxury to the scullery-maid,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> +though it was, in fact, merely a nice, bright little room. +But there were pictures and books in it, and curious things +from India; there was a sofa and the low, soft chair; Emily +sat in a chair of her own, with the air of a presiding goddess, +and there was always a glowing fire and a polished +grate. Becky saved it until the end of her afternoon’s +work, because it rested her to go into it, and she always +hoped to snatch a few minutes to sit down in the soft chair +and look about her, and think about the wonderful good +fortune of the child who owned such surroundings and who +went out on the cold days in beautiful hats and coats one +tried to catch a glimpse of through the area railing.</p> + +<p>On this afternoon, when she had sat down, the sensation +of relief to her short, aching legs had been so wonderful +and delightful that it had seemed to soothe her whole body, +and the glow of warmth and comfort from the fire had +crept over her like a spell, until, as she looked at the red +coals, a tired, slow smile stole over her smudged face, her +head nodded forward without her being aware of it, her +eyes drooped, and she fell fast asleep. She had really been +only about ten minutes in the room when Sara entered, but +she was in as deep a sleep as if she had been, like the Sleeping +Beauty, slumbering for a hundred years. But she did +not look—poor Becky!—like a Sleeping Beauty at all. +She looked only like an ugly, stunted, worn-out little scullery +drudge.</p> + +<p>Sara seemed as much unlike her as if she were a creature +from another world.</p> + +<p>On this particular afternoon she had been taking her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> +dancing-lesson, and the afternoon on which the dancing-master +appeared was rather a grand occasion at the seminary, +though it occurred every week. The pupils were +attired in their prettiest frocks, and as Sara danced +particularly well, she was very much brought forward, and +Mariette was requested to make her as diaphanous and fine +as possible.</p> + +<p>To-day a frock the color of a rose had been put on her, +and Mariette had bought some real buds and made her a +wreath to wear on her black locks. She had been learning +a new, delightful dance in which she had been skimming +and flying about the room, like a large rose-colored butterfly, +and the enjoyment and exercise had brought a brilliant, +happy glow into her face.</p> + +<p>When she entered the room, she floated in with a few +of the butterfly steps,—and there sat Becky, nodding her +cap sideways off her head.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Sara, softly, when she saw her. “That +poor thing!”</p> + +<p>It did not occur to her to feel cross at finding her pet +chair occupied by the small, dingy figure. To tell the +truth, she was quite glad to find it there. When the ill-used +heroine of her story wakened, she could talk to her. +She crept toward her quietly, and stood looking at her. +Becky gave a little snore.</p> + +<p>“I wish she’d waken herself,” Sara said. “I don’t like +to waken her. But Miss Minchin would be cross if she +found out. I’ll just wait a few minutes.”</p> + +<p>She took a seat on the edge of the table, and sat swinging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> +her slim, rose-colored legs, and wondering what it +would be best to do. Miss Amelia might come in at any +moment, and if she did, Becky would be sure to be scolded.</p> + +<p>“But she is so tired,” she thought. “She <em>is</em> so tired!”</p> + +<p>A piece of flaming coal ended her perplexity for her that +very moment. It broke off from a large lump and fell on +to the fender. Becky started, and opened her eyes with a +frightened gasp. She did not know she had fallen asleep. +She had only sat down for one moment and felt the beautiful +glow—and here she found herself staring in wild +alarm at the wonderful pupil, who sat perched quite near +her, like a rose-colored fairy, with interested eyes.</p> + +<p>She sprang up and clutched at her cap. She felt it +dangling over her ear, and tried wildly to put it straight. +Oh, she had got herself into trouble now with a vengeance! +To have impudently fallen asleep on such a young lady’s +chair! She would be turned out of doors without wages.</p> + +<p>She made a sound like a big breathless sob.</p> + +<p>“Oh, miss! Oh, miss!” she stuttered. “I arst yer pardon, +miss! Oh, I do, miss!”</p> + +<p>Sara jumped down, and came quite close to her.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be frightened,” she said, quite as if she had been +speaking to a little girl like herself. “It doesn’t matter +the least bit.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t go to do it, miss,” protested Becky. “It was +the warm fire—an’ me bein’ so tired. It—it <em>wasn’t</em> imperence!”</p> + +<p>Sara broke into a friendly little laugh, and put her hand +on her shoulder.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You were tired,” she said; “you could not help it. You +are not really awake yet.”</p> + +<p>How poor Becky stared at her! In fact, she had never +heard such a nice, friendly sound in any one’s voice before. +She was used to being ordered about and scolded, and having +her ears boxed. And this one—in her rose-colored +dancing afternoon splendor—was looking at her as if she +were not a culprit at all—as if she had a right to be tired—even +to fall asleep! The touch of the soft, slim little paw +on her shoulder was the most amazing thing she had ever +known.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t—ain’t yer angry, miss?” she gasped. “Ain’t +yer goin’ to tell the missus?”</p> + +<p>“No,” cried out Sara. “Of course I’m not.”</p> + +<p>The woful fright in the coal-smutted face made her suddenly +so sorry that she could scarcely bear it. One of her +queer thoughts rushed into her mind. She put her hand +against Becky’s cheek.</p> + +<p>“Why,” she said, “we are just the same—I am only a +little girl like you. It’s just an accident that I am not +you, and you are not me!”</p> + +<p>Becky did not understand in the least. Her mind could +not grasp such amazing thoughts, and “an accident” +meant to her a calamity in which some one was run over +or fell off a ladder and was carried to “the ’orspital.”</p> + +<p>“A’ accident, miss,” she fluttered respectfully. “Is it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Sara answered, and she looked at her dreamily +for a moment. But the next she spoke in a different tone. +She realized that Becky did not know what she meant.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Have you done your work?” she asked. “Dare you +stay here a few minutes?”</p> + +<p>Becky lost her breath again.</p> + +<p>“Here, miss? Me?”</p> + +<p>Sara ran to the door, opened it, and looked out and listened.</p> + +<p>“No one is anywhere about,” she explained. “If your +bedrooms are finished, perhaps you might stay a tiny while. +I thought—perhaps—you might like a piece of cake.”</p> + +<p>The next ten minutes seemed to Becky like a sort of +delirium. Sara opened a cupboard, and gave her a thick +slice of cake. She seemed to rejoice when it was devoured +in hungry bites. She talked and asked questions, and +laughed until Becky’s fears actually began to calm themselves, +and she once or twice gathered boldness enough to +ask a question or so herself, daring as she felt it to be.</p> + +<p>“Is that—” she ventured, looking longingly at the rose-colored +frock. And she asked it almost in a whisper. “Is +that there your best?”</p> + +<p>“It is one of my dancing-frocks,” answered Sara. “I +like it, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>For a few seconds Becky was almost speechless with admiration. +Then she said in an awed voice:</p> + +<p>“Onct I see a princess. I was standin’ in the street with +the crowd outside Covin’ Garden, watchin’ the swells go +inter the operer. An’ there was one every one stared at +most. They ses to each other, ‘That’s the princess.’ She +was a growed-up young lady, but she was pink all over—gownd +an’ cloak, an’ flowers an’ all. I called her to mind<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> +the minnit I see you, sittin’ there on the table, miss. You +looked like her.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve often thought,” said Sara, in her reflecting voice, +“that I should like to be a princess; I wonder what it feels +like. I believe I will begin pretending I am one.”</p> + +<p>Becky stared at her admiringly, and, as before, did not +understand her in the least. She watched her with a sort of +adoration. Very soon Sara left her reflections and turned +to her with a new question.</p> + +<p>“Becky,” she said, “weren’t you listening to that +story?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, miss,” confessed Becky, a little alarmed again. +“I knowed I hadn’t orter, but it was that beautiful I—I +couldn’t help it.”</p> + +<p>“I liked you to listen to it,” said Sara. “If you tell +stories, you like nothing so much as to tell them to people +who want to listen. I don’t know why it is. Would you +like to hear the rest?”</p> + +<p>Becky lost her breath again.</p> + +<p>“Me hear it?” she cried. “Like as if I was a pupil, +miss! All about the Prince—and the little white Merbabies +swimming about laughing—with stars in their +hair?”</p> + +<p>Sara nodded.</p> + +<p>“You haven’t time to hear it now, I’m afraid,” she said; +“but if you will tell me just what time you come to do my +rooms, I will try to be here and tell you a bit of it every day +until it is finished. It’s a lovely long one—and I’m always +putting new bits to it.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Then,” breathed Becky, devoutly, “I wouldn’t mind +<em>how</em> heavy the coal-boxes was—or <em>what</em> the cook done to +me, if—if I might have that to think of.”</p> + +<p>“You may,” said Sara. “I’ll tell it <em>all</em> to you.”</p> + +<p>When Becky went down-stairs, she was not the same +Becky who had staggered up, loaded down by the weight +of the coal-scuttle. She had an extra piece of cake in her +pocket, and she had been fed and warmed, but not only by +cake and fire. Something else had warmed and fed her, +and the something else was Sara.</p> + +<p>When she was gone Sara sat on her favorite perch on +the end of her table. Her feet were on a chair, her elbows +on her knees, and her chin in her hands.</p> + +<p>“If I <em>was</em> a princess—a <em>real</em> princess,” she murmured, +“I could scatter largess to the populace. But even if I +am only a pretend princess, I can invent little things to do +for people. Things like this. She was just as happy as +if it was largess. I’ll pretend that to do things people like +is scattering largess. I’ve scattered largess.”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER VI<br /> + +<small>THE DIAMOND-MINES</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">Not</span> very long after this a very exciting thing happened. +Not only Sara, but the entire school, +found it exciting, and made it the chief subject +of conversation for weeks after it occurred. In one of his +letters Captain Crewe told a most interesting story. A +friend who had been at school with him when he was a boy +had unexpectedly come to see him in India. He was the +owner of a large tract of land upon which diamonds had +been found, and he was engaged in developing the mines. +If all went as was confidently expected, he would become +possessed of such wealth as it made one dizzy to think of; +and because he was fond of the friend of his school-days, +he had given him an opportunity to share in this enormous +fortune by becoming a partner in his scheme. This, at +least, was what Sara gathered from his letters. It is true +that any other business scheme, however magnificent, would +have had but small attraction for her or for the school-room; +but “diamond-mines” sounded so like the “Arabian +Nights” that no one could be indifferent. Sara thought +them enchanting, and painted pictures, for Ermengarde +and Lottie, of labyrinthine passages in the bowels of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> +earth, where sparkling stones studded the walls and roofs +and ceilings, and strange, dark men dug them out with +heavy picks. Ermengarde delighted in the story, and +Lottie insisted on its being retold to her every evening. +Lavinia was very spiteful about it, and told Jessie +that she didn’t believe such things as diamond-mines +existed.</p> + +<p>“My mamma has a diamond ring which cost forty +pounds,” she said. “And it is not a big one, either. If +there were mines full of diamonds, people would be so rich +it would be ridiculous.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps Sara will be so rich that she will be ridiculous,” +giggled Jessie.</p> + +<p>“She’s ridiculous without being rich,” Lavinia sniffed.</p> + +<p>“I believe you hate her,” said Jessie.</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t,” snapped Lavinia. “But I don’t believe +in mines full of diamonds.”</p> + +<p>“Well, people have to get them from somewhere,” said +Jessie. “Lavinia,”—with a new giggle,—“what do you +think Gertrude says?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, I’m sure; and I don’t care if it’s something +more about that everlasting Sara.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it is. One of her ‘pretends’ is that she is a +princess. She plays it all the time—even in school. She +says it makes her learn her lessons better. She wants Ermengarde +to be one, too, but Ermengarde says she is too +fat.”</p> + +<p>“She <em>is</em> too fat,” said Lavinia. “And Sara is too thin.”</p> + +<p>Naturally, Jessie giggled again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p> + +<p>“She says it has nothing to do with what you look like, +or what you have. It has only to do with what you <em>think</em> +of, and what you <em>do</em>.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose she thinks she could be a princess if she was +a beggar,” said Lavinia. “Let us begin to call her Your +Royal Highness.”</p> + +<p>Lessons for the day were over, and they were sitting +before the school-room fire, enjoying the time they liked +best. It was the time when Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia +were taking their tea in the sitting-room sacred to themselves. +At this hour a great deal of talking was done, and +a great many secrets changed hands, particularly if the +younger pupils behaved themselves well, and did not +squabble or run about noisily, which it must be confessed +they usually did. When they made an uproar the older +girls usually interfered with scoldings and shakes. They +were expected to keep order, and there was danger that +if they did not, Miss Minchin or Miss Amelia would +appear and put an end to festivities. Even as Lavinia +spoke the door opened and Sara entered with Lottie, +whose habit was to trot everywhere after her like a little +dog.</p> + +<p>“There she is, with that horrid child!” exclaimed Lavinia, +in a whisper. “If she’s so fond of her, why doesn’t +she keep her in her own room? She will begin howling +about something in five minutes.”</p> + +<p>It happened that Lottie had been seized with a sudden +desire to play in the school-room, and had begged her +adopted parent to come with her. She joined a group of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> +little ones who were playing in a corner. Sara curled herself +up in the window-seat, opened a book, and began to +read. It was a book about the French Revolution, and +she was soon lost in a harrowing picture of the prisoners +in the Bastille—men who had spent so many years in +dungeons that when they were dragged out by those +who rescued them, their long, gray hair and beards +almost hid their faces, and they had forgotten that an +outside world existed at all, and were like beings in a +dream.</p> + +<p>She was so far away from the school-room that it was +not agreeable to be dragged back suddenly by a howl +from Lottie. Never did she find anything so difficult as +to keep herself from losing her temper when she was suddenly +disturbed while absorbed in a book. People who +are fond of books know the feeling of irritation which +sweeps over them at such a moment. The temptation +to be unreasonable and snappish is one not easy to +manage.</p> + +<p>“It makes me feel as if some one had hit me,” Sara had +told Ermengarde once in confidence. “And as if I want +to hit back. I have to remember things quickly to keep +from saying something ill-tempered.”</p> + +<p>She had to remember things quickly when she laid her +book on the window-seat and jumped down from her +comfortable corner.</p> + +<p>Lottie had been sliding across the school-room floor, and, +having first irritated Lavinia and Jessie by making a noise, +had ended by falling down and hurting her fat knee. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> +was screaming and dancing up and down in the midst of a +group of friends and enemies, who were alternately coaxing +and scolding her.</p> + +<p>“Stop this minute, you cry-baby! Stop this minute!” +Lavinia commanded.</p> + +<p>“I’m not a cry-baby—I’m not!” wailed Lottie. “Sara, +Sa—ra!”</p> + +<p>“If she doesn’t stop, Miss Minchin will hear her,” cried +Jessie. “Lottie darling, I’ll give you a penny!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want your penny,” sobbed Lottie; and she +looked down at the fat knee, and, seeing a drop of blood on +it, burst forth again.</p> + +<p>Sara flew across the room and, kneeling down, put her +arms round her.</p> + +<p>“Now, Lottie,” she said. “Now, Lottie, you <em>promised</em> +Sara.”</p> + +<p>“She said I was a cry-baby,” wept Lottie.</p> + +<p>Sara patted her, but spoke in the steady voice Lottie +knew.</p> + +<p>“But if you cry, you will be one, Lottie pet. You <em>promised</em>.”</p> + +<p>Lottie remembered that she had promised, but she preferred +to lift up her voice.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t any mamma,” she proclaimed. “I haven’t—a +bit—of mamma.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you have,” said Sara, cheerfully. “Have you forgotten? +Don’t you know that Sara is your mamma? +Don’t you want Sara for your mamma?”</p> + +<p>Lottie cuddled up to her with a consoled sniff.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Come and sit in the window-seat with me,” Sara went +on, “and I’ll whisper a story to you.”</p> + +<p>“Will you?” whimpered Lottie. “Will you—tell me—about +the diamond-mines?”</p> + +<p>“The diamond-mines?” broke out Lavinia. “Nasty, +little spoiled thing, I should like to <em>slap</em> her!”</p> + +<p>Sara got up quickly on her feet. It must be remembered +that she had been very deeply absorbed in the book about +the Bastille, and she had had to recall several things rapidly +when she realized that she must go and take care of her +adopted child. She was not an angel, and she was not fond +of Lavinia.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said, with some fire, “I should like to slap +<em>you</em>,—but I don’t want to slap you!” restraining herself. +“At least I both want to slap you—and I should <em>like</em> to +slap you,—but I <em>won’t</em> slap you. We are not little gutter +children. We are both old enough to know better.”</p> + +<p>Here was Lavinia’s opportunity.</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes, your royal highness,” she said. “We are +princesses, I believe. At least one of us is. The school +ought to be very fashionable now Miss Minchin has a +princess for a pupil.”</p> + +<p>Sara started toward her. She looked as if she were going +to box her ears. Perhaps she was. Her trick of pretending +things was the joy of her life. She never spoke of it +to girls she was not fond of. Her new “pretend” about +being a princess was very near to her heart, and she was +shy and sensitive about it. She had meant it to be rather a +secret, and here was Lavinia deriding it before nearly all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> +the school. She felt the blood rush up into her face and +tingle in her ears. She only just saved herself. If you +were a princess, you did not fly into rages. Her hand +dropped, and she stood quite still a moment. When she +spoke it was in a quiet, steady voice; she held her head up, +and everybody listened to her.</p> + +<p>“It’s true,” she said. “Sometimes I do pretend I am a +princess. I pretend I am a princess, so that I can try and +behave like one.”</p> + +<p>Lavinia could not think of exactly the right thing to say. +Several times she had found that she could not think of a +satisfactory reply when she was dealing with Sara. The +reason of this was that, somehow, the rest always seemed to +be vaguely in sympathy with her opponent. She saw now +that they were pricking up their ears interestedly. The +truth was, they liked princesses, and they all hoped they +might hear something more definite about this one, and +drew nearer Sara accordingly.</p> + +<p>Lavinia could only invent one remark, and it fell rather +flat.</p> + +<p>“Dear me!” she said; “I hope, when you ascend the +throne, you won’t forget us.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t,” said Sara, and she did not utter another word, +but stood quite still, and stared at her steadily as she saw +her take Jessie’s arm and turn away.</p> + +<p>After this, the girls who were jealous of her used to +speak of her as “Princess Sara” whenever they wished to +be particularly disdainful, and those who were fond of her +gave her the name among themselves as a term of affection.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> +No one called her “princess” instead of “Sara,” but +her adorers were much pleased with the picturesqueness +and grandeur of the title, and Miss Minchin, hearing of it, +mentioned it more than once to visiting parents, feeling +that it rather suggested a sort of royal boarding-school.</p> + +<p>To Becky it seemed the most appropriate thing in the +world. The acquaintance begun on the foggy afternoon +when she had jumped up terrified from her sleep in the +comfortable chair, had ripened and grown, though it must +be confessed that Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia knew +very little about it. They were aware that Sara was +“kind” to the scullery-maid, but they knew nothing of +certain delightful moments snatched perilously when, the +up-stairs rooms being set in order with lightning rapidity, +Sara’s sitting-room was reached, and the heavy coal-box +set down with a sigh of joy. At such times stories were +told by instalments, things of a satisfying nature were +either produced and eaten or hastily tucked into pockets to +be disposed of at night, when Becky went up-stairs to her +attic to bed.</p> + +<p>“But I has to eat ’em careful, miss,” she said once; “’cos +if I leaves crumbs the rats come out to get ’em.”</p> + +<p>“Rats!” exclaimed Sara, in horror. “Are there <em>rats</em> +there?”</p> + +<p>“Lots of ’em, miss,” Becky answered in quite a matter-of-fact +manner. “There mostly is rats an’ mice in attics. +You gets used to the noise they makes scuttling about. +I’ve got so I don’t mind ’em s’ long as they don’t run over +my piller.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Ugh!” said Sara.</p> + +<p>“You gets used to anythin’ after a bit,” said Becky. +“You have to, miss, if you’re born a scullery-maid. I’d +rather have rats than cockroaches.”</p> + +<p>“So would I,” said Sara; “I suppose you might make +friends with a rat in time, but I don’t believe I should like +to make friends with a cockroach.”</p> + +<p>Sometimes Becky did not dare to spend more than a few +minutes in the bright, warm room, and when this was the +case perhaps only a few words could be exchanged, and a +small purchase slipped into the old-fashioned pocket Becky +carried under her dress skirt, tied round her waist with a +band of tape. The search for and discovery of satisfying +things to eat which could be packed into small compass, +added a new interest to Sara’s existence. When she drove +or walked out, she used to look into shop windows eagerly. +The first time it occurred to her to bring home two or three +little meat-pies, she felt that she had hit upon a discovery. +When she exhibited them, Becky’s eyes quite sparkled.</p> + +<p>“Oh, miss!” she murmured. “Them will be nice an’ +fillin’. It’s fillin’ness that’s best. Sponge-cake’s a +’evingly thing, but it melts away like—if you understand, +miss. These’ll just <em>stay</em> in yer stummick.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” hesitated Sara, “I don’t think it would be good +if they stayed always, but I do believe they will be satisfying.”</p> + +<p>They were satisfying,—and so were beef sandwiches, +bought at a cook-shop,—and so were rolls and Bologna +sausage. In time, Becky began to lose her hungry, tired<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> +feeling, and the coal-box did not seem so unbearably +heavy.</p> + +<p>However heavy it was, and whatsoever the temper of the +cook, and the hardness of the work heaped upon her shoulders, +she had always the chance of the afternoon to look +forward to—the chance that Miss Sara would be able to be +in her sitting-room. In fact, the mere seeing of Miss Sara +would have been enough without meat-pies. If there was +time only for a few words, they were always friendly, +merry words that put heart into one; and if there was time +for more, then there was an instalment of a story to be told, +or some other thing one remembered afterward and sometimes +lay awake in one’s bed in the attic to think over. +Sara—who was only doing what she unconsciously liked +better than anything else, Nature having made her for a +giver—had not the least idea what she meant to poor +Becky, and how wonderful a benefactor she seemed. If +Nature has made you for a giver, your hands are born +open, and so is your heart; and though there may be +times when your hands are empty, your heart is always +full, and you can give things out of that—warm things, +kind things, sweet things,—help and comfort and laughter,—and +sometimes gay, kind laughter is the best help of all.</p> + +<p>Becky had scarcely known what laughter was through +all her poor, little hard-driven life. Sara made her laugh, +and laughed with her; and, though neither of them +quite knew it, the laughter was as “fillin’” as the meat-pies.</p> + +<p>A few weeks before Sara’s eleventh birthday a letter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> +came to her from her father, which did not seem to be written +in such boyish high spirits as usual. He was not very +well, and was evidently overweighted by the business connected +with the diamond-mines.</p> + +<p>“You see, little Sara,” he wrote, “your daddy is not a +business man at all, and figures and documents bother him. +He does not really understand them, and all this seems so +enormous. Perhaps, if I was not feverish I should not be +awake, tossing about, one half of the night and spend the +other half in troublesome dreams. If my little missus were +here, I dare say she would give me some solemn, good +advice. You would, wouldn’t you, little missus?”</p> + +<p>One of his many jokes had been to call her his “little +missus” because she had such an old-fashioned air.</p> + +<p>He had made wonderful preparations for her birthday. +Among other things, a new doll had been ordered in Paris, +and her wardrobe was to be, indeed, a marvel of splendid +perfection. When she had replied to the letter asking her +if the doll would be an acceptable present, Sara had been +very quaint.</p> + +<p>“I am getting very old,” she wrote; “you see, I shall +never live to have another doll given me. This will be my +last doll. There is something solemn about it. If I could +write poetry, I am sure a poem about ‘A Last Doll’ would +be very nice. But I cannot write poetry. I have tried, and +it made me laugh. It did not sound like Watts or Coleridge +or Shakespeare at all. No one could ever take +Emily’s place, but I should respect the Last Doll very +much; and I am sure the school would love it. They all like<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> +dolls, though some of the big ones—the almost fifteen ones—pretend +they are too grown up.”</p> + +<p>Captain Crewe had a splitting headache when he read +this letter in his bungalow in India. The table before him +was heaped with papers and letters which were alarming +him and filling him with anxious dread, but he laughed as +he had not laughed for weeks.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” he said, “she’s better fun every year she lives. +God grant this business may right itself and leave me free +to run home and see her. What wouldn’t I give to have +her little arms round my neck this minute! What <em>wouldn’t</em> +I give!”</p> + +<p>The birthday was to be celebrated by great festivities. +The school-room was to be decorated, and there was to be a +party. The boxes containing the presents were to be +opened with great ceremony, and there was to be a glittering +feast spread in Miss Minchin’s sacred room. When +the day arrived the whole house was in a whirl of excitement. +How the morning passed nobody quite knew, because +there seemed such preparations to be made. The +school-room was being decked with garlands of holly; the +desks had been moved away, and red covers had been put +on the forms which were arrayed round the room against +the wall.</p> + +<p>When Sara went into her sitting-room in the morning, +she found on the table a small, dumpy package, tied up +in a piece of brown paper. She knew it was a present, and +she thought she could guess whom it came from. She +opened it quite tenderly. It was a square pincushion, made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> +of not quite clean red flannel, and black pins had been stuck +carefully into it to form the words, “Menny hapy returns.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Sara, with a warm feeling in her heart. +“What pains she has taken! I like it so, it—it makes me +feel sorrowful.”</p> + +<p>But the next moment she was mystified. On the under +side of the pincushion was secured a card, bearing in neat +letters the name “Miss Amelia Minchin.”</p> + +<p>Sara turned it over and over.</p> + +<p>“Miss Amelia!” she said to herself. “How <em>can</em> it be!”</p> + +<p>And just at that very moment she heard the door being +cautiously pushed open and saw Becky peeping round it.</p> + +<p>There was an affectionate, happy grin on her face, and +she shuffled forward and stood nervously pulling at her +fingers.</p> + +<p>“Do yer like it, Miss Sara?” she said. “Do yer?”</p> + +<p>“Like it?” cried Sara. “You darling Becky, you made +it all yourself.”</p> + +<p>Becky gave a hysteric but joyful sniff, and her eyes +looked quite moist with delight.</p> + +<p>“It ain’t nothin’ but flannin, an’ the flannin ain’t new; +but I wanted to give yer somethin’ an’ I made it of nights. +I knew yer could <em>pretend</em> it was satin with diamond pins +in. <em>I</em> tried to when I was makin’ it. The card, miss,” +rather doubtfully; “’t warn’t wrong of me to pick it up out +o’ the dust-bin, was it? Miss ’Meliar had throwed it away. +I hadn’t no card o’ my own, an’ I knowed it wouldn’t be +a proper presink if I didn’t pin a card on—so I pinned +Miss ’Meliar’s.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sara flew at her and hugged her. She could not have +told herself or any one else why there was a lump in her +throat.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Becky!” she cried out, with a queer little laugh. +“I love you, Becky,—I do, I do!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, miss!” breathed Becky. “Thank yer, miss, kindly; +It ain’t good enough for that. The—the flannin wasn’t +new.”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER VII<br /> + +<small>THE DIAMOND-MINES AGAIN</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">When</span> Sara entered the holly-hung school-room +in the afternoon, she did so as the head of a +sort of procession. Miss Minchin, in her +grandest silk dress, led her by the hand. A man-servant +followed, carrying the box containing the Last Doll, a +housemaid carried a second box, and Becky brought up the +rear, carrying a third and wearing a clean apron and a new +cap. Sara would have much preferred to enter in the usual +way, but Miss Minchin had sent for her, and, after an interview +in her private sitting-room, had expressed her +wishes.</p> + +<p>“This is not an ordinary occasion,” she said. “I do not +desire that it should be treated as one.”</p> + +<p>So Sara was led grandly in and felt shy when, on +her entry, the big girls stared at her and touched each +other’s elbows, and the little ones began to squirm joyously +in their seats.</p> + +<p>“Silence, young ladies!” said Miss Minchin, at the murmur +which arose. “James, place the box on the table and +remove the lid. Emma, put yours upon a chair. Becky!” +suddenly and severely.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span></p> + +<p>Becky had quite forgotten herself in her excitement, and +was grinning at Lottie, who was wriggling with rapturous +expectation. She almost dropped her box, the disapproving +voice so startled her, and her frightened, bobbing courtesy +of apology was so funny that Lavinia and Jessie +tittered.</p> + +<p>“It is not your place to look at the young ladies,” said +Miss Minchin. “You forget yourself. Put your box +down.”</p> + +<p>Becky obeyed with alarmed haste and hastily backed toward +the door.</p> + +<p>“You may leave us,” Miss Minchin announced to the +servants with a wave of her hand.</p> + +<p>Becky stepped aside respectfully to allow the superior +servants to pass out first. She could not help casting a longing +glance at the box on the table. Something made of +blue satin was peeping from between the folds of tissue-paper.</p> + +<p>“If you please, Miss Minchin,” said Sara, suddenly, +“mayn’t Becky stay?”</p> + +<p>It was a bold thing to do. Miss Minchin was betrayed +into something like a slight jump. Then she put her eye-glass +up, and gazed at her show pupil disturbedly.</p> + +<p>“Becky!” she exclaimed. “My dearest Sara!”</p> + +<p>Sara advanced a step toward her.</p> + +<p>“I want her because I know she will like to see the presents,” +she explained. “She is a little girl, too, you know.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin was scandalized. She glanced from one +figure to the other.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span></p> + +<p>“My dear Sara,” she said, “Becky is the scullery-maid. +Scullery-maids—er—are not little girls.”</p> + +<p>It really had not occurred to her to think of them in that +light. Scullery-maids were machines who carried coal-scuttles +and made fires.</p> + +<p>“But Becky is,” said Sara. “And I know she would +enjoy herself. Please let her stay—because it is my birthday.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin replied with much dignity:</p> + +<p>“As you ask it as a birthday favor—she may stay. Rebecca, +thank Miss Sara for her great kindness.”</p> + +<p>Becky had been backing into the corner, twisting the +hem of her apron in delighted suspense. She came forward, +bobbing courtesies, but between Sara’s eyes and her +own there passed a gleam of friendly understanding, while +her words tumbled over each other.</p> + +<p>“Oh, if you please, miss! I’m that grateful, miss! I +did want to see the doll, miss, that I did. Thank you, +miss. And thank you, ma’am,”—turning and making an +alarmed bob to Miss Minchin,—“for letting me take the +liberty.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin waved her hand again—this time it was +in the direction of the corner near the door.</p> + +<p>“Go and stand there,” she commanded. “Not too near +the young ladies.”</p> + +<p>Becky went to her place, grinning. She did not care +where she was sent, so that she might have the luck of +being inside the room, instead of being down-stairs in the +scullery, while these delights were going on. She did not<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> +even mind when Miss Minchin cleared her throat ominously +and spoke again.</p> + +<p>“Now, young ladies, I have a few words to say to you,” +she announced.</p> + +<p>“She’s going to make a speech,” whispered one of the +girls. “I wish it was over.”</p> + +<p>Sara felt rather uncomfortable. As this was her party, +it was probable that the speech was about her. It is not +agreeable to stand in a school-room and have a speech made +about you.</p> + +<p>“You are aware, young ladies,” the speech began,—for +it was a speech,—“that dear Sara is eleven years old to-day.”</p> + +<p>“<em>Dear</em> Sara!” murmured Lavinia.</p> + +<p>“Several of you here have also been eleven years old, but +Sara’s birthdays are rather different from other little girls’ +birthdays. When she is older she will be heiress to a large +fortune, which it will be her duty to spend in a meritorious +manner.”</p> + +<p>“The diamond-mines,” giggled Jessie, in a whisper.</p> + +<p>Sara did not hear her; but as she stood with her green-gray +eyes fixed steadily on Miss Minchin, she felt herself +growing rather hot. When Miss Minchin talked about +money, she felt somehow that she always hated her—and, +of course, it was disrespectful to hate grown-up people.</p> + +<p>“When her dear papa, Captain Crewe, brought her +from India and gave her into my care,” the speech proceeded, +“he said to me, in a jesting way, ‘I am afraid +she will be very rich, Miss Minchin.’ My reply was, ‘Her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> +education at my seminary, Captain Crewe, shall be such as +will adorn the largest fortune.’ Sara has become my most +accomplished pupil. Her French and her dancing are a +credit to the seminary. Her manners—which have caused +you to call her Princess Sara—are perfect. Her amiability +she exhibits by giving you this afternoon’s party. I hope +you appreciate her generosity. I wish you to express your +appreciation of it by saying aloud all together, ‘Thank +you, Sara!’”</p> + +<p>The entire school-room rose to its feet as it had done the +morning Sara remembered so well.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Sara!” it said, and it must be confessed that +Lottie jumped up and down. Sara looked rather shy for a +moment. She made a courtesy—and it was a very nice one.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” she said, “for coming to my party.”</p> + +<p>“Very pretty, indeed, Sara,” approved Miss Minchin. +“That is what a real princess does when the populace applauds +her. Lavinia,”—scathingly,—“the sound you just +made was extremely like a snort. If you are jealous of +your fellow-pupil, I beg you will express your feelings in +some more ladylike manner. Now I will leave you to enjoy +yourselves.”</p> + +<p>The instant she had swept out of the room the spell +her presence always had upon them was broken. The +door had scarcely closed before every seat was empty. The +little girls jumped or tumbled out of theirs; the older ones +wasted no time in deserting theirs. There was a rush toward +the boxes. Sara had bent over one of them with a +delighted face.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> + +<p>“These are books, I know,” she said.</p> + +<p>The little children broke into a rueful murmur, and +Ermengarde looked aghast.</p> + +<p>“Does your papa send you books for a birthday present?” +she exclaimed. “Why, he’s as bad as mine. Don’t +open them, Sara.”</p> + +<p>“I like them,” Sara laughed, but she turned to the biggest +box. When she took out the Last Doll it was so +magnificent that the children uttered delighted groans of +joy, and actually drew back to gaze at it in breathless +rapture.</p> + +<p>“She is almost as big as Lottie,” some one gasped.</p> + +<p>Lottie clapped her hands and danced about, giggling.</p> + +<p>“She’s dressed for the theatre,” said Lavinia. “Her +cloak is lined with ermine.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Ermengarde, darting forward, “she has +an opera-glass in her hand—a blue-and-gold one.”</p> + +<p>“Here is her trunk,” said Sara. “Let us open it and +look at her things.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="illus092" id="illus092"></a> +<img src="images/illus092.jpg" width="400" height="542" alt="The children crowded clamoring around her." title="" /> +<br /><span class="caption">The children crowded clamoring around her.</span> +</div> + +<p>She sat down upon the floor and turned the key. The +children crowded clamoring around her, as she lifted tray +after tray and revealed their contents. Never had the +school-room been in such an uproar. There were lace collars +and silk stockings and handkerchiefs; there was a +jewel-case containing a necklace and a tiara which looked +quite as if they were made of real diamonds; there was a +long sealskin and muff; there were ball dresses and walking +dresses and visiting dresses; there were hats and tea-gowns +and fans. Even Lavinia and Jessie forgot that they were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> +too elderly to care for dolls, and uttered exclamations of +delight and caught up things to look at them.</p> + +<p>“Suppose,” Sara said, as she stood by the table, putting +a large, black-velvet hat on the impassively smiling owner +of all these splendors—“suppose she understands human +talk and feels proud of being admired.”</p> + +<p>“You are always supposing things,” said Lavinia, and +her air was very superior.</p> + +<p>“I know I am,” answered Sara, undisturbedly. “I like +it. There is nothing so nice as supposing. It’s almost like +being a fairy. If you suppose anything hard enough it +seems as if it were real.”</p> + +<p>“It’s all very well to suppose things if you have everything,” +said Lavinia. “Could you suppose and pretend if +you were a beggar and lived in a garret?”</p> + +<p>Sara stopped arranging the Last Doll’s ostrich plumes, +and looked thoughtful.</p> + +<p>“I <em>believe</em> I could,” she said. “If one was a beggar, one +would have to suppose and pretend all the time. But it +mightn’t be easy.”</p> + +<p>She often thought afterward how strange it was that +just as she had finished saying this—just at that very moment—Miss +Amelia came into the room.</p> + +<p>“Sara,” she said, “your papa’s solicitor, Mr. Barrow, +has called to see Miss Minchin, and, as she must talk to him +alone and the refreshments are laid in her parlor, you had +all better come and have your feast now, so that my sister +can have her interview here in the school-room.”</p> + +<p>Refreshments were not likely to be disdained at any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> +hour, and many pairs of eyes gleamed. Miss Amelia arranged +the procession into decorum, and then, with Sara +at her side heading it, she led it away, leaving the Last Doll +sitting upon a chair with the glories of her wardrobe +scattered about her; dresses and coats hung upon chair +backs, piles of lace-frilled petticoats lying upon their +seats.</p> + +<p>Becky, who was not expected to partake of refreshments, +had the indiscretion to linger a moment to look at +these beauties—it really was an indiscretion.</p> + +<p>“Go back to your work, Becky,” Miss Amelia had said; +but she had stopped to reverently pick up first a muff and +then a coat, and while she stood looking at them adoringly, +she heard Miss Minchin upon the threshold, and, being +smitten with terror at the thought of being accused of taking +liberties, she rashly darted under the table, which hid +her by its table-cloth.</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin came into the room, accompanied by a +sharp-featured, dry little gentleman, who looked rather disturbed. +Miss Minchin herself also looked rather disturbed, +it must be admitted, and she gazed at the dry little gentleman +with an irritated and puzzled expression.</p> + +<p>She sat down with stiff dignity, and waved him to a +chair.</p> + +<p>“Pray, be seated, Mr. Barrow,” she said.</p> + +<p>Mr. Barrow did not sit down at once. His attention +seemed attracted by the Last Doll and the things which +surrounded her. He settled his eye-glasses and looked at +them in nervous disapproval. The Last Doll herself did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> +not seem to mind this in the least. She merely sat upright +and returned his gaze indifferently.</p> + +<p>“A hundred pounds,” Mr. Barrow remarked succinctly. +“All expensive material, and made at a Parisian modiste’s. +He spent money lavishly enough, that young man.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin felt offended. This seemed to be a disparagement +of her best patron and was a liberty.</p> + +<p>Even solicitors had no right to take liberties.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, Mr. Barrow,” she said stiffly. “I +do not understand.”</p> + +<p>“Birthday presents,” said Mr. Barrow in the same critical +manner, “to a child eleven years old! Mad extravagance, +I call it.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin drew herself up still more rigidly.</p> + +<p>“Captain Crewe is a man of fortune,” she said. “The +diamond-mines alone—”</p> + +<p>Mr. Barrow wheeled round upon her.</p> + +<p>“Diamond-mines!” he broke out. “There are none! +Never were!”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin actually got up from her chair.</p> + +<p>“What!” she cried. “What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“At any rate,” answered Mr. Barrow, quite snappishly, +“it would have been much better if there never had been +any.”</p> + +<p>“Any diamond-mines?” ejaculated Miss Minchin, +catching at the back of a chair and feeling as if a splendid +dream was fading away from her.</p> + +<p>“Diamond-mines spell ruin oftener than they spell +wealth,” said Mr. Barrow. “When a man is in the hands<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> +of a very dear friend and is not a business man himself, he +had better steer clear of the dear friend’s diamond-mines, +or gold-mines, or any other kind of mines dear friends want +his money to put into. The late Captain Crewe—”</p> + +<p>Here Miss Minchin stopped him with a gasp.</p> + +<p>“The <em>late</em> Captain Crewe!” she cried out; “the <em>late!</em> +You don’t come to tell me that Captain Crewe is—”</p> + +<p>“He’s dead, ma’am,” Mr. Barrow answered with jerky +brusqueness. “Died of jungle fever and business troubles +combined. The jungle fever might not have killed him if +he had not been driven mad by the business troubles, and +the business troubles might not have put an end to him if +the jungle fever had not assisted. Captain Crewe is +dead!”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin dropped into her chair again. The words +he had spoken filled her with alarm.</p> + +<p>“What <em>were</em> his business troubles?” she said. “What +<em>were</em> they?”</p> + +<p>“Diamond-mines,” answered Mr. Barrow, “and dear +friends—and ruin.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin lost her breath.</p> + +<p>“Ruin!” she gasped out.</p> + +<p>“Lost every penny. That young man had too much +money. The dear friend was mad on the subject of the +diamond-mine. He put all his own money into it, and all +Captain Crewe’s. Then the dear friend ran away—Captain +Crewe was already stricken with fever when the news +came. The shock was too much for him. He died delirious, +raving about his little girl—and didn’t leave a penny.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now Miss Minchin understood, and never had she received +such a blow in her life. Her show pupil, her show +patron, swept away from the Select Seminary at one blow. +She felt as if she had been outraged and robbed, and that +Captain Crewe and Sara and Mr. Barrow were equally to +blame.</p> + +<p>“Do you mean to tell me,” she cried out, “that he left +<em>nothing!</em> That Sara will have no fortune! That the child +is a beggar! That she is left on my hands a little pauper +instead of an heiress?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Barrow was a shrewd business man, and felt it as +well to make his own freedom from responsibility quite +clear without any delay.</p> + +<p>“She is certainly left a beggar,” he replied. “And she +is certainly left on your hands, ma’am,—as she hasn’t a +relation in the world that we know of.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin started forward. She looked as if she was +going to open the door and rush out of the room to stop +the festivities going on joyfully and rather noisily that +moment over the refreshments.</p> + +<p>“It is monstrous!” she said. “She’s in my sitting-room +at this moment, dressed in silk gauze and lace petticoats, +giving a party at my expense.”</p> + +<p>“She’s giving it at your expense, madam, if she’s giving +it,” said Mr. Barrow, calmly. “Barrow & Skipworth +are not responsible for anything. There never was a +cleaner sweep made of a man’s fortune. Captain Crewe +died without paying <em>our</em> last bill—and it was a big one.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin turned back from the door in increased indignation.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> +This was worse than any one could have +dreamed of its being.</p> + +<p>“That is what has happened to me!” she cried. “I was +always so sure of his payments that I went to all sorts of +ridiculous expenses for the child. I paid the bills for that +ridiculous doll and her ridiculous fantastic wardrobe. The +child was to have anything she wanted. She has a carriage +and a pony and a maid, and I’ve paid for all of them since +the last cheque came.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Barrow evidently did not intend to remain to listen +to the story of Miss Minchin’s grievances after he had +made the position of his firm clear and related the mere +dry facts. He did not feel any particular sympathy for +irate keepers of boarding-schools.</p> + +<p>“You had better not pay for anything more, ma’am,” +he remarked, “unless you want to make presents to the +young lady. No one will remember you. She hasn’t a +brass farthing to call her own.”</p> + +<p>“But what am I to do?” demanded Miss Minchin, as +if she felt it entirely his duty to make the matter right. +“What am I to do?”</p> + +<p>“There isn’t anything to do,” said Mr. Barrow, folding +up his eye-glasses and slipping them into his pocket. +“Captain Crewe is dead. The child is left a pauper. Nobody +is responsible for her but you.”</p> + +<p>“I am not responsible for her, and I refuse to be made +responsible!”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin became quite white with rage.</p> + +<p>Mr. Barrow turned to go.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I have nothing to do with that, madam,” he said uninterestedly. +“Barrow & Skipworth are not responsible. +Very sorry the thing has happened, of course.”</p> + +<p>“If you think she is to be foisted off on me, you are +greatly mistaken,” Miss Minchin gasped. “I have been +robbed and cheated; I will turn her into the street!”</p> + +<p>If she had not been so furious, she would have been too +discreet to say quite so much. She saw herself burdened +with an extravagantly brought-up child whom she had always +resented, and she lost all self-control.</p> + +<p>Mr. Barrow undisturbedly moved toward the door.</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t do that, madam,” he commented; “it +wouldn’t look well. Unpleasant story to get about in connection +with the establishment. Pupil bundled out penniless +and without friends.”</p> + +<p>He was a clever business man, and he knew what he was +saying. He also knew that Miss Minchin was a business +woman, and would be shrewd enough to see the truth. She +could not afford to do a thing which would make people +speak of her as cruel and hard-hearted.</p> + +<p>“Better keep her and make use of her,” he added. +“She’s a clever child, I believe. You can get a good deal +out of her as she grows older.”</p> + +<p>“I will get a good deal out of her before she grows +older!” exclaimed Miss Minchin.</p> + +<p>“I am sure you will, ma’am,” said Mr. Barrow, with a +little sinister smile. “I am sure you will. Good morning!”</p> + +<p>He bowed himself out and closed the door, and it must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> +be confessed that Miss Minchin stood for a few moments +and glared at it. What he had said was quite true. She +knew it. She had absolutely no redress. Her show pupil +had melted into nothingness, leaving only a friendless, beggared +little girl. Such money as she herself had advanced +was lost and could not be regained.</p> + +<p>And as she stood there breathless under her sense of +injury, there fell upon her ears a burst of gay voices from +her own sacred room, which had actually been given up to +the feast. She could at least stop this.</p> + +<p>But as she started toward the door it was opened by +Miss Amelia, who, when she caught sight of the changed, +angry face, fell back a step in alarm.</p> + +<p>“What <em>is</em> the matter, sister?” she ejaculated.</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin’s voice was almost fierce when she answered:</p> + +<p>“Where is Sara Crewe?”</p> + +<p>Miss Amelia was bewildered.</p> + +<p>“Sara!” she stammered. “Why, she’s with the children +in your room, of course.”</p> + +<p>“Has she a black frock in her sumptuous wardrobe?”—in +bitter irony.</p> + +<p>“A black frock?” Miss Amelia stammered again. “A +<em>black</em> one?”</p> + +<p>“She has frocks of every other color. Has she a black +one?”</p> + +<p>Miss Amelia began to turn pale.</p> + +<p>“No—ye-es!” she said. “But it is too short for her. +She has only the old black velvet, and she has outgrown it.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Go and tell her to take off that preposterous pink silk +gauze, and put the black one on, whether it is too short or +not. She has done with finery!”</p> + +<p>Then Miss Amelia began to wring her fat hands and cry.</p> + +<p>“Oh, sister!” she sniffed. “Oh, sister! What <em>can</em> have +happened?”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin wasted no words.</p> + +<p>“Captain Crewe is dead,” she said. “He has died without +a penny. That spoiled, pampered, fanciful child is left +a pauper on my hands.”</p> + +<p>Miss Amelia sat down quite heavily in the nearest chair.</p> + +<p>“Hundreds of pounds have I spent on nonsense for her. +And I shall never see a penny of it. Put a stop to this +ridiculous party of hers. Go and make her change her +frock at once.”</p> + +<p>“I?” panted Miss Amelia. “M-must I go and tell +her now?”</p> + +<p>“This moment!” was the fierce answer. “Don’t sit staring +like a goose. Go!”</p> + +<p>Poor Miss Amelia was accustomed to being called a +goose. She knew, in fact, that she was rather a goose, and +that it was left to geese to do a great many disagreeable +things. It was a somewhat embarrassing thing to go into +the midst of a room full of delighted children, and tell the +giver of the feast that she had suddenly been transformed +into a little beggar, and must go up-stairs and put on an +old black frock which was too small for her. But the thing +must be done. This was evidently not the time when questions +might be asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p> + +<p>She rubbed her eyes with her handkerchief until they +looked quite red. After which she got up and went out of +the room, without venturing to say another word. When +her older sister looked and spoke as she had done just now, +the wisest course to pursue was to obey orders without any +comment. Miss Minchin walked across the room. She +spoke to herself aloud without knowing that she was doing +it. During the last year the story of the diamond-mines +had suggested all sorts of possibilities to her. Even proprietors +of seminaries might make fortunes in stocks, with +the aid of owners of mines. And now, instead of looking +forward to gains, she was left to look back upon losses.</p> + +<p>“The Princess Sara, indeed!” she said. “The child has +been pampered as if she were a <em>queen</em>.”</p> + +<p>She was sweeping angrily past the corner table as she +said it, and the next moment she started at the sound of +a loud, sobbing sniff which issued from under the cover.</p> + +<p>“What is that!” she exclaimed angrily. The loud, sobbing +sniff was heard again, and she stooped and raised the +hanging folds of the table-cover.</p> + +<p>“How <em>dare</em> you!” she cried out. “How <em>dare</em> you! +Come out immediately!”</p> + +<p>It was poor Becky who crawled out, and her cap was +knocked on one side, and her face was red with repressed +crying.</p> + +<p>“If you please, ’m—it’s me, mum,” she explained. “I +know I hadn’t ought to. But I was lookin’ at the doll, +mum—an’ I was frightened when you come in—an’ +slipped under the table.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You have been there all the time, listening,” said Miss +Minchin.</p> + +<p>“No, mum,” Becky protested, bobbing courtesies. +“Not listenin’—I thought I could slip out without your +noticin’, but I couldn’t an’ I had to stay. But I didn’t +listen, mum—I wouldn’t for nothin’. But I couldn’t help +hearin’.”</p> + +<p>Suddenly it seemed almost as if she lost all fear of the +awful lady before her. She burst into fresh tears.</p> + +<p>“Oh, please, ’m,” she said; “I dare say you’ll give me +warnin’, mum,—but I’m so sorry for poor Miss Sara—I’m +so sorry!”</p> + +<p>“Leave the room!” ordered Miss Minchin.</p> + +<p>Becky courtesied again, the tears openly streaming +down her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“Yes, ’m; I will, ’m,” she said, trembling; “but oh, I just +wanted to arst you: Miss Sara—she’s been such a rich +young lady, an’ she’s been waited on, ’and and foot; an’ +what will she do now, mum, without no maid? If—if, oh +please, would you let me wait on her after I’ve done my +pots an’ kettles? I’d do ’em that quick—if you’d let me +wait on her now she’s poor. Oh,”—breaking out afresh,—“poor +little Miss Sara, mum—that was called a princess.”</p> + +<p>Somehow, she made Miss Minchin feel more angry than +ever. That the very scullery-maid should range herself on +the side of this child—whom she realized more fully than +ever that she had never liked—was too much. She actually +stamped her foot.</p> + +<p>“No—certainly not,” she said. “She will wait on herself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> +and on other people, too. Leave the room this instant, +or you’ll leave your place.”</p> + +<p>Becky threw her apron over her head and fled. She ran +out of the room and down the steps into the scullery, and +there she sat down among her pots and kettles, and wept as +if her heart would break.</p> + +<p>“It’s exactly like the ones in the stories,” she wailed. +“Them pore princess ones that was drove into the world.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin had never looked quite so still and hard +as she did when Sara came to her, a few hours later, in response +to a message she had sent her.</p> + +<p class="dot">. . . . . .</p> + +<p>Even by that time it seemed to Sara as if the birthday +party had either been a dream or a thing which had happened +years ago, and had happened in the life of quite another +little girl.</p> + +<p>Every sign of the festivities had been swept away; the +holly had been removed from the school-room walls, and the +forms and desks put back into their places. Miss Minchin’s +sitting-room looked as it always did—all traces of +the feast were gone, and Miss Minchin had resumed her +usual dress. The pupils had been ordered to lay aside their +party frocks; and this having been done, they had returned +to the school-room and huddled together in groups, whispering +and talking excitedly.</p> + +<p>“Tell Sara to come to my room,” Miss Minchin had said +to her sister. “And explain to her clearly that I will have +no crying or unpleasant scenes.”</p> + +<p>“Sister,” replied Miss Amelia, “she is the strangest<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> +child I ever saw. She has actually made no fuss at all. +You remember she made none when Captain Crewe went +back to India. When I told her what had happened, she +just stood quite still and looked at me without making a +sound. Her eyes seemed to get bigger and bigger, and she +went quite pale. When I had finished, she still stood staring +for a few seconds, and then her chin began to shake, and +she turned round and ran out of the room and up-stairs. +Several of the other children began to cry, but she did not +seem to hear them or to be alive to anything but just what +I was saying. It made me feel quite queer not to be answered; +and when you tell anything sudden and strange, +you expect people will say <em>something</em>—whatever it is.”</p> + +<p>Nobody but Sara herself ever knew what had happened +in her room after she had run up-stairs and locked her door. +In fact, she herself scarcely remembered anything but that +she walked up and down, saying over and over again to +herself in a voice which did not seem her own:</p> + +<p>“My papa is dead! My papa is dead!”</p> + +<p>Once she stopped before Emily, who sat watching her +from her chair, and cried out wildly:</p> + +<p>“Emily! Do you hear? Do you hear—papa is dead? +He is dead in India—thousands of miles away.”</p> + +<p>When she came into Miss Minchin’s sitting-room in answer +to her summons, her face was white and her eyes had +dark rings around them. Her mouth was set as if she did +not wish it to reveal what she had suffered and was suffering. +She did not look in the least like the rose-colored butterfly +child who had flown about from one of her treasures<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> +to the other in the decorated school-room. She looked instead +a strange, desolate, almost grotesque little figure.</p> + +<p>She had put on, without Mariette’s help, the cast-aside +black-velvet frock. It was too short and tight, and her +slender legs looked long and thin, showing themselves from +beneath the brief skirt. As she had not found a piece of +black ribbon, her short, thick, black hair tumbled loosely +about her face and contrasted strongly with its pallor. She +held Emily tightly in one arm, and Emily was swathed in +a piece of black material.</p> + +<p>“Put down your doll,” said Miss Minchin. “What do +you mean by bringing her here?”</p> + +<p>“No,” Sara answered. “I will not put her down. She +is all I have. My papa gave her to me.”</p> + +<p>She had always made Miss Minchin feel secretly uncomfortable, +and she did so now. She did not speak with +rudeness so much as with a cold steadiness with which Miss +Minchin felt it difficult to cope—perhaps because she knew +she was doing a heartless and inhuman thing.</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 her big, strange eyes fixed on her, and said not +a word.</p> + +<p>“Everything will be very different now,” Miss Minchin +went on. “I suppose Miss Amelia has explained matters +to you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Sara. “My papa is dead. He left me +no money. I am quite poor.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You are a beggar,” said Miss Minchin, her temper +rising at the recollection of what all this meant. “It appears +that you have no relations and no home, and no one +to take care of you.”</p> + +<p>For a moment the thin, pale little face twitched, but Sara +again said nothing.</p> + +<p>“What are you staring at?” demanded Miss Minchin, +sharply. “Are you so stupid that you cannot understand? +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 out of charity.”</p> + +<p>“I understand,” answered Sara, in a low tone; and there +was a sound as if she had gulped down something which +rose in her throat. “I understand.”</p> + +<p>“That doll,” cried Miss Minchin, pointing to the splendid +birthday gift seated near—“that ridiculous doll, with +all her nonsensical, extravagant things—<em>I</em> actually paid +the bill for her!”</p> + +<p>Sara turned her head toward the chair.</p> + +<p>“The Last Doll,” she said. “The Last Doll.” And her +little mournful voice had an odd sound.</p> + +<p>“The Last Doll, indeed!” said Miss Minchin. “And +she is mine, not yours. Everything you own is mine.”</p> + +<p>“Please take it away from me, then,” said Sara. “I do +not want it.”</p> + +<p>If she had cried and sobbed and seemed frightened, Miss +Minchin might almost have had more patience with her. +She was a woman who liked to domineer and feel her +power, and as she looked at Sara’s pale little steadfast face<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> +and heard her proud little voice, she quite felt as if her +might was being set at naught.</p> + +<p>“Don’t put on grand airs,” she said. “The time for +that sort of thing is past. You are not a princess any +longer. Your carriage and your pony will be sent away—your +maid will be dismissed. You will wear your oldest +and plainest clothes—your extravagant ones are no longer +suited to your station. You are like Becky—you must +work for your living.”</p> + +<p>To her surprise, a faint gleam of light came into the +child’s eyes—a shade of relief.</p> + +<p>“Can I work?” she said. “If I can work it will not +matter so much. What can I do?”</p> + +<p>“You can do anything you are told,” was the answer. +“You are a sharp child, and pick up things readily. If +you make yourself useful I may let you stay here. You +speak French well, and you can help with the younger +children.”</p> + +<p>“May I?” exclaimed Sara. “Oh, please let me! I +know I can teach them. I like them, and they like +me.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t talk nonsense about people liking you,” said +Miss Minchin. “You will have to do more than teach +the little ones. You will run errands and help in the +kitchen as well as in the school-room. If you don’t please +me, you will be sent away. Remember that. Now go.”</p> + +<p>Sara stood still just a moment, looking at her. In her +young soul, she was thinking deep and strange things. +Then she turned to leave the room.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Stop!” said Miss Minchin. “Don’t you intend to +thank me?”</p> + +<p>Sara paused, and all the deep, strange thoughts surged +up in her breast.</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 made two or three steps toward her. Her thin little +chest heaved up and down, and she spoke in a strange, +unchildishly fierce way.</p> + +<p>“You are not kind,” she said. “You are <em>not</em> kind, and +it is <em>not</em> a home.” And she had turned and run out of the +room before Miss Minchin could stop her or do anything +but stare after her with stony anger.</p> + +<p>She went up the stairs slowly, but panting for breath, +and she held Emily tightly against her side.</p> + +<p>“I wish she could talk,” she said to herself. “If she +could speak—if she could speak!”</p> + +<p>She meant to go to her room and lie down on the tiger-skin, +with her cheek upon the great cat’s head, and look +into the fire and think and think and think. But just +before she reached the landing Miss Amelia came out of +the door and closed it behind her, and stood before it, looking +nervous and awkward. The truth was that she felt secretly +ashamed of the thing she had been ordered to do.</p> + +<p>“You—you are not to go in there,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Not go in?” exclaimed Sara, and she fell back a pace.</p> + +<p>“That is not your room now,” Miss Amelia answered, +reddening a little.</p> + +<p>Somehow, all at once, Sara understood. She realized<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span> +that this was the beginning of the change Miss Minchin +had spoken of.</p> + +<p>“Where is my room?” she asked, hoping very much that +her voice did not shake.</p> + +<p>“You are to sleep in the attic next to Becky.”</p> + +<p>Sara knew where it was. Becky had told her about it. +She turned, and mounted up two flights of stairs. The +last one was narrow, and covered with shabby strips of old +carpet. She felt as if she were walking away and leaving +far behind her the world in which that other child, who no +longer seemed herself, had lived. This child, in her short, +tight old frock, climbing the stairs to the attic, was quite +a different creature.</p> + +<p>When she reached the attic door and opened it, her heart +gave a dreary little thump. Then she shut the door and +stood against it and looked about her.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="illus112" id="illus112"></a> +<img src="images/illus112.jpg" width="400" height="539" alt="She seldom cried. She did not cry now." title="" /> +<br /><span class="caption">She seldom cried. She did not cry now.</span> +</div> + +<p>Yes, this was another world. The room had a slanting +roof and was whitewashed. The whitewash was dingy and +had fallen off in places. There was a rusty grate, an old +iron bedstead, and a hard bed covered with a faded coverlet. +Some pieces of furniture too much worn to be used +down-stairs had been sent up. Under the skylight in the +roof, which showed nothing but an oblong piece of dull +gray sky, there stood an old battered red footstool. Sara +went to it and sat down. She seldom cried. She did not +cry now. She laid 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 draperies, not saying +one word, not making one sound.</p> + +<p>And as she sat in this silence there came a low tap at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> +door—such a low, humble one that she did not at first hear +it, and, indeed, was not roused until the door was timidly +pushed open and a poor tear-smeared face appeared peeping +round it. It was Becky’s face, and Becky had been +crying furtively for hours and rubbing her eyes with her +kitchen apron until she looked strange indeed.</p> + +<p>“Oh, miss,” she said under her breath. “Might I—would +you allow me—jest to come in?”</p> + +<p>Sara lifted her head and looked at her. She tried to +begin a smile, and somehow she could not. Suddenly—and +it was all through the loving mournfulness of Becky’s +streaming eyes—her face looked more like a child’s not so +much too old for her years. She held out her hand and +gave a little sob.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Becky,” she said. “I told you we were just the +same—only two little girls—just two little girls. You see +how true it is. There’s no difference now. I’m not a +princess any more.”</p> + +<p>Becky ran to her and caught her hand, and hugged it to +her breast, kneeling beside her and sobbing with love and +pain.</p> + +<p>“Yes, miss, you are,” she cried, and her words were all +broken. “Whats’ever ’appens to you—whats’ever—you’d +be a princess all the same—an’ nothin’ couldn’t +make you nothin’ different.”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII<br /> + +<small>IN THE ATTIC</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">The</span> first night she spent in her attic was a thing +Sara never forgot. During its passing, she lived +through a wild, unchildlike woe of which she never +spoke to any one about her. There was no one who would +have understood. It was, indeed, well for her that as she +lay awake in the darkness her mind was forcibly distracted, +now and then, by the strangeness of her surroundings. It +was, perhaps, well for her that she was reminded by her +small body of material things. If this had not been so, the +anguish of her young mind might have been too great for +a child to bear. But, really, while the night was passing +she scarcely knew that she had a body at all or remembered +any other thing than one.</p> + +<p>“My papa is dead!” she kept whispering to herself. +“My papa is dead!”</p> + +<p>It was not until long afterward that she realized that her +bed had been so hard that she turned over and over in it +to find a place to rest, that the darkness seemed more intense +than any she had ever known, and that the wind +howled over the roof among the chimneys like something +which wailed aloud. Then there was something worse.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> +This was certain scufflings and scratchings and squeakings +in the walls and behind the skirting boards. She knew +what they meant, because Becky had described them. +They meant rats and mice who were either fighting with +each other or playing together. Once or twice she even +heard sharp-toed feet scurrying across the floor, and she remembered +in those after days, when she recalled things, +that when first she heard them she started up in bed and sat +trembling, and when she lay down again covered her head +with the bedclothes.</p> + +<p>The change in her life did not come about gradually, but +was made all at once.</p> + +<p>“She must begin as she is to go on,” Miss Minchin said +to Miss Amelia. “She must be taught at once what she +is to expect.”</p> + +<p>Mariette had left the house the next morning. The +glimpse Sara caught of her sitting-room, as she passed its +open door, showed her that everything had been changed. +Her ornaments and luxuries had been removed, and a bed +had been placed in a corner to transform it into a new +pupil’s bedroom.</p> + +<p>When she went down to breakfast she saw that her seat +at Miss Minchin’s side was occupied by Lavinia, and Miss +Minchin spoke to her coldly.</p> + +<p>“You will begin your new duties, Sara,” she said, “by +taking your seat with the younger children at a smaller +table. You must keep them quiet, and see that they behave +well and do not waste their food. You ought to have been +down earlier. Lottie has already upset her tea.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p> + +<p>That was the beginning, and from day to day the duties +given to her were added to. She taught the younger children +French and heard their other lessons, and these were +the least of her labors. It was found that she could be +made use of in numberless directions. She could be sent +on errands at any time and in all weathers. She could be +told to do things other people neglected. The cook and the +housemaids took their tone from Miss Minchin, and rather +enjoyed ordering about the “young one” who had been +made so much fuss over for so long. They were not servants +of the best class, and had neither good manners nor +good tempers, and it was frequently convenient to have at +hand some one on whom blame could be laid.</p> + +<p>During the first month or two, Sara thought that her +willingness to do things as well as she could, and her silence +under reproof, might soften those who drove her so hard. +In her proud little heart she wanted them to see that she +was trying to earn her living and not accepting charity. +But the time came when she saw that no one was softened +at all; and the more willing she was to do as she was told, +the more domineering and exacting careless housemaids +became, and the more ready a scolding cook was to blame +her.</p> + +<p>If she had been older, Miss Minchin would have given +her the bigger girls to teach and saved money by dismissing +an instructress; but while she remained and looked like +a child, she could be made more useful as a sort of little +superior errand girl and maid of all work. An ordinary +errand boy would not have been so clever and reliable.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> +Sara could be trusted with difficult commissions and complicated +messages. She could even go and pay bills, and +she combined with this the ability to dust a room well and +to set things in order.</p> + +<p>Her own lessons became things of the past. She was +taught nothing, and only after long and busy days spent +in running here and there at everybody’s orders was she +grudgingly allowed to go into the deserted school-room, +with a pile of old books, and study alone at night.</p> + +<p>“If I do not remind myself of the things I have learned, +perhaps I may forget them,” she said to herself. “I am +almost a scullery-maid, and if I am a scullery-maid who +knows nothing, I shall be like poor Becky. I wonder if I +could <em>quite</em> forget and begin to drop my <em>h’s</em> and not remember +that Henry the Eighth had six wives.”</p> + +<p>One of the most curious things in her new existence was +her changed position among the pupils. Instead of being +a sort of small royal personage among them, she no longer +seemed to be one of their number at all. She was kept so +constantly at work that she scarcely ever had an opportunity +of speaking to any of them, and she could not avoid +seeing that Miss Minchin preferred that she should live +a life apart from that of the occupants of the school-room.</p> + +<p>“I will not have her forming intimacies and talking to +the other children,” that lady said. “Girls like a grievance, +and if she begins to tell romantic stories about herself, she +will become an ill-used heroine, and parents will be given a +wrong impression. It is better that she should live a separate +life—one suited to her circumstances. I am giving<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> +her a home, and that is more than she has any right to expect +from me.”</p> + +<p>Sara did not expect much, and was far too proud to try +to continue to be intimate with girls who evidently felt +rather awkward and uncertain about her. The fact was +that Miss Minchin’s pupils were a set of dull, matter-of-fact +young people. They were accustomed to being rich +and comfortable, and as Sara’s frocks grew shorter and +shabbier and queerer-looking, and it became an established +fact that she wore shoes with holes in them and was sent out +to buy groceries and carry them through the streets in a +basket on her arm when the cook wanted them in a hurry, +they felt rather as if, when they spoke to her, they were +addressing an under servant.</p> + +<p>“To think that she was the girl with the diamond-mines,” +Lavinia commented. “She does look like an object. +And she’s queerer than ever. I never liked her much, but +I can’t bear that way she has now of looking at people without +speaking—just as if she was finding them out.”</p> + +<p>“I am,” said Sara, promptly, when she heard of this. +“That’s what I look at some people for. I like to know +about them. I think about them over afterward.”</p> + +<p>The truth was that she had saved herself annoyance several +times by keeping her eye on Lavinia, who was quite +ready to make mischief, and would have been rather pleased +to have made it for the ex-show pupil.</p> + +<p>Sara never made any mischief herself, or interfered with +any one. She worked like a drudge; she tramped through +the wet streets, carrying parcels and baskets; she labored<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> +with the childish inattention of the little ones’ French lessons; +as she became shabbier and more forlorn-looking, she +was told that she had better take her meals down-stairs; she +was treated as if she was nobody’s concern, and her heart +grew proud and sore, but she never told any one what she +felt.</p> + +<p>“Soldiers don’t complain,” she would say between her +small, shut teeth. “I am not going to do it; I will pretend +this is part of a war.”</p> + +<p>But there were hours when her child heart might almost +have broken with loneliness but for three people.</p> + +<p>The first, it must be owned, was Becky—just Becky. +Throughout all that first night spent in the garret, she had +felt a vague comfort in knowing that on the other side of +the wall in which the rats scuffled and squeaked there was +another young human creature. And during the nights +that followed the sense of comfort grew. They had little +chance to speak to each other during the day. Each had +her own tasks to perform, and any attempt at conversation +would have been regarded as a tendency to loiter and lose +time.</p> + +<p>“Don’t mind me, miss,” Becky whispered during the +first morning, “if I don’t say nothin’ polite. Some un ’d +be down on us if I did. I <em>means</em> ‘please’ an’ ‘thank you’ +an’ ‘beg pardon,’ but I dassn’t to take time to say it.”</p> + +<p>But before daybreak she used to slip into Sara’s attic +and button her dress and give her such help as she required +before she went down-stairs to light the kitchen fire. And +when night came Sara always heard the humble knock at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> +her door which meant that her handmaid was ready to help +her again if she was needed. During the first weeks of her +grief Sara felt as if she were too stupefied to talk, so it happened +that some time passed before they saw each other +much or exchanged visits. Becky’s heart told her that it +was best that people in trouble should be left alone.</p> + +<p>The second of the trio of comforters was Ermengarde, +but odd things happened before Ermengarde found her +place.</p> + +<p>When Sara’s mind seemed to awaken again to the life +about her, she realized that she had forgotten that an Ermengarde +lived in the world. The two had always been +friends, but Sara had felt as if she were years the older. It +could not be contested that Ermengarde was as dull as she +was affectionate. She clung to Sara in a simple, helpless +way; she brought her lessons to her that she might be +helped; she listened to her every word and besieged her +with requests for stories. But she had nothing interesting +to say herself, and she loathed books of every description. +She was, in fact, not a person one would remember when +one was caught in the storm of a great trouble, and Sara +forgot her.</p> + +<p>It had been all the easier to forget her because she had +been suddenly called home for a few weeks. When she +came back she did not see Sara for a day or two, and when +she met her for the first time she encountered her coming +down a corridor with her arms full of garments which were +to be taken down-stairs to be mended. Sara herself had +already been taught to mend them. She looked pale and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> +unlike herself, and she was attired in the queer, outgrown +frock whose shortness showed so much thin black leg.</p> + +<p>Ermengarde was too slow a girl to be equal to such a +situation. She could not think of anything to say. She +knew what had happened, but, somehow, she had never imagined +Sara could look like this—so odd and poor and almost +like a servant. It made her quite miserable, and she +could do nothing but break into a short hysterical laugh +and exclaim—aimlessly and as if without any meaning:</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sara! is that you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Sara, and suddenly a strange thought +passed through her mind and made her face flush.</p> + +<p>She held the pile of garments in her arms, and her chin +rested upon the top of it to keep it steady. Something in +the look of her straight-gazing eyes made Ermengarde +lose her wits still more. She felt as if Sara had changed +into a new kind of girl, and she had never known her before. +Perhaps it was because she had suddenly grown poor and +had to mend things and work like Becky.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she stammered. “How—how are you?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” Sara replied. “How are you?”</p> + +<p>“I’m—I’m quite well,” said Ermengarde, overwhelmed +with shyness. Then spasmodically she thought of something +to say which seemed more intimate. “Are you—are +you very unhappy?” she said in a rush.</p> + +<p>Then Sara was guilty of an injustice. Just at that moment +her torn heart swelled within her, and she felt that if +any one was as stupid as that, one had better get away from +her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p> + +<p>“What do you think?” she said. “Do you think I am +very happy?” and she marched past her without another +word.</p> + +<p>In course of time she realized that if her wretchedness +had not made her forget things, she would have known that +poor, dull Ermengarde was not to be blamed for her unready, +awkward ways. She was always awkward, and the +more she felt, the more stupid she was given to being.</p> + +<p>But the sudden thought which had flashed upon her had +made her over-sensitive.</p> + +<p>“She is like the others,” she had thought. “She does not +really want to talk to me. She knows no one does.”</p> + +<p>So for several weeks a barrier stood between them. +When they met by chance Sara looked the other way, +and Ermengarde felt too stiff and embarrassed to +speak. Sometimes they nodded to each other in passing, +but there were times when they did not even exchange a +greeting.</p> + +<p>“If she would rather not talk to me,” Sara thought, “I +will keep out of her way. Miss Minchin makes that easy +enough.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin made it so easy that at last they scarcely +saw each other at all. At that time it was noticed that Ermengarde +was more stupid than ever, and that she looked +listless and unhappy. She used to sit in the window-seat, +huddled in a heap, and stare out of the window without +speaking. Once Jessie, who was passing, stopped to look +at her curiously.</p> + +<p>“What are you crying for, Ermengarde?” she asked.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I’m not crying,” answered Ermengarde, in a muffled, +unsteady voice.</p> + +<p>“You are,” said Jessie. “A great big tear just rolled +down the bridge of your nose and dropped off at the end +of it. And there goes another.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Ermengarde, “I’m miserable—and no one +need interfere.” And she turned her plump back and took +out her handkerchief and boldly hid her face in it.</p> + +<p>That night, when Sara went to her attic, she was later +than usual. She had been kept at work until after the hour +at which the pupils went to bed, and after that she had gone +to her lessons in the lonely school-room. When she reached +the top of the stairs, she was surprised to see a glimmer of +light coming from under the attic door.</p> + +<p>“Nobody goes there but myself,” she thought quickly; +“but some one has lighted a candle.”</p> + +<p>Some one had, indeed, lighted a candle, and it was not +burning in the kitchen candlestick she was expected to use, +but in one of those belonging to the pupils’ bedrooms. The +some one was sitting upon the battered footstool, and +was dressed in her night-gown and wrapped up in a red +shawl. It was Ermengarde.</p> + +<p>“Ermengarde!” cried Sara. She was so startled that +she was almost frightened. “You will get into trouble.”</p> + +<p>Ermengarde stumbled up from her footstool. She +shuffled across the attic in her bedroom slippers, which +were too large for her. Her eyes and nose were pink with +crying.</p> + +<p>“I know I shall—if I’m found out,” she said. “But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> +I don’t care—I don’t care a bit. Oh, Sara, please tell me. +What <em>is</em> the matter? Why don’t you like me any more?”</p> + +<p>Something in her voice made the familiar lump rise in +Sara’s throat. It was so affectionate and simple—so like +the old Ermengarde who had asked her to be “best +friends.” It sounded as if she had not meant what she had +seemed to mean during these past weeks.</p> + +<p>“I do like you,” Sara answered. “I thought—you see, +everything is different now. I thought you—were different.”</p> + +<p>Ermengarde opened her wet eyes wide.</p> + +<p>“Why, it was you who were different!” she cried. +“You didn’t want to talk to me. I didn’t know what to +do. It was you who were different after I came back.”</p> + +<p>Sara thought a moment. She saw she had made a mistake.</p> + +<p>“I <em>am</em> different,” she explained, “though not in the way +you think. Miss Minchin does not want me to talk to the +girls. Most of them don’t want to talk to me. I thought—perhaps—you +didn’t. So I tried to keep out of your +way.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sara,” Ermengarde almost wailed in her reproachful +dismay. And then after one more look they rushed into +each other’s arms. It must be confessed that Sara’s small +black head lay for some minutes on the shoulder covered by +the red shawl. When Ermengarde had seemed to desert +her, she had felt horribly lonely.</p> + +<p>Afterward they sat down upon the floor together, Sara +clasping her knees with her arms, and Ermengarde rolled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> +up in her shawl. Ermengarde looked at the odd, big-eyed +little face adoringly.</p> + +<p>“I couldn’t bear it any more,” she said. “I dare say +you could live without me, Sara; but I couldn’t live without +you. I was nearly <em>dead</em>. So to-night, when I was crying +under the bedclothes, I thought all at once of creeping +up here and just begging you to let us be friends again.”</p> + +<p>“You are nicer than I am,” said Sara. “I was too proud +to try and make friends. You see, now that trials have +come, they have shown that I am <em>not</em> a nice child. I was +afraid they would. Perhaps”—wrinkling her forehead +wisely—“that is what they were sent for.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t see any good in them,” said Ermengarde, +stoutly.</p> + +<p>“Neither do I—to speak the truth,” admitted Sara, +frankly. “But I suppose there <em>might</em> be good in things, +even if we don’t see it. There <em>might</em>”—doubtfully—“be +good in Miss Minchin.”</p> + +<p>Ermengarde looked round the attic with a rather fearsome +curiosity.</p> + +<p>“Sara,” she said, “do you think you can bear living +here?”</p> + +<p>Sara looked round also.</p> + +<p>“If I pretend it’s quite different, I can,” she answered; +“or if I pretend it is a place in a story.”</p> + +<p>She spoke slowly. Her imagination was beginning to +work for her. It had not worked for her at all since her +troubles had come upon her. She had felt as if it had been +stunned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Other people have lived in worse places. Think of the +Count of Monte Cristo in the dungeons of the Château +d’If. And think of the people in the Bastille!”</p> + +<p>“The Bastille,” half whispered Ermengarde, watching +her and beginning to be fascinated. She remembered stories +of the French Revolution which Sara had been able to +fix in her mind by her dramatic relation of them. No one +but Sara could have done it.</p> + +<p>A well-known glow came into Sara’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said, hugging her knees. “That will be a +good place to pretend about. I am a prisoner in the Bastille. +I have been here for years and years—and years; +and everybody has forgotten about me. Miss Minchin is +the jailer—and Becky”—a sudden light adding itself to +the glow in her eyes—“Becky is the prisoner in the next +cell.”</p> + +<p>She turned to Ermengarde, looking quite like the old +Sara.</p> + +<p>“I shall pretend that,” she said; “and it will be a great +comfort.”</p> + +<p>Ermengarde was at once enraptured and awed.</p> + +<p>“And will you tell me all about it?” she said. “May I +creep up here at night, whenever it is safe, and hear the +things you have made up in the day? It will seem as if we +were more ‘best friends’ than ever.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Sara, nodding. “Adversity tries people, +and mine has tried you and proved how nice you are.”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER IX<br /> + +<small>MELCHISEDEC</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">The</span> third person in the trio was Lottie. She was +a small thing and did not know what adversity +meant, and was much bewildered by the alteration +she saw in her young adopted mother. She had heard it +rumored that strange things had happened to Sara, but she +could not understand why she looked different—why she +wore an old black frock and came into the school-room +only to teach instead of to sit in her place of honor and +learn lessons herself. There had been much whispering +among the little ones when it had been discovered that Sara +no longer lived in the rooms in which Emily had so long sat +in state. Lottie’s chief difficulty was that Sara said so little +when one asked her questions. At seven mysteries must +be made very clear if one is to understand them.</p> + +<p>“Are you very poor now, Sara?” she had asked confidentially +the first morning her friend took charge of the +small French class. “Are you as poor as a beggar?” She +thrust a fat hand into the slim one and opened round, tearful +eyes. “I don’t want you to be as poor as a beggar.”</p> + +<p>She looked as if she was going to cry, and Sara hurriedly +consoled her.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Beggars have nowhere to live,” she said courageously. +“I have a place to live in.”</p> + +<p>“Where do you live?” persisted Lottie. “The new girl +sleeps in your room, and it isn’t pretty any more.”</p> + +<p>“I live in another room,” said Sara.</p> + +<p>“Is it a nice one?” inquired Lottie. “I want to go and +see it.”</p> + +<p>“You must not talk,” said Sara. “Miss Minchin is +looking at us. She will be angry with me for letting you +whisper.”</p> + +<p>She had found out already that she was to be held accountable +for everything which was objected to. If the +children were not attentive, if they talked, if they were +restless, it was she who would be reproved.</p> + +<p>But Lottie was a determined little person. If Sara +would not tell her where she lived, she would find out in +some other way. She talked to her small companions and +hung about the elder girls and listened when they were gossiping; +and acting upon certain information they had unconsciously +let drop, she started late one afternoon on a +voyage of discovery, climbing stairs she had never known +the existence of, until she reached the attic floor. There she +found two doors near each other, and opening one, she saw +her beloved Sara standing upon an old table and looking +out of a window.</p> + +<p>“Sara!” she cried, aghast. “Mamma Sara!” She was +aghast because the attic was so bare and ugly and seemed +so far away from all the world. Her short legs had seemed +to have been mounting hundreds of stairs.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sara turned round at the sound of her voice. It was +her turn to be aghast. What would happen now? If Lottie +began to cry and any one chanced to hear, they were +both lost. She jumped down from her table and ran to the +child.</p> + +<p>“Don’t cry and make a noise,” she implored. “I shall be +scolded if you do, and I have been scolded all day. It’s—it’s +not such a bad room, Lottie.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it?” gasped Lottie, and as she looked round it +she bit her lip. She was a spoiled child yet, but she was +fond enough of her adopted parent to make an effort to +control herself for her sake. Then, somehow, it was quite +possible that any place in which Sara lived might turn out +to be nice. “Why isn’t it, Sara?” she almost whispered.</p> + +<p>Sara hugged her close and tried to laugh. There was a +sort of comfort in the warmth of the plump, childish body. +She had had a hard day and had been staring out of the +windows with hot eyes.</p> + +<p>“You can see all sorts of things you can’t see down-stairs,” +she said.</p> + +<p>“What sort of things?” demanded Lottie, with that curiosity +Sara could always awaken even in bigger girls.</p> + +<p>“Chimneys—quite close to us—with smoke curling up in +wreaths and clouds and going up into the sky,—and sparrows +hopping about and talking to each other just as if +they were people,—and other attic windows where heads +may pop out any minute and you can wonder who they belong +to. And it all feels as high up—as if it was another +world.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, let me see it!” cried Lottie. “Lift me up!”</p> + +<p>Sara lifted her up, and they stood on the old table together +and leaned on the edge of the flat window in the +roof, and looked out.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="illus132" id="illus132"></a> +<img src="images/illus132.jpg" width="400" height="533" alt="The sparrows twittered and hopped about quite without fear." title="" /> +<br /><span class="caption">The sparrows twittered and hopped about quite without fear.</span> +</div> + +<p>Any one who has not done this does not know what a +different world they saw. The slates spread out on either +side of them and slanted down into the rain gutter-pipes. +The sparrows, being at home there, twittered and hopped +about quite without fear. Two of them perched on the +chimney-top nearest and quarrelled with each other fiercely +until one pecked the other and drove him away. The garret +window next to theirs was shut because the house next +door was empty.</p> + +<p>“I wish some one lived there,” Sara said. “It is so close +that if there was a little girl in the attic, we could talk to +each other through the windows and climb over to see each +other, if we were not afraid of falling.”</p> + +<p>The sky seemed so much nearer than when one saw it +from the street, that Lottie was enchanted. From the attic +window, among the chimney-pots, the things which were +happening in the world below seemed almost unreal. One +scarcely believed in the existence of Miss Minchin and +Miss Amelia and the school-room, and the roll of wheels in +the square seemed a sound belonging to another existence.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sara!” cried Lottie, cuddling in her guarding arm. +“I like this attic—I like it! It is nicer than down-stairs!”</p> + +<p>“Look at that sparrow,” whispered Sara. “I wish I +had some crumbs to throw to him.”</p> + +<p>“I have some!” came in a little shriek from Lottie.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> +“I have part of a bun in my pocket; I bought it with my +penny yesterday, and I saved a bit.”</p> + +<p>When they threw out a few crumbs the sparrow jumped +and flew away to an adjacent chimney-top. He was evidently +not accustomed to intimates in attics, and unexpected +crumbs startled him. But when Lottie remained +quite still and Sara chirped very softly—almost as if she +were a sparrow herself—he saw that the thing which had +alarmed him represented hospitality, after all. He put his +head on one side, and from his perch on the chimney looked +down at the crumbs with twinkling eyes. Lottie could +scarcely keep still.</p> + +<p>“Will he come? Will he come?” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“His eyes look as if he would,” Sara whispered back. +“He is thinking and thinking whether he dare. Yes, he +will! Yes, he is coming!”</p> + +<p>He flew down and hopped toward the crumbs, but +stopped a few inches away from them, putting his head on +one side again, as if reflecting on the chances that Sara and +Lottie might turn out to be big cats and jump on him. At +last his heart told him they were really nicer than they +looked, and he hopped nearer and nearer, darted at the +biggest crumb with a lightning peck, seized it, and carried +it away to the other side of his chimney.</p> + +<p>“Now he <em>knows</em>,” said Sara. “And he will come back +for the others.”</p> + +<p>He did come back, and even brought a friend, and the +friend went away and brought a relative, and among them +they made a hearty meal over which they twittered and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> +chattered and exclaimed, stopping every now and then to +put their heads on one side and examine Lottie and Sara. +Lottie was so delighted that she quite forgot her first +shocked impression of the attic. In fact, when she was +lifted down from the table and returned to earthly things, +as it were, Sara was able to point out to her many beauties +in the room which she herself would not have suspected the +existence of.</p> + +<p>“It is so little and so high above everything,” she said, +“that it is almost like a nest in a tree. The slanting +ceiling is so funny. See, you can scarcely stand up at this +end of the room; and when the morning begins to come I +can lie in bed and look right up into the sky through that +flat window in the roof. It is like a square patch of light. +If the sun is going to shine, little pink clouds float about, +and I feel as if I could touch them. And if it rains, the +drops patter and patter as if they were saying something +nice. Then if there are stars, you can lie and try to count +how many go into the patch. It takes such a lot. And +just look at that tiny, rusty grate in the corner. If it was +polished and there was a fire in it, just think how nice it +would be. You see, it’s really a beautiful little room.”</p> + +<p>She was walking round the small place, holding Lottie’s +hand and making gestures which described all the beauties +she was making herself see. She quite made Lottie see +them, too. Lottie could always believe in the things Sara +made pictures of.</p> + +<p>“You see,” she said, “there could be a thick, soft blue +Indian rug on the floor; and in that corner there could be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> +a soft little sofa, with cushions to curl up on; and just +over it could be a shelf full of books so that one could +reach them easily; and there could be a fur rug before the +fire, and hangings on the wall to cover up the whitewash, +and pictures. They would have to be little ones, but they +could be beautiful; and there could be a lamp with a deep +rose-colored shade; and a table in the middle, with things +to have tea with; and a little fat copper kettle singing on +the hob; and the bed could be quite different. It could +be made soft and covered with a lovely silk coverlet. It +could be beautiful. And perhaps we could coax the sparrows +until we made such friends with them that they would +come and peck at the window and ask to be let in.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sara!” cried Lottie; “I should like to live here!”</p> + +<p>When Sara had persuaded her to go down-stairs again, +and, after setting her in her way, had come back to her attic, +she stood in the middle of it and looked about her. The +enchantment of her imaginings for Lottie had died away. +The bed was hard and covered with its dingy quilt. The +whitewashed wall showed its broken patches, the floor was +cold and bare, the grate was broken and rusty, and the +battered footstool, tilted sideways on its injured leg, the +only seat in the room. She sat down on it for a few minutes +and let her head drop in her hands. The mere fact that +Lottie had come and gone away again made things seem a +little worse—just as perhaps prisoners feel a little more +desolate after visitors come and go, leaving them behind.</p> + +<p>“It’s a lonely place,” she said. “Sometimes it’s the +loneliest place in the world.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> + +<p>She was sitting in this way when her attention was attracted +by a slight sound near her. She lifted her head to +see where it came from, and if she had been a nervous +child she would have left her seat on the battered footstool +in a great hurry. A large rat was sitting up on his hind +quarters and sniffing the air in an interested manner. +Some of Lottie’s crumbs had dropped upon the floor and +their scent had drawn him out of his hole.</p> + +<p>He looked so queer and so like a gray-whiskered dwarf +or gnome that Sara was rather fascinated. He looked at +her with his bright eyes, as if he were asking a question. +He was evidently so doubtful that one of the child’s queer +thoughts came into her mind.</p> + +<p>“I dare say it is rather hard to be a rat,” she mused. +“Nobody likes you. People jump and run away and +scream out, ‘Oh, a horrid rat!’ I shouldn’t like people to +scream and jump and say, ‘Oh, a horrid Sara!’ the moment +they saw me. And set traps for me, and pretend they +were dinner. It’s so different to be a sparrow. But nobody +asked this rat if he wanted to be a rat when he was +made. Nobody said, ‘Wouldn’t you rather be a sparrow?’”</p> + +<p>She had sat so quietly that the rat had begun to take +courage. He was very much afraid of her, but perhaps he +had a heart like the sparrow and it told him that she was +not a thing which pounced. He was very hungry. He had +a wife and a large family in the wall, and they had had +frightfully bad luck for several days. He had left the +children crying bitterly, and felt he would risk a good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> +deal for a few crumbs, so he cautiously dropped upon his +feet.</p> + +<p>“Come on,” said Sara; “I’m not a trap. You can have +them, poor thing! Prisoners in the Bastille used to make +friends with rats. Suppose I make friends with you.”</p> + +<p>How it is that animals understand things I do not know, +but it is certain that they do understand. Perhaps there is +a language which is not made of words and everything in +the world understands it. Perhaps there is a soul hidden +in everything and it can always speak, without even making +a sound, to another soul. But whatsoever was the reason, +the rat knew from that moment that he was safe—even +though he was a rat. He knew that this young human +being sitting on the red footstool would not jump up and +terrify him with wild, sharp noises or throw heavy objects +at him which, if they did not fall and crush him, would send +him limping in his scurry back to his hole. He was really a +very nice rat, and did not mean the least harm. When he +had stood on his hind legs and sniffed the air, with his bright +eyes fixed on Sara, he had hoped that she would understand +this, and would not begin by hating him as an enemy. +When the mysterious thing which speaks without saying +any words told him that she would not, he went softly toward +the crumbs and began to eat them. As he did it he +glanced every now and then at Sara, just as the sparrows +had done, and his expression was so very apologetic that +it touched her heart.</p> + +<p>She sat and watched him without making any movement. +One crumb was very much larger than the others—in fact,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> +it could scarcely be called a crumb. It was evident that he +wanted that piece very much, but it lay quite near the footstool +and he was still rather timid.</p> + +<p>“I believe he wants it to carry to his family in the wall,” +Sara thought. “If I do not stir at all, perhaps he will +come and get it.”</p> + +<p>She scarcely allowed herself to breathe, she was so +deeply interested. The rat shuffled a little nearer and ate +a few more crumbs, then he stopped and sniffed delicately, +giving a side glance at the occupant of the footstool; then +he darted at the piece of bun with something very like the +sudden boldness of the sparrow, and the instant he had possession +of it fled back to the wall, slipped down a crack in +the skirting board, and was gone.</p> + +<p>“I knew he wanted it for his children,” said Sara. “I +do believe I could make friends with him.”</p> + +<p>A week or so afterward, on one of the rare nights when +Ermengarde found it safe to steal up to the attic, when she +tapped on the door with the tips of her fingers Sara did +not come to her for two or three minutes. There was, indeed, +such a silence in the room at first that Ermengarde +wondered if she could have fallen asleep. Then, to her surprise, +she heard her utter a little, low laugh and speak coaxingly +to some one.</p> + +<p>“There!” Ermengarde heard her say. “Take it and +go home, Melchisedec! Go home to your wife!”</p> + +<p>Almost immediately Sara opened the door, and when she +did so she found Ermengarde standing with alarmed eyes +upon the threshold.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Who—who <em>are</em> you talking to, Sara?” she gasped out.</p> + +<p>Sara drew her in cautiously, but she looked as if something +pleased and amused her.</p> + +<p>“You must promise not to be frightened—not to scream +the least bit, or I can’t tell you,” she answered.</p> + +<p>Ermengarde felt almost inclined to scream on the spot, +but managed to control herself. She looked all round the +attic and saw no one. And yet Sara had certainly been +speaking <em>to</em> some one. She thought of ghosts.</p> + +<p>“Is it—something that will frighten me?” she asked +timorously.</p> + +<p>“Some people are afraid of them,” said Sara. “I was +at first,—but I am not now.”</p> + +<p>“Was it—a ghost?” quaked Ermengarde.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Sara, laughing. “It was my rat.”</p> + +<p>Ermengarde made one bound, and landed in the middle +of the little dingy bed. She tucked her feet under her +night-gown and the red shawl. She did not scream, but she +gasped with fright.</p> + +<p>“Oh! oh!” she cried under her breath. “A rat! A rat!”</p> + +<p>“I was afraid you would be frightened,” said Sara. +“But you needn’t be. I am making him tame. He actually +knows me and comes out when I call him. Are you +too frightened to want to see him?”</p> + +<p>The truth was that, as the days had gone on and, with the +aid of scraps brought up from the kitchen, her curious +friendship had developed, she had gradually forgotten that +the timid creature she was becoming familiar with was a +mere rat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> + +<p>At first Ermengarde was too much alarmed to do anything +but huddle in a heap upon the bed and tuck up her +feet, but the sight of Sara’s composed little countenance +and the story of Melchisedec’s first appearance began at +last to rouse her curiosity, and she leaned forward over the +edge of the bed and watched Sara go and kneel down by +the hole in the skirting board.</p> + +<p>“He—he won’t run out quickly and jump on the bed, +will he?” she said.</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Sara. “He’s as polite as we are. He +is just like a person. Now watch!”</p> + +<p>She began to make a low, whistling sound—so low and +coaxing that it could only have been heard in entire stillness. +She did it several times, looking entirely absorbed +in it. Ermengarde thought she looked as if she were working +a spell. And at last, evidently in response to it, +a gray-whiskered, bright-eyed head peeped out of the +hole. Sara had some crumbs in her hand. She dropped +them, and Melchisedec came quietly forth and ate +them. A piece of larger size than the rest he took +and carried in the most businesslike manner back to his +home.</p> + +<p>“You see,” said Sara, “that is for his wife and children. +He is very nice. He only eats the little bits. After he goes +back I can always hear his family squeaking for joy. +There are three kinds of squeaks. One kind is the children’s, +and one is Mrs. Melchisedec’s, and one is Melchisedec’s +own.”</p> + +<p>Ermengarde began to laugh.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, Sara!” she said. “You <em>are</em> queer,—but you are +nice.”</p> + +<p>“I know I am queer,” admitted Sara, cheerfully; “and +I <em>try</em> to be nice.” She rubbed her forehead with her little +brown paw, and a puzzled, tender look came into her face. +“Papa always laughed at me,” she said; “but I liked it. +He thought I was queer, but he liked me to make up +things. I—I can’t help making up things. If I didn’t, I +don’t believe I could live.” She paused and glanced round +the attic. “I’m sure I couldn’t live here,” she added in a +low voice.</p> + +<p>Ermengarde was interested, as she always was. “When +you talk about things,” she said, “they seem as if they grew +real. You talk about Melchisedec as if he was a person.”</p> + +<p>“He <em>is</em> a person,” said Sara. “He gets hungry and +frightened, just as we do; and he is married and has children. +How do we know he doesn’t think things, just as we +do? His eyes look as if he was a person. That was why +I gave him a name.”</p> + +<p>She sat down on the floor in her favorite attitude, holding +her knees.</p> + +<p>“Besides,” she said, “he is a Bastille rat sent to be my +friend. I can always get a bit of bread the cook has thrown +away, and it is quite enough to support him.”</p> + +<p>“Is it the Bastille yet?” asked Ermengarde, eagerly. +“Do you always pretend it is the Bastille?”</p> + +<p>“Nearly always,” answered Sara. “Sometimes I try to +pretend it is another kind of place; but the Bastille is +generally easiest—particularly when it is cold.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> + +<p>Just at that moment Ermengarde almost jumped off the +bed, she was so startled by a sound she heard. It was like +two distinct knocks on the wall.</p> + +<p>“What is that?” she exclaimed.</p> + +<p>Sara got up from the floor and answered quite dramatically:</p> + +<p>“It is the prisoner in the next cell.”</p> + +<p>“Becky!” cried Ermengarde, enraptured.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Sara. “Listen; the two knocks meant, +‘Prisoner, are you there?’”</p> + +<p>She knocked three times on the wall herself, as if in +answer.</p> + +<p>“That means, ‘Yes, I am here, and all is well.’”</p> + +<p>Four knocks came from Becky’s side of the wall.</p> + +<p>“That means,” explained Sara, “‘Then, fellow-sufferer, +we will sleep in peace. Good-night.’”</p> + +<p>Ermengarde quite beamed with delight.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sara!” she whispered joyfully. “It is like a +story!”</p> + +<p>“It <em>is</em> a story,” said Sara. “<em>Everything’s</em> a story. You +are a story—I am a story. Miss Minchin is a story.”</p> + +<p>And she sat down again and talked until Ermengarde +forgot that she was a sort of escaped prisoner herself, and +had to be reminded by Sara that she could not remain in +the Bastille all night, but must steal noiselessly down-stairs +again and creep back into her deserted bed.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER X<br /> + +<small>THE INDIAN GENTLEMAN</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">But</span> it was a perilous thing for Ermengarde and +Lottie to make pilgrimages to the attic. They could +never be quite sure when Sara would be there, and +they could scarcely ever be certain that Miss Amelia would +not make a tour of inspection through the bedrooms after +the pupils were supposed to be asleep. So their visits were +rare ones, and Sara lived a strange and lonely life. It was +a lonelier life when she was down-stairs than when she was +in her attic. She had no one to talk to; and when she was +sent out on errands and walked through the streets, a forlorn +little figure carrying a basket or a parcel, trying to +hold her hat on when the wind was blowing, and feeling +the water soak through her shoes when it was raining, she +felt as if the crowds hurrying past her made her loneliness +greater. When she had been the Princess Sara, driving +through the streets in her brougham, or walking, attended +by Mariette, the sight of her bright, eager little face and +picturesque coats and hats had often caused people to look +after her. A happy, beautifully cared for little girl naturally +attracts attention. Shabby, poorly dressed children +are not rare enough and pretty enough to make people turn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> +around to look at them and smile. No one looked at Sara +in these days, and no one seemed to see her as she hurried +along the crowded pavements. She had begun to grow +very fast, and, as she was dressed only in such clothes as the +plainer remnants of her wardrobe would supply, she knew +she looked very queer, indeed. All her valuable garments +had been disposed of, and such as had been left for her use +she was expected to wear so long as she could put them on +at all. Sometimes, when she passed a shop window with +a mirror in it, she almost laughed outright on catching a +glimpse of herself, and sometimes her face went red and +she bit her lip and turned away.</p> + +<p>In the evening, when she passed houses whose windows +were lighted up, she used to look into the warm rooms and +amuse herself by imagining things about the people she +saw sitting before the fires or about the tables. It always +interested her to catch glimpses of rooms before the shutters +were closed. There were several families in the +square in which Miss Minchin lived, with which she had +become quite familiar in a way of her own. The one she +liked best she called the Large Family. She called it the +Large Family not because the members of it were big,—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 grandmother, 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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> +or they were flying to the door in the evening to meet their +papa and kiss him and dance around him and drag off +his overcoat and look in the pockets for packages, or they +were crowding about the nursery windows and looking out +and pushing each other and laughing—in fact, they were +always doing something enjoyable and suited to the tastes +of a large family. Sara was quite fond of them, and had +given them names out of books—quite romantic names. +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 Cholmondeley Montmorency; the little +boy who could just stagger and who had such round +legs was Sydney Cecil Vivian Montmorency; and then +came Lilian Evangeline Maud Marion, Rosalind Gladys, +Guy Clarence, Veronica Eustacia, and Claude Harold +Hector.</p> + +<p>One evening a very funny thing happened—though, +perhaps, in one sense it was not a funny thing at all.</p> + +<p>Several of the Montmorencys were evidently going to +a children’s party, and just as Sara was about to pass the +door they were crossing the pavement to get into the carriage +which was waiting for them. Veronica Eustacia and +Rosalind Gladys, in white-lace frocks and lovely sashes, +had just got in, and Guy Clarence, aged five, was following +them. He was such a pretty fellow and had such rosy +cheeks and blue eyes, and such a darling little round head +covered with curls, that Sara forgot her basket and shabby +cloak altogether—in fact, forgot everything but that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> +wanted to look at him for a moment. So she paused and +looked.</p> + +<p>It was Christmas time, and the Large Family had been +hearing many stories about children who were poor and +had no mammas and papas to fill their stockings and +take them to the pantomime—children who were, in fact, +cold and thinly clad and hungry. In the stories, kind +people—sometimes little boys and girls with tender hearts—invariably +saw the poor children and gave them money +or rich gifts, or took them home to beautiful dinners. Guy +Clarence had been affected to tears that very afternoon +by the reading of such a story, and he had burned with a +desire to find such a poor child and give her a certain sixpence +he possessed, and thus provide for her for life. An +entire sixpence, he was sure, would mean affluence for evermore. +As he crossed the strip of red carpet laid across +the pavement from the door to the carriage, he had this +very sixpence in the pocket of his very short man-o’-war +trousers. And just as Rosalind Gladys got into the vehicle +and jumped on to the seat in order to feel the cushions +spring under her, he saw Sara standing on the wet pavement +in her shabby frock and hat, with her old basket on +her arm, looking at him hungrily.</p> + +<p>He thought that her eyes looked hungry because she +had perhaps had nothing to eat for a long time. He did +not know that they looked so because she was hungry for +the warm, merry life his home held and his rosy face spoke +of, and that she had a hungry wish to snatch him in her +arms and kiss him. He only knew that she had big eyes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> +and a thin face and thin legs and a common basket and poor +clothes. So he put his hand in his pocket and found his +sixpence and walked up to her benignly.</p> + +<p>“Here, poor little girl,” he said. “Here is a sixpence. +I will give it to you.”</p> + +<p>Sara started, and all at once realized that she looked exactly +like poor children she had seen, in her better days, +waiting on the pavement to watch her as she got out of her +brougham. And she had given them pennies many a time. +Her face went red and then it went pale, and for a second +she felt as if she could not take the dear little sixpence.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no!” she said. “Oh, no, thank you; I mustn’t +take it, indeed!”</p> + +<p>Her voice was so unlike an ordinary street child’s voice +and her manner was so like the manner of a well-bred little +person that Veronica Eustacia (whose real name was +Janet) and Rosalind Gladys (who was really called Nora) +leaned forward to listen.</p> + +<p>But Guy Clarence was not to be thwarted in his benevolence. +He thrust the sixpence into her hand.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you must take it, poor little girl!” he insisted +stoutly. “You can buy things to eat with it. It is a whole +sixpence!”</p> + +<p>There was something so honest and kind in his face, and +he looked so likely to be heartbrokenly disappointed if she +did not take it, that Sara knew she must not refuse him. +To be as proud as that would be a cruel thing. So she +actually put her pride in her pocket, though it must be +admitted her cheeks burned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Thank you,” she said. “You are a kind, kind little +darling thing.” And as he scrambled joyfully into the +carriage she went away, trying to smile, though she caught +her breath quickly and her eyes were shining through a +mist. She had known that she looked odd and shabby, +but until now she had not known that she might be taken +for a beggar.</p> + +<p>As the Large Family’s carriage drove away, the children +inside it were talking with interested excitement.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Donald” (this was Guy Clarence’s name), Janet +exclaimed alarmedly, “why did you offer that little +girl your sixpence? I’m sure she is not a beggar!”</p> + +<p>“She didn’t speak like a beggar!” cried Nora; “and +her face didn’t really look like a beggar’s face!”</p> + +<p>“Besides, she didn’t beg,” said Janet. “I was so afraid +she might be angry with you. You know, it makes people +angry to be taken for beggars when they are not beggars.”</p> + +<p>“She wasn’t angry,” said Donald, a trifle dismayed, but +still firm. “She laughed a little, and she said I was a kind, +kind little darling thing. And I was!”—stoutly. “It was +my whole sixpence.”</p> + +<p>Janet and Nora exchanged glances.</p> + +<p>“A beggar girl would never have said that,” decided +Janet. “She would have said, ‘Thank yer kindly, little +gentleman—thank yer, sir’; and perhaps she would have +bobbed a courtesy.”</p> + +<p>Sara knew nothing about the fact, but from that time +the Large Family was as profoundly interested in her as +she was in it. Faces used to appear at the nursery windows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> +when she passed, and many discussions concerning her +were held round the fire.</p> + +<p>“She is a kind of servant at the seminary,” Janet said. +“I don’t believe she belongs to anybody. I believe she is +an orphan. But she is not a beggar, however shabby she +looks.”</p> + +<p>And afterward she was called by all of them, “The-little-girl-who-is-not-a-beggar,” +which was, of course, +rather a long name, and sounded very funny sometimes +when the youngest ones said it in a hurry.</p> + +<p>Sara managed to bore a hole in the sixpence and hung +it on an old bit of narrow ribbon round her neck. Her +affection for the Large Family increased—as, indeed, her +affection for everything she could love increased. She +grew fonder and fonder of Becky, and she used to look +forward to the two mornings a week when she went into +the school-room to give the little ones their French lesson. +Her small pupils loved her, and strove with each other for +the privilege of standing close to her and insinuating their +small hands into hers. It fed her hungry heart to feel them +nestling up to her. She made such friends with the sparrows +that when she stood upon the table, put her head and +shoulders out of the attic window, and chirped, she heard +almost immediately a flutter of wings and answering twitters, +and a little flock of dingy town birds appeared and +alighted on the slates to talk to her and make much of the +crumbs she scattered. With Melchisedec she had become +so intimate that he actually brought Mrs. Melchisedec with +him sometimes, and now and then one or two of his children.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> +She used to talk to him, and, somehow, he looked +quite as if he understood.</p> + +<p>There had grown in her mind rather a strange feeling +about Emily, who always sat and looked on at everything. +It arose in one of her moments of great desolateness. She +would have liked to believe or pretend to believe that Emily +understood and sympathized with her. She did not like to +own to herself that her only companion could feel and hear +nothing. She used to put her in a chair sometimes and +sit opposite to her on the old red footstool, and stare and +pretend about her until her own eyes would grow large +with something which was almost like fear—particularly +at night when everything was so still, when the only +sound in the attic was the occasional sudden scurry and +squeak of Melchisedec’s family in the wall. One of her +“pretends” was that Emily was a kind of good witch who +could protect her. Sometimes, after she had stared at her +until she was wrought up to the highest pitch of fancifulness, +she would ask her questions and find herself <em>almost</em> +feeling as if she would presently answer. But she never +did.</p> + +<p>“As to answering, though,” said Sara, trying to console +herself, “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 <em>think</em>. Miss Minchin turns pale with +rage when I do it, Miss Amelia looks frightened, and so +do the girls. When you will not fly into a passion people +know you are stronger than they are, because you are<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> +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, +she 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, she came +in wet and hungry, and was sent out again because nobody +chose to remember that she was only a child, and that +her slim legs might be tired and her small body 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 mood, and when she had seen the girls sneering +among themselves at her shabbiness—then she was not +always able to comfort her sore, proud, desolate heart with +fancies when Emily merely sat upright in her old chair +and stared.</p> + +<p>One of these nights, when she came up to the attic cold +and hungry, with a tempest raging in her young breast, +Emily’s stare seemed so vacant, her sawdust legs and arms +so inexpressive, that Sara lost all control over herself. +There was nobody but Emily—no one in the world. And +there she sat.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I shall die presently,” she said at first.</p> + +<p>Emily simply 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 the cook 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 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,—Sara who never +cried.</p> + +<p>“You are nothing but a <em>doll!”</em> 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 <em>doll!”</em></p> + +<p>Emily lay on 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 calm, even dignified. Sara hid +her face in her arms. The rats in the wall began to fight +and bite each other and squeak and scramble. Melchisedec +was chastising some of his family.</p> + +<p>Sara’s sobs gradually quieted themselves. It was so unlike +her to break down that she was surprised at herself. +After a while she raised her face and looked at Emily,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span> +who seemed to be gazing at her round the side of one angle, +and, somehow, by this time actually with a kind of glassy-eyed +sympathy. Sara bent and picked her up. Remorse +overtook her. She even smiled at herself a very little +smile.</p> + +<p>“You can’t help being a doll,” she said with a resigned +sigh, “any more than Lavinia and Jessie can help not having +any sense. We are not all made alike. Perhaps you +do your sawdust best.” And she kissed her and shook +her clothes straight, and put her back upon her chair.</p> + +<p>She had wished very much that some one would take the +empty house next door. She wished it because of the +attic window which was so near hers. It seemed as if it +would be so nice to see it propped open some day and a +head and shoulders rising out of the square aperture.</p> + +<p>“If it looked a nice head,” she thought, “I might begin +by saying, ‘Good morning,’ and all sorts of things might +happen. But, of course, it’s not really likely that any one +but under servants would sleep there.”</p> + +<p>One morning, on turning the corner of the square after +a visit to the grocer’s, the butcher’s, and the baker’s, she saw, +to her great delight, that during her rather prolonged absence, +a van full of furniture had stopped before the next +house, the front doors were thrown open, and men in shirt +sleeves were going in and out carrying heavy packages and +pieces of furniture.</p> + +<p>“It’s taken!” she said. “It really <em>is</em> taken! Oh, I do +hope a nice head will look out of the attic window!”</p> + +<p>She would almost have liked to join the group of loiterers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> +who had stopped on the pavement to watch the +things carried in. She had an idea that if she could see +some of the furniture she could guess something about the +people it belonged to.</p> + +<p>“Miss Minchin’s tables and chairs are just like her,” she +thought; “I remember thinking that the first minute I +saw her, even though I was so little. I told papa afterward, +and he laughed and said it was true. I am sure the +Large Family have fat, comfortable arm-chairs and sofas, +and I can see that their red-flowery wall-paper is exactly +like them. It’s warm and cheerful and kind-looking and +happy.”</p> + +<p>She was sent out for parsley to the greengrocer’s later +in the day, and when she came up the area steps her heart +gave quite a quick beat of recognition. Several pieces of +furniture had been set out of the van upon the pavement. +There was a beautiful table of elaborately wrought teak-wood, +and some chairs, and a screen covered with rich Oriental +embroidery. The sight of them gave her a weird, +homesick feeling. She had seen things so like them in +India. One of the things Miss Minchin had taken from +her was a carved teak-wood desk her father had sent her.</p> + +<p>“They are beautiful things,” she said; “they look as if +they ought to belong to a nice person. All the things look +rather grand. I suppose it is a rich family.”</p> + +<p>The vans of furniture came and were unloaded and gave +place to others all the day. Several times it so happened +that Sara had an opportunity of seeing things carried in. +It became plain that she had been right in guessing that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> +new-comers were people of large means. All the furniture +was rich and beautiful, and a great deal of it was Oriental. +Wonderful rugs and draperies and ornaments were taken +from the vans, many pictures, and books enough for a library. +Among other things there was a superb god +Buddha in a splendid shrine.</p> + +<p>“Some one in the family <em>must</em> have been in India,” Sara +thought. “They have got used to Indian things and like +them. I <em>am</em> glad. I shall feel as if they were friends, even +if a head never looks out of the attic window.”</p> + +<p>When she was taking in the evening’s milk for the cook +(there was really no odd job she was not called upon to +do), she saw something occur which made the situation +more interesting than ever. The handsome, rosy man who +was the father of the Large Family walked across the +square in the most matter-of-fact manner, and ran up the +steps of the next-door house. He ran up them as if he felt +quite at home and expected to run up and down them +many a time in the future. He stayed inside quite a long +time, and several times came out and gave directions to the +workmen, as if he had a right to do so. It was quite certain +that he was in some intimate way connected with the new-comers +and was acting for them.</p> + +<p>“If the new people have children,” Sara speculated, +“the Large Family children will be sure to come and play +with them, and they <em>might</em> come up into the attic just for +fun.”</p> + +<p>At night, after her work was done, Becky came in to see +her fellow-prisoner and bring her news.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p> + +<p>“It’s a’ Nindian gentleman that’s comin’ to live next +door, miss,” she said. “I don’t know whether he’s a black +gentleman or not, but he’s a Nindian one. He’s very rich, +an’ he’s ill, an’ the gentleman of the Large Family is his +lawyer. He’s had a lot of trouble, an’ it’s made him ill an’ +low in his mind. He worships idols, miss. He’s an ’eathen +an’ bows down to wood an’ stone. I seen a’ idol bein’ carried +in for him to worship. Somebody had oughter send +him a trac’. You can get a trac’ for a penny.”</p> + +<p>Sara laughed a little.</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe he worships that idol,” she said; “some +people like to keep them to look at because they are interesting. +My papa had a beautiful one, and he did not +worship it.”</p> + +<p>But Becky was rather inclined to prefer to believe that +the new neighbor was “an ’eathen.” It sounded so much +more romantic than that he should merely be the ordinary +kind of gentleman who went to church with a prayer-book. +She sat and talked long that night of what he would be like, +of what his wife would be like if he had one, and of what +his children would be like if they had children. Sara saw +that privately she could not help hoping very much that +they would all be black, and would wear turbans, and, +above all, that—like their parent—they would all be +“’eathens.”</p> + +<p>“I never lived next door to no ’eathens, miss,” she said; +“I should like to see what sort o’ ways they’d have.”</p> + +<p>It was several weeks before her curiosity was satisfied, +and then it was revealed that the new occupant had neither<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> +wife nor children. He was a solitary man with no family +at all, and it was evident that he was shattered in health +and unhappy in mind.</p> + +<p>A carriage drove up one day and stopped before the +house. When the footman dismounted from the box and +opened the door the gentleman who was the father of the +Large Family got out first. After him there descended +a nurse in uniform, then came down the steps two men-servants. +They came to assist their master, who, when he +was helped out of the carriage, proved to be a man with a +haggard, distressed face, and a skeleton body wrapped in +furs. He was carried up the steps, and the head of the +Large Family went with him, looking very anxious. +Shortly afterward a doctor’s carriage arrived, and the doctor +went in—plainly to take care of him.</p> + +<p>“There is such a yellow gentleman next door, Sara,” +Lottie whispered at the French class afterward. “Do you +think he is a Chinee? The geography says the Chinee men +are yellow.”</p> + +<p>“No, he is not Chinese,” Sara whispered back; “he is +very ill. Go on with your exercise, Lottie. ‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Non, monsieur. +Je n’ai pas le canif de mon oncle.</i>’”</p> + +<p>That was the beginning of the story of the Indian gentleman.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XI<br /> + +<small>RAM DASS</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">There</span> were fine sunsets even in the square, sometimes. +One could only see parts of them, however, +between the chimneys and over the roofs. +From the kitchen windows one could not see them at all, +and could only guess that they were going on because the +bricks looked warm and the air rosy or yellow for a while, +or perhaps one saw a blazing glow strike a particular pane +of glass somewhere. There was, however, one place from +which one could see all the splendor of them: the piles of +red or gold clouds in the west; or the purple ones edged +with dazzling brightness; or the little fleecy, floating ones, +tinged with rose-color and looking like flights of pink +doves scurrying across the blue in a great hurry if there +was a wind. The place where one could see all this, and +seem at the same time to breathe a purer air, was, of course, +the attic window. When the square suddenly seemed to +begin to glow in an enchanted way and look wonderful +in spite of its sooty trees and railings, Sara knew something +was going on in the sky; and when it was at all possible +to leave the kitchen without being missed or called +back, she invariably stole away and crept up the flights of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> +stairs, and, climbing on the old table, got her head and +body as far out of the window as possible. When she had +accomplished this, she always drew a long breath and +looked all round her. It used to seem as if she had all the +sky and the world to herself. No one else ever looked out +of the other attics. Generally the skylights were closed; +but even if they were propped open to admit air, no one +seemed to come near them. And there Sara would stand, +sometimes turning her face upward to the blue which +seemed so friendly and near,—just like a lovely vaulted +ceiling,—sometimes watching the west and all the wonderful +things that happened there: the clouds melting or drifting +or waiting softly to be changed pink or crimson or +snow-white or purple or pale dove-gray. Sometimes they +made islands or great mountains enclosing lakes of deep +turquoise-blue, or liquid amber, or chrysoprase-green; +sometimes dark headlands jutted into strange, lost seas; +sometimes slender strips of wonderful lands joined other +wonderful lands together. There were places where it +seemed that one could run or climb or stand and wait to see +what next was coming—until, perhaps, as it all melted, one +could float away. At least it seemed so to Sara, and nothing +had ever been quite so beautiful to her as the things +she saw as she stood on the table—her body half out of the +skylight—the sparrows twittering with sunset softness on +the slates. The sparrows always seemed to her to twitter +with a sort of subdued softness just when these marvels +were going on.</p> + +<p>There was such a sunset as this a few days after the Indian<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> +gentleman was brought to his new home; and, as it +fortunately happened that the afternoon’s work was done +in the kitchen and nobody had ordered her to go anywhere +or perform any task, Sara found it easier than usual to slip +away and go up-stairs.</p> + +<p>She mounted her table and stood looking out. It was +a wonderful moment. There were floods of molten gold +covering the west, as if a glorious tide was sweeping over +the world. A deep, rich yellow light filled the air; the birds +flying across the tops of the houses showed quite black +against it.</p> + +<p>“It’s a Splendid one,” said Sara, softly, to herself. “It +makes me feel almost afraid—as if something strange was +just going to happen. The Splendid ones always make +me feel like that.”</p> + +<p>She suddenly turned her head because she heard a sound +a few yards away from her. It was an odd sound like a +queer little squeaky chattering. It came from the window +of the next attic. Some one had come to look at the +sunset as she had. There was a head and part of a body +emerging from the skylight, but it was not the head or +body of a little girl or a housemaid; it was the picturesque +white-swathed form and dark-faced, gleaming-eyed, +white-turbaned head of a native Indian man-servant,—“a +Lascar,” Sara said to herself quickly,—and the sound she +had heard came from a small monkey he held in his arms +as if he were fond of it, and which was snuggling and +chattering against his breast.</p> + +<p>As Sara looked toward him he looked toward her. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span> +first thing she thought was that his dark face looked sorrowful +and homesick. She felt absolutely sure he had +come up to look at the sun, because he had seen it so seldom +in England that he longed for a sight of it. She looked at +him interestedly for a second, and then smiled across the +slates. She had learned to know how comforting a smile, +even from a stranger, may be.</p> + +<p>Hers was evidently a pleasure to him. His whole expression +altered, and he showed such gleaming white +teeth as he smiled back that it was as if a light had been +illuminated in his dusky face. The friendly look in Sara’s +eyes was always very effective when people felt tired or +dull.</p> + +<p>It was perhaps in making his salute to her that he loosened +his hold on the monkey. He was an impish monkey +and always ready for adventure, and it is probable that the +sight of a little girl excited him. He suddenly broke loose, +jumped on to the slates, ran across them chattering, and +actually leaped on to Sara’s shoulder, and from there +down into her attic room. It made her laugh and delighted +her; but she knew he must be restored to his master,—if +the Lascar was his master,—and she wondered how +this was to be done. Would he let her catch him, or would +he be naughty and refuse to be caught, and perhaps get +away and run off over the roofs and be lost? That would +not do at all. Perhaps he belonged to the Indian gentleman, +and the poor man was fond of him.</p> + +<p>She turned to the Lascar, feeling glad that she remembered +still some of the Hindustani she had learned when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> +she lived with her father. She could make the man understand. +She spoke to him in the language he knew.</p> + +<p>“Will he let me catch him?” she asked.</p> + +<p>She thought she had never seen more surprise and delight +than the dark face expressed when she spoke in the +familiar tongue. The truth was that the poor fellow felt +as if his gods had intervened, and the kind little voice came +from heaven itself. At once Sara saw that he had been +accustomed to European children. He poured forth a +flood of respectful thanks. He was the servant of Missee +Sahib. The monkey was a good monkey and would not +bite; but, unfortunately, he was difficult to catch. He +would flee from one spot to another, like the lightning. +He was disobedient, though not evil. Ram Dass knew +him as if he were his child, and Ram Dass he would sometimes +obey, but not always. If Missee Sahib would permit +Ram Dass, he himself could cross the roof to her room, +enter the windows, and regain the unworthy little animal. +But he was evidently afraid Sara might think he was taking +a great liberty and perhaps would not let him come.</p> + +<p>But Sara gave him leave at once.</p> + +<p>“Can you get across?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>“In a moment,” he answered her.</p> + +<p>“Then come,” she said; “he is flying from side to side +of the room as if he was frightened.”</p> + +<p>Ram Dass slipped through his attic window and crossed +to hers as steadily and lightly as if he had walked on roofs +all his life. He slipped through the skylight and dropped +upon his feet without a sound. Then he turned to Sara<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> +and salaamed again. The monkey saw him and uttered +a little scream. Ram Dass hastily took the precaution of +shutting the skylight, and then went in chase of him. It +was not a very long chase. The monkey prolonged it a +few minutes evidently for the mere fun of it, but presently +he sprang chattering on to Ram Dass’s shoulder and sat +there chattering and clinging to his neck with a weird +little skinny arm.</p> + +<p>Ram Dass thanked Sara profoundly. She had seen +that his quick native eyes had taken in at a glance all the +bare shabbiness of the room, but he spoke to her as if he +were speaking to the little daughter of a rajah, and pretended +that he observed nothing. He did not presume to +remain more than a few moments after he had caught the +monkey, and those moments were given to further deep +and grateful obeisance to her in return for her indulgence. +This little evil one, he said, stroking the monkey, was, in +truth, not so evil as he seemed, and his master, who was ill, +was sometimes amused by him. He would have been made +sad if his favorite had run away and been lost. Then he +salaamed once more and got through the skylight and +across the slates again with as much agility as the monkey +himself had displayed.</p> + +<p>When he had gone Sara stood in the middle of her attic +and thought of many things his face and his manner had +brought back to her. The sight of his native costume and +the profound reverence of his manner stirred all her past +memories. It seemed a strange thing to remember that +she—the drudge whom the cook had said insulting things<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> +to an hour ago—had only a few years ago been surrounded +by people who all treated her as Ram Dass had treated her; +who salaamed when she went by, whose foreheads almost +touched the ground when she spoke to them, who were her +servants and her slaves. It was like a sort of dream. It +was all over, and it could never come back. It certainly +seemed that there was no way in which any change could +take place. She knew what Miss Minchin intended that +her future should be. So long as she was too young to be +used as a regular teacher, she would be used as an errand +girl and servant and yet expected to remember what she +had learned and in some mysterious way to learn more. +The greater number of her evenings she was supposed to +spend at study, and at various indefinite intervals she was +examined and knew she would have been severely admonished +if she had not advanced as was expected of her. The +truth, indeed, was that Miss Minchin knew that she was +too anxious to learn to require teachers. Give her books, +and she would devour them and end by knowing them by +heart. She might be trusted to be equal to teaching a +good deal in the course of a few years. This was what +would happen: when she was older she would be expected +to drudge in the school-room as she drudged now in various +parts of the house; they would be obliged to give her more +respectable clothes, but they would be sure to be plain and +ugly and to make her look somehow like a servant. That +was all there seemed to be to look forward to, and Sara +stood quite still for several minutes and thought it over.</p> + +<p>Then a thought came back to her which made the color<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span> +rise in her cheek and a spark light itself in her eyes. She +straightened her thin little body and lifted her head.</p> + +<p>“Whatever comes,” she said, “cannot alter one thing. +If I am a princess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess +inside. It would be easy to be a princess if I were dressed +in cloth of gold, but 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 Widow +Capet. She was a great deal more like a queen then than +when she was so gay and everything was so 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>This was not a new thought, but quite an old one, by this +time. It had consoled her through many a bitter day, and +she had gone about the house with an expression in her +face which Miss Minchin could not understand and which +was a source of great annoyance to her, as it seemed as if +the child were mentally living a life which held her above +the rest of the world. It was as if she scarcely heard the +rude and acid things said to her; or, if she heard them, did +not care for them at all. Sometimes, when she was in the +midst of some harsh, domineering speech, Miss Minchin +would find the still, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> +princess, and that if I chose I could wave my hand and +order you to execution. I only spare you because I <em>am</em> +a princess, and you are a poor, stupid, unkind, vulgar +old thing, and don’t know any better.”</p> + +<p>This used to interest and amuse her more than anything +else; and queer and fanciful as it was, she found comfort +in it and it was a good thing for her. While the thought +held possession of her, she could not be made rude and malicious +by the rudeness and malice of those about her.</p> + +<p>“A princess must be polite,” she said to herself.</p> + +<p>And so when the servants, taking their tone from their +mistress, were insolent and ordered her about, she would +hold her head erect and reply to them with a quaint civility +which often made them stare at her.</p> + +<p>“She’s got more airs and graces than if she come from +Buckingham Palace, that young one,” said the cook, +chuckling a little sometimes; “I lose my temper with her +often enough, but I will say she never forgets her manners. +‘If you please, cook;’ ‘Will you be so kind, cook?’ +‘I beg your pardon, cook;’ ‘May I trouble you, cook?’ +She drops ’em about the kitchen as if they was nothing.”</p> + +<p>The morning after the interview with Ram Dass and his +monkey, Sara was in the school-room with her small pupils. +Having finished giving them their lessons, she was putting +the French exercise-books together and thinking, as +she did it, of the various things royal personages in disguise +were called upon to do: Alfred the Great, for instance, +burning the cakes and getting his ears boxed by the wife +of the neatherd. How frightened she must have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> +when she found out what she had done. If Miss Minchin +should find out that she—Sara, whose toes were almost +sticking out of her boots—was a princess—a real one! +The look in her eyes was exactly the look which Miss Minchin +most disliked. She would not have it; she was quite +near her and was so enraged that she actually flew at her +and boxed her ears—exactly as the neatherd’s wife had +boxed King Alfred’s. It made Sara start. She wakened +from her dream at the shock, and, catching her breath, +stood still a second. Then, not knowing she was going to +do it, she broke into a little laugh.</p> + +<p>“What are you laughing at, you bold, impudent child?” +Miss Minchin exclaimed.</p> + +<p>It took Sara a few seconds to control herself sufficiently +to remember that she was a princess. Her cheeks were red +and smarting from the blows she had received.</p> + +<p>“I was thinking,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Beg my pardon immediately,” said Miss Minchin.</p> + +<p>Sara hesitated a second before she replied.</p> + +<p>“I will beg your pardon for laughing, if it was rude,” +she said then; “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>Jessie tittered, and she and Lavinia nudged each other +in unison. All the girls looked up from their books to +listen. Really, it always interested them a little when Miss +Minchin attacked Sara. Sara always said something +queer, and never seemed the least bit frightened. She was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> +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 grandly and 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 future so clearly before her eyes +that she spoke in a manner which had an effect even upon +Miss Minchin. It almost seemed for the moment to her +narrow, unimaginative mind that there must be some real +power hidden 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>Every pair of eyes in the room widened to its full limit. +Lavinia leaned forward on her seat to look.</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 struggling<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> +with her rage, and the girls whispering over their +books.</p> + +<p>“Did you see her? Did you see how queer she looked?” +Jessie broke out. “I shouldn’t be at all surprised if she +did turn out to be something. Suppose she should!”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XII<br /> + +<small>THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WALL</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">When</span> one lives in a row of houses, it is interesting +to think of the things which are being +done and said on the other side of the wall of +the very rooms one is living in. Sara was fond of amusing +herself by trying to imagine the things hidden by the +wall which divided the Select Seminary from the Indian +gentleman’s house. She knew that the school-room was +next to the Indian gentleman’s study, and she hoped that +the wall was thick so that the noise made sometimes after +lesson hours would not disturb him.</p> + +<p>“I am growing quite fond of him,” she said to Ermengarde; +“I should not like him to be disturbed. I have +adopted him for a friend. You can do that with people +you never speak to at all. You can just watch them, and +think about them and be sorry for them, until they seem +almost like relations. I’m quite anxious sometimes when +I see the doctor call twice a day.”</p> + +<p>“I have very few relations,” said Ermengarde, reflectively, +“and I’m very glad of it. I don’t like those I +have. My two aunts are always saying, ‘Dear me, Ermengarde! +You are very fat. You shouldn’t eat sweets,’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> +and my uncle is always asking me things like, ‘When did +Edward the Third ascend the throne?’ and, ‘Who died of +a surfeit of lampreys?’”</p> + +<p>Sara laughed.</p> + +<p>“People you never speak to can’t ask you questions like +that,” she said; “and I’m sure the Indian gentleman +wouldn’t even if he was quite intimate with you. I am +fond of him.”</p> + +<p>She had become fond of the Large Family because they +looked happy; but she had become fond of the Indian +gentleman because he looked unhappy. He had evidently +not fully recovered from some very severe illness. In the +kitchen—where, of course, the servants, through some mysterious +means, knew everything—there was much discussion +of his case. He was not an Indian gentleman really, +but an Englishman who had lived in India. He had met +with great misfortunes which had for a time so imperilled +his whole fortune that he had thought himself ruined and +disgraced forever. The shock had been so great that he +had almost died of brain-fever; and ever since he had been +shattered in health, though his fortunes had changed and +all his possessions had been restored to him. His trouble +and peril had been connected with mines.</p> + +<p>“And mines with diamonds in ’em!” said the cook. +“No savin’s of mine never goes into no mines—particular +diamond ones”—with a side glance at Sara. “We all +know somethin’ of <em>them</em>.”</p> + +<p>“He felt as my papa felt,” Sara thought. “He was ill +as my papa was; but he did not die.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> + +<p>So her heart was more drawn to him than before. When +she was sent out at night she used sometimes to feel quite +glad, because there was always a chance that the curtains +of the house next door might not yet be closed and she +could look into the warm room and see her adopted friend. +When no one was about she used sometimes to stop, and, +holding to the iron railings, wish him good night as if he +could hear her.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps you can <em>feel</em> if you can’t hear,” was her fancy. +“Perhaps kind thoughts reach people somehow, even +through windows and doors and walls. Perhaps you feel +a little warm and comforted, and don’t know why, when I +am standing here in the cold and hoping you will get well +and happy again. I am so sorry for you,” she would whisper +in an intense little voice. “I wish you had a ‘Little +Missus’ who could pet you as I used to pet papa when he +had a headache. I should like to be your ‘Little Missus’ +myself, poor dear! Good night—good night. God bless +you!”</p> + +<p>She would go away, feeling quite comforted and a little +warmer herself. Her sympathy was so strong that it +seemed as if it <em>must</em> reach him somehow as he sat alone in +his arm-chair by the fire, nearly always in a great dressing-gown, +and nearly always with his forehead resting in his +hand as he gazed hopelessly into the fire. He looked to +Sara like a man who had a trouble on his mind still, not +merely like one whose troubles lay all in the past.</p> + +<p>“He always seems as if he were thinking of something +that hurts him <em>now</em>,” she said to herself; “but he has got<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> +his money back and he will get over his brain-fever in time, +so he ought not to look like that. I wonder if there is +something else.”</p> + +<p>If there was something else,—something even servants +did not hear of,—she could not help believing that the father +of the Large Family knew it—the gentleman she +called Mr. Montmorency. Mr. Montmorency went to see +him often, and Mrs. Montmorency and all the little Montmorencys +went, too, though less often. He seemed particularly +fond of the two elder little girls—the Janet and +Nora who had been so alarmed when their small brother +Donald had given Sara his sixpence. He had, in fact, a +very tender place in his heart for all children, and particularly +for little girls. Janet and Nora were as fond of him +as he was of them, and looked forward with the greatest +pleasure to the afternoons when they were allowed to cross +the square and make their well-behaved little visits to him. +They were extremely decorous little visits because he was +an invalid.</p> + +<p>“He is a poor thing,” said Janet, “and he says we cheer +him up. We try to cheer him up very quietly.”</p> + +<p>Janet was the head of the family, and kept the rest of +it in order. It was she who decided when it was discreet +to ask the Indian gentleman to tell stories about India, and +it was she who saw when he was tired and it was the time to +steal quietly away and tell Ram Dass to go to him. They +were very fond of Ram Dass. He could have told any +number of stories if he had been able to speak anything but +Hindustani. The Indian gentleman’s real name was Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> +Carrisford, and Janet told Mr. Carrisford about the +encounter with the little-girl-who-was-not-a-beggar. He +was very much interested, and all the more so when he +heard from Ram Dass of the adventure of the monkey on +the roof. Ram Dass made for him a very clear picture +of the attic and its desolateness—of the bare floor and +broken plaster, the rusty, empty grate, and the hard, narrow +bed.</p> + +<p>“Carmichael,” he said to the father of the Large Family, +after he had heard this description; “I wonder how many +of the attics in this square are like that one, and how many +wretched little servant girls sleep on such beds, while I toss +on my down pillows, loaded and harassed by wealth that is, +most of it—not mine.”</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow,” Mr. Carmichael answered cheerily, +“the sooner you cease tormenting yourself the better it +will be for you. If you possessed all the wealth of all the +Indies, you could not set right all the discomforts in the +world, and if you began to refurnish all the attics in this +square, there would still remain all the attics in all the +other squares and streets to put in order. And there you +are!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Carrisford sat and bit his nails as he looked into the +glowing bed of coals in the grate.</p> + +<p>“Do you suppose,” he said slowly, after a pause—“do +you think it is possible that the other child—the child I +never cease thinking of, I believe—could be—could <em>possibly</em> +be reduced to any such condition as the poor little +soul next door?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Carmichael looked at him uneasily. He knew that +the worst thing the man could do for himself, for his reason +and his health, was to begin to think in this particular +way of this particular subject.</p> + +<p>“If the child at Madame Pascal’s school in Paris was +the one you are in search of,” he answered soothingly, +“she would seem to be in the hands of people who can +afford to take care of her. They adopted her because she +had been the favorite companion of their little daughter +who died. They had no other children, and Madame Pascal +said that they were extremely well-to-do Russians.”</p> + +<p>“And the wretched woman actually did not know where +they had taken her!” exclaimed Mr. Carrisford.</p> + +<p>Mr. Carmichael shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>“She was a shrewd, worldly Frenchwoman, and was +evidently only too glad to get the child so comfortably off +her hands when the father’s death left her totally unprovided +for. Women of her type do not trouble themselves +about the futures of children who might prove burdens. +The adopted parents apparently disappeared and left no +trace.”</p> + +<p>“But you say ‘<em>if’</em> the child was the one I am in search +of. You say ‘if.’ We are not sure. There was a difference +in the name.”</p> + +<p>“Madame Pascal pronounced it as if it were Carew instead +of Crewe,—but that might be merely a matter of +pronunciation. The circumstances were curiously similar. +An English officer in India had placed his motherless +little girl at the school. He had died suddenly after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> +losing his fortune.” Mr. Carmichael paused a moment, as +if a new thought had occurred to him. “Are you <em>sure</em> the +child was left at a school in Paris? Are you sure it was +Paris?”</p> + +<p>“My dear fellow,” broke forth Carrisford, with restless +bitterness, “I am <em>sure</em> of nothing. I never saw either +the child or her mother. Ralph Crewe and I loved each +other as boys, but we had not met since our school-days, +until we met in India. I was absorbed in the magnificent +promise of the mines. He became absorbed, too. The +whole thing was so huge and glittering that we half lost +our heads. When we met we scarcely spoke of anything +else. I only knew that the child had been sent to school +somewhere. I do not even remember, now, <em>how</em> I knew it.”</p> + +<p>He was beginning to be excited. He always became +excited when his still weakened brain was stirred by memories +of the catastrophes of the past.</p> + +<p>Mr. Carmichael watched him anxiously. It was necessary +to ask some questions, but they must be put quietly +and with caution.</p> + +<p>“But you had reason to think the school <em>was</em> in Paris?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” was the answer, “because her mother was a +Frenchwoman, and I had heard that she wished her child +to be educated in Paris. It seemed only likely that she +would be there.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Mr. Carmichael said, “it seems more than probable.”</p> + +<p>The Indian gentleman leaned forward and struck the +table with a long, wasted hand.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Carmichael,” he said, “I <em>must</em> find her. If she is alive, +she is somewhere. If she is friendless and penniless, it +is through my fault. How is a man to get back his nerve +with a thing like that on his mind? This sudden change of +luck at the mines has made realities of all our most fantastic +dreams, and poor Crewe’s child may be begging in the +street!”</p> + +<p>“No, no,” said Carmichael. “Try to be calm. Console +yourself with the fact that when she is found you have +a fortune to hand over to her.”</p> + +<p>“Why was I not man enough to stand my ground when +things looked black?” Carrisford groaned in petulant +misery. “I believe I should have stood my ground if I +had not been responsible for other people’s money as well +as my own. Poor Crewe had put into the scheme every +penny that he owned. He trusted me—he <em>loved</em> me. And +he died thinking I had ruined him—I—Tom Carrisford, +who played cricket at Eton with him. What a villain he +must have thought me!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t reproach yourself so bitterly.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t reproach myself because the speculation threatened +to fail—I reproach myself for losing my courage. I +ran away like a swindler and a thief, because I could not +face my best friend and tell him I had ruined him and his +child.”</p> + +<p>The good-hearted father of the Large Family put his +hand on his shoulder comfortingly.</p> + +<p>“You ran away because your brain had given way under +the strain of mental torture,” he said. “You were half delirious<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> +already. If you had not been you would have +stayed and fought it out. You were in a hospital, strapped +down in bed, raving with brain-fever, two days after you +left the place. Remember that.”</p> + +<p>Carrisford dropped his forehead in his hands.</p> + +<p>“Good God! Yes,” he said. “I was driven mad with +dread and horror. I had not slept for weeks. The night +I staggered out of my house all the air seemed full of +hideous things mocking and mouthing at me.”</p> + +<p>“That is explanation enough in itself,” said Mr. Carmichael. +“How could a man on the verge of brain-fever +judge sanely!”</p> + +<p>Carrisford shook his drooping head.</p> + +<p>“And when I returned to consciousness poor Crewe was +dead—and buried. And I seemed to remember nothing. +I did not remember the child for months and months. +Even when I began to recall her existence everything +seemed in a sort of haze.”</p> + +<p>He stopped a moment and rubbed his forehead. “It +sometimes seems so now when I try to remember. Surely +I must sometime have heard Crewe speak of the school she +was sent to. Don’t you think so?”</p> + +<p>“He might not have spoken of it definitely. You never +seem even to have heard her real name.”</p> + +<p>“He used to call her by an odd pet name he had invented. +He called her his ‘Little Missus.’ But the +wretched mines drove everything else out of our heads. +We talked of nothing else. If he spoke of the school, I +forgot—I forgot. And now I shall never remember.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Come, come,” said Carmichael. “We shall find her +yet. We will continue to search for Madame Pascal’s +good-natured Russians. She seemed to have a vague idea +that they lived in Moscow. We will take that as a clue. I +will go to Moscow.”</p> + +<p>“If I were able to travel, I would go with you,” said +Carrisford; “but I can only sit here wrapped in furs and +stare at the fire. And when I look into it I seem to see +Crewe’s gay young face gazing back at me. He looks as +if he were asking me a question. Sometimes I dream of +him at night, and he always stands before me and asks the +same question in words. Can you guess what he says, +Carmichael?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Carmichael answered him in a rather low voice.</p> + +<p>“Not exactly,” he said.</p> + +<p>“He always says, ‘Tom, old man—Tom—where is the +Little Missus?’” He caught at Carmichael’s hand and +clung to it. “I must be able to answer him—I must!” he +said. “Help me to find her. Help me.”</p> + +<p class="dot">. . . . . .</p> + +<p>On the other side of the wall Sara was sitting in her +garret talking to Melchisedec, who had come out for his +evening meal.</p> + +<p>“It has been hard to be a princess to-day, Melchisedec,” +she said. “It has been harder than usual. It gets harder +as the weather grows colder and the streets get more +sloppy. When Lavinia laughed at my muddy skirt as I +passed her in the hall, I thought of something to say all +in a flash—and I only just stopped myself in time. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> +can’t sneer back at people like that—if you are a princess. +But you have to bite your tongue to hold yourself in. I +bit mine. It was a cold afternoon, Melchisedec. And it’s +a cold night.”</p> + +<p>Quite suddenly she put her black head down in her +arms, as she often did when she was alone.</p> + +<p>“Oh, papa,” she whispered, “what a long time it seems +since I was your ‘Little Missus’!”</p> + +<p>This was what happened that day on both sides of the +wall.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII<br /> + +<small>ONE OF THE POPULACE</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">The</span> winter was a wretched one. There were days on +which Sara tramped through snow when she went +on her errands; there were worse days when the +snow melted and combined itself with mud to form slush; +there were others when the fog was so thick that the lamps +in the street were lighted all day and London looked as it +had looked the afternoon, several years ago, when the cab +had driven through the thoroughfares with Sara tucked up +on its seat, leaning against her father’s shoulder. On such +days the windows of the house of the Large Family always +looked delightfully cosey and alluring, and the study +in which the Indian gentleman sat glowed with warmth +and rich color. But the attic was dismal beyond words. +There were no longer sunsets or sunrises to look at, and +scarcely ever any stars, it seemed to Sara. The clouds +hung low over the skylight and were either gray or mud-color, +or dropping heavy rain. At four o’clock in the afternoon, +even when there was no special fog, the daylight +was at an end. If it was necessary to go to her attic for +anything, Sara was obliged to light a candle. The women +in the kitchen were depressed, and that made them more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> +ill-tempered than ever. Becky was driven like a little +slave.</p> + +<p>“’T warn’t for you, miss,” she said hoarsely to Sara one +night when she had crept into the attic—“’t warn’t for you, +an’ the Bastille, an’ bein’ the prisoner in the next cell, I +should die. That there does seem real now, doesn’t it? +The missus is more like the head jailer every day she lives. +I can jest see them big keys you say she carries. The cook +she’s like one of the under-jailers. Tell me some more, +please, miss—tell me about the subt’ranean passage we’ve +dug under the walls.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you something warmer,” shivered Sara. “Get +your coverlet and wrap it round you, and I’ll get mine, +and we will huddle close together on the bed, and I’ll tell +you about the tropical forest where the Indian gentleman’s +monkey used to live. When I see him sitting on the table +near the window and looking out into the street with that +mournful expression, I always feel sure he is thinking +about the tropical forest where he used to swing by his +tail from cocoanut-trees. I wonder who caught him, and if +he left a family behind who had depended on him for +cocoanuts.”</p> + +<p>“That is warmer, miss,” said Becky, gratefully; “but, +someways, even the Bastille is sort of heatin’ when you +gets to tellin’ about it.”</p> + +<p>“That is because it makes you think of something else,” +said Sara, wrapping the coverlet round her until only her +small dark face was to be seen looking out of it. “I’ve +noticed this. What you have to do with your mind, when<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> +your body is miserable, is to make it think of something +else.”</p> + +<p>“Can you do it, miss?” faltered Becky, regarding her +with admiring eyes.</p> + +<p>Sara knitted her brows a moment.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes I <em>can</em> and sometimes I can’t,” she said +stoutly. “But when I can I’m all right. And what I believe +is that we always could—if we practised enough. +I’ve been practising a good deal lately, and it’s beginning +to be easier than it used to be. When things are horrible—just +horrible—I think as hard as ever I can of being a princess. +I say to myself, ‘I am a princess, and I am a fairy +one, and because I am a fairy nothing can hurt me or make +me uncomfortable.’ You don’t know how it makes you +forget,”—with a laugh.</p> + +<p>She had many opportunities of making her mind think +of something else, and many opportunities of proving to +herself whether or not she was a princess. But one of the +strongest tests she was ever put to came on a certain dreadful +day which, she often thought afterward, would never +quite fade out of her memory even in the years to come.</p> + +<p>For several days it had rained continuously; the streets +were chilly and sloppy and full of dreary, cold mist; there +was mud everywhere,—sticky London mud,—and over +everything the pall of drizzle and fog. 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> +more draggled and absurd than ever, and her downtrodden +shoes were so wet that they could not hold any more water. +Added to this, she had been deprived of her dinner, because +Miss Minchin had chosen to punish her. She was +so cold and hungry and tired that her face began to have +a pinched look, and now and then some kind-hearted person +passing her in the street glanced at her with sudden +sympathy. But she did not know that. She hurried on, +trying to make her mind think of something else. It was +really very necessary. Her way of doing it was to “pretend” +and “suppose” with all the strength that was left in +her. 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, and as the muddy water squelched +through her broken shoes and the wind seemed trying to +drag her thin jacket from her, she talked to herself as she +walked, though she did not speak aloud or even move her +lips.</p> + +<p>“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. <em>Suppose</em>, +if I did, I should go into the shop and buy six of the +hottest buns and eat them all without stopping.”</p> + +<p>Some very odd things happen in this world sometimes.</p> + +<p>It certainly was an odd thing that happened to Sara. +She had to cross the street just when she was saying this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> +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. It was actually a piece +of silver—a tiny piece trodden upon by many feet, but still +with spirit enough left to shine a little. Not quite a sixpence, +but the next thing to it—a fourpenny piece.</p> + +<p>In one second it was in her cold little red-and-blue hand.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she gasped, “it is true! It is true!”</p> + +<p>And then, if you will believe me, she looked straight at +the shop directly facing her. And it was a baker’s shop, +and a cheerful, stout, motherly woman with rosy cheeks was +putting into the window a tray of delicious newly baked +hot buns, fresh from the oven—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 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 stream of +passing people who crowded and jostled each other all day +long.</p> + +<p>“But I’ll go and ask the baker woman if she has lost +anything,” she said to herself, rather faintly. So she +crossed the pavement and put her wet foot on the step. As +she did so she saw something that made her stop.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> + +<p>It was a little figure more forlorn even than herself—a +little figure which was not much more than a bundle of rags, +from which small, bare, red muddy feet peeped out, only +because the rags with which their owner 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 +room to pass. 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 fourpenny 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. No +nothin’.”</p> + +<p>“Since when?” asked Sara.</p> + +<p>“Dunno. Never got nothin’ to-day—nowhere. I’ve +axed an’ axed.”</p> + +<p>Just to look at her made Sara more hungry and faint. +But those queer little thoughts were at work in her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> +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 than themselves. 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.</p> + +<p>She went into the shop. It was warm and smelled deliciously. +The woman was just going to put some more hot +buns into 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 then 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>“Yes,” said Sara. “In the gutter.”</p> + +<p>“Keep it, then,” said the woman. “It may have been +there for a week, and goodness knows who lost it. <em>You</em> +could never find out.”</p> + +<p>“I know that,” said Sara, “but I thought I would ask +you.”</p> + +<p>“Not many would,” said the woman, looking puzzled +and interested and good-natured all at once.</p> + +<p>“Do you want to buy something?” she added, as she saw +Sara glance at the buns.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></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.</p> + +<p>Sara noticed that she put in six.</p> + +<p>“I said four, if you please,” she explained. “I have +only fourpence.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll throw in two for makeweight,” said the woman, +with her good-natured look. “I dare say you can eat them +sometime. 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> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="illus190" id="illus190"></a> +<img src="images/illus190.jpg" width="400" height="533" alt="The beggar girl was still huddled up in the corner." title="" /> +<br /><span class="caption">The beggar girl was still huddled up in the corner.</span> +</div> + +<p>The beggar girl was still huddled up in the corner of +the step. She looked frightful in her wet and dirty rags. +She was staring straight before her with a stupid look of +suffering, 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 own cold hands a +little.</p> + +<p>“See,” she said, putting the bun in the ragged lap, “this +is nice and hot. Eat it, and you will not feel so hungry.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span></p> + +<p>The child started and stared up at her, as if such sudden, +amazing good luck almost frightened 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. “<em>Oh, my!</em>”</p> + +<p>Sara took out three more buns and put them down.</p> + +<p>The sound in the hoarse, ravenous voice was awful.</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 ravening London savage was still snatching +and devouring when she turned away. She was too ravenous +to give any thanks, even if she had ever been taught +politeness—which she had not. She was only a poor little +wild animal.</p> + +<p>“Good-by,” said Sara.</p> + +<p>When she reached the other side of the street she looked +back. The child had a bun in each hand 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 lingering +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 looked 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> +she didn’t want them, either. Well, well, she looked hungry +enough. I’d give something to know what she did it +for.”</p> + +<p>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 the buns, 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.</p> + +<p>“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.” Then she turned +to the child.</p> + +<p>“Are you hungry yet?” she said.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I’m allus hungry,” was the answer, “but ’tain’t as 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 the tiny back room. “And look here; when you are +hard up for a bit of bread, you can come in here and ask +for it. I’m blest if I won’t give it to you for that young +one’s sake.”</p> + +<p class="dot">. . . . . .</p> + +<p>Sara found some comfort in her remaining bun. At all +events, it was very hot, and it was better than nothing. As +she walked along she broke off small pieces and ate them +slowly to make them 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 overeating myself +if I went on like this.”</p> + +<p>It was dark when she reached the square where the Select +Seminary was situated. The lights in the houses were all +lighted. The blinds were not yet drawn in the windows +of the room where she nearly always caught glimpses +of members of the Large Family. Frequently at this hour +she could see the gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency +sitting in a big chair, with a small swarm round him, talking, +laughing, perching on the arms of his seat or on his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> +knees or leaning against them. This evening the swarm +was about him, but he was not seated. On the contrary, +there was a good deal of excitement going on. It was evident +that a journey was to be taken, and it was Mr. Montmorency +who was to take it. A brougham stood before the +door, and a big portmanteau had been strapped upon it. +The children were dancing about, chattering and hanging +on to their father. The pretty rosy mother was standing +near him, talking as if she was asking final questions. Sara +paused a moment to see the little ones lifted up and kissed +and the bigger ones bent over and kissed also.</p> + +<p>“I wonder if he will stay away long,” she thought. +“The portmanteau is rather big. Oh, dear, how they will +miss him! I shall miss him myself—even though he +doesn’t know I am alive.”</p> + +<p>When the door opened she moved away,—remembering +the sixpence,—but she saw the traveller come out and stand +against the background of the warmly lighted hall, the +older children still hovering about him.</p> + +<p>“Will Moscow be covered with snow?” said the little +girl Janet. “Will there be ice everywhere?”</p> + +<p>“Shall you drive in a drosky?” cried another. “Shall +you see the Czar?”</p> + +<p>“I will write and tell you all about it,” he answered, +laughing. “And I will send you pictures of muzhiks and +things. Run into the house. It is a hideous damp night. +I would rather stay with you than go to Moscow. Good +night! Good night, duckies! God bless you!” And he +ran down the steps and jumped into the brougham.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span></p> + +<p>“If you find the little girl, give her our love,” shouted +Guy Clarence, jumping up and down on the door-mat.</p> + +<p>Then they went in and shut the door.</p> + +<p>“Did you see,” said Janet to Nora, as they went back to +the room—“the little-girl-who-is-not-a-beggar was passing? +She looked all cold and wet, and I saw her turn +her head over her shoulder and look at us. Mamma says +her clothes always look as if they had been given her by +some one who was quite rich—some one who only let her +have them because they were too shabby to wear. The people +at the school always send her out on errands on the horridest +days and nights there are.”</p> + +<p>Sara crossed the square to Miss Minchin’s area steps, +feeling faint and shaky.</p> + +<p>“I wonder who the little girl is,” she thought—“the little +girl he is going to look for.”</p> + +<p>And she went down the area steps, lugging her basket +and finding it very heavy indeed, as the father of the Large +Family drove quickly on his way to the station to take the +train which was to carry him to Moscow, where he was to +make his best efforts to search for the lost little daughter +of Captain Crewe.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XIV<br /> + +<small>WHAT MELCHISEDEC HEARD AND SAW</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">On</span> this very afternoon, while Sara was out, a +strange thing happened in the attic. Only Melchisedec +saw and heard it; and he was so much +alarmed and mystified that he scuttled back to his hole and +hid there, and really quaked and trembled as he peeped out +furtively and with great caution to watch what was going +on.</p> + +<p>The attic had been very still all the day after Sara had +left it in the early morning. The stillness had only been +broken by the pattering of the rain upon the slates and the +skylight. Melchisedec had, in fact, found it rather dull; +and when the rain ceased to patter and perfect silence +reigned, he decided to come out and reconnoitre, though +experience taught him that Sara would not return for some +time. He had been rambling and sniffing about, and had +just found a totally unexpected and unexplained crumb +left from his last meal, when his attention was attracted by +a sound on the roof. He stopped to listen with a palpitating +heart. The sound suggested that something was moving +on the roof. It was approaching the skylight; it +reached the skylight. The skylight was being mysteriously +opened. A dark face peered into the attic; then another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> +face appeared behind it, and both looked in with signs of +caution and interest. Two men were outside on the roof, +and were making silent preparations to enter through the +skylight itself. One was Ram Dass, and the other was a +young man who was the Indian gentleman’s secretary; but +of course Melchisedec did not know this. He only knew +that the men were invading the silence and privacy of the +attic; and as the one with the dark face let himself down +through the aperture with such lightness and dexterity +that he did not make the slightest sound, Melchisedec +turned tail and fled precipitately back to his hole. He was +frightened to death. He had ceased to be timid with Sara, +and knew she would never throw anything but crumbs, +and would never make any sound other than the soft, +low, coaxing whistling; but strange men were dangerous +things to remain near. He lay close and flat near the entrance +of his home, just managing to peep through the +crack with a bright, alarmed eye. How much he understood +of the talk he heard I am not in the least able to say; +but, even if he had understood it all, he would probably +have remained greatly mystified.</p> + +<p>The secretary, who was light and young, slipped through +the skylight as noiselessly as Ram Dass had done; and he +caught a last glimpse of Melchisedec’s vanishing tail.</p> + +<p>“Was that a rat?” he asked Ram Dass in a whisper.</p> + +<p>“Yes; a rat, Sahib,” answered Ram Dass, also whispering. +“There are many in the walls.”</p> + +<p>“Ugh!” exclaimed the young man; “it is a wonder the +child is not terrified of them.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> + +<p>Ram Dass made a gesture with his hands. He also +smiled respectfully. He was in this place as the intimate +exponent of Sara, though she had only spoken to him once.</p> + +<p>“The child is the little friend of all things, Sahib,” he +answered. “She is not as other children. I see her when +she does not see me. I slip across the slates and look at her +many nights to see that she is safe. I watch her from my +window when she does not know I am near. She stands +on the table there and looks out at the sky as if it spoke to +her. The sparrows come at her call. The rat she has fed +and tamed in her loneliness. The poor slave of the house +comes to her for comfort. There is a little child who comes +to her in secret; there is one older who worships her and +would listen to her forever if she might. This I have seen +when I have crept across the roof. By the mistress of the +house—who is an evil woman—she is treated like a pariah; +but she has the bearing of a child who is of the blood of +kings!”</p> + +<p>“You seem to know a great deal about her,” the secretary +said.</p> + +<p>“All her life each day I know,” answered Ram Dass. +“Her going out I know, and her coming in; her sadness and +her poor joys; her coldness and her hunger. I know when +she sits alone until midnight, learning from her books; I +know when her secret friends steal to her and she is happier—as +children can be, even in the midst of poverty—because +they come and she may laugh and talk with them in +whispers. If she were ill I should know, and I would come +and serve her if it might be done.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p> + +<p>“You are sure no one comes near this place but herself, +and that she will not return and surprise us. She would +be frightened if she found us here, and the Sahib Carrisford’s +plan would be spoiled.”</p> + +<p>Ram Dass crossed noiselessly to the door and stood close +to it.</p> + +<p>“None mount here but herself, Sahib,” he said. “She +has gone out with her basket and may be gone for hours. +If I stand here I can hear any step before it reaches the +last flight of the stairs.”</p> + +<p>The secretary took a pencil and a tablet from his breast +pocket.</p> + +<p>“Keep your ears open,” he said; and he began to walk +slowly and softly round the miserable little room, making +rapid notes on his tablet as he looked at things.</p> + +<p>First he went to the narrow bed. He pressed his hand +upon the mattress and uttered an exclamation.</p> + +<p>“As hard as a stone,” he said. “That will have to be +altered some day when she is out. A special journey can be +made to bring it across. It cannot be done to-night.” He +lifted the covering and examined the one thin pillow.</p> + +<p>“Coverlet dingy and worn, blanket thin, sheets patched +and ragged,” he said. “What a bed for a child to sleep in—and +in a house which calls itself respectable! There +has not been a fire in that grate for many a day,” glancing +at the rusty fireplace.</p> + +<p>“Never since I have seen it,” said Ram Dass. “The +mistress of the house is not one who remembers that another +than herself may be cold.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span></p> + +<p>The secretary was writing quickly on his tablet. He +looked up from it as he tore off a leaf and slipped it into +his breast pocket.</p> + +<p>“It is a strange way of doing the thing,” he said. “Who +planned it?”</p> + +<p>Ram Dass made a modestly apologetic obeisance.</p> + +<p>“It is true that the first thought was mine, Sahib,” he +said; “though it was naught but a fancy. I am fond of this +child; we are both lonely. It is her way to relate her visions +to her secret friends. Being sad one night, I lay close to +the open skylight and listened. The vision she related told +what this miserable room might be if it had comforts in it. +She seemed to see it as she talked, and she grew cheered +and warmed as she spoke. Then she came to this fancy; +and the next day, the Sahib being ill and wretched, I told +him of the thing to amuse him. It seemed then but a +dream, but it pleased the Sahib. To hear of the child’s +doings gave him entertainment. He became interested in +her and asked questions. At last he began to please himself +with the thought of making her visions real things.”</p> + +<p>“You think that it can be done while she sleeps? Suppose +she awakened,” suggested the secretary; and it was +evident that whatsoever the plan referred to was, it had +caught and pleased his fancy as well as the Sahib Carrisford’s.</p> + +<p>“I can move as if my feet were of velvet,” Ram Dass +replied; “and children sleep soundly—even the unhappy +ones. I could have entered this room in the night many +times, and without causing her to turn upon her pillow.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> +If the other bearer passes to me the things through the +window, I can do all and she will not stir. When she +awakens she will think a magician has been here.”</p> + +<p>He smiled as if his heart warmed under his white robe, +and the secretary smiled back at him.</p> + +<p>“It will be like a story from the ‘Arabian Nights,’” he +said. “Only an Oriental could have planned it. It does +not belong to London fogs.”</p> + +<p>They did not remain very long, to the great relief of +Melchisedec, who, as he probably did not comprehend their +conversation, felt their movements and whispers ominous. +The young secretary seemed interested in everything. He +wrote down things about the floor, the fireplace, the +broken footstool, the old table, the walls—which last he +touched with his hand again and again, seeming much +pleased when he found that a number of old nails had been +driven in various places.</p> + +<p>“You can hang things on them,” he said.</p> + +<p>Ram Dass smiled mysteriously.</p> + +<p>“Yesterday, when she was out,” he said, “I entered, +bringing with me small, sharp nails which can be pressed +into the wall without blows from a hammer. I placed +many in the plaster where I may need them. They are +ready.”</p> + +<p>The Indian gentleman’s secretary stood still and looked +round him as he thrust his tablets back into his pocket.</p> + +<p>“I think I have made notes enough; we can go now,” he +said. “The Sahib Carrisford has a warm heart. It is a +thousand pities that he has not found the lost child.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> + +<p>“If he should find her his strength would be restored +to him,” said Ram Dass. “His God may lead her to him +yet.”</p> + +<p>Then they slipped through the skylight as noiselessly as +they had entered it. And, after he was quite sure they +had gone, Melchisedec was greatly relieved, and in the +course of a few minutes felt it safe to emerge from his +hole again and scuffle about in the hope that even such +alarming human beings as these might have chanced to +carry crumbs in their pockets and drop one or two of them.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XV<br /> + +<small>THE MAGIC</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">When</span> Sara had passed the house next door she +had seen Ram Dass closing the shutters, and +caught her glimpse of this room also.</p> + +<p>“It is a long time since I saw a nice place from the inside,” +was the thought which crossed her mind.</p> + +<p>There was the usual bright fire glowing in the grate, and +the Indian gentleman was sitting before it. His head was +resting in his hand, and he looked as lonely and unhappy as +ever.</p> + +<p>“Poor man!” said Sara; “I wonder what <em>you</em> are supposing.”</p> + +<p>And this was what he was “supposing” at that very +moment.</p> + +<p>“Suppose,” he was thinking, “suppose—even if Carmichael +traces the people to Moscow—the little girl they took +from Madame Pascal’s school in Paris is <em>not</em> the one we +are in search of. Suppose she proves to be quite a different +child. What steps shall I take next?”</p> + +<p>When Sara went into the house she met Miss Minchin, +who had come down-stairs to scold the cook.</p> + +<p>“Where have you wasted your time?” she demanded. +“You have been out for hours.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p> + +<p>“It was so wet and muddy,” Sara answered, “it was +hard to walk, because my shoes were so bad and slipped +about.”</p> + +<p>“Make no excuses,” said Miss Minchin, “and tell no +falsehoods.”</p> + +<p>Sara went in to the cook. The cook had received a severe +lecture and was in a fearful temper as a result. She was +only too rejoiced to have some one to vent her rage on, and +Sara was a convenience, as usual.</p> + +<p>“Why didn’t you stay all night?” she snapped.</p> + +<p>Sara laid her purchases on the table.</p> + +<p>“Here are the things,” she said.</p> + +<p>The cook looked them over, grumbling. She was in a +very savage humor 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 stood silent for a second.</p> + +<p>“I had no dinner,” she said next, 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 vicious a humor to give her anything +to eat with it. It was always safe and easy to vent +her spite on Sara. Really, it was hard for the child to +climb the three long flights of stairs leading to her attic.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> +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 she was obliged to stop to rest. When she +reached the top landing she was glad to see the glimmer +of a light coming from under her door. That meant that +Ermengarde had managed to creep up to pay her a visit. +There was some comfort in that. It was better than to go +into the room alone and find it empty and desolate. The +mere presence of plump, comfortable Ermengarde, wrapped +in her red shawl, would warm it a little.</p> + +<p>Yes; there Ermengarde was when she opened the door. +She was sitting in the middle of the bed, with her feet +tucked safely under her. She had never become intimate +with Melchisedec and his family, though they rather fascinated +her. When she found herself alone in the attic she +always preferred to sit on the bed until Sara arrived. She +had, in fact, on this occasion had time to become rather +nervous, because Melchisedec had appeared and sniffed +about a good deal, and once had made her utter a repressed +squeal by sitting up on his hind legs and, while he looked +at her, sniffing pointedly in her direction.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sara,” she cried out, “I <em>am</em> glad you have come. +Melchy <em>would</em> sniff about so. I tried to coax him to go +back, but he wouldn’t for such a long time. I like him, +you know; but it does frighten me when he sniffs right at +me. Do you think he ever <em>would</em> jump?”</p> + +<p>“No,” answered Sara.</p> + +<p>Ermengarde crawled forward on the bed to look at her.</p> + +<p>“You <em>do</em> look tired, Sara,” she said; “you are quite +pale.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I <em>am</em> tired,” said Sara, dropping on to the lop-sided +footstool. “Oh, there’s Melchisedec, poor thing. He’s +come to ask for his supper.”</p> + +<p>Melchisedec had come out of his hole as if he had been +listening for her footstep. Sara was quite sure he knew it. +He came forward with an affectionate, expectant expression +as Sara put her hand in her pocket and turned it inside +out, shaking her head.</p> + +<p>“I’m very sorry,” she said. “I haven’t one crumb left. +Go home, Melchisedec, and tell your wife there was nothing +in my pocket. I’m afraid I forgot because the cook +and Miss Minchin were so cross.”</p> + +<p>Melchisedec seemed to understand. He shuffled resignedly, +if not contentedly, back to his home.</p> + +<p>“I did not expect to see you to-night, Ermie,” Sara +said.</p> + +<p>Ermengarde hugged herself in the red shawl.</p> + +<p>“Miss Amelia has gone out to spend the night with her +old aunt,” she explained. “No one else ever comes and +looks into the bedrooms after we are in bed. I could stay +here until morning if I wanted to.”</p> + +<p>She pointed toward the table under the skylight. Sara +had not looked toward it as she came in. A number of +books were piled upon it. Ermengarde’s gesture was a +dejected one.</p> + +<p>“Papa has sent me some more books, Sara,” she said. +“There they are.”</p> + +<p>Sara looked round and got up at once. She ran to the +table, and picking up the top volume, turned over its leaves +quickly. For the moment she forgot her discomforts.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Ah,” she cried out, “how beautiful! Carlyle’s ‘French +Revolution.’ I have <em>so</em> wanted to read that!”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t,” said Ermengarde. “And papa will be so +cross if I don’t. He’ll expect me to know all about it +when I go home for the holidays. What <em>shall</em> I do?”</p> + +<p>Sara stopped turning over the leaves and looked at her +with an excited flush on her cheeks.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” she cried, “if you’ll lend me these books, +<em>I’ll</em> read them—and tell you everything that’s in them +afterward—and I’ll tell it so that you will remember it, +too.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, goodness!” exclaimed Ermengarde. “Do you +think you can?”</p> + +<p>“I know I can,” Sara answered. “The little ones always +remember what I tell them.”</p> + +<p>“Sara,” said Ermengarde, hope gleaming in her round +face, “if you’ll do that, and make me remember, I’ll—I’ll +give you anything.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want you to give me anything,” said Sara. “I +want your books—I want them!” And her eyes grew big, +and her chest heaved.</p> + +<p>“Take them, then,” said Ermengarde. “I wish I +wanted them—but I don’t. I’m not clever, and my father +is, and he thinks I ought to be.”</p> + +<p>Sara was opening one book after the other. “What are +you going to tell your father?” she asked, a slight doubt +dawning in her mind.</p> + +<p>“Oh, he needn’t know,” answered Ermengarde. “He’ll +think I’ve read them.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sara put down her book and shook her head slowly. +“That’s almost like telling lies,” she said. “And lies—well, +you see, they are not only wicked—they’re <em>vulgar</em>. +Sometimes”—reflectively—“I’ve thought perhaps I +might do something wicked,—I might suddenly fly into +a rage and kill Miss Minchin, you know, when she was +ill-treating me,—but I <em>couldn’t</em> be vulgar. Why can’t you +tell your father <em>I</em> read them?”</p> + +<p>“He wants me to read them,” said Ermengarde, a little +discouraged by this unexpected turn of affairs.</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 it, I should think he would like that.”</p> + +<p>“He’ll like it if I learn anything in <em>any</em> way,” said rueful +Ermengarde. “You would if you were my father.”</p> + +<p>“It’s not your fault that—” began Sara. She pulled +herself up and stopped rather suddenly. She had been +going to say, “It’s not your fault that you are stupid.”</p> + +<p>“That what?” Ermengarde asked.</p> + +<p>“That you can’t learn things quickly,” amended Sara. +“If you can’t, you can’t. If I can—why, I can; that’s +all.”</p> + +<p>She always felt very tender of Ermengarde, and tried +not to let her feel too strongly the difference between being +able to learn anything at once, and not being able to +learn anything at all. As she looked at her plump face, +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 great deal to other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> +people. If Miss Minchin knew everything on earth and +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 have been wicked. Look at Robespierre—”</p> + +<p>She stopped and examined Ermengarde’s countenance, +which was beginning to look bewildered. “Don’t you remember?” +she demanded. “I told you about him not long +ago. I believe you’ve forgotten.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t remember <em>all</em> of it,” admitted Ermengarde.</p> + +<p>“Well, you wait a minute,” said Sara, “and I’ll take off +my wet things and wrap myself in the coverlet and tell you +over again.”</p> + +<p>She took off her hat and coat and hung them on a nail +against the wall, and she changed her wet shoes for an old +pair of slippers. Then she jumped on the bed, and drawing +the coverlet about her shoulders, sat with her arms +round her knees.</p> + +<p>“Now, listen,” she said.</p> + +<p>She plunged into the gory records of the French Revolution, +and told such stories of it that Ermengarde’s eyes +grew round with alarm and she held her breath. But +though she was rather terrified, there was a delightful thrill +in listening, and she was not likely to forget Robespierre +again, or to have any doubts about the Princesse de Lamballe.</p> + +<p>“You know they put her head on a pike and danced +round it,” Sara explained. “And she had beautiful floating +blonde hair; and when I think of her, I never see her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> +head on her body, but always on a pike, with those furious +people dancing and howling.”</p> + +<p>It was agreed that Mr. St. John was to be told the plan +they had made, and for the present the books were to be +left in the attic.</p> + +<p>“Now let’s tell each other things,” said Sara. “How +are you getting on with your French lessons?”</p> + +<p>“Ever so much better since the last time I came up here +and you explained the conjugations. Miss Minchin could +not understand why I did my exercises so well that first +morning.”</p> + +<p>Sara laughed a little and hugged her knees.</p> + +<p>“She doesn’t understand why Lottie is doing her sums +so well,” she said; “but it is because she creeps up here, too, +and I help her.” She glanced round the room. “The attic +would be rather nice—if it wasn’t so dreadful,” she said, +laughing again. “It’s a good place to pretend in.”</p> + +<p>The truth was that Ermengarde did not know anything +of the sometimes almost unbearable side of life in the attic, +and she had not a sufficiently vivid imagination to depict it +for herself. On the rare occasions that she could reach +Sara’s room she only saw that side of it which was made +exciting by things which were “pretended” and stories +which were told. Her visits partook of the character of +adventures; and though sometimes Sara looked rather pale, +and it was not to be denied that she had grown very thin, +her proud little spirit would not admit of complaints. She +had never confessed that at times she was almost ravenous +with hunger, as she was to-night. She was growing rapidly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> +and her constant walking and running about would +have given her a keen appetite even if she had had abundant +and regular meals of a much more nourishing nature +than the unappetizing, inferior food snatched at such odd +times as suited the kitchen convenience. She was growing +used to a certain gnawing feeling in her young stomach.</p> + +<p>“I suppose soldiers feel like this when they are on a long +and weary march,” she often said to herself. She liked the +sound of the phrase, “long and weary march.” It made her +feel rather like a soldier. She had also a quaint sense of +being a hostess in the attic.</p> + +<p>“If I lived in a castle,” she argued, “and Ermengarde +was the lady of another castle, and came to see me, with +knights and squires and vassals riding with her, and pennons +flying; when I heard the clarions sounding outside the +drawbridge I should go down to receive her, and I should +spread feasts in the banquet-hall and call in minstrels +to sing and play and relate romances. When she comes +into the attic I can’t spread feasts, but I can tell stories, +and not let her know disagreeable things. I dare say +poor chatelaines had to do that in times of famine, when +their lands had been pillaged.” She was a proud, +brave little chatelaine, and dispensed generously the one +hospitality she could offer—the dreams she dreamed—the +visions she saw—the imaginings which were her joy and +comfort.</p> + +<p>So, as they sat together, Ermengarde did not know that +she was faint as well as ravenous, and that while she talked +she now and then wondered if her hunger would let her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> +sleep when she was left alone. She felt as if she had never +been quite so hungry before.</p> + +<p>“I wish I was as thin as you, Sara,” Ermengarde said +suddenly. “I believe you are thinner than you used to be. +Your eyes look so big, and look at the sharp little bones +sticking out of your elbow!”</p> + +<p>Sara pulled down her sleeve, which had pushed itself up.</p> + +<p>“I always was a thin child,” she said bravely, “and I always +had big green eyes.”</p> + +<p>“I love your queer eyes,” said Ermengarde, looking +into them with affectionate admiration. “They always +look as if they saw such a long way. I love them—and +I love them to be green—though they look black generally.”</p> + +<p>“They are cat’s eyes,” laughed Sara; “but I can’t see in +the dark with them—because I have tried, and I couldn’t—I +wish I could.”</p> + +<p>It was just at this minute that something happened at +the skylight which neither of them saw. If either of them +had chanced to turn and look, she would have been startled +by the sight of a dark face which peered cautiously into +the room and disappeared as quickly and almost as silently +as it had appeared. Not <em>quite</em> as silently, however. Sara, +who had keen ears, suddenly turned a little and looked up at +the roof.</p> + +<p>“That didn’t sound like Melchisedec,” she said. “It +wasn’t scratchy enough.”</p> + +<p>“What?” said Ermengarde, a little startled.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you think you heard something?” asked Sara.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p> + +<p>“N-no,” Ermengarde faltered. “Did you?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I didn’t,” said Sara; “but I thought I did. +It sounded as if something was on the slates—something +that dragged softly.”</p> + +<p>“What could it be?” said Ermengarde. “Could it be—robbers?”</p> + +<p>“No,” Sara began cheerfully. “There is nothing to +steal—”</p> + +<p>She broke off in the middle of her words. They both +heard the sound that checked her. It was not on the +slates, but on the stairs below, and it was Miss Minchin’s +angry voice. Sara sprang off the bed, and put out the +candle.</p> + +<p>“She is scolding Becky,” she whispered, as she stood in +the darkness. “She is making her cry.”</p> + +<p>“Will she come in here?” Ermengarde whispered back, +panic-stricken.</p> + +<p>“No. She will think I am in bed. Don’t stir.”</p> + +<p>It was very seldom that Miss Minchin mounted the last +flight of stairs. Sara could only remember that she had +done it once before. But now she was angry enough to be +coming at least part of the way up, and it sounded as if +she was driving Becky before her.</p> + +<p>“You impudent, dishonest child!” they heard her say. +“Cook tells me she has missed things repeatedly.”</p> + +<p>“’T warn’t me, mum,” said Becky, sobbing. “I was +’ungry enough, but ’t warn’t me—never!”</p> + +<p>“You deserve to be sent to prison,” said Miss Minchin’s +voice. “Picking and stealing! Half a meat-pie, indeed!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p> + +<p>“’T warn’t me,” wept Becky. “I could ’ave eat a whole +un—but I never laid a finger on it.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin was out of breath between temper and +mounting the stairs. The meat-pie had been intended for +her special late supper. It became apparent that she boxed +Becky’s ears.</p> + +<p>“Don’t tell falsehoods,” she said. “Go to your room +this instant.”</p> + +<p>Both Sara and Ermengarde heard the slap, and then +heard Becky run in her slip-shod shoes up the stairs and +into her attic. They heard her door shut, and knew that +she threw herself upon her bed.</p> + +<p>“I could ’ave e’t two of ’em,” they heard her cry into +her pillow. “An’ I never took a bite. ’Twas cook give +it to her policeman.”</p> + +<p>Sara stood in the middle of the room in the darkness. +She was clenching her little teeth and opening and shutting +fiercely her outstretched hands. She could scarcely stand +still, but she dared not move until Miss Minchin had gone +down the stairs and all was still.</p> + +<p>“The wicked, cruel thing!” she burst forth. “The cook +takes things herself and then says Becky steals them. She +<em>doesn’t!</em> She <em>doesn’t!</em> She’s so hungry sometimes that +she eats crusts out of the ash-barrel!” She pressed her +hands hard against her face and burst into passionate little +sobs, and Ermengarde, hearing this unusual thing, was +overawed by it. Sara was crying! The unconquerable +Sara! It seemed to denote something new—some mood she +had never known. Suppose—! Suppose—! A new dread<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> +possibility presented itself to her kind, slow, little mind all +at once. She crept off the bed in the dark and found her +way to the table where the candle stood. She struck a +match and lit the candle. When she had lighted it, she +bent forward and looked at Sara, with her new thought +growing to definite fear in her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Sara,” she said in a timid, almost awe-stricken voice, +“are—are—you never told me—I don’t want to be rude, +but—are <em>you</em> ever hungry?”</p> + +<p>It was too much just at that moment. The barrier broke +down. Sara lifted her face from her hands.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she said in a new passionate way. “Yes, I am. +I’m so hungry now that I could almost eat <em>you</em>. And it +makes it worse to hear poor Becky. She’s hungrier than I +am.”</p> + +<p>Ermengarde gasped.</p> + +<p>“Oh! Oh!” she cried wofully; “and I never knew!”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t want you to know,” Sara said. “It would +have made me feel like a street beggar. I know I look like +a street beggar.”</p> + +<p>“No, you don’t—you don’t!” Ermengarde broke in. +“Your clothes are a little queer,—but you <em>couldn’t</em> look +like a street beggar. You haven’t a street-beggar face.”</p> + +<p>“A little boy once gave me a sixpence for charity,” said +Sara, with a short little laugh in spite of herself. “Here +it is.” And she pulled out the thin ribbon from her neck. +“He wouldn’t have given me his Christmas sixpence if I +hadn’t looked as if I needed it.”</p> + +<p>Somehow the sight of the dear little sixpence was good<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> +for both of them. It made them laugh a little, though they +both had tears in their eyes.</p> + +<p>“Who was he?” asked Ermengarde, looking at it quite +as if it had not been a mere ordinary silver sixpence.</p> + +<p>“He was a darling little thing going to a party,” said +Sara. “He was one of the Large Family, the little one +with the round legs—the one I call Guy Clarence. I suppose +his nursery was crammed with Christmas presents and +hampers full of cakes and things, and he could see I had +had nothing.”</p> + +<p>Ermengarde gave a little jump backward. The last +sentences had recalled something to her troubled mind and +given her a sudden inspiration.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sara!” she cried. “What a silly thing I am not +to have thought of it!”</p> + +<p>“Of what?”</p> + +<p>“Something splendid!” said Ermengarde, in an excited +hurry. “This very afternoon my nicest aunt sent me a +box. It is full of good things. I never touched it, I had +so much pudding at dinner, and I was so bothered about +papa’s books.” Her words began to tumble over each +other. “It’s got cake in it, and little meat-pies, and jam-tarts +and buns, and oranges and red-currant wine, and +figs and chocolate. I’ll creep back to my room and get it +this minute, and we’ll eat it now.”</p> + +<p>Sara almost reeled. When one is faint with hunger the +mention of food has sometimes a curious effect. She +clutched Ermengarde’s arm.</p> + +<p>“Do you think—you <em>could?”</em> she ejaculated.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I know I could,” answered Ermengarde, and she ran +to the door—opened it softly—put her head out into the +darkness, and listened. Then she went back to Sara. +“The lights are out. Everybody’s in bed. I can creep—and +creep—and no one will hear.”</p> + +<p>It was so delightful that they caught each other’s hands +and a sudden light sprang into Sara’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“Ermie!” she said. “Let us <em>pretend!</em> Let us pretend +it’s a party! And oh, won’t you invite the prisoner in +the next cell?”</p> + +<p>“Yes! Yes! Let us knock on the wall now. The jailer +won’t hear.”</p> + +<p>Sara went to the wall. Through it she could hear poor +Becky crying more softly. She knocked four times.</p> + +<p>“That means, ‘Come to me through the secret passage +under the wall,’ she explained. ‘I have something to communicate.’”</p> + +<p>Five quick knocks answered her.</p> + +<p>“She is coming,” she said.</p> + +<p>Almost immediately the door of the attic opened and +Becky appeared. Her eyes were red and her cap was sliding +off, and when she caught sight of Ermengarde she +began to rub her face nervously with her apron.</p> + +<p>“Don’t mind me a bit, Becky!” cried Ermengarde.</p> + +<p>“Miss Ermengarde has asked you to come in,” said +Sara, “because she is going to bring a box of good things +up here to us.”</p> + +<p>Becky’s cap almost fell off entirely, she broke in with +such excitement.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p> + +<p>“To eat, miss?” she said. “Things that’s good to +eat?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered Sara, “and we are going to pretend a +party.”</p> + +<p>“And you shall have as much as you <em>want</em> to eat,” put +in Ermengarde. “I’ll go this minute!”</p> + +<p>She was in such haste that as she tiptoed out of the attic +she dropped her red shawl and did not know it had fallen. +No one saw it for a minute or so. Becky was too much +overpowered by the good luck which had befallen her.</p> + +<p>“Oh, miss! oh, miss!” she gasped; “I know it was you +that asked her to let me come. It—it makes me cry to +think of it.” And she went to Sara’s side and stood and +looked at her worshippingly.</p> + +<p>But in Sara’s hungry eyes the old light had begun to +glow and transform her world for her. Here in the attic—with +the cold night outside—with the afternoon in the +sloppy streets barely passed—with the memory of the +awful unfed look in the beggar child’s eyes not yet faded—this +simple, cheerful thing had happened like a thing of +magic.</p> + +<p>She caught her breath.</p> + +<p>“Somehow, something always happens,” she cried, “just +before things get to the very worst. It is as if the Magic +did it. If I could only just remember that always. The +worst thing never <em>quite</em> comes.”</p> + +<p>She gave Becky a little cheerful shake.</p> + +<p>“No, no! You mustn’t cry!” she said. “We must +make haste and set the table.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Set the table, miss?” said Becky, gazing round the +room. “What’ll we set it with?”</p> + +<p>Sara looked round the attic, too.</p> + +<p>“There doesn’t seem to be much,” she answered, half +laughing.</p> + +<p>That moment she saw something and pounced upon it. +It was Ermengarde’s red shawl which lay upon the floor.</p> + +<p>“Here’s the shawl,” she cried. “I know she won’t mind +it. It will make such a nice red table-cloth.”</p> + +<p>They pulled the old table forward, and threw the shawl +over it. Red is a wonderfully kind and comfortable color. +It began to make the room look furnished directly.</p> + +<p>“How nice a red rug would look on the floor!” exclaimed +Sara. “We must pretend there is one!”</p> + +<p>Her eye swept the bare boards with a swift glance of +admiration. The rug was laid down already.</p> + +<p>“How soft and thick it is!” she said, with the little laugh +which Becky knew the meaning of; and she raised and +set her foot down again delicately, as if she felt something +under it.</p> + +<p>“Yes, miss,” answered Becky, watching her with serious +rapture. She was always quite serious.</p> + +<p>“What next, now?” said Sara, and she stood still and put +her hands over her eyes. “Something will come if I think +and wait a little”—in a soft, expectant voice. “The Magic +will tell me.”</p> + +<p>One of her favorite fancies was that on “the outside,” +as she called it, thoughts were waiting for people to call +them. Becky had seen her stand and wait many a time<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span> +before, and knew that in a few seconds she would uncover +an enlightened, laughing face.</p> + +<p>In a moment she did.</p> + +<p>“There!” she cried. “It has come! I know now! I +must look among the things in the old trunk I had when +I was a princess.”</p> + +<p>She flew to its corner and kneeled down. It had not been +put in the attic for her benefit, but because there was no +room for it elsewhere. Nothing had been left in it but rubbish. +But she knew she should find something. The Magic +always arranged that kind of thing in one way or another.</p> + +<p>In a corner lay a package so insignificant-looking that +it had been overlooked, and when she herself had found it +she had kept it as a relic. It contained a dozen small white +handkerchiefs. She seized them joyfully and ran to the +table. She began to arrange them upon the red table-cover, +patting and coaxing them into shape with the narrow +lace edge curling outward, her Magic working its spells for +her as she did it.</p> + +<p>“These are the plates,” she said. “They are golden +plates. These are the richly embroidered napkins. Nuns +worked them in convents in Spain.”</p> + +<p>“Did they, miss?” breathed Becky, her very soul uplifted +by the information.</p> + +<p>“You must pretend it,” said Sara. “If you pretend it +enough, you will see them.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, miss,” said Becky; and as Sara returned to the +trunk she devoted herself to the effort of accomplishing an +end so much to be desired.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span></p> + +<p>Sara turned suddenly to find her standing by the table, +looking very queer indeed. She had shut her eyes, and was +twisting her face in strange, convulsive contortions, her +hands hanging stiffly clenched at her sides. She looked as +if she was trying to lift some enormous weight.</p> + +<p>“What is the matter, Becky?” Sara cried. “What are +you doing?”</p> + +<p>Becky opened her eyes with a start.</p> + +<p>“I was a-‘pretendin’,’ miss,” she answered a little +sheepishly; “I was tryin’ to see it like you do. I almost +did,” with a hopeful grin. “But it takes a lot o’ +stren’th.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it does if you are not used to it,” said Sara, +with friendly sympathy; “but you don’t know how easy +it is when you’ve done it often. I wouldn’t try so hard +just at first. It will come to you after a while. I’ll just +tell you what things are. Look at these.”</p> + +<p>She held an old summer hat in her hand which she had +fished out of the bottom of the trunk. There was a wreath +of flowers on it. She pulled the wreath off.</p> + +<p>“These are garlands for the feast,” she said grandly. +“They fill all the air with perfume. There’s a mug on the +wash-stand, Becky. Oh—and bring the soap-dish for a +centrepiece.”</p> + +<p>Becky handed them to her reverently.</p> + +<p>“What are they now, miss?” she inquired. “You’d +think they was made of crockery,—but I know they +ain’t.”</p> + +<p>“This is a carven flagon,” said Sara, arranging tendrils<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span> +of the wreath about the mug. “And this”—bending tenderly +over the soap-dish and heaping it with roses—“is +purest alabaster encrusted with gems.”</p> + +<p>She touched the things gently, a happy smile hovering +about her lips which made her look as if she were a creature +in a dream.</p> + +<p>“My, ain’t it lovely!” whispered Becky.</p> + +<p>“If we just had something for bonbon-dishes,” Sara +murmured. “There!”—darting to the trunk again. “I +remember I saw something this minute.”</p> + +<p>It was only a bundle of wool wrapped in red and white +tissue-paper, but the tissue-paper was soon twisted into the +form of little dishes, and was combined with the remaining +flowers to ornament the candlestick which was to light the +feast. Only the Magic could have made it more than an +old table covered with a red shawl and set with rubbish from +a long-unopened trunk. But Sara drew back and gazed +at it, seeing wonders; and Becky, after staring in delight, +spoke with bated breath.</p> + +<p>“This ’ere,” she suggested, with a glance round the attic—“is +it the Bastille now—or has it turned into somethin’ +different?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, yes!” said Sara; “quite different. It is a +banquet-hall!”</p> + +<p>“My eye, miss!” ejaculated Becky. “A blanket-’all!” +and she turned to view the splendors about her with awed +bewilderment.</p> + +<p>“A banquet-hall,” said Sara. “A vast chamber where +feasts are given. It has a vaulted roof, and a minstrels’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> +gallery, and a huge chimney filled with blazing oaken +logs, and it is brilliant with waxen tapers twinkling on +every side.”</p> + +<p>“My eye, Miss Sara!” gasped Becky again.</p> + +<p>Then the door opened, and Ermengarde came in, rather +staggering under the weight of her hamper. She started +back with an exclamation of joy. To enter from the chill +darkness outside, and find one’s self confronted by a totally +unanticipated festal board, draped with red, adorned +with white napery, and wreathed with flowers, was to feel +that the preparations were brilliant indeed.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Sara!” she cried out. “You are the cleverest girl +I ever saw!”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it nice?” said Sara. “They are things out of +my old trunk. I asked my Magic, and it told me to go and +look.”</p> + +<p>“But oh, miss,” cried Becky, “wait till she’s told you +what they are! They ain’t just—oh, miss, please tell her,” +appealing to Sara.</p> + +<p>So Sara told her, and because her Magic helped her she +made her <em>almost</em> see it all: the golden platters—the vaulted +spaces—the blazing logs—the twinkling waxen tapers. As +the things were taken out of the hamper—the frosted cakes—the +fruits—the bonbons and the wine—the feast became +a splendid thing.</p> + +<p>“It’s like a real party!” cried Ermengarde.</p> + +<p>“It’s like a queen’s table,” sighed Becky.</p> + +<p>Then Ermengarde had a sudden brilliant thought.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you what, Sara,” she said. “Pretend you are +a princess now and this is a royal feast.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> + +<p>“But it’s your feast,” said Sara; “you must be the +princess, and we will be your maids of honor.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I can’t,” said Ermengarde. “I’m too fat, and I +don’t know how. <em>You</em> be her.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if you want me to,” said Sara.</p> + +<p>But suddenly she thought of something else and ran to +the rusty grate.</p> + +<p>“There is a lot of paper and rubbish stuffed in here!” +she exclaimed. “If we light it, there will be a bright blaze +for a few minutes, and we shall feel as if it was a real fire.” +She struck a match and lighted it up with a great specious +glow which illuminated the room.</p> + +<p>“By the time it stops blazing,” Sara said, “we shall forget +about its not being real.”</p> + +<p>She stood in the dancing glow and smiled.</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t it <em>look</em> real?” she said. “Now we will begin +the party.”</p> + +<p>She led the way to the table. She waved her hand graciously +to Ermengarde and Becky. She was in the midst +of her dream.</p> + +<p>“Advance, fair damsels,” she said in her happy dream-voice, +“and be seated at the banquet-table. My noble father, +the king, who is absent on a long journey, has commanded +me to feast you.” She turned her head slightly +toward the corner of the room. “What, ho! there, minstrels! +Strike up with your viols and bassoons. Princesses,” +she explained rapidly to Ermengarde and Becky, +“always had minstrels to play at their feasts. Pretend +there is a minstrel gallery up there in the corner. Now we +will begin.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> + +<p>They had barely had time to take their pieces of cake +into their hands—not one of them had time to do more, +when—they all three sprang to their feet and turned pale +faces toward the door—listening—listening.</p> + +<p>Some one was coming up the stairs. There was no +mistake about it. Each of them recognized the angry, +mounting tread and knew that the end of all things had +come.</p> + +<p>“It’s—the missus!” choked Becky, and dropped her +piece of cake upon the floor.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Sara, her eyes growing shocked and large +in her small white face. “Miss Minchin has found us +out.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin struck the door open with a blow of her +hand. She was pale herself, but it was with rage. She +looked from the frightened faces to the banquet-table, and +from the banquet-table to the last flicker of the burnt paper +in the grate.</p> + +<p>“I have been suspecting something of this sort,” she +exclaimed; “but I did not dream of such audacity. Lavinia +was telling the truth.”</p> + +<p>So they knew that it was Lavinia who had somehow +guessed their secret and had betrayed them. Miss Minchin +strode over to Becky and boxed her ears for a second +time.</p> + +<p>“You impudent creature!” she said. “You leave the +house in the morning!”</p> + +<p>Sara stood quite still, her eyes growing larger, her face +paler. Ermengarde burst into tears.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t send her away,” she sobbed. “My aunt sent +me the hamper. We’re—only—having a party.”</p> + +<p>“So I see,” said Miss Minchin, witheringly. “With the +Princess Sara at the head of the table.” She turned +fiercely on Sara. “It is your doing, I know,” she cried. +“Ermengarde would never have thought of such a thing. +You decorated the table, I suppose—with this rubbish.” +She stamped her foot at Becky. “Go to your attic!” she +commanded, and Becky stole away, her face hidden in her +apron, her shoulders shaking.</p> + +<p>Then it was Sara’s turn again.</p> + +<p>“I will attend to you to-morrow. You shall have neither +breakfast, dinner, nor supper!”</p> + +<p>“I have not had either dinner or supper to-day, Miss +Minchin,” said Sara, rather faintly.</p> + +<p>“Then all the better. You will have something to remember. +Don’t stand there. Put those things into the +hamper again.”</p> + +<p>She began to sweep them off the table into the hamper +herself, and caught sight of Ermengarde’s new books.</p> + +<p>“And you”—to Ermengarde—“have brought your +beautiful new books into this dirty attic. Take them up +and go back to bed. You will stay there all day to-morrow, +and I shall write to your papa. What would <em>he</em> say if he +knew where you are to-night?”</p> + +<p>Something she saw in Sara’s grave, fixed gaze at this +moment made her turn on her fiercely.</p> + +<p>“What are you thinking of?” she demanded. “Why +do you look at me like that?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I was wondering,” answered Sara, as she had answered +that notable day in the school-room.</p> + +<p>“What were you wondering?”</p> + +<p>It was very like the scene in the school-room. There was +no pertness in Sara’s manner. It was only sad and quiet.</p> + +<p>“I was wondering,” she said in a low voice, “what <em>my</em> +papa would say if he knew where I am to-night.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin was infuriated just as she had been before, +and her anger expressed itself, as before, in an intemperate +fashion. She flew at her and shook her.</p> + +<p>“You insolent, unmanageable child!” she cried. “How +dare you! How dare you!”</p> + +<p>She picked up the books, swept the rest of the feast back +into the hamper in a jumbled heap, thrust it into Ermengarde’s +arms, and pushed her before her toward the door.</p> + +<p>“I will leave you to wonder,” she said. “Go to bed this +instant.” And she shut the door behind herself and poor +stumbling Ermengarde, and left Sara standing quite alone.</p> + +<p>The dream was quite at an end. The last spark had died +out of the paper in the grate and left only black tinder; the +table was left bare, the golden plates and richly embroidered +napkins, and the garlands were transformed again +into old handkerchiefs, scraps of red and white paper, and +discarded artificial flowers all scattered on the floor; the +minstrels in the minstrel gallery had stolen away, and the +viols and bassoons were still. Emily was sitting with her +back against the wall, staring very hard. Sara saw her, +and went and picked her up with trembling hands.</p> + +<p>“There isn’t any banquet left, Emily,” she said. “And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> +there isn’t any princess. There is nothing left but the +prisoners in the Bastille.” And she sat down and hid her +face.</p> + +<p>What would have happened if she had not hidden it just +then, and if she had chanced to look up at the skylight at +the wrong moment, I do not know—perhaps the end of this +chapter might have been quite different—because if she +had glanced at the skylight she would certainly have been +startled by what she would have seen. She would have seen +exactly the same face pressed against the glass and peering +in at her as it had peered in earlier in the evening when she +had been talking to Ermengarde.</p> + +<p>But she did not look up. She sat with her little black +head in her arms for some time. She always sat like that +when she was trying to bear something in silence. Then +she got up and went slowly to the bed.</p> + +<p>“I can’t pretend anything else—while I am awake,” she +said. “There wouldn’t be any use in trying. If I go to +sleep, perhaps a dream will come and pretend for me.”</p> + +<p>She suddenly felt so tired—perhaps through want of +food—that she sat down on the edge of the bed quite +weakly.</p> + +<p>“Suppose there was a bright fire in the grate, with lots +of little dancing flames,” she murmured. “Suppose there +was a comfortable chair before it—and suppose there was +a small table near, with a little hot—hot supper on it. And +suppose”—as she drew the thin coverings over her—“suppose +this was a beautiful soft bed, with fleecy blankets and +large downy pillows. Suppose—suppose—” And her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> +very weariness was good to her, for her eyes closed and she +fell fast asleep.</p> + +<p class="dot">. . . . . .</p> + +<p>She did not know how long she slept. But she had been +tired enough to sleep deeply and profoundly—too deeply +and soundly to be disturbed by anything, even by the +squeaks and scamperings of Melchisedec’s entire family, if +all his sons and daughters had chosen to come out of their +hole to fight and tumble and play.</p> + +<p>When she awakened it was rather suddenly, and she did +not know that any particular thing had called her out +of her sleep. The truth was, however, that it was a +sound which had called her back—a real sound—the +click of the skylight as it fell in closing after a lithe white +figure which slipped through it and crouched down close +by upon the slates of the roof—just near enough to +see what happened in the attic, but not near enough to be +seen.</p> + +<p>At first she did not open her eyes. She felt too sleepy +and—curiously enough—too warm and comfortable. She +was so warm and comfortable, indeed, that she did not believe +she was really awake. She never was as warm and +cosey as this except in some lovely vision.</p> + +<p>“What a nice dream!” she murmured. “I feel quite +warm. I—don’t—want—to—wake—up.”</p> + +<p>Of course it was a dream. She felt as if warm, delightful +bedclothes were heaped upon her. She could actually +<em>feel</em> blankets, and when she put out her hand it touched +something exactly like a satin-covered eider-down quilt.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span> +She must not awaken from this delight—she must be quite +still and make it last.</p> + +<p>But she could not—even though she kept her eyes closed +tightly, she could not. Something was forcing her to +awaken—something in the room. It was a sense of light, +and a sound—the sound of a crackling, roaring little fire.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am awakening,” she said mournfully. “I can’t +help it—I can’t.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes opened in spite of herself. And then she actually +smiled—for what she saw she had never seen in the +attic before, and knew she never should see.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I <em>haven’t</em> awakened,” she whispered, daring to rise +on her elbow and look all about her. “I am dreaming yet.” +She knew it <em>must</em> be a dream, for if she were awake such +things could not—could not be.</p> + +<p>Do you wonder that she felt sure she had not come back +to earth? This is what she saw. In the grate there was +a glowing, blazing fire; on the hob was a little brass kettle +hissing and boiling; spread upon the floor was a thick, +warm crimson rug; before the fire a folding-chair, unfolded, +and with cushions on it; by the chair a small folding-table, +unfolded, covered with a white cloth, and upon it +spread small covered dishes, a cup, a saucer, a tea-pot; on +the bed were new warm coverings and a satin-covered down +quilt; at the foot a curious wadded silk robe, a pair of +quilted slippers, and some books. The room of her dream +seemed changed into fairyland—and it was flooded with +warm light, for a bright lamp stood on the table covered +with a rosy shade.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> + +<p>She sat up, resting on her elbow, and her breathing came +short and fast.</p> + +<p>“It does not—melt away,” she panted. “Oh, I never +had such a dream before.” She scarcely dared to stir; but +at last she pushed the bedclothes aside, and put her feet on +the floor with a rapturous smile.</p> + +<p>“I am dreaming—I am getting out of bed,” she heard +her own voice say; and then, as she stood up in the midst +of it all, turning slowly from side to side,—“I am dreaming +it stays—real! I’m dreaming it <em>feels</em> real. It’s bewitched—or +I’m bewitched. I only <em>think</em> I see it all.” +Her words began to hurry themselves. “If I can only +keep on thinking it,” she cried, “I don’t care! I don’t +care!”</p> + +<p>She stood panting a moment longer, and then cried out +again.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it isn’t true!” she said. “It <em>can’t</em> be true! But +oh, how true it seems!”</p> + +<p>The blazing fire drew her to it, and she knelt down and +held out her hands close to it—so close that the heat made +her start back.</p> + +<p>“A fire I only dreamed wouldn’t be <em>hot</em>,” she cried.</p> + +<p>She sprang up, touched the table, the dishes, the rug; she +went to the bed and touched the blankets. She took up +the soft wadded dressing-gown, and suddenly clutched it to +her breast and held it to her cheek.</p> + +<p>“It’s warm. It’s soft!” she almost sobbed. “It’s real. +It must be!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> + +<p>She threw it over her shoulders, and put her feet into the +slippers.</p> + +<p>“They are real, too. It’s all real!” she cried. <a href="#frontispiece">“I am +<em>not</em>—I am <em>not</em> dreaming!”</a></p> + +<p>She almost staggered to the books and opened the one +which lay upon the top. Something was written on the +fly-leaf—just a few words, and they were these:</p> + +<p>“To the little girl in the attic. From a friend.”</p> + +<p>When she saw that—wasn’t it a strange thing for her to +do?—she put her face down upon the page and burst into +tears.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know who it is,” she said; “but somebody cares +for me a little. I have a friend.”</p> + +<p>She took her candle and stole out of her own room and +into Becky’s, and stood by her bedside.</p> + +<p>“Becky, Becky!” she whispered as loudly as she dared. +“Wake up!”</p> + +<p>When Becky wakened, and she sat upright staring +aghast, her face still smudged with traces of tears, beside +her stood a little figure in a luxurious wadded robe of crimson +silk. The face she saw was a shining, wonderful thing. +The Princess Sara—as she remembered her—stood at her +very bedside, holding a candle in her hand.</p> + +<p>“Come,” she said. “Oh, Becky, come!”</p> + +<p>Becky was too frightened to speak. She simply got up +and followed her, with her mouth and eyes open, and without +a word.</p> + +<p>And when they crossed the threshold, Sara shut the door<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> +gently and drew her into the warm, glowing midst of +things which made her brain reel and her hungry senses +faint.</p> + +<p>“It’s true! It’s true!” she cried. “I’ve touched them +all. They are as real as we are. The Magic has come and +done it, Becky, while we were asleep—the Magic that won’t +let those worst things <em>ever</em> quite happen.”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XVI<br /> + +<small>THE VISITOR</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">Imagine</span>, if you can, what the rest of the evening was +like. How they crouched by the fire which blazed and +leaped and made so much of itself in the little grate. +How they removed the covers of the dishes, and found rich, +hot, savory soup, which was a meal in itself, and sandwiches +and toast and muffins enough for both of them. The mug +from the washstand was used as Becky’s tea-cup, and the +tea was so delicious that it was not necessary to pretend that +it was anything else but tea. They were warm and full-fed +and happy, and it was just like Sara that, having found +her strange good fortune real, she should give herself up to +the enjoyment of it to the utmost. She had lived such a +life of imaginings that she was quite equal to accepting any +wonderful thing that happened, and almost to cease, in +a short time, to find it bewildering.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know any one in the world who could have +done it,” she said; “but there has been some one. And +here we are sitting by their fire—and—and—it’s <em>true!</em> +And whoever it is—wherever they are—I have a friend, +Becky—some one is my friend.”</p> + +<p>It cannot be denied that as they sat before the blazing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> +fire, and ate the nourishing, comfortable food, they felt a +kind of rapturous awe, and looked into each other’s eyes +with something like doubt.</p> + +<p>“Do you think,” Becky faltered once, in a whisper—“do +you think it could melt away, miss? Hadn’t we better +be quick?” And she hastily crammed her sandwich into +her mouth. If it was only a dream, kitchen manners would +be overlooked.</p> + +<p>“No, it won’t melt away,” said Sara. “I am <em>eating</em> +this muffin, and I can taste it. You never really eat things +in dreams. You only think you are going to eat them. Besides, +I keep giving myself pinches; and I touched a hot +piece of coal just now, on purpose.”</p> + +<p>The sleepy comfort which at length almost overpowered +them was a heavenly thing. It was the drowsiness of +happy, well-fed childhood, and they sat in the fire-glow and +luxuriated in it until Sara found herself turning to look +at her transformed bed.</p> + +<p>There were even blankets enough to share with Becky. +The narrow couch in the next attic was more comfortable +that night than its occupant had ever dreamed that it +could be.</p> + +<p>As she went out of the room, Becky turned upon the +threshold and looked about her with devouring eyes.</p> + +<p>“If it ain’t here in the mornin’, miss,” she said, “it’s +been here to-night, anyways, an’ I sha’n’t never forget it.” +She looked at each particular thing, as if to commit it to +memory. “The fire was <em>there</em>,” pointing with her finger, +“an’ the table was before it; an’ the lamp was there, an’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> +the light looked rosy red; an’ there was a satin cover on +your bed, an’ a warm rug on the floor, an’ everythin’ +looked beautiful; an’”—she paused a second, and laid her +hand on her stomach tenderly—“there <em>was</em> soup an’ sandwiches +an’ muffins—there <em>was</em>.” And, with this conviction +a reality at least, she went away.</p> + +<p>Through the mysterious agency which works in schools +and among servants, it was quite well known in the morning +that Sara Crewe was in horrible disgrace, that Ermengarde +was under punishment, and that Becky would have +been packed out of the house before breakfast, but that a +scullery-maid could not be dispensed with at once. The +servants knew that she was allowed to stay because Miss +Minchin could not easily find another creature helpless and +humble enough to work like a bounden slave for so few shillings +a week. The elder girls in the school-room knew +that if Miss Minchin did not send Sara away it was for +practical reasons of her own.</p> + +<p>“She’s growing so fast and learning such a lot, somehow,” +said Jessie to Lavinia, “that she will be given classes +soon, and Miss Minchin knows she will have to work for +nothing. It was rather nasty of you, Lavvy, to tell about +her having fun in the garret. How did you find it out?”</p> + +<p>“I got it out of Lottie. She’s such a baby she didn’t +know she was telling me. There was nothing nasty at all +in speaking to Miss Minchin. I felt it my duty”—priggishly. +“She was being deceitful. And it’s ridiculous +that she should look so grand, and be made so much of, in +her rags and tatters!”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span></p> + +<p>“What were they doing when Miss Minchin caught +them?”</p> + +<p>“Pretending some silly thing. Ermengarde had taken +up her hamper to share with Sara and Becky. She never +invites us to share things. Not that I care, but it’s rather +vulgar of her to share with servant-girls in attics. I wonder +Miss Minchin didn’t turn Sara out—even if she does +want her for a teacher.”</p> + +<p>“If she was turned out where would she go?” inquired +Jessie, a trifle anxiously.</p> + +<p>“How do I know?” snapped Lavinia. “She’ll look +rather queer when she comes into the school-room this morning, +I should think—after what’s happened. She had no +dinner yesterday, and she’s not to have any to-day.”</p> + +<p>Jessie was not as ill-natured as she was silly. She picked +up her book with a little jerk.</p> + +<p>“Well, I think it’s horrid,” she said. “They’ve no right +to starve her to death.”</p> + +<p>When Sara went into the kitchen that morning the cook +looked askance at her, and so did the housemaids; but she +passed them hurriedly. She had, in fact, overslept herself +a little, and as Becky had done the same, neither had had +time to see the other, and each had come down-stairs in +haste.</p> + +<p>Sara went into the scullery. Becky was violently scrubbing +a kettle, and was actually gurgling a little song in +her throat. She looked up with a wildly elated face.</p> + +<p>“It was there when I wakened, miss—the blanket,” she +whispered excitedly. “It was as real as it was last night.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> + +<p>“So was mine,” said Sara. “It is all there now—all +of it. While I was dressing I ate some of the cold things +we left.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, laws! oh, laws!” Becky uttered the exclamation +in a sort of rapturous groan, and ducked her head +over her kettle just in time, as the cook came in from the +kitchen.</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin had expected to see in Sara, when she +appeared in the school-room, very much what Lavinia had +expected to see. Sara had always been an annoying puzzle +to her, because severity never made her cry or look frightened. +When she was scolded she stood still and listened +politely with a grave face; when she was punished she performed +her extra tasks or went without her meals, making +no complaint or outward sign of rebellion. The very fact +that she never made an impudent answer seemed to Miss +Minchin a kind of impudence in itself. But after yesterday’s +deprivation of meals, the violent scene of last +night, the prospect of hunger to-day, she must surely have +broken down. It would be strange indeed if she did not +come down-stairs with pale cheeks and red eyes and an +unhappy, humbled face.</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin saw her for the first time when she entered +the school-room to hear the little French class its lessons +and superintend its exercises. And she came in with +a springing step, color in her cheeks, and a smile hovering +about the corners of her mouth. It was the most +astonishing thing Miss Minchin had ever known. It gave +her quite a shock. What was the child made of? What<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> +could such a thing mean? She called her at once to her +desk.</p> + +<p>“You do not look as if you realize that you are in disgrace,” +she said. “Are you absolutely hardened?”</p> + +<p>The truth is that when one is still a child—or even if one +is grown up—and has been well fed, and has slept long and +softly and warm; when one has gone to sleep in the midst +of a fairy story, and has wakened to find it real, one cannot +be unhappy or even look as if one were; and one could +not, if one tried, keep a glow of joy out of one’s eyes. +Miss Minchin was almost struck dumb by the look of Sara’s +eyes when she lifted them and made her perfectly respectful +answer.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, Miss Minchin,” she said; “I know +that I am in disgrace.”</p> + +<p>“Be good enough not to forget it and look as if you +had come into a fortune. It is an impertinence. And remember +you are to have no food to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss Minchin,” Sara answered; but as she turned +away her heart leaped with the memory of what yesterday +had been. “If the Magic had not saved me just in time,” +she thought, “how horrible it would have been!”</p> + +<p>“She can’t be very hungry,” whispered Lavinia. “Just +look at her. Perhaps she is pretending she has had a good +breakfast”—with a spiteful laugh.</p> + +<p>“She’s different from other people,” said Jessie, watching +Sara with her class. “Sometimes I’m a bit frightened +of her.”</p> + +<p>“Ridiculous thing!” ejaculated Lavinia.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p> + +<p>All through the day the light was in Sara’s face, and the +color in her cheek. The servants cast puzzled glances at her, +and whispered to each other, and Miss Amelia’s small blue +eyes wore an expression of bewilderment. What such an +audacious look of well-being, under august displeasure, +could mean she could not understand. It was, however, +just like Sara’s singular obstinate way. She was probably +determined to brave the matter out.</p> + +<p>One thing Sara had resolved upon, as she thought things +over. The wonders which had happened must be kept a +secret, if such a thing were possible. If Miss Minchin +should choose to mount to the attic again, of course all +would be discovered. But it did not seem likely that she +would do so for some time at least, unless she was led +by suspicion. Ermengarde and Lottie would be watched +with such strictness that they would not dare to steal out +of their beds again. Ermengarde could be told the story +and trusted to keep it secret. If Lottie made any discoveries, +she could be bound to secrecy also. Perhaps the +Magic itself would help to hide its own marvels.</p> + +<p>“But whatever happens,” Sara kept saying to herself +all day—“what<em>ever</em> happens, somewhere in the world there +is a heavenly kind person who is my friend—my friend. +If I never know who it is—if I never can even thank him—I +shall never feel quite so lonely. Oh, the Magic was +<em>good</em> to me!”</p> + +<p>If it was possible for weather to be worse than it had +been the day before, it was worse this day—wetter, muddier, +colder. There were more errands to be done, the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> +cook was more irritable, and, knowing that Sara was in +disgrace, she was more savage. But what does anything +matter when one’s Magic has just proved itself one’s +friend. Sara’s supper of the night before had given her +strength, she knew that she should sleep well and warmly, +and, even though she had naturally begun to be hungry +again before evening, she felt that she could bear it until +breakfast-time on the following day, when her meals would +surely be given to her again. It was quite late when she +was at last allowed to go up-stairs. She had been told +to go into the school-room and study until ten o’clock, and +she had become interested in her work, and remained over +her books later.</p> + +<p>When she reached the top flight of stairs and stood before +the attic door, it must be confessed that her heart beat +rather fast.</p> + +<p>“Of course it <em>might</em> all have been taken away,” she +whispered, trying to be brave. “It might only have been +lent to me for just that one awful night. But it <em>was</em> lent to +me—I had it. It was real.”</p> + +<p>She pushed the door open and went in. Once inside, she +gasped slightly, shut the door, and stood with her back +against it, looking from side to side.</p> + +<p>The Magic had been there again. It actually had, and it +had done even more than before. The fire was blazing, in +lovely leaping flames, more merrily than ever. A number +of new things had been brought into the attic which +so altered the look of it that if she had not been past doubting, +she would have rubbed her eyes. Upon the low table<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> +another supper stood—this time with cups and plates for +Becky as well as herself; a piece of bright, heavy, strange +embroidery 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 of rich +colors had been fastened against the wall with fine, sharp +tacks—so sharp that they could be pressed into the wood +and plaster without hammering. Some brilliant fans were +pinned up, and there were several large cushions, big and +substantial enough to use as seats. A 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 slowly moved away from the door and 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 or bags of gold—and they would +appear! <em>That</em> wouldn’t be any stranger than this. Is +this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp Sara? +And to think 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 <em>living</em> in a fairy story. I +feel as if I might be a fairy myself, and able to turn things +into anything else.”</p> + +<p>She rose and knocked upon the wall for the prisoner in +the next cell, and the prisoner came.</p> + +<p>When she entered she almost dropped in a heap upon +the floor. For a few seconds she quite lost her breath.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Oh, laws!” she gasped, “Oh, laws, miss!” just as +she had done in the scullery.</p> + +<p>“You see,” said Sara.</p> + +<p>On this night Becky sat on a cushion upon the hearth-rug +and had a cup and saucer of her own.</p> + +<p>When Sara went to bed she found that she had a new +thick mattress and big downy pillows. Her old mattress +and pillow had been removed to Becky’s bedstead, and, consequently, +with these additions Becky had been supplied +with unheard-of comfort.</p> + +<p>“Where does it all come from?” Becky broke forth once. +“Laws! who does it, miss?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t let us even <em>ask</em>” said Sara. “If it were not that +I want to say, ‘Oh, thank you,’ I would rather not know. +It makes it more beautiful.”</p> + +<p>From that time life became more wonderful day by day. +The fairy story continued. Almost every day something +new was done. Some new comfort or ornament appeared +each time Sara opened the door at night, until in a short +time the attic was a beautiful little room full of all sorts +of odd and luxurious things. The ugly walls were gradually +entirely covered with pictures and draperies, ingenious +pieces of folding furniture appeared, a book-shelf was +hung up and filled with books, new comforts and conveniences +appeared one by one, until there seemed nothing +left to be desired. When Sara went down-stairs in the +morning, the remains of the supper were on the table; and +when she returned to the attic in the evening, the magician +had removed them and left another nice little meal. Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> +Minchin was as harsh and insulting as ever, Miss Amelia +as peevish, and the servants were as vulgar and rude. Sara +was sent on errands in all weathers, and scolded and driven +hither and thither; she was scarcely allowed to speak to +Ermengarde and Lottie; Lavinia sneered at the increasing +shabbiness of her clothes; and the other girls stared curiously +at her when she appeared in the school-room. But +what did it all matter while she was living in this wonderful +mysterious story? It was more romantic and delightful +than anything she had ever invented to comfort her starved +young soul and save herself from despair. Sometimes, +when she was scolded, she could scarcely keep from smiling.</p> + +<p>“If you only knew!” she was saying to herself. “If +you only knew!”</p> + +<p>The comfort and happiness she enjoyed were making her +stronger, and she had them always to look forward to. If +she came home from her errands wet and tired and hungry, +she knew she would soon be warm and well fed after she +had climbed the stairs. During the hardest day she could +occupy herself blissfully by thinking of what she should +see when she opened the attic door, and wondering what +new delight had been prepared for her. In a very short +time she began to look less thin. Color came into her +cheeks, and her eyes did not seem so much too big for her +face.</p> + +<p>“Sara Crewe looks wonderfully well,” Miss Minchin +remarked disapprovingly to her sister.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered poor, silly Miss Amelia. “She is absolutely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> +fattening. She was beginning to look like a little +starved crow.”</p> + +<p>“Starved!” exclaimed Miss Minchin, angrily. “There +was no reason why she should look starved. She always +had plenty to eat!”</p> + +<p>“Of—of course,” agreed Miss Amelia, humbly, alarmed +to find that she had, as usual, said the wrong thing.</p> + +<p>“There is something very disagreeable in seeing that sort +of thing in a child of her age,” said Miss Minchin, with +haughty vagueness.</p> + +<p>“What—sort of thing?” Miss Amelia ventured.</p> + +<p>“It might almost be called defiance,” answered Miss +Minchin, feeling annoyed because she knew the thing she +resented was nothing like defiance, and she did not know +what other unpleasant term to use. “The spirit and will +of any other child would have been entirely humbled and +broken by—by the changes she has had to submit to. But, +upon my word, she seems as little subdued as if—as if she +were a princess.”</p> + +<p>“Do you remember,” put in the unwise Miss Amelia, +“what she said to you that day in the school-room about +what you would do if you found out that she was—”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t,” said Miss Minchin. “Don’t talk nonsense.” +But she remembered very clearly indeed.</p> + +<p>Very naturally, even Becky was beginning to look +plumper and less frightened. She could not help it. She +had her share in the secret fairy story, too. She had two +mattresses, two pillows, plenty of bed-covering, and every +night a hot supper and a seat on the cushions by the fire.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> +The Bastille had melted away, the prisoners no longer existed. +Two comforted children sat in the midst of delights. +Sometimes Sara read aloud from her books, sometimes she +learned her own lessons, sometimes she sat and looked into +the fire and tried to imagine who her friend could be, and +wished she could say to him some of the things in her heart.</p> + +<p>Then it came about 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 right-hand attic.”</p> + +<p>Sara herself was sent to open the door and took them +in. She laid the two largest parcels on the hall table, and +was looking at the address, when Miss Minchin came down +the stairs and saw her.</p> + +<p>“Take the things to the young lady to whom they belong,” +she said severely. “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 come from,” said Sara, “but +they are addressed to me. I sleep in the right-hand attic. +Becky has the other one.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin came to her side and looked at the parcels +with an excited expression.</p> + +<p>“What is in them?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” replied Sara.</p> + +<p>“Open them,” she ordered.</p> + +<p>Sara did as she was told. When the packages were unfolded<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> +Miss Minchin’s countenance wore suddenly a singular +expression. What she saw was pretty and comfortable +clothing—clothing of different kinds: shoes, stockings, +and gloves, and a warm and beautiful coat. There were +even a nice hat and an umbrella. They were all good +and expensive things, and on the pocket of the coat was +pinned a paper, on which were written these words: “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 +neglected child had some powerful though eccentric friend +in the background—perhaps some previously unknown relation, +who had suddenly traced her whereabouts, and +chose to provide for her in this mysterious and fantastic +way? Relations were sometimes very odd—particularly +rich old bachelor uncles, who did not care for having children +near them. A man of that sort might prefer to overlook +his young relation’s welfare at a distance. Such a +person, however, would be sure to be crotchety and hot-tempered +enough to be easily offended. It would not be +very pleasant if there were such a one, and he should learn +all the truth about the thin, shabby clothes, the scant food, +and the hard work. She felt very queer indeed, and very +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 little girl lost her father, “some one is very +kind to you. As the things have been sent, and you are to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> +have new ones when they are worn out, you may as well go +and put them on and look respectable. After you are +dressed you may come down-stairs and learn your lessons in +the school-room. You need not go out on any more errands +to-day.”</p> + +<p>About half an hour afterward, when the school-room +door opened and Sara walked in, the entire seminary was +struck dumb with amazement.</p> + +<p>“My word!” ejaculated Jessie, jogging Lavinia’s elbow. +“Look at the Princess Sara!”</p> + +<p>Everybody was looking, and when Lavinia looked she +turned quite red.</p> + +<p>It was the Princess Sara indeed. At least, since the days +when she had been a princess, Sara had never looked as she +did now. She did not seem the Sara they had seen come +down the back stairs a few hours ago. She was dressed in +the kind of frock Lavinia had been used to envying her the +possession of. It was deep and warm in color, and beautifully +made. Her slender feet looked as they had done +when Jessie had admired them, and the hair, whose heavy +locks had made her look rather like a Shetland pony when +it fell loose about her small, odd face, was tied back with a +ribbon.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps some one has left her a fortune,” Jessie whispered. +“I always thought something would happen to her. +She is so queer.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps the diamond-mines have suddenly appeared +again,” said Lavinia, scathingly. “Don’t please her by +staring at her in that way, you silly thing.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Sara,” broke in Miss Minchin’s deep voice, “come and +sit here.”</p> + +<p>And while the whole school-room stared and pushed with +elbows, and scarcely made any effort to conceal its excited +curiosity, Sara went to her old seat of honor, and bent her +head over her books.</p> + +<p>That night, when she went to her room, after she and +Becky had eaten their supper she sat and looked at the +fire seriously for a long time.</p> + +<p>“Are you making something up in your head, miss?” +Becky inquired with respectful softness. When Sara sat +in silence and looked into the coals with dreaming eyes it +generally meant that she was making a new story. But this +time she was not, and she shook her head.</p> + +<p>“No,” she answered. “I am wondering what I ought to +do.”</p> + +<p>Becky stared—still respectfully. She was filled with +something approaching reverence for everything Sara did +and said.</p> + +<p>“I can’t help thinking about my friend,” Sara explained. +“If he wants to keep himself a secret, it would be rude to +try and find out who he is. But I do so want him to know +how thankful I am to him—and how happy he has made +me. Any one who is kind wants to know when people have +been made happy. They care for that more than for being +thanked. I wish—I do wish—”</p> + +<p>She stopped short because her eyes at that instant fell +upon something standing on a table in a corner. It was +something she had found in the room when she came up to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> +it only two days before. It was a little writing-case fitted +with paper and envelopes and pens and ink.</p> + +<p>“Oh,” she exclaimed, “why did I not think of that before?”</p> + +<p>She rose and went to the corner and brought the case +back to the fire.</p> + +<p>“I can write to him,” she said joyfully, “and leave it +on the table. Then perhaps the person who takes the +things away will take it, too. I won’t ask him anything. +He won’t mind my thanking him, I feel sure.”</p> + +<p>So she wrote a note. This is what she said:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“I hope you will not think it is impolite that I should +write this note to you when you wish to keep yourself a +secret. Please believe I do not mean to be impolite or try +to find out anything at all; only I want to thank you +for being so kind to me—so heavenly kind—and making +everything like a fairy story. I am so grateful to you, and +I am so happy—and so is Becky. Becky feels just as +thankful as I do—it is all just as beautiful and wonderful +to her as it is to me. We used to be so lonely and cold and +hungry, and now—oh, just think what you have done for +us! Please let me say just these words. It seems as if I +<em>ought</em> to say them. <em>Thank</em> you—<em>thank</em> you—<em>thank</em> you!</p> + +<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">The Little Girl in the Attic.</span>”<br /> +</p></div> + +<p>The next morning she left this on the little table, and +in the evening it had been taken away with the other things; +so she knew the Magician had received it, and she was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> +happier for the thought. She was reading one of her +new books to Becky just before they went to their +respective beds, when her attention was attracted by a +sound at the skylight. When she looked up from her +page she saw that Becky had heard the sound also, as she +had turned her head to look and was listening rather +nervously.</p> + +<p>“Something’s there, miss,” she whispered.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Sara, slowly. “It sounds—rather like a cat—trying +to get in.”</p> + +<p>She left her chair and went to the skylight. It was a +queer little sound she heard—like a soft scratching. She +suddenly remembered something and laughed. She remembered +a quaint little intruder who had made his way +into the attic once before. She had seen him that very afternoon, +sitting disconsolately on a table before a window +in the Indian gentleman’s house.</p> + +<p>“Suppose,” she whispered in pleased excitement—“just +suppose it was the monkey who had got away again. Oh, +I wish it was!”</p> + +<p>She climbed on a chair, very cautiously raised the skylight, +and peeped out. It had been snowing all day, and on +the snow, quite near her, crouched a tiny, shivering figure, +whose small black face wrinkled itself piteously at sight +of her.</p> + +<p>“It <em>is</em> the monkey,” she cried out. “He has crept out +of the Lascar’s attic, and he saw the light.”</p> + +<p>Becky ran to her side.</p> + +<p>“Are you going to let him in, miss?” she said. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p> + +<p>“Yes,” Sara answered joyfully. “It’s too cold for +monkeys to be out. They’re delicate. I’ll coax him in.”</p> + +<p>She put a hand out delicately, speaking in a coaxing +voice—as she spoke to the sparrows and to Melchisedec—as +if she were some friendly little animal herself and lovingly +understood their timid wildness.</p> + +<p>“Come along, monkey darling,” she said. “I won’t +hurt you.”</p> + +<p>He knew she would not hurt him. He knew it before she +laid her soft, caressing little paw on him and drew him +toward her. He had felt human love in the slim brown +hands of Ram Dass, and he felt it in hers. He let her +lift him through the skylight, and when he found himself +in her arms he cuddled up to her breast and took +friendly hold of a piece of her hair, looking up into her +face.</p> + +<p>“Nice monkey! Nice monkey!” she crooned, kissing his +funny head. “Oh, I do love little animal things.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="illus254" id="illus254"></a> +<img src="images/illus254.jpg" width="400" height="535" alt="She sat down and held him on her knee." title="" /> +<br /><span class="caption">She sat down and held him on her knee.</span> +</div> + +<p>He was evidently glad to get to the fire, and when she +sat down and held him on her knee he looked from her to +Becky with mingled interest and appreciation.</p> + +<p>“He <em>is</em> plain-looking, miss, ain’t he?” said Becky.</p> + +<p>“He looks like a very ugly baby,” laughed Sara. “I +beg your pardon, monkey; but I’m glad you are not a +baby. Your mother <em>couldn’t</em> be proud of you, and no one +would dare to say you looked like any of your relations. +Oh, I do like you!”</p> + +<p>She leaned back in her chair and reflected.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps he’s sorry he’s so ugly,” she said, “and it’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> +always on his mind. I wonder if he <em>has</em> a mind. Monkey, +my love, have you a mind?”</p> + +<p>But the monkey only put up a tiny paw and scratched +his head.</p> + +<p>“What shall you do with him?” Becky asked.</p> + +<p>“I shall let him sleep with me to-night, and then take +him back to the Indian gentleman to-morrow. I am sorry +to take you back, monkey; but you must go. You ought +to be fondest of your own family; and I’m not a <em>real</em> +relation.”</p> + +<p>And when she went to bed she made him a nest at her +feet, and he curled up and slept there as if he were a baby +and much pleased with his quarters.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XVII<br /> + +<small>“IT IS THE CHILD!”</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">The</span> next afternoon three members of the Large +Family sat in the Indian gentleman’s library, doing +their best to cheer him up. They had been +allowed to come in to perform this office because he had +specially invited them. He had been living in a state of +suspense for some time, and to-day he was waiting for +a certain event very anxiously. This event was the return +of Mr. Carmichael from Moscow. His stay there had been +prolonged from week to week. On his first arrival there, +he had not been able satisfactorily to trace the family he +had gone in search of. When he felt at last sure that he +had found them and had gone to their house, he had been +told that they were absent on a journey. His efforts to +reach them had been unavailing, so he had decided to remain +in Moscow until their return. Mr. Carrisford sat in +his reclining-chair, and Janet sat on the floor beside him. +He was very fond of Janet. Nora had found a footstool, +and Donald was astride the tiger’s head which ornamented +the rug made of the animal’s skin. It must be +owned that he was riding it rather violently.</p> + +<p>“Don’t chirrup so loud, Donald,” Janet said. “When<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> +you come to cheer an ill person up you don’t cheer him +up at the top of your voice. Perhaps cheering up is too +loud, Mr. Carrisford?” turning to the Indian gentleman.</p> + +<p>But he only patted her shoulder.</p> + +<p>“No, it isn’t,” he answered. “And it keeps me from +thinking too much.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to be quiet,” Donald shouted. “We’ll all +be as quiet as mice.”</p> + +<p>“Mice don’t make a noise like that,” said Janet.</p> + +<p>Donald made a bridle of his handkerchief and bounced +up and down on the tiger’s head.</p> + +<p>“A whole lot of mice might,” he said cheerfully. “A +thousand mice might.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe fifty thousand mice would,” said Janet, +severely; “and we have to be as quiet as <em>one</em> mouse.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Carrisford laughed and patted her shoulder again.</p> + +<p>“Papa won’t be very long now,” she said. “May we +talk about the lost little girl?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I could talk much about anything else +just now,” the Indian gentleman answered, knitting his +forehead with a tired look.</p> + +<p>“We like her so much,” said Nora. “We call her the +little <em>un</em>-fairy princess.”</p> + +<p>“Why?” the Indian gentleman inquired, because the +fancies of the Large Family always made him forget +things a little.</p> + +<p>It was Janet who answered.</p> + +<p>“It is because, though she is not exactly a fairy, she will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> +be so rich when she is found that she will be like a princess +in a fairy tale. We called her the fairy princess at first, but +it didn’t quite suit.”</p> + +<p>“Is it true,” said Nora, “that her papa gave all his +money to a friend to put in a mine that had diamonds in +it, and then the friend thought he had lost it all and ran +away because he felt as if he was a robber?”</p> + +<p>“But he wasn’t really, you know,” put in Janet, hastily.</p> + +<p>The Indian gentleman took hold of her hand quickly.</p> + +<p>“No, he wasn’t really,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry for the friend,” Janet said; “I can’t help it. +He didn’t mean to do it, and it would break his heart. I +am sure it would break his heart.”</p> + +<p>“You are an understanding little woman, Janet,” the +Indian gentleman said, and he held her hand close.</p> + +<p>“Did you tell Mr. Carrisford,” Donald shouted again, +“about the little-girl-who-isn’t-a-beggar? Did you tell +him she has new nice clothes? P’r’aps she’s been found by +somebody when she was lost.”</p> + +<p>“There’s a cab!” exclaimed Janet. “It’s stopping before +the door. It is papa!”</p> + +<p>They all ran to the windows to look out.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it’s papa,” Donald proclaimed. “But there is no +little girl.”</p> + +<p>All three of them incontinently fled from the room and +tumbled into the hall. It was in this way they always welcomed +their father. They were to be heard jumping up +and down, clapping their hands, and being caught up and +kissed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p> + +<p>Mr. Carrisford made an effort to rise and sank back +again into his chair.</p> + +<p>“It is no use,” he said. “What a wreck I am!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Carmichael’s voice approached the door.</p> + +<p>“No, children,” he was saying; “you may come in after +I have talked to Mr. Carrisford. Go and play with Ram +Dass.”</p> + +<p>Then the door opened and he came in. He looked +rosier than ever, and brought an atmosphere of freshness +and health with him; but his eyes were disappointed and +anxious as they met the invalid’s look of eager question +even as they grasped each other’s hands.</p> + +<p>“What news?” Mr. Carrisford asked. “The child the +Russian people adopted?”</p> + +<p>“She is not the child we are looking for,” was Mr. Carmichael’s +answer. “She is much younger than Captain +Crewe’s little girl. Her name is Emily Carew. I have +seen and talked to her. The Russians were able to give +me every detail.”</p> + +<p>How wearied and miserable the Indian gentleman +looked! His hand dropped from Mr. Carmichael’s.</p> + +<p>“Then the search has to be begun over again,” he said. +“That is all. Please sit down.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Carmichael took a seat. Somehow, he had gradually +grown fond of this unhappy man. He was himself so well +and happy, and so surrounded by cheerfulness and love, +that desolation and broken health seemed pitifully unbearable +things. If there had been the sound of just one gay +little high-pitched voice in the house, it would have been<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> +so much less forlorn. And that a man should be compelled +to carry about in his breast the thought that he had +seemed to wrong and desert a child was not a thing one +could face.</p> + +<p>“Come, come,” he said in his cheery voice; “we’ll find +her yet.”</p> + +<p>“We must begin at once. No time must be lost,” Mr. +Carrisford fretted. “Have you any new suggestion to +make—any whatsoever?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Carmichael felt rather restless, and he rose and began +to pace the room with a thoughtful, though uncertain +face.</p> + +<p>“Well, perhaps,” he said. “I don’t know what it may be +worth. The fact is, an idea occurred to me as I was thinking +the thing over in the train on the journey from Dover.”</p> + +<p>“What was it? If she is alive, she is somewhere.”</p> + +<p>“Yes; she is <em>somewhere</em>. We have searched the schools +in Paris. Let us give up Paris and begin in London. +That was my idea—to search London.”</p> + +<p>“There are schools enough in London,” said Mr. Carrisford. +Then he slightly started, roused by a recollection. +“By the way, there is one next door.”</p> + +<p>“Then we will begin there. We cannot begin nearer +than next door.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Carrisford. “There is a child there who interests +me; but she is not a pupil. And she is a little dark, +forlorn creature, as unlike poor Crewe as a child could be.”</p> + +<p>Perhaps the Magic was at work again at that very moment—the +beautiful Magic. It really seemed as if it might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> +be so. What was it that brought Ram Dass into the room—even +as his master spoke—salaaming respectfully, but +with a scarcely concealed touch of excitement in his dark, +flashing eyes?</p> + +<p>“Sahib,” he said, “the child herself has come—the child +the sahib felt pity for. She brings back the monkey who +had again run away to her attic under the roof. I have +asked that she remain. It was my thought that it would +please the sahib to see and speak with her.”</p> + +<p>“Who is she?” inquired Mr. Carmichael.</p> + +<p>“God knows,” Mr. Carrisford answered. “She is the +child I spoke of. A little drudge at the school.” He +waved his hand to Ram Dass, and addressed him. “Yes, I +should like to see her. Go and bring her in.” Then he +turned to Mr. Carmichael. “While you have been away,” +he explained, “I have been desperate. The days were so +dark and long. Ram Dass told me of this child’s miseries, +and together we invented a romantic plan to help her. I +suppose it was a childish thing to do; but it gave me something +to plan and think of. Without the help of an agile, +soft-footed Oriental like Ram Dass, however, it could not +have been done.”</p> + +<p>Then Sara came into the room. She carried the monkey +in her arms, and he evidently did not intend to part from +her, if it could be helped. He was clinging to her and chattering, +and the interesting excitement of finding herself in +the Indian gentleman’s room had brought a flush to Sara’s +cheeks.</p> + +<p>“Your monkey ran away again,” she said, in her pretty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> +voice. “He came to my garret window last night, and I +took him in because it was so cold. I would have brought +him back if it had not been so late. I knew you were ill +and might not like to be disturbed.”</p> + +<p>The Indian gentleman’s hollow eyes dwelt on her with +curious interest.</p> + +<p>“That was very thoughtful of you,” he said.</p> + +<p>Sara looked toward Ram Dass, who stood near the door.</p> + +<p>“Shall I give him to the Lascar?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“How do you know he is a Lascar?” said the Indian +gentleman, smiling a little.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I know Lascars,” Sara said, handing over the reluctant +monkey. “I was born in India.”</p> + +<p>The Indian gentleman sat upright so suddenly, and with +such a change of expression, that she was for a moment +quite startled.</p> + +<p>“You were born in India,” he exclaimed, “were you? +Come here.” And he held out his hand.</p> + +<p>Sara went to him and laid her hand in his, as he seemed +to want to take it. She stood still, and her green-gray eyes +met his wonderingly. Something seemed to be the matter +with him.</p> + +<p>“You live next door?” he demanded.</p> + +<p>“Yes; I live at Miss Minchin’s seminary.”</p> + +<p>“But you are not one of her pupils?”</p> + +<p>A strange little smile hovered about Sara’s mouth. She +hesitated a moment.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I know exactly <em>what</em> I am,” she replied.</p> + +<p>“Why not?”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> + +<p>“At first I was a pupil, and a parlor-boarder; but +now—”</p> + +<p>“You were a pupil! What are you now?”</p> + +<p>The queer little sad smile was on Sara’s lips again.</p> + +<p>“I sleep in the attic, next to the scullery-maid,” she said. +“I run errands for the cook—I do anything she tells me; +and I teach the little ones their lessons.”</p> + +<p>“Question her, Carmichael,” said Mr. Carrisford, sinking +back as if he had lost his strength. “Question her; I +cannot.”</p> + +<p>The big, kind father of the Large Family knew how to +question little girls. Sara realized how much practice he +had had when he spoke to her in his nice, encouraging +voice.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean by ‘At first,’ my child?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“When I was first taken there by my papa.”</p> + +<p>“Where is your papa?”</p> + +<p>“He died,” said Sara, very quietly. “He lost all his +money and there was none left for me. There was no one +to take care of me or to pay Miss Minchin.”</p> + +<p>“Carmichael!” the Indian gentleman cried out loudly; +“Carmichael!”</p> + +<p>“We must not frighten her,” Mr. Carmichael said aside +to him in a quick, low voice; and he added aloud to Sara: +“So you were sent up into the attic, and made into a little +drudge. That was about it, wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“There was no one to take care of me,” said Sara. +“There was no money; I belong to nobody.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> + +<p>“How did your father lose his money?” the Indian gentleman +broke in breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“He did not lose it himself,” Sara answered, wondering +still more each moment. “He had a friend he was very +fond of—he was <em>very</em> fond of him. It was his friend who +took his money. He trusted his friend too much.”</p> + +<p>The Indian gentleman’s breath came more quickly.</p> + +<p>“The friend might have <em>meant</em> to do no harm,” he said. +“It might have happened through a mistake.”</p> + +<p>Sara did not know how unrelenting her quiet young +voice sounded as she answered. If she had known, she +would surely have tried to soften it for the Indian gentleman’s +sake.</p> + +<p>“The suffering was just as bad for my papa,” she said. +“It killed him.”</p> + +<p>“What was your father’s name?” the Indian gentleman +said. “Tell me.”</p> + +<p>“His name was Ralph Crewe,” Sara answered, feeling +startled. “Captain Crewe. He died in India.”</p> + +<p>The haggard face contracted, and Ram Dass sprang to +his master’s side.</p> + +<p>“Carmichael,” the invalid gasped, “it is the child—the +child!”</p> + +<p>For a moment Sara thought he was going to die. Ram +Dass poured out drops from a bottle, and held them to his +lips. Sara stood near, trembling a little. She looked in a +bewildered way at Mr. Carmichael.</p> + +<p>“What child am I?” she faltered.</p> + +<p>“He was your father’s friend,” Mr. Carmichael answered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> +her. “Don’t be frightened. We have been looking +for you for two years.”</p> + +<p>Sara put her hand up to her forehead, and her mouth +trembled. She spoke as if she were in a dream.</p> + +<p>“And I was at Miss Minchin’s all the while,” she half +whispered. “Just on the other side of the wall.”</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII<br /> + +<small>“I TRIED NOT TO BE”</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">It</span> was pretty, comfortable Mrs. Carmichael who explained +everything. She was sent for at once, and +came across the square to take Sara into her warm +arms and make clear to her all that had happened. The excitement +of the totally unexpected discovery had been temporarily +almost overpowering to Mr. Carrisford in his weak +condition.</p> + +<p>“Upon my word,” he said faintly to Mr. Carmichael, +when it was suggested that the little girl should go into +another room, “I feel as if I do not want to lose sight of +her.”</p> + +<p>“I will take care of her,” Janet said, “and mamma will +come in a few minutes.” And it was Janet who led her +away.</p> + +<p>“We’re so glad you are found,” she said. “You don’t +know how glad we are that you are found.”</p> + +<p>Donald stood with his hands in his pockets, and gazed +at Sara with reflecting and self-reproachful eyes.</p> + +<p>“If I’d just asked what your name was when I gave +you my sixpence,” he said, “you would have told me it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> +Sara Crewe, and then you would have been found in a +minute.”</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Carmichael came in. She looked very much +moved, and suddenly took Sara in her arms and kissed her.</p> + +<p>“You look bewildered, poor child,” she said. “And it is +not to be wondered at.”</p> + +<p>Sara could only think of one thing.</p> + +<p>“Was he,” she said, with a glance toward the closed +door of the library—“was <em>he</em> the wicked friend? Oh, do +tell me!”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Carmichael was crying as she kissed her again. +She felt as if she ought to be kissed very often because she +had not been kissed for so long.</p> + +<p>“He was not wicked, my dear,” she answered. “He did +not really lose your papa’s money. He only thought he +had lost it; and because he loved him so much his grief +made him so ill that for a time he was not in his right mind. +He almost died of brain-fever, and long before he began to +recover your poor papa was dead.”</p> + +<p>“And he did not know where to find me,” murmured +Sara. “And I was so near.” Somehow, she could not forget +that she had been so near.</p> + +<p>“He believed you were in school in France,” Mrs. Carmichael +explained. “And he was continually misled by +false clues. He has looked for you everywhere. When +he saw you pass by, looking so sad and neglected, he did +not dream that you were his friend’s poor child; but because +you were a little girl, too, he was sorry for you, and +wanted to make you happier. And he told Ram Dass to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> +climb into your attic window and try to make you comfortable.”</p> + +<p>Sara gave a start of joy; her whole look changed.</p> + +<p>“Did Ram Dass bring the things?” she cried out; “did +he tell Ram Dass to do it? Did he make the dream that +came true!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my dear—yes! He is kind and good, and he was +sorry for you, for little lost Sara Crewe’s sake.”</p> + +<p>The library door opened and Mr. Carmichael appeared, +calling Sara to him with a gesture.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Carrisford is better already,” he said. “He wants +you to come to him.”</p> + +<p>Sara did not wait. When the Indian gentleman looked +at her as she entered, he saw that her face was all alight.</p> + +<p>She went and stood before his chair, with her hands +clasped together against her breast.</p> + +<p>“You sent the things to me,” she said, in a joyful emotional +little voice—“the beautiful, beautiful things? <em>You</em> +sent them!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, poor, dear child, I did,” he answered her. He +was weak and broken with long illness and trouble, but he +looked at her with the look she remembered in her father’s +eyes—that look of loving her and wanting to take her in +his arms. It made her kneel down by him, just as she used +to kneel by her father when they were the dearest friends +and lovers in the world.</p> + +<p>“Then it is you who are my friend,” she said; “it is +you who are my friend!” And she dropped her face on +his thin hand and kissed it again and again.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span></p> + +<p>“The man will be himself again in three weeks,” Mr. +Carmichael said aside to his wife. “Look at his face already.”</p> + +<p>In fact, he did look changed. Here was the “little missus,” +and he had new things to think of and plan for already. +In the first place, there was Miss Minchin. She +must be interviewed and told of the change which had +taken place in the fortunes of her pupil.</p> + +<p>Sara was not to return to the seminary at all. The Indian +gentleman was very determined upon that point. She +must remain where she was, and Mr. Carmichael should go +and see Miss Minchin himself.</p> + +<p>“I am glad I need not go back,” said Sara. “She will +be very angry. She does not like me; though perhaps it is +my fault, because I do not like her.”</p> + +<p>But, oddly enough, Miss Minchin made it unnecessary +for Mr. Carmichael to go to her, by actually coming in +search of her pupil herself. She had wanted Sara for +something, and on inquiry had heard an astonishing thing. +One of the housemaids had seen her steal out of the area +with something hidden under her cloak, and had also seen +her go up the steps of the next door and enter the house.</p> + +<p>“What does she mean!” cried Miss Minchin to Miss +Amelia.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, I’m sure, sister,” answered Miss Amelia. +“Unless she has made friends with him because he has lived +in India.”</p> + +<p>“It would be just like her to thrust herself upon him +and try to gain his sympathies in some such impertinent<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> +fashion,” said Miss Minchin. “She must have been in the +house two hours. I will not allow such presumption. I +shall go and inquire into the matter, and apologize for her +intrusion.”</p> + +<p>Sara was sitting on a footstool close to Mr. Carrisford’s +knee, and listening to some of the many things he felt it necessary +to try to explain to her, when Ram Dass announced +the visitor’s arrival.</p> + +<p>Sara rose involuntarily, and became rather pale; but Mr. +Carrisford saw that she stood quietly, and showed none of +the ordinary signs of child terror.</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin entered the room with a sternly dignified +manner. She was correctly and well dressed, and rigidly +polite.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to disturb Mr. Carrisford,” she said; “but +I have explanations to make. I am Miss Minchin, the proprietress +of the Young Ladies’ Seminary next door.”</p> + +<p>The Indian gentleman looked at her for a moment in +silent scrutiny. He was a man who had naturally a rather +hot temper, and he did not wish it to get too much the better +of him.</p> + +<p>“So you are Miss Minchin?” he said.</p> + +<p>“I am, sir.”</p> + +<p>“In that case,” the Indian gentleman replied, “you have +arrived at the right time. My solicitor, Mr. Carmichael, +was just on the point of going to see you.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Carmichael bowed slightly, and Miss Minchin +looked from him to Mr. Carrisford in amazement.</p> + +<p>“Your solicitor!” she said. “I do not understand. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> +have come here as a matter of duty. I have just discovered +that you have been intruded upon through the forwardness +of one of my pupils—a charity pupil. I came to explain +that she intruded without my knowledge.” She turned +upon Sara. “Go home at once,” she commanded indignantly. +“You shall be severely punished. Go home at +once.”</p> + +<p>The Indian gentleman drew Sara to his side and patted +her hand.</p> + +<p>“She is not going.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin felt rather as if she must be losing her +senses.</p> + +<p>“Not going!” she repeated.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mr. Carrisford. “She is not going <em>home</em>—if +you give your house that name. Her home for the future +will be with me.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin fell back in amazed indignation.</p> + +<p>“With <em>you!</em> With <em>you</em>, sir! What does this mean?”</p> + +<p>“Kindly explain the matter, Carmichael,” said the Indian +gentleman; “and get it over as quickly as possible.” +And he made Sara sit down again, and held her hands in +his—which was another trick of her papa’s.</p> + +<p>Then Mr. Carmichael explained—in the quiet, level-toned, +steady manner of a man who knew his subject, and +all its legal significance, which was a thing Miss Minchin +understood as a business woman, and did not enjoy.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Carrisford, madam,” he said, “was an intimate +friend of the late Captain Crewe. He was his partner in +certain large investments. The fortune which Captain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> +Crewe supposed he had lost has been recovered, and is now +in Mr. Carrisford’s hands.”</p> + +<p>“The fortune!” cried Miss Minchin; and she really lost +color as she uttered the exclamation. “Sara’s fortune!”</p> + +<p>“It <em>will</em> be Sara’s fortune,” replied Mr. Carmichael, rather +coldly. “It <em>is</em> Sara’s fortune now, in fact. Certain +events have increased it enormously. The diamond-mines +have retrieved themselves.”</p> + +<p>“The diamond-mines!” Miss Minchin gasped out. If +this was true, nothing so horrible, she felt, had ever happened +to her since she was born.</p> + +<p>“The diamond-mines,” Mr. Carmichael repeated, and he +could not help adding, with a rather sly, unlawyer-like +smile: “There are not many princesses, Miss Minchin, who +are richer than your little charity pupil, Sara Crewe, will +be. Mr. Carrisford has been searching for her for nearly +two years; he has found her at last, and he will keep her.”</p> + +<p>After which he asked Miss Minchin to sit down while +he explained matters to her fully, and went into such +detail as was necessary to make it quite clear to her that +Sara’s future was an assured one, and that what had +seemed to be lost was to be restored to her tenfold; also, +that she had in Mr. Carrisford a guardian as well as a +friend.</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin was not a clever woman, and in her excitement +she was silly enough to make one desperate effort +to regain what she could not help seeing she had lost +through her own worldly folly.</p> + +<p>“He found her under my care,” she protested. “I have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> +done everything for her. But for me she would have +starved in the streets.”</p> + +<p>Here the Indian gentleman lost his temper.</p> + +<p>“As to starving in the streets,” he said, “she might have +starved more comfortably there than in your attic.”</p> + +<p>“Captain Crewe left her in my charge,” Miss Minchin +argued. “She must return to it until she is of age. She +can be a parlor-boarder again. She must finish her education. +The law will interfere in my behalf.”</p> + +<p>“Come, come, Miss Minchin,” Mr. Carmichael interposed, +“the law will do nothing of the sort. If Sara herself +wishes to return to you, I dare say Mr. Carrisford +might not refuse to allow it. But that rests with Sara.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Miss Minchin, “I appeal to Sara. I +have not spoiled you, perhaps,” she said awkwardly to the +little girl; “but you know that your papa was pleased with +your progress. And—ahem!—I have always been fond of +you.”</p> + +<p>Sara’s green-gray eyes fixed themselves on her with the +quiet, clear look Miss Minchin particularly disliked.</p> + +<p>“Have <em>you</em>, Miss Minchin?” she said; “I did not know +that.”</p> + +<p>Miss Minchin reddened and drew herself up.</p> + +<p>“You ought to have known it,” said she; “but children, +unfortunately, never know what is best for them. Amelia +and I always said you were the cleverest child in the +school. Will you not do your duty to your poor papa and +come home with me?”</p> + +<p>Sara took a step toward her and stood still. She was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> +thinking of the day when she had been told that she belonged +to nobody, and was in danger of being turned into +the street; she was thinking of the cold, hungry hours she +had spent alone with Emily and Melchisedec in the attic. +She looked Miss Minchin steadily in the face.</p> + +<p>“You know why I will not go home with you, Miss +Minchin,” she said; “you know quite well.”</p> + +<p>A hot flush showed itself on Miss Minchin’s hard, angry +face.</p> + +<p>“You will never see your companions again,” she began. +“I will see that Ermengarde and Lottie are kept +away—”</p> + +<p>Mr. Carmichael stopped her with polite firmness.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me,” he said; “she will see any one she wishes +to see. The parents of Miss Crewe’s fellow-pupils are not +likely to refuse her invitations to visit her at her guardian’s +house. Mr. Carrisford will attend to that.”</p> + +<p>It must be confessed that even Miss Minchin flinched. +This was worse than the eccentric bachelor uncle who might +have a peppery temper and be easily offended at the treatment +of his niece. A woman of sordid mind could easily +believe that most people would not refuse to allow their +children to remain friends with a little heiress of diamond-mines. +And if Mr. Carrisford chose to tell certain of +her patrons how unhappy Sara Crewe had been made, +many unpleasant things might happen.</p> + +<p>“You have not undertaken an easy charge,” she said to +the Indian gentleman, as she turned to leave the room; +“you will discover that very soon. The child is neither<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> +truthful nor grateful. I suppose”—to Sara—“that you +feel now that you are a princess again.”</p> + +<p>Sara looked down and flushed a little, because she +thought her pet fancy might not be easy for strangers—even +nice ones—to understand at first.</p> + +<p>“I—tried not to be anything else,” she answered in a +low voice—“even when I was coldest and hungriest—I +<em>tried</em> not to be.”</p> + +<p>“Now it will not be necessary to try,” said Miss Minchin, +acidly, as Ram Dass salaamed her out of the room.</p> + +<p class="dot">. . . . . .</p> + +<p>She returned home and, going to her sitting-room, sent at +once for Miss Amelia. She sat closeted with her all the rest +of the afternoon, and it must be admitted that poor Miss +Amelia passed through more than one bad quarter of an +hour. She shed a good many tears, and mopped her eyes +a good deal. One of her unfortunate remarks almost +caused her sister to snap her head entirely off, but it resulted +in an unusual manner.</p> + +<p>“I’m not as clever as you, sister,” she said, “and I am +always afraid to say things to you for fear of making you +angry. Perhaps if I were not so timid it would be better +for the school and for both of us. I must say I’ve often +thought it would have been better if you had been less +severe on Sara Crewe, and had seen that she was decently +dressed and more comfortable. I know she was worked +too hard for a child of her age, and I <em>know</em> she was only +half fed—”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> + +<p>“How dare you say such a thing!” exclaimed Miss Minchin.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how I dare,” Miss Amelia answered, with +a kind of reckless courage; “but now I’ve begun I may +as well finish, whatever happens to me. The child was a +clever child and a good child—and she would have paid +you for any kindness you had shown her. But you didn’t +show her any. The fact was, she was too clever for you, +and you always disliked her for that reason. She used to +see through us both—”</p> + +<p>“Amelia!” gasped her infuriated elder, looking as if +she would box her ears and knock her cap off, as she had +often done to Becky.</p> + +<p>But Miss Amelia’s disappointment had made her hysterical +enough not to care what occurred next.</p> + +<p>“She did! She did!” she cried. “She saw through us +both. She saw that you were a hard-hearted, worldly woman, +and that I was a weak fool, and that we were both +of us vulgar and mean enough to grovel on our knees +before her money, and behave ill to her because it was taken +from her—though she behaved herself like a little princess +even when she was a beggar. She did—she did—like +a little princess!” and her hysterics got the better of the +poor woman, and she began to laugh and cry both at once, +and rock herself backward and forward in such a way as +made Miss Minchin stare aghast.</p> + +<p>“And now you’ve lost her,” she cried wildly; “and some +other school will get her and her money; and if she were +like any other child she’d tell how she’s been treated, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> +all our pupils would be taken away and we should be +ruined. And it serves us right; but it serves you right more +than it does me, for you are a hard woman, Maria Minchin—you’re +a hard, selfish, worldly woman!”</p> + +<p>And she was in danger of making so much noise with +her hysterical chokes and gurgles that her sister was +obliged to go to her and apply salts and sal volatile to +quiet her, instead of pouring forth her indignation at her +audacity.</p> + +<p>And from that time forward, it may be mentioned, +the elder Miss Minchin actually began to stand a little +in awe of a sister who, while she looked so foolish, was +evidently not quite so foolish as she looked, and might, consequently, +break out and speak truths people did not want +to hear.</p> + +<p>That evening, when the pupils were gathered together +before the fire in the school-room, as was their custom +before going to bed, Ermengarde came in with a letter in +her hand and a queer expression on her round face. It was +queer because, while it was an expression of delighted excitement, +it was combined with such amazement as seemed +to belong to a kind of shock just received.</p> + +<p>“What <em>is</em> the matter?” cried two or three voices at once.</p> + +<p>“Is it anything to do with the row that has been going +on?” said Lavinia, eagerly. “There has been such a row +in Miss Minchin’s room, Miss Amelia has had something +like hysterics and has had to go to bed.”</p> + +<p>Ermengarde answered them slowly as if she were half +stunned.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span></p> + +<p>“I have just had this letter from Sara,” she said, holding +it out to let them see what a long letter it was.</p> + +<p>“From Sara!” Every voice joined in that exclamation.</p> + +<p>“Where is she?” almost shrieked Jessie.</p> + +<p>“Next door,” said Ermengarde, still slowly; “with the +Indian gentleman.”</p> + +<p>“Where? Where? Has she been sent away? Does +Miss Minchin know? Was the row about that? Why did +she write? Tell us! Tell us!”</p> + +<p>There was a perfect babel, and Lottie began to cry +plaintively.</p> + +<p>Ermengarde answered them slowly as if she were half +plunged out into what, at the moment, seemed the most +important and self-explaining thing.</p> + +<p>“There <em>were</em> diamond-mines,” she said stoutly; “there +<em>were!”</em></p> + +<p>Open mouths and open eyes confronted her.</p> + +<p>“They were real,” she hurried on. “It was all a mistake +about them. Something happened for a time, and +Mr. Carrisford thought they were ruined—”</p> + +<p>“Who is Mr. Carrisford?” shouted Jessie.</p> + +<p>“The Indian gentleman. And Captain Crewe thought +so, too—and he died; and Mr. Carrisford had brain-fever +and ran away, and <em>he</em> almost died. And he did not know +where Sara was. And it turned out that there were millions +and millions of diamonds in the mines; and half of +them belong to Sara; and they belonged to her when she +was living in the attic with no one but Melchisedec for a +friend, and the cook ordering her about. And Mr. Carrisford<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> +found her this afternoon, and he has got her in his +home—and she will never come back—and she will be more +a princess than she ever was—a hundred and fifty thousand +times more. And I am going to see her to-morrow afternoon. +There!”</p> + +<p>Even Miss Minchin herself could scarcely have controlled +the uproar after this; and though she heard the +noise, she did not try. She was not in the mood to face anything +more than she was facing in her room, while Miss +Amelia was weeping in bed. She knew that the news had +penetrated the walls in some mysterious manner, and that +every servant and every child would go to bed talking +about it.</p> + +<p>So until almost midnight the entire seminary, realizing +somehow that all rules were laid aside, crowded round Ermengarde +in the school-room and heard read and re-read the +letter containing a story which was quite as wonderful as +any Sara herself had ever invented, and which had the +amazing charm of having happened to Sara herself and +the mystic Indian gentleman in the very next house.</p> + +<p>Becky, who had heard it also, managed to creep up-stairs +earlier than usual. She wanted to get away from people +and go and look at the little magic room once more. She +did not know what would happen to it. It was not likely +that it would be left to Miss Minchin. It would be taken +away, and the attic would be bare and empty again. Glad +as she was for Sara’s sake, she went up the last flight of +stairs with a lump in her throat and tears blurring her +sight. There would be no fire to-night, and no rosy lamp;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> +no supper, and no princess sitting in the glow reading or +telling stories—no princess!</p> + +<p>She choked down a sob as she pushed the attic door open, +and then she broke into a low cry.</p> + +<p>The lamp was flushing the room, the fire was blazing, the +supper was waiting; and Ram Dass was standing smiling +into her startled face.</p> + +<p>“Missee sahib remembered,” he said. “She told the +sahib all. She wished you to know the good fortune which +has befallen her. Behold a letter on the tray. She has +written. She did not wish that you should go to sleep unhappy. +The sahib commands you to come to him to-morrow. +You are to be the attendant of missee sahib. To-night +I take these things back over the roof.”</p> + +<p>And having said this with a beaming face, he made a +little salaam and slipped through the skylight with an agile +silentness of movement which showed Becky how easily he +had done it before.</p> +<hr class="l1"/> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span></p> + + +<h2>CHAPTER XIX<br /> + +<small>“ANNE”</small></h2> + + +<p class="cap"><span class="upper">Never</span> had such joy reigned in the nursery of the +Large Family. Never had they dreamed of such +delights as resulted from an intimate acquaintance +with the little-girl-who-was-not-a-beggar. The mere fact +of her sufferings and adventures made her a priceless possession. +Everybody wanted to be told over and over again +the things which had happened to her. When one was sitting +by a warm fire in a big, glowing room, it was quite +delightful to hear how cold it could be in an attic. It +must be admitted that the attic was rather delighted in, and +that its coldness and bareness quite sank into insignificance +when Melchisedec was remembered, and one heard +about the sparrows and things one could see if one climbed +on the table and stuck one’s head and shoulders out of the +skylight.</p> + +<p>Of course the thing loved best was the story of the banquet +and the dream which was true. Sara told it for the +first time the day after she had been found. Several members +of the Large Family came to take tea with her, and +as they sat or curled up on the hearth-rug she told the story +in her own way, and the Indian gentleman listened and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span> +watched her. When she had finished she looked up at him +and put her hand on his knee.</p> + +<p>“That is my part,” she said. “Now won’t you tell your +part of it, Uncle Tom?” He had asked her to call him +always “Uncle Tom.” “I don’t know your part yet, and +it must be beautiful.”</p> + +<p>So he told them how, when he sat alone, ill and dull and +irritable, Ram Dass had tried to distract him by describing +the passers by, and there was one child who passed oftener +than any one else; he had begun to be interested in her—partly +perhaps because he was thinking a great deal of a +little girl, and partly because Ram Dass had been able to +relate the incident of his visit to the attic in chase of the +monkey. He had described its cheerless look, and the bearing +of the child, who seemed as if she was not of the class +of those who were treated as drudges and servants. Bit +by bit, Ram Dass had made discoveries concerning the +wretchedness of her life. He had found out how easy a +matter it was to climb across the few yards of roof to the +skylight, and this fact had been the beginning of all that +followed.</p> + +<p>“Sahib,” he had said one day, “I could cross the slates +and make the child a fire when she is out on some errand. +When she returned, wet and cold, to find it blazing, she +would think a magician had done it.”</p> + +<p>The idea had been so fanciful that Mr. Carrisford’s sad +face had lighted with a smile, and Ram Dass had been so +filled with rapture that he had enlarged upon it and explained +to his master how simple it would be to accomplish<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span> +numbers of other things. He had shown a childlike pleasure +and invention, and the preparations for the carrying +out of the plan had filled many a day with interest which +would otherwise have dragged wearily. On the night of the +frustrated banquet Ram Dass had kept watch, all his packages +being in readiness in the attic which was his own; and +the person who was to help him had waited with him, as interested +as himself in the odd adventure. Ram Dass had +been lying flat upon the slates, looking in at the skylight, +when the banquet had come to its disastrous conclusion; +he had been sure of the profoundness of Sara’s wearied +sleep; and then, with a dark lantern, he had crept into the +room, while his companion had remained outside and +handed the things to him. When Sara had stirred ever so +faintly, Ram Dass had closed the lantern-slide and lain +flat upon the floor. These and many other exciting things +the children found out by asking a thousand questions.</p> + +<p>“I am so glad,” Sara said. “I am so <em>glad</em> it was you +who were my friend!”</p> + +<p>There never were such friends as these two became. +Somehow, they seemed to suit each other in a wonderful +way. The Indian gentleman had never had a companion +he liked quite as much as he liked Sara. In a month’s time +he was, as Mr. Carmichael had prophesied he would be, a +new man. He was always amused and interested, and he +began to find an actual pleasure in the possession of the +wealth he had imagined that he loathed the burden of. +There were so many charming things to plan for Sara. +There was a little joke between them that he was a magician,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> +and it was one of his pleasures to invent things to +surprise her. She found beautiful new flowers growing +in her room, whimsical little gifts tucked under pillows, +and once, as they sat together in the evening, they heard +the scratch of a heavy paw on the door, and when Sara went +to find out what it was, there stood a great dog—a splendid +Russian boarhound—with a grand silver and gold collar +bearing an inscription in raised letters. “I am Boris,” it +read; “I serve the Princess Sara.”</p> + +<p>There was nothing the Indian gentleman loved more +than the recollection of the little princess in rags and tatters. +The afternoons in which the Large Family, or Ermengarde +and Lottie, gathered to rejoice together were +very delightful. But the hours when Sara and the Indian +gentleman sat alone and read or talked had a special charm +of their own. During their passing many interesting +things occurred.</p> + +<div class="figcenter"><a name="illus286" id="illus286"></a> +<img src="images/illus286.jpg" width="400" height="532" alt="Noticed that his companion … sat gazing into the fire." title="" /> +<br /><span class="caption">Noticed that his companion … sat gazing into the fire.</span> +</div> + +<p>One evening, Mr. Carrisford, looking up from his book, +noticed that his companion had not stirred for some time, +but sat gazing into the fire.</p> + +<p>“What are you ‘supposing,’ Sara?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Sara looked up, with a bright color on her cheek.</p> + +<p>“I <em>was</em> 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 rather a sad tone in his voice. +“Which hungry day was it?”</p> + +<p>“I forgot you didn’t know,” said Sara. “It was the +day the dream came true.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then she told him the story of the bun-shop, and the +fourpence she picked up out of the sloppy mud, and the +child who was hungrier than herself. She told it quite +simply, and in as few words as possible; but somehow the +Indian gentleman found it necessary to shade his eyes with +his hand and look down at the carpet.</p> + +<p>“And I was supposing a kind of plan,” she said, when +she had finished. “I was thinking I should like to do something.”</p> + +<p>“What was it?” said Mr. Carrisford, in a low tone. +“You may do anything you like to do, princess.”</p> + +<p>“I was wondering,” rather hesitated Sara—“you know, +you say I have so much money—I was wondering if I could +go to 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. 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 cannot even +<em>pretend</em> it away.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, my dear,” said the Indian gentleman. “Yes, +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, smiling; “and I can give buns and +bread to the populace.” And she went and sat on the stool,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> +and the Indian gentleman (he used to like her to call him +that, too, sometimes) drew her small dark head down upon +his knee and stroked her hair.</p> + +<p>The next morning, Miss Minchin, in looking out of her +window, saw the thing she perhaps least enjoyed seeing. +The Indian gentleman’s carriage, with its tall horses, drew +up before the door of the next house, and its owner and +a little figure, warm with soft, rich furs, descended the +steps to get into it. The little figure was a familiar one, +and reminded Miss Minchin of days in the past. It was +followed by another as familiar—the sight of which she +found very irritating. It was Becky, who, in the character +of delighted attendant, always accompanied her young mistress +to her carriage, carrying wraps and belongings. Already +Becky had a pink, round face.</p> + +<p>A little later the carriage drew up before the door of +the baker’s shop, and its occupants got out, oddly enough, +just as the bun-woman was putting a tray of smoking-hot +buns into the window.</p> + +<p>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 sure that 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,” the woman +broke in on her. “I’ve always remembered it. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> +couldn’t make it out at first.” She turned round to the +Indian gentleman and spoke her next words to him. “I +beg your 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,”—to Sara,—“but +you look rosier and—well, better than you did that—that—”</p> + +<p>“I am better, thank you,” said Sara. “And—I am +much happier—and I have come to ask you to do something +for me.”</p> + +<p>“Me, miss!” exclaimed the bun-woman, smiling cheerfully. +“Why, bless you! yes, miss. What can I do?”</p> + +<p>And then Sara, leaning on the counter, made her little +proposal concerning the dreadful days and the hungry +waifs and the hot buns.</p> + +<p>The woman watched her, and listened with an astonished +face.</p> + +<p>“Why, bless me!” she said again when she had heard +it all; “it’ll be a pleasure to me to do it. I am a working-woman +myself and cannot 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 away +many a bit of bread since that wet afternoon, just along o’ +thinking of you—an’ how wet an’ cold you was, an’ how +hungry you looked; an’ yet you gave away your hot buns +as if you was a princess.”</p> + +<p>The Indian gentleman smiled involuntarily at this, and +Sara smiled a little, too, remembering what she had said +to herself when she put the buns down on the ravenous +child’s ragged lap.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span></p> + +<p>“She looked so hungry,” she said. “She was even 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>“Yes, I do,” answered the woman, smiling more good-naturedly +than ever. “Why, she’s in that there back +room, miss, an’ has been for a month; an’ a decent, well-meanin’ +girl she’s goin’ to turn out, an’ such a help to me +in the shop an’ in the kitchen as you’d scarce believe, +knowin’ 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. 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 when +she was hungry, and when she’d come I’d give her odd +jobs to do; an’ I found she was willing, and somehow I +got to like her; and the end of it was, I’ve given her a +place an’ a home, and she helps me, an’ behaves well, an’ +is as thankful as a girl can be. Her name’s Anne. She +has no other.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p> + +<p>The children stood and looked at each other for a few +minutes; and then Sara took her hand out of her muff and +held it out across the counter, and Anne took it, and they +looked straight into each other’s eyes.</p> + +<p>“I am so glad,” Sara said. “And I have just thought +of something. Perhaps Mrs. Brown will let you be the one +to 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 she said so little, and only stood still and looked +and looked after her as she went out of the shop with the +Indian gentleman, and they got into the carriage and drove +away.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span></p> + +<p> </p> + +<hr class="l1"/> + +<p class="center f16"><b>Scribner Illustrated Classics<br /> +for Younger Readers</b></p> + + +<p class="cap2"><span class="upper">Stories</span> which have been loved by young readers for several +generations are included in the Scribner Illustrated +Classics. They are all books of rare beauty and tested literary +quality, presented in handsome format and strikingly illustrated +in color by such famous artists as N. C. Wyeth, Maxfield +Parrish, Jessie Willcox Smith, and others. No other series +of books for youthful readers can compare with them; they +make gifts of lasting value which will be cherished into adult +years. They are to be found in one of two groups—the popular +group, issued at a remarkably low price, and the Quality +Group, published at a higher but still very reasonable price. +Check over the following complete list. The volume you want +will be available in one of the two groups.</p> + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Scribner Illustrated Classics for Younger Readers"> +<tr> +<td class="col6">By Robert Louis Stevenson</td> +<td class="col8">DRUMS</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col7">DAVID BALFOUR</td> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">James Boyd</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col7">THE BLACK ARROW</td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col7">KIDNAPPED</td> +<td class="col8">THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col7">TREASURE ISLAND</td> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">James Baldwin</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col7">A CHILD’S GARDEN OF VERSES</td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="col8">THE CHILDREN’S BIBLE</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Henry A. Sherman</span> <i>and</i></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col6">By Eugene Field</td> +<td class="col9"><span class="smcap">Charles Foster Kent</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col7">POEMS OF CHILDHOOD</td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="col8">JINGLEBOB</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Philip Ashton Rollins</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col6">By Jules Verne</td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col7">MICHAEL STROGOFF</td> +<td class="col8">THE STORY OF ROLAND</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col7">THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND</td> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">James Baldwin</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col7">TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES</td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col9">UNDER THE SEA</td> +<td class="col8">THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="col9">KINGDOM COME</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">John Fox, Jr.</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col6"><i>By Frances Hodgson Burnett</i></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="col7">LITTLE LORD FAUNTLEROY</td> +<td class="col8">THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS</td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="col7">A LITTLE PRINCESS</td> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Jane Porter</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="col8">WESTWARD HO!</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col6"><i>By J. M. Barrie</i></td> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Charles Kingsley</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col7">PETER PAN AND WENDY</td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="col8">GRIMM’S FAIRY TALES</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td>&</td> +<td class="col8">THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">J. Fenimore Cooper</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col8">HANS BRINKER</td> +<td class="col8">THE BOY’S KING ARTHUR</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Mary Mapes Dodge</span></td> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Sidney Lanier</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col8">THE DEERSLAYER</td> +<td class="col8">THE ARABIAN NIGHTS</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">J. Fenimore Cooper</span></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="col8">THE CHILDREN OF DICKENS</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col8">QUENTIN DURWARD</td> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Samuel McChord Crothers</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Sir Walter Scott, Bart.</span></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="col8">THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col8">SMOKY</td> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Kenneth Grahame</span></td> +</tr> +<tr><td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Will James</span></td> +<td> </td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td> </td> +<td class="col8">THE QUEEN’S MUSEUM AND</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col8">LONE COWBOY</td> +<td class="col9">OTHER FANCIFUL TALES</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Will James</span></td> +<td class="col9"><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Frank R. Stockton</span></td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="tnote"> +<p><b>Transcriber’s notes</b>: Spaces have been removed from contractions like +“she ’s” and “you ’d”. Original spelling and hyphenation have been +preserved. The illustrations have been moved slightly for reader +convenience.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Little Princess, by Frances Hodgson Burnett + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A LITTLE PRINCESS *** + +***** This file should be named 37332-h.htm or 37332-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/3/3/37332/ + +Produced by Juliet Sutherland, eagkw and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + +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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