"A Little Princess\n\n\nby\n\nFrances Hodgson Burnett\n\n\n\n\nA LITTLE PRINCESS\n\n\nSummary: Sara Crewe, a pupil at Miss Minchin's London school, is left\nin poverty when her father dies, but is later rescued by a mysterious\nbenefactor.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n  1.  Sara\n  2.  A French Lesson\n  3.  Ermengarde\n  4.  Lottie\n  5.  Becky\n  6.  The Diamond Mines\n  7.  The Diamond Mines Again\n  8.  In the Attic\n  9.  Melchisedec\n 10.  The Indian Gentleman\n 11.  Ram Dass\n 12.  The Other Side of the Wall\n 13.  One of the Populace\n 14.  What Melchisedec Heard and Saw\n 15.  The Magic\n 16.  The Visitor\n 17.  \"It Is the Child\"\n 18.  \"I Tried Not to Be\"\n 19.  Anne\n\n\n\n\nA Little Princess\n\n\n1\n\nSara\n\n\nOnce on a dark winter's day, when the yellow fog hung so thick and\nheavy in the streets of London that the lamps were lighted and the shop\nwindows blazed with gas as they do at night, an odd-looking little girl\nsat in a cab with her father and was driven rather slowly through the\nbig thoroughfares.\n\nShe sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned against her father,\nwho held her in his arm, as she stared out of the window at the passing\npeople with a queer old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes.\n\nShe was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look\non her small face.  It would have been an old look for a child of\ntwelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven.  The fact was, however, that she\nwas always dreaming and thinking odd things and could not herself\nremember any time when she had not been thinking things about grown-up\npeople and the world they belonged to. She felt as if she had lived a\nlong, long time.\n\nAt this moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made from\nBombay with her father, Captain Crewe.  She was thinking of the big\nship, of the Lascars passing silently to and fro on it, of the children\nplaying about on the hot deck, and of some young officers' wives who\nused to try to make her talk to them and laugh at the things she said.\n\nPrincipally, she was thinking of what a queer thing it was that at one\ntime one was in India in the blazing sun, and then in the middle of the\nocean, and then driving in a strange vehicle through strange streets\nwhere the day was as dark as the night.  She found this so puzzling\nthat she moved closer to her father.\n\n\"Papa,\" she said in a low, mysterious little voice which was almost a\nwhisper, \"papa.\"\n\n\"What is it, darling?\"  Captain Crewe answered, holding her closer and\nlooking down into her face.  \"What is Sara thinking of?\"\n\n\"Is this the place?\"  Sara whispered, cuddling still closer to him. \"Is\nit, papa?\"\n\n\"Yes, little Sara, it is.  We have reached it at last.\"  And though she\nwas only seven years old, she knew that he felt sad when he said it.\n\nIt seemed to her many years since he had begun to prepare her mind for\n\"the place,\" as she always called it.  Her mother had died when she was\nborn, so she had never known or missed her.  Her young, handsome, rich,\npetting father seemed to be the only relation she had in the world.\nThey had always played together and been fond of each other.  She only\nknew he was rich because she had heard people say so when they thought\nshe was not listening, and she had also heard them say that when she\ngrew up she would be rich, too.  She did not know all that being rich\nmeant.  She had always lived in a beautiful bungalow, and had been used\nto seeing many servants who made salaams to her and called her \"Missee\nSahib,\" and gave her her own way in everything.  She had had toys and\npets and an ayah who worshipped her, and she had gradually learned that\npeople who were rich had these things.  That, however, was all she knew\nabout it.\n\nDuring her short life only one thing had troubled her, and that thing\nwas \"the place\" she was to be taken to some day.  The climate of India\nwas very bad for children, and as soon as possible they were sent away\nfrom it--generally to England and to school. She had seen other\nchildren go away, and had heard their fathers and mothers talk about\nthe letters they received from them. She had known that she would be\nobliged to go also, and though sometimes her father's stories of the\nvoyage and the new country had attracted her, she had been troubled by\nthe thought that he could not stay with her.\n\n\"Couldn't you go to that place with me, papa?\" she had asked when she\nwas five years old.  \"Couldn't you go to school, too? I would help you\nwith your lessons.\"\n\n\"But you will not have to stay for a very long time, little Sara,\" he\nhad always said.  \"You will go to a nice house where there will be a\nlot of little girls, and you will play together, and I will send you\nplenty of books, and you will grow so fast that it will seem scarcely a\nyear before you are big enough and clever enough to come back and take\ncare of papa.\"\n\nShe had liked to think of that.  To keep the house for her father; to\nride with him, and sit at the head of his table when he had dinner\nparties; to talk to him and read his books--that would be what she\nwould like most in the world, and if one must go away to \"the place\" in\nEngland to attain it, she must make up her mind to go. She did not care\nvery much for other little girls, but if she had plenty of books she\ncould console herself.  She liked books more than anything else, and\nwas, in fact, always inventing stories of beautiful things and telling\nthem to herself.  Sometimes she had told them to her father, and he had\nliked them as much as she did.\n\n\"Well, papa,\" she said softly, \"if we are here I suppose we must be\nresigned.\"\n\nHe laughed at her old-fashioned speech and kissed her.  He was really\nnot at all resigned himself, though he knew he must keep that a secret.\nHis quaint little Sara had been a great companion to him, and he felt\nhe should be a lonely fellow when, on his return to India, he went into\nhis bungalow knowing he need not expect to see the small figure in its\nwhite frock come forward to meet him.  So he held her very closely in\nhis arms as the cab rolled into the big, dull square in which stood the\nhouse which was their destination.\n\nIt was a big, dull, brick house, exactly like all the others in its\nrow, but that on the front door there shone a brass plate on which was\nengraved in black letters:\n\nMISS MINCHIN,\n\nSelect Seminary for Young Ladies.\n\n\n\"Here we are, Sara,\" said Captain Crewe, making his voice sound as\ncheerful as possible.  Then he lifted her out of the cab and they\nmounted the steps and rang the bell.  Sara often thought afterward that\nthe house was somehow exactly like Miss Minchin.  It was respectable\nand well furnished, but everything in it was ugly; and the very\narmchairs seemed to have hard bones in them.  In the hall everything\nwas hard and polished--even the red cheeks of the moon face on the tall\nclock in the corner had a severe varnished look. The drawing room into\nwhich they were ushered was covered by a carpet with a square pattern\nupon it, the chairs were square, and a heavy marble timepiece stood\nupon the heavy marble mantel.\n\nAs she sat down in one of the stiff mahogany chairs, Sara cast one of\nher quick looks about her.\n\n\"I don't like it, papa,\" she said.  \"But then I dare say soldiers--even\nbrave ones--don't really LIKE going into battle.\"\n\nCaptain Crewe laughed outright at this.  He was young and full of fun,\nand he never tired of hearing Sara's queer speeches.\n\n\"Oh, little Sara,\" he said.  \"What shall I do when I have no one to say\nsolemn things to me?  No one else is as solemn as you are.\"\n\n\"But why do solemn things make you laugh so?\" inquired Sara.\n\n\"Because you are such fun when you say them,\" he answered, laughing\nstill more.  And then suddenly he swept her into his arms and kissed\nher very hard, stopping laughing all at once and looking almost as if\ntears had come into his eyes.\n\nIt was just then that Miss Minchin entered the room.  She was very like\nher house, Sara felt: tall and dull, and respectable and ugly. She had\nlarge, cold, fishy eyes, and a large, cold, fishy smile. It spread\nitself into a very large smile when she saw Sara and Captain Crewe.\nShe had heard a great many desirable things of the young soldier from\nthe lady who had recommended her school to him. Among other things, she\nhad heard that he was a rich father who was willing to spend a great\ndeal of money on his little daughter.\n\n\"It will be a great privilege to have charge of such a beautiful and\npromising child, Captain Crewe,\" she said, taking Sara's hand and\nstroking it.  \"Lady Meredith has told me of her unusual cleverness. A\nclever child is a great treasure in an establishment like mine.\"\n\nSara stood quietly, with her eyes fixed upon Miss Minchin's face. She\nwas thinking something odd, as usual.\n\n\"Why does she say I am a beautiful child?\" she was thinking. \"I am not\nbeautiful at all.  Colonel Grange's little girl, Isobel, is beautiful.\nShe has dimples and rose-colored cheeks, and long hair the color of\ngold.  I have short black hair and green eyes; besides which, I am a\nthin child and not fair in the least.  I am one of the ugliest children\nI ever saw.  She is beginning by telling a story.\"\n\nShe was mistaken, however, in thinking she was an ugly child.  She was\nnot in the least like Isobel Grange, who had been the beauty of the\nregiment, but she had an odd charm of her own.  She was a slim, supple\ncreature, rather tall for her age, and had an intense, attractive\nlittle face.  Her hair was heavy and quite black and only curled at the\ntips; her eyes were greenish gray, it is true, but they were big,\nwonderful eyes with long, black lashes, and though she herself did not\nlike the color of them, many other people did. Still she was very firm\nin her belief that she was an ugly little girl, and she was not at all\nelated by Miss Minchin's flattery.\n\n\"I should be telling a story if I said she was beautiful,\" she thought;\n\"and I should know I was telling a story.  I believe I am as ugly as\nshe is--in my way.  What did she say that for?\"\n\nAfter she had known Miss Minchin longer she learned why she had said\nit.  She discovered that she said the same thing to each papa and mamma\nwho brought a child to her school.\n\nSara stood near her father and listened while he and Miss Minchin\ntalked.  She had been brought to the seminary because Lady Meredith's\ntwo little girls had been educated there, and Captain Crewe had a great\nrespect for Lady Meredith's experience. Sara was to be what was known\nas \"a parlor boarder,\" and she was to enjoy even greater privileges\nthan parlor boarders usually did.  She was to have a pretty bedroom and\nsitting room of her own; she was to have a pony and a carriage, and a\nmaid to take the place of the ayah who had been her nurse in India.\n\n\"I am not in the least anxious about her education,\" Captain Crewe\nsaid, with his gay laugh, as he held Sara's hand and patted it. \"The\ndifficulty will be to keep her from learning too fast and too much.\nShe is always sitting with her little nose burrowing into books.  She\ndoesn't read them, Miss Minchin; she gobbles them up as if she were a\nlittle wolf instead of a little girl. She is always starving for new\nbooks to gobble, and she wants grown-up books--great, big, fat\nones--French and German as well as English--history and biography and\npoets, and all sorts of things.  Drag her away from her books when she\nreads too much.  Make her ride her pony in the Row or go out and buy a\nnew doll.  She ought to play more with dolls.\"\n\n\"Papa,\" said Sara, \"you see, if I went out and bought a new doll every\nfew days I should have more than I could be fond of.  Dolls ought to be\nintimate friends.  Emily is going to be my intimate friend.\"\n\nCaptain Crewe looked at Miss Minchin and Miss Minchin looked at Captain\nCrewe.\n\n\"Who is Emily?\" she inquired.\n\n\"Tell her, Sara,\" Captain Crewe said, smiling.\n\nSara's green-gray eyes looked very solemn and quite soft as she\nanswered.\n\n\"She is a doll I haven't got yet,\" she said.  \"She is a doll papa is\ngoing to buy for me.  We are going out together to find her. I have\ncalled her Emily.  She is going to be my friend when papa is gone.  I\nwant her to talk to about him.\"\n\nMiss Minchin's large, fishy smile became very flattering indeed.\n\n\"What an original child!\" she said.  \"What a darling little creature!\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Captain Crewe, drawing Sara close.  \"She is a darling\nlittle creature.  Take great care of her for me, Miss Minchin.\"\n\nSara stayed with her father at his hotel for several days; in fact, she\nremained with him until he sailed away again to India.  They went out\nand visited many big shops together, and bought a great many things.\nThey bought, indeed, a great many more things than Sara needed; but\nCaptain Crewe was a rash, innocent young man and wanted his little girl\nto have everything she admired and everything he admired himself, so\nbetween them they collected a wardrobe much too grand for a child of\nseven.  There were velvet dresses trimmed with costly furs, and lace\ndresses, and embroidered ones, and hats with great, soft ostrich\nfeathers, and ermine coats and muffs, and boxes of tiny gloves and\nhandkerchiefs and silk stockings in such abundant supplies that the\npolite young women behind the counters whispered to each other that the\nodd little girl with the big, solemn eyes must be at least some foreign\nprincess--perhaps the little daughter of an Indian rajah.\n\nAnd at last they found Emily, but they went to a number of toy shops\nand looked at a great many dolls before they discovered her.\n\n\"I want her to look as if she wasn't a doll really,\" Sara said.  \"I\nwant her to look as if she LISTENS when I talk to her. The trouble with\ndolls, papa\"--and she put her head on one side and reflected as she\nsaid it--\"the trouble with dolls is that they never seem to HEAR.\" So\nthey looked at big ones and little ones--at dolls with black eyes and\ndolls with blue--at dolls with brown curls and dolls with golden\nbraids, dolls dressed and dolls undressed.\n\n\"You see,\" Sara said when they were examining one who had no clothes.\n\"If, when I find her, she has no frocks, we can take her to a\ndressmaker and have her things made to fit.  They will fit better if\nthey are tried on.\"\n\nAfter a number of disappointments they decided to walk and look in at\nthe shop windows and let the cab follow them.  They had passed two or\nthree places without even going in, when, as they were approaching a\nshop which was really not a very large one, Sara suddenly started and\nclutched her father's arm.\n\n\"Oh, papa!\" she cried.  \"There is Emily!\"\n\nA flush had risen to her face and there was an expression in her\ngreen-gray eyes as if she had just recognized someone she was intimate\nwith and fond of.\n\n\"She is actually waiting there for us!\" she said.  \"Let us go in to\nher.\"\n\n\"Dear me,\" said Captain Crewe, \"I feel as if we ought to have someone\nto introduce us.\"\n\n\"You must introduce me and I will introduce you,\" said Sara.  \"But I\nknew her the minute I saw her--so perhaps she knew me, too.\"\n\nPerhaps she had known her.  She had certainly a very intelligent\nexpression in her eyes when Sara took her in her arms. She was a large\ndoll, but not too large to carry about easily; she had naturally\ncurling golden-brown hair, which hung like a mantle about her, and her\neyes were a deep, clear, gray-blue, with soft, thick eyelashes which\nwere real eyelashes and not mere painted lines.\n\n\"Of course,\" said Sara, looking into her face as she held her on her\nknee, \"of course papa, this is Emily.\"\n\nSo Emily was bought and actually taken to a children's outfitter's shop\nand measured for a wardrobe as grand as Sara's own. She had lace\nfrocks, too, and velvet and muslin ones, and hats and coats and\nbeautiful lace-trimmed underclothes, and gloves and handkerchiefs and\nfurs.\n\n\"I should like her always to look as if she was a child with a good\nmother,\" said Sara.  \"I'm her mother, though I am going to make a\ncompanion of her.\"\n\nCaptain Crewe would really have enjoyed the shopping tremendously, but\nthat a sad thought kept tugging at his heart.  This all meant that he\nwas going to be separated from his beloved, quaint little comrade.\n\nHe got out of his bed in the middle of that night and went and stood\nlooking down at Sara, who lay asleep with Emily in her arms. Her black\nhair was spread out on the pillow and Emily's golden-brown hair mingled\nwith it, both of them had lace-ruffled nightgowns, and both had long\neyelashes which lay and curled up on their cheeks. Emily looked so like\na real child that Captain Crewe felt glad she was there.  He drew a big\nsigh and pulled his mustache with a boyish expression.\n\n\"Heigh-ho, little Sara!\" he said to himself \"I don't believe you know\nhow much your daddy will miss you.\"\n\nThe next day he took her to Miss Minchin's and left her there.  He was\nto sail away the next morning.  He explained to Miss Minchin that his\nsolicitors, Messrs. Barrow & Skipworth, had charge of his affairs in\nEngland and would give her any advice she wanted, and that they would\npay the bills she sent in for Sara's expenses. He would write to Sara\ntwice a week, and she was to be given every pleasure she asked for.\n\n\"She is a sensible little thing, and she never wants anything it isn't\nsafe to give her,\" he said.\n\nThen he went with Sara into her little sitting room and they bade each\nother good-by. Sara sat on his knee and held the lapels of his coat in\nher small hands, and looked long and hard at his face.\n\n\"Are you learning me by heart, little Sara?\" he said, stroking her hair.\n\n\"No,\" she answered.  \"I know you by heart.  You are inside my heart.\"\nAnd they put their arms round each other and kissed as if they would\nnever let each other go.\n\nWhen the cab drove away from the door, Sara was sitting on the floor of\nher sitting room, with her hands under her chin and her eyes following\nit until it had turned the corner of the square.  Emily was sitting by\nher, and she looked after it, too.  When Miss Minchin sent her sister,\nMiss Amelia, to see what the child was doing, she found she could not\nopen the door.\n\n\"I have locked it,\" said a queer, polite little voice from inside. \"I\nwant to be quite by myself, if you please.\"\n\nMiss Amelia was fat and dumpy, and stood very much in awe of her\nsister.  She was really the better-natured person of the two, but she\nnever disobeyed Miss Minchin.  She went downstairs again, looking\nalmost alarmed.\n\n\"I never saw such a funny, old-fashioned child, sister,\" she said. \"She\nhas locked herself in, and she is not making the least particle of\nnoise.\"\n\n\"It is much better than if she kicked and screamed, as some of them\ndo,\" Miss Minchin answered.  \"I expected that a child as much spoiled\nas she is would set the whole house in an uproar.  If ever a child was\ngiven her own way in everything, she is.\"\n\n\"I've been opening her trunks and putting her things away,\" said Miss\nAmelia.  \"I never saw anything like them--sable and ermine on her\ncoats, and real Valenciennes lace on her underclothing.  You have seen\nsome of her clothes.  What DO you think of them?\"\n\n\"I think they are perfectly ridiculous,\" replied Miss Minchin, sharply;\n\"but they will look very well at the head of the line when we take the\nschoolchildren to church on Sunday. She has been provided for as if she\nwere a little princess.\"\n\nAnd upstairs in the locked room Sara and Emily sat on the floor and\nstared at the corner round which the cab had disappeared, while Captain\nCrewe looked backward, waving and kissing his hand as if he could not\nbear to stop.\n\n\n\n2\n\nA French Lesson\n\n\nWhen Sara entered the schoolroom the next morning everybody looked at\nher with wide, interested eyes.  By that time every pupil--from Lavinia\nHerbert, who was nearly thirteen and felt quite grown up, to Lottie\nLegh, who was only just four and the baby of the school--had heard a\ngreat deal about her.  They knew very certainly that she was Miss\nMinchin's show pupil and was considered a credit to the establishment.\nOne or two of them had even caught a glimpse of her French maid,\nMariette, who had arrived the evening before. Lavinia had managed to\npass Sara's room when the door was open, and had seen Mariette opening\na box which had arrived late from some shop.\n\n\"It was full of petticoats with lace frills on them--frills and\nfrills,\" she whispered to her friend Jessie as she bent over her\ngeography. \"I saw her shaking them out.  I heard Miss Minchin say to\nMiss Amelia that her clothes were so grand that they were ridiculous\nfor a child.  My mamma says that children should be dressed simply. She\nhas got one of those petticoats on now.  I saw it when she sat down.\"\n\n\"She has silk stockings on!\" whispered Jessie, bending over her\ngeography also.  \"And what little feet!  I never saw such little feet.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" sniffed Lavinia, spitefully, \"that is the way her slippers are\nmade.  My mamma says that even big feet can be made to look small if\nyou have a clever shoemaker.  I don't think she is pretty at all. Her\neyes are such a queer color.\"\n\n\"She isn't pretty as other pretty people are,\" said Jessie, stealing a\nglance across the room; \"but she makes you want to look at her again.\nShe has tremendously long eyelashes, but her eyes are almost green.\"\n\nSara was sitting quietly in her seat, waiting to be told what to do.\nShe had been placed near Miss Minchin's desk.  She was not abashed at\nall by the many pairs of eyes watching her.  She was interested and\nlooked back quietly at the children who looked at her. She wondered\nwhat they were thinking of, and if they liked Miss Minchin, and if they\ncared for their lessons, and if any of them had a papa at all like her\nown.  She had had a long talk with Emily about her papa that morning.\n\n\"He is on the sea now, Emily,\" she had said.  \"We must be very great\nfriends to each other and tell each other things.  Emily, look at me.\nYou have the nicest eyes I ever saw--but I wish you could speak.\"\n\nShe was a child full of imaginings and whimsical thoughts, and one of\nher fancies was that there would be a great deal of comfort in even\npretending that Emily was alive and really heard and understood. After\nMariette had dressed her in her dark-blue schoolroom frock and tied her\nhair with a dark-blue ribbon, she went to Emily, who sat in a chair of\nher own, and gave her a book.\n\n\"You can read that while I am downstairs,\" she said; and, seeing\nMariette looking at her curiously, she spoke to her with a serious\nlittle face.\n\n\"What I believe about dolls,\" she said, \"is that they can do things\nthey will not let us know about.  Perhaps, really, Emily can read and\ntalk and walk, but she will only do it when people are out of the room.\nThat is her secret.  You see, if people knew that dolls could do\nthings, they would make them work.  So, perhaps, they have promised\neach other to keep it a secret.  If you stay in the room, Emily will\njust sit there and stare; but if you go out, she will begin to read,\nperhaps, or go and look out of the window. Then if she heard either of\nus coming, she would just run back and jump into her chair and pretend\nshe had been there all the time.\"\n\n\"Comme elle est drole!\"  Mariette said to herself, and when she went\ndownstairs she told the head housemaid about it.  But she had already\nbegun to like this odd little girl who had such an intelligent small\nface and such perfect manners.  She had taken care of children before\nwho were not so polite.  Sara was a very fine little person, and had a\ngentle, appreciative way of saying, \"If you please, Mariette,\" \"Thank\nyou, Mariette,\" which was very charming.  Mariette told the head\nhousemaid that she thanked her as if she was thanking a lady.\n\n\"Elle a l'air d'une princesse, cette petite,\" she said. Indeed, she was\nvery much pleased with her new little mistress and liked her place\ngreatly.\n\nAfter Sara had sat in her seat in the schoolroom for a few minutes,\nbeing looked at by the pupils, Miss Minchin rapped in a dignified\nmanner upon her desk.\n\n\"Young ladies,\" she said, \"I wish to introduce you to your new\ncompanion.\"  All the little girls rose in their places, and Sara rose\nalso.  \"I shall expect you all to be very agreeable to Miss Crewe; she\nhas just come to us from a great distance--in fact, from India. As soon\nas lessons are over you must make each other's acquaintance.\"\n\nThe pupils bowed ceremoniously, and Sara made a little curtsy, and then\nthey sat down and looked at each other again.\n\n\"Sara,\" said Miss Minchin in her schoolroom manner, \"come here to me.\"\n\nShe had taken a book from the desk and was turning over its leaves.\nSara went to her politely.\n\n\"As your papa has engaged a French maid for you,\" she began, \"I\nconclude that he wishes you to make a special study of the French\nlanguage.\"\n\nSara felt a little awkward.\n\n\"I think he engaged her,\" she said, \"because he--he thought I would\nlike her, Miss Minchin.\"\n\n\"I am afraid,\" said Miss Minchin, with a slightly sour smile, \"that you\nhave been a very spoiled little girl and always imagine that things are\ndone because you like them.  My impression is that your papa wished you\nto learn French.\"\n\nIf Sara had been older or less punctilious about being quite polite to\npeople, she could have explained herself in a very few words. But, as\nit was, she felt a flush rising on her cheeks.  Miss Minchin was a very\nsevere and imposing person, and she seemed so absolutely sure that Sara\nknew nothing whatever of French that she felt as if it would be almost\nrude to correct her.  The truth was that Sara could not remember the\ntime when she had not seemed to know French. Her father had often\nspoken it to her when she had been a baby. Her mother had been a French\nwoman, and Captain Crewe had loved her language, so it happened that\nSara had always heard and been familiar with it.\n\n\"I--I have never really learned French, but--but--\" she began, trying\nshyly to make herself clear.\n\nOne of Miss Minchin's chief secret annoyances was that she did not\nspeak French herself, and was desirous of concealing the irritating\nfact. She, therefore, had no intention of discussing the matter and\nlaying herself open to innocent questioning by a new little pupil.\n\n\"That is enough,\" she said with polite tartness.  \"If you have not\nlearned, you must begin at once.  The French master, Monsieur Dufarge,\nwill be here in a few minutes.  Take this book and look at it until he\narrives.\"\n\nSara's cheeks felt warm.  She went back to her seat and opened the\nbook. She looked at the first page with a grave face.  She knew it\nwould be rude to smile, and she was very determined not to be rude. But\nit was very odd to find herself expected to study a page which told her\nthat \"le pere\" meant \"the father,\" and \"la mere\" meant \"the mother.\"\n\nMiss Minchin glanced toward her scrutinizingly.\n\n\"You look rather cross, Sara,\" she said.  \"I am sorry you do not like\nthe idea of learning French.\"\n\n\"I am very fond of it,\" answered Sara, thinking she would try again;\n\"but--\"\n\n\"You must not say 'but' when you are told to do things,\" said Miss\nMinchin.  \"Look at your book again.\"\n\nAnd Sara did so, and did not smile, even when she found that \"le fils\"\nmeant \"the son,\" and \"le frere\" meant \"the brother.\"\n\n\"When Monsieur Dufarge comes,\" she thought, \"I can make him understand.\"\n\nMonsieur Dufarge arrived very shortly afterward.  He was a very nice,\nintelligent, middle-aged Frenchman, and he looked interested when his\neyes fell upon Sara trying politely to seem absorbed in her little book\nof phrases.\n\n\"Is this a new pupil for me, madame?\" he said to Miss Minchin.  \"I hope\nthat is my good fortune.\"\n\n\"Her papa--Captain Crewe--is very anxious that she should begin the\nlanguage.  But I am afraid she has a childish prejudice against it. She\ndoes not seem to wish to learn,\" said Miss Minchin.\n\n\"I am sorry of that, mademoiselle,\" he said kindly to Sara.  \"Perhaps,\nwhen we begin to study together, I may show you that it is a charming\ntongue.\"\n\nLittle Sara rose in her seat.  She was beginning to feel rather\ndesperate, as if she were almost in disgrace.  She looked up into\nMonsieur Dufarge's face with her big, green-gray eyes, and they were\nquite innocently appealing.  She knew that he would understand as soon\nas she spoke.  She began to explain quite simply in pretty and fluent\nFrench.  Madame had not understood.  She had not learned French\nexactly--not out of books--but her papa and other people had always\nspoken it to her, and she had read it and written it as she had read\nand written English. Her papa loved it, and she loved it because he\ndid.  Her dear mamma, who had died when she was born, had been French.\nShe would be glad to learn anything monsieur would teach her, but what\nshe had tried to explain to madame was that she already knew the words\nin this book--and she held out the little book of phrases.\n\nWhen she began to speak Miss Minchin started quite violently and sat\nstaring at her over her eyeglasses, almost indignantly, until she had\nfinished.  Monsieur Dufarge began to smile, and his smile was one of\ngreat pleasure.  To hear this pretty childish voice speaking his own\nlanguage so simply and charmingly made him feel almost as if he were in\nhis native land--which in dark, foggy days in London sometimes seemed\nworlds away.  When she had finished, he took the phrase book from her,\nwith a look almost affectionate. But he spoke to Miss Minchin.\n\n\"Ah, madame,\" he said, \"there is not much I can teach her.  She has not\nLEARNED French; she is French.  Her accent is exquisite.\"\n\n\"You ought to have told me,\" exclaimed Miss Minchin, much mortified,\nturning to Sara.\n\n\"I--I tried,\" said Sara.  \"I--I suppose I did not begin right.\"\n\nMiss Minchin knew she had tried, and that it had not been her fault\nthat she was not allowed to explain.  And when she saw that the pupils\nhad been listening and that Lavinia and Jessie were giggling behind\ntheir French grammars, she felt infuriated.\n\n\"Silence, young ladies!\" she said severely, rapping upon the desk.\n\"Silence at once!\"\n\nAnd she began from that minute to feel rather a grudge against her show\npupil.\n\n\n\n3\n\nErmengarde\n\n\nOn that first morning, when Sara sat at Miss Minchin's side, aware that\nthe whole schoolroom was devoting itself to observing her, she had\nnoticed very soon one little girl, about her own age, who looked at her\nvery hard with a pair of light, rather dull, blue eyes.  She was a fat\nchild who did not look as if she were in the least clever, but she had\na good-naturedly pouting mouth. Her flaxen hair was braided in a tight\npigtail, tied with a ribbon, and she had pulled this pigtail around her\nneck, and was biting the end of the ribbon, resting her elbows on the\ndesk, as she stared wonderingly at the new pupil.  When Monsieur\nDufarge began to speak to Sara, she looked a little frightened; and\nwhen Sara stepped forward and, looking at him with the innocent,\nappealing eyes, answered him, without any warning, in French, the fat\nlittle girl gave a startled jump, and grew quite red in her awed\namazement. Having wept hopeless tears for weeks in her efforts to\nremember that \"la mere\" meant \"the mother,\" and \"le pere,\" \"the\nfather,\"--when one spoke sensible English--it was almost too much for\nher suddenly to find herself listening to a child her own age who\nseemed not only quite familiar with these words, but apparently knew\nany number of others, and could mix them up with verbs as if they were\nmere trifles.\n\nShe stared so hard and bit the ribbon on her pigtail so fast that she\nattracted the attention of Miss Minchin, who, feeling extremely cross\nat the moment, immediately pounced upon her.\n\n\"Miss St. John!\" she exclaimed severely.  \"What do you mean by such\nconduct?  Remove your elbows!  Take your ribbon out of your mouth! Sit\nup at once!\"\n\nUpon which Miss St. John gave another jump, and when Lavinia and Jessie\ntittered she became redder than ever--so red, indeed, that she almost\nlooked as if tears were coming into her poor, dull, childish eyes; and\nSara saw her and was so sorry for her that she began rather to like her\nand want to be her friend.  It was a way of hers always to want to\nspring into any fray in which someone was made uncomfortable or unhappy.\n\n\"If Sara had been a boy and lived a few centuries ago,\" her father used\nto say, \"she would have gone about the country with her sword drawn,\nrescuing and defending everyone in distress.  She always wants to fight\nwhen she sees people in trouble.\"\n\nSo she took rather a fancy to fat, slow, little Miss St. John, and kept\nglancing toward her through the morning.  She saw that lessons were no\neasy matter to her, and that there was no danger of her ever being\nspoiled by being treated as a show pupil. Her French lesson was a\npathetic thing.  Her pronunciation made even Monsieur Dufarge smile in\nspite of himself, and Lavinia and Jessie and the more fortunate girls\neither giggled or looked at her in wondering disdain.  But Sara did not\nlaugh.  She tried to look as if she did not hear when Miss St. John\ncalled \"le bon pain,\" \"lee bong pang.\"  She had a fine, hot little\ntemper of her own, and it made her feel rather savage when she heard\nthe titters and saw the poor, stupid, distressed child's face.\n\n\"It isn't funny, really,\" she said between her teeth, as she bent over\nher book.  \"They ought not to laugh.\"\n\nWhen lessons were over and the pupils gathered together in groups to\ntalk, Sara looked for Miss St. John, and finding her bundled rather\ndisconsolately in a window-seat, she walked over to her and spoke. She\nonly said the kind of thing little girls always say to each other by\nway of beginning an acquaintance, but there was something friendly\nabout Sara, and people always felt it.\n\n\"What is your name?\" she said.\n\nTo explain Miss St. John's amazement one must recall that a new pupil\nis, for a short time, a somewhat uncertain thing; and of this new pupil\nthe entire school had talked the night before until it fell asleep\nquite exhausted by excitement and contradictory stories. A new pupil\nwith a carriage and a pony and a maid, and a voyage from India to\ndiscuss, was not an ordinary acquaintance.\n\n\"My name's Ermengarde St. John,\" she answered.\n\n\"Mine is Sara Crewe,\" said Sara.  \"Yours is very pretty.  It sounds\nlike a story book.\"\n\n\"Do you like it?\" fluttered Ermengarde.  \"I--I like yours.\"\n\nMiss St. John's chief trouble in life was that she had a clever father.\nSometimes this seemed to her a dreadful calamity.  If you have a father\nwho knows everything, who speaks seven or eight languages, and has\nthousands of volumes which he has apparently learned by heart, he\nfrequently expects you to be familiar with the contents of your lesson\nbooks at least; and it is not improbable that he will feel you ought to\nbe able to remember a few incidents of history and to write a French\nexercise.  Ermengarde was a severe trial to Mr. St. John. He could not\nunderstand how a child of his could be a notably and unmistakably dull\ncreature who never shone in anything.\n\n\"Good heavens!\" he had said more than once, as he stared at her, \"there\nare times when I think she is as stupid as her Aunt Eliza!\"\n\nIf her Aunt Eliza had been slow to learn and quick to forget a thing\nentirely when she had learned it, Ermengarde was strikingly like her.\nShe was the monumental dunce of the school, and it could not be denied.\n\n\"She must be MADE to learn,\" her father said to Miss Minchin.\n\nConsequently Ermengarde spent the greater part of her life in disgrace\nor in tears.  She learned things and forgot them; or, if she remembered\nthem, she did not understand them.  So it was natural that, having made\nSara's acquaintance, she should sit and stare at her with profound\nadmiration.\n\n\"You can speak French, can't you?\" she said respectfully.\n\nSara got on to the window-seat, which was a big, deep one, and, tucking\nup her feet, sat with her hands clasped round her knees.\n\n\"I can speak it because I have heard it all my life,\" she answered.\n\"You could speak it if you had always heard it.\"\n\n\"Oh, no, I couldn't,\" said Ermengarde.  \"I NEVER could speak it!\"\n\n\"Why?\" inquired Sara, curiously.\n\nErmengarde shook her head so that the pigtail wobbled.\n\n\"You heard me just now,\" she said.  \"I'm always like that. I can't SAY\nthe words.  They're so queer.\"\n\nShe paused a moment, and then added with a touch of awe in her voice,\n\"You are CLEVER, aren't you?\"\n\nSara looked out of the window into the dingy square, where the sparrows\nwere hopping and twittering on the wet, iron railings and the sooty\nbranches of the trees.  She reflected a few moments. She had heard it\nsaid very often that she was \"clever,\" and she wondered if she was--and\nIF she was, how it had happened.\n\n\"I don't know,\" she said.  \"I can't tell.\"  Then, seeing a mournful\nlook on the round, chubby face, she gave a little laugh and changed the\nsubject.\n\n\"Would you like to see Emily?\" she inquired.\n\n\"Who is Emily?\"  Ermengarde asked, just as Miss Minchin had done.\n\n\"Come up to my room and see,\" said Sara, holding out her hand.\n\nThey jumped down from the window-seat together, and went upstairs.\n\n\"Is it true,\" Ermengarde whispered, as they went through the hall--\"is\nit true that you have a playroom all to yourself?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Sara answered.  \"Papa asked Miss Minchin to let me have one,\nbecause--well, it was because when I play I make up stories and tell\nthem to myself, and I don't like people to hear me. It spoils it if I\nthink people listen.\"\n\nThey had reached the passage leading to Sara's room by this time, and\nErmengarde stopped short, staring, and quite losing her breath.\n\n\"You MAKE up stories!\" she gasped.  \"Can you do that--as well as speak\nFrench?  CAN you?\"\n\nSara looked at her in simple surprise.\n\n\"Why, anyone can make up things,\" she said.  \"Have you never tried?\"\n\nShe put her hand warningly on Ermengarde's.\n\n\"Let us go very quietly to the door,\" she whispered, \"and then I will\nopen it quite suddenly; perhaps we may catch her.\"\n\nShe was half laughing, but there was a touch of mysterious hope in her\neyes which fascinated Ermengarde, though she had not the remotest idea\nwhat it meant, or whom it was she wanted to \"catch,\" or why she wanted\nto catch her.  Whatsoever she meant, Ermengarde was sure it was\nsomething delightfully exciting.  So, quite thrilled with expectation,\nshe followed her on tiptoe along the passage. They made not the least\nnoise until they reached the door. Then Sara suddenly turned the\nhandle, and threw it wide open. Its opening revealed the room quite\nneat and quiet, a fire gently burning in the grate, and a wonderful\ndoll sitting in a chair by it, apparently reading a book.\n\n\"Oh, she got back to her seat before we could see her!\"  Sara\nexplained. \"Of course they always do.  They are as quick as lightning.\"\n\nErmengarde looked from her to the doll and back again.\n\n\"Can she--walk?\" she asked breathlessly.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Sara.  \"At least I believe she can.  At least I PRETEND\nI believe she can.  And that makes it seem as if it were true. Have you\nnever pretended things?\"\n\n\"No,\" said Ermengarde.  \"Never.  I--tell me about it.\"\n\nShe was so bewitched by this odd, new companion that she actually\nstared at Sara instead of at Emily--notwithstanding that Emily was the\nmost attractive doll person she had ever seen.\n\n\"Let us sit down,\" said Sara, \"and I will tell you.  It's so easy that\nwhen you begin you can't stop.  You just go on and on doing it always.\nAnd it's beautiful.  Emily, you must listen.  This is Ermengarde St.\nJohn, Emily.  Ermengarde, this is Emily.  Would you like to hold her?\"\n\n\"Oh, may I?\" said Ermengarde.  \"May I, really?  She is beautiful!\" And\nEmily was put into her arms.\n\nNever in her dull, short life had Miss St. John dreamed of such an hour\nas the one she spent with the queer new pupil before they heard the\nlunch-bell ring and were obliged to go downstairs.\n\nSara sat upon the hearth-rug and told her strange things.  She sat\nrather huddled up, and her green eyes shone and her cheeks flushed. She\ntold stories of the voyage, and stories of India; but what fascinated\nErmengarde the most was her fancy about the dolls who walked and\ntalked, and who could do anything they chose when the human beings were\nout of the room, but who must keep their powers a secret and so flew\nback to their places \"like lightning\" when people returned to the room.\n\n\"WE couldn't do it,\" said Sara, seriously.  \"You see, it's a kind of\nmagic.\"\n\nOnce, when she was relating the story of the search for Emily,\nErmengarde saw her face suddenly change.  A cloud seemed to pass over\nit and put out the light in her shining eyes.  She drew her breath in\nso sharply that it made a funny, sad little sound, and then she shut\nher lips and held them tightly closed, as if she was determined either\nto do or NOT to do something. Ermengarde had an idea that if she had\nbeen like any other little girl, she might have suddenly burst out\nsobbing and crying. But she did not.\n\n\"Have you a--a pain?\"  Ermengarde ventured.\n\n\"Yes,\" Sara answered, after a moment's silence.  \"But it is not in my\nbody.\"  Then she added something in a low voice which she tried to keep\nquite steady, and it was this:  \"Do you love your father more than\nanything else in all the whole world?\"\n\nErmengarde's mouth fell open a little.  She knew that it would be far\nfrom behaving like a respectable child at a select seminary to say that\nit had never occurred to you that you COULD love your father, that you\nwould do anything desperate to avoid being left alone in his society\nfor ten minutes.  She was, indeed, greatly embarrassed.\n\n\"I--I scarcely ever see him,\" she stammered.  \"He is always in the\nlibrary--reading things.\"\n\n\"I love mine more than all the world ten times over,\" Sara said.  \"That\nis what my pain is.  He has gone away.\"\n\nShe put her head quietly down on her little, huddled-up knees, and sat\nvery still for a few minutes.\n\n\"She's going to cry out loud,\" thought Ermengarde, fearfully.\n\nBut she did not.  Her short, black locks tumbled about her ears, and\nshe sat still.  Then she spoke without lifting her head.\n\n\"I promised him I would bear it,\" she said.  \"And I will.  You have to\nbear things.  Think what soldiers bear!  Papa is a soldier. If there\nwas a war he would have to bear marching and thirstiness and, perhaps,\ndeep wounds.  And he would never say a word--not one word.\"\n\nErmengarde could only gaze at her, but she felt that she was beginning\nto adore her.  She was so wonderful and different from anyone else.\n\nPresently, she lifted her face and shook back her black locks, with a\nqueer little smile.\n\n\"If I go on talking and talking,\" she said, \"and telling you things\nabout pretending, I shall bear it better.  You don't forget, but you\nbear it better.\"\n\nErmengarde did not know why a lump came into her throat and her eyes\nfelt as if tears were in them.\n\n\"Lavinia and Jessie are 'best friends,'\" she said rather huskily. \"I\nwish we could be 'best friends.'  Would you have me for yours? You're\nclever, and I'm the stupidest child in the school, but I--oh, I do so\nlike you!\"\n\n\"I'm glad of that,\" said Sara.  \"It makes you thankful when you are\nliked.  Yes.  We will be friends.  And I'll tell you what\"--a sudden\ngleam lighting her face--\"I can help you with your French lessons.\"\n\n\n\n4\n\nLottie\n\n\nIf Sara had been a different kind of child, the life she led at Miss\nMinchin's Select Seminary for the next few years would not have been at\nall good for her.  She was treated more as if she were a distinguished\nguest at the establishment than as if she were a mere little girl. If\nshe had been a self-opinionated, domineering child, she might have\nbecome disagreeable enough to be unbearable through being so much\nindulged and flattered.  If she had been an indolent child, she would\nhave learned nothing.  Privately Miss Minchin disliked her, but she was\nfar too worldly a woman to do or say anything which might make such a\ndesirable pupil wish to leave her school. She knew quite well that if\nSara wrote to her papa to tell him she was uncomfortable or unhappy,\nCaptain Crewe would remove her at once. Miss Minchin's opinion was that\nif a child were continually praised and never forbidden to do what she\nliked, she would be sure to be fond of the place where she was so\ntreated.  Accordingly, Sara was praised for her quickness at her\nlessons, for her good manners, for her amiability to her fellow pupils,\nfor her generosity if she gave sixpence to a beggar out of her full\nlittle purse; the simplest thing she did was treated as if it were a\nvirtue, and if she had not had a disposition and a clever little brain,\nshe might have been a very self-satisfied young person.  But the clever\nlittle brain told her a great many sensible and true things about\nherself and her circumstances, and now and then she talked these things\nover to Ermengarde as time went on.\n\n\"Things happen to people by accident,\" she used to say.  \"A lot of nice\naccidents have happened to me.  It just HAPPENED that I always liked\nlessons and books, and could remember things when I learned them. It\njust happened that I was born with a father who was beautiful and nice\nand clever, and could give me everything I liked. Perhaps I have not\nreally a good temper at all, but if you have everything you want and\neveryone is kind to you, how can you help but be good-tempered?  I\ndon't know\"--looking quite serious--\"how I shall ever find out whether\nI am really a nice child or a horrid one. Perhaps I'm a HIDEOUS child,\nand no one will ever know, just because I never have any trials.\"\n\n\"Lavinia has no trials,\" said Ermengarde, stolidly, \"and she is horrid\nenough.\"\n\nSara rubbed the end of her little nose reflectively, as she thought the\nmatter over.\n\n\"Well,\" she said at last, \"perhaps--perhaps that is because Lavinia is\nGROWING.\" This was the result of a charitable recollection of having\nheard Miss Amelia say that Lavinia was growing so fast that she\nbelieved it affected her health and temper.\n\nLavinia, in fact, was spiteful.  She was inordinately jealous of Sara.\nUntil the new pupil's arrival, she had felt herself the leader in the\nschool.  She had led because she was capable of making herself\nextremely disagreeable if the others did not follow her. She domineered\nover the little children, and assumed grand airs with those big enough\nto be her companions.  She was rather pretty, and had been the\nbest-dressed pupil in the procession when the Select Seminary walked\nout two by two, until Sara's velvet coats and sable muffs appeared,\ncombined with drooping ostrich feathers, and were led by Miss Minchin\nat the head of the line.  This, at the beginning, had been bitter\nenough; but as time went on it became apparent that Sara was a leader,\ntoo, and not because she could make herself disagreeable, but because\nshe never did.\n\n\"There's one thing about Sara Crewe,\" Jessie had enraged her \"best\nfriend\" by saying honestly, \"she's never 'grand' about herself the\nleast bit, and you know she might be, Lavvie.  I believe I couldn't\nhelp being--just a little--if I had so many fine things and was made\nsuch a fuss over.  It's disgusting, the way Miss Minchin shows her off\nwhen parents come.\"\n\n\"'Dear Sara must come into the drawing room and talk to Mrs. Musgrave\nabout India,'\" mimicked Lavinia, in her most highly flavored imitation\nof Miss Minchin.  \"'Dear Sara must speak French to Lady Pitkin. Her\naccent is so perfect.'  She didn't learn her French at the Seminary, at\nany rate.  And there's nothing so clever in her knowing it. She says\nherself she didn't learn it at all.  She just picked it up, because she\nalways heard her papa speak it.  And, as to her papa, there is nothing\nso grand in being an Indian officer.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Jessie, slowly, \"he's killed tigers.  He killed the one in\nthe skin Sara has in her room.  That's why she likes it so. She lies on\nit and strokes its head, and talks to it as if it was a cat.\"\n\n\"She's always doing something silly,\" snapped Lavinia.  \"My mamma says\nthat way of hers of pretending things is silly.  She says she will grow\nup eccentric.\"\n\nIt was quite true that Sara was never \"grand.\"  She was a friendly\nlittle soul, and shared her privileges and belongings with a free hand.\nThe little ones, who were accustomed to being disdained and ordered out\nof the way by mature ladies aged ten and twelve, were never made to cry\nby this most envied of them all.  She was a motherly young person, and\nwhen people fell down and scraped their knees, she ran and helped them\nup and patted them, or found in her pocket a bonbon or some other\narticle of a soothing nature. She never pushed them out of her way or\nalluded to their years as a humiliation and a blot upon their small\ncharacters.\n\n\"If you are four you are four,\" she said severely to Lavinia on an\noccasion of her having--it must be confessed--slapped Lottie and called\nher \"a brat;\" \"but you will be five next year, and six the year after\nthat.  And,\" opening large, convicting eyes, \"it takes sixteen years to\nmake you twenty.\"\n\n\"Dear me,\" said Lavinia, \"how we can calculate!\"  In fact, it was not\nto be denied that sixteen and four made twenty--and twenty was an age\nthe most daring were scarcely bold enough to dream of.\n\nSo the younger children adored Sara.  More than once she had been known\nto have a tea party, made up of these despised ones, in her own room.\nAnd Emily had been played with, and Emily's own tea service used--the\none with cups which held quite a lot of much-sweetened weak tea and had\nblue flowers on them.  No one had seen such a very real doll's tea set\nbefore.  From that afternoon Sara was regarded as a goddess and a queen\nby the entire alphabet class.\n\nLottie Legh worshipped her to such an extent that if Sara had not been\na motherly person, she would have found her tiresome.  Lottie had been\nsent to school by a rather flighty young papa who could not imagine\nwhat else to do with her.  Her young mother had died, and as the child\nhad been treated like a favorite doll or a very spoiled pet monkey or\nlap dog ever since the first hour of her life, she was a very appalling\nlittle creature.  When she wanted anything or did not want anything she\nwept and howled; and, as she always wanted the things she could not\nhave, and did not want the things that were best for her, her shrill\nlittle voice was usually to be heard uplifted in wails in one part of\nthe house or another.\n\nHer strongest weapon was that in some mysterious way she had found out\nthat a very small girl who had lost her mother was a person who ought\nto be pitied and made much of.  She had probably heard some grown-up\npeople talking her over in the early days, after her mother's death. So\nit became her habit to make great use of this knowledge.\n\nThe first time Sara took her in charge was one morning when, on passing\na sitting room, she heard both Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia trying to\nsuppress the angry wails of some child who, evidently, refused to be\nsilenced.  She refused so strenuously indeed that Miss Minchin was\nobliged to almost shout--in a stately and severe manner--to make\nherself heard.\n\n\"What IS she crying for?\" she almost yelled.\n\n\"Oh--oh--oh!\"  Sara heard; \"I haven't got any mam--ma-a!\"\n\n\"Oh, Lottie!\" screamed Miss Amelia.  \"Do stop, darling!  Don't cry!\nPlease don't!\"\n\n\"Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!\"  Lottie howled tempestuously.\n\"Haven't--got--any--mam--ma-a!\"\n\n\"She ought to be whipped,\" Miss Minchin proclaimed.  \"You SHALL be\nwhipped, you naughty child!\"\n\nLottie wailed more loudly than ever.  Miss Amelia began to cry.  Miss\nMinchin's voice rose until it almost thundered, then suddenly she\nsprang up from her chair in impotent indignation and flounced out of\nthe room, leaving Miss Amelia to arrange the matter.\n\nSara had paused in the hall, wondering if she ought to go into the\nroom, because she had recently begun a friendly acquaintance with\nLottie and might be able to quiet her.  When Miss Minchin came out and\nsaw her, she looked rather annoyed.  She realized that her voice, as\nheard from inside the room, could not have sounded either dignified or\namiable.\n\n\"Oh, Sara!\" she exclaimed, endeavoring to produce a suitable smile.\n\n\"I stopped,\" explained Sara, \"because I knew it was Lottie--and I\nthought, perhaps--just perhaps, I could make her be quiet. May I try,\nMiss Minchin?\"\n\n\"If you can, you are a clever child,\" answered Miss Minchin, drawing in\nher mouth sharply.  Then, seeing that Sara looked slightly chilled by\nher asperity, she changed her manner. \"But you are clever in\neverything,\" she said in her approving way. \"I dare say you can manage\nher.  Go in.\"  And she left her.\n\nWhen Sara entered the room, Lottie was lying upon the floor, screaming\nand kicking her small fat legs violently, and Miss Amelia was bending\nover her in consternation and despair, looking quite red and damp with\nheat.  Lottie had always found, when in her own nursery at home, that\nkicking and screaming would always be quieted by any means she insisted\non.  Poor plump Miss Amelia was trying first one method, and then\nanother.\n\n\"Poor darling,\" she said one moment, \"I know you haven't any mamma,\npoor--\" Then in quite another tone, \"If you don't stop, Lottie, I will\nshake you.  Poor little angel!  There--!  You wicked, bad, detestable\nchild, I will smack you!  I will!\"\n\nSara went to them quietly.  She did not know at all what she was going\nto do, but she had a vague inward conviction that it would be better\nnot to say such different kinds of things quite so helplessly and\nexcitedly.\n\n\"Miss Amelia,\" she said in a low voice, \"Miss Minchin says I may try to\nmake her stop--may I?\"\n\nMiss Amelia turned and looked at her hopelessly.  \"Oh, DO you think you\ncan?\" she gasped.\n\n\"I don't know whether I CAN\", answered Sara, still in her half-whisper;\n\"but I will try.\"\n\nMiss Amelia stumbled up from her knees with a heavy sigh, and Lottie's\nfat little legs kicked as hard as ever.\n\n\"If you will steal out of the room,\" said Sara, \"I will stay with her.\"\n\n\"Oh, Sara!\" almost whimpered Miss Amelia.  \"We never had such a\ndreadful child before.  I don't believe we can keep her.\"\n\nBut she crept out of the room, and was very much relieved to find an\nexcuse for doing it.\n\nSara stood by the howling furious child for a few moments, and looked\ndown at her without saying anything.  Then she sat down flat on the\nfloor beside her and waited.  Except for Lottie's angry screams, the\nroom was quite quiet.  This was a new state of affairs for little Miss\nLegh, who was accustomed, when she screamed, to hear other people\nprotest and implore and command and coax by turns. To lie and kick and\nshriek, and find the only person near you not seeming to mind in the\nleast, attracted her attention. She opened her tight-shut streaming\neyes to see who this person was. And it was only another little girl.\nBut it was the one who owned Emily and all the nice things.  And she\nwas looking at her steadily and as if she was merely thinking.  Having\npaused for a few seconds to find this out, Lottie thought she must\nbegin again, but the quiet of the room and of Sara's odd, interested\nface made her first howl rather half-hearted.\n\n\"I--haven't--any--ma--ma--ma-a!\" she announced; but her voice was not\nso strong.\n\nSara looked at her still more steadily, but with a sort of\nunderstanding in her eyes.\n\n\"Neither have I,\" she said.\n\nThis was so unexpected that it was astounding.  Lottie actually dropped\nher legs, gave a wriggle, and lay and stared.  A new idea will stop a\ncrying child when nothing else will.  Also it was true that while\nLottie disliked Miss Minchin, who was cross, and Miss Amelia, who was\nfoolishly indulgent, she rather liked Sara, little as she knew her.\nShe did not want to give up her grievance, but her thoughts were\ndistracted from it, so she wriggled again, and, after a sulky sob,\nsaid, \"Where is she?\"\n\nSara paused a moment.  Because she had been told that her mamma was in\nheaven, she had thought a great deal about the matter, and her thoughts\nhad not been quite like those of other people.\n\n\"She went to heaven,\" she said.  \"But I am sure she comes out sometimes\nto see me--though I don't see her.  So does yours.  Perhaps they can\nboth see us now.  Perhaps they are both in this room.\"\n\nLottie sat bolt upright, and looked about her.  She was a pretty,\nlittle, curly-headed creature, and her round eyes were like wet\nforget-me-nots. If her mamma had seen her during the last half-hour,\nshe might not have thought her the kind of child who ought to be\nrelated to an angel.\n\nSara went on talking.  Perhaps some people might think that what she\nsaid was rather like a fairy story, but it was all so real to her own\nimagination that Lottie began to listen in spite of herself. She had\nbeen told that her mamma had wings and a crown, and she had been shown\npictures of ladies in beautiful white nightgowns, who were said to be\nangels.  But Sara seemed to be telling a real story about a lovely\ncountry where real people were.\n\n\"There are fields and fields of flowers,\" she said, forgetting herself,\nas usual, when she began, and talking rather as if she were in a dream,\n\"fields and fields of lilies--and when the soft wind blows over them it\nwafts the scent of them into the air--and everybody always breathes it,\nbecause the soft wind is always blowing.  And little children run about\nin the lily fields and gather armfuls of them, and laugh and make\nlittle wreaths.  And the streets are shining. And people are never\ntired, however far they walk.  They can float anywhere they like.  And\nthere are walls made of pearl and gold all round the city, but they are\nlow enough for the people to go and lean on them, and look down onto\nthe earth and smile, and send beautiful messages.\"\n\nWhatsoever story she had begun to tell, Lottie would, no doubt, have\nstopped crying, and been fascinated into listening; but there was no\ndenying that this story was prettier than most others. She dragged\nherself close to Sara, and drank in every word until the end came--far\ntoo soon.  When it did come, she was so sorry that she put up her lip\nominously.\n\n\"I want to go there,\" she cried.  \"I--haven't any mamma in this school.\"\n\nSara saw the danger signal, and came out of her dream.  She took hold\nof the chubby hand and pulled her close to her side with a coaxing\nlittle laugh.\n\n\"I will be your mamma,\" she said.  \"We will play that you are my little\ngirl.  And Emily shall be your sister.\"\n\nLottie's dimples all began to show themselves.\n\n\"Shall she?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Sara, jumping to her feet.  \"Let us go and tell her.\nAnd then I will wash your face and brush your hair.\"\n\nTo which Lottie agreed quite cheerfully, and trotted out of the room\nand upstairs with her, without seeming even to remember that the whole\nof the last hour's tragedy had been caused by the fact that she had\nrefused to be washed and brushed for lunch and Miss Minchin had been\ncalled in to use her majestic authority.\n\nAnd from that time Sara was an adopted mother.\n\n\n\n5\n\nBecky\n\n\nOf course the greatest power Sara possessed and the one which gained\nher even more followers than her luxuries and the fact that she was\n\"the show pupil,\" the power that Lavinia and certain other girls were\nmost envious of, and at the same time most fascinated by in spite of\nthemselves, was her power of telling stories and of making everything\nshe talked about seem like a story, whether it was one or not.\n\nAnyone who has been at school with a teller of stories knows what the\nwonder means--how he or she is followed about and besought in a whisper\nto relate romances; how groups gather round and hang on the outskirts\nof the favored party in the hope of being allowed to join in and\nlisten.  Sara not only could tell stories, but she adored telling them.\nWhen she sat or stood in the midst of a circle and began to invent\nwonderful things, her green eyes grew big and shining, her cheeks\nflushed, and, without knowing that she was doing it, she began to act\nand made what she told lovely or alarming by the raising or dropping of\nher voice, the bend and sway of her slim body, and the dramatic\nmovement of her hands. She forgot that she was talking to listening\nchildren; she saw and lived with the fairy folk, or the kings and\nqueens and beautiful ladies, whose adventures she was narrating.\nSometimes when she had finished her story, she was quite out of breath\nwith excitement, and would lay her hand on her thin, little,\nquick-rising chest, and half laugh as if at herself.\n\n\"When I am telling it,\" she would say, \"it doesn't seem as if it was\nonly made up.  It seems more real than you are--more real than the\nschoolroom.  I feel as if I were all the people in the story--one after\nthe other.  It is queer.\"\n\nShe had been at Miss Minchin's school about two years when, one foggy\nwinter's afternoon, as she was getting out of her carriage, comfortably\nwrapped up in her warmest velvets and furs and looking very much\ngrander than she knew, she caught sight, as she crossed the pavement,\nof a dingy little figure standing on the area steps, and stretching its\nneck so that its wide-open eyes might peer at her through the railings.\nSomething in the eagerness and timidity of the smudgy face made her\nlook at it, and when she looked she smiled because it was her way to\nsmile at people.\n\nBut the owner of the smudgy face and the wide-open eyes evidently was\nafraid that she ought not to have been caught looking at pupils of\nimportance.  She dodged out of sight like a jack-in-the-box and\nscurried back into the kitchen, disappearing so suddenly that if she\nhad not been such a poor little forlorn thing, Sara would have laughed\nin spite of herself.  That very evening, as Sara was sitting in the\nmidst of a group of listeners in a corner of the schoolroom telling one\nof her stories, the very same figure timidly entered the room, carrying\na coal box much too heavy for her, and knelt down upon the hearth rug\nto replenish the fire and sweep up the ashes.\n\nShe was cleaner than she had been when she peeped through the area\nrailings, but she looked just as frightened.  She was evidently afraid\nto look at the children or seem to be listening. She put on pieces of\ncoal cautiously with her fingers so that she might make no disturbing\nnoise, and she swept about the fire irons very softly.  But Sara saw in\ntwo minutes that she was deeply interested in what was going on, and\nthat she was doing her work slowly in the hope of catching a word here\nand there. And realizing this, she raised her voice and spoke more\nclearly.\n\n\"The Mermaids swam softly about in the crystal-green water, and dragged\nafter them a fishing-net woven of deep-sea pearls,\" she said.  \"The\nPrincess sat on the white rock and watched them.\"\n\nIt was a wonderful story about a princess who was loved by a Prince\nMerman, and went to live with him in shining caves under the sea.\n\nThe small drudge before the grate swept the hearth once and then swept\nit again.  Having done it twice, she did it three times; and, as she\nwas doing it the third time, the sound of the story so lured her to\nlisten that she fell under the spell and actually forgot that she had\nno right to listen at all, and also forgot everything else. She sat\ndown upon her heels as she knelt on the hearth rug, and the brush hung\nidly in her fingers.  The voice of the storyteller went on and drew her\nwith it into winding grottos under the sea, glowing with soft, clear\nblue light, and paved with pure golden sands. Strange sea flowers and\ngrasses waved about her, and far away faint singing and music echoed.\n\nThe hearth brush fell from the work-roughened hand, and Lavinia Herbert\nlooked round.\n\n\"That girl has been listening,\" she said.\n\nThe culprit snatched up her brush, and scrambled to her feet.  She\ncaught at the coal box and simply scuttled out of the room like a\nfrightened rabbit.\n\nSara felt rather hot-tempered.\n\n\"I knew she was listening,\" she said.  \"Why shouldn't she?\"\n\nLavinia tossed her head with great elegance.\n\n\"Well,\" she remarked, \"I do not know whether your mamma would like you\nto tell stories to servant girls, but I know MY mamma wouldn't like ME\nto do it.\"\n\n\"My mamma!\" said Sara, looking odd.  \"I don't believe she would mind in\nthe least.  She knows that stories belong to everybody.\"\n\n\"I thought,\" retorted Lavinia, in severe recollection, \"that your mamma\nwas dead.  How can she know things?\"\n\n\"Do you think she DOESN'T know things?\" said Sara, in her stern little\nvoice.  Sometimes she had a rather stern little voice.\n\n\"Sara's mamma knows everything,\" piped in Lottie.  \"So does my\nmamma--'cept Sara is my mamma at Miss Minchin's--my other one knows\neverything.  The streets are shining, and there are fields and fields\nof lilies, and everybody gathers them. Sara tells me when she puts me\nto bed.\"\n\n\"You wicked thing,\" said Lavinia, turning on Sara; \"making fairy\nstories about heaven.\"\n\n\"There are much more splendid stories in Revelation,\" returned Sara.\n\"Just look and see!  How do you know mine are fairy stories? But I can\ntell you\"--with a fine bit of unheavenly temper--\"you will never find\nout whether they are or not if you're not kinder to people than you are\nnow.  Come along, Lottie.\"  And she marched out of the room, rather\nhoping that she might see the little servant again somewhere, but she\nfound no trace of her when she got into the hall.\n\n\"Who is that little girl who makes the fires?\" she asked Mariette that\nnight.\n\nMariette broke forth into a flow of description.\n\nAh, indeed, Mademoiselle Sara might well ask.  She was a forlorn little\nthing who had just taken the place of scullery maid--though, as to\nbeing scullery maid, she was everything else besides. She blacked boots\nand grates, and carried heavy coal-scuttles up and down stairs, and\nscrubbed floors and cleaned windows, and was ordered about by\neverybody.  She was fourteen years old, but was so stunted in growth\nthat she looked about twelve.  In truth, Mariette was sorry for her.\nShe was so timid that if one chanced to speak to her it appeared as if\nher poor, frightened eyes would jump out of her head.\n\n\"What is her name?\" asked Sara, who had sat by the table, with her chin\non her hands, as she listened absorbedly to the recital.\n\nHer name was Becky.  Mariette heard everyone below-stairs calling,\n\"Becky, do this,\" and \"Becky, do that,\" every five minutes in the day.\n\nSara sat and looked into the fire, reflecting on Becky for some time\nafter Mariette left her.  She made up a story of which Becky was the\nill-used heroine.  She thought she looked as if she had never had quite\nenough to eat.  Her very eyes were hungry.  She hoped she should see\nher again, but though she caught sight of her carrying things up or\ndown stairs on several occasions, she always seemed in such a hurry and\nso afraid of being seen that it was impossible to speak to her.\n\nBut a few weeks later, on another foggy afternoon, when she entered her\nsitting room she found herself confronting a rather pathetic picture.\nIn her own special and pet easy-chair before the bright fire,\nBecky--with a coal smudge on her nose and several on her apron, with\nher poor little cap hanging half off her head, and an empty coal box on\nthe floor near her--sat fast asleep, tired out beyond even the\nendurance of her hard-working young body. She had been sent up to put\nthe bedrooms in order for the evening. There were a great many of them,\nand she had been running about all day.  Sara's rooms she had saved\nuntil the last. They were not like the other rooms, which were plain\nand bare. Ordinary pupils were expected to be satisfied with mere\nnecessaries. Sara's comfortable sitting room seemed a bower of luxury\nto the scullery maid, though it was, in fact, merely a nice, bright\nlittle room. But there were pictures and books in it, and curious\nthings from India; there was a sofa and the low, soft chair; Emily sat\nin a chair of her own, with the air of a presiding goddess, and there\nwas always a glowing fire and a polished grate.  Becky saved it until\nthe end of her afternoon's work, because it rested her to go into it,\nand she always hoped to snatch a few minutes to sit down in the soft\nchair and look about her, and think about the wonderful good fortune of\nthe child who owned such surroundings and who went out on the cold days\nin beautiful hats and coats one tried to catch a glimpse of through the\narea railing.\n\nOn this afternoon, when she had sat down, the sensation of relief to\nher short, aching legs had been so wonderful and delightful that it had\nseemed to soothe her whole body, and the glow of warmth and comfort\nfrom the fire had crept over her like a spell, until, as she looked at\nthe red coals, a tired, slow smile stole over her smudged face, her\nhead nodded forward without her being aware of it, her eyes drooped,\nand she fell fast asleep.  She had really been only about ten minutes\nin the room when Sara entered, but she was in as deep a sleep as if she\nhad been, like the Sleeping Beauty, slumbering for a hundred years.\nBut she did not look--poor Becky--like a Sleeping Beauty at all.  She\nlooked only like an ugly, stunted, worn-out little scullery drudge.\n\nSara seemed as much unlike her as if she were a creature from another\nworld.\n\nOn this particular afternoon she had been taking her dancing lesson,\nand the afternoon on which the dancing master appeared was rather a\ngrand occasion at the seminary, though it occurred every week. The\npupils were attired in their prettiest frocks, and as Sara danced\nparticularly well, she was very much brought forward, and Mariette was\nrequested to make her as diaphanous and fine as possible.\n\nToday a frock the color of a rose had been put on her, and Mariette had\nbought some real buds and made her a wreath to wear on her black locks.\nShe had been learning a new, delightful dance in which she had been\nskimming and flying about the room, like a large rose-colored\nbutterfly, and the enjoyment and exercise had brought a brilliant,\nhappy glow into her face.\n\nWhen she entered the room, she floated in with a few of the butterfly\nsteps--and there sat Becky, nodding her cap sideways off her head.\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Sara, softly, when she saw her.  \"That poor thing!\"\n\nIt did not occur to her to feel cross at finding her pet chair occupied\nby the small, dingy figure.  To tell the truth, she was quite glad to\nfind it there.  When the ill-used heroine of her story wakened, she\ncould talk to her.  She crept toward her quietly, and stood looking at\nher.  Becky gave a little snore.\n\n\"I wish she'd waken herself,\" Sara said.  \"I don't like to waken her.\nBut Miss Minchin would be cross if she found out.  I'll just wait a few\nminutes.\"\n\nShe took a seat on the edge of the table, and sat swinging her slim,\nrose-colored legs, and wondering what it would be best to do. Miss\nAmelia might come in at any moment, and if she did, Becky would be sure\nto be scolded.\n\n\"But she is so tired,\" she thought.  \"She is so tired!\"\n\nA piece of flaming coal ended her perplexity for her that very moment.\nIt broke off from a large lump and fell on to the fender. Becky\nstarted, and opened her eyes with a frightened gasp.  She did not know\nshe had fallen asleep.  She had only sat down for one moment and felt\nthe beautiful glow--and here she found herself staring in wild alarm at\nthe wonderful pupil, who sat perched quite near her, like a\nrose-colored fairy, with interested eyes.\n\nShe sprang up and clutched at her cap.  She felt it dangling over her\near, and tried wildly to put it straight.  Oh, she had got herself into\ntrouble now with a vengeance!  To have impudently fallen asleep on such\na young lady's chair!  She would be turned out of doors without wages.\n\nShe made a sound like a big breathless sob.\n\n\"Oh, miss!  Oh, miss!\" she stuttered.  \"I arst yer pardon, miss!  Oh, I\ndo, miss!\"\n\nSara jumped down, and came quite close to her.\n\n\"Don't be frightened,\" she said, quite as if she had been speaking to a\nlittle girl like herself.  \"It doesn't matter the least bit.\"\n\n\"I didn't go to do it, miss,\" protested Becky.  \"It was the warm\nfire--an' me bein' so tired.  It--it WASN'T impertience!\"\n\nSara broke into a friendly little laugh, and put her hand on her\nshoulder.\n\n\"You were tired,\" she said; \"you could not help it.  You are not really\nawake yet.\"\n\nHow poor Becky stared at her!  In fact, she had never heard such a\nnice, friendly sound in anyone's voice before.  She was used to being\nordered about and scolded, and having her ears boxed. And this one--in\nher rose-colored dancing afternoon splendor--was looking at her as if\nshe were not a culprit at all--as if she had a right to be tired--even\nto fall asleep!  The touch of the soft, slim little paw on her shoulder\nwas the most amazing thing she had ever known.\n\n\"Ain't--ain't yer angry, miss?\" she gasped.  \"Ain't yer goin' to tell\nthe missus?\"\n\n\"No,\" cried out Sara.  \"Of course I'm not.\"\n\nThe woeful fright in the coal-smutted face made her suddenly so sorry\nthat she could scarcely bear it.  One of her queer thoughts rushed into\nher mind.  She put her hand against Becky's cheek.\n\n\"Why,\" she said, \"we are just the same--I am only a little girl like\nyou. It's just an accident that I am not you, and you are not me!\"\n\nBecky did not understand in the least.  Her mind could not grasp such\namazing thoughts, and \"an accident\" meant to her a calamity in which\nsome one was run over or fell off a ladder and was carried to \"the\n'orspital.\"\n\n\"A' accident, miss,\" she fluttered respectfully.  \"Is it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Sara answered, and she looked at her dreamily for a moment. But\nthe next she spoke in a different tone.  She realized that Becky did\nnot know what she meant.\n\n\"Have you done your work?\" she asked.  \"Dare you stay here a few\nminutes?\"\n\nBecky lost her breath again.\n\n\"Here, miss?  Me?\"\n\nSara ran to the door, opened it, and looked out and listened.\n\n\"No one is anywhere about,\" she explained.  \"If your bedrooms are\nfinished, perhaps you might stay a tiny while.  I thought--perhaps--you\nmight like a piece of cake.\"\n\nThe next ten minutes seemed to Becky like a sort of delirium.  Sara\nopened a cupboard, and gave her a thick slice of cake. She seemed to\nrejoice when it was devoured in hungry bites. She talked and asked\nquestions, and laughed until Becky's fears actually began to calm\nthemselves, and she once or twice gathered boldness enough to ask a\nquestion or so herself, daring as she felt it to be.\n\n\"Is that--\" she ventured, looking longingly at the rose-colored frock.\nAnd she asked it almost in a whisper.  \"Is that there your best?\"\n\n\"It is one of my dancing-frocks,\" answered Sara.  \"I like it, don't\nyou?\"\n\nFor a few seconds Becky was almost speechless with admiration.  Then\nshe said in an awed voice, \"Onct I see a princess.  I was standin' in\nthe street with the crowd outside Covin' Garden, watchin' the swells go\ninter the operer.  An' there was one everyone stared at most.  They ses\nto each other, 'That's the princess.' She was a growed-up young lady,\nbut she was pink all over--gownd an' cloak, an' flowers an' all.  I\ncalled her to mind the minnit I see you, sittin' there on the table,\nmiss.  You looked like her.\"\n\n\"I've often thought,\" said Sara, in her reflecting voice, \"that I\nshould like to be a princess; I wonder what it feels like. I believe I\nwill begin pretending I am one.\"\n\nBecky stared at her admiringly, and, as before, did not understand her\nin the least.  She watched her with a sort of adoration. Very soon Sara\nleft her reflections and turned to her with a new question.\n\n\"Becky,\" she said, \"weren't you listening to that story?\"\n\n\"Yes, miss,\" confessed Becky, a little alarmed again.  \"I knowed I\nhadn't orter, but it was that beautiful I--I couldn't help it.\"\n\n\"I liked you to listen to it,\" said Sara.  \"If you tell stories, you\nlike nothing so much as to tell them to people who want to listen. I\ndon't know why it is.  Would you like to hear the rest?\"\n\nBecky lost her breath again.\n\n\"Me hear it?\" she cried.  \"Like as if I was a pupil, miss!  All about\nthe Prince--and the little white Mer-babies swimming about\nlaughing--with stars in their hair?\"\n\nSara nodded.\n\n\"You haven't time to hear it now, I'm afraid,\" she said; \"but if you\nwill tell me just what time you come to do my rooms, I will try to be\nhere and tell you a bit of it every day until it is finished. It's a\nlovely long one--and I'm always putting new bits to it.\"\n\n\"Then,\" breathed Becky, devoutly, \"I wouldn't mind HOW heavy the coal\nboxes was--or WHAT the cook done to me, if--if I might have that to\nthink of.\"\n\n\"You may,\" said Sara.  \"I'll tell it ALL to you.\"\n\nWhen Becky went downstairs, she was not the same Becky who had\nstaggered up, loaded down by the weight of the coal scuttle. She had an\nextra piece of cake in her pocket, and she had been fed and warmed, but\nnot only by cake and fire.  Something else had warmed and fed her, and\nthe something else was Sara.\n\nWhen she was gone Sara sat on her favorite perch on the end of her\ntable.  Her feet were on a chair, her elbows on her knees, and her chin\nin her hands.\n\n\"If I WAS a princess--a REAL princess,\" she murmured, \"I could scatter\nlargess to the populace.  But even if I am only a pretend princess, I\ncan invent little things to do for people. Things like this.  She was\njust as happy as if it was largess. I'll pretend that to do things\npeople like is scattering largess.  I've scattered largess.\"\n\n\n\n6\n\nThe Diamond Mines\n\n\nNot very long after this a very exciting thing happened. Not only Sara,\nbut the entire school, found it exciting, and made it the chief subject\nof conversation for weeks after it occurred.  In one of his letters\nCaptain Crewe told a most interesting story. A friend who had been at\nschool with him when he was a boy had unexpectedly come to see him in\nIndia.  He was the owner of a large tract of land upon which diamonds\nhad been found, and he was engaged in developing the mines.  If all\nwent as was confidently expected, he would become possessed of such\nwealth as it made one dizzy to think of; and because he was fond of the\nfriend of his school days, he had given him an opportunity to share in\nthis enormous fortune by becoming a partner in his scheme.  This, at\nleast, was what Sara gathered from his letters.  It is true that any\nother business scheme, however magnificent, would have had but small\nattraction for her or for the schoolroom; but \"diamond mines\" sounded\nso like the Arabian Nights that no one could be indifferent.  Sara\nthought them enchanting, and painted pictures, for Ermengarde and\nLottie, of labyrinthine passages in the bowels of the earth, where\nsparkling stones studded the walls and roofs and ceilings, and strange,\ndark men dug them out with heavy picks.  Ermengarde delighted in the\nstory, and Lottie insisted on its being retold to her every evening.\nLavinia was very spiteful about it, and told Jessie that she didn't\nbelieve such things as diamond mines existed.\n\n\"My mamma has a diamond ring which cost forty pounds,\" she said.  \"And\nit is not a big one, either.  If there were mines full of diamonds,\npeople would be so rich it would be ridiculous.\"\n\n\"Perhaps Sara will be so rich that she will be ridiculous,\" giggled\nJessie.\n\n\"She's ridiculous without being rich,\" Lavinia sniffed.\n\n\"I believe you hate her,\" said Jessie.\n\n\"No, I don't,\" snapped Lavinia.  \"But I don't believe in mines full of\ndiamonds.\"\n\n\"Well, people have to get them from somewhere,\" said Jessie.\n\"Lavinia,\" with a new giggle, \"what do you think Gertrude says?\"\n\n\"I don't know, I'm sure; and I don't care if it's something more about\nthat everlasting Sara.\"\n\n\"Well, it is.  One of her 'pretends' is that she is a princess.  She\nplays it all the time--even in school.  She says it makes her learn her\nlessons better.  She wants Ermengarde to be one, too, but Ermengarde\nsays she is too fat.\"\n\n\"She IS too fat,\" said Lavinia.  \"And Sara is too thin.\"\n\nNaturally, Jessie giggled again.\n\n\"She says it has nothing to do with what you look like, or what you\nhave.  It has only to do with what you THINK of, and what you DO.\"\n\n\"I suppose she thinks she could be a princess if she was a beggar,\"\nsaid Lavinia.  \"Let us begin to call her Your Royal Highness.\"\n\nLessons for the day were over, and they were sitting before the\nschoolroom fire, enjoying the time they liked best.  It was the time\nwhen Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia were taking their tea in the sitting\nroom sacred to themselves.  At this hour a great deal of talking was\ndone, and a great many secrets changed hands, particularly if the\nyounger pupils behaved themselves well, and did not squabble or run\nabout noisily, which it must be confessed they usually did.  When they\nmade an uproar the older girls usually interfered with scolding and\nshakes.  They were expected to keep order, and there was danger that if\nthey did not, Miss Minchin or Miss Amelia would appear and put an end\nto festivities. Even as Lavinia spoke the door opened and Sara entered\nwith Lottie, whose habit was to trot everywhere after her like a little\ndog.\n\n\"There she is, with that horrid child!\" exclaimed Lavinia in a whisper.\n\"If she's so fond of her, why doesn't she keep her in her own room? She\nwill begin howling about something in five minutes.\"\n\nIt happened that Lottie had been seized with a sudden desire to play in\nthe schoolroom, and had begged her adopted parent to come with her. She\njoined a group of little ones who were playing in a corner. Sara curled\nherself up in the window-seat, opened a book, and began to read.  It\nwas a book about the French Revolution, and she was soon lost in a\nharrowing picture of the prisoners in the Bastille--men who had spent\nso many years in dungeons that when they were dragged out by those who\nrescued them, their long, gray hair and beards almost hid their faces,\nand they had forgotten that an outside world existed at all, and were\nlike beings in a dream.\n\nShe was so far away from the schoolroom that it was not agreeable to be\ndragged back suddenly by a howl from Lottie.  Never did she find\nanything so difficult as to keep herself from losing her temper when\nshe was suddenly disturbed while absorbed in a book. People who are\nfond of books know the feeling of irritation which sweeps over them at\nsuch a moment.  The temptation to be unreasonable and snappish is one\nnot easy to manage.\n\n\"It makes me feel as if someone had hit me,\" Sara had told Ermengarde\nonce in confidence.  \"And as if I want to hit back.  I have to remember\nthings quickly to keep from saying something ill-tempered.\"\n\nShe had to remember things quickly when she laid her book on the\nwindow-seat and jumped down from her comfortable corner.\n\nLottie had been sliding across the schoolroom floor, and, having first\nirritated Lavinia and Jessie by making a noise, had ended by falling\ndown and hurting her fat knee.  She was screaming and dancing up and\ndown in the midst of a group of friends and enemies, who were\nalternately coaxing and scolding her.\n\n\"Stop this minute, you cry-baby!  Stop this minute!\"  Lavinia commanded.\n\n\"I'm not a cry-baby ... I'm not!\" wailed Lottie.  \"Sara, Sa--ra!\"\n\n\"If she doesn't stop, Miss Minchin will hear her,\" cried Jessie.\n\"Lottie darling, I'll give you a penny!\"\n\n\"I don't want your penny,\" sobbed Lottie; and she looked down at the\nfat knee, and, seeing a drop of blood on it, burst forth again.\n\nSara flew across the room and, kneeling down, put her arms round her.\n\n\"Now, Lottie,\" she said.  \"Now, Lottie, you PROMISED Sara.\"\n\n\"She said I was a cry-baby,\" wept Lottie.\n\nSara patted her, but spoke in the steady voice Lottie knew.\n\n\"But if you cry, you will be one, Lottie pet.  You PROMISED.\" Lottie\nremembered that she had promised, but she preferred to lift up her\nvoice.\n\n\"I haven't any mamma,\" she proclaimed.  \"I haven't--a bit--of mamma.\"\n\n\"Yes, you have,\" said Sara, cheerfully.  \"Have you forgotten?  Don't\nyou know that Sara is your mamma?  Don't you want Sara for your mamma?\"\n\nLottie cuddled up to her with a consoled sniff.\n\n\"Come and sit in the window-seat with me,\" Sara went on, \"and I'll\nwhisper a story to you.\"\n\n\"Will you?\" whimpered Lottie.  \"Will you--tell me--about the diamond\nmines?\"\n\n\"The diamond mines?\" broke out Lavinia.  \"Nasty, little spoiled thing,\nI should like to SLAP her!\"\n\nSara got up quickly on her feet.  It must be remembered that she had\nbeen very deeply absorbed in the book about the Bastille, and she had\nhad to recall several things rapidly when she realized that she must go\nand take care of her adopted child.  She was not an angel, and she was\nnot fond of Lavinia.\n\n\"Well,\" she said, with some fire, \"I should like to slap YOU--but I\ndon't want to slap you!\" restraining herself.  \"At least I both want to\nslap you--and I should LIKE to slap you--but I WON'T slap you.  We are\nnot little gutter children.  We are both old enough to know better.\"\n\nHere was Lavinia's opportunity.\n\n\"Ah, yes, your royal highness,\" she said.  \"We are princesses, I\nbelieve.  At least one of us is.  The school ought to be very\nfashionable now Miss Minchin has a princess for a pupil.\"\n\nSara started toward her.  She looked as if she were going to box her\nears.  Perhaps she was.  Her trick of pretending things was the joy of\nher life.  She never spoke of it to girls she was not fond of. Her new\n\"pretend\" about being a princess was very near to her heart, and she\nwas shy and sensitive about it.  She had meant it to be rather a\nsecret, and here was Lavinia deriding it before nearly all the school.\nShe felt the blood rush up into her face and tingle in her ears. She\nonly just saved herself.  If you were a princess, you did not fly into\nrages.  Her hand dropped, and she stood quite still a moment. When she\nspoke it was in a quiet, steady voice; she held her head up, and\neverybody listened to her.\n\n\"It's true,\" she said.  \"Sometimes I do pretend I am a princess.  I\npretend I am a princess, so that I can try and behave like one.\"\n\nLavinia could not think of exactly the right thing to say.  Several\ntimes she had found that she could not think of a satisfactory reply\nwhen she was dealing with Sara.  The reason for this was that, somehow,\nthe rest always seemed to be vaguely in sympathy with her opponent. She\nsaw now that they were pricking up their ears interestedly. The truth\nwas, they liked princesses, and they all hoped they might hear\nsomething more definite about this one, and drew nearer Sara\naccordingly.\n\nLavinia could only invent one remark, and it fell rather flat.\n\n\"Dear me,\" she said, \"I hope, when you ascend the throne, you won't\nforget us!\"\n\n\"I won't,\" said Sara, and she did not utter another word, but stood\nquite still, and stared at her steadily as she saw her take Jessie's\narm and turn away.\n\nAfter this, the girls who were jealous of her used to speak of her as\n\"Princess Sara\" whenever they wished to be particularly disdainful, and\nthose who were fond of her gave her the name among themselves as a term\nof affection.  No one called her \"princess\" instead of \"Sara,\" but her\nadorers were much pleased with the picturesqueness and grandeur of the\ntitle, and Miss Minchin, hearing of it, mentioned it more than once to\nvisiting parents, feeling that it rather suggested a sort of royal\nboarding school.\n\nTo Becky it seemed the most appropriate thing in the world. The\nacquaintance begun on the foggy afternoon when she had jumped up\nterrified from her sleep in the comfortable chair, had ripened and\ngrown, though it must be confessed that Miss Minchin and Miss Amelia\nknew very little about it.  They were aware that Sara was \"kind\" to the\nscullery maid, but they knew nothing of certain delightful moments\nsnatched perilously when, the upstairs rooms being set in order with\nlightning rapidity, Sara's sitting room was reached, and the heavy coal\nbox set down with a sigh of joy. At such times stories were told by\ninstallments, things of a satisfying nature were either produced and\neaten or hastily tucked into pockets to be disposed of at night, when\nBecky went upstairs to her attic to bed.\n\n\"But I has to eat 'em careful, miss,\" she said once; \"'cos if I leaves\ncrumbs the rats come out to get 'em.\"\n\n\"Rats!\" exclaimed Sara, in horror.  \"Are there RATS there?\"\n\n\"Lots of 'em, miss,\" Becky answered in quite a matter-of-fact manner.\n\"There mostly is rats an' mice in attics.  You gets used to the noise\nthey makes scuttling about.  I've got so I don't mind 'em s' long as\nthey don't run over my piller.\"\n\n\"Ugh!\" said Sara.\n\n\"You gets used to anythin' after a bit,\" said Becky.  \"You have to,\nmiss, if you're born a scullery maid.  I'd rather have rats than\ncockroaches.\"\n\n\"So would I,\" said Sara; \"I suppose you might make friends with a rat\nin time, but I don't believe I should like to make friends with a\ncockroach.\"\n\nSometimes Becky did not dare to spend more than a few minutes in the\nbright, warm room, and when this was the case perhaps only a few words\ncould be exchanged, and a small purchase slipped into the old-fashioned\npocket Becky carried under her dress skirt, tied round her waist with a\nband of tape.  The search for and discovery of satisfying things to eat\nwhich could be packed into small compass, added a new interest to\nSara's existence.  When she drove or walked out, she used to look into\nshop windows eagerly. The first time it occurred to her to bring home\ntwo or three little meat pies, she felt that she had hit upon a\ndiscovery. When she exhibited them, Becky's eyes quite sparkled.\n\n\"Oh, miss!\" she murmured.  \"Them will be nice an' fillin.' It's\nfillin'ness that's best.  Sponge cake's a 'evenly thing, but it melts\naway like--if you understand, miss.  These'll just STAY in yer\nstummick.\"\n\n\"Well,\" hesitated Sara, \"I don't think it would be good if they stayed\nalways, but I do believe they will be satisfying.\"\n\nThey were satisfying--and so were beef sandwiches, bought at a\ncook-shop--and so were rolls and Bologna sausage.  In time, Becky began\nto lose her hungry, tired feeling, and the coal box did not seem so\nunbearably heavy.\n\nHowever heavy it was, and whatsoever the temper of the cook, and the\nhardness of the work heaped upon her shoulders, she had always the\nchance of the afternoon to look forward to--the chance that Miss Sara\nwould be able to be in her sitting room.  In fact, the mere seeing of\nMiss Sara would have been enough without meat pies. If there was time\nonly for a few words, they were always friendly, merry words that put\nheart into one; and if there was time for more, then there was an\ninstallment of a story to be told, or some other thing one remembered\nafterward and sometimes lay awake in one's bed in the attic to think\nover.  Sara--who was only doing what she unconsciously liked better\nthan anything else, Nature having made her for a giver--had not the\nleast idea what she meant to poor Becky, and how wonderful a benefactor\nshe seemed. If Nature has made you for a giver, your hands are born\nopen, and so is your heart; and though there may be times when your\nhands are empty, your heart is always full, and you can give things out\nof that--warm things, kind things, sweet things--help and comfort and\nlaughter--and sometimes gay, kind laughter is the best help of all.\n\nBecky had scarcely known what laughter was through all her poor, little\nhard-driven life.  Sara made her laugh, and laughed with her; and,\nthough neither of them quite knew it, the laughter was as \"fillin'\" as\nthe meat pies.\n\nA few weeks before Sara's eleventh birthday a letter came to her from\nher father, which did not seem to be written in such boyish high\nspirits as usual.  He was not very well, and was evidently overweighted\nby the business connected with the diamond mines.\n\n\"You see, little Sara,\" he wrote, \"your daddy is not a businessman at\nall, and figures and documents bother him.  He does not really\nunderstand them, and all this seems so enormous.  Perhaps, if I was not\nfeverish I should not be awake, tossing about, one half of the night\nand spend the other half in troublesome dreams.  If my little missus\nwere here, I dare say she would give me some solemn, good advice.  You\nwould, wouldn't you, Little Missus?\"\n\nOne of his many jokes had been to call her his \"little missus\" because\nshe had such an old-fashioned air.\n\nHe had made wonderful preparations for her birthday.  Among other\nthings, a new doll had been ordered in Paris, and her wardrobe was to\nbe, indeed, a marvel of splendid perfection.  When she had replied to\nthe letter asking her if the doll would be an acceptable present, Sara\nhad been very quaint.\n\n\"I am getting very old,\" she wrote; \"you see, I shall never live to\nhave another doll given me.  This will be my last doll. There is\nsomething solemn about it.  If I could write poetry, I am sure a poem\nabout 'A Last Doll' would be very nice. But I cannot write poetry.  I\nhave tried, and it made me laugh. It did not sound like Watts or\nColeridge or Shakespeare at all. No one could ever take Emily's place,\nbut I should respect the Last Doll very much; and I am sure the school\nwould love it.  They all like dolls, though some of the big ones--the\nalmost fifteen ones--pretend they are too grown up.\"\n\nCaptain Crewe had a splitting headache when he read this letter in his\nbungalow in India.  The table before him was heaped with papers and\nletters which were alarming him and filling him with anxious dread, but\nhe laughed as he had not laughed for weeks.\n\n\"Oh,\" he said, \"she's better fun every year she lives.  God grant this\nbusiness may right itself and leave me free to run home and see her.\nWhat wouldn't I give to have her little arms round my neck this minute!\nWhat WOULDN'T I give!\"\n\nThe birthday was to be celebrated by great festivities.  The schoolroom\nwas to be decorated, and there was to be a party.  The boxes containing\nthe presents were to be opened with great ceremony, and there was to be\na glittering feast spread in Miss Minchin's sacred room. When the day\narrived the whole house was in a whirl of excitement. How the morning\npassed nobody quite knew, because there seemed such preparations to be\nmade.  The schoolroom was being decked with garlands of holly; the\ndesks had been moved away, and red covers had been put on the forms\nwhich were arrayed round the room against the wall.\n\nWhen Sara went into her sitting room in the morning, she found on the\ntable a small, dumpy package, tied up in a piece of brown paper. She\nknew it was a present, and she thought she could guess whom it came\nfrom.  She opened it quite tenderly.  It was a square pincushion, made\nof not quite clean red flannel, and black pins had been stuck carefully\ninto it to form the words, \"Menny hapy returns.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" cried Sara, with a warm feeling in her heart.  \"What pains she\nhas taken!  I like it so, it--it makes me feel sorrowful.\"\n\nBut the next moment she was mystified.  On the under side of the\npincushion was secured a card, bearing in neat letters the name \"Miss\nAmelia Minchin.\"\n\nSara turned it over and over.\n\n\"Miss Amelia!\" she said to herself \"How CAN it be!\"\n\nAnd just at that very moment she heard the door being cautiously pushed\nopen and saw Becky peeping round it.\n\nThere was an affectionate, happy grin on her face, and she shuffled\nforward and stood nervously pulling at her fingers.\n\n\"Do yer like it, Miss Sara?\" she said.  \"Do yer?\"\n\n\"Like it?\" cried Sara.  \"You darling Becky, you made it all yourself.\"\n\nBecky gave a hysteric but joyful sniff, and her eyes looked quite moist\nwith delight.\n\n\"It ain't nothin' but flannin, an' the flannin ain't new; but I wanted\nto give yer somethin' an' I made it of nights. I knew yer could PRETEND\nit was satin with diamond pins in. _I_ tried to when I was makin' it.\nThe card, miss,\" rather doubtfully; \"'t warn't wrong of me to pick it\nup out o' the dust-bin, was it?  Miss 'Meliar had throwed it away.  I\nhadn't no card o' my own, an' I knowed it wouldn't be a proper presink\nif I didn't pin a card on--so I pinned Miss 'Meliar's.\"\n\nSara flew at her and hugged her.  She could not have told herself or\nanyone else why there was a lump in her throat.\n\n\"Oh, Becky!\" she cried out, with a queer little laugh, \"I love you,\nBecky--I do, I do!\"\n\n\"Oh, miss!\" breathed Becky.  \"Thank yer, miss, kindly; it ain't good\nenough for that.  The--the flannin wasn't new.\"\n\n\n\n7\n\nThe Diamond Mines Again\n\n\nWhen Sara entered the holly-hung schoolroom in the afternoon, she did\nso as the head of a sort of procession.  Miss Minchin, in her grandest\nsilk dress, led her by the hand.  A manservant followed, carrying the\nbox containing the Last Doll, a housemaid carried a second box, and\nBecky brought up the rear, carrying a third and wearing a clean apron\nand a new cap.  Sara would have much preferred to enter in the usual\nway, but Miss Minchin had sent for her, and, after an interview in her\nprivate sitting room, had expressed her wishes.\n\n\"This is not an ordinary occasion,\" she said.  \"I do not desire that it\nshould be treated as one.\"\n\nSo Sara was led grandly in and felt shy when, on her entry, the big\ngirls stared at her and touched each other's elbows, and the little\nones began to squirm joyously in their seats.\n\n\"Silence, young ladies!\" said Miss Minchin, at the murmur which arose.\n\"James, place the box on the table and remove the lid.  Emma, put yours\nupon a chair.  Becky!\" suddenly and severely.\n\nBecky had quite forgotten herself in her excitement, and was grinning\nat Lottie, who was wriggling with rapturous expectation. She almost\ndropped her box, the disapproving voice so startled her, and her\nfrightened, bobbing curtsy of apology was so funny that Lavinia and\nJessie tittered.\n\n\"It is not your place to look at the young ladies,\" said Miss Minchin.\n\"You forget yourself.  Put your box down.\"\n\nBecky obeyed with alarmed haste and hastily backed toward the door.\n\n\"You may leave us,\" Miss Minchin announced to the servants with a wave\nof her hand.\n\nBecky stepped aside respectfully to allow the superior servants to pass\nout first.  She could not help casting a longing glance at the box on\nthe table.  Something made of blue satin was peeping from between the\nfolds of tissue paper.\n\n\"If you please, Miss Minchin,\" said Sara, suddenly, \"mayn't Becky stay?\"\n\nIt was a bold thing to do.  Miss Minchin was betrayed into something\nlike a slight jump.  Then she put her eyeglass up, and gazed at her\nshow pupil disturbedly.\n\n\"Becky!\" she exclaimed.  \"My dearest Sara!\"\n\nSara advanced a step toward her.\n\n\"I want her because I know she will like to see the presents,\" she\nexplained.  \"She is a little girl, too, you know.\"\n\nMiss Minchin was scandalized.  She glanced from one figure to the other.\n\n\"My dear Sara,\" she said, \"Becky is the scullery maid. Scullery\nmaids--er--are not little girls.\"\n\nIt really had not occurred to her to think of them in that light.\nScullery maids were machines who carried coal scuttles and made fires.\n\n\"But Becky is,\" said Sara.  \"And I know she would enjoy herself.\nPlease let her stay--because it is my birthday.\"\n\nMiss Minchin replied with much dignity:\n\n\"As you ask it as a birthday favor--she may stay.  Rebecca, thank Miss\nSara for her great kindness.\"\n\nBecky had been backing into the corner, twisting the hem of her apron\nin delighted suspense.  She came forward, bobbing curtsies, but between\nSara's eyes and her own there passed a gleam of friendly understanding,\nwhile her words tumbled over each other.\n\n\"Oh, if you please, miss!  I'm that grateful, miss!  I did want to see\nthe doll, miss, that I did.  Thank you, miss.  And thank you,\nma'am,\"--turning and making an alarmed bob to Miss Minchin--\"for\nletting me take the liberty.\"\n\nMiss Minchin waved her hand again--this time it was in the direction of\nthe corner near the door.\n\n\"Go and stand there,\" she commanded.  \"Not too near the young ladies.\"\n\nBecky went to her place, grinning.  She did not care where she was\nsent, so that she might have the luck of being inside the room, instead\nof being downstairs in the scullery, while these delights were going\non.  She did not even mind when Miss Minchin cleared her throat\nominously and spoke again.\n\n\"Now, young ladies, I have a few words to say to you,\" she announced.\n\n\"She's going to make a speech,\" whispered one of the girls. \"I wish it\nwas over.\"\n\nSara felt rather uncomfortable.  As this was her party, it was probable\nthat the speech was about her.  It is not agreeable to stand in a\nschoolroom and have a speech made about you.\n\n\"You are aware, young ladies,\" the speech began--for it was a\nspeech--\"that dear Sara is eleven years old today.\"\n\n\"DEAR Sara!\" murmured Lavinia.\n\n\"Several of you here have also been eleven years old, but Sara's\nbirthdays are rather different from other little girls' birthdays. When\nshe is older she will be heiress to a large fortune, which it will be\nher duty to spend in a meritorious manner.\"\n\n\"The diamond mines,\" giggled Jessie, in a whisper.\n\nSara did not hear her; but as she stood with her green-gray eyes fixed\nsteadily on Miss Minchin, she felt herself growing rather hot. When\nMiss Minchin talked about money, she felt somehow that she always hated\nher--and, of course, it was disrespectful to hate grown-up people.\n\n\"When her dear papa, Captain Crewe, brought her from India and gave her\ninto my care,\" the speech proceeded, \"he said to me, in a jesting way,\n'I am afraid she will be very rich, Miss Minchin.' My reply was, 'Her\neducation at my seminary, Captain Crewe, shall be such as will adorn\nthe largest fortune.'  Sara has become my most accomplished pupil. Her\nFrench and her dancing are a credit to the seminary.  Her\nmanners--which have caused you to call her Princess Sara--are perfect.\nHer amiability she exhibits by giving you this afternoon's party. I\nhope you appreciate her generosity.  I wish you to express your\nappreciation of it by saying aloud all together, 'Thank you, Sara!'\"\n\nThe entire schoolroom rose to its feet as it had done the morning Sara\nremembered so well.\n\n\"Thank you, Sara!\" it said, and it must be confessed that Lottie jumped\nup and down.  Sara looked rather shy for a moment. She made a\ncurtsy--and it was a very nice one.\n\n\"Thank you,\" she said, \"for coming to my party.\"\n\n\"Very pretty, indeed, Sara,\" approved Miss Minchin.  \"That is what a\nreal princess does when the populace applauds her.\nLavinia\"--scathingly--\"the sound you just made was extremely like a\nsnort.  If you are jealous of your fellow-pupil, I beg you will express\nyour feelings in some more lady-like manner.  Now I will leave you to\nenjoy yourselves.\"\n\nThe instant she had swept out of the room the spell her presence always\nhad upon them was broken.  The door had scarcely closed before every\nseat was empty.  The little girls jumped or tumbled out of theirs; the\nolder ones wasted no time in deserting theirs. There was a rush toward\nthe boxes.  Sara had bent over one of them with a delighted face.\n\n\"These are books, I know,\" she said.\n\nThe little children broke into a rueful murmur, and Ermengarde looked\naghast.\n\n\"Does your papa send you books for a birthday present?\" she exclaimed.\n\"Why, he's as bad as mine.  Don't open them, Sara.\"\n\n\"I like them,\" Sara laughed, but she turned to the biggest box.  When\nshe took out the Last Doll it was so magnificent that the children\nuttered delighted groans of joy, and actually drew back to gaze at it\nin breathless rapture.\n\n\"She is almost as big as Lottie,\" someone gasped.\n\nLottie clapped her hands and danced about, giggling.\n\n\"She's dressed for the theater,\" said Lavinia.  \"Her cloak is lined\nwith ermine.\"\n\n\"Oh,\" cried Ermengarde, darting forward, \"she has an opera-glass in her\nhand--a blue-and-gold one!\"\n\n\"Here is her trunk,\" said Sara.  \"Let us open it and look at her\nthings.\"\n\nShe sat down upon the floor and turned the key.  The children crowded\nclamoring around her, as she lifted tray after tray and revealed their\ncontents.  Never had the schoolroom been in such an uproar. There were\nlace collars and silk stockings and handkerchiefs; there was a jewel\ncase containing a necklace and a tiara which looked quite as if they\nwere made of real diamonds; there was a long sealskin and muff, there\nwere ball dresses and walking dresses and visiting dresses; there were\nhats and tea gowns and fans. Even Lavinia and Jessie forgot that they\nwere too elderly to care for dolls, and uttered exclamations of delight\nand caught up things to look at them.\n\n\"Suppose,\" Sara said, as she stood by the table, putting a large,\nblack-velvet hat on the impassively smiling owner of all these\nsplendors--\"suppose she understands human talk and feels proud of being\nadmired.\"\n\n\"You are always supposing things,\" said Lavinia, and her air was very\nsuperior.\n\n\"I know I am,\" answered Sara, undisturbedly.  \"I like it.  There is\nnothing so nice as supposing.  It's almost like being a fairy.  If you\nsuppose anything hard enough it seems as if it were real.\"\n\n\"It's all very well to suppose things if you have everything,\" said\nLavinia.  \"Could you suppose and pretend if you were a beggar and lived\nin a garret?\"\n\nSara stopped arranging the Last Doll's ostrich plumes, and looked\nthoughtful.\n\n\"I BELIEVE I could,\" she said.  \"If one was a beggar, one would have to\nsuppose and pretend all the time.  But it mightn't be easy.\"\n\nShe often thought afterward how strange it was that just as she had\nfinished saying this--just at that very moment--Miss Amelia came into\nthe room.\n\n\"Sara,\" she said, \"your papa's solicitor, Mr. Barrow, has called to see\nMiss Minchin, and, as she must talk to him alone and the refreshments\nare laid in her parlor, you had all better come and have your feast\nnow, so that my sister can have her interview here in the schoolroom.\"\n\nRefreshments were not likely to be disdained at any hour, and many\npairs of eyes gleamed.  Miss Amelia arranged the procession into\ndecorum, and then, with Sara at her side heading it, she led it away,\nleaving the Last Doll sitting upon a chair with the glories of her\nwardrobe scattered about her; dresses and coats hung upon chair backs,\npiles of lace-frilled petticoats lying upon their seats.\n\nBecky, who was not expected to partake of refreshments, had the\nindiscretion to linger a moment to look at these beauties--it really\nwas an indiscretion.\n\n\"Go back to your work, Becky,\" Miss Amelia had said; but she had\nstopped to pick up reverently first a muff and then a coat, and while\nshe stood looking at them adoringly, she heard Miss Minchin upon the\nthreshold, and, being smitten with terror at the thought of being\naccused of taking liberties, she rashly darted under the table, which\nhid her by its tablecloth.\n\nMiss Minchin came into the room, accompanied by a sharp-featured, dry\nlittle gentleman, who looked rather disturbed.  Miss Minchin herself\nalso looked rather disturbed, it must be admitted, and she gazed at the\ndry little gentleman with an irritated and puzzled expression.\n\nShe sat down with stiff dignity, and waved him to a chair.\n\n\"Pray, be seated, Mr. Barrow,\" she said.\n\nMr. Barrow did not sit down at once.  His attention seemed attracted by\nthe Last Doll and the things which surrounded her.  He settled his\neyeglasses and looked at them in nervous disapproval. The Last Doll\nherself did not seem to mind this in the least. She merely sat upright\nand returned his gaze indifferently.\n\n\"A hundred pounds,\" Mr. Barrow remarked succinctly. \"All expensive\nmaterial, and made at a Parisian modiste's. He spent money lavishly\nenough, that young man.\"\n\nMiss Minchin felt offended.  This seemed to be a disparagement of her\nbest patron and was a liberty.\n\nEven solicitors had no right to take liberties.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, Mr. Barrow,\" she said stiffly.  \"I do not\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"Birthday presents,\" said Mr. Barrow in the same critical manner, \"to a\nchild eleven years old!  Mad extravagance, I call it.\"\n\nMiss Minchin drew herself up still more rigidly.\n\n\"Captain Crewe is a man of fortune,\" she said.  \"The diamond mines\nalone--\"\n\nMr. Barrow wheeled round upon her.  \"Diamond mines!\" he broke out.\n\"There are none!  Never were!\"\n\nMiss Minchin actually got up from her chair.\n\n\"What!\" she cried.  \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"At any rate,\" answered Mr. Barrow, quite snappishly, \"it would have\nbeen much better if there never had been any.\"\n\n\"Any diamond mines?\" ejaculated Miss Minchin, catching at the back of a\nchair and feeling as if a splendid dream was fading away from her.\n\n\"Diamond mines spell ruin oftener than they spell wealth,\" said Mr.\nBarrow.  \"When a man is in the hands of a very dear friend and is not a\nbusinessman himself, he had better steer clear of the dear friend's\ndiamond mines, or gold mines, or any other kind of mines dear friends\nwant his money to put into.  The late Captain Crewe--\"\n\nHere Miss Minchin stopped him with a gasp.\n\n\"The LATE Captain Crewe!\" she cried out.  \"The LATE! You don't come to\ntell me that Captain Crewe is--\"\n\n\"He's dead, ma'am,\" Mr. Barrow answered with jerky brusqueness.  \"Died\nof jungle fever and business troubles combined.  The jungle fever might\nnot have killed him if he had not been driven mad by the business\ntroubles, and the business troubles might not have put an end to him if\nthe jungle fever had not assisted.  Captain Crewe is dead!\"\n\nMiss Minchin dropped into her chair again.  The words he had spoken\nfilled her with alarm.\n\n\"What WERE his business troubles?\" she said.  \"What WERE they?\"\n\n\"Diamond mines,\" answered Mr. Barrow, \"and dear friends--and ruin.\"\n\nMiss Minchin lost her breath.\n\n\"Ruin!\" she gasped out.\n\n\"Lost every penny.  That young man had too much money.  The dear friend\nwas mad on the subject of the diamond mine.  He put all his own money\ninto it, and all Captain Crewe's.  Then the dear friend ran\naway--Captain Crewe was already stricken with fever when the news came.\nThe shock was too much for him.  He died delirious, raving about his\nlittle girl--and didn't leave a penny.\"\n\nNow Miss Minchin understood, and never had she received such a blow in\nher life.  Her show pupil, her show patron, swept away from the Select\nSeminary at one blow.  She felt as if she had been outraged and robbed,\nand that Captain Crewe and Sara and Mr. Barrow were equally to blame.\n\n\"Do you mean to tell me,\" she cried out, \"that he left NOTHING!  That\nSara will have no fortune!  That the child is a beggar!  That she is\nleft on my hands a little pauper instead of an heiress?\"\n\nMr. Barrow was a shrewd businessman, and felt it as well to make his\nown freedom from responsibility quite clear without any delay.\n\n\"She is certainly left a beggar,\" he replied.  \"And she is certainly\nleft on your hands, ma'am--as she hasn't a relation in the world that\nwe know of.\"\n\nMiss Minchin started forward.  She looked as if she was going to open\nthe door and rush out of the room to stop the festivities going on\njoyfully and rather noisily that moment over the refreshments.\n\n\"It is monstrous!\" she said.  \"She's in my sitting room at this moment,\ndressed in silk gauze and lace petticoats, giving a party at my\nexpense.\"\n\n\"She's giving it at your expense, madam, if she's giving it,\" said Mr.\nBarrow, calmly.  \"Barrow & Skipworth are not responsible for anything.\nThere never was a cleaner sweep made of a man's fortune. Captain Crewe\ndied without paying OUR last bill--and it was a big one.\"\n\nMiss Minchin turned back from the door in increased indignation.  This\nwas worse than anyone could have dreamed of its being.\n\n\"That is what has happened to me!\" she cried.  \"I was always so sure of\nhis payments that I went to all sorts of ridiculous expenses for the\nchild.  I paid the bills for that ridiculous doll and her ridiculous\nfantastic wardrobe.  The child was to have anything she wanted.  She\nhas a carriage and a pony and a maid, and I've paid for all of them\nsince the last cheque came.\"\n\nMr. Barrow evidently did not intend to remain to listen to the story of\nMiss Minchin's grievances after he had made the position of his firm\nclear and related the mere dry facts.  He did not feel any particular\nsympathy for irate keepers of boarding schools.\n\n\"You had better not pay for anything more, ma'am,\" he remarked, \"unless\nyou want to make presents to the young lady.  No one will remember you.\nShe hasn't a brass farthing to call her own.\"\n\n\"But what am I to do?\" demanded Miss Minchin, as if she felt it\nentirely his duty to make the matter right.  \"What am I to do?\"\n\n\"There isn't anything to do,\" said Mr. Barrow, folding up his\neyeglasses and slipping them into his pocket.  \"Captain Crewe is dead.\nThe child is left a pauper.  Nobody is responsible for her but you.\"\n\n\"I am not responsible for her, and I refuse to be made responsible!\"\n\nMiss Minchin became quite white with rage.\n\nMr. Barrow turned to go.\n\n\"I have nothing to do with that, madam,\" he said uninterestedly.\n\"Barrow & Skipworth are not responsible.  Very sorry the thing has\nhappened, of course.\"\n\n\"If you think she is to be foisted off on me, you are greatly\nmistaken,\" Miss Minchin gasped.  \"I have been robbed and cheated; I\nwill turn her into the street!\"\n\nIf she had not been so furious, she would have been too discreet to say\nquite so much.  She saw herself burdened with an extravagantly\nbrought-up child whom she had always resented, and she lost all\nself-control.\n\nMr. Barrow undisturbedly moved toward the door.\n\n\"I wouldn't do that, madam,\" he commented; \"it wouldn't look well.\nUnpleasant story to get about in connection with the establishment.\nPupil bundled out penniless and without friends.\"\n\nHe was a clever business man, and he knew what he was saying. He also\nknew that Miss Minchin was a business woman, and would be shrewd enough\nto see the truth.  She could not afford to do a thing which would make\npeople speak of her as cruel and hard-hearted.\n\n\"Better keep her and make use of her,\" he added.  \"She's a clever\nchild, I believe.  You can get a good deal out of her as she grows\nolder.\"\n\n\"I will get a good deal out of her before she grows older!\" exclaimed\nMiss Minchin.\n\n\"I am sure you will, ma'am,\" said Mr. Barrow, with a little sinister\nsmile.  \"I am sure you will.  Good morning!\"\n\nHe bowed himself out and closed the door, and it must be confessed that\nMiss Minchin stood for a few moments and glared at it.  What he had\nsaid was quite true.  She knew it.  She had absolutely no redress. Her\nshow pupil had melted into nothingness, leaving only a friendless,\nbeggared little girl.  Such money as she herself had advanced was lost\nand could not be regained.\n\nAnd as she stood there breathless under her sense of injury, there fell\nupon her ears a burst of gay voices from her own sacred room, which had\nactually been given up to the feast. She could at least stop this.\n\nBut as she started toward the door it was opened by Miss Amelia, who,\nwhen she caught sight of the changed, angry face, fell back a step in\nalarm.\n\n\"What IS the matter, sister?\" she ejaculated.\n\nMiss Minchin's voice was almost fierce when she answered:\n\n\"Where is Sara Crewe?\"\n\nMiss Amelia was bewildered.\n\n\"Sara!\" she stammered.  \"Why, she's with the children in your room, of\ncourse.\"\n\n\"Has she a black frock in her sumptuous wardrobe?\"--in bitter irony.\n\n\"A black frock?\"  Miss Amelia stammered again.  \"A BLACK one?\"\n\n\"She has frocks of every other color.  Has she a black one?\"\n\nMiss Amelia began to turn pale.\n\n\"No--ye-es!\" she said.  \"But it is too short for her.  She has only the\nold black velvet, and she has outgrown it.\"\n\n\"Go and tell her to take off that preposterous pink silk gauze, and put\nthe black one on, whether it is too short or not.  She has done with\nfinery!\"\n\nThen Miss Amelia began to wring her fat hands and cry.\n\n\"Oh, sister!\" she sniffed.  \"Oh, sister!  What CAN have happened?\"\n\nMiss Minchin wasted no words.\n\n\"Captain Crewe is dead,\" she said.  \"He has died without a penny. That\nspoiled, pampered, fanciful child is left a pauper on my hands.\"\n\nMiss Amelia sat down quite heavily in the nearest chair.\n\n\"Hundreds of pounds have I spent on nonsense for her.  And I shall\nnever see a penny of it.  Put a stop to this ridiculous party of hers.\nGo and make her change her frock at once.\"\n\n\"I?\" panted Miss Amelia.  \"M-must I go and tell her now?\"\n\n\"This moment!\" was the fierce answer.  \"Don't sit staring like a goose.\nGo!\"\n\nPoor Miss Amelia was accustomed to being called a goose.  She knew, in\nfact, that she was rather a goose, and that it was left to geese to do\na great many disagreeable things.  It was a somewhat embarrassing thing\nto go into the midst of a room full of delighted children, and tell the\ngiver of the feast that she had suddenly been transformed into a little\nbeggar, and must go upstairs and put on an old black frock which was\ntoo small for her.  But the thing must be done. This was evidently not\nthe time when questions might be asked.\n\nShe rubbed her eyes with her handkerchief until they looked quite red.\nAfter which she got up and went out of the room, without venturing to\nsay another word.  When her older sister looked and spoke as she had\ndone just now, the wisest course to pursue was to obey orders without\nany comment.  Miss Minchin walked across the room. She spoke to herself\naloud without knowing that she was doing it. During the last year the\nstory of the diamond mines had suggested all sorts of possibilities to\nher.  Even proprietors of seminaries might make fortunes in stocks,\nwith the aid of owners of mines. And now, instead of looking forward to\ngains, she was left to look back upon losses.\n\n\"The Princess Sara, indeed!\" she said.  \"The child has been pampered as\nif she were a QUEEN.\" She was sweeping angrily past the corner table as\nshe said it, and the next moment she started at the sound of a loud,\nsobbing sniff which issued from under the cover.\n\n\"What is that!\" she exclaimed angrily.  The loud, sobbing sniff was\nheard again, and she stooped and raised the hanging folds of the table\ncover.\n\n\"How DARE you!\" she cried out.  \"How dare you!  Come out immediately!\"\n\nIt was poor Becky who crawled out, and her cap was knocked on one side,\nand her face was red with repressed crying.\n\n\"If you please, 'm--it's me, mum,\" she explained.  \"I know I hadn't\nought to.  But I was lookin' at the doll, mum--an' I was frightened\nwhen you come in--an' slipped under the table.\"\n\n\"You have been there all the time, listening,\" said Miss Minchin.\n\n\"No, mum,\" Becky protested, bobbing curtsies.  \"Not listenin'--I\nthought I could slip out without your noticin', but I couldn't an' I\nhad to stay.  But I didn't listen, mum--I wouldn't for nothin'. But I\ncouldn't help hearin'.\"\n\nSuddenly it seemed almost as if she lost all fear of the awful lady\nbefore her.  She burst into fresh tears.\n\n\"Oh, please, 'm,\" she said; \"I dare say you'll give me warnin', mum--but\nI'm so sorry for poor Miss Sara--I'm so sorry!\"\n\n\"Leave the room!\" ordered Miss Minchin.\n\nBecky curtsied again, the tears openly streaming down her cheeks.\n\n\"Yes, 'm; I will, 'm,\" she said, trembling; \"but oh, I just wanted to\narst you:  Miss Sara--she's been such a rich young lady, an' she's been\nwaited on, 'and and foot; an' what will she do now, mum, without no\nmaid?  If--if, oh please, would you let me wait on her after I've done\nmy pots an' kettles?  I'd do 'em that quick--if you'd let me wait on\nher now she's poor.  Oh,\" breaking out afresh, \"poor little Miss Sara,\nmum--that was called a princess.\"\n\nSomehow, she made Miss Minchin feel more angry than ever.  That the\nvery scullery maid should range herself on the side of this child--whom\nshe realized more fully than ever that she had never liked--was too\nmuch.  She actually stamped her foot.\n\n\"No--certainly not,\" she said.  \"She will wait on herself, and on other\npeople, too.  Leave the room this instant, or you'll leave your place.\"\n\nBecky threw her apron over her head and fled.  She ran out of the room\nand down the steps into the scullery, and there she sat down among her\npots and kettles, and wept as if her heart would break.\n\n\"It's exactly like the ones in the stories,\" she wailed. \"Them pore\nprincess ones that was drove into the world.\"\n\nMiss Minchin had never looked quite so still and hard as she did when\nSara came to her, a few hours later, in response to a message she had\nsent her.\n\nEven by that time it seemed to Sara as if the birthday party had either\nbeen a dream or a thing which had happened years ago, and had happened\nin the life of quite another little girl.\n\nEvery sign of the festivities had been swept away; the holly had been\nremoved from the schoolroom walls, and the forms and desks put back\ninto their places.  Miss Minchin's sitting room looked as it always\ndid--all traces of the feast were gone, and Miss Minchin had resumed\nher usual dress.  The pupils had been ordered to lay aside their party\nfrocks; and this having been done, they had returned to the schoolroom\nand huddled together in groups, whispering and talking excitedly.\n\n\"Tell Sara to come to my room,\" Miss Minchin had said to her sister.\n\"And explain to her clearly that I will have no crying or unpleasant\nscenes.\"\n\n\"Sister,\" replied Miss Amelia, \"she is the strangest child I ever saw.\nShe has actually made no fuss at all.  You remember she made none when\nCaptain Crewe went back to India.  When I told her what had happened,\nshe just stood quite still and looked at me without making a sound.\nHer eyes seemed to get bigger and bigger, and she went quite pale.\nWhen I had finished, she still stood staring for a few seconds, and\nthen her chin began to shake, and she turned round and ran out of the\nroom and upstairs.  Several of the other children began to cry, but she\ndid not seem to hear them or to be alive to anything but just what I\nwas saying. It made me feel quite queer not to be answered; and when\nyou tell anything sudden and strange, you expect people will say\nSOMETHING--whatever it is.\"\n\nNobody but Sara herself ever knew what had happened in her room after\nshe had run upstairs and locked her door.  In fact, she herself\nscarcely remembered anything but that she walked up and down, saying\nover and over again to herself in a voice which did not seem her own,\n\"My papa is dead!  My papa is dead!\"\n\nOnce she stopped before Emily, who sat watching her from her chair, and\ncried out wildly, \"Emily!  Do you hear?  Do you hear--papa is dead? He\nis dead in India--thousands of miles away.\"\n\nWhen she came into Miss Minchin's sitting room in answer to her\nsummons, her face was white and her eyes had dark rings around them.\nHer mouth was set as if she did not wish it to reveal what she had\nsuffered and was suffering.  She did not look in the least like the\nrose-colored butterfly child who had flown about from one of her\ntreasures to the other in the decorated schoolroom. She looked instead\na strange, desolate, almost grotesque little figure.\n\nShe had put on, without Mariette's help, the cast-aside black-velvet\nfrock.  It was too short and tight, and her slender legs looked long\nand thin, showing themselves from beneath the brief skirt.  As she had\nnot found a piece of black ribbon, her short, thick, black hair tumbled\nloosely about her face and contrasted strongly with its pallor.  She\nheld Emily tightly in one arm, and Emily was swathed in a piece of\nblack material.\n\n\"Put down your doll,\" said Miss Minchin.  \"What do you mean by bringing\nher here?\"\n\n\"No,\" Sara answered.  \"I will not put her down.  She is all I have. My\npapa gave her to me.\"\n\nShe had always made Miss Minchin feel secretly uncomfortable, and she\ndid so now.  She did not speak with rudeness so much as with a cold\nsteadiness with which Miss Minchin felt it difficult to cope--perhaps\nbecause she knew she was doing a heartless and inhuman thing.\n\n\"You will have no time for dolls in future,\" she said.  \"You will have\nto work and improve yourself and make yourself useful.\"\n\nSara kept her big, strange eyes fixed on her, and said not a word.\n\n\"Everything will be very different now,\" Miss Minchin went on.  \"I\nsuppose Miss Amelia has explained matters to you.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Sara.  \"My papa is dead.  He left me no money. I am\nquite poor.\"\n\n\"You are a beggar,\" said Miss Minchin, her temper rising at the\nrecollection of what all this meant.  \"It appears that you have no\nrelations and no home, and no one to take care of you.\"\n\nFor a moment the thin, pale little face twitched, but Sara again said\nnothing.\n\n\"What are you staring at?\" demanded Miss Minchin, sharply.  \"Are you so\nstupid that you cannot understand?  I tell you that you are quite alone\nin the world, and have no one to do anything for you, unless I choose\nto keep you here out of charity.\"\n\n\"I understand,\" answered Sara, in a low tone; and there was a sound as\nif she had gulped down something which rose in her throat. \"I\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"That doll,\" cried Miss Minchin, pointing to the splendid birthday gift\nseated near--\"that ridiculous doll, with all her nonsensical,\nextravagant things--I actually paid the bill for her!\"\n\nSara turned her head toward the chair.\n\n\"The Last Doll,\" she said.  \"The Last Doll.\"  And her little mournful\nvoice had an odd sound.\n\n\"The Last Doll, indeed!\" said Miss Minchin.  \"And she is mine, not\nyours.  Everything you own is mine.\"\n\n\"Please take it away from me, then,\" said Sara.  \"I do not want it.\"\n\nIf she had cried and sobbed and seemed frightened, Miss Minchin might\nalmost have had more patience with her.  She was a woman who liked to\ndomineer and feel her power, and as she looked at Sara's pale little\nsteadfast face and heard her proud little voice, she quite felt as if\nher might was being set at naught.\n\n\"Don't put on grand airs,\" she said.  \"The time for that sort of thing\nis past.  You are not a princess any longer.  Your carriage and your\npony will be sent away--your maid will be dismissed. You will wear your\noldest and plainest clothes--your extravagant ones are no longer suited\nto your station.  You are like Becky--you must work for your living.\"\n\nTo her surprise, a faint gleam of light came into the child's eyes--a\nshade of relief.\n\n\"Can I work?\" she said.  \"If I can work it will not matter so much.\nWhat can I do?\"\n\n\"You can do anything you are told,\" was the answer.  \"You are a sharp\nchild, and pick up things readily.  If you make yourself useful I may\nlet you stay here.  You speak French well, and you can help with the\nyounger children.\"\n\n\"May I?\" exclaimed Sara.  \"Oh, please let me!  I know I can teach them.\nI like them, and they like me.\"\n\n\"Don't talk nonsense about people liking you,\" said Miss Minchin. \"You\nwill have to do more than teach the little ones.  You will run errands\nand help in the kitchen as well as in the schoolroom. If you don't\nplease me, you will be sent away.  Remember that. Now go.\"\n\nSara stood still just a moment, looking at her.  In her young soul, she\nwas thinking deep and strange things.  Then she turned to leave the\nroom.\n\n\"Stop!\" said Miss Minchin.  \"Don't you intend to thank me?\"\n\nSara paused, and all the deep, strange thoughts surged up in her breast.\n\n\"What for?\" she said.\n\n\"For my kindness to you,\" replied Miss Minchin.  \"For my kindness in\ngiving you a home.\"\n\nSara made two or three steps toward her.  Her thin little chest heaved\nup and down, and she spoke in a strange un-childishly fierce way.\n\n\"You are not kind,\" she said.  \"You are NOT kind, and it is NOT a\nhome.\"  And she had turned and run out of the room before Miss Minchin\ncould stop her or do anything but stare after her with stony anger.\n\nShe went up the stairs slowly, but panting for breath and she held\nEmily tightly against her side.\n\n\"I wish she could talk,\" she said to herself.  \"If she could speak--if\nshe could speak!\"\n\nShe meant to go to her room and lie down on the tiger-skin, with her\ncheek upon the great cat's head, and look into the fire and think and\nthink and think.  But just before she reached the landing Miss Amelia\ncame out of the door and closed it behind her, and stood before it,\nlooking nervous and awkward.  The truth was that she felt secretly\nashamed of the thing she had been ordered to do.\n\n\"You--you are not to go in there,\" she said.\n\n\"Not go in?\" exclaimed Sara, and she fell back a pace.\n\n\"That is not your room now,\" Miss Amelia answered, reddening a little.\n\nSomehow, all at once, Sara understood.  She realized that this was the\nbeginning of the change Miss Minchin had spoken of.\n\n\"Where is my room?\" she asked, hoping very much that her voice did not\nshake.\n\n\"You are to sleep in the attic next to Becky.\"\n\nSara knew where it was.  Becky had told her about it.  She turned, and\nmounted up two flights of stairs.  The last one was narrow, and covered\nwith shabby strips of old carpet.  She felt as if she were walking away\nand leaving far behind her the world in which that other child, who no\nlonger seemed herself, had lived.  This child, in her short, tight old\nfrock, climbing the stairs to the attic, was quite a different creature.\n\nWhen she reached the attic door and opened it, her heart gave a dreary\nlittle thump.  Then she shut the door and stood against it and looked\nabout her.\n\nYes, this was another world.  The room had a slanting roof and was\nwhitewashed.  The whitewash was dingy and had fallen off in places.\nThere was a rusty grate, an old iron bedstead, and a hard bed covered\nwith a faded coverlet.  Some pieces of furniture too much worn to be\nused downstairs had been sent up.  Under the skylight in the roof,\nwhich showed nothing but an oblong piece of dull gray sky, there stood\nan old battered red footstool.  Sara went to it and sat down. She\nseldom cried.  She did not cry now.  She laid Emily across her knees\nand put her face down upon her and her arms around her, and sat there,\nher little black head resting on the black draperies, not saying one\nword, not making one sound.\n\nAnd as she sat in this silence there came a low tap at the door--such a\nlow, humble one that she did not at first hear it, and, indeed, was not\nroused until the door was timidly pushed open and a poor tear-smeared\nface appeared peeping round it.  It was Becky's face, and Becky had\nbeen crying furtively for hours and rubbing her eyes with her kitchen\napron until she looked strange indeed.\n\n\"Oh, miss,\" she said under her breath.  \"Might I--would you allow\nme--jest to come in?\"\n\nSara lifted her head and looked at her.  She tried to begin a smile,\nand somehow she could not.  Suddenly--and it was all through the loving\nmournfulness of Becky's streaming eyes--her face looked more like a\nchild's not so much too old for her years. She held out her hand and\ngave a little sob.\n\n\"Oh, Becky,\" she said.  \"I told you we were just the same--only two\nlittle girls--just two little girls.  You see how true it is.  There's\nno difference now.  I'm not a princess anymore.\"\n\nBecky ran to her and caught her hand, and hugged it to her breast,\nkneeling beside her and sobbing with love and pain.\n\n\"Yes, miss, you are,\" she cried, and her words were all broken.\n\"Whats'ever 'appens to you--whats'ever--you'd be a princess all the\nsame--an' nothin' couldn't make you nothin' different.\"\n\n\n\n8\n\nIn the Attic\n\n\nThe first night she spent in her attic was a thing Sara never forgot.\nDuring its passing she lived through a wild, unchildlike woe of which\nshe never spoke to anyone about her.  There was no one who would have\nunderstood.  It was, indeed, well for her that as she lay awake in the\ndarkness her mind was forcibly distracted, now and then, by the\nstrangeness of her surroundings.  It was, perhaps, well for her that\nshe was reminded by her small body of material things. If this had not\nbeen so, the anguish of her young mind might have been too great for a\nchild to bear.  But, really, while the night was passing she scarcely\nknew that she had a body at all or remembered any other thing than one.\n\n\"My papa is dead!\" she kept whispering to herself.  \"My papa is dead!\"\n\nIt was not until long afterward that she realized that her bed had been\nso hard that she turned over and over in it to find a place to rest,\nthat the darkness seemed more intense than any she had ever known, and\nthat the wind howled over the roof among the chimneys like something\nwhich wailed aloud.  Then there was something worse. This was certain\nscufflings and scratchings and squeakings in the walls and behind the\nskirting boards.  She knew what they meant, because Becky had described\nthem.  They meant rats and mice who were either fighting with each\nother or playing together. Once or twice she even heard sharp-toed feet\nscurrying across the floor, and she remembered in those after days,\nwhen she recalled things, that when first she heard them she started up\nin bed and sat trembling, and when she lay down again covered her head\nwith the bedclothes.\n\nThe change in her life did not come about gradually, but was made all\nat once.\n\n\"She must begin as she is to go on,\" Miss Minchin said to Miss Amelia.\n\"She must be taught at once what she is to expect.\"\n\nMariette had left the house the next morning.  The glimpse Sara caught\nof her sitting room, as she passed its open door, showed her that\neverything had been changed.  Her ornaments and luxuries had been\nremoved, and a bed had been placed in a corner to transform it into a\nnew pupil's bedroom.\n\nWhen she went down to breakfast she saw that her seat at Miss Minchin's\nside was occupied by Lavinia, and Miss Minchin spoke to her coldly.\n\n\"You will begin your new duties, Sara,\" she said, \"by taking your seat\nwith the younger children at a smaller table.  You must keep them\nquiet, and see that they behave well and do not waste their food. You\nought to have been down earlier.  Lottie has already upset her tea.\"\n\nThat was the beginning, and from day to day the duties given to her\nwere added to.  She taught the younger children French and heard their\nother lessons, and these were the least of her labors. It was found\nthat she could be made use of in numberless directions. She could be\nsent on errands at any time and in all weathers. She could be told to\ndo things other people neglected.  The cook and the housemaids took\ntheir tone from Miss Minchin, and rather enjoyed ordering about the\n\"young one\" who had been made so much fuss over for so long.  They were\nnot servants of the best class, and had neither good manners nor good\ntempers, and it was frequently convenient to have at hand someone on\nwhom blame could be laid.\n\nDuring the first month or two, Sara thought that her willingness to do\nthings as well as she could, and her silence under reproof, might\nsoften those who drove her so hard.  In her proud little heart she\nwanted them to see that she was trying to earn her living and not\naccepting charity.  But the time came when she saw that no one was\nsoftened at all; and the more willing she was to do as she was told,\nthe more domineering and exacting careless housemaids became, and the\nmore ready a scolding cook was to blame her.\n\nIf she had been older, Miss Minchin would have given her the bigger\ngirls to teach and saved money by dismissing an instructress; but while\nshe remained and looked like a child, she could be made more useful as\na sort of little superior errand girl and maid of all work. An ordinary\nerrand boy would not have been so clever and reliable. Sara could be\ntrusted with difficult commissions and complicated messages. She could\neven go and pay bills, and she combined with this the ability to dust a\nroom well and to set things in order.\n\nHer own lessons became things of the past.  She was taught nothing, and\nonly after long and busy days spent in running here and there at\neverybody's orders was she grudgingly allowed to go into the deserted\nschoolroom, with a pile of old books, and study alone at night.\n\n\"If I do not remind myself of the things I have learned, perhaps I may\nforget them,\" she said to herself.  \"I am almost a scullery maid, and\nif I am a scullery maid who knows nothing, I shall be like poor Becky.\nI wonder if I could QUITE forget and begin to drop my H'S and not\nremember that Henry the Eighth had six wives.\"\n\nOne of the most curious things in her new existence was her changed\nposition among the pupils.  Instead of being a sort of small royal\npersonage among them, she no longer seemed to be one of their number at\nall.  She was kept so constantly at work that she scarcely ever had an\nopportunity of speaking to any of them, and she could not avoid seeing\nthat Miss Minchin preferred that she should live a life apart from that\nof the occupants of the schoolroom.\n\n\"I will not have her forming intimacies and talking to the other\nchildren,\" that lady said.  \"Girls like a grievance, and if she begins\nto tell romantic stories about herself, she will become an ill-used\nheroine, and parents will be given a wrong impression.  It is better\nthat she should live a separate life--one suited to her circumstances.\nI am giving her a home, and that is more than she has any right to\nexpect from me.\"\n\nSara did not expect much, and was far too proud to try to continue to\nbe intimate with girls who evidently felt rather awkward and uncertain\nabout her.  The fact was that Miss Minchin's pupils were a set of dull,\nmatter-of-fact young people.  They were accustomed to being rich and\ncomfortable, and as Sara's frocks grew shorter and shabbier and\nqueerer-looking, and it became an established fact that she wore shoes\nwith holes in them and was sent out to buy groceries and carry them\nthrough the streets in a basket on her arm when the cook wanted them in\na hurry, they felt rather as if, when they spoke to her, they were\naddressing an under servant.\n\n\"To think that she was the girl with the diamond mines,\" Lavinia\ncommented. \"She does look an object.  And she's queerer than ever.  I\nnever liked her much, but I can't bear that way she has now of looking\nat people without speaking--just as if she was finding them out.\"\n\n\"I am,\" said Sara, promptly, when she heard of this.  \"That's what I\nlook at some people for.  I like to know about them.  I think them over\nafterward.\"\n\nThe truth was that she had saved herself annoyance several times by\nkeeping her eye on Lavinia, who was quite ready to make mischief, and\nwould have been rather pleased to have made it for the ex-show pupil.\n\nSara never made any mischief herself, or interfered with anyone.  She\nworked like a drudge; she tramped through the wet streets, carrying\nparcels and baskets; she labored with the childish inattention of the\nlittle ones' French lessons; as she became shabbier and more\nforlorn-looking, she was told that she had better take her meals\ndownstairs; she was treated as if she was nobody's concern, and her\nheart grew proud and sore, but she never told anyone what she felt.\n\n\"Soldiers don't complain,\" she would say between her small, shut teeth,\n\"I am not going to do it; I will pretend this is part of a war.\"\n\nBut there were hours when her child heart might almost have broken with\nloneliness but for three people.\n\nThe first, it must be owned, was Becky--just Becky.  Throughout all\nthat first night spent in the garret, she had felt a vague comfort in\nknowing that on the other side of the wall in which the rats scuffled\nand squeaked there was another young human creature. And during the\nnights that followed the sense of comfort grew. They had little chance\nto speak to each other during the day. Each had her own tasks to\nperform, and any attempt at conversation would have been regarded as a\ntendency to loiter and lose time. \"Don't mind me, miss,\" Becky\nwhispered during the first morning, \"if I don't say nothin' polite.\nSome un'd be down on us if I did. I MEANS 'please' an' 'thank you' an'\n'beg pardon,' but I dassn't to take time to say it.\"\n\nBut before daybreak she used to slip into Sara's attic and button her\ndress and give her such help as she required before she went downstairs\nto light the kitchen fire.  And when night came Sara always heard the\nhumble knock at her door which meant that her handmaid was ready to\nhelp her again if she was needed.  During the first weeks of her grief\nSara felt as if she were too stupefied to talk, so it happened that\nsome time passed before they saw each other much or exchanged visits.\nBecky's heart told her that it was best that people in trouble should\nbe left alone.\n\nThe second of the trio of comforters was Ermengarde, but odd things\nhappened before Ermengarde found her place.\n\nWhen Sara's mind seemed to awaken again to the life about her, she\nrealized that she had forgotten that an Ermengarde lived in the world.\nThe two had always been friends, but Sara had felt as if she were years\nthe older.  It could not be contested that Ermengarde was as dull as\nshe was affectionate.  She clung to Sara in a simple, helpless way; she\nbrought her lessons to her that she might be helped; she listened to\nher every word and besieged her with requests for stories.  But she had\nnothing interesting to say herself, and she loathed books of every\ndescription.  She was, in fact, not a person one would remember when\none was caught in the storm of a great trouble, and Sara forgot her.\n\nIt had been all the easier to forget her because she had been suddenly\ncalled home for a few weeks.  When she came back she did not see Sara\nfor a day or two, and when she met her for the first time she\nencountered her coming down a corridor with her arms full of garments\nwhich were to be taken downstairs to be mended. Sara herself had\nalready been taught to mend them.  She looked pale and unlike herself,\nand she was attired in the queer, outgrown frock whose shortness showed\nso much thin black leg.\n\nErmengarde was too slow a girl to be equal to such a situation.  She\ncould not think of anything to say.  She knew what had happened, but,\nsomehow, she had never imagined Sara could look like this--so odd and\npoor and almost like a servant.  It made her quite miserable, and she\ncould do nothing but break into a short hysterical laugh and\nexclaim--aimlessly and as if without any meaning, \"Oh, Sara, is that\nyou?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Sara, and suddenly a strange thought passed through her\nmind and made her face flush.  She held the pile of garments in her\narms, and her chin rested upon the top of it to keep it steady.\nSomething in the look of her straight-gazing eyes made Ermengarde lose\nher wits still more.  She felt as if Sara had changed into a new kind\nof girl, and she had never known her before. Perhaps it was because she\nhad suddenly grown poor and had to mend things and work like Becky.\n\n\"Oh,\" she stammered.  \"How--how are you?\"\n\n\"I don't know,\" Sara replied.  \"How are you?\"\n\n\"I'm--I'm quite well,\" said Ermengarde, overwhelmed with shyness. Then\nspasmodically she thought of something to say which seemed more\nintimate.  \"Are you--are you very unhappy?\" she said in a rush.\n\nThen Sara was guilty of an injustice.  Just at that moment her torn\nheart swelled within her, and she felt that if anyone was as stupid as\nthat, one had better get away from her.\n\n\"What do you think?\" she said.  \"Do you think I am very happy?\" And she\nmarched past her without another word.\n\nIn course of time she realized that if her wretchedness had not made\nher forget things, she would have known that poor, dull Ermengarde was\nnot to be blamed for her unready, awkward ways.  She was always\nawkward, and the more she felt, the more stupid she was given to being.\n\nBut the sudden thought which had flashed upon her had made her\nover-sensitive.\n\n\"She is like the others,\" she had thought.  \"She does not really want\nto talk to me.  She knows no one does.\"\n\nSo for several weeks a barrier stood between them.  When they met by\nchance Sara looked the other way, and Ermengarde felt too stiff and\nembarrassed to speak.  Sometimes they nodded to each other in passing,\nbut there were times when they did not even exchange a greeting.\n\n\"If she would rather not talk to me,\" Sara thought, \"I will keep out of\nher way.  Miss Minchin makes that easy enough.\"\n\nMiss Minchin made it so easy that at last they scarcely saw each other\nat all.  At that time it was noticed that Ermengarde was more stupid\nthan ever, and that she looked listless and unhappy.  She used to sit\nin the window-seat, huddled in a heap, and stare out of the window\nwithout speaking.  Once Jessie, who was passing, stopped to look at her\ncuriously.\n\n\"What are you crying for, Ermengarde?\" she asked.\n\n\"I'm not crying,\" answered Ermengarde, in a muffled, unsteady voice.\n\n\"You are,\" said Jessie.  \"A great big tear just rolled down the bridge\nof your nose and dropped off at the end of it.  And there goes another.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said Ermengarde, \"I'm miserable--and no one need interfere.\"\nAnd she turned her plump back and took out her handkerchief and boldly\nhid her face in it.\n\nThat night, when Sara went to her attic, she was later than usual. She\nhad been kept at work until after the hour at which the pupils went to\nbed, and after that she had gone to her lessons in the lonely\nschoolroom.  When she reached the top of the stairs, she was surprised\nto see a glimmer of light coming from under the attic door.\n\n\"Nobody goes there but myself,\" she thought quickly, \"but someone has\nlighted a candle.\"\n\nSomeone had, indeed, lighted a candle, and it was not burning in the\nkitchen candlestick she was expected to use, but in one of those\nbelonging to the pupils' bedrooms.  The someone was sitting upon the\nbattered footstool, and was dressed in her nightgown and wrapped up in\na red shawl.  It was Ermengarde.\n\n\"Ermengarde!\" cried Sara.  She was so startled that she was almost\nfrightened.  \"You will get into trouble.\"\n\nErmengarde stumbled up from her footstool.  She shuffled across the\nattic in her bedroom slippers, which were too large for her.  Her eyes\nand nose were pink with crying.\n\n\"I know I shall--if I'm found out.\"  she said.  \"But I don't care--I\ndon't care a bit.  Oh, Sara, please tell me.  What is the matter? Why\ndon't you like me any more?\"\n\nSomething in her voice made the familiar lump rise in Sara's throat. It\nwas so affectionate and simple--so like the old Ermengarde who had\nasked her to be \"best friends.\"  It sounded as if she had not meant\nwhat she had seemed to mean during these past weeks.\n\n\"I do like you,\" Sara answered.  \"I thought--you see, everything is\ndifferent now.  I thought you--were different.\"\n\nErmengarde opened her wet eyes wide.\n\n\"Why, it was you who were different!\" she cried.  \"You didn't want to\ntalk to me.  I didn't know what to do.  It was you who were different\nafter I came back.\"\n\nSara thought a moment.  She saw she had made a mistake.\n\n\"I AM different,\" she explained, \"though not in the way you think. Miss\nMinchin does not want me to talk to the girls.  Most of them don't want\nto talk to me.  I thought--perhaps--you didn't.  So I tried to keep out\nof your way.\"\n\n\"Oh, Sara,\" Ermengarde almost wailed in her reproachful dismay.  And\nthen after one more look they rushed into each other's arms.  It must\nbe confessed that Sara's small black head lay for some minutes on the\nshoulder covered by the red shawl.  When Ermengarde had seemed to\ndesert her, she had felt horribly lonely.\n\nAfterward they sat down upon the floor together, Sara clasping her\nknees with her arms, and Ermengarde rolled up in her shawl.  Ermengarde\nlooked at the odd, big-eyed little face adoringly.\n\n\"I couldn't bear it any more,\" she said.  \"I dare say you could live\nwithout me, Sara; but I couldn't live without you.  I was nearly DEAD.\nSo tonight, when I was crying under the bedclothes, I thought all at\nonce of creeping up here and just begging you to let us be friends\nagain.\"\n\n\"You are nicer than I am,\" said Sara.  \"I was too proud to try and make\nfriends.  You see, now that trials have come, they have shown that I am\nNOT a nice child.  I was afraid they would.  Perhaps\"--wrinkling her\nforehead wisely--\"that is what they were sent for.\"\n\n\"I don't see any good in them,\" said Ermengarde stoutly.\n\n\"Neither do I--to speak the truth,\" admitted Sara, frankly.  \"But I\nsuppose there MIGHT be good in things, even if we don't see it. There\nMIGHT\"--doubtfully--\"be good in Miss Minchin.\"\n\nErmengarde looked round the attic with a rather fearsome curiosity.\n\n\"Sara,\" she said, \"do you think you can bear living here?\"\n\nSara looked round also.\n\n\"If I pretend it's quite different, I can,\" she answered; \"or if I\npretend it is a place in a story.\"\n\nShe spoke slowly.  Her imagination was beginning to work for her. It\nhad not worked for her at all since her troubles had come upon her. She\nhad felt as if it had been stunned.\n\n\"Other people have lived in worse places.  Think of the Count of Monte\nCristo in the dungeons of the Chateau d'If.  And think of the people in\nthe Bastille!\"\n\n\"The Bastille,\" half whispered Ermengarde, watching her and beginning\nto be fascinated.  She remembered stories of the French Revolution\nwhich Sara had been able to fix in her mind by her dramatic relation of\nthem.  No one but Sara could have done it.\n\nA well-known glow came into Sara's eyes.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, hugging her knees, \"that will be a good place to\npretend about.  I am a prisoner in the Bastille.  I have been here for\nyears and years--and years; and everybody has forgotten about me. Miss\nMinchin is the jailer--and Becky\"--a sudden light adding itself to the\nglow in her eyes--\"Becky is the prisoner in the next cell.\"\n\nShe turned to Ermengarde, looking quite like the old Sara.\n\n\"I shall pretend that,\" she said; \"and it will be a great comfort.\"\n\nErmengarde was at once enraptured and awed.\n\n\"And will you tell me all about it?\" she said.  \"May I creep up here at\nnight, whenever it is safe, and hear the things you have made up in the\nday?  It will seem as if we were more 'best friends' than ever.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Sara, nodding.  \"Adversity tries people, and mine has\ntried you and proved how nice you are.\"\n\n\n\n9\n\nMelchisedec\n\n\nThe third person in the trio was Lottie.  She was a small thing and did\nnot know what adversity meant, and was much bewildered by the\nalteration she saw in her young adopted mother. She had heard it\nrumored that strange things had happened to Sara, but she could not\nunderstand why she looked different--why she wore an old black frock\nand came into the schoolroom only to teach instead of to sit in her\nplace of honor and learn lessons herself. There had been much\nwhispering among the little ones when it had been discovered that Sara\nno longer lived in the rooms in which Emily had so long sat in state.\nLottie's chief difficulty was that Sara said so little when one asked\nher questions.  At seven mysteries must be made very clear if one is to\nunderstand them.\n\n\"Are you very poor now, Sara?\" she had asked confidentially the first\nmorning her friend took charge of the small French class.  \"Are you as\npoor as a beggar?\"  She thrust a fat hand into the slim one and opened\nround, tearful eyes.  \"I don't want you to be as poor as a beggar.\"\n\nShe looked as if she was going to cry.  And Sara hurriedly consoled her.\n\n\"Beggars have nowhere to live,\" she said courageously.  \"I have a place\nto live in.\"\n\n\"Where do you live?\" persisted Lottie.  \"The new girl sleeps in your\nroom, and it isn't pretty any more.\"\n\n\"I live in another room,\" said Sara.\n\n\"Is it a nice one?\" inquired Lottie.  \"I want to go and see it.\"\n\n\"You must not talk,\" said Sara.  \"Miss Minchin is looking at us.  She\nwill be angry with me for letting you whisper.\"\n\nShe had found out already that she was to be held accountable for\neverything which was objected to.  If the children were not attentive,\nif they talked, if they were restless, it was she who would be reproved.\n\nBut Lottie was a determined little person.  If Sara would not tell her\nwhere she lived, she would find out in some other way.  She talked to\nher small companions and hung about the elder girls and listened when\nthey were gossiping; and acting upon certain information they had\nunconsciously let drop, she started late one afternoon on a voyage of\ndiscovery, climbing stairs she had never known the existence of, until\nshe reached the attic floor. There she found two doors near each other,\nand opening one, she saw her beloved Sara standing upon an old table\nand looking out of a window.\n\n\"Sara!\" she cried, aghast.  \"Mamma Sara!\"  She was aghast because the\nattic was so bare and ugly and seemed so far away from all the world.\nHer short legs had seemed to have been mounting hundreds of stairs.\n\nSara turned round at the sound of her voice.  It was her turn to be\naghast.  What would happen now?  If Lottie began to cry and any one\nchanced to hear, they were both lost.  She jumped down from her table\nand ran to the child.\n\n\"Don't cry and make a noise,\" she implored.  \"I shall be scolded if you\ndo, and I have been scolded all day.  It's--it's not such a bad room,\nLottie.\"\n\n\"Isn't it?\" gasped Lottie, and as she looked round it she bit her lip.\nShe was a spoiled child yet, but she was fond enough of her adopted\nparent to make an effort to control herself for her sake. Then,\nsomehow, it was quite possible that any place in which Sara lived might\nturn out to be nice.  \"Why isn't it, Sara?\" she almost whispered.\n\nSara hugged her close and tried to laugh.  There was a sort of comfort\nin the warmth of the plump, childish body.  She had had a hard day and\nhad been staring out of the windows with hot eyes.\n\n\"You can see all sorts of things you can't see downstairs,\" she said.\n\n\"What sort of things?\" demanded Lottie, with that curiosity Sara could\nalways awaken even in bigger girls.\n\n\"Chimneys--quite close to us--with smoke curling up in wreaths and\nclouds and going up into the sky--and sparrows hopping about and\ntalking to each other just as if they were people--and other attic\nwindows where heads may pop out any minute and you can wonder who they\nbelong to.  And it all feels as high up--as if it was another world.\"\n\n\"Oh, let me see it!\" cried Lottie.  \"Lift me up!\"\n\nSara lifted her up, and they stood on the old table together and leaned\non the edge of the flat window in the roof, and looked out.\n\nAnyone who has not done this does not know what a different world they\nsaw.  The slates spread out on either side of them and slanted down\ninto the rain gutter-pipes. The sparrows, being at home there,\ntwittered and hopped about quite without fear.  Two of them perched on\nthe chimney top nearest and quarrelled with each other fiercely until\none pecked the other and drove him away.  The garret window next to\ntheirs was shut because the house next door was empty.\n\n\"I wish someone lived there,\" Sara said.  \"It is so close that if there\nwas a little girl in the attic, we could talk to each other through the\nwindows and climb over to see each other, if we were not afraid of\nfalling.\"\n\nThe sky seemed so much nearer than when one saw it from the street,\nthat Lottie was enchanted.  From the attic window, among the chimney\npots, the things which were happening in the world below seemed almost\nunreal.  One scarcely believed in the existence of Miss Minchin and\nMiss Amelia and the schoolroom, and the roll of wheels in the square\nseemed a sound belonging to another existence.\n\n\"Oh, Sara!\" cried Lottie, cuddling in her guarding arm. \"I like this\nattic--I like it!  It is nicer than downstairs!\"\n\n\"Look at that sparrow,\" whispered Sara.  \"I wish I had some crumbs to\nthrow to him.\"\n\n\"I have some!\" came in a little shriek from Lottie.  \"I have part of a\nbun in my pocket; I bought it with my penny yesterday, and I saved a\nbit.\"\n\nWhen they threw out a few crumbs the sparrow jumped and flew away to an\nadjacent chimney top.  He was evidently not accustomed to intimates in\nattics, and unexpected crumbs startled him. But when Lottie remained\nquite still and Sara chirped very softly--almost as if she were a\nsparrow herself--he saw that the thing which had alarmed him\nrepresented hospitality, after all.  He put his head on one side, and\nfrom his perch on the chimney looked down at the crumbs with twinkling\neyes.  Lottie could scarcely keep still.\n\n\"Will he come?  Will he come?\" she whispered.\n\n\"His eyes look as if he would,\" Sara whispered back.  \"He is thinking\nand thinking whether he dare.  Yes, he will!  Yes, he is coming!\"\n\nHe flew down and hopped toward the crumbs, but stopped a few inches\naway from them, putting his head on one side again, as if reflecting on\nthe chances that Sara and Lottie might turn out to be big cats and jump\non him.  At last his heart told him they were really nicer than they\nlooked, and he hopped nearer and nearer, darted at the biggest crumb\nwith a lightning peck, seized it, and carried it away to the other side\nof his chimney.\n\n\"Now he KNOWS\", said Sara.  \"And he will come back for the others.\"\n\nHe did come back, and even brought a friend, and the friend went away\nand brought a relative, and among them they made a hearty meal over\nwhich they twittered and chattered and exclaimed, stopping every now\nand then to put their heads on one side and examine Lottie and Sara.\nLottie was so delighted that she quite forgot her first shocked\nimpression of the attic.  In fact, when she was lifted down from the\ntable and returned to earthly things, as it were, Sara was able to\npoint out to her many beauties in the room which she herself would not\nhave suspected the existence of.\n\n\"It is so little and so high above everything,\" she said, \"that it is\nalmost like a nest in a tree.  The slanting ceiling is so funny.  See,\nyou can scarcely stand up at this end of the room; and when the morning\nbegins to come I can lie in bed and look right up into the sky through\nthat flat window in the roof. It is like a square patch of light.  If\nthe sun is going to shine, little pink clouds float about, and I feel\nas if I could touch them. And if it rains, the drops patter and patter\nas if they were saying something nice.  Then if there are stars, you\ncan lie and try to count how many go into the patch.  It takes such a\nlot.  And just look at that tiny, rusty grate in the corner.  If it was\npolished and there was a fire in it, just think how nice it would be.\nYou see, it's really a beautiful little room.\"\n\nShe was walking round the small place, holding Lottie's hand and making\ngestures which described all the beauties she was making herself see.\nShe quite made Lottie see them, too.  Lottie could always believe in\nthe things Sara made pictures of.\n\n\"You see,\" she said, \"there could be a thick, soft blue Indian rug on\nthe floor; and in that corner there could be a soft little sofa, with\ncushions to curl up on; and just over it could be a shelf full of books\nso that one could reach them easily; and there could be a fur rug\nbefore the fire, and hangings on the wall to cover up the whitewash,\nand pictures.  They would have to be little ones, but they could be\nbeautiful; and there could be a lamp with a deep rose-colored shade;\nand a table in the middle, with things to have tea with; and a little\nfat copper kettle singing on the hob; and the bed could be quite\ndifferent.  It could be made soft and covered with a lovely silk\ncoverlet.  It could be beautiful. And perhaps we could coax the\nsparrows until we made such friends with them that they would come and\npeck at the window and ask to be let in.\"\n\n\"Oh, Sara!\" cried Lottie.  \"I should like to live here!\"\n\nWhen Sara had persuaded her to go downstairs again, and, after setting\nher on her way, had come back to her attic, she stood in the middle of\nit and looked about her.  The enchantment of her imaginings for Lottie\nhad died away.  The bed was hard and covered with its dingy quilt.  The\nwhitewashed wall showed its broken patches, the floor was cold and\nbare, the grate was broken and rusty, and the battered footstool,\ntilted sideways on its injured leg, the only seat in the room.  She sat\ndown on it for a few minutes and let her head drop in her hands.  The\nmere fact that Lottie had come and gone away again made things seem a\nlittle worse--just as perhaps prisoners feel a little more desolate\nafter visitors come and go, leaving them behind.\n\n\"It's a lonely place,\" she said.  \"Sometimes it's the loneliest place\nin the world.\"\n\nShe was sitting in this way when her attention was attracted by a\nslight sound near her.  She lifted her head to see where it came from,\nand if she had been a nervous child she would have left her seat on the\nbattered footstool in a great hurry.  A large rat was sitting up on his\nhind quarters and sniffing the air in an interested manner. Some of\nLottie's crumbs had dropped upon the floor and their scent had drawn\nhim out of his hole.\n\nHe looked so queer and so like a gray-whiskered dwarf or gnome that\nSara was rather fascinated.  He looked at her with his bright eyes, as\nif he were asking a question.  He was evidently so doubtful that one of\nthe child's queer thoughts came into her mind.\n\n\"I dare say it is rather hard to be a rat,\" she mused. \"Nobody likes\nyou.  People jump and run away and scream out, 'Oh, a horrid rat!'  I\nshouldn't like people to scream and jump and say, 'Oh, a horrid Sara!'\nthe moment they saw me.  And set traps for me, and pretend they were\ndinner.  It's so different to be a sparrow. But nobody asked this rat\nif he wanted to be a rat when he was made. Nobody said, 'Wouldn't you\nrather be a sparrow?'\"\n\nShe had sat so quietly that the rat had begun to take courage.  He was\nvery much afraid of her, but perhaps he had a heart like the sparrow\nand it told him that she was not a thing which pounced. He was very\nhungry.  He had a wife and a large family in the wall, and they had had\nfrightfully bad luck for several days.  He had left the children crying\nbitterly, and felt he would risk a good deal for a few crumbs, so he\ncautiously dropped upon his feet.\n\n\"Come on,\" said Sara; \"I'm not a trap.  You can have them, poor thing!\nPrisoners in the Bastille used to make friends with rats.  Suppose I\nmake friends with you.\"\n\nHow it is that animals understand things I do not know, but it is\ncertain that they do understand.  Perhaps there is a language which is\nnot made of words and everything in the world understands it. Perhaps\nthere is a soul hidden in everything and it can always speak, without\neven making a sound, to another soul.  But whatsoever was the reason,\nthe rat knew from that moment that he was safe--even though he was a\nrat.  He knew that this young human being sitting on the red footstool\nwould not jump up and terrify him with wild, sharp noises or throw\nheavy objects at him which, if they did not fall and crush him, would\nsend him limping in his scurry back to his hole. He was really a very\nnice rat, and did not mean the least harm. When he had stood on his\nhind legs and sniffed the air, with his bright eyes fixed on Sara, he\nhad hoped that she would understand this, and would not begin by hating\nhim as an enemy.  When the mysterious thing which speaks without saying\nany words told him that she would not, he went softly toward the crumbs\nand began to eat them. As he did it he glanced every now and then at\nSara, just as the sparrows had done, and his expression was so very\napologetic that it touched her heart.\n\nShe sat and watched him without making any movement.  One crumb was\nvery much larger than the others--in fact, it could scarcely be called\na crumb.  It was evident that he wanted that piece very much, but it\nlay quite near the footstool and he was still rather timid.\n\n\"I believe he wants it to carry to his family in the wall,\" Sara\nthought.  \"If I do not stir at all, perhaps he will come and get it.\"\n\nShe scarcely allowed herself to breathe, she was so deeply interested.\nThe rat shuffled a little nearer and ate a few more crumbs, then he\nstopped and sniffed delicately, giving a side glance at the occupant of\nthe footstool; then he darted at the piece of bun with something very\nlike the sudden boldness of the sparrow, and the instant he had\npossession of it fled back to the wall, slipped down a crack in the\nskirting board, and was gone.\n\n\"I knew he wanted it for his children,\" said Sara.  \"I do believe I\ncould make friends with him.\"\n\nA week or so afterward, on one of the rare nights when Ermengarde found\nit safe to steal up to the attic, when she tapped on the door with the\ntips of her fingers Sara did not come to her for two or three minutes.\nThere was, indeed, such a silence in the room at first that Ermengarde\nwondered if she could have fallen asleep.  Then, to her surprise, she\nheard her utter a little, low laugh and speak coaxingly to someone.\n\n\"There!\"  Ermengarde heard her say.  \"Take it and go home, Melchisedec!\nGo home to your wife!\"\n\nAlmost immediately Sara opened the door, and when she did so she found\nErmengarde standing with alarmed eyes upon the threshold.\n\n\"Who--who ARE you talking to, Sara?\" she gasped out.\n\nSara drew her in cautiously, but she looked as if something pleased and\namused her.\n\n\"You must promise not to be frightened--not to scream the least bit, or\nI can't tell you,\" she answered.\n\nErmengarde felt almost inclined to scream on the spot, but managed to\ncontrol herself.  She looked all round the attic and saw no one. And\nyet Sara had certainly been speaking TO someone.  She thought of ghosts.\n\n\"Is it--something that will frighten me?\" she asked timorously.\n\n\"Some people are afraid of them,\" said Sara.  \"I was at first--but I am\nnot now.\"\n\n\"Was it--a ghost?\" quaked Ermengarde.\n\n\"No,\" said Sara, laughing.  \"It was my rat.\"\n\nErmengarde made one bound, and landed in the middle of the little dingy\nbed.  She tucked her feet under her nightgown and the red shawl. She\ndid not scream, but she gasped with fright.\n\n\"Oh!  Oh!\" she cried under her breath.  \"A rat!  A rat!\"\n\n\"I was afraid you would be frightened,\" said Sara.  \"But you needn't\nbe.  I am making him tame.  He actually knows me and comes out when I\ncall him.  Are you too frightened to want to see him?\"\n\nThe truth was that, as the days had gone on and, with the aid of scraps\nbrought up from the kitchen, her curious friendship had developed, she\nhad gradually forgotten that the timid creature she was becoming\nfamiliar with was a mere rat.\n\nAt first Ermengarde was too much alarmed to do anything but huddle in a\nheap upon the bed and tuck up her feet, but the sight of Sara's\ncomposed little countenance and the story of Melchisedec's first\nappearance began at last to rouse her curiosity, and she leaned forward\nover the edge of the bed and watched Sara go and kneel down by the hole\nin the skirting board.\n\n\"He--he won't run out quickly and jump on the bed, will he?\" she said.\n\n\"No,\" answered Sara.  \"He's as polite as we are.  He is just like a\nperson.  Now watch!\"\n\nShe began to make a low, whistling sound--so low and coaxing that it\ncould only have been heard in entire stillness. She did it several\ntimes, looking entirely absorbed in it. Ermengarde thought she looked\nas if she were working a spell. And at last, evidently in response to\nit, a gray-whiskered, bright-eyed head peeped out of the hole.  Sara\nhad some crumbs in her hand. She dropped them, and Melchisedec came\nquietly forth and ate them. A piece of larger size than the rest he\ntook and carried in the most businesslike manner back to his home.\n\n\"You see,\" said Sara, \"that is for his wife and children. He is very\nnice.  He only eats the little bits.  After he goes back I can always\nhear his family squeaking for joy. There are three kinds of squeaks.\nOne kind is the children's, and one is Mrs. Melchisedec's, and one is\nMelchisedec's own.\"\n\nErmengarde began to laugh.\n\n\"Oh, Sara!\" she said.  \"You ARE queer--but you are nice.\"\n\n\"I know I am queer,\" admitted Sara, cheerfully; \"and I TRY to be nice.\"\nShe rubbed her forehead with her little brown paw, and a puzzled,\ntender look came into her face.  \"Papa always laughed at me,\" she said;\n\"but I liked it.  He thought I was queer, but he liked me to make up\nthings.  I--I can't help making up things.  If I didn't, I don't\nbelieve I could live.\"  She paused and glanced around the attic. \"I'm\nsure I couldn't live here,\" she added in a low voice.\n\nErmengarde was interested, as she always was.  \"When you talk about\nthings,\" she said, \"they seem as if they grew real. You talk about\nMelchisedec as if he was a person.\"\n\n\"He IS a person,\" said Sara.  \"He gets hungry and frightened, just as\nwe do; and he is married and has children.  How do we know he doesn't\nthink things, just as we do?  His eyes look as if he was a person.\nThat was why I gave him a name.\"\n\nShe sat down on the floor in her favorite attitude, holding her knees.\n\n\"Besides,\" she said, \"he is a Bastille rat sent to be my friend.  I can\nalways get a bit of bread the cook has thrown away, and it is quite\nenough to support him.\"\n\n\"Is it the Bastille yet?\" asked Ermengarde, eagerly.  \"Do you always\npretend it is the Bastille?\"\n\n\"Nearly always,\" answered Sara.  \"Sometimes I try to pretend it is\nanother kind of place; but the Bastille is generally\neasiest--particularly when it is cold.\"\n\nJust at that moment Ermengarde almost jumped off the bed, she was so\nstartled by a sound she heard.  It was like two distinct knocks on the\nwall.\n\n\"What is that?\" she exclaimed.\n\nSara got up from the floor and answered quite dramatically:\n\n\"It is the prisoner in the next cell.\"\n\n\"Becky!\" cried Ermengarde, enraptured.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sara.  \"Listen; the two knocks meant, 'Prisoner, are you\nthere?'\"\n\nShe knocked three times on the wall herself, as if in answer.\n\n\"That means, 'Yes, I am here, and all is well.'\"\n\nFour knocks came from Becky's side of the wall.\n\n\"That means,\" explained Sara, \"'Then, fellow-sufferer, we will sleep in\npeace.  Good night.'\"\n\nErmengarde quite beamed with delight.\n\n\"Oh, Sara!\" she whispered joyfully.  \"It is like a story!\"\n\n\"It IS a story,\" said Sara.  \"EVERYTHING'S a story.  You are a story--I\nam a story.  Miss Minchin is a story.\"\n\nAnd she sat down again and talked until Ermengarde forgot that she was\na sort of escaped prisoner herself, and had to be reminded by Sara that\nshe could not remain in the Bastille all night, but must steal\nnoiselessly downstairs again and creep back into her deserted bed.\n\n\n\n10\n\nThe Indian Gentleman\n\n\nBut it was a perilous thing for Ermengarde and Lottie to make\npilgrimages to the attic.  They could never be quite sure when Sara\nwould be there, and they could scarcely ever be certain that Miss\nAmelia would not make a tour of inspection through the bedrooms after\nthe pupils were supposed to be asleep.  So their visits were rare ones,\nand Sara lived a strange and lonely life.  It was a lonelier life when\nshe was downstairs than when she was in her attic.  She had no one to\ntalk to; and when she was sent out on errands and walked through the\nstreets, a forlorn little figure carrying a basket or a parcel, trying\nto hold her hat on when the wind was blowing, and feeling the water\nsoak through her shoes when it was raining, she felt as if the crowds\nhurrying past her made her loneliness greater. When she had been the\nPrincess Sara, driving through the streets in her brougham, or walking,\nattended by Mariette, the sight of her bright, eager little face and\npicturesque coats and hats had often caused people to look after her.\nA happy, beautifully cared for little girl naturally attracts\nattention.  Shabby, poorly dressed children are not rare enough and\npretty enough to make people turn around to look at them and smile.  No\none looked at Sara in these days, and no one seemed to see her as she\nhurried along the crowded pavements. She had begun to grow very fast,\nand, as she was dressed only in such clothes as the plainer remnants of\nher wardrobe would supply, she knew she looked very queer, indeed.  All\nher valuable garments had been disposed of, and such as had been left\nfor her use she was expected to wear so long as she could put them on\nat all. Sometimes, when she passed a shop window with a mirror in it,\nshe almost laughed outright on catching a glimpse of herself, and\nsometimes her face went red and she bit her lip and turned away.\n\nIn the evening, when she passed houses whose windows were lighted up,\nshe used to look into the warm rooms and amuse herself by imagining\nthings about the people she saw sitting before the fires or about the\ntables.  It always interested her to catch glimpses of rooms before the\nshutters were closed.  There were several families in the square in\nwhich Miss Minchin lived, with which she had become quite familiar in a\nway of her own.  The one she liked best she called the Large Family.\nShe called it the Large Family not because the members of it were\nbig--for, indeed, most of them were little--but because there were so\nmany of them.  There were eight children in the Large Family, and a\nstout, rosy mother, and a stout, rosy father, and a stout, rosy\ngrandmother, and any number of servants. The eight children were always\neither being taken out to walk or to ride in perambulators by\ncomfortable nurses, or they were going to drive with their mamma, or\nthey were flying to the door in the evening to meet their papa and kiss\nhim and dance around him and drag off his overcoat and look in the\npockets for packages, or they were crowding about the nursery windows\nand looking out and pushing each other and laughing--in fact, they were\nalways doing something enjoyable and suited to the tastes of a large\nfamily.  Sara was quite fond of them, and had given them names out of\nbooks--quite romantic names.  She called them the Montmorencys when she\ndid not call them the Large Family.  The fat, fair baby with the lace\ncap was Ethelberta Beauchamp Montmorency; the next baby was Violet\nCholmondeley Montmorency; the little boy who could just stagger and who\nhad such round legs was Sydney Cecil Vivian Montmorency; and then came\nLilian Evangeline Maud Marion, Rosalind Gladys, Guy Clarence, Veronica\nEustacia, and Claude Harold Hector.\n\nOne evening a very funny thing happened--though, perhaps, in one sense\nit was not a funny thing at all.\n\nSeveral of the Montmorencys were evidently going to a children's party,\nand just as Sara was about to pass the door they were crossing the\npavement to get into the carriage which was waiting for them. Veronica\nEustacia and Rosalind Gladys, in white-lace frocks and lovely sashes,\nhad just got in, and Guy Clarence, aged five, was following them.  He\nwas such a pretty fellow and had such rosy cheeks and blue eyes, and\nsuch a darling little round head covered with curls, that Sara forgot\nher basket and shabby cloak altogether--in fact, forgot everything but\nthat she wanted to look at him for a moment. So she paused and looked.\n\nIt was Christmas time, and the Large Family had been hearing many\nstories about children who were poor and had no mammas and papas to\nfill their stockings and take them to the pantomime--children who were,\nin fact, cold and thinly clad and hungry.  In the stories, kind\npeople--sometimes little boys and girls with tender hearts--invariably\nsaw the poor children and gave them money or rich gifts, or took them\nhome to beautiful dinners.  Guy Clarence had been affected to tears\nthat very afternoon by the reading of such a story, and he had burned\nwith a desire to find such a poor child and give her a certain sixpence\nhe possessed, and thus provide for her for life. An entire sixpence, he\nwas sure, would mean affluence for evermore. As he crossed the strip of\nred carpet laid across the pavement from the door to the carriage, he\nhad this very sixpence in the pocket of his very short man-o-war\ntrousers; And just as Rosalind Gladys got into the vehicle and jumped\non the seat in order to feel the cushions spring under her, he saw Sara\nstanding on the wet pavement in her shabby frock and hat, with her old\nbasket on her arm, looking at him hungrily.\n\nHe thought that her eyes looked hungry because she had perhaps had\nnothing to eat for a long time.  He did not know that they looked so\nbecause she was hungry for the warm, merry life his home held and his\nrosy face spoke of, and that she had a hungry wish to snatch him in her\narms and kiss him.  He only knew that she had big eyes and a thin face\nand thin legs and a common basket and poor clothes. So he put his hand\nin his pocket and found his sixpence and walked up to her benignly.\n\n\"Here, poor little girl,\" he said.  \"Here is a sixpence. I will give it\nto you.\"\n\nSara started, and all at once realized that she looked exactly like\npoor children she had seen, in her better days, waiting on the pavement\nto watch her as she got out of her brougham. And she had given them\npennies many a time.  Her face went red and then it went pale, and for\na second she felt as if she could not take the dear little sixpence.\n\n\"Oh, no!\" she said.  \"Oh, no, thank you; I mustn't take it, indeed!\"\n\nHer voice was so unlike an ordinary street child's voice and her manner\nwas so like the manner of a well-bred little person that Veronica\nEustacia (whose real name was Janet) and Rosalind Gladys (who was\nreally called Nora) leaned forward to listen.\n\nBut Guy Clarence was not to be thwarted in his benevolence. He thrust\nthe sixpence into her hand.\n\n\"Yes, you must take it, poor little girl!\" he insisted stoutly.  \"You\ncan buy things to eat with it.  It is a whole sixpence!\"\n\nThere was something so honest and kind in his face, and he looked so\nlikely to be heartbrokenly disappointed if she did not take it, that\nSara knew she must not refuse him.  To be as proud as that would be a\ncruel thing.  So she actually put her pride in her pocket, though it\nmust be admitted her cheeks burned.\n\n\"Thank you,\" she said.  \"You are a kind, kind little darling thing.\"\nAnd as he scrambled joyfully into the carriage she went away, trying to\nsmile, though she caught her breath quickly and her eyes were shining\nthrough a mist.  She had known that she looked odd and shabby, but\nuntil now she had not known that she might be taken for a beggar.\n\nAs the Large Family's carriage drove away, the children inside it were\ntalking with interested excitement.\n\n\"Oh, Donald,\" (this was Guy Clarence's name), Janet exclaimed\nalarmedly, \"why did you offer that little girl your sixpence?  I'm sure\nshe is not a beggar!\"\n\n\"She didn't speak like a beggar!\" cried Nora.  \"And her face didn't\nreally look like a beggar's face!\"\n\n\"Besides, she didn't beg,\" said Janet.  \"I was so afraid she might be\nangry with you.  You know, it makes people angry to be taken for\nbeggars when they are not beggars.\"\n\n\"She wasn't angry,\" said Donald, a trifle dismayed, but still firm.\n\"She laughed a little, and she said I was a kind, kind little darling\nthing.  And I was!\"--stoutly.  \"It was my whole sixpence.\"\n\nJanet and Nora exchanged glances.\n\n\"A beggar girl would never have said that,\" decided Janet. \"She would\nhave said, 'Thank yer kindly, little gentleman--thank yer, sir;' and\nperhaps she would have bobbed a curtsy.\"\n\nSara knew nothing about the fact, but from that time the Large Family\nwas as profoundly interested in her as she was in it.  Faces used to\nappear at the nursery windows when she passed, and many discussions\nconcerning her were held round the fire.\n\n\"She is a kind of servant at the seminary,\" Janet said.  \"I don't\nbelieve she belongs to anybody.  I believe she is an orphan. But she is\nnot a beggar, however shabby she looks.\"\n\nAnd afterward she was called by all of them,\n\"The-little-girl-who-is-not-a-beggar,\" which was, of course, rather a\nlong name, and sounded very funny sometimes when the youngest ones said\nit in a hurry.\n\nSara managed to bore a hole in the sixpence and hung it on an old bit\nof narrow ribbon round her neck.  Her affection for the Large Family\nincreased--as, indeed, her affection for everything she could love\nincreased.  She grew fonder and fonder of Becky, and she used to look\nforward to the two mornings a week when she went into the schoolroom to\ngive the little ones their French lesson. Her small pupils loved her,\nand strove with each other for the privilege of standing close to her\nand insinuating their small hands into hers. It fed her hungry heart to\nfeel them nestling up to her.  She made such friends with the sparrows\nthat when she stood upon the table, put her head and shoulders out of\nthe attic window, and chirped, she heard almost immediately a flutter\nof wings and answering twitters, and a little flock of dingy town birds\nappeared and alighted on the slates to talk to her and make much of the\ncrumbs she scattered. With Melchisedec she had become so intimate that\nhe actually brought Mrs. Melchisedec with him sometimes, and now and\nthen one or two of his children.  She used to talk to him, and,\nsomehow, he looked quite as if he understood.\n\nThere had grown in her mind rather a strange feeling about Emily, who\nalways sat and looked on at everything.  It arose in one of her moments\nof great desolateness.  She would have liked to believe or pretend to\nbelieve that Emily understood and sympathized with her. She did not\nlike to own to herself that her only companion could feel and hear\nnothing.  She used to put her in a chair sometimes and sit opposite to\nher on the old red footstool, and stare and pretend about her until her\nown eyes would grow large with something which was almost like\nfear--particularly at night when everything was so still, when the only\nsound in the attic was the occasional sudden scurry and squeak of\nMelchisedec's family in the wall. One of her \"pretends\" was that Emily\nwas a kind of good witch who could protect her.  Sometimes, after she\nhad stared at her until she was wrought up to the highest pitch of\nfancifulness, she would ask her questions and find herself ALMOST\nfeeling as if she would presently answer.  But she never did.\n\n\"As to answering, though,\" said Sara, trying to console herself, \"I\ndon't answer very often.  I never answer when I can help it.  When\npeople are insulting you, there is nothing so good for them as not to\nsay a word--just to look at them and THINK. Miss Minchin turns pale\nwith rage when I do it, Miss Amelia looks frightened, and so do the\ngirls.  When you will not fly into a passion people know you are\nstronger than they are, because you are strong enough to hold in your\nrage, and they are not, and they say stupid things they wish they\nhadn't said afterward.  There's nothing so strong as rage, except what\nmakes you hold it in--that's stronger. It's a good thing not to answer\nyour enemies.  I scarcely ever do. Perhaps Emily is more like me than I\nam like myself.  Perhaps she would rather not answer her friends, even.\nShe keeps it all in her heart.\"\n\nBut though she tried to satisfy herself with these arguments, she did\nnot find it easy.  When, after a long, hard day, in which she had been\nsent here and there, sometimes on long errands through wind and cold\nand rain, she came in wet and hungry, and was sent out again because\nnobody chose to remember that she was only a child, and that her slim\nlegs might be tired and her small body might be chilled; when she had\nbeen given only harsh words and cold, slighting looks for thanks; when\nthe cook had been vulgar and insolent; when Miss Minchin had been in\nher worst mood, and when she had seen the girls sneering among\nthemselves at her shabbiness--then she was not always able to comfort\nher sore, proud, desolate heart with fancies when Emily merely sat\nupright in her old chair and stared.\n\nOne of these nights, when she came up to the attic cold and hungry,\nwith a tempest raging in her young breast, Emily's stare seemed so\nvacant, her sawdust legs and arms so inexpressive, that Sara lost all\ncontrol over herself.  There was nobody but Emily--no one in the world.\nAnd there she sat.\n\n\"I shall die presently,\" she said at first.\n\nEmily simply stared.\n\n\"I can't bear this,\" said the poor child, trembling.  \"I know I shall\ndie.  I'm cold; I'm wet; I'm starving to death.  I've walked a thousand\nmiles today, and they have done nothing but scold me from morning until\nnight.  And because I could not find that last thing the cook sent me\nfor, they would not give me any supper.  Some men laughed at me because\nmy old shoes made me slip down in the mud. I'm covered with mud now.\nAnd they laughed.  Do you hear?\"\n\nShe looked at the staring glass eyes and complacent face, and suddenly\na sort of heartbroken rage seized her.  She lifted her little savage\nhand and knocked Emily off the chair, bursting into a passion of\nsobbing--Sara who never cried.\n\n\"You are nothing but a DOLL!\" she cried.  \"Nothing but a\ndoll--doll--doll!  You care for nothing.  You are stuffed with sawdust.\nYou never had a heart.  Nothing could ever make you feel. You are a\nDOLL!\" Emily lay on the floor, with her legs ignominiously doubled up\nover her head, and a new flat place on the end of her nose; but she was\ncalm, even dignified.  Sara hid her face in her arms. The rats in the\nwall began to fight and bite each other and squeak and scramble.\nMelchisedec was chastising some of his family.\n\nSara's sobs gradually quieted themselves.  It was so unlike her to\nbreak down that she was surprised at herself.  After a while she raised\nher face and looked at Emily, who seemed to be gazing at her round the\nside of one angle, and, somehow, by this time actually with a kind of\nglassy-eyed sympathy.  Sara bent and picked her up. Remorse overtook\nher.  She even smiled at herself a very little smile.\n\n\"You can't help being a doll,\" she said with a resigned sigh, \"any more\nthan Lavinia and Jessie can help not having any sense.  We are not all\nmade alike.  Perhaps you do your sawdust best.\" And she kissed her and\nshook her clothes straight, and put her back upon her chair.\n\nShe had wished very much that some one would take the empty house next\ndoor.  She wished it because of the attic window which was so near\nhers.  It seemed as if it would be so nice to see it propped open\nsomeday and a head and shoulders rising out of the square aperture.\n\n\"If it looked a nice head,\" she thought, \"I might begin by saying,\n'Good morning,' and all sorts of things might happen.  But, of course,\nit's not really likely that anyone but under servants would sleep\nthere.\"\n\nOne morning, on turning the corner of the square after a visit to the\ngrocer's, the butcher's, and the baker's, she saw, to her great\ndelight, that during her rather prolonged absence, a van full of\nfurniture had stopped before the next house, the front doors were\nthrown open, and men in shirt sleeves were going in and out carrying\nheavy packages and pieces of furniture.\n\n\"It's taken!\" she said.  \"It really IS taken!  Oh, I do hope a nice\nhead will look out of the attic window!\"\n\nShe would almost have liked to join the group of loiterers who had\nstopped on the pavement to watch the things carried in. She had an idea\nthat if she could see some of the furniture she could guess something\nabout the people it belonged to.\n\n\"Miss Minchin's tables and chairs are just like her,\" she thought; \"I\nremember thinking that the first minute I saw her, even though I was so\nlittle.  I told papa afterward, and he laughed and said it was true. I\nam sure the Large Family have fat, comfortable armchairs and sofas, and\nI can see that their red-flowery wallpaper is exactly like them. It's\nwarm and cheerful and kind-looking and happy.\"\n\nShe was sent out for parsley to the greengrocer's later in the day, and\nwhen she came up the area steps her heart gave quite a quick beat of\nrecognition.  Several pieces of furniture had been set out of the van\nupon the pavement.  There was a beautiful table of elaborately wrought\nteakwood, and some chairs, and a screen covered with rich Oriental\nembroidery.  The sight of them gave her a weird, homesick feeling.  She\nhad seen things so like them in India. One of the things Miss Minchin\nhad taken from her was a carved teakwood desk her father had sent her.\n\n\"They are beautiful things,\" she said; \"they look as if they ought to\nbelong to a nice person.  All the things look rather grand. I suppose\nit is a rich family.\"\n\nThe vans of furniture came and were unloaded and gave place to others\nall the day.  Several times it so happened that Sara had an opportunity\nof seeing things carried in.  It became plain that she had been right\nin guessing that the newcomers were people of large means. All the\nfurniture was rich and beautiful, and a great deal of it was Oriental.\nWonderful rugs and draperies and ornaments were taken from the vans,\nmany pictures, and books enough for a library. Among other things there\nwas a superb god Buddha in a splendid shrine.\n\n\"Someone in the family MUST have been in India,\" Sara thought.  \"They\nhave got used to Indian things and like them.  I AM glad.  I shall feel\nas if they were friends, even if a head never looks out of the attic\nwindow.\"\n\nWhen she was taking in the evening's milk for the cook (there was\nreally no odd job she was not called upon to do), she saw something\noccur which made the situation more interesting than ever.  The\nhandsome, rosy man who was the father of the Large Family walked across\nthe square in the most matter-of-fact manner, and ran up the steps of\nthe next-door house.  He ran up them as if he felt quite at home and\nexpected to run up and down them many a time in the future. He stayed\ninside quite a long time, and several times came out and gave\ndirections to the workmen, as if he had a right to do so. It was quite\ncertain that he was in some intimate way connected with the newcomers\nand was acting for them.\n\n\"If the new people have children,\" Sara speculated, \"the Large Family\nchildren will be sure to come and play with them, and they MIGHT come\nup into the attic just for fun.\"\n\nAt night, after her work was done, Becky came in to see her fellow\nprisoner and bring her news.\n\n\"It's a' Nindian gentleman that's comin' to live next door, miss,\" she\nsaid.  \"I don't know whether he's a black gentleman or not, but he's a\nNindian one.  He's very rich, an' he's ill, an' the gentleman of the\nLarge Family is his lawyer.  He's had a lot of trouble, an' it's made\nhim ill an' low in his mind.  He worships idols, miss. He's an 'eathen\nan' bows down to wood an' stone.  I seen a' idol bein' carried in for\nhim to worship.  Somebody had oughter send him a trac'. You can get a\ntrac' for a penny.\"\n\nSara laughed a little.\n\n\"I don't believe he worships that idol,\" she said; \"some people like to\nkeep them to look at because they are interesting. My papa had a\nbeautiful one, and he did not worship it.\"\n\nBut Becky was rather inclined to prefer to believe that the new\nneighbor was \"an 'eathen.\"  It sounded so much more romantic than that\nhe should merely be the ordinary kind of gentleman who went to church\nwith a prayer book.  She sat and talked long that night of what he\nwould be like, of what his wife would be like if he had one, and of\nwhat his children would be like if they had children. Sara saw that\nprivately she could not help hoping very much that they would all be\nblack, and would wear turbans, and, above all, that--like their\nparent--they would all be \"'eathens.\"\n\n\"I never lived next door to no 'eathens, miss,\" she said; \"I should\nlike to see what sort o' ways they'd have.\"\n\nIt was several weeks before her curiosity was satisfied, and then it\nwas revealed that the new occupant had neither wife nor children. He\nwas a solitary man with no family at all, and it was evident that he\nwas shattered in health and unhappy in mind.\n\nA carriage drove up one day and stopped before the house. When the\nfootman dismounted from the box and opened the door the gentleman who\nwas the father of the Large Family got out first.  After him there\ndescended a nurse in uniform, then came down the steps two\nmen-servants. They came to assist their master, who, when he was helped\nout of the carriage, proved to be a man with a haggard, distressed\nface, and a skeleton body wrapped in furs.  He was carried up the\nsteps, and the head of the Large Family went with him, looking very\nanxious.  Shortly afterward a doctor's carriage arrived, and the doctor\nwent in--plainly to take care of him.\n\n\"There is such a yellow gentleman next door, Sara,\" Lottie whispered at\nthe French class afterward.  \"Do you think he is a Chinee? The\ngeography says the Chinee men are yellow.\"\n\n\"No, he is not Chinese,\" Sara whispered back; \"he is very ill.  Go on\nwith your exercise, Lottie.  'Non, monsieur.  Je n'ai pas le canif de\nmon oncle.'\"\n\nThat was the beginning of the story of the Indian gentleman.\n\n\n\n11\n\nRam Dass\n\n\nThere were fine sunsets even in the square, sometimes.  One could only\nsee parts of them, however, between the chimneys and over the roofs.\nFrom the kitchen windows one could not see them at all, and could only\nguess that they were going on because the bricks looked warm and the\nair rosy or yellow for a while, or perhaps one saw a blazing glow\nstrike a particular pane of glass somewhere. There was, however, one\nplace from which one could see all the splendor of them: the piles of\nred or gold clouds in the west; or the purple ones edged with dazzling\nbrightness; or the little fleecy, floating ones, tinged with rose-color\nand looking like flights of pink doves scurrying across the blue in a\ngreat hurry if there was a wind. The place where one could see all\nthis, and seem at the same time to breathe a purer air, was, of course,\nthe attic window. When the square suddenly seemed to begin to glow in\nan enchanted way and look wonderful in spite of its sooty trees and\nrailings, Sara knew something was going on in the sky; and when it was\nat all possible to leave the kitchen without being missed or called\nback, she invariably stole away and crept up the flights of stairs,\nand, climbing on the old table, got her head and body as far out of the\nwindow as possible.  When she had accomplished this, she always drew a\nlong breath and looked all round her.  It used to seem as if she had\nall the sky and the world to herself.  No one else ever looked out of\nthe other attics.  Generally the skylights were closed; but even if\nthey were propped open to admit air, no one seemed to come near them.\nAnd there Sara would stand, sometimes turning her face upward to the\nblue which seemed so friendly and near--just like a lovely vaulted\nceiling--sometimes watching the west and all the wonderful things that\nhappened there: the clouds melting or drifting or waiting softly to be\nchanged pink or crimson or snow-white or purple or pale dove-gray.\nSometimes they made islands or great mountains enclosing lakes of deep\nturquoise-blue, or liquid amber, or chrysoprase-green; sometimes dark\nheadlands jutted into strange, lost seas; sometimes slender strips of\nwonderful lands joined other wonderful lands together.  There were\nplaces where it seemed that one could run or climb or stand and wait to\nsee what next was coming--until, perhaps, as it all melted, one could\nfloat away.  At least it seemed so to Sara, and nothing had ever been\nquite so beautiful to her as the things she saw as she stood on the\ntable--her body half out of the skylight--the sparrows twittering with\nsunset softness on the slates.  The sparrows always seemed to her to\ntwitter with a sort of subdued softness just when these marvels were\ngoing on.\n\nThere was such a sunset as this a few days after the Indian gentleman\nwas brought to his new home; and, as it fortunately happened that the\nafternoon's work was done in the kitchen and nobody had ordered her to\ngo anywhere or perform any task, Sara found it easier than usual to\nslip away and go upstairs.\n\nShe mounted her table and stood looking out.  It was a wonderful\nmoment.  There were floods of molten gold covering the west, as if a\nglorious tide was sweeping over the world. A deep, rich yellow light\nfilled the air; the birds flying across the tops of the houses showed\nquite black against it.\n\n\"It's a Splendid one,\" said Sara, softly, to herself.  \"It makes me\nfeel almost afraid--as if something strange was just going to happen.\nThe Splendid ones always make me feel like that.\"\n\nShe suddenly turned her head because she heard a sound a few yards away\nfrom her.  It was an odd sound like a queer little squeaky chattering.\nIt came from the window of the next attic.  Someone had come to look at\nthe sunset as she had.  There was a head and a part of a body emerging\nfrom the skylight, but it was not the head or body of a little girl or\na housemaid; it was the picturesque white-swathed form and dark-faced,\ngleaming-eyed, white-turbaned head of a native Indian man-servant--\"a\nLascar,\" Sara said to herself quickly--and the sound she had heard came\nfrom a small monkey he held in his arms as if he were fond of it, and\nwhich was snuggling and chattering against his breast.\n\nAs Sara looked toward him he looked toward her.  The first thing she\nthought was that his dark face looked sorrowful and homesick. She felt\nabsolutely sure he had come up to look at the sun, because he had seen\nit so seldom in England that he longed for a sight of it. She looked at\nhim interestedly for a second, and then smiled across the slates.  She\nhad learned to know how comforting a smile, even from a stranger, may\nbe.\n\nHers was evidently a pleasure to him.  His whole expression altered,\nand he showed such gleaming white teeth as he smiled back that it was\nas if a light had been illuminated in his dusky face. The friendly look\nin Sara's eyes was always very effective when people felt tired or dull.\n\nIt was perhaps in making his salute to her that he loosened his hold on\nthe monkey.  He was an impish monkey and always ready for adventure,\nand it is probable that the sight of a little girl excited him. He\nsuddenly broke loose, jumped on to the slates, ran across them\nchattering, and actually leaped on to Sara's shoulder, and from there\ndown into her attic room.  It made her laugh and delighted her; but she\nknew he must be restored to his master--if the Lascar was his\nmaster--and she wondered how this was to be done.  Would he let her\ncatch him, or would he be naughty and refuse to be caught, and perhaps\nget away and run off over the roofs and be lost? That would not do at\nall.  Perhaps he belonged to the Indian gentleman, and the poor man was\nfond of him.\n\nShe turned to the Lascar, feeling glad that she remembered still some\nof the Hindustani she had learned when she lived with her father. She\ncould make the man understand.  She spoke to him in the language he\nknew.\n\n\"Will he let me catch him?\" she asked.\n\nShe thought she had never seen more surprise and delight than the dark\nface expressed when she spoke in the familiar tongue. The truth was\nthat the poor fellow felt as if his gods had intervened, and the kind\nlittle voice came from heaven itself.  At once Sara saw that he had\nbeen accustomed to European children.  He poured forth a flood of\nrespectful thanks.  He was the servant of Missee Sahib. The monkey was\na good monkey and would not bite; but, unfortunately, he was difficult\nto catch.  He would flee from one spot to another, like the lightning.\nHe was disobedient, though not evil. Ram Dass knew him as if he were\nhis child, and Ram Dass he would sometimes obey, but not always.  If\nMissee Sahib would permit Ram Dass, he himself could cross the roof to\nher room, enter the windows, and regain the unworthy little animal.\nBut he was evidently afraid Sara might think he was taking a great\nliberty and perhaps would not let him come.\n\nBut Sara gave him leave at once.\n\n\"Can you get across?\" she inquired.\n\n\"In a moment,\" he answered her.\n\n\"Then come,\" she said; \"he is flying from side to side of the room as\nif he was frightened.\"\n\nRam Dass slipped through his attic window and crossed to hers as\nsteadily and lightly as if he had walked on roofs all his life.  He\nslipped through the skylight and dropped upon his feet without a sound.\nThen he turned to Sara and salaamed again.  The monkey saw him and\nuttered a little scream.  Ram Dass hastily took the precaution of\nshutting the skylight, and then went in chase of him. It was not a very\nlong chase.  The monkey prolonged it a few minutes evidently for the\nmere fun of it, but presently he sprang chattering on to Ram Dass's\nshoulder and sat there chattering and clinging to his neck with a weird\nlittle skinny arm.\n\nRam Dass thanked Sara profoundly.  She had seen that his quick native\neyes had taken in at a glance all the bare shabbiness of the room, but\nhe spoke to her as if he were speaking to the little daughter of a\nrajah, and pretended that he observed nothing.  He did not presume to\nremain more than a few moments after he had caught the monkey, and\nthose moments were given to further deep and grateful obeisance to her\nin return for her indulgence.  This little evil one, he said, stroking\nthe monkey, was, in truth, not so evil as he seemed, and his master,\nwho was ill, was sometimes amused by him.  He would have been made sad\nif his favorite had run away and been lost. Then he salaamed once more\nand got through the skylight and across the slates again with as much\nagility as the monkey himself had displayed.\n\nWhen he had gone Sara stood in the middle of her attic and thought of\nmany things his face and his manner had brought back to her.  The sight\nof his native costume and the profound reverence of his manner stirred\nall her past memories.  It seemed a strange thing to remember that\nshe--the drudge whom the cook had said insulting things to an hour\nago--had only a few years ago been surrounded by people who all treated\nher as Ram Dass had treated her; who salaamed when she went by, whose\nforeheads almost touched the ground when she spoke to them, who were\nher servants and her slaves.  It was like a sort of dream. It was all\nover, and it could never come back.  It certainly seemed that there was\nno way in which any change could take place. She knew what Miss Minchin\nintended that her future should be. So long as she was too young to be\nused as a regular teacher, she would be used as an errand girl and\nservant and yet expected to remember what she had learned and in some\nmysterious way to learn more.  The greater number of her evenings she\nwas supposed to spend at study, and at various indefinite intervals she\nwas examined and knew she would have been severely admonished if she\nhad not advanced as was expected of her.  The truth, indeed, was that\nMiss Minchin knew that she was too anxious to learn to require\nteachers. Give her books, and she would devour them and end by knowing\nthem by heart.  She might be trusted to be equal to teaching a good\ndeal in the course of a few years.  This was what would happen: when\nshe was older she would be expected to drudge in the schoolroom as she\ndrudged now in various parts of the house; they would be obliged to\ngive her more respectable clothes, but they would be sure to be plain\nand ugly and to make her look somehow like a servant. That was all\nthere seemed to be to look forward to, and Sara stood quite still for\nseveral minutes and thought it over.\n\nThen a thought came back to her which made the color rise in her cheek\nand a spark light itself in her eyes.  She straightened her thin little\nbody and lifted her head.\n\n\"Whatever comes,\" she said, \"cannot alter one thing.  If I am a\nprincess in rags and tatters, I can be a princess inside. It would be\neasy to be a princess if I were dressed in cloth of gold, but it is a\ngreat deal more of a triumph to be one all the time when no one knows\nit.  There was Marie Antoinette when she was in prison and her throne\nwas gone and she had only a black gown on, and her hair was white, and\nthey insulted her and called her Widow Capet. She was a great deal more\nlike a queen then than when she was so gay and everything was so grand.\nI like her best then.  Those howling mobs of people did not frighten\nher.  She was stronger than they were, even when they cut her head off.\"\n\nThis was not a new thought, but quite an old one, by this time.  It had\nconsoled her through many a bitter day, and she had gone about the\nhouse with an expression in her face which Miss Minchin could not\nunderstand and which was a source of great annoyance to her, as it\nseemed as if the child were mentally living a life which held her above\nthe rest of the world.  It was as if she scarcely heard the rude and\nacid things said to her; or, if she heard them, did not care for them\nat all.  Sometimes, when she was in the midst of some harsh,\ndomineering speech, Miss Minchin would find the still, unchildish eyes\nfixed upon her with something like a proud smile in them.  At such\ntimes she did not know that Sara was saying to herself:\n\n\"You don't know that you are saying these things to a princess, and\nthat if I chose I could wave my hand and order you to execution. I only\nspare you because I am a princess, and you are a poor, stupid, unkind,\nvulgar old thing, and don't know any better.\"\n\nThis used to interest and amuse her more than anything else; and queer\nand fanciful as it was, she found comfort in it and it was a good thing\nfor her.  While the thought held possession of her, she could not be\nmade rude and malicious by the rudeness and malice of those about her.\n\n\"A princess must be polite,\" she said to herself.\n\nAnd so when the servants, taking their tone from their mistress, were\ninsolent and ordered her about, she would hold her head erect and reply\nto them with a quaint civility which often made them stare at her.\n\n\"She's got more airs and graces than if she come from Buckingham\nPalace, that young one,\" said the cook, chuckling a little sometimes.\n\"I lose my temper with her often enough, but I will say she never\nforgets her manners.  'If you please, cook'; 'Will you be so kind,\ncook?'  'I beg your pardon, cook'; 'May I trouble you, cook?'  She\ndrops 'em about the kitchen as if they was nothing.\"\n\nThe morning after the interview with Ram Dass and his monkey, Sara was\nin the schoolroom with her small pupils.  Having finished giving them\ntheir lessons, she was putting the French exercise-books together and\nthinking, as she did it, of the various things royal personages in\ndisguise were called upon to do:  Alfred the Great, for instance,\nburning the cakes and getting his ears boxed by the wife of the\nneat-herd. How frightened she must have been when she found out what\nshe had done. If Miss Minchin should find out that she--Sara, whose\ntoes were almost sticking out of her boots--was a princess--a real one!\nThe look in her eyes was exactly the look which Miss Minchin most\ndisliked. She would not have it; she was quite near her and was so\nenraged that she actually flew at her and boxed her ears--exactly as\nthe neat-herd's wife had boxed King Alfred's. It made Sara start. She\nwakened from her dream at the shock, and, catching her breath, stood\nstill a second.  Then, not knowing she was going to do it, she broke\ninto a little laugh.\n\n\"What are you laughing at, you bold, impudent child?\" Miss Minchin\nexclaimed.\n\nIt took Sara a few seconds to control herself sufficiently to remember\nthat she was a princess.  Her cheeks were red and smarting from the\nblows she had received.\n\n\"I was thinking,\" she answered.\n\n\"Beg my pardon immediately,\" said Miss Minchin.\n\nSara hesitated a second before she replied.\n\n\"I will beg your pardon for laughing, if it was rude,\" she said then;\n\"but I won't beg your pardon for thinking.\"\n\n\"What were you thinking?\" demanded Miss Minchin.\n\"How dare you think?  What were you thinking?\"\n\nJessie tittered, and she and Lavinia nudged each other in unison. All\nthe girls looked up from their books to listen.  Really, it always\ninterested them a little when Miss Minchin attacked Sara.  Sara always\nsaid something queer, and never seemed the least bit frightened. She\nwas not in the least frightened now, though her boxed ears were scarlet\nand her eyes were as bright as stars.\n\n\"I was thinking,\" she answered grandly and politely, \"that you did not\nknow what you were doing.\"\n\n\"That I did not know what I was doing?\"  Miss Minchin fairly gasped.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sara, \"and I was thinking what would happen if I were a\nprincess and you boxed my ears--what I should do to you. And I was\nthinking that if I were one, you would never dare to do it, whatever I\nsaid or did.  And I was thinking how surprised and frightened you would\nbe if you suddenly found out--\"\n\nShe had the imagined future so clearly before her eyes that she spoke\nin a manner which had an effect even upon Miss Minchin. It almost\nseemed for the moment to her narrow, unimaginative mind that there must\nbe some real power hidden behind this candid daring.\n\n\"What?\" she exclaimed.  \"Found out what?\"\n\n\"That I really was a princess,\" said Sara, \"and could do\nanything--anything I liked.\"\n\nEvery pair of eyes in the room widened to its full limit.  Lavinia\nleaned forward on her seat to look.\n\n\"Go to your room,\" cried Miss Minchin, breathlessly, \"this instant!\nLeave the schoolroom!  Attend to your lessons, young ladies!\"\n\nSara made a little bow.\n\n\"Excuse me for laughing if it was impolite,\" she said, and walked out\nof the room, leaving Miss Minchin struggling with her rage, and the\ngirls whispering over their books.\n\n\"Did you see her?  Did you see how queer she looked?\"  Jessie broke\nout. \"I shouldn't be at all surprised if she did turn out to be\nsomething. Suppose she should!\"\n\n\n\n12\n\nThe Other Side of the Wall\n\n\nWhen one lives in a row of houses, it is interesting to think of the\nthings which are being done and said on the other side of the wall of\nthe very rooms one is living in.  Sara was fond of amusing herself by\ntrying to imagine the things hidden by the wall which divided the\nSelect Seminary from the Indian gentleman's house. She knew that the\nschoolroom was next to the Indian gentleman's study, and she hoped that\nthe wall was thick so that the noise made sometimes after lesson hours\nwould not disturb him.\n\n\"I am growing quite fond of him,\" she said to Ermengarde; \"I should not\nlike him to be disturbed.  I have adopted him for a friend. You can do\nthat with people you never speak to at all.  You can just watch them,\nand think about them and be sorry for them, until they seem almost like\nrelations.  I'm quite anxious sometimes when I see the doctor call\ntwice a day.\"\n\n\"I have very few relations,\" said Ermengarde, reflectively, \"and I'm\nvery glad of it.  I don't like those I have.  My two aunts are always\nsaying, 'Dear me, Ermengarde!  You are very fat.  You shouldn't eat\nsweets,' and my uncle is always asking me things like, 'When did Edward\nthe Third ascend the throne?' and, 'Who died of a surfeit of lampreys?'\"\n\nSara laughed.\n\n\"People you never speak to can't ask you questions like that,\" she\nsaid; \"and I'm sure the Indian gentleman wouldn't even if he was quite\nintimate with you.  I am fond of him.\"\n\nShe had become fond of the Large Family because they looked happy; but\nshe had become fond of the Indian gentleman because he looked unhappy.\nHe had evidently not fully recovered from some very severe illness.  In\nthe kitchen--where, of course, the servants, through some mysterious\nmeans, knew everything--there was much discussion of his case.  He was\nnot an Indian gentleman really, but an Englishman who had lived in\nIndia.  He had met with great misfortunes which had for a time so\nimperilled his whole fortune that he had thought himself ruined and\ndisgraced forever. The shock had been so great that he had almost died\nof brain fever; and ever since he had been shattered in health, though\nhis fortunes had changed and all his possessions had been restored to\nhim. His trouble and peril had been connected with mines.\n\n\"And mines with diamonds in 'em!\" said the cook.  \"No savin's of mine\nnever goes into no mines--particular diamond ones\"--with a side glance\nat Sara.  \"We all know somethin' of THEM.\"\n\n\"He felt as my papa felt,\" Sara thought.  \"He was ill as my papa was;\nbut he did not die.\"\n\nSo her heart was more drawn to him than before.  When she was sent out\nat night she used sometimes to feel quite glad, because there was\nalways a chance that the curtains of the house next door might not yet\nbe closed and she could look into the warm room and see her adopted\nfriend.  When no one was about she used sometimes to stop, and, holding\nto the iron railings, wish him good night as if he could hear her.\n\n\"Perhaps you can FEEL if you can't hear,\" was her fancy.  \"Perhaps kind\nthoughts reach people somehow, even through windows and doors and\nwalls.  Perhaps you feel a little warm and comforted, and don't know\nwhy, when I am standing here in the cold and hoping you will get well\nand happy again.  I am so sorry for you,\" she would whisper in an\nintense little voice.  \"I wish you had a 'Little Missus' who could pet\nyou as I used to pet papa when he had a headache. I should like to be\nyour 'Little Missus' myself, poor dear! Good night--good night.  God\nbless you!\"\n\nShe would go away, feeling quite comforted and a little warmer herself.\nHer sympathy was so strong that it seemed as if it MUST reach him\nsomehow as he sat alone in his armchair by the fire, nearly always in a\ngreat dressing gown, and nearly always with his forehead resting in his\nhand as he gazed hopelessly into the fire. He looked to Sara like a man\nwho had a trouble on his mind still, not merely like one whose troubles\nlay all in the past.\n\n\"He always seems as if he were thinking of something that hurts him\nNOW,\" she said to herself, \"but he has got his money back and he will\nget over his brain fever in time, so he ought not to look like that.  I\nwonder if there is something else.\"\n\nIf there was something else--something even servants did not hear\nof--she could not help believing that the father of the Large Family\nknew it--the gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency.  Mr. Montmorency\nwent to see him often, and Mrs. Montmorency and all the little\nMontmorencys went, too, though less often.  He seemed particularly fond\nof the two elder little girls--the Janet and Nora who had been so\nalarmed when their small brother Donald had given Sara his sixpence. He\nhad, in fact, a very tender place in his heart for all children, and\nparticularly for little girls.  Janet and Nora were as fond of him as\nhe was of them, and looked forward with the greatest pleasure to the\nafternoons when they were allowed to cross the square and make their\nwell-behaved little visits to him. They were extremely decorous little\nvisits because he was an invalid.\n\n\"He is a poor thing,\" said Janet, \"and he says we cheer him up.  We try\nto cheer him up very quietly.\"\n\nJanet was the head of the family, and kept the rest of it in order. It\nwas she who decided when it was discreet to ask the Indian gentleman to\ntell stories about India, and it was she who saw when he was tired and\nit was the time to steal quietly away and tell Ram Dass to go to him.\nThey were very fond of Ram Dass.  He could have told any number of\nstories if he had been able to speak anything but Hindustani.  The\nIndian gentleman's real name was Mr. Carrisford, and Janet told Mr.\nCarrisford about the encounter with the\nlittle-girl-who-was-not-a-beggar.  He was very much interested, and all\nthe more so when he heard from Ram Dass of the adventure of the monkey\non the roof.  Ram Dass made for him a very clear picture of the attic\nand its desolateness--of the bare floor and broken plaster, the rusty,\nempty grate, and the hard, narrow bed.\n\n\"Carmichael,\" he said to the father of the Large Family, after he had\nheard this description, \"I wonder how many of the attics in this square\nare like that one, and how many wretched little servant girls sleep on\nsuch beds, while I toss on my down pillows, loaded and harassed by\nwealth that is, most of it--not mine.\"\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" Mr. Carmichael answered cheerily, \"the sooner you\ncease tormenting yourself the better it will be for you. If you\npossessed all the wealth of all the Indies, you could not set right all\nthe discomforts in the world, and if you began to refurnish all the\nattics in this square, there would still remain all the attics in all\nthe other squares and streets to put in order. And there you are!\"\n\nMr. Carrisford sat and bit his nails as he looked into the glowing bed\nof coals in the grate.\n\n\"Do you suppose,\" he said slowly, after a pause--\"do you think it is\npossible that the other child--the child I never cease thinking of, I\nbelieve--could be--could POSSIBLY be reduced to any such condition as\nthe poor little soul next door?\"\n\nMr. Carmichael looked at him uneasily.  He knew that the worst thing\nthe man could do for himself, for his reason and his health, was to\nbegin to think in the particular way of this particular subject.\n\n\"If the child at Madame Pascal's school in Paris was the one you are in\nsearch of,\" he answered soothingly, \"she would seem to be in the hands\nof people who can afford to take care of her. They adopted her because\nshe had been the favorite companion of their little daughter who died.\nThey had no other children, and Madame Pascal said that they were\nextremely well-to-do Russians.\"\n\n\"And the wretched woman actually did not know where they had taken\nher!\" exclaimed Mr. Carrisford.\n\nMr. Carmichael shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\"She was a shrewd, worldly Frenchwoman, and was evidently only too glad\nto get the child so comfortably off her hands when the father's death\nleft her totally unprovided for.  Women of her type do not trouble\nthemselves about the futures of children who might prove burdens. The\nadopted parents apparently disappeared and left no trace.\"\n\n\"But you say 'IF the child was the one I am in search of. You say 'if.'\nWe are not sure.  There was a difference in the name.\"\n\n\"Madame Pascal pronounced it as if it were Carew instead of Crewe--but\nthat might be merely a matter of pronunciation.  The circumstances were\ncuriously similar.  An English officer in India had placed his\nmotherless little girl at the school.  He had died suddenly after\nlosing his fortune.\"  Mr. Carmichael paused a moment, as if a new\nthought had occurred to him.  \"Are you SURE the child was left at a\nschool in Paris?  Are you sure it was Paris?\"\n\n\"My dear fellow,\" broke forth Carrisford, with restless bitterness, \"I\nam SURE of nothing.  I never saw either the child or her mother. Ralph\nCrewe and I loved each other as boys, but we had not met since our\nschool days, until we met in India.  I was absorbed in the magnificent\npromise of the mines.  He became absorbed, too. The whole thing was so\nhuge and glittering that we half lost our heads.  When we met we\nscarcely spoke of anything else. I only knew that the child had been\nsent to school somewhere. I do not even remember, now, HOW I knew it.\"\n\nHe was beginning to be excited.  He always became excited when his\nstill weakened brain was stirred by memories of the catastrophes of the\npast.\n\nMr. Carmichael watched him anxiously.  It was necessary to ask some\nquestions, but they must be put quietly and with caution.\n\n\"But you had reason to think the school WAS in Paris?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" was the answer, \"because her mother was a Frenchwoman, and I had\nheard that she wished her child to be educated in Paris.  It seemed\nonly likely that she would be there.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Mr. Carmichael said, \"it seems more than probable.\"\n\nThe Indian gentleman leaned forward and struck the table with a long,\nwasted hand.\n\n\"Carmichael,\" he said, \"I MUST find her.  If she is alive, she is\nsomewhere.  If she is friendless and penniless, it is through my fault.\nHow is a man to get back his nerve with a thing like that on his mind?\nThis sudden change of luck at the mines has made realities of all our\nmost fantastic dreams, and poor Crewe's child may be begging in the\nstreet!\"\n\n\"No, no,\" said Carmichael.  \"Try to be calm.  Console yourself with the\nfact that when she is found you have a fortune to hand over to her.\"\n\n\"Why was I not man enough to stand my ground when things looked black?\"\nCarrisford groaned in petulant misery.  \"I believe I should have stood\nmy ground if I had not been responsible for other people's money as\nwell as my own.  Poor Crewe had put into the scheme every penny that he\nowned.  He trusted me--he LOVED me.  And he died thinking I had ruined\nhim--I--Tom Carrisford, who played cricket at Eton with him.  What a\nvillain he must have thought me!\"\n\n\"Don't reproach yourself so bitterly.\"\n\n\"I don't reproach myself because the speculation threatened to fail--I\nreproach myself for losing my courage.  I ran away like a swindler and\na thief, because I could not face my best friend and tell him I had\nruined him and his child.\"\n\nThe good-hearted father of the Large Family put his hand on his\nshoulder comfortingly.\n\n\"You ran away because your brain had given way under the strain of\nmental torture,\" he said.  \"You were half delirious already.  If you\nhad not been you would have stayed and fought it out. You were in a\nhospital, strapped down in bed, raving with brain fever, two days after\nyou left the place.  Remember that.\"\n\nCarrisford dropped his forehead in his hands.\n\n\"Good God!  Yes,\" he said.  \"I was driven mad with dread and horror. I\nhad not slept for weeks.  The night I staggered out of my house all the\nair seemed full of hideous things mocking and mouthing at me.\"\n\n\"That is explanation enough in itself,\" said Mr. Carmichael.  \"How\ncould a man on the verge of brain fever judge sanely!\"\n\nCarrisford shook his drooping head.\n\n\"And when I returned to consciousness poor Crewe was dead--and buried.\nAnd I seemed to remember nothing.  I did not remember the child for\nmonths and months.  Even when I began to recall her existence\neverything seemed in a sort of haze.\"\n\nHe stopped a moment and rubbed his forehead.  \"It sometimes seems so\nnow when I try to remember.  Surely I must sometime have heard Crewe\nspeak of the school she was sent to.  Don't you think so?\"\n\n\"He might not have spoken of it definitely.  You never seem even to\nhave heard her real name.\"\n\n\"He used to call her by an odd pet name he had invented. He called her\nhis 'Little Missus.'  But the wretched mines drove everything else out\nof our heads.  We talked of nothing else. If he spoke of the school, I\nforgot--I forgot.  And now I shall never remember.\"\n\n\"Come, come,\" said Carmichael.  \"We shall find her yet.  We will\ncontinue to search for Madame Pascal's good-natured Russians.  She\nseemed to have a vague idea that they lived in Moscow. We will take\nthat as a clue.  I will go to Moscow.\"\n\n\"If I were able to travel, I would go with you,\" said Carrisford; \"but\nI can only sit here wrapped in furs and stare at the fire. And when I\nlook into it I seem to see Crewe's gay young face gazing back at me.\nHe looks as if he were asking me a question. Sometimes I dream of him\nat night, and he always stands before me and asks the same question in\nwords.  Can you guess what he says, Carmichael?\"\n\nMr. Carmichael answered him in a rather low voice.\n\n\"Not exactly,\" he said.\n\n\"He always says, 'Tom, old man--Tom--where is the Little Missus?'\" He\ncaught at Carmichael's hand and clung to it.  \"I must be able to answer\nhim--I must!\" he said.  \"Help me to find her.  Help me.\"\n\n\nOn the other side of the wall Sara was sitting in her garret talking to\nMelchisedec, who had come out for his evening meal.\n\n\"It has been hard to be a princess today, Melchisedec,\" she said. \"It\nhas been harder than usual.  It gets harder as the weather grows colder\nand the streets get more sloppy.  When Lavinia laughed at my muddy\nskirt as I passed her in the hall, I thought of something to say all in\na flash--and I only just stopped myself in time. You can't sneer back\nat people like that--if you are a princess. But you have to bite your\ntongue to hold yourself in.  I bit mine. It was a cold afternoon,\nMelchisedec.  And it's a cold night.\"\n\nQuite suddenly she put her black head down in her arms, as she often\ndid when she was alone.\n\n\"Oh, papa,\" she whispered, \"what a long time it seems since I was your\n'Little Missus'!\"\n\nThis was what happened that day on both sides of the wall.\n\n\n\n13\n\nOne of the Populace\n\n\nThe winter was a wretched one.  There were days on which Sara tramped\nthrough snow when she went on her errands; there were worse days when\nthe snow melted and combined itself with mud to form slush; there were\nothers when the fog was so thick that the lamps in the street were\nlighted all day and London looked as it had looked the afternoon,\nseveral years ago, when the cab had driven through the thoroughfares\nwith Sara tucked up on its seat, leaning against her father's shoulder.\nOn such days the windows of the house of the Large Family always looked\ndelightfully cozy and alluring, and the study in which the Indian\ngentleman sat glowed with warmth and rich color.  But the attic was\ndismal beyond words.  There were no longer sunsets or sunrises to look\nat, and scarcely ever any stars, it seemed to Sara.  The clouds hung\nlow over the skylight and were either gray or mud-color, or dropping\nheavy rain.  At four o'clock in the afternoon, even when there was no\nspecial fog, the daylight was at an end.  If it was necessary to go to\nher attic for anything, Sara was obliged to light a candle.  The women\nin the kitchen were depressed, and that made them more ill-tempered\nthan ever. Becky was driven like a little slave.\n\n\"'Twarn't for you, miss,\" she said hoarsely to Sara one night when she\nhad crept into the attic--\"'twarn't for you, an' the Bastille, an'\nbein' the prisoner in the next cell, I should die.  That there does\nseem real now, doesn't it?  The missus is more like the head jailer\nevery day she lives.  I can jest see them big keys you say she carries.\nThe cook she's like one of the under-jailers.  Tell me some more,\nplease, miss--tell me about the subt'ranean passage we've dug under the\nwalls.\"\n\n\"I'll tell you something warmer,\" shivered Sara.  \"Get your coverlet\nand wrap it round you, and I'll get mine, and we will huddle close\ntogether on the bed, and I'll tell you about the tropical forest where\nthe Indian gentleman's monkey used to live.  When I see him sitting on\nthe table near the window and looking out into the street with that\nmournful expression, I always feel sure he is thinking about the\ntropical forest where he used to swing by his tail from coconut trees.\nI wonder who caught him, and if he left a family behind who had\ndepended on him for coconuts.\"\n\n\"That is warmer, miss,\" said Becky, gratefully; \"but, someways, even\nthe Bastille is sort of heatin' when you gets to tellin' about it.\"\n\n\"That is because it makes you think of something else,\" said Sara,\nwrapping the coverlet round her until only her small dark face was to\nbe seen looking out of it.  \"I've noticed this.  What you have to do\nwith your mind, when your body is miserable, is to make it think of\nsomething else.\"\n\n\"Can you do it, miss?\" faltered Becky, regarding her with admiring eyes.\n\nSara knitted her brows a moment.\n\n\"Sometimes I can and sometimes I can't,\" she said stoutly. \"But when I\nCAN I'm all right.  And what I believe is that we always could--if we\npracticed enough.  I've been practicing a good deal lately, and it's\nbeginning to be easier than it used to be. When things are\nhorrible--just horrible--I think as hard as ever I can of being a\nprincess.  I say to myself, 'I am a princess, and I am a fairy one, and\nbecause I am a fairy nothing can hurt me or make me uncomfortable.'\nYou don't know how it makes you forget\"--with a laugh.\n\nShe had many opportunities of making her mind think of something else,\nand many opportunities of proving to herself whether or not she was a\nprincess.  But one of the strongest tests she was ever put to came on a\ncertain dreadful day which, she often thought afterward, would never\nquite fade out of her memory even in the years to come.\n\nFor several days it had rained continuously; the streets were chilly\nand sloppy and full of dreary, cold mist; there was mud\neverywhere--sticky London mud--and over everything the pall of drizzle\nand fog. Of course there were several long and tiresome errands to be\ndone--there always were on days like this--and Sara was sent out again\nand again, until her shabby clothes were damp through.  The absurd old\nfeathers on her forlorn hat were more draggled and absurd than ever,\nand her downtrodden shoes were so wet that they could not hold any more\nwater.  Added to this, she had been deprived of her dinner, because\nMiss Minchin had chosen to punish her.  She was so cold and hungry and\ntired that her face began to have a pinched look, and now and then some\nkind-hearted person passing her in the street glanced at her with\nsudden sympathy.  But she did not know that. She hurried on, trying to\nmake her mind think of something else. It was really very necessary.\nHer way of doing it was to \"pretend\" and \"suppose\" with all the\nstrength that was left in her. But really this time it was harder than\nshe had ever found it, and once or twice she thought it almost made her\nmore cold and hungry instead of less so.  But she persevered\nobstinately, and as the muddy water squelched through her broken shoes\nand the wind seemed trying to drag her thin jacket from her, she talked\nto herself as she walked, though she did not speak aloud or even move\nher lips.\n\n\"Suppose I had dry clothes on,\" she thought.  \"Suppose I had good shoes\nand a long, thick coat and merino stockings and a whole umbrella. And\nsuppose--suppose--just when I was near a baker's where they sold hot\nbuns, I should find sixpence--which belonged to nobody. SUPPOSE if I\ndid, I should go into the shop and buy six of the hottest buns and eat\nthem all without stopping.\"\n\nSome very odd things happen in this world sometimes.\n\nIt certainly was an odd thing that happened to Sara.  She had to cross\nthe street just when she was saying this to herself. The mud was\ndreadful--she almost had to wade.  She picked her way as carefully as\nshe could, but she could not save herself much; only, in picking her\nway, she had to look down at her feet and the mud, and in looking\ndown--just as she reached the pavement--she saw something shining in\nthe gutter.  It was actually a piece of silver--a tiny piece trodden\nupon by many feet, but still with spirit enough left to shine a little.\nNot quite a sixpence, but the next thing to it--a fourpenny piece.\n\nIn one second it was in her cold little red-and-blue hand.\n\n\"Oh,\" she gasped, \"it is true!  It is true!\"\n\nAnd then, if you will believe me, she looked straight at the shop\ndirectly facing her.  And it was a baker's shop, and a cheerful, stout,\nmotherly woman with rosy cheeks was putting into the window a tray of\ndelicious newly baked hot buns, fresh from the oven--large, plump,\nshiny buns, with currants in them.\n\nIt almost made Sara feel faint for a few seconds--the shock, and the\nsight of the buns, and the delightful odors of warm bread floating up\nthrough the baker's cellar window.\n\nShe knew she need not hesitate to use the little piece of money.  It\nhad evidently been lying in the mud for some time, and its owner was\ncompletely lost in the stream of passing people who crowded and jostled\neach other all day long.\n\n\"But I'll go and ask the baker woman if she has lost anything,\" she\nsaid to herself, rather faintly.  So she crossed the pavement and put\nher wet foot on the step.  As she did so she saw something that made\nher stop.\n\nIt was a little figure more forlorn even than herself--a little figure\nwhich was not much more than a bundle of rags, from which small, bare,\nred muddy feet peeped out, only because the rags with which their owner\nwas trying to cover them were not long enough.  Above the rags appeared\na shock head of tangled hair, and a dirty face with big, hollow, hungry\neyes.\n\nSara knew they were hungry eyes the moment she saw them, and she felt a\nsudden sympathy.\n\n\"This,\" she said to herself, with a little sigh, \"is one of the\npopulace--and she is hungrier than I am.\"\n\nThe child--this \"one of the populace\"--stared up at Sara, and shuffled\nherself aside a little, so as to give her room to pass.  She was used\nto being made to give room to everybody.  She knew that if a policeman\nchanced to see her he would tell her to \"move on.\"\n\nSara clutched her little fourpenny piece and hesitated for a few\nseconds.  Then she spoke to her.\n\n\"Are you hungry?\" she asked.\n\nThe child shuffled herself and her rags a little more.\n\n\"Ain't I jist?\" she said in a hoarse voice.  \"Jist ain't I?\"\n\n\"Haven't you had any dinner?\" said Sara.\n\n\"No dinner,\" more hoarsely still and with more shuffling. \"Nor yet no\nbre'fast--nor yet no supper.  No nothin'.\n\n\"Since when?\" asked Sara.\n\n\"Dunno.  Never got nothin' today--nowhere.  I've axed an' axed.\"\n\nJust to look at her made Sara more hungry and faint.  But those queer\nlittle thoughts were at work in her brain, and she was talking to\nherself, though she was sick at heart.\n\n\"If I'm a princess,\" she was saying, \"if I'm a princess--when they were\npoor and driven from their thrones--they always shared--with the\npopulace--if they met one poorer and hungrier than themselves. They\nalways shared.  Buns are a penny each.  If it had been sixpence I could\nhave eaten six.  It won't be enough for either of us. But it will be\nbetter than nothing.\"\n\n\"Wait a minute,\" she said to the beggar child.\n\nShe went into the shop.  It was warm and smelled deliciously.  The\nwoman was just going to put some more hot buns into the window.\n\n\"If you please,\" said Sara, \"have you lost fourpence--a silver\nfourpence?\"  And she held the forlorn little piece of money out to her.\n\nThe woman looked at it and then at her--at her intense little face and\ndraggled, once fine clothes.\n\n\"Bless us, no,\" she answered.  \"Did you find it?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sara.  \"In the gutter.\"\n\n\"Keep it, then,\" said the woman.  \"It may have been there for a week,\nand goodness knows who lost it.  YOU could never find out.\"\n\n\"I know that,\" said Sara, \"but I thought I would ask you.\"\n\n\"Not many would,\" said the woman, looking puzzled and interested and\ngood-natured all at once.\n\n\"Do you want to buy something?\" she added, as she saw Sara glance at\nthe buns.\n\n\"Four buns, if you please,\" said Sara.  \"Those at a penny each.\"\n\nThe woman went to the window and put some in a paper bag.\n\nSara noticed that she put in six.\n\n\"I said four, if you please,\" she explained.  \"I have only fourpence.\"\n\n\"I'll throw in two for makeweight,\" said the woman with her\ngood-natured look.  \"I dare say you can eat them sometime. Aren't you\nhungry?\"\n\nA mist rose before Sara's eyes.\n\n\"Yes,\" she answered.  \"I am very hungry, and I am much obliged to you\nfor your kindness; and\"--she was going to add--\"there is a child\noutside who is hungrier than I am.\"  But just at that moment two or\nthree customers came in at once, and each one seemed in a hurry, so she\ncould only thank the woman again and go out.\n\nThe beggar girl was still huddled up in the corner of the step.  She\nlooked frightful in her wet and dirty rags.  She was staring straight\nbefore her with a stupid look of suffering, and Sara saw her suddenly\ndraw the back of her roughened black hand across her eyes to rub away\nthe tears which seemed to have surprised her by forcing their way from\nunder her lids.  She was muttering to herself.\n\nSara opened the paper bag and took out one of the hot buns, which had\nalready warmed her own cold hands a little.\n\n\"See,\" she said, putting the bun in the ragged lap, \"this is nice and\nhot.  Eat it, and you will not feel so hungry.\"\n\nThe child started and stared up at her, as if such sudden, amazing good\nluck almost frightened her; then she snatched up the bun and began to\ncram it into her mouth with great wolfish bites.\n\n\"Oh, my!  Oh, my!\"  Sara heard her say hoarsely, in wild delight. \"OH\nmy!\"\n\nSara took out three more buns and put them down.\n\nThe sound in the hoarse, ravenous voice was awful.\n\n\"She is hungrier than I am,\" she said to herself.  \"She's starving.\"\nBut her hand trembled when she put down the fourth bun. \"I'm not\nstarving,\" she said--and she put down the fifth.\n\nThe little ravening London savage was still snatching and devouring\nwhen she turned away.  She was too ravenous to give any thanks, even if\nshe had ever been taught politeness--which she had not. She was only a\npoor little wild animal.\n\n\"Good-bye,\" said Sara.\n\nWhen she reached the other side of the street she looked back.  The\nchild had a bun in each hand and had stopped in the middle of a bite to\nwatch her.  Sara gave her a little nod, and the child, after another\nstare--a curious lingering stare--jerked her shaggy head in response,\nand until Sara was out of sight she did not take another bite or even\nfinish the one she had begun.\n\nAt that moment the baker-woman looked out of her shop window.\n\n\"Well, I never!\" she exclaimed.  \"If that young un hasn't given her\nbuns to a beggar child!  It wasn't because she didn't want them,\neither.  Well, well, she looked hungry enough. I'd give something to\nknow what she did it for.\"\n\nShe stood behind her window for a few moments and pondered. Then her\ncuriosity got the better of her.  She went to the door and spoke to the\nbeggar child.\n\n\"Who gave you those buns?\" she asked her.  The child nodded her head\ntoward Sara's vanishing figure.\n\n\"What did she say?\" inquired the woman.\n\n\"Axed me if I was 'ungry,\" replied the hoarse voice.\n\n\"What did you say?\"\n\n\"Said I was jist.\"\n\n\"And then she came in and got the buns, and gave them to you, did she?\"\n\nThe child nodded.\n\n\"How many?\"\n\n\"Five.\"\n\nThe woman thought it over.\n\n\"Left just one for herself,\" she said in a low voice.  \"And she could\nhave eaten the whole six--I saw it in her eyes.\"\n\nShe looked after the little draggled far-away figure and felt more\ndisturbed in her usually comfortable mind than she had felt for many a\nday.\n\n\"I wish she hadn't gone so quick,\" she said.  \"I'm blest if she\nshouldn't have had a dozen.\"  Then she turned to the child.\n\n\"Are you hungry yet?\" she said.\n\n\"I'm allus hungry,\" was the answer, \"but 't ain't as bad as it was.\"\n\n\"Come in here,\" said the woman, and she held open the shop door.\n\nThe child got up and shuffled in.  To be invited into a warm place full\nof bread seemed an incredible thing.  She did not know what was going\nto happen.  She did not care, even.\n\n\"Get yourself warm,\" said the woman, pointing to a fire in the tiny\nback room.  \"And look here; when you are hard up for a bit of bread,\nyou can come in here and ask for it.  I'm blest if I won't give it to\nyou for that young one's sake.\"\n\n     *    *    *\n\nSara found some comfort in her remaining bun.  At all events, it was\nvery hot, and it was better than nothing.  As she walked along she\nbroke off small pieces and ate them slowly to make them last longer.\n\n\"Suppose it was a magic bun,\" she said, \"and a bite was as much as a\nwhole dinner.  I should be overeating myself if I went on like this.\"\n\nIt was dark when she reached the square where the Select Seminary was\nsituated.  The lights in the houses were all lighted. The blinds were\nnot yet drawn in the windows of the room where she nearly always caught\nglimpses of members of the Large Family. Frequently at this hour she\ncould see the gentleman she called Mr. Montmorency sitting in a big\nchair, with a small swarm round him, talking, laughing, perching on the\narms of his seat or on his knees or leaning against them.  This evening\nthe swarm was about him, but he was not seated.  On the contrary, there\nwas a good deal of excitement going on.  It was evident that a journey\nwas to be taken, and it was Mr. Montmorency who was to take it.  A\nbrougham stood before the door, and a big portmanteau had been strapped\nupon it. The children were dancing about, chattering and hanging on to\ntheir father.  The pretty rosy mother was standing near him, talking as\nif she was asking final questions.  Sara paused a moment to see the\nlittle ones lifted up and kissed and the bigger ones bent over and\nkissed also.\n\n\"I wonder if he will stay away long,\" she thought.  \"The portmanteau is\nrather big.  Oh, dear, how they will miss him!  I shall miss him\nmyself--even though he doesn't know I am alive.\"\n\nWhen the door opened she moved away--remembering the sixpence--but she\nsaw the traveler come out and stand against the background of the\nwarmly-lighted hall, the older children still hovering about him.\n\n\"Will Moscow be covered with snow?\" said the little girl Janet.  \"Will\nthere be ice everywhere?\"\n\n\"Shall you drive in a drosky?\" cried another.  \"Shall you see the Czar?\"\n\n\"I will write and tell you all about it,\" he answered, laughing.  \"And\nI will send you pictures of muzhiks and things.  Run into the house. It\nis a hideous damp night.  I would rather stay with you than go to\nMoscow.  Good night!  Good night, duckies!  God bless you!\" And he ran\ndown the steps and jumped into the brougham.\n\n\"If you find the little girl, give her our love,\" shouted Guy Clarence,\njumping up and down on the door mat.\n\nThen they went in and shut the door.\n\n\"Did you see,\" said Janet to Nora, as they went back to the room--\"the\nlittle-girl-who-is-not-a-beggar was passing?  She looked all cold and\nwet, and I saw her turn her head over her shoulder and look at us.\nMamma says her clothes always look as if they had been given her by\nsomeone who was quite rich--someone who only let her have them because\nthey were too shabby to wear.  The people at the school always send her\nout on errands on the horridest days and nights there are.\"\n\nSara crossed the square to Miss Minchin's area steps, feeling faint and\nshaky.\n\n\"I wonder who the little girl is,\" she thought--\"the little girl he is\ngoing to look for.\"\n\nAnd she went down the area steps, lugging her basket and finding it\nvery heavy indeed, as the father of the Large Family drove quickly on\nhis way to the station to take the train which was to carry him to\nMoscow, where he was to make his best efforts to search for the lost\nlittle daughter of Captain Crewe.\n\n\n\n14\n\nWhat Melchisedec Heard and Saw\n\n\nOn this very afternoon, while Sara was out, a strange thing happened in\nthe attic.  Only Melchisedec saw and heard it; and he was so much\nalarmed and mystified that he scuttled back to his hole and hid there,\nand really quaked and trembled as he peeped out furtively and with\ngreat caution to watch what was going on.\n\nThe attic had been very still all the day after Sara had left it in the\nearly morning.  The stillness had only been broken by the pattering of\nthe rain upon the slates and the skylight.  Melchisedec had, in fact,\nfound it rather dull; and when the rain ceased to patter and perfect\nsilence reigned, he decided to come out and reconnoiter, though\nexperience taught him that Sara would not return for some time.  He had\nbeen rambling and sniffing about, and had just found a totally\nunexpected and unexplained crumb left from his last meal, when his\nattention was attracted by a sound on the roof.  He stopped to listen\nwith a palpitating heart. The sound suggested that something was moving\non the roof.  It was approaching the skylight; it reached the skylight.\nThe skylight was being mysteriously opened.  A dark face peered into\nthe attic; then another face appeared behind it, and both looked in\nwith signs of caution and interest.  Two men were outside on the roof,\nand were making silent preparations to enter through the skylight\nitself. One was Ram Dass and the other was a young man who was the\nIndian gentleman's secretary; but of course Melchisedec did not know\nthis. He only knew that the men were invading the silence and privacy\nof the attic; and as the one with the dark face let himself down\nthrough the aperture with such lightness and dexterity that he did not\nmake the slightest sound, Melchisedec turned tail and fled\nprecipitately back to his hole.  He was frightened to death. He had\nceased to be timid with Sara, and knew she would never throw anything\nbut crumbs, and would never make any sound other than the soft, low,\ncoaxing whistling; but strange men were dangerous things to remain\nnear.  He lay close and flat near the entrance of his home, just\nmanaging to peep through the crack with a bright, alarmed eye. How much\nhe understood of the talk he heard I am not in the least able to say;\nbut, even if he had understood it all, he would probably have remained\ngreatly mystified.\n\nThe secretary, who was light and young, slipped through the skylight as\nnoiselessly as Ram Dass had done; and he caught a last glimpse of\nMelchisedec's vanishing tail.\n\n\"Was that a rat?\" he asked Ram Dass in a whisper.\n\n\"Yes; a rat, Sahib,\" answered Ram Dass, also whispering. \"There are\nmany in the walls.\"\n\n\"Ugh!\" exclaimed the young man.  \"It is a wonder the child is not\nterrified of them.\"\n\nRam Dass made a gesture with his hands.  He also smiled respectfully.\nHe was in this place as the intimate exponent of Sara, though she had\nonly spoken to him once.\n\n\"The child is the little friend of all things, Sahib,\" he answered.\n\"She is not as other children.  I see her when she does not see me. I\nslip across the slates and look at her many nights to see that she is\nsafe.  I watch her from my window when she does not know I am near. She\nstands on the table there and looks out at the sky as if it spoke to\nher.  The sparrows come at her call.  The rat she has fed and tamed in\nher loneliness.  The poor slave of the house comes to her for comfort.\nThere is a little child who comes to her in secret; there is one older\nwho worships her and would listen to her forever if she might.  This I\nhave seen when I have crept across the roof. By the mistress of the\nhouse--who is an evil woman--she is treated like a pariah; but she has\nthe bearing of a child who is of the blood of kings!\"\n\n\"You seem to know a great deal about her,\" the secretary said.\n\n\"All her life each day I know,\" answered Ram Dass.  \"Her going out I\nknow, and her coming in; her sadness and her poor joys; her coldness\nand her hunger.  I know when she is alone until midnight, learning from\nher books; I know when her secret friends steal to her and she is\nhappier--as children can be, even in the midst of poverty--because they\ncome and she may laugh and talk with them in whispers. If she were ill\nI should know, and I would come and serve her if it might be done.\"\n\n\"You are sure no one comes near this place but herself, and that she\nwill not return and surprise us.  She would be frightened if she found\nus here, and the Sahib Carrisford's plan would be spoiled.\"\n\nRam Dass crossed noiselessly to the door and stood close to it.\n\n\"None mount here but herself, Sahib,\" he said.  \"She has gone out with\nher basket and may be gone for hours.  If I stand here I can hear any\nstep before it reaches the last flight of the stairs.\"\n\nThe secretary took a pencil and a tablet from his breast pocket.\n\n\"Keep your ears open,\" he said; and he began to walk slowly and softly\nround the miserable little room, making rapid notes on his tablet as he\nlooked at things.\n\nFirst he went to the narrow bed.  He pressed his hand upon the mattress\nand uttered an exclamation.\n\n\"As hard as a stone,\" he said.  \"That will have to be altered some day\nwhen she is out.  A special journey can be made to bring it across. It\ncannot be done tonight.\"  He lifted the covering and examined the one\nthin pillow.\n\n\"Coverlet dingy and worn, blanket thin, sheets patched and ragged,\" he\nsaid.  \"What a bed for a child to sleep in--and in a house which calls\nitself respectable!  There has not been a fire in that grate for many a\nday,\" glancing at the rusty fireplace.\n\n\"Never since I have seen it,\" said Ram Dass.  \"The mistress of the\nhouse is not one who remembers that another than herself may be cold.\"\n\nThe secretary was writing quickly on his tablet.  He looked up from it\nas he tore off a leaf and slipped it into his breast pocket.\n\n\"It is a strange way of doing the thing,\" he said.  \"Who planned it?\"\n\nRam Dass made a modestly apologetic obeisance.\n\n\"It is true that the first thought was mine, Sahib,\" he said; \"though\nit was naught but a fancy.  I am fond of this child; we are both\nlonely.  It is her way to relate her visions to her secret friends.\nBeing sad one night, I lay close to the open skylight and listened. The\nvision she related told what this miserable room might be if it had\ncomforts in it.  She seemed to see it as she talked, and she grew\ncheered and warmed as she spoke.  Then she came to this fancy; and the\nnext day, the Sahib being ill and wretched, I told him of the thing to\namuse him.  It seemed then but a dream, but it pleased the Sahib.  To\nhear of the child's doings gave him entertainment. He became interested\nin her and asked questions.  At last he began to please himself with\nthe thought of making her visions real things.\"\n\n\"You think that it can be done while she sleeps?  Suppose she\nawakened,\" suggested the secretary; and it was evident that whatsoever\nthe plan referred to was, it had caught and pleased his fancy as well\nas the Sahib Carrisford's.\n\n\"I can move as if my feet were of velvet,\" Ram Dass replied; \"and\nchildren sleep soundly--even the unhappy ones.  I could have entered\nthis room in the night many times, and without causing her to turn upon\nher pillow.  If the other bearer passes to me the things through the\nwindow, I can do all and she will not stir. When she awakens she will\nthink a magician has been here.\"\n\nHe smiled as if his heart warmed under his white robe, and the\nsecretary smiled back at him.\n\n\"It will be like a story from the Arabian Nights,\" he said.  \"Only an\nOriental could have planned it.  It does not belong to London fogs.\"\n\nThey did not remain very long, to the great relief of Melchisedec, who,\nas he probably did not comprehend their conversation, felt their\nmovements and whispers ominous.  The young secretary seemed interested\nin everything.  He wrote down things about the floor, the fireplace,\nthe broken footstool, the old table, the walls--which last he touched\nwith his hand again and again, seeming much pleased when he found that\na number of old nails had been driven in various places.\n\n\"You can hang things on them,\" he said.\n\nRam Dass smiled mysteriously.\n\n\"Yesterday, when she was out,\" he said, \"I entered, bringing with me\nsmall, sharp nails which can be pressed into the wall without blows\nfrom a hammer.  I placed many in the plaster where I may need them.\nThey are ready.\"\n\nThe Indian gentleman's secretary stood still and looked round him as he\nthrust his tablets back into his pocket.\n\n\"I think I have made notes enough; we can go now,\" he said. \"The Sahib\nCarrisford has a warm heart.  It is a thousand pities that he has not\nfound the lost child.\"\n\n\"If he should find her his strength would be restored to him,\" said Ram\nDass.  \"His God may lead her to him yet.\"\n\nThen they slipped through the skylight as noiselessly as they had\nentered it.  And, after he was quite sure they had gone, Melchisedec\nwas greatly relieved, and in the course of a few minutes felt it safe\nto emerge from his hole again and scuffle about in the hope that even\nsuch alarming human beings as these might have chanced to carry crumbs\nin their pockets and drop one or two of them.\n\n\n\n15\n\nThe Magic\n\n\nWhen Sara had passed the house next door she had seen Ram Dass closing\nthe shutters, and caught her glimpse of this room also.\n\n\"It is a long time since I saw a nice place from the inside,\" was the\nthought which crossed her mind.\n\nThere was the usual bright fire glowing in the grate, and the Indian\ngentleman was sitting before it.  His head was resting in his hand, and\nhe looked as lonely and unhappy as ever.\n\n\"Poor man!\" said Sara.  \"I wonder what you are supposing.\"\n\nAnd this was what he was \"supposing\" at that very moment.\n\n\"Suppose,\" he was thinking, \"suppose--even if Carmichael traces the\npeople to Moscow--the little girl they took from Madame Pascal's school\nin Paris is NOT the one we are in search of.  Suppose she proves to be\nquite a different child.  What steps shall I take next?\"\n\nWhen Sara went into the house she met Miss Minchin, who had come\ndownstairs to scold the cook.\n\n\"Where have you wasted your time?\" she demanded.  \"You have been out\nfor hours.\"\n\n\"It was so wet and muddy,\" Sara answered, \"it was hard to walk, because\nmy shoes were so bad and slipped about.\"\n\n\"Make no excuses,\" said Miss Minchin, \"and tell no falsehoods.\"\n\nSara went in to the cook.  The cook had received a severe lecture and\nwas in a fearful temper as a result.  She was only too rejoiced to have\nsomeone to vent her rage on, and Sara was a convenience, as usual.\n\n\"Why didn't you stay all night?\" she snapped.\n\nSara laid her purchases on the table.\n\n\"Here are the things,\" she said.\n\nThe cook looked them over, grumbling.  She was in a very savage humor\nindeed.\n\n\"May I have something to eat?\"  Sara asked rather faintly.\n\n\"Tea's over and done with,\" was the answer.  \"Did you expect me to keep\nit hot for you?\"\n\nSara stood silent for a second.\n\n\"I had no dinner,\" she said next, and her voice was quite low.  She\nmade it low because she was afraid it would tremble.\n\n\"There's some bread in the pantry,\" said the cook.  \"That's all you'll\nget at this time of day.\"\n\nSara went and found the bread.  It was old and hard and dry. The cook\nwas in too vicious a humor to give her anything to eat with it.  It was\nalways safe and easy to vent her spite on Sara.  Really, it was hard\nfor the child to climb the three long flights of stairs leading to her\nattic.  She often found them long and steep when she was tired; but\ntonight it seemed as if she would never reach the top.  Several times\nshe was obliged to stop to rest.  When she reached the top landing she\nwas glad to see the glimmer of a light coming from under her door.\nThat meant that Ermengarde had managed to creep up to pay her a visit.\nThere was some comfort in that. It was better than to go into the room\nalone and find it empty and desolate.  The mere presence of plump,\ncomfortable Ermengarde, wrapped in her red shawl, would warm it a\nlittle.\n\nYes; there Ermengarde was when she opened the door.  She was sitting in\nthe middle of the bed, with her feet tucked safely under her. She had\nnever become intimate with Melchisedec and his family, though they\nrather fascinated her.  When she found herself alone in the attic she\nalways preferred to sit on the bed until Sara arrived. She had, in\nfact, on this occasion had time to become rather nervous, because\nMelchisedec had appeared and sniffed about a good deal, and once had\nmade her utter a repressed squeal by sitting up on his hind legs and,\nwhile he looked at her, sniffing pointedly in her direction.\n\n\"Oh, Sara,\" she cried out, \"I am glad you have come.  Melchy WOULD\nsniff about so.  I tried to coax him to go back, but he wouldn't for\nsuch a long time.  I like him, you know; but it does frighten me when\nhe sniffs right at me.  Do you think he ever WOULD jump?\"\n\n\"No,\" answered Sara.\n\nErmengarde crawled forward on the bed to look at her.\n\n\"You DO look tired, Sara,\" she said; \"you are quite pale.\"\n\n\"I AM tired,\" said Sara, dropping on to the lopsided footstool.  \"Oh,\nthere's Melchisedec, poor thing.  He's come to ask for his supper.\"\n\nMelchisedec had come out of his hole as if he had been listening for\nher footstep.  Sara was quite sure he knew it.  He came forward with an\naffectionate, expectant expression as Sara put her hand in her pocket\nand turned it inside out, shaking her head.\n\n\"I'm very sorry,\" she said.  \"I haven't one crumb left.  Go home,\nMelchisedec, and tell your wife there was nothing in my pocket. I'm\nafraid I forgot because the cook and Miss Minchin were so cross.\"\n\nMelchisedec seemed to understand.  He shuffled resignedly, if not\ncontentedly, back to his home.\n\n\"I did not expect to see you tonight, Ermie,\" Sara said.  Ermengarde\nhugged herself in the red shawl.\n\n\"Miss Amelia has gone out to spend the night with her old aunt,\" she\nexplained.  \"No one else ever comes and looks into the bedrooms after\nwe are in bed.  I could stay here until morning if I wanted to.\"\n\nShe pointed toward the table under the skylight.  Sara had not looked\ntoward it as she came in.  A number of books were piled upon it.\nErmengarde's gesture was a dejected one.\n\n\"Papa has sent me some more books, Sara,\" she said.  \"There they are.\"\n\nSara looked round and got up at once.  She ran to the table, and\npicking up the top volume, turned over its leaves quickly. For the\nmoment she forgot her discomforts.\n\n\"Ah,\" she cried out, \"how beautiful!  Carlyle's French Revolution. I\nhave SO wanted to read that!\"\n\n\"I haven't,\" said Ermengarde.  \"And papa will be so cross if I don't.\nHe'll expect me to know all about it when I go home for the holidays.\nWhat SHALL I do?\"\n\nSara stopped turning over the leaves and looked at her with an excited\nflush on her cheeks.\n\n\"Look here,\" she cried, \"if you'll lend me these books, _I'll_ read\nthem--and tell you everything that's in them afterward--and I'll tell\nit so that you will remember it, too.\"\n\n\"Oh, goodness!\" exclaimed Ermengarde.  \"Do you think you can?\"\n\n\"I know I can,\" Sara answered.  \"The little ones always remember what I\ntell them.\"\n\n\"Sara,\" said Ermengarde, hope gleaming in her round face, \"if you'll do\nthat, and make me remember, I'll--I'll give you anything.\"\n\n\"I don't want you to give me anything,\" said Sara.  \"I want your\nbooks--I want them!\"  And her eyes grew big, and her chest heaved.\n\n\"Take them, then,\" said Ermengarde.  \"I wish I wanted them--but I\ndon't. I'm not clever, and my father is, and he thinks I ought to be.\"\n\nSara was opening one book after the other.  \"What are you going to tell\nyour father?\" she asked, a slight doubt dawning in her mind.\n\n\"Oh, he needn't know,\" answered Ermengarde.  \"He'll think I've read\nthem.\"\n\nSara put down her book and shook her head slowly.  \"That's almost like\ntelling lies,\" she said.  \"And lies--well, you see, they are not only\nwicked--they're VULGAR. Sometimes\"--reflectively--\"I've thought perhaps\nI might do something wicked--I might suddenly fly into a rage and kill\nMiss Minchin, you know, when she was ill-treating me--but I COULDN'T be\nvulgar.  Why can't you tell your father _I_ read them?\"\n\n\"He wants me to read them,\" said Ermengarde, a little discouraged by\nthis unexpected turn of affairs.\n\n\"He wants you to know what is in them,\" said Sara.  \"And if I can tell\nit to you in an easy way and make you remember it, I should think he\nwould like that.\"\n\n\"He'll like it if I learn anything in ANY way,\" said rueful Ermengarde.\n\"You would if you were my father.\"\n\n\"It's not your fault that--\" began Sara.  She pulled herself up and\nstopped rather suddenly.  She had been going to say, \"It's not your\nfault that you are stupid.\"\n\n\"That what?\"  Ermengarde asked.\n\n\"That you can't learn things quickly,\" amended Sara.  \"If you can't,\nyou can't. If I can--why, I can; that's all.\"\n\nShe always felt very tender of Ermengarde, and tried not to let her\nfeel too strongly the difference between being able to learn anything\nat once, and not being able to learn anything at all.  As she looked at\nher plump face, one of her wise, old-fashioned thoughts came to her.\n\n\"Perhaps,\" she said, \"to be able to learn things quickly isn't\neverything.  To be kind is worth a great deal to other people.  If Miss\nMinchin knew everything on earth and was like what she is now, she'd\nstill be a detestable thing, and everybody would hate her. Lots of\nclever people have done harm and have been wicked. Look at\nRobespierre--\"\n\nShe stopped and examined Ermengarde's countenance, which was beginning\nto look bewildered.  \"Don't you remember?\" she demanded. \"I told you\nabout him not long ago.  I believe you've forgotten.\"\n\n\"Well, I don't remember ALL of it,\" admitted Ermengarde.\n\n\"Well, you wait a minute,\" said Sara, \"and I'll take off my wet things\nand wrap myself in the coverlet and tell you over again.\"\n\nShe took off her hat and coat and hung them on a nail against the wall,\nand she changed her wet shoes for an old pair of slippers.  Then she\njumped on the bed, and drawing the coverlet about her shoulders, sat\nwith her arms round her knees.  \"Now, listen,\" she said.\n\nShe plunged into the gory records of the French Revolution, and told\nsuch stories of it that Ermengarde's eyes grew round with alarm and she\nheld her breath.  But though she was rather terrified, there was a\ndelightful thrill in listening, and she was not likely to forget\nRobespierre again, or to have any doubts about the Princesse de\nLamballe.\n\n\"You know they put her head on a pike and danced round it,\" Sara\nexplained.  \"And she had beautiful floating blonde hair; and when I\nthink of her, I never see her head on her body, but always on a pike,\nwith those furious people dancing and howling.\"\n\nIt was agreed that Mr. St. John was to be told the plan they had made,\nand for the present the books were to be left in the attic.\n\n\"Now let's tell each other things,\" said Sara.  \"How are you getting on\nwith your French lessons?\"\n\n\"Ever so much better since the last time I came up here and you\nexplained the conjugations.  Miss Minchin could not understand why I\ndid my exercises so well that first morning.\"\n\nSara laughed a little and hugged her knees.\n\n\"She doesn't understand why Lottie is doing her sums so well,\" she\nsaid; \"but it is because she creeps up here, too, and I help her.\" She\nglanced round the room.  \"The attic would be rather nice--if it wasn't\nso dreadful,\" she said, laughing again.  \"It's a good place to pretend\nin.\"\n\nThe truth was that Ermengarde did not know anything of the sometimes\nalmost unbearable side of life in the attic and she had not a\nsufficiently vivid imagination to depict it for herself. On the rare\noccasions that she could reach Sara's room she only saw the side of it\nwhich was made exciting by things which were \"pretended\" and stories\nwhich were told.  Her visits partook of the character of adventures;\nand though sometimes Sara looked rather pale, and it was not to be\ndenied that she had grown very thin, her proud little spirit would not\nadmit of complaints. She had never confessed that at times she was\nalmost ravenous with hunger, as she was tonight.  She was growing\nrapidly, and her constant walking and running about would have given\nher a keen appetite even if she had had abundant and regular meals of a\nmuch more nourishing nature than the unappetizing, inferior food\nsnatched at such odd times as suited the kitchen convenience. She was\ngrowing used to a certain gnawing feeling in her young stomach.\n\n\"I suppose soldiers feel like this when they are on a long and weary\nmarch,\" she often said to herself.  She liked the sound of the phrase,\n\"long and weary march.\"  It made her feel rather like a soldier. She\nhad also a quaint sense of being a hostess in the attic.\n\n\"If I lived in a castle,\" she argued, \"and Ermengarde was the lady of\nanother castle, and came to see me, with knights and squires and\nvassals riding with her, and pennons flying, when I heard the clarions\nsounding outside the drawbridge I should go down to receive her, and I\nshould spread feasts in the banquet hall and call in minstrels to sing\nand play and relate romances.  When she comes into the attic I can't\nspread feasts, but I can tell stories, and not let her know\ndisagreeable things.  I dare say poor chatelaines had to do that in\ntime of famine, when their lands had been pillaged.\" She was a proud,\nbrave little chatelaine, and dispensed generously the one hospitality\nshe could offer--the dreams she dreamed--the visions she saw--the\nimaginings which were her joy and comfort.\n\nSo, as they sat together, Ermengarde did not know that she was faint as\nwell as ravenous, and that while she talked she now and then wondered\nif her hunger would let her sleep when she was left alone. She felt as\nif she had never been quite so hungry before.\n\n\"I wish I was as thin as you, Sara,\" Ermengarde said suddenly.  \"I\nbelieve you are thinner than you used to be.  Your eyes look so big,\nand look at the sharp little bones sticking out of your elbow!\"\n\nSara pulled down her sleeve, which had pushed itself up.\n\n\"I always was a thin child,\" she said bravely, \"and I always had big\ngreen eyes.\"\n\n\"I love your queer eyes,\" said Ermengarde, looking into them with\naffectionate admiration.  \"They always look as if they saw such a long\nway.  I love them--and I love them to be green--though they look black\ngenerally.\"\n\n\"They are cat's eyes,\" laughed Sara; \"but I can't see in the dark with\nthem--because I have tried, and I couldn't--I wish I could.\"\n\nIt was just at this minute that something happened at the skylight\nwhich neither of them saw.  If either of them had chanced to turn and\nlook, she would have been startled by the sight of a dark face which\npeered cautiously into the room and disappeared as quickly and almost\nas silently as it had appeared.  Not QUITE as silently, however.  Sara,\nwho had keen ears, suddenly turned a little and looked up at the roof.\n\n\"That didn't sound like Melchisedec,\" she said.  \"It wasn't scratchy\nenough.\"\n\n\"What?\" said Ermengarde, a little startled.\n\n\"Didn't you think you heard something?\" asked Sara.\n\n\"N-no,\" Ermengarde faltered.  \"Did you?\" {another ed. has \"No-no,\"}\n\n\"Perhaps I didn't,\" said Sara; \"but I thought I did.  It sounded as if\nsomething was on the slates--something that dragged softly.\"\n\n\"What could it be?\" said Ermengarde.  \"Could it be--robbers?\"\n\n\"No,\" Sara began cheerfully.  \"There is nothing to steal--\"\n\nShe broke off in the middle of her words.  They both heard the sound\nthat checked her.  It was not on the slates, but on the stairs below,\nand it was Miss Minchin's angry voice.  Sara sprang off the bed, and\nput out the candle.\n\n\"She is scolding Becky,\" she whispered, as she stood in the darkness.\n\"She is making her cry.\"\n\n\"Will she come in here?\"  Ermengarde whispered back, panic-stricken.\n\n\"No. She will think I am in bed.  Don't stir.\"\n\nIt was very seldom that Miss Minchin mounted the last flight of stairs.\nSara could only remember that she had done it once before. But now she\nwas angry enough to be coming at least part of the way up, and it\nsounded as if she was driving Becky before her.\n\n\"You impudent, dishonest child!\" they heard her say.  \"Cook tells me\nshe has missed things repeatedly.\"\n\n\"'T warn't me, mum,\" said Becky sobbing.  \"I was 'ungry enough, but 't\nwarn't me--never!\"\n\n\"You deserve to be sent to prison,\" said Miss Minchin's voice.\n\"Picking and stealing!  Half a meat pie, indeed!\"\n\n\"'T warn't me,\" wept Becky.  \"I could 'ave eat a whole un--but I never\nlaid a finger on it.\"\n\nMiss Minchin was out of breath between temper and mounting the stairs.\nThe meat pie had been intended for her special late supper. It became\napparent that she boxed Becky's ears.\n\n\"Don't tell falsehoods,\" she said.  \"Go to your room this instant.\"\n\nBoth Sara and Ermengarde heard the slap, and then heard Becky run in\nher slipshod shoes up the stairs and into her attic. They heard her\ndoor shut, and knew that she threw herself upon her bed.\n\n\"I could 'ave e't two of 'em,\" they heard her cry into her pillow. \"An'\nI never took a bite.  'Twas cook give it to her policeman.\"\n\nSara stood in the middle of the room in the darkness.  She was\nclenching her little teeth and opening and shutting fiercely her\noutstretched hands.  She could scarcely stand still, but she dared not\nmove until Miss Minchin had gone down the stairs and all was still.\n\n\"The wicked, cruel thing!\" she burst forth.  \"The cook takes things\nherself and then says Becky steals them.  She DOESN'T!  She DOESN'T!\nShe's so hungry sometimes that she eats crusts out of the ash barrel!\"\nShe pressed her hands hard against her face and burst into passionate\nlittle sobs, and Ermengarde, hearing this unusual thing, was overawed\nby it.  Sara was crying!  The unconquerable Sara! It seemed to denote\nsomething new--some mood she had never known. Suppose--suppose--a new\ndread possibility presented itself to her kind, slow, little mind all\nat once.  She crept off the bed in the dark and found her way to the\ntable where the candle stood. She struck a match and lit the candle.\nWhen she had lighted it, she bent forward and looked at Sara, with her\nnew thought growing to definite fear in her eyes.\n\n\"Sara,\" she said in a timid, almost awe-stricken voice, \"are--are--you\nnever told me--I don't want to be rude, but--are YOU ever hungry?\"\n\nIt was too much just at that moment.  The barrier broke down.  Sara\nlifted her face from her hands.\n\n\"Yes,\" she said in a new passionate way.  \"Yes, I am.  I'm so hungry\nnow that I could almost eat you.  And it makes it worse to hear poor\nBecky.  She's hungrier than I am.\"\n\nErmengarde gasped.\n\n\"Oh, oh!\" she cried woefully.  \"And I never knew!\"\n\n\"I didn't want you to know,\" Sara said.  \"It would have made me feel\nlike a street beggar.  I know I look like a street beggar.\"\n\n\"No, you don't--you don't!\" Ermengarde broke in.  \"Your clothes are a\nlittle queer--but you couldn't look like a street beggar.  You haven't\na street-beggar face.\"\n\n\"A little boy once gave me a sixpence for charity,\" said Sara, with a\nshort little laugh in spite of herself.  \"Here it is.\" And she pulled\nout the thin ribbon from her neck.  \"He wouldn't have given me his\nChristmas sixpence if I hadn't looked as if I needed it.\"\n\nSomehow the sight of the dear little sixpence was good for both of\nthem.  It made them laugh a little, though they both had tears in their\neyes.\n\n\"Who was he?\" asked Ermengarde, looking at it quite as if it had not\nbeen a mere ordinary silver sixpence.\n\n\"He was a darling little thing going to a party,\" said Sara. \"He was\none of the Large Family, the little one with the round legs--the one I\ncall Guy Clarence.  I suppose his nursery was crammed with Christmas\npresents and hampers full of cakes and things, and he could see I had\nnothing.\"\n\nErmengarde gave a little jump backward.  The last sentences had\nrecalled something to her troubled mind and given her a sudden\ninspiration.\n\n\"Oh, Sara!\" she cried.  \"What a silly thing I am not to have thought of\nit!\"\n\n\"Of what?\"\n\n\"Something splendid!\" said Ermengarde, in an excited hurry.  \"This very\nafternoon my nicest aunt sent me a box.  It is full of good things.  I\nnever touched it, I had so much pudding at dinner, and I was so\nbothered about papa's books.\"  Her words began to tumble over each\nother.  \"It's got cake in it, and little meat pies, and jam tarts and\nbuns, and oranges and red-currant wine, and figs and chocolate.  I'll\ncreep back to my room and get it this minute, and we'll eat it now.\"\n\nSara almost reeled.  When one is faint with hunger the mention of food\nhas sometimes a curious effect.  She clutched Ermengarde's arm.\n\n\"Do you think--you COULD?\" she ejaculated.\n\n\"I know I could,\" answered Ermengarde, and she ran to the door--opened\nit softly--put her head out into the darkness, and listened. Then she\nwent back to Sara.  \"The lights are out.  Everybody's in bed. I can\ncreep--and creep--and no one will hear.\"\n\nIt was so delightful that they caught each other's hands and a sudden\nlight sprang into Sara's eyes.\n\n\"Ermie!\" she said.  \"Let us PRETEND! Let us pretend it's a party! And\noh, won't you invite the prisoner in the next cell?\"\n\n\"Yes!  Yes!  Let us knock on the wall now.  The jailer won't hear.\"\n\nSara went to the wall.  Through it she could hear poor Becky crying\nmore softly.  She knocked four times.\n\n\"That means, 'Come to me through the secret passage under the wall,'\nshe explained.  'I have something to communicate.'\"\n\nFive quick knocks answered her.\n\n\"She is coming,\" she said.\n\nAlmost immediately the door of the attic opened and Becky appeared. Her\neyes were red and her cap was sliding off, and when she caught sight of\nErmengarde she began to rub her face nervously with her apron.\n\n\"Don't mind me a bit, Becky!\" cried Ermengarde.\n\n\"Miss Ermengarde has asked you to come in,\" said Sara, \"because she is\ngoing to bring a box of good things up here to us.\"\n\nBecky's cap almost fell off entirely, she broke in with such excitement.\n\n\"To eat, miss?\" she said.  \"Things that's good to eat?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" answered Sara, \"and we are going to pretend a party.\"\n\n\"And you shall have as much as you WANT to eat,\" put in Ermengarde.\n\"I'll go this minute!\"\n\nShe was in such haste that as she tiptoed out of the attic she dropped\nher red shawl and did not know it had fallen.  No one saw it for a\nminute or so.  Becky was too much overpowered by the good luck which\nhad befallen her.\n\n\"Oh, miss! oh, miss!\" she gasped; \"I know it was you that asked her to\nlet me come.  It--it makes me cry to think of it.\"  And she went to\nSara's side and stood and looked at her worshipingly.\n\nBut in Sara's hungry eyes the old light had begun to glow and transform\nher world for her.  Here in the attic--with the cold night\noutside--with the afternoon in the sloppy streets barely passed--with\nthe memory of the awful unfed look in the beggar child's eyes not yet\nfaded--this simple, cheerful thing had happened like a thing of magic.\n\nShe caught her breath.\n\n\"Somehow, something always happens,\" she cried, \"just before things get\nto the very worst.  It is as if the Magic did it.  If I could only just\nremember that always.  The worst thing never QUITE comes.\"\n\nShe gave Becky a little cheerful shake.\n\n\"No, no!  You mustn't cry!\" she said.  \"We must make haste and set the\ntable.\"\n\n\"Set the table, miss?\" said Becky, gazing round the room.  \"What'll we\nset it with?\"\n\nSara looked round the attic, too.\n\n\"There doesn't seem to be much,\" she answered, half laughing.\n\nThat moment she saw something and pounced upon it.  It was Ermengarde's\nred shawl which lay upon the floor.\n\n\"Here's the shawl,\" she cried.  \"I know she won't mind it. It will make\nsuch a nice red tablecloth.\"\n\nThey pulled the old table forward, and threw the shawl over it.  Red is\na wonderfully kind and comfortable color.  It began to make the room\nlook furnished directly.\n\n\"How nice a red rug would look on the floor!\" exclaimed Sara.  \"We must\npretend there is one!\"\n\nHer eye swept the bare boards with a swift glance of admiration.  The\nrug was laid down already.\n\n\"How soft and thick it is!\" she said, with the little laugh which Becky\nknew the meaning of; and she raised and set her foot down again\ndelicately, as if she felt something under it.\n\n\"Yes, miss,\" answered Becky, watching her with serious rapture.  She\nwas always quite serious.\n\n\"What next, now?\" said Sara, and she stood still and put her hands over\nher eyes.  \"Something will come if I think and wait a little\"--in a\nsoft, expectant voice.  \"The Magic will tell me.\"\n\nOne of her favorite fancies was that on \"the outside,\" as she called\nit, thoughts were waiting for people to call them. Becky had seen her\nstand and wait many a time before, and knew that in a few seconds she\nwould uncover an enlightened, laughing face.\n\nIn a moment she did.\n\n\"There!\" she cried.  \"It has come!  I know now!  I must look among the\nthings in the old trunk I had when I was a princess.\"\n\nShe flew to its corner and kneeled down.  It had not been put in the\nattic for her benefit, but because there was no room for it elsewhere.\nNothing had been left in it but rubbish. But she knew she should find\nsomething.  The Magic always arranged that kind of thing in one way or\nanother.\n\nIn a corner lay a package so insignificant-looking that it had been\noverlooked, and when she herself had found it she had kept it as a\nrelic.  It contained a dozen small white handkerchiefs.  She seized\nthem joyfully and ran to the table.  She began to arrange them upon the\nred table-cover, patting and coaxing them into shape with the narrow\nlace edge curling outward, her Magic working its spells for her as she\ndid it.\n\n\"These are the plates,\" she said.  \"They are golden plates.  These are\nthe richly embroidered napkins.  Nuns worked them in convents in Spain.\"\n\n\"Did they, miss?\" breathed Becky, her very soul uplifted by the\ninformation.\n\n\"You must pretend it,\" said Sara.  \"If you pretend it enough, you will\nsee them.\"\n\n\"Yes, miss,\" said Becky; and as Sara returned to the trunk she devoted\nherself to the effort of accomplishing an end so much to be desired.\n\nSara turned suddenly to find her standing by the table, looking very\nqueer indeed.  She had shut her eyes, and was twisting her face in\nstrange convulsive contortions, her hands hanging stiffly clenched at\nher sides.  She looked as if she was trying to lift some enormous\nweight.\n\n\"What is the matter, Becky?\"  Sara cried.  \"What are you doing?\"\n\nBecky opened her eyes with a start.\n\n\"I was a-'pretendin',' miss,\" she answered a little sheepishly; \"I was\ntryin' to see it like you do.  I almost did,\" with a hopeful grin. \"But\nit takes a lot o' stren'th.\"\n\n\"Perhaps it does if you are not used to it,\" said Sara, with friendly\nsympathy; \"but you don't know how easy it is when you've done it often.\nI wouldn't try so hard just at first.  It will come to you after a\nwhile.  I'll just tell you what things are.  Look at these.\"\n\nShe held an old summer hat in her hand which she had fished out of the\nbottom of the trunk.  There was a wreath of flowers on it. She pulled\nthe wreath off.\n\n\"These are garlands for the feast,\" she said grandly.  \"They fill all\nthe air with perfume.  There's a mug on the wash-stand, Becky. Oh--and\nbring the soap dish for a centerpiece.\"\n\nBecky handed them to her reverently.\n\n\"What are they now, miss?\" she inquired.  \"You'd think they was made of\ncrockery--but I know they ain't.\"\n\n\"This is a carven flagon,\" said Sara, arranging tendrils of the wreath\nabout the mug.  \"And this\"--bending tenderly over the soap dish and\nheaping it with roses--\"is purest alabaster encrusted with gems.\"\n\nShe touched the things gently, a happy smile hovering about her lips\nwhich made her look as if she were a creature in a dream.\n\n\"My, ain't it lovely!\" whispered Becky.\n\n\"If we just had something for bonbon dishes,\" Sara murmured.\n\"There!\"--darting to the trunk again.  \"I remember I saw something this\nminute.\"\n\nIt was only a bundle of wool wrapped in red and white tissue paper, but\nthe tissue paper was soon twisted into the form of little dishes, and\nwas combined with the remaining flowers to ornament the candlestick\nwhich was to light the feast.  Only the Magic could have made it more\nthan an old table covered with a red shawl and set with rubbish from a\nlong-unopened trunk.  But Sara drew back and gazed at it, seeing\nwonders; and Becky, after staring in delight, spoke with bated breath.\n\n\"This 'ere,\" she suggested, with a glance round the attic--\"is it the\nBastille now--or has it turned into somethin' different?\"\n\n\"Oh, yes, yes!\" said Sara.  \"Quite different.  It is a banquet hall!\"\n\n\"My eye, miss!\" ejaculated Becky.  \"A blanket 'all!\" and she turned to\nview the splendors about her with awed bewilderment.\n\n\"A banquet hall,\" said Sara.  \"A vast chamber where feasts are given.\nIt has a vaulted roof, and a minstrels' gallery, and a huge chimney\nfilled with blazing oaken logs, and it is brilliant with waxen tapers\ntwinkling on every side.\"\n\n\"My eye, Miss Sara!\" gasped Becky again.\n\nThen the door opened, and Ermengarde came in, rather staggering under\nthe weight of her hamper.  She started back with an exclamation of joy.\nTo enter from the chill darkness outside, and find one's self\nconfronted by a totally unanticipated festal board, draped with red,\nadorned with white napery, and wreathed with flowers, was to feel that\nthe preparations were brilliant indeed.\n\n\"Oh, Sara!\" she cried out.  \"You are the cleverest girl I ever saw!\"\n\n\"Isn't it nice?\" said Sara.  \"They are things out of my old trunk. I\nasked my Magic, and it told me to go and look.\"\n\n\"But oh, miss,\" cried Becky, \"wait till she's told you what they are!\nThey ain't just--oh, miss, please tell her,\" appealing to Sara.\n\nSo Sara told her, and because her Magic helped her she made her ALMOST\nsee it all:  the golden platters--the vaulted spaces--the blazing\nlogs--the twinkling waxen tapers.  As the things were taken out of the\nhamper--the frosted cakes--the fruits--the bonbons and the wine--the\nfeast became a splendid thing.\n\n\"It's like a real party!\" cried Ermengarde.\n\n\"It's like a queen's table,\" sighed Becky.\n\nThen Ermengarde had a sudden brilliant thought.\n\n\"I'll tell you what, Sara,\" she said.  \"Pretend you are a princess now\nand this is a royal feast.\"\n\n\"But it's your feast,\" said Sara; \"you must be the princess, and we\nwill be your maids of honor.\"\n\n\"Oh, I can't,\" said Ermengarde.  \"I'm too fat, and I don't know how.\nYOU be her.\"\n\n\"Well, if you want me to,\" said Sara.\n\nBut suddenly she thought of something else and ran to the rusty grate.\n\n\"There is a lot of paper and rubbish stuffed in here!\" she exclaimed.\n\"If we light it, there will be a bright blaze for a few minutes, and we\nshall feel as if it was a real fire.\"  She struck a match and lighted\nit up with a great specious glow which illuminated the room.\n\n\"By the time it stops blazing,\" Sara said, \"we shall forget about its\nnot being real.\"\n\nShe stood in the dancing glow and smiled.\n\n\"Doesn't it LOOK real?\" she said.  \"Now we will begin the party.\"\n\nShe led the way to the table.  She waved her hand graciously to\nErmengarde and Becky.  She was in the midst of her dream.\n\n\"Advance, fair damsels,\" she said in her happy dream-voice, \"and be\nseated at the banquet table.  My noble father, the king, who is absent\non a long journey, has commanded me to feast you.\" She turned her head\nslightly toward the corner of the room. \"What, ho, there, minstrels!\nStrike up with your viols and bassoons.  Princesses,\" she explained\nrapidly to Ermengarde and Becky, \"always had minstrels to play at their\nfeasts.  Pretend there is a minstrel gallery up there in the corner.\nNow we will begin.\"\n\nThey had barely had time to take their pieces of cake into their\nhands--not one of them had time to do more, when--they all three sprang\nto their feet and turned pale faces toward the\ndoor--listening--listening.\n\nSomeone was coming up the stairs.  There was no mistake about it. Each\nof them recognized the angry, mounting tread and knew that the end of\nall things had come.\n\n\"It's--the missus!\" choked Becky, and dropped her piece of cake upon\nthe floor.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sara, her eyes growing shocked and large in her small white\nface.  \"Miss Minchin has found us out.\"\n\nMiss Minchin struck the door open with a blow of her hand. She was pale\nherself, but it was with rage.  She looked from the frightened faces to\nthe banquet table, and from the banquet table to the last flicker of\nthe burnt paper in the grate.\n\n\"I have been suspecting something of this sort,\" she exclaimed; \"but I\ndid not dream of such audacity.  Lavinia was telling the truth.\"\n\nSo they knew that it was Lavinia who had somehow guessed their secret\nand had betrayed them.  Miss Minchin strode over to Becky and boxed her\nears for a second time.\n\n\"You impudent creature!\" she said.  \"You leave the house in the\nmorning!\"\n\nSara stood quite still, her eyes growing larger, her face paler.\nErmengarde burst into tears.\n\n\"Oh, don't send her away,\" she sobbed.  \"My aunt sent me the hamper.\nWe're--only--having a party.\"\n\n\"So I see,\" said Miss Minchin, witheringly.  \"With the Princess Sara at\nthe head of the table.\"  She turned fiercely on Sara.  \"It is your\ndoing, I know,\" she cried.  \"Ermengarde would never have thought of\nsuch a thing.  You decorated the table, I suppose--with this rubbish.\"\nShe stamped her foot at Becky.  \"Go to your attic!\" she commanded, and\nBecky stole away, her face hidden in her apron, her shoulders shaking.\n\nThen it was Sara's turn again.\n\n\"I will attend to you tomorrow.  You shall have neither breakfast,\ndinner, nor supper!\"\n\n\"I have not had either dinner or supper today, Miss Minchin,\" said\nSara, rather faintly.\n\n\"Then all the better.  You will have something to remember.  Don't\nstand there.  Put those things into the hamper again.\"\n\nShe began to sweep them off the table into the hamper herself, and\ncaught sight of Ermengarde's new books.\n\n\"And you\"--to Ermengarde--\"have brought your beautiful new books into\nthis dirty attic.  Take them up and go back to bed.  You will stay\nthere all day tomorrow, and I shall write to your papa.  What would HE\nsay if he knew where you are tonight?\"\n\nSomething she saw in Sara's grave, fixed gaze at this moment made her\nturn on her fiercely.\n\n\"What are you thinking of?\" she demanded.  \"Why do you look at me like\nthat?\"\n\n\"I was wondering,\" answered Sara, as she had answered that notable day\nin the schoolroom.\n\n\"What were you wondering?\"\n\nIt was very like the scene in the schoolroom.  There was no pertness in\nSara's manner.  It was only sad and quiet.\n\n\"I was wondering,\" she said in a low voice, \"what MY papa would say if\nhe knew where I am tonight.\"\n\nMiss Minchin was infuriated just as she had been before and her anger\nexpressed itself, as before, in an intemperate fashion.  She flew at\nher and shook her.\n\n\"You insolent, unmanageable child!\" she cried.  \"How dare you!  How\ndare you!\"\n\nShe picked up the books, swept the rest of the feast back into the\nhamper in a jumbled heap, thrust it into Ermengarde's arms, and pushed\nher before her toward the door.\n\n\"I will leave you to wonder,\" she said.  \"Go to bed this instant.\" And\nshe shut the door behind herself and poor stumbling Ermengarde, and\nleft Sara standing quite alone.\n\nThe dream was quite at an end.  The last spark had died out of the\npaper in the grate and left only black tinder; the table was left bare,\nthe golden plates and richly embroidered napkins, and the garlands were\ntransformed again into old handkerchiefs, scraps of red and white\npaper, and discarded artificial flowers all scattered on the floor; the\nminstrels in the minstrel gallery had stolen away, and the viols and\nbassoons were still. Emily was sitting with her back against the wall,\nstaring very hard.  Sara saw her, and went and picked her up with\ntrembling hands.\n\n\"There isn't any banquet left, Emily,\" she said.  \"And there isn't any\nprincess.  There is nothing left but the prisoners in the Bastille.\"\nAnd she sat down and hid her face.\n\nWhat would have happened if she had not hidden it just then, and if she\nhad chanced to look up at the skylight at the wrong moment, I do not\nknow--perhaps the end of this chapter might have been quite\ndifferent--because if she had glanced at the skylight she would\ncertainly have been startled by what she would have seen. She would\nhave seen exactly the same face pressed against the glass and peering\nin at her as it had peered in earlier in the evening when she had been\ntalking to Ermengarde.\n\nBut she did not look up.  She sat with her little black head in her\narms for some time.  She always sat like that when she was trying to\nbear something in silence.  Then she got up and went slowly to the bed.\n\n\"I can't pretend anything else--while I am awake,\" she said.  \"There\nwouldn't be any use in trying.  If I go to sleep, perhaps a dream will\ncome and pretend for me.\"\n\nShe suddenly felt so tired--perhaps through want of food--that she sat\ndown on the edge of the bed quite weakly.\n\n\"Suppose there was a bright fire in the grate, with lots of little\ndancing flames,\" she murmured.  \"Suppose there was a comfortable chair\nbefore it--and suppose there was a small table near, with a little\nhot--hot supper on it.  And suppose\"--as she drew the thin coverings\nover her--\"suppose this was a beautiful soft bed, with fleecy blankets\nand large downy pillows.  Suppose--suppose--\" And her very weariness\nwas good to her, for her eyes closed and she fell fast asleep.\n\n\nShe did not know how long she slept.  But she had been tired enough to\nsleep deeply and profoundly--too deeply and soundly to be disturbed by\nanything, even by the squeaks and scamperings of Melchisedec's entire\nfamily, if all his sons and daughters had chosen to come out of their\nhole to fight and tumble and play.\n\nWhen she awakened it was rather suddenly, and she did not know that any\nparticular thing had called her out of her sleep. The truth was,\nhowever, that it was a sound which had called her back--a real\nsound--the click of the skylight as it fell in closing after a lithe\nwhite figure which slipped through it and crouched down close by upon\nthe slates of the roof--just near enough to see what happened in the\nattic, but not near enough to be seen.\n\nAt first she did not open her eyes.  She felt too sleepy and--curiously\nenough--too warm and comfortable.  She was so warm and comfortable,\nindeed, that she did not believe she was really awake. She never was as\nwarm and cozy as this except in some lovely vision.\n\n\"What a nice dream!\" she murmured.  \"I feel quite warm.\nI--don't--want--to--wake--up.\"\n\nOf course it was a dream.  She felt as if warm, delightful bedclothes\nwere heaped upon her.  She could actually FEEL blankets, and when she\nput out her hand it touched something exactly like a satin-covered\neider-down quilt.  She must not awaken from this delight--she must be\nquite still and make it last.\n\nBut she could not--even though she kept her eyes closed tightly, she\ncould not.  Something was forcing her to awaken--something in the room.\nIt was a sense of light, and a sound--the sound of a crackling, roaring\nlittle fire.\n\n\"Oh, I am awakening,\" she said mournfully.  \"I can't help it--I can't.\"\n\nHer eyes opened in spite of herself.  And then she actually smiled--for\nwhat she saw she had never seen in the attic before, and knew she never\nshould see.\n\n\"Oh, I HAVEN'T awakened,\" she whispered, daring to rise on her elbow\nand look all about her.  \"I am dreaming yet.\"  She knew it MUST be a\ndream, for if she were awake such things could not--could not be.\n\nDo you wonder that she felt sure she had not come back to earth?  This\nis what she saw.  In the grate there was a glowing, blazing fire; on\nthe hob was a little brass kettle hissing and boiling; spread upon the\nfloor was a thick, warm crimson rug; before the fire a folding-chair,\nunfolded, and with cushions on it; by the chair a small folding-table,\nunfolded, covered with a white cloth, and upon it spread small covered\ndishes, a cup, a saucer, a teapot; on the bed were new warm coverings\nand a satin-covered down quilt; at the foot a curious wadded silk robe,\na pair of quilted slippers, and some books.  The room of her dream\nseemed changed into fairyland--and it was flooded with warm light, for\na bright lamp stood on the table covered with a rosy shade.\n\nShe sat up, resting on her elbow, and her breathing came short and fast.\n\n\"It does not--melt away,\" she panted.  \"Oh, I never had such a dream\nbefore.\"  She scarcely dared to stir; but at last she pushed the\nbedclothes aside, and put her feet on the floor with a rapturous smile.\n\n\"I am dreaming--I am getting out of bed,\" she heard her own voice say;\nand then, as she stood up in the midst of it all, turning slowly from\nside to side--\"I am dreaming it stays--real! I'm dreaming it FEELS\nreal.  It's bewitched--or I'm bewitched. I only THINK I see it all.\"\nHer words began to hurry themselves.  \"If I can only keep on thinking\nit,\" she cried, \"I don't care! I don't care!\"\n\nShe stood panting a moment longer, and then cried out again.\n\n\"Oh, it isn't true!\" she said.  \"It CAN'T be true!  But oh, how true it\nseems!\"\n\nThe blazing fire drew her to it, and she knelt down and held out her\nhands close to it--so close that the heat made her start back.\n\n\"A fire I only dreamed wouldn't be HOT,\" she cried.\n\nShe sprang up, touched the table, the dishes, the rug; she went to the\nbed and touched the blankets.  She took up the soft wadded\ndressing-gown, and suddenly clutched it to her breast and held it to\nher cheek.\n\n\"It's warm.  It's soft!\" she almost sobbed.  \"It's real. It must be!\"\n\nShe threw it over her shoulders, and put her feet into the slippers.\n\n\"They are real, too.  It's all real!\" she cried.  \"I am NOT--I am NOT\ndreaming!\"\n\nShe almost staggered to the books and opened the one which lay upon the\ntop.  Something was written on the flyleaf--just a few words, and they\nwere these:\n\n\"To the little girl in the attic.  From a friend.\"\n\nWhen she saw that--wasn't it a strange thing for her to do--she put her\nface down upon the page and burst into tears.\n\n\"I don't know who it is,\" she said; \"but somebody cares for me a\nlittle.  I have a friend.\"\n\nShe took her candle and stole out of her own room and into Becky's, and\nstood by her bedside.\n\n\"Becky, Becky!\" she whispered as loudly as she dared.  \"Wake up!\"\n\nWhen Becky wakened, and she sat upright staring aghast, her face still\nsmudged with traces of tears, beside her stood a little figure in a\nluxurious wadded robe of crimson silk.  The face she saw was a shining,\nwonderful thing.  The Princess Sara--as she remembered her--stood at\nher very bedside, holding a candle in her hand.\n\n\"Come,\" she said.  \"Oh, Becky, come!\"\n\nBecky was too frightened to speak.  She simply got up and followed her,\nwith her mouth and eyes open, and without a word.\n\nAnd when they crossed the threshold, Sara shut the door gently and drew\nher into the warm, glowing midst of things which made her brain reel\nand her hungry senses faint.  \"It's true!  It's true!\" she cried.\n\"I've touched them all.  They are as real as we are. The Magic has come\nand done it, Becky, while we were asleep--the Magic that won't let\nthose worst things EVER quite happen.\"\n\n\n\n16\n\nThe Visitor\n\n\nImagine, if you can, what the rest of the evening was like.  How they\ncrouched by the fire which blazed and leaped and made so much of itself\nin the little grate.  How they removed the covers of the dishes, and\nfound rich, hot, savory soup, which was a meal in itself, and\nsandwiches and toast and muffins enough for both of them. The mug from\nthe washstand was used as Becky's tea cup, and the tea was so delicious\nthat it was not necessary to pretend that it was anything but tea.\nThey were warm and full-fed and happy, and it was just like Sara that,\nhaving found her strange good fortune real, she should give herself up\nto the enjoyment of it to the utmost. She had lived such a life of\nimaginings that she was quite equal to accepting any wonderful thing\nthat happened, and almost to cease, in a short time, to find it\nbewildering.\n\n\"I don't know anyone in the world who could have done it,\" she said;\n\"but there has been someone.  And here we are sitting by their\nfire--and--and--it's true!  And whoever it is--wherever they are--I\nhave a friend, Becky--someone is my friend.\"\n\nIt cannot be denied that as they sat before the blazing fire, and ate\nthe nourishing, comfortable food, they felt a kind of rapturous awe,\nand looked into each other's eyes with something like doubt.\n\n\"Do you think,\" Becky faltered once, in a whisper, \"do you think it\ncould melt away, miss?  Hadn't we better be quick?\"  And she hastily\ncrammed her sandwich into her mouth.  If it was only a dream, kitchen\nmanners would be overlooked.\n\n\"No, it won't melt away,\" said Sara.  \"I am EATING this muffin, and I\ncan taste it.  You never really eat things in dreams. You only think\nyou are going to eat them.  Besides, I keep giving myself pinches; and\nI touched a hot piece of coal just now, on purpose.\"\n\nThe sleepy comfort which at length almost overpowered them was a\nheavenly thing.  It was the drowsiness of happy, well-fed childhood,\nand they sat in the fire glow and luxuriated in it until Sara found\nherself turning to look at her transformed bed.\n\nThere were even blankets enough to share with Becky.  The narrow couch\nin the next attic was more comfortable that night than its occupant had\never dreamed that it could be.\n\nAs she went out of the room, Becky turned upon the threshold and looked\nabout her with devouring eyes.\n\n\"If it ain't here in the mornin', miss,\" she said, \"it's been here\ntonight, anyways, an' I shan't never forget it.\"  She looked at each\nparticular thing, as if to commit it to memory.  \"The fire was THERE\",\npointing with her finger, \"an' the table was before it; an' the lamp\nwas there, an' the light looked rosy red; an' there was a satin cover\non your bed, an' a warm rug on the floor, an' everythin' looked\nbeautiful; an'\"--she paused a second, and laid her hand on her stomach\ntenderly--\"there WAS soup an' sandwiches an' muffins--there WAS.\" And,\nwith this conviction a reality at least, she went away.\n\nThrough the mysterious agency which works in schools and among\nservants, it was quite well known in the morning that Sara Crewe was in\nhorrible disgrace, that Ermengarde was under punishment, and that Becky\nwould have been packed out of the house before breakfast, but that a\nscullery maid could not be dispensed with at once. The servants knew\nthat she was allowed to stay because Miss Minchin could not easily find\nanother creature helpless and humble enough to work like a bounden\nslave for so few shillings a week. The elder girls in the schoolroom\nknew that if Miss Minchin did not send Sara away it was for practical\nreasons of her own.\n\n\"She's growing so fast and learning such a lot, somehow,\" said Jessie\nto Lavinia, \"that she will be given classes soon, and Miss Minchin\nknows she will have to work for nothing.  It was rather nasty of you,\nLavvy, to tell about her having fun in the garret.  How did you find it\nout?\"\n\n\"I got it out of Lottie.  She's such a baby she didn't know she was\ntelling me.  There was nothing nasty at all in speaking to Miss\nMinchin. I felt it my duty\"--priggishly.  \"She was being deceitful.\nAnd it's ridiculous that she should look so grand, and be made so much\nof, in her rags and tatters!\"\n\n\"What were they doing when Miss Minchin caught them?\"\n\n\"Pretending some silly thing.  Ermengarde had taken up her hamper to\nshare with Sara and Becky.  She never invites us to share things. Not\nthat I care, but it's rather vulgar of her to share with servant girls\nin attics.  I wonder Miss Minchin didn't turn Sara out--even if she\ndoes want her for a teacher.\"\n\n\"If she was turned out where would she go?\" inquired Jessie, a trifle\nanxiously.\n\n\"How do I know?\" snapped Lavinia.  \"She'll look rather queer when she\ncomes into the schoolroom this morning, I should think--after what's\nhappened.  She had no dinner yesterday, and she's not to have any\ntoday.\"\n\nJessie was not as ill-natured as she was silly.  She picked up her book\nwith a little jerk.\n\n\"Well, I think it's horrid,\" she said.  \"They've no right to starve her\nto death.\"\n\nWhen Sara went into the kitchen that morning the cook looked askance at\nher, and so did the housemaids; but she passed them hurriedly. She had,\nin fact, overslept herself a little, and as Becky had done the same,\nneither had had time to see the other, and each had come downstairs in\nhaste.\n\nSara went into the scullery.  Becky was violently scrubbing a kettle,\nand was actually gurgling a little song in her throat.  She looked up\nwith a wildly elated face.\n\n\"It was there when I wakened, miss--the blanket,\" she whispered\nexcitedly. \"It was as real as it was last night.\"\n\n\"So was mine,\" said Sara.  \"It is all there now--all of it.  While I\nwas dressing I ate some of the cold things we left.\"\n\n\"Oh, laws!  Oh, laws!\"  Becky uttered the exclamation in a sort of\nrapturous groan, and ducked her head over her kettle just in time, as\nthe cook came in from the kitchen.\n\nMiss Minchin had expected to see in Sara, when she appeared in the\nschoolroom, very much what Lavinia had expected to see. Sara had always\nbeen an annoying puzzle to her, because severity never made her cry or\nlook frightened.  When she was scolded she stood still and listened\npolitely with a grave face; when she was punished she performed her\nextra tasks or went without her meals, making no complaint or outward\nsign of rebellion.  The very fact that she never made an impudent\nanswer seemed to Miss Minchin a kind of impudence in itself.  But after\nyesterday's deprivation of meals, the violent scene of last night, the\nprospect of hunger today, she must surely have broken down.  It would\nbe strange indeed if she did not come downstairs with pale cheeks and\nred eyes and an unhappy, humbled face.\n\nMiss Minchin saw her for the first time when she entered the schoolroom\nto hear the little French class recite its lessons and superintend its\nexercises.  And she came in with a springing step, color in her cheeks,\nand a smile hovering about the corners of her mouth. It was the most\nastonishing thing Miss Minchin had ever known. It gave her quite a\nshock.  What was the child made of?  What could such a thing mean?  She\ncalled her at once to her desk.\n\n\"You do not look as if you realize that you are in disgrace,\" she said.\n\"Are you absolutely hardened?\"\n\nThe truth is that when one is still a child--or even if one is grown\nup--and has been well fed, and has slept long and softly and warm; when\none has gone to sleep in the midst of a fairy story, and has wakened to\nfind it real, one cannot be unhappy or even look as if one were; and\none could not, if one tried, keep a glow of joy out of one's eyes. Miss\nMinchin was almost struck dumb by the look of Sara's eyes when she made\nher perfectly respectful answer.\n\n\"I beg your pardon, Miss Minchin,\" she said; \"I know that I am in\ndisgrace.\"\n\n\"Be good enough not to forget it and look as if you had come into a\nfortune.  It is an impertinence.  And remember you are to have no food\ntoday.\"\n\n\"Yes, Miss Minchin,\" Sara answered; but as she turned away her heart\nleaped with the memory of what yesterday had been. \"If the Magic had\nnot saved me just in time,\" she thought, \"how horrible it would have\nbeen!\"\n\n\"She can't be very hungry,\" whispered Lavinia.  \"Just look at her.\nPerhaps she is pretending she has had a good breakfast\"--with a\nspiteful laugh.\n\n\"She's different from other people,\" said Jessie, watching Sara with\nher class.  \"Sometimes I'm a bit frightened of her.\"\n\n\"Ridiculous thing!\" ejaculated Lavinia.\n\nAll through the day the light was in Sara's face, and the color in her\ncheek.  The servants cast puzzled glances at her, and whispered to each\nother, and Miss Amelia's small blue eyes wore an expression of\nbewilderment.  What such an audacious look of well-being, under august\ndispleasure could mean she could not understand. It was, however, just\nlike Sara's singular obstinate way. She was probably determined to\nbrave the matter out.\n\nOne thing Sara had resolved upon, as she thought things over.  The\nwonders which had happened must be kept a secret, if such a thing were\npossible.  If Miss Minchin should choose to mount to the attic again,\nof course all would be discovered.  But it did not seem likely that she\nwould do so for some time at least, unless she was led by suspicion.\nErmengarde and Lottie would be watched with such strictness that they\nwould not dare to steal out of their beds again. Ermengarde could be\ntold the story and trusted to keep it secret. If Lottie made any\ndiscoveries, she could be bound to secrecy also. Perhaps the Magic\nitself would help to hide its own marvels.\n\n\"But whatever happens,\" Sara kept saying to herself all day--\"WHATEVER\nhappens, somewhere in the world there is a heavenly kind person who is\nmy friend--my friend.  If I never know who it is--if I never can even\nthank him--I shall never feel quite so lonely.  Oh, the Magic was GOOD\nto me!\"\n\nIf it was possible for weather to be worse than it had been the day\nbefore, it was worse this day--wetter, muddier, colder.  There were\nmore errands to be done, the cook was more irritable, and, knowing that\nSara was in disgrace, she was more savage. But what does anything\nmatter when one's Magic has just proved itself one's friend.  Sara's\nsupper of the night before had given her strength, she knew that she\nshould sleep well and warmly, and, even though she had naturally begun\nto be hungry again before evening, she felt that she could bear it\nuntil breakfast-time on the following day, when her meals would surely\nbe given to her again.  It was quite late when she was at last allowed\nto go upstairs.  She had been told to go into the schoolroom and study\nuntil ten o'clock, and she had become interested in her work, and\nremained over her books later.\n\nWhen she reached the top flight of stairs and stood before the attic\ndoor, it must be confessed that her heart beat rather fast.\n\n\"Of course it MIGHT all have been taken away,\" she whispered, trying to\nbe brave.  \"It might only have been lent to me for just that one awful\nnight.  But it WAS lent to me--I had it. It was real.\"\n\nShe pushed the door open and went in.  Once inside, she gasped\nslightly, shut the door, and stood with her back against it looking\nfrom side to side.\n\nThe Magic had been there again.  It actually had, and it had done even\nmore than before.  The fire was blazing, in lovely leaping flames, more\nmerrily than ever.  A number of new things had been brought into the\nattic which so altered the look of it that if she had not been past\ndoubting she would have rubbed her eyes.  Upon the low table another\nsupper stood--this time with cups and plates for Becky as well as\nherself; a piece of bright, heavy, strange embroidery covered the\nbattered mantel, and on it some ornaments had been placed. All the\nbare, ugly things which could be covered with draperies had been\nconcealed and made to look quite pretty.  Some odd materials of rich\ncolors had been fastened against the wall with fine, sharp tacks--so\nsharp that they could be pressed into the wood and plaster without\nhammering.  Some brilliant fans were pinned up, and there were several\nlarge cushions, big and substantial enough to use as seats.  A wooden\nbox was covered with a rug, and some cushions lay on it, so that it\nwore quite the air of a sofa.\n\nSara slowly moved away from the door and simply sat down and looked and\nlooked again.\n\n\"It is exactly like something fairy come true,\" she said. \"There isn't\nthe least difference.  I feel as if I might wish for anything--diamonds\nor bags of gold--and they would appear! THAT wouldn't be any stranger\nthan this.  Is this my garret? Am I the same cold, ragged, damp Sara?\nAnd to think I used to pretend and pretend and wish there were fairies!\nThe one thing I always wanted was to see a fairy story come true.  I am\nLIVING in a fairy story. I feel as if I might be a fairy myself, and\nable to turn things into anything else.\"\n\nShe rose and knocked upon the wall for the prisoner in the next cell,\nand the prisoner came.\n\nWhen she entered she almost dropped in a heap upon the floor.  For a\nfew seconds she quite lost her breath.\n\n\"Oh, laws!\" she gasped.  \"Oh, laws, miss!\"\n\n\"You see,\" said Sara.\n\nOn this night Becky sat on a cushion upon the hearth rug and had a cup\nand saucer of her own.\n\nWhen Sara went to bed she found that she had a new thick mattress and\nbig downy pillows.  Her old mattress and pillow had been removed to\nBecky's bedstead, and, consequently, with these additions Becky had\nbeen supplied with unheard-of comfort.\n\n\"Where does it all come from?\"  Becky broke forth once. \"Laws, who does\nit, miss?\"\n\n\"Don't let us even ASK,\" said Sara.  \"If it were not that I want to\nsay, 'Oh, thank you,' I would rather not know.  It makes it more\nbeautiful.\"\n\nFrom that time life became more wonderful day by day.  The fairy story\ncontinued.  Almost every day something new was done. Some new comfort\nor ornament appeared each time Sara opened the door at night, until in\na short time the attic was a beautiful little room full of all sorts of\nodd and luxurious things.  The ugly walls were gradually entirely\ncovered with pictures and draperies, ingenious pieces of folding\nfurniture appeared, a bookshelf was hung up and filled with books, new\ncomforts and conveniences appeared one by one, until there seemed\nnothing left to be desired. When Sara went downstairs in the morning,\nthe remains of the supper were on the table; and when she returned to\nthe attic in the evening, the magician had removed them and left\nanother nice little meal. Miss Minchin was as harsh and insulting as\never, Miss Amelia as peevish, and the servants were as vulgar and rude.\nSara was sent on errands in all weathers, and scolded and driven hither\nand thither; she was scarcely allowed to speak to Ermengarde and\nLottie; Lavinia sneered at the increasing shabbiness of her clothes;\nand the other girls stared curiously at her when she appeared in the\nschoolroom. But what did it all matter while she was living in this\nwonderful mysterious story?  It was more romantic and delightful than\nanything she had ever invented to comfort her starved young soul and\nsave herself from despair.  Sometimes, when she was scolded, she could\nscarcely keep from smiling.\n\n\"If you only knew!\" she was saying to herself.  \"If you only knew!\"\n\nThe comfort and happiness she enjoyed were making her stronger, and she\nhad them always to look forward to.  If she came home from her errands\nwet and tired and hungry, she knew she would soon be warm and well fed\nafter she had climbed the stairs.  During the hardest day she could\noccupy herself blissfully by thinking of what she should see when she\nopened the attic door, and wondering what new delight had been prepared\nfor her.  In a very short time she began to look less thin.  Color came\ninto her cheeks, and her eyes did not seem so much too big for her face.\n\n\"Sara Crewe looks wonderfully well,\" Miss Minchin remarked\ndisapprovingly to her sister.\n\n\"Yes,\" answered poor, silly Miss Amelia.  \"She is absolutely fattening.\nShe was beginning to look like a little starved crow.\"\n\n\"Starved!\" exclaimed Miss Minchin, angrily.  \"There was no reason why\nshe should look starved.  She always had plenty to eat!\"\n\n\"Of--of course,\" agreed Miss Amelia, humbly, alarmed to find that she\nhad, as usual, said the wrong thing.\n\n\"There is something very disagreeable in seeing that sort of thing in a\nchild of her age,\" said Miss Minchin, with haughty vagueness.\n\n\"What--sort of thing?\"  Miss Amelia ventured.\n\n\"It might almost be called defiance,\" answered Miss Minchin, feeling\nannoyed because she knew the thing she resented was nothing like\ndefiance, and she did not know what other unpleasant term to use. \"The\nspirit and will of any other child would have been entirely humbled and\nbroken by--by the changes she has had to submit to. But, upon my word,\nshe seems as little subdued as if--as if she were a princess.\"\n\n\"Do you remember,\" put in the unwise Miss Amelia, \"what she said to you\nthat day in the schoolroom about what you would do if you found out\nthat she was--\"\n\n\"No, I don't,\" said Miss Minchin.  \"Don't talk nonsense.\" But she\nremembered very clearly indeed.\n\nVery naturally, even Becky was beginning to look plumper and less\nfrightened.  She could not help it.  She had her share in the secret\nfairy story, too.  She had two mattresses, two pillows, plenty of\nbed-covering, and every night a hot supper and a seat on the cushions\nby the fire.  The Bastille had melted away, the prisoners no longer\nexisted.  Two comforted children sat in the midst of delights.\nSometimes Sara read aloud from her books, sometimes she learned her own\nlessons, sometimes she sat and looked into the fire and tried to\nimagine who her friend could be, and wished she could say to him some\nof the things in her heart.\n\nThen it came about that another wonderful thing happened. A man came to\nthe door and left several parcels.  All were addressed in large\nletters, \"To the Little Girl in the right-hand attic.\"\n\nSara herself was sent to open the door and take them in. She laid the\ntwo largest parcels on the hall table, and was looking at the address,\nwhen Miss Minchin came down the stairs and saw her.\n\n\"Take the things to the young lady to whom they belong,\" she said\nseverely.  \"Don't stand there staring at them.\n\n\"They belong to me,\" answered Sara, quietly.\n\n\"To you?\" exclaimed Miss Minchin.  \"What do you mean?\"\n\n\"I don't know where they come from,\" said Sara, \"but they are addressed\nto me.  I sleep in the right-hand attic.  Becky has the other one.\"\n\nMiss Minchin came to her side and looked at the parcels with an excited\nexpression.\n\n\"What is in them?\" she demanded.\n\n\"I don't know,\" replied Sara.\n\n\"Open them,\" she ordered.\n\nSara did as she was told.  When the packages were unfolded Miss\nMinchin's countenance wore suddenly a singular expression.  What she\nsaw was pretty and comfortable clothing--clothing of different kinds:\nshoes, stockings, and gloves, and a warm and beautiful coat. There were\neven a nice hat and an umbrella.  They were all good and expensive\nthings, and on the pocket of the coat was pinned a paper, on which were\nwritten these words:  \"To be worn every day. Will be replaced by others\nwhen necessary.\"\n\nMiss Minchin was quite agitated.  This was an incident which suggested\nstrange things to her sordid mind.  Could it be that she had made a\nmistake, after all, and that the neglected child had some powerful\nthough eccentric friend in the background--perhaps some previously\nunknown relation, who had suddenly traced her whereabouts, and chose to\nprovide for her in this mysterious and fantastic way? Relations were\nsometimes very odd--particularly rich old bachelor uncles, who did not\ncare for having children near them. A man of that sort might prefer to\noverlook his young relation's welfare at a distance.  Such a person,\nhowever, would be sure to be crotchety and hot-tempered enough to be\neasily offended. It would not be very pleasant if there were such a\none, and he should learn all the truth about the thin, shabby clothes,\nthe scant food, and the hard work.  She felt very queer indeed, and\nvery uncertain, and she gave a side glance at Sara.\n\n\"Well,\" she said, in a voice such as she had never used since the\nlittle girl lost her father, \"someone is very kind to you. As the\nthings have been sent, and you are to have new ones when they are worn\nout, you may as well go and put them on and look respectable. After you\nare dressed you may come downstairs and learn your lessons in the\nschoolroom.  You need not go out on any more errands today.\"\n\nAbout half an hour afterward, when the schoolroom door opened and Sara\nwalked in, the entire seminary was struck dumb.\n\n\"My word!\" ejaculated Jessie, jogging Lavinia's elbow.  \"Look at the\nPrincess Sara!\"\n\nEverybody was looking, and when Lavinia looked she turned quite red.\n\nIt was the Princess Sara indeed.  At least, since the days when she had\nbeen a princess, Sara had never looked as she did now.  She did not\nseem the Sara they had seen come down the back stairs a few hours ago.\nShe was dressed in the kind of frock Lavinia had been used to envying\nher the possession of.  It was deep and warm in color, and beautifully\nmade.  Her slender feet looked as they had done when Jessie had admired\nthem, and the hair, whose heavy locks had made her look rather like a\nShetland pony when it fell loose about her small, odd face, was tied\nback with a ribbon.\n\n\"Perhaps someone has left her a fortune,\" Jessie whispered. \"I always\nthought something would happen to her.  She's so queer.\"\n\n\"Perhaps the diamond mines have suddenly appeared again,\" said Lavinia,\nscathingly.  \"Don't please her by staring at her in that way, you silly\nthing.\"\n\n\"Sara,\" broke in Miss Minchin's deep voice, \"come and sit here.\"\n\nAnd while the whole schoolroom stared and pushed with elbows, and\nscarcely made any effort to conceal its excited curiosity, Sara went to\nher old seat of honor, and bent her head over her books.\n\nThat night, when she went to her room, after she and Becky had eaten\ntheir supper she sat and looked at the fire seriously for a long time.\n\n\"Are you making something up in your head, miss?\"  Becky inquired with\nrespectful softness.  When Sara sat in silence and looked into the\ncoals with dreaming eyes it generally meant that she was making a new\nstory.  But this time she was not, and she shook her head.\n\n\"No,\" she answered.  \"I am wondering what I ought to do.\"\n\nBecky stared--still respectfully.  She was filled with something\napproaching reverence for everything Sara did and said.\n\n\"I can't help thinking about my friend,\" Sara explained.  \"If he wants\nto keep himself a secret, it would be rude to try and find out who he\nis.  But I do so want him to know how thankful I am to him--and how\nhappy he has made me.  Anyone who is kind wants to know when people\nhave been made happy.  They care for that more than for being thanked.\nI wish--I do wish--\"\n\nShe stopped short because her eyes at that instant fell upon something\nstanding on a table in a corner.  It was something she had found in the\nroom when she came up to it only two days before. It was a little\nwriting-case fitted with paper and envelopes and pens and ink.\n\n\"Oh,\" she exclaimed, \"why did I not think of that before?\"\n\nShe rose and went to the corner and brought the case back to the fire.\n\n\"I can write to him,\" she said joyfully, \"and leave it on the table.\nThen perhaps the person who takes the things away will take it, too. I\nwon't ask him anything.  He won't mind my thanking him, I feel sure.\"\n\nSo she wrote a note.  This is what she said:\n\n\nI hope you will not think it is impolite that I should write this note\nto you when you wish to keep yourself a secret.  Please believe I do\nnot mean to be impolite or try to find out anything at all; only I want\nto thank you for being so kind to me--so heavenly kind--and making\neverything like a fairy story.  I am so grateful to you, and I am so\nhappy--and so is Becky.  Becky feels just as thankful as I do--it is\nall just as beautiful and wonderful to her as it is to me. We used to\nbe so lonely and cold and hungry, and now--oh, just think what you have\ndone for us!  Please let me say just these words.  It seems as if I\nOUGHT to say them.  THANK you--THANK you--THANK you!\n\nTHE LITTLE GIRL IN THE ATTIC.\n\n\nThe next morning she left this on the little table, and in the evening\nit had been taken away with the other things; so she knew the Magician\nhad received it, and she was happier for the thought. She was reading\none of her new books to Becky just before they went to their respective\nbeds, when her attention was attracted by a sound at the skylight.\nWhen she looked up from her page she saw that Becky had heard the sound\nalso, as she had turned her head to look and was listening rather\nnervously.\n\n\"Something's there, miss,\" she whispered.\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sara, slowly.  \"It sounds--rather like a cat--trying to get\nin.\"\n\nShe left her chair and went to the skylight.  It was a queer little\nsound she heard--like a soft scratching.  She suddenly remembered\nsomething and laughed.  She remembered a quaint little intruder who had\nmade his way into the attic once before.  She had seen him that very\nafternoon, sitting disconsolately on a table before a window in the\nIndian gentleman's house.\n\n\"Suppose,\" she whispered in pleased excitement--\"just suppose it was\nthe monkey who got away again.  Oh, I wish it was!\"\n\nShe climbed on a chair, very cautiously raised the skylight, and peeped\nout.  It had been snowing all day, and on the snow, quite near her,\ncrouched a tiny, shivering figure, whose small black face wrinkled\nitself piteously at sight of her.\n\n\"It is the monkey,\" she cried out.  \"He has crept out of the Lascar's\nattic, and he saw the light.\"\n\nBecky ran to her side.\n\n\"Are you going to let him in, miss?\" she said.\n\n\"Yes,\" Sara answered joyfully.  \"It's too cold for monkeys to be out.\nThey're delicate.  I'll coax him in.\"\n\nShe put a hand out delicately, speaking in a coaxing voice--as she\nspoke to the sparrows and to Melchisedec--as if she were some friendly\nlittle animal herself.\n\n\"Come along, monkey darling,\" she said.  \"I won't hurt you.\"\n\nHe knew she would not hurt him.  He knew it before she laid her soft,\ncaressing little paw on him and drew him towards her. He had felt human\nlove in the slim brown hands of Ram Dass, and he felt it in hers.  He\nlet her lift him through the skylight, and when he found himself in her\narms he cuddled up to her breast and looked up into her face.\n\n\"Nice monkey!  Nice monkey!\" she crooned, kissing his funny head. \"Oh,\nI do love little animal things.\"\n\nHe was evidently glad to get to the fire, and when she sat down and\nheld him on her knee he looked from her to Becky with mingled interest\nand appreciation.\n\n\"He IS plain-looking, miss, ain't he?\" said Becky.\n\n\"He looks like a very ugly baby,\" laughed Sara.  \"I beg your pardon,\nmonkey; but I'm glad you are not a baby.  Your mother COULDN'T be proud\nof you, and no one would dare to say you looked like any of your\nrelations.  Oh, I do like you!\"\n\nShe leaned back in her chair and reflected.\n\n\"Perhaps he's sorry he's so ugly,\" she said, \"and it's always on his\nmind.  I wonder if he HAS a mind.  Monkey, my love, have you a mind?\"\n\nBut the monkey only put up a tiny paw and scratched his head.\n\n\"What shall you do with him?\"  Becky asked.\n\n\"I shall let him sleep with me tonight, and then take him back to the\nIndian gentleman tomorrow.  I am sorry to take you back, monkey; but\nyou must go.  You ought to be fondest of your own family; and I'm not a\nREAL relation.\"\n\nAnd when she went to bed she made him a nest at her feet, and he curled\nup and slept there as if he were a baby and much pleased with his\nquarters.\n\n\n\n17\n\n\"It Is the Child!\"\n\n\nThe next afternoon three members of the Large Family sat in the Indian\ngentleman's library, doing their best to cheer him up.  They had been\nallowed to come in to perform this office because he had specially\ninvited them.  He had been living in a state of suspense for some time,\nand today he was waiting for a certain event very anxiously.  This\nevent was the return of Mr. Carmichael from Moscow.  His stay there had\nbeen prolonged from week to week. On his first arrival there, he had\nnot been able satisfactorily to trace the family he had gone in search\nof.  When he felt at last sure that he had found them and had gone to\ntheir house, he had been told that they were absent on a journey.  His\nefforts to reach them had been unavailing, so he had decided to remain\nin Moscow until their return.  Mr. Carrisford sat in his reclining\nchair, and Janet sat on the floor beside him.  He was very fond of\nJanet. Nora had found a footstool, and Donald was astride the tiger's\nhead which ornamented the rug made of the animal's skin.  It must be\nowned that he was riding it rather violently.\n\n\"Don't chirrup so loud, Donald,\" Janet said.  \"When you come to cheer\nan ill person up you don't cheer him up at the top of your voice.\nPerhaps cheering up is too loud, Mr. Carrisford?\" turning to the Indian\ngentleman.\n\nBut he only patted her shoulder.\n\n\"No, it isn't,\" he answered.  \"And it keeps me from thinking too much.\"\n\n\"I'm going to be quiet,\" Donald shouted.  \"We'll all be as quiet as\nmice.\"\n\n\"Mice don't make a noise like that,\" said Janet.\n\nDonald made a bridle of his handkerchief and bounced up and down on the\ntiger's head.\n\n\"A whole lot of mice might,\" he said cheerfully.  \"A thousand mice\nmight.\"\n\n\"I don't believe fifty thousand mice would,\" said Janet, severely; \"and\nwe have to be as quiet as one mouse.\"\n\nMr. Carrisford laughed and patted her shoulder again.\n\n\"Papa won't be very long now,\" she said.  \"May we talk about the lost\nlittle girl?\"\n\n\"I don't think I could talk much about anything else just now,\" the\nIndian gentleman answered, knitting his forehead with a tired look.\n\n\"We like her so much,\" said Nora.  \"We call her the little un-fairy\nprincess.\"\n\n\"Why?\" the Indian gentleman inquired, because the fancies of the Large\nFamily always made him forget things a little.\n\nIt was Janet who answered.\n\n\"It is because, though she is not exactly a fairy, she will be so rich\nwhen she is found that she will be like a princess in a fairy tale. We\ncalled her the fairy princess at first, but it didn't quite suit.\"\n\n\"Is it true,\" said Nora, \"that her papa gave all his money to a friend\nto put in a mine that had diamonds in it, and then the friend thought\nhe had lost it all and ran away because he felt as if he was a robber?\"\n\n\"But he wasn't really, you know,\" put in Janet, hastily.\n\nThe Indian gentleman took hold of her hand quickly.\n\n\"No, he wasn't really,\" he said.\n\n\"I am sorry for the friend,\" Janet said; \"I can't help it. He didn't\nmean to do it, and it would break his heart.  I am sure it would break\nhis heart.\"\n\n\"You are an understanding little woman, Janet,\" the Indian gentleman\nsaid, and he held her hand close.\n\n\"Did you tell Mr. Carrisford,\" Donald shouted again, \"about the\nlittle-girl-who-isn't-a-beggar?  Did you tell him she has new nice\nclothes?  P'r'aps she's been found by somebody when she was lost.\"\n\n\"There's a cab!\" exclaimed Janet.  \"It's stopping before the door. It\nis papa!\"\n\nThey all ran to the windows to look out.\n\n\"Yes, it's papa,\" Donald proclaimed.  \"But there is no little girl.\"\n\nAll three of them incontinently fled from the room and tumbled into the\nhall.  It was in this way they always welcomed their father. They were\nto be heard jumping up and down, clapping their hands, and being caught\nup and kissed.\n\nMr. Carrisford made an effort to rise and sank back again.\n\n\"It is no use,\" he said.  \"What a wreck I am!\"\n\nMr. Carmichael's voice approached the door.\n\n\"No, children,\" he was saying; \"you may come in after I have talked to\nMr. Carrisford.  Go and play with Ram Dass.\"\n\nThen the door opened and he came in.  He looked rosier than ever, and\nbrought an atmosphere of freshness and health with him; but his eyes\nwere disappointed and anxious as they met the invalid's look of eager\nquestion even as they grasped each other's hands.\n\n\"What news?\"  Mr. Carrisford asked.  \"The child the Russian people\nadopted?\"\n\n\"She is not the child we are looking for,\" was Mr. Carmichael's answer.\n\"She is much younger than Captain Crewe's little girl.  Her name is\nEmily Carew.  I have seen and talked to her.  The Russians were able to\ngive me every detail.\"\n\nHow wearied and miserable the Indian gentleman looked!  His hand\ndropped from Mr. Carmichael's.\n\n\"Then the search has to be begun over again,\" he said.  \"That is all.\nPlease sit down.\"\n\nMr. Carmichael took a seat.  Somehow, he had gradually grown fond of\nthis unhappy man.  He was himself so well and happy, and so surrounded\nby cheerfulness and love, that desolation and broken health seemed\npitifully unbearable things.  If there had been the sound of just one\ngay little high-pitched voice in the house, it would have been so much\nless forlorn.  And that a man should be compelled to carry about in his\nbreast the thought that he had seemed to wrong and desert a child was\nnot a thing one could face.\n\n\"Come, come,\" he said in his cheery voice; \"we'll find her yet.\"\n\n\"We must begin at once.  No time must be lost,\" Mr. Carrisford fretted.\n\"Have you any new suggestion to make--any whatsoever?\"\n\nMr. Carmichael felt rather restless, and he rose and began to pace the\nroom with a thoughtful, though uncertain face.\n\n\"Well, perhaps,\" he said.  \"I don't know what it may be worth.  The\nfact is, an idea occurred to me as I was thinking the thing over in the\ntrain on the journey from Dover.\"\n\n\"What was it?  If she is alive, she is somewhere.\"\n\n\"Yes; she is SOMEWHERE. We have searched the schools in Paris.  Let us\ngive up Paris and begin in London.  That was my idea--to search London.\"\n\n\"There are schools enough in London,\" said Mr. Carrisford. Then he\nslightly started, roused by a recollection.  \"By the way, there is one\nnext door.\"\n\n\"Then we will begin there.  We cannot begin nearer than next door.\"\n\n\"No,\" said Carrisford.  \"There is a child there who interests me; but\nshe is not a pupil.  And she is a little dark, forlorn creature, as\nunlike poor Crewe as a child could be.\"\n\nPerhaps the Magic was at work again at that very moment--the beautiful\nMagic.  It really seemed as if it might be so. What was it that brought\nRam Dass into the room--even as his master spoke--salaaming\nrespectfully, but with a scarcely concealed touch of excitement in his\ndark, flashing eyes?\n\n\"Sahib,\" he said, \"the child herself has come--the child the sahib felt\npity for.  She brings back the monkey who had again run away to her\nattic under the roof.  I have asked that she remain. It was my thought\nthat it would please the sahib to see and speak with her.\"\n\n\"Who is she?\" inquired Mr. Carmichael.\n\n\"God knows,\" Mr. Carrrisford answered.  \"She is the child I spoke of. A\nlittle drudge at the school.\"  He waved his hand to Ram Dass, and\naddressed him.  \"Yes, I should like to see her.  Go and bring her in.\"\nThen he turned to Mr. Carmichael.  \"While you have been away,\" he\nexplained, \"I have been desperate.  The days were so dark and long. Ram\nDass told me of this child's miseries, and together we invented a\nromantic plan to help her.  I suppose it was a childish thing to do;\nbut it gave me something to plan and think of.  Without the help of an\nagile, soft-footed Oriental like Ram Dass, however, it could not have\nbeen done.\"\n\nThen Sara came into the room.  She carried the monkey in her arms, and\nhe evidently did not intend to part from her, if it could be helped.\nHe was clinging to her and chattering, and the interesting excitement\nof finding herself in the Indian gentleman's room had brought a flush\nto Sara's cheeks.\n\n\"Your monkey ran away again,\" she said, in her pretty voice. \"He came\nto my garret window last night, and I took him in because it was so\ncold.  I would have brought him back if it had not been so late. I knew\nyou were ill and might not like to be disturbed.\"\n\nThe Indian gentleman's hollow eyes dwelt on her with curious interest.\n\n\"That was very thoughtful of you,\" he said.\n\nSara looked toward Ram Dass, who stood near the door.\n\n\"Shall I give him to the Lascar?\" she asked.\n\n\"How do you know he is a Lascar?\" said the Indian gentleman, smiling a\nlittle.\n\n\"Oh, I know Lascars,\" Sara said, handing over the reluctant monkey. \"I\nwas born in India.\"\n\nThe Indian gentleman sat upright so suddenly, and with such a change of\nexpression, that she was for a moment quite startled.\n\n\"You were born in India,\" he exclaimed, \"were you?  Come here.\" And he\nheld out his hand.\n\nSara went to him and laid her hand in his, as he seemed to want to take\nit.  She stood still, and her green-gray eyes met his wonderingly.\nSomething seemed to be the matter with him.\n\n\"You live next door?\" he demanded.\n\n\"Yes; I live at Miss Minchin's seminary.\"\n\n\"But you are not one of her pupils?\"\n\nA strange little smile hovered about Sara's mouth.  She hesitated a\nmoment.\n\n\"I don't think I know exactly WHAT I am,\" she replied.\n\n\"Why not?\"\n\n\"At first I was a pupil, and a parlor boarder; but now--\"\n\n\"You were a pupil!  What are you now?\"\n\nThe queer little sad smile was on Sara's lips again.\n\n\"I sleep in the attic, next to the scullery maid,\" she said. \"I run\nerrands for the cook--I do anything she tells me; and I teach the\nlittle ones their lessons.\"\n\n\"Question her, Carmichael,\" said Mr. Carrisford, sinking back as if he\nhad lost his strength.  \"Question her; I cannot.\"\n\nThe big, kind father of the Large Family knew how to question little\ngirls.  Sara realized how much practice he had had when he spoke to her\nin his nice, encouraging voice.\n\n\"What do you mean by 'At first,' my child?\" he inquired.\n\n\"When I was first taken there by my papa.\"\n\n\"Where is your papa?\"\n\n\"He died,\" said Sara, very quietly.  \"He lost all his money and there\nwas none left for me.  There was no one to take care of me or to pay\nMiss Minchin.\"\n\n\"Carmichael!\" the Indian gentleman cried out loudly.  \"Carmichael!\"\n\n\"We must not frighten her,\" Mr. Carmichael said aside to him in a\nquick, low voice.  And he added aloud to Sara, \"So you were sent up\ninto the attic, and made into a little drudge.  That was about it,\nwasn't it?\"\n\n\"There was no one to take care of me,\" said Sara.  \"There was no money;\nI belong to nobody.\"\n\n\"How did your father lose his money?\" the Indian gentleman broke in\nbreathlessly.\n\n\"He did not lose it himself,\" Sara answered, wondering still more each\nmoment.  \"He had a friend he was very fond of--he was very fond of him.\nIt was his friend who took his money. He trusted his friend too much.\"\n\nThe Indian gentleman's breath came more quickly.\n\n\"The friend might have MEANT to do no harm,\" he said.  \"It might have\nhappened through a mistake.\"\n\nSara did not know how unrelenting her quiet young voice sounded as she\nanswered.  If she had known, she would surely have tried to soften it\nfor the Indian gentleman's sake.\n\n\"The suffering was just as bad for my papa,\" she said.  \"It killed him.\"\n\n\"What was your father's name?\" the Indian gentleman said. \"Tell me.\"\n\n\"His name was Ralph Crewe,\" Sara answered, feeling startled.  \"Captain\nCrewe.  He died in India.\"\n\nThe haggard face contracted, and Ram Dass sprang to his master's side.\n\n\"Carmichael,\" the invalid gasped, \"it is the child--the child!\"\n\nFor a moment Sara thought he was going to die.  Ram Dass poured out\ndrops from a bottle, and held them to his lips.  Sara stood near,\ntrembling a little.  She looked in a bewildered way at Mr. Carmichael.\n\n\"What child am I?\" she faltered.\n\n\"He was your father's friend,\" Mr. Carmichael answered her.  \"Don't be\nfrightened.  We have been looking for you for two years.\"\n\nSara put her hand up to her forehead, and her mouth trembled.  She\nspoke as if she were in a dream.\n\n\"And I was at Miss Minchin's all the while,\" she half whispered.  \"Just\non the other side of the wall.\"\n\n\n\n18\n\n\"I Tried Not to Be\"\n\n\nIt was pretty, comfortable Mrs. Carmichael who explained everything.\nShe was sent for at once, and came across the square to take Sara into\nher warm arms and make clear to her all that had happened. The\nexcitement of the totally unexpected discovery had been temporarily\nalmost overpowering to Mr. Carrisford in his weak condition.\n\n\"Upon my word,\" he said faintly to Mr. Carmichael, when it was\nsuggested that the little girl should go into another room. \"I feel as\nif I do not want to lose sight of her.\"\n\n\"I will take care of her,\" Janet said, \"and mamma will come in a few\nminutes.\"  And it was Janet who led her away.\n\n\"We're so glad you are found,\" she said.  \"You don't know how glad we\nare that you are found.\"\n\nDonald stood with his hands in his pockets, and gazed at Sara with\nreflecting and self-reproachful eyes.\n\n\"If I'd just asked what your name was when I gave you my sixpence,\" he\nsaid, \"you would have told me it was Sara Crewe, and then you would\nhave been found in a minute.\"  Then Mrs. Carmichael came in. She looked\nvery much moved, and suddenly took Sara in her arms and kissed her.\n\n\"You look bewildered, poor child,\" she said.  \"And it is not to be\nwondered at.\"\n\nSara could only think of one thing.\n\n\"Was he,\" she said, with a glance toward the closed door of the\nlibrary--\"was HE the wicked friend?  Oh, do tell me!\"\n\nMrs. Carmichael was crying as she kissed her again.  She felt as if she\nought to be kissed very often because she had not been kissed for so\nlong.\n\n\"He was not wicked, my dear,\" she answered.  \"He did not really lose\nyour papa's money.  He only thought he had lost it; and because he\nloved him so much his grief made him so ill that for a time he was not\nin his right mind.  He almost died of brain fever, and long before he\nbegan to recover your poor papa was dead.\"\n\n\"And he did not know where to find me,\" murmured Sara.  \"And I was so\nnear.\"  Somehow, she could not forget that she had been so near.\n\n\"He believed you were in school in France,\" Mrs. Carmichael explained.\n\"And he was continually misled by false clues.  He has looked for you\neverywhere.  When he saw you pass by, looking so sad and neglected, he\ndid not dream that you were his friend's poor child; but because you\nwere a little girl, too, he was sorry for you, and wanted to make you\nhappier.  And he told Ram Dass to climb into your attic window and try\nto make you comfortable.\"\n\nSara gave a start of joy; her whole look changed.\n\n\"Did Ram Dass bring the things?\" she cried out.  \"Did he tell Ram Dass\nto do it?  Did he make the dream that came true?\"\n\n\"Yes, my dear--yes!  He is kind and good, and he was sorry for you, for\nlittle lost Sara Crewe's sake.\"\n\nThe library door opened and Mr. Carmichael appeared, calling Sara to\nhim with a gesture.\n\n\"Mr. Carrisford is better already,\" he said.  \"He wants you to come to\nhim.\"\n\nSara did not wait.  When the Indian gentleman looked at her as she\nentered, he saw that her face was all alight.\n\nShe went and stood before his chair, with her hands clasped together\nagainst her breast.\n\n\"You sent the things to me,\" she said, in a joyful emotional little\nvoice, \"the beautiful, beautiful things?  YOU sent them!\"\n\n\"Yes, poor, dear child, I did,\" he answered her.  He was weak and\nbroken with long illness and trouble, but he looked at her with the\nlook she remembered in her father's eyes--that look of loving her and\nwanting to take her in his arms.  It made her kneel down by him, just\nas she used to kneel by her father when they were the dearest friends\nand lovers in the world.\n\n\"Then it is you who are my friend,\" she said; \"it is you who are my\nfriend!\"  And she dropped her face on his thin hand and kissed it again\nand again.\n\n\"The man will be himself again in three weeks,\" Mr. Carmichael said\naside to his wife.  \"Look at his face already.\"\n\nIn fact, he did look changed.  Here was the \"Little Missus,\" and he had\nnew things to think of and plan for already.  In the first place, there\nwas Miss Minchin.  She must be interviewed and told of the change which\nhad taken place in the fortunes of her pupil.\n\nSara was not to return to the seminary at all.  The Indian gentleman\nwas very determined upon that point.  She must remain where she was,\nand Mr. Carmichael should go and see Miss Minchin himself.\n\n\"I am glad I need not go back,\" said Sara.  \"She will be very angry.\nShe does not like me; though perhaps it is my fault, because I do not\nlike her.\"\n\nBut, oddly enough, Miss Minchin made it unnecessary for Mr. Carmichael\nto go to her, by actually coming in search of her pupil herself. She\nhad wanted Sara for something, and on inquiry had heard an astonishing\nthing.  One of the housemaids had seen her steal out of the area with\nsomething hidden under her cloak, and had also seen her go up the steps\nof the next door and enter the house.\n\n\"What does she mean!\" cried Miss Minchin to Miss Amelia.\n\n\"I don't know, I'm sure, sister,\" answered Miss Amelia.  \"Unless she\nhas made friends with him because he has lived in India.\"\n\n\"It would be just like her to thrust herself upon him and try to gain\nhis sympathies in some such impertinent fashion,\" said Miss Minchin.\n\"She must have been in the house for two hours.  I will not allow such\npresumption.  I shall go and inquire into the matter, and apologize for\nher intrusion.\"\n\nSara was sitting on a footstool close to Mr. Carrisford's knee, and\nlistening to some of the many things he felt it necessary to try to\nexplain to her, when Ram Dass announced the visitor's arrival.\n\nSara rose involuntarily, and became rather pale; but Mr. Carrisford saw\nthat she stood quietly, and showed none of the ordinary signs of child\nterror.\n\nMiss Minchin entered the room with a sternly dignified manner.  She was\ncorrectly and well dressed, and rigidly polite.\n\n\"I am sorry to disturb Mr. Carrisford,\" she said; \"but I have\nexplanations to make.  I am Miss Minchin, the proprietress of the Young\nLadies' Seminary next door.\"\n\nThe Indian gentleman looked at her for a moment in silent scrutiny. He\nwas a man who had naturally a rather hot temper, and he did not wish it\nto get too much the better of him.\n\n\"So you are Miss Minchin?\" he said.\n\n\"I am, sir.\"\n\n\"In that case,\" the Indian gentleman replied, \"you have arrived at the\nright time.  My solicitor, Mr. Carmichael, was just on the point of\ngoing to see you.\"\n\nMr. Carmichael bowed slightly, and Miss Minchin looked from him to Mr.\nCarrisford in amazement.\n\n\"Your solicitor!\" she said.  \"I do not understand.  I have come here as\na matter of duty.  I have just discovered that you have been intruded\nupon through the forwardness of one of my pupils--a charity pupil. I\ncame to explain that she intruded without my knowledge.\" She turned\nupon Sara.  \"Go home at once,\" she commanded indignantly. \"You shall be\nseverely punished.  Go home at once.\"\n\nThe Indian gentleman drew Sara to his side and patted her hand.\n\n\"She is not going.\"\n\nMiss Minchin felt rather as if she must be losing her senses.\n\n\"Not going!\" she repeated.\n\n\"No,\" said Mr. Carrisford.  \"She is not going home--if you give your\nhouse that name.  Her home for the future will be with me.\"\n\nMiss Minchin fell back in amazed indignation.\n\n\"With YOU! With YOU sir!  What does this mean?\"\n\n\"Kindly explain the matter, Carmichael,\" said the Indian gentleman;\n\"and get it over as quickly as possible.\"  And he made Sara sit down\nagain, and held her hands in his--which was another trick of her papa's.\n\nThen Mr. Carmichael explained--in the quiet, level-toned, steady manner\nof a man who knew his subject, and all its legal significance, which\nwas a thing Miss Minchin understood as a business woman, and did not\nenjoy.\n\n\"Mr. Carrisford, madam,\" he said, \"was an intimate friend of the late\nCaptain Crewe.  He was his partner in certain large investments. The\nfortune which Captain Crewe supposed he had lost has been recovered,\nand is now in Mr. Carrisford's hands.\"\n\n\"The fortune!\" cried Miss Minchin; and she really lost color as she\nuttered the exclamation.  \"Sara's fortune!\"\n\n\"It WILL be Sara's fortune,\" replied Mr. Carmichael, rather coldly. \"It\nis Sara's fortune now, in fact.  Certain events have increased it\nenormously.  The diamond mines have retrieved themselves.\"\n\n\"The diamond mines!\"  Miss Minchin gasped out.  If this was true,\nnothing so horrible, she felt, had ever happened to her since she was\nborn.\n\n\"The diamond mines,\" Mr. Carmichael repeated, and he could not help\nadding, with a rather sly, unlawyer-like smile, \"There are not many\nprincesses, Miss Minchin, who are richer than your little charity\npupil, Sara Crewe, will be.  Mr. Carrisford has been searching for her\nfor nearly two years; he has found her at last, and he will keep her.\"\n\nAfter which he asked Miss Minchin to sit down while he explained\nmatters to her fully, and went into such detail as was necessary to\nmake it quite clear to her that Sara's future was an assured one, and\nthat what had seemed to be lost was to be restored to her tenfold;\nalso, that she had in Mr. Carrisford a guardian as well as a friend.\n\nMiss Minchin was not a clever woman, and in her excitement she was\nsilly enough to make one desperate effort to regain what she could not\nhelp seeing she had lost through her worldly folly.\n\n\"He found her under my care,\" she protested.  \"I have done everything\nfor her.  But for me she should have starved in the streets.\"\n\nHere the Indian gentleman lost his temper.\n\n\"As to starving in the streets,\" he said, \"she might have starved more\ncomfortably there than in your attic.\"\n\n\"Captain Crewe left her in my charge,\" Miss Minchin argued. \"She must\nreturn to it until she is of age.  She can be a parlor boarder again.\nShe must finish her education.  The law will interfere in my behalf.\"\n\n\"Come, come, Miss Minchin,\" Mr. Carmichael interposed, \"the law will do\nnothing of the sort.  If Sara herself wishes to return to you, I dare\nsay Mr. Carrisford might not refuse to allow it. But that rests with\nSara.\"\n\n\"Then,\" said Miss Minchin, \"I appeal to Sara.  I have not spoiled you,\nperhaps,\" she said awkwardly to the little girl; \"but you know that\nyour papa was pleased with your progress. And--ahem--I have always been\nfond of you.\"\n\nSara's green-gray eyes fixed themselves on her with the quiet, clear\nlook Miss Minchin particularly disliked.\n\n\"Have YOU, Miss Minchin?\" she said.  \"I did not know that.\"\n\nMiss Minchin reddened and drew herself up.\n\n\"You ought to have known it,\" said she; \"but children, unfortunately,\nnever know what is best for them.  Amelia and I always said you were\nthe cleverest child in the school. Will you not do your duty to your\npoor papa and come home with me?\"\n\nSara took a step toward her and stood still.  She was thinking of the\nday when she had been told that she belonged to nobody, and was in\ndanger of being turned into the street; she was thinking of the cold,\nhungry hours she had spent alone with Emily and Melchisedec in the\nattic.  She looked Miss Minchin steadily in the face.\n\n\"You know why I will not go home with you, Miss Minchin,\" she said;\n\"you know quite well.\"\n\nA hot flush showed itself on Miss Minchin's hard, angry face.\n\n\"You will never see your companions again,\" she began.  \"I will see\nthat Ermengarde and Lottie are kept away--\"\n\nMr. Carmichael stopped her with polite firmness.\n\n\"Excuse me,\" he said; \"she will see anyone she wishes to see.  The\nparents of Miss Crewe's fellow-pupils are not likely to refuse her\ninvitations to visit her at her guardian's house.  Mr. Carrisford will\nattend to that.\"\n\nIt must be confessed that even Miss Minchin flinched.  This was worse\nthan the eccentric bachelor uncle who might have a peppery temper and\nbe easily offended at the treatment of his niece. A woman of sordid\nmind could easily believe that most people would not refuse to allow\ntheir children to remain friends with a little heiress of diamond\nmines.  And if Mr. Carrisford chose to tell certain of her patrons how\nunhappy Sara Crewe had been made, many unpleasant things might happen.\n\n\"You have not undertaken an easy charge,\" she said to the Indian\ngentleman, as she turned to leave the room; \"you will discover that\nvery soon.  The child is neither truthful nor grateful. I suppose\"--to\nSara--\"that you feel now that you are a princess again.\"\n\nSara looked down and flushed a little, because she thought her pet\nfancy might not be easy for strangers--even nice ones--to understand at\nfirst.\n\n\"I--TRIED not to be anything else,\" she answered in a low voice--\"even\nwhen I was coldest and hungriest--I tried not to be.\"\n\n\"Now it will not be necessary to try,\" said Miss Minchin, acidly, as\nRam Dass salaamed her out of the room.\n\n\nShe returned home and, going to her sitting room, sent at once for Miss\nAmelia.  She sat closeted with her all the rest of the afternoon, and\nit must be admitted that poor Miss Amelia passed through more than one\nbad quarter of an hour.  She shed a good many tears, and mopped her\neyes a good deal.  One of her unfortunate remarks almost caused her\nsister to snap her head entirely off, but it resulted in an unusual\nmanner.\n\n\"I'm not as clever as you, sister,\" she said, \"and I am always afraid\nto say things to you for fear of making you angry.  Perhaps if I were\nnot so timid it would be better for the school and for both of us.  I\nmust say I've often thought it would have been better if you had been\nless severe on Sara Crewe, and had seen that she was decently dressed\nand more comfortable. I KNOW she was worked too hard for a child of her\nage, and I know she was only half fed--\"\n\n\"How dare you say such a thing!\" exclaimed Miss Minchin.\n\n\"I don't know how I dare,\" Miss Amelia answered, with a kind of\nreckless courage; \"but now I've begun I may as well finish, whatever\nhappens to me.  The child was a clever child and a good child--and she\nwould have paid you for any kindness you had shown her. But you didn't\nshow her any.  The fact was, she was too clever for you, and you always\ndisliked her for that reason.  She used to see through us both--\"\n\n\"Amelia!\" gasped her infuriated elder, looking as if she would box her\nears and knock her cap off, as she had often done to Becky.\n\nBut Miss Amelia's disappointment had made her hysterical enough not to\ncare what occurred next.\n\n\"She did!  She did!\" she cried.  \"She saw through us both. She saw that\nyou were a hard-hearted, worldly woman, and that I was a weak fool, and\nthat we were both of us vulgar and mean enough to grovel on our knees\nfor her money, and behave ill to her because it was taken from\nher--though she behaved herself like a little princess even when she\nwas a beggar.  She did--she did--like a little princess!\"  And her\nhysterics got the better of the poor woman, and she began to laugh and\ncry both at once, and rock herself backward and forward.\n\n\"And now you've lost her,\" she cried wildly; \"and some other school\nwill get her and her money; and if she were like any other child she'd\ntell how she's been treated, and all our pupils would be taken away and\nwe should be ruined.  And it serves us right; but it serves you right\nmore than it does me, for you are a hard woman, Maria Minchin, you're a\nhard, selfish, worldly woman!\"\n\nAnd she was in danger of making so much noise with her hysterical\nchokes and gurgles that her sister was obliged to go to her and apply\nsalts and sal volatile to quiet her, instead of pouring forth her\nindignation at her audacity.\n\nAnd from that time forward, it may be mentioned, the elder Miss Minchin\nactually began to stand a little in awe of a sister who, while she\nlooked so foolish, was evidently not quite so foolish as she looked,\nand might, consequently, break out and speak truths people did not want\nto hear.\n\nThat evening, when the pupils were gathered together before the fire in\nthe schoolroom, as was their custom before going to bed, Ermengarde\ncame in with a letter in her hand and a queer expression on her round\nface.  It was queer because, while it was an expression of delighted\nexcitement, it was combined with such amazement as seemed to belong to\na kind of shock just received.\n\n\"What IS the matter?\" cried two or three voices at once.\n\n\"Is it anything to do with the row that has been going on?\" said\nLavinia, eagerly.  \"There has been such a row in Miss Minchin's room,\nMiss Amelia has had something like hysterics and has had to go to bed.\"\n\nErmengarde answered them slowly as if she were half stunned.\n\n\"I have just had this letter from Sara,\" she said, holding it out to\nlet them see what a long letter it was.\n\n\"From Sara!\"  Every voice joined in that exclamation.\n\n\"Where is she?\" almost shrieked Jessie.\n\n\"Next door,\" said Ermengarde, \"with the Indian gentleman.\"\n\n\"Where?  Where?  Has she been sent away?  Does Miss Minchin know? Was\nthe row about that?  Why did she write?  Tell us!  Tell us!\"\n\nThere was a perfect babel, and Lottie began to cry plaintively.\n\nErmengarde answered them slowly as if she were half plunged out into\nwhat, at the moment, seemed the most important and self-explaining\nthing.\n\n\"There WERE diamond mines,\" she said stoutly; \"there WERE!\" Open mouths\nand open eyes confronted her.\n\n\"They were real,\" she hurried on.  \"It was all a mistake about them.\nSomething happened for a time, and Mr. Carrisford thought they were\nruined--\"\n\n\"Who is Mr. Carrisford?\" shouted Jessie.\n\n\"The Indian gentleman.  And Captain Crewe thought so, too--and he died;\nand Mr. Carrisford had brain fever and ran away, and HE almost died.\nAnd he did not know where Sara was.  And it turned out that there were\nmillions and millions of diamonds in the mines; and half of them belong\nto Sara; and they belonged to her when she was living in the attic with\nno one but Melchisedec for a friend, and the cook ordering her about.\nAnd Mr. Carrisford found her this afternoon, and he has got her in his\nhome--and she will never come back--and she will be more a princess\nthan she ever was--a hundred and fifty thousand times more.  And I am\ngoing to see her tomorrow afternoon.  There!\"\n\nEven Miss Minchin herself could scarcely have controlled the uproar\nafter this; and though she heard the noise, she did not try. She was\nnot in the mood to face anything more than she was facing in her room,\nwhile Miss Amelia was weeping in bed.  She knew that the news had\npenetrated the walls in some mysterious manner, and that every servant\nand every child would go to bed talking about it.\n\nSo until almost midnight the entire seminary, realizing somehow that\nall rules were laid aside, crowded round Ermengarde in the schoolroom\nand heard read and re-read the letter containing a story which was\nquite as wonderful as any Sara herself had ever invented, and which had\nthe amazing charm of having happened to Sara herself and the mystic\nIndian gentleman in the very next house.\n\nBecky, who had heard it also, managed to creep up stairs earlier than\nusual.  She wanted to get away from people and go and look at the\nlittle magic room once more.  She did not know what would happen to it.\nIt was not likely that it would be left to Miss Minchin. It would be\ntaken away, and the attic would be bare and empty again. Glad as she\nwas for Sara's sake, she went up the last flight of stairs with a lump\nin her throat and tears blurring her sight. There would be no fire\ntonight, and no rosy lamp; no supper, and no princess sitting in the\nglow reading or telling stories--no princess!\n\nShe choked down a sob as she pushed the attic door open, and then she\nbroke into a low cry.\n\nThe lamp was flushing the room, the fire was blazing, the supper was\nwaiting; and Ram Dass was standing smiling into her startled face.\n\n\"Missee sahib remembered,\" he said.  \"She told the sahib all.  She\nwished you to know the good fortune which has befallen her.  Behold a\nletter on the tray.  She has written.  She did not wish that you should\ngo to sleep unhappy.  The sahib commands you to come to him tomorrow.\nYou are to be the attendant of missee sahib. Tonight I take these\nthings back over the roof.\"\n\nAnd having said this with a beaming face, he made a little salaam and\nslipped through the skylight with an agile silentness of movement which\nshowed Becky how easily he had done it before.\n\n\n\n19\n\nAnne\n\n\nNever had such joy reigned in the nursery of the Large Family.  Never\nhad they dreamed of such delights as resulted from an intimate\nacquaintance with the little-girl-who-was-not-a-beggar.  The mere fact\nof her sufferings and adventures made her a priceless possession.\nEverybody wanted to be told over and over again the things which had\nhappened to her.  When one was sitting by a warm fire in a big, glowing\nroom, it was quite delightful to hear how cold it could be in an attic.\nIt must be admitted that the attic was rather delighted in, and that\nits coldness and bareness quite sank into insignificance when\nMelchisedec was remembered, and one heard about the sparrows and things\none could see if one climbed on the table and stuck one's head and\nshoulders out of the skylight.\n\nOf course the thing loved best was the story of the banquet and the\ndream which was true.  Sara told it for the first time the day after\nshe had been found.  Several members of the Large Family came to take\ntea with her, and as they sat or curled up on the hearth-rug she told\nthe story in her own way, and the Indian gentleman listened and watched\nher. When she had finished she looked up at him and put her hand on his\nknee.\n\n\"That is my part,\" she said.  \"Now won't you tell your part of it,\nUncle Tom?\"  He had asked her to call him always \"Uncle Tom.\" \"I don't\nknow your part yet, and it must be beautiful.\"\n\nSo he told them how, when he sat alone, ill and dull and irritable, Ram\nDass had tried to distract him by describing the passers by, and there\nwas one child who passed oftener than any one else; he had begun to be\ninterested in her--partly perhaps because he was thinking a great deal\nof a little girl, and partly because Ram Dass had been able to relate\nthe incident of his visit to the attic in chase of the monkey.  He had\ndescribed its cheerless look, and the bearing of the child, who seemed\nas if she was not of the class of those who were treated as drudges and\nservants.  Bit by bit, Ram Dass had made discoveries concerning the\nwretchedness of her life. He had found out how easy a matter it was to\nclimb across the few yards of roof to the skylight, and this fact had\nbeen the beginning of all that followed.\n\n\"Sahib,\" he had said one day, \"I could cross the slates and make the\nchild a fire when she is out on some errand.  When she returned, wet\nand cold, to find it blazing, she would think a magician had done it.\"\n\nThe idea had been so fanciful that Mr. Carrisford's sad face had\nlighted with a smile, and Ram Dass had been so filled with rapture that\nhe had enlarged upon it and explained to his master how simple it would\nbe to accomplish numbers of other things.  He had shown a childlike\npleasure and invention, and the preparations for the carrying out of\nthe plan had filled many a day with interest which would otherwise have\ndragged wearily.  On the night of the frustrated banquet Ram Dass had\nkept watch, all his packages being in readiness in the attic which was\nhis own; and the person who was to help him had waited with him, as\ninterested as himself in the odd adventure. Ram Dass had been lying\nflat upon the slates, looking in at the skylight, when the banquet had\ncome to its disastrous conclusion; he had been sure of the profoundness\nof Sara's wearied sleep; and then, with a dark lantern, he had crept\ninto the room, while his companion remained outside and handed the\nthings to him. When Sara had stirred ever so faintly, Ram Dass had\nclosed the lantern-slide and lain flat upon the floor.  These and many\nother exciting things the children found out by asking a thousand\nquestions.\n\n\"I am so glad,\" Sara said. \"I am so GLAD it was you who were my friend!\"\n\nThere never were such friends as these two became.  Somehow, they\nseemed to suit each other in a wonderful way.  The Indian gentleman had\nnever had a companion he liked quite as much as he liked Sara. In a\nmonth's time he was, as Mr. Carmichael had prophesied he would be, a\nnew man.  He was always amused and interested, and he began to find an\nactual pleasure in the possession of the wealth he had imagined that he\nloathed the burden of.  There were so many charming things to plan for\nSara.  There was a little joke between them that he was a magician, and\nit was one of his pleasures to invent things to surprise her.  She\nfound beautiful new flowers growing in her room, whimsical little gifts\ntucked under pillows, and once, as they sat together in the evening,\nthey heard the scratch of a heavy paw on the door, and when Sara went\nto find out what it was, there stood a great dog--a splendid Russian\nboarhound--with a grand silver and gold collar bearing an inscription.\n\"I am Boris,\" it read; \"I serve the Princess Sara.\"\n\nThere was nothing the Indian gentleman loved more than the recollection\nof the little princess in rags and tatters.  The afternoons in which\nthe Large Family, or Ermengarde and Lottie, gathered to rejoice\ntogether were very delightful.  But the hours when Sara and the Indian\ngentleman sat alone and read or talked had a special charm of their\nown.  During their passing many interesting things occurred.\n\nOne evening, Mr. Carrisford, looking up from his book, noticed that his\ncompanion had not stirred for some time, but sat gazing into the fire.\n\n\"What are you 'supposing,' Sara?\" he asked.\n\nSara looked up, with a bright color on her cheek.\n\n\"I WAS supposing,\" she said; \"I was remembering that hungry day, and a\nchild I saw.\"\n\n\"But there were a great many hungry days,\" said the Indian gentleman,\nwith rather a sad tone in his voice.  \"Which hungry day was it?\"\n\n\"I forgot you didn't know,\" said Sara.  \"It was the day the dream came\ntrue.\"\n\nThen she told him the story of the bun shop, and the fourpence she\npicked up out of the sloppy mud, and the child who was hungrier than\nherself.  She told it quite simply, and in as few words as possible;\nbut somehow the Indian gentleman found it necessary to shade his eyes\nwith his hand and look down at the carpet.\n\n\"And I was supposing a kind of plan,\" she said, when she had finished.\n\"I was thinking I should like to do something.\"\n\n\"What was it?\" said Mr. Carrisford, in a low tone.  \"You may do\nanything you like to do, princess.\"\n\n\"I was wondering,\" rather hesitated Sara--\"you know, you say I have so\nmuch money--I was wondering if I could go to see the bun-woman, and\ntell her that if, when hungry children--particularly on those dreadful\ndays--come and sit on the steps, or look in at the window, she would\njust call them in and give them something to eat, she might send the\nbills to me.  Could I do that?\"\n\n\"You shall do it tomorrow morning,\" said the Indian gentleman.\n\n\"Thank you,\" said Sara.  \"You see, I know what it is to be hungry, and\nit is very hard when one cannot even PRETEND it away.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, my dear,\" said the Indian gentleman.  \"Yes, yes, it must be.\nTry to forget it.  Come and sit on this footstool near my knee, and\nonly remember you are a princess.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sara, smiling; \"and I can give buns and bread to the\npopulace.\"  And she went and sat on the stool, and the Indian gentleman\n(he used to like her to call him that, too, sometimes) drew her small\ndark head down on his knee and stroked her hair.\n\nThe next morning, Miss Minchin, in looking out of her window, saw the\nthings she perhaps least enjoyed seeing.  The Indian gentleman's\ncarriage, with its tall horses, drew up before the door of the next\nhouse, and its owner and a little figure, warm with soft, rich furs,\ndescended the steps to get into it. The little figure was a familiar\none, and reminded Miss Minchin of days in the past.  It was followed by\nanother as familiar--the sight of which she found very irritating.  It\nwas Becky, who, in the character of delighted attendant, always\naccompanied her young mistress to her carriage, carrying wraps and\nbelongings.  Already Becky had a pink, round face.\n\nA little later the carriage drew up before the door of the baker's\nshop, and its occupants got out, oddly enough, just as the bun-woman\nwas putting a tray of smoking-hot buns into the window.\n\nWhen Sara entered the shop the woman turned and looked at her, and,\nleaving the buns, came and stood behind the counter. For a moment she\nlooked at Sara very hard indeed, and then her good-natured face lighted\nup.\n\n\"I'm sure that I remember you, miss,\" she said.  \"And yet--\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Sara; \"once you gave me six buns for fourpence, and--\"\n\n\"And you gave five of 'em to a beggar child,\" the woman broke in on\nher. \"I've always remembered it.  I couldn't make it out at first.\" She\nturned round to the Indian gentleman and spoke her next words to him.\n\"I beg your pardon, sir, but there's not many young people that notices\na hungry face in that way; and I've thought of it many a time.  Excuse\nthe liberty, miss,\"--to Sara--\"but you look rosier and--well, better\nthan you did that--that--\"\n\n\"I am better, thank you,\" said Sara.  \"And--I am much happier--and I\nhave come to ask you to do something for me.\"\n\n\"Me, miss!\" exclaimed the bun-woman, smiling cheerfully. \"Why, bless\nyou!  Yes, miss.  What can I do?\"\n\nAnd then Sara, leaning on the counter, made her little proposal\nconcerning the dreadful days and the hungry waifs and the buns.\n\nThe woman watched her, and listened with an astonished face.\n\n\"Why, bless me!\" she said again when she had heard it all; \"it'll be a\npleasure to me to do it.  I am a working-woman myself and cannot afford\nto do much on my own account, and there's sights of trouble on every\nside; but, if you'll excuse me, I'm bound to say I've given away many a\nbit of bread since that wet afternoon, just along o' thinking of\nyou--an' how wet an' cold you was, an' how hungry you looked; an' yet\nyou gave away your hot buns as if you was a princess.\"\n\nThe Indian gentleman smiled involuntarily at this, and Sara smiled a\nlittle, too, remembering what she had said to herself when she put the\nbuns down on the ravenous child's ragged lap.\n\n\"She looked so hungry,\" she said.  \"She was even hungrier than I was.\"\n\n\"She was starving,\" said the woman.  \"Many's the time she's told me of\nit since--how she sat there in the wet, and felt as if a wolf was\na-tearing at her poor young insides.\"\n\n\"Oh, have you seen her since then?\" exclaimed Sara.  \"Do you know where\nshe is?\"\n\n\"Yes, I do,\" answered the woman, smiling more good-naturedly than ever.\n\"Why, she's in that there back room, miss, an' has been for a month;\nan' a decent, well-meanin' girl she's goin' to turn out, an' such a\nhelp to me in the shop an' in the kitchen as you'd scarce believe,\nknowin' how she's lived.\"\n\nShe stepped to the door of the little back parlor and spoke; and the\nnext minute a girl came out and followed her behind the counter. And\nactually it was the beggar-child, clean and neatly clothed, and looking\nas if she had not been hungry for a long time. She looked shy, but she\nhad a nice face, now that she was no longer a savage, and the wild look\nhad gone from her eyes.  She knew Sara in an instant, and stood and\nlooked at her as if she could never look enough.\n\n\"You see,\" said the woman, \"I told her to come when she was hungry, and\nwhen she'd come I'd give her odd jobs to do; an' I found she was\nwilling, and somehow I got to like her; and the end of it was, I've\ngiven her a place an' a home, and she helps me, an' behaves well, an'\nis as thankful as a girl can be.  Her name's Anne. She has no other.\"\n\nThe children stood and looked at each other for a few minutes; and then\nSara took her hand out of her muff and held it out across the counter,\nand Anne took it, and they looked straight into each other's eyes.\n\n\"I am so glad,\" Sara said.  \"And I have just thought of something.\nPerhaps Mrs. Brown will let you be the one to give the buns and bread\nto the children.  Perhaps you would like to do it because you know what\nit is to be hungry, too.\"\n\n\"Yes, miss,\" said the girl.\n\nAnd, somehow, Sara felt as if she understood her, though she said so\nlittle, and only stood still and looked and looked after her as she\nwent out of the shop with the Indian gentleman, and they got into the\ncarriage and drove away."